Come Clean (1989)

by James, Bill

  ‘Benny, thinking about Miss Binns today, and listening to the Rev, I was recalling some of the things she used to keep on telling us – friendship, looking after each other, decency,’ Leo said.

  ‘Yes, true,’ Loxton replied.

  ‘These things still mean something.’

  ‘I’d certainly say so.’ Loxton had brought the small Beretta pistol with him and gripped it now in his overcoat pocket. Usually, Leo was not a talker. Something could be up. Most people had cleared from the cemetery, just their two groups left. He tried to give Macey a nod, to be ready. Leo’s lot could try anything. Decorum? They thought it was a Carib cocktail.

  ‘What I’m saying, Benny, we’re the last two, the last two of any real size and substance.’ Behind Leo, Gerald smiled a pledge of friendship and understanding, and even Lay-waste tried to look civilized.

  ‘Right,’ Loxton replied.

  ‘I believe there’s room for two.’

  ‘We’ve talked about this, Leo and I,’ Daphne said. She put the veil back. She had a good, fresh face, with a small nose and mouth and dark blue eyes. It was amazing she still looked so refined and kindly after all those years with Leo, and having two boys like them. ‘Why can’t we parcel things out, in a civilized style, tell me that? Trade could be shared. For example, you’re both interested in making sure the casinos get proper protection, so that could be divided out on a reasonable, fair basis. Other aspects of business the same.’

  Lay-waste nodded. ‘Why indeed not?’

  ‘That’s what we’ve been discussing, Benny,’ Leo said. ‘The fighting – it’s wasteful, it’s perilous, it’s out of date.’

  ‘That’s certainly a point,’ Loxton replied. ‘Wouldn’t you say, Phil?’

  ‘These are interesting ideas,’ Macey replied. ‘Undoubted.’

  Leo smiled, and looked around at his sons, like to say something really good had happened, even here in a graveyard. ‘Well, what I – what we all – would like to propose, Benny, we could arrange talks, yes?’ he asked, turning back. He spoke in a voice that was a plea and full of respect.

  ‘Why not?’ Loxton replied.

  ‘Grand. That’s really businesslike and constructive.’

  ‘Yes, a positive move,’ Loxton declared. ‘I don’t want to sound stupid and sloppy about this, but Miss Binns would be pleased.’

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ Daphne cried. ‘But not surprised. She always believed good would come out in people, no matter how things looked.’

  ‘She was a godly person, in a true sense,’ Loxton said.

  ‘Who’ll make contact?’ Leo asked.

  ‘I’ll call,’ Loxton said.

  ‘Grand,’ Leo agreed.

  ‘This is truly wonderful,’ Daphne said.

  ‘A most promising breakthrough,’ Gerald remarked.

  They all moved off towards the cars, Loxton indicating to his people that they should stay very close. He still had his hand on the Beretta.

  In the car, Macey said: ‘What was going on?’

  ‘He been reading The Godfather,’ Loxton replied. ‘Them meetings between the families when people talk sweet and are setting up killings?’

  ‘Yes, I had the idea they wanted to draw us somewhere!’

  ‘Obvious,’ Loxton said.

  ‘So why not there, then?’ Macey asked.

  ‘They knew we was ready, of course. They want surprise, the tricky bastards. Christ, did you see Lay-waste trying to look like healing the sick and comforting the fatherless?’

  Macey said: ‘And Daphne, I mean –’

  ‘She’s all right,’ Loxton said. ‘It’s desperate she got to go, but Daphne’s genuine.’

  ‘I’m glad we came,’ Norman said. ‘It gives a chance to weigh them up physically, see from close-to, not through a long-distance sight, how they’re made.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘I need to see you,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Of course,’ Margot replied.

  ‘Could it be this afternoon?’

  ‘Why the rush?’

  ‘Margot, something’s happened. I’d like to talk.’

  ‘What a counsellor is for. Say four o’clock? Do you want to give me some idea of the crisis now?’

  ‘On the phone?’

  ‘It is a bloody cop phone, my dear, isn’t it? Surely, that should be secure.’

  ‘Should it?’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘I was joking.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, half. Some strange things have – Sorry, I’m beginning to shout.’

  ‘Take your time, dear.’

  ‘Margot, it’s this: suddenly I’m not so sure about Ian.’

  ‘In what way not so sure?’

  ‘Just not so sure.’

  ‘Whether you really want him?’

  Sarah was using the guest-room telephone upstairs, squatting on the bed and gazing out over the rear garden.

  ‘Are you still there?’ Margot asked.

  ‘What? Yes. Sorry. I thought I saw somebody.’

  ‘Somebody where?’

  ‘Near our bottom fence.’

  ‘In the garden?’

  ‘Yes. The wilderness part – bushes and trees. A movement? But perhaps not. I’m, jumpy, sorry.’

  ‘Are you alone in the house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Should you tell someone?’

  So, even Margot recognized that cuckolded husbands had uses, and ought still to be on call. ‘No. It’s all right, I’m sure. What was I saying?’

  ‘It was me. You’ve started doubting whether you really want Ian?’

  ‘He’s hurt me.’

  ‘Intentionally?’

  Sarah stood up and went to the side of the window, carrying the telephone so she could see better into the garden.

  ‘I asked, was it intentionally?’ Margot said. ‘Please now, Sarah, is everything all right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not all right? What’s wrong? Who is it in the garden?’

  ‘No, I meant not intentionally.’

  ‘Oh, well then –’

  ‘But it makes things worse, much worse. Margot, he didn’t know he was doing it, that’s what scares me. To him, it was just acting naturally. Ian doesn’t trust anybody, me included, or even me especially.’

  ‘If you choose people like –’

  ‘He thought I’d sent some heavies to his place, I mean, a really evil crew.’ Once more she caught herself beginning to yell, sob too, now. ‘Look, can I tell you about everything later?’

  ‘People like Ian, from what you’ve said, of course they’re going to be edgy and suspicious. Sarah, you run with risk-takers, all that cheap demi-monde stuff. It’s part of the fun for you, I think, the antidote to Rougement Place. So, expect bad moments.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But don’t let it upset you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll see you here at four, then.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Have a walk in the garden. Just to be sure.’

  ‘Sarah, do take care.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. I’m okay. It was stupid. My God, who’s going to be prowling at nine-thirty in the morning, broad daylight?’

  ‘As I said, you know some very raw people. Well, “know” might not be quite the word.’

  ‘I can’t see anyone there now, honestly,’ she said, and it was true.

  Finishing the call, Sarah watched the garden for a little while longer, then went downstairs, opened the rear door and stepped out. Slowly she crossed the lawn and approached the wilderness. ‘Who’s there?’ she said, in her best, top of the range, jump-to-it voice. There was next to no wind, but what she had seen from the window, or thought she had seen, was a couple of branches of the tall, straggling holly bush lurch sharply, as if they had been brushed against, and perhaps a piece of dark material disappearing behind the foliage, possibly the arm of a man’s jacket. Immediately, she had thought it
must be Ralph Ember again, in one of his suits, not content to wait outside now, but driven even further this time by special agonies and dreads, ready to load them on to her if he could. God knew, she did not want to see him, but she did not want him lurking, either. Although very scared, she also felt annoyed that he might be on their property: the same sort of resentment as came the other day, when she decided he had no right to crawl his way up into a decent district, and try to fuse the two sides of her life. As Margot said, if you ran with the rough you’d better expect them to show rough.

  ‘Ralph?’ she called, quietly. There could be someone over the fence in the garden next door, and they would be asking who the hell was this Ralph that Sarah Iles wanted to find. Carefully, she circled the bush and found nobody. The ground was dry and she could not make out any foot marks behind it. Comforted, she did a good and thorough search of the wilderness and then went back to the house.

  And as soon as she had closed the garden door and entered the kitchen she knew someone else was inside with her. Now, she could make out foot marks, faint earth prints crossing the kitchen tiles to the half-open living room door, reminding her for a moment of those other stains in the corridor of the Monty. That recollection stoked her fears, already fierce. ‘Ralph,’ she called again, loudly this time, ‘Ralph Ember, are you here? What’s going on?’ There was not much anger left in her now. She decided, suddenly, that she might be safer outside and had half turned to make a run when the living room door was pulled wide and Aston stood there in his navy anorak and jeans, his voice very harsh.

  ‘Ralph? You’re expecting Ralph?’ he said, but it was almost a snarl.

  The shock made her breathless and for a few moments she stood staring at him, across the kitchen. ‘My God, Ian. You make these entrances – the transport café, now here.’

  ‘Why Ralph?’ he insisted. ‘Why did you think it was Ralph? Ralph, in the house?’ The hostility in his voice, and the coldness, also reminded her of those terrible opening minutes at the Truckers’ Den.

  ‘What? I’m sorry, you’ve knocked me off balance.’

  ‘Why Ralph?’ he asked again.

  ‘I didn’t know who,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, but you called his name.’

  ‘He’s been up here before, that’s all. Not to the house, but in the street. I thought he had come back.’ She was stammering. ‘Ian, this is – it’s wonderful, wonderful.’ Forcing herself to break from her frozen pose near the garden door, she ran across the kitchen and put her arms around Ian’s neck, pulling his face down hard to kiss him and kiss him again. He hardly responded, but was staring about, very watchfully. In a moment she went on: ‘I was going to say this is impossible, but it isn’t, is it? You’re here and it’s . . . well, wonderful.’ She laughed. ‘Oh, Where’s my bloody vocabulary gone? In my house!’ she whispered. ‘Who’d have believed it?’

  ‘I couldn’t risk the phone again. After last time, who knows who’s listening? Who knows who might turn up as a result?’

  ‘Ian, please, I –’

  He seemed to relax a little, as if he had begun to believe her account of things. ‘I walked here – saw Desmond go to work. I had to get to you, to warn you, Sarah. That’s why when you called Ralph’s name – Christ, I didn’t know what to make of it, nor now.’

  ‘I’m lost. What’s going on?’

  ‘Ralph’s looking for me. I had a tip he’s been asking around, really looking. And others. Sarah, if they’re looking for me it’s because of what we saw at the Monty. They’ll probably know about you, too. I had to come and tell you.’

  ‘I’m still lost.’

  He was still gazing about. ‘I knew Desmond had gone, but I’ve looked over the house. You don’t mind? I’m very exposed.’

  ‘We’re all right here, surely to God.’

  ‘You were on the phone upstairs. I watched you from the garden.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who to?’ Perhaps he noticed how she winced, and softening his tone, he said: ‘Sorry. Can I ask, who to?’

  She was glad of the brief moment’s thought. ‘Of course you can, love. No mystery. A shop. Ordering some things. Life goes on.’ He was still holding her and she felt so happy now, despite what he had said, that she could not bring herself to recall the talk with Margot about doubts and cooling. All that seemed unbelievable, suddenly. There was something else: occasionally these days she found herself adapting to this other kind of life, using veils, not disclosing it all, shaping the truth. She had never told him about Francis Garland, anyway, but, that apart, she had always been fairly open, until lately. The pressures of the kind of life she had picked were beginning to affect her: changes did happen, were forced on to one. ‘Which other people are looking for you?’ she asked.

  ‘Men who came into the Monty that night. I recognized them. It’s Benny Loxton’s people. I couldn’t tell you at the time.’

  Yes, veils. But that particular veil had not been much use. Even at the Monty she had suspected he recognized the intruders.

  ‘They’re searching for me and they must have terrorized Ralph into helping.’

  ‘Ian, I hate to say this and I don’t want it, but you ought to disappear, really get away. Somehow, we could keep in touch.’

  He grunted. ‘I thought of that. Of course I did. But my car’s at the flat, if they haven’t taken it, and I’m not going back there. They’ll be watching the station and Benny has good contacts in taxis and car hire. Besides, can I just walk out on you, Sarah, as things are?’ He bent forward and kissed her on the forehead. It was dead, like a kiss from an old aunt, but she smiled up at him. Then he said: ‘Besides, there could be some business in this for me. So, sod them.’

  This was his real reason for staying. She had heard that stubborn tone take over before, and loved him for it, even if it could lead to peril. He did not go under or kowtow. Ian could look at a dire situation, and think of ways to make it work for him. ‘Business? What business?’

  ‘Information, tradable information. Sarah, something pretty big is due, that’s dead obvious. People will want early signals about it and will pay.’

  ‘Which people?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll find out. My guess is that the injured lad at the Monty had learned too much, or had been talking. Has to be that. It wasn’t too hard to identify him and I found out he’s got a girl friend, an on-off thing, no big deal. All the same, there’s a chance he’s said something to her. I drove up to her place a couple of times but she’s away in Cyprus or Marbella, or some sun spot, having the grand time, probably with some other bloke. Maybe she’s lying low out there, or maybe it’s only a holiday and she’ll be back. I’m going to keep trying, just roll up on her. She lives in the country, about ten miles. But now, no vehicle. One night, I might sneak back to the flat and see if I can get it. She’s important, Sarah.’

  ‘I’ll take you. I’ll take you today.’ It would be compensation after what she had said to Margot, and it might be a chance to bring back some of their old warmth. She longed to put things right and to be part of that fighting, positive side of him.

  ‘No. You’re involved enough.’

  ‘Yes, let me. But, Ian, do they know about her?’

  ‘Loxton’s people? There speaks the cop wife again. I don’t know. Hope not. Things might be tricky for her.’

  ‘And you.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Listen, Ian, if you know about her, they know about her.’

  ‘Why I say you mustn’t come.’

  ‘I’ll put you down nearby. It’ll be quite safe. I’m coming to realize I’m not a born risk-taker.’ Sarah shifted slightly. ‘And I don’t like standing here. We’re visible through the kitchen window, and you don’t look like Des. Not that Des and I ever get close in the kitchen, or anywhere else.’

  ‘Can we go upstairs?’

  She made sure there was no pause before she answered. ‘I should think so. Wait.’ She went to lock the garden doo
r and turn the deadlock on the front.

  ‘Are you certain it’s okay?’ he said.

  ‘Of course.’ It was another step. He had come into her house for the first time, and they would make love here for the first time, but what did the venue matter? Although she might have resented Ralph being on their ground, Ian was another matter. Oh, yes, very much another matter. He did not belong either, but she could have wished he did. Perhaps to be with him in the house was a new and bigger betrayal, a special kind of symbolic blow to the marriage, but there had already been enough blows to knock most of the life out of it. She wished she could think of another word than blow, and almost smiled.

  As lightly as she could manage she said: ‘This is pretty scary, going into our bedroom.’

  ‘It really bothers you?’

  ‘I’m surprised, but, yes, it really bothers me.’

  ‘Well, let’s use another one.’

  ‘No. A room’s a room, a bed’s a bed, nothing more. I shouldn’t think I’m the first wife to do this. They say Harpur’s lady – Oh, but you don’t know these people, and I shouldn’t gossip.’ By insisting on this room she was again trying to make up to him for what she had said to Margot, but he could not be told that. It was like a re-affirmation, and had to be powerful and glaring, strong enough to rout all scruples. Wow, this fuck had taken on symbolism. But, then, so did many others. Crossing the room quickly, past the unmade bed, she pulled the curtains over. Perhaps the neighbours would be intrigued by that, too, but never mind.

  In fact, to coin a phrase, stuff them. She knew what was happening to her and felt almost entirely grateful: the fierce, glory-filled, juvenile disregard for most of those customary restraints among which she usually lived had taken over again. Not bad in someone going on strong for thirty-seven, and before ten o’clock on a chilly morning. So as not to appear ludicrously eager or hungry she took her clothes off at a decently methodical pace, like someone in a general changing room, but it was difficult, and it was a disguise, because she did feel eager and hungry. The conversation with Margot seemed even more unbelievable now. Where were the doubts she had felt about him, and the resentments? Hadn’t they been miserably trivial, a reflection on herself, not Ian? She was on one leg, rolling her tights and knickers down, and staggered slightly: could that be the unbalancing impact of penitence – for misjudging Ian, not because she was about to take him into the marriage bed? The thought made her giggle.