Payback

by McNab, Andy,Rigby, Robert

  The line went dead.

  ‘And thank you so much for all your help and support, I don’t know what we’d do without you,’ growled Elena as she pressed the disconnect button.

  29

  Even at weekends there was a virtually constant stream of traffic passing Foxcroft throughout most of the day. But there were fewer buses, and realizing there would also be fewer trains running, Elena went online and worked out a schedule for her journey.

  She also needed to come up with a plausible cover story for Jane and Dave Brooker because she had made a decision of her own. If Danny and Fergus thought she was going to raid her bank account, travel all the way to Wales, hand over the cash and then wave goodbye, they could think again. She was going to help. She was going to stay, for at least one night. And anyway, if Fergus had a serious leg injury, they would need her help, not just her cash.

  It wasn’t unheard of for Elena to spend a night or two with one of her friends, and as far as the owners of Foxcroft were concerned she had always been completely truthful. She was their model resident: straight-As student at school; polite; responsible; considerate; mature. She had coped with the disappearance of her best friend Danny six months earlier and had philosophically accepted that her failure of a father had let her down yet again and been packed off back to Nigeria.

  And besides, Elena was at an age when she had to be allowed some freedom. It was part of growing up, and Jane and Dave had to judge when they could allow the kids in their care to start preparing for their life after Foxcroft. With some kids that could be a big problem, but not with Elena. She was straight, honest and trustworthy.

  So when Elena told Jane a pack of lies, Jane believed every word.

  ‘I’m staying with Alice tonight, maybe tomorrow as well. We’re working on a project together and it’s easier at her place than here. Her mum says it’s OK.’

  Jane smiled. She’d met Elena’s school friend Alice and liked her. ‘That’s fine, love. Should I call Alice’s mum, just to have a word?’

  Elena arched her eyebrows as if to say, Jane, please! Don’t embarrass me. Don’t treat me like I’m a child.

  It was a risk. If Jane made the call and discovered that no such arrangement had been made, then Elena’s credibility would be blown for good. But Jane trusted Elena. Completely.

  ‘You have a lovely time. And call me this evening.’

  ‘I will. Thanks, Jane.’

  Elena felt bad as she went back to her room, but lying had been her only option. She threw some clothes into a bag, and then slipped in her laptop as well, knowing she had to be contactable on the Internet. She made sure she had her building society debit card, and then hurried downstairs and went out to catch her bus.

  As soon as she stepped out of the front door, she was followed.

  Elena had no reason to believe anyone would be tailing her. If the woman – whose name she still didn’t know – wanted to make contact it would be done by e-mail. That was the arrangement, and Elena had checked her messages before leaving. There had been nothing. So she walked towards the bus stop thinking about Danny and meeting up with him in a few hours’ time.

  As she reached the bus stop she felt the hand on her shoulder. She froze, and the memory of her terrifying encounter in the alley behind Foxcroft came back to her. At least here in public nothing like that could happen: although there was no one at the bus stop, there were people around and cars passing, and for a moment Elena thought of calling out or running back to Foxcroft. But that would only lead to unwanted questions, and at the very least a delay in getting to Danny.

  Slowly Elena turned round and her eyes widened in shock.

  ‘Hello, babe.’

  It was cold in the forestry plantation. The wind had grown stronger and was whipping through the fir trees. Danny was wearing Kev’s Barbour and Fergus had the green fleece around his shoulders.

  ‘We ought to talk about it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know what I mean, Danny.’

  Danny felt the fear return. ‘Kev?’

  Fergus nodded. ‘I know you’re thinking about him; so am I. And I saw what happened.’

  ‘I don’t want to know the details.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to give you the details. But we do need to—’

  ‘Deal with it?’ snapped Danny. ‘That’s your answer to everything. Something terrible happens, someone gets killed, and you just say deal with it! Well I can’t, not this time!’

  Danny had tears in his eyes. He was hurting, and angry, and afraid. And as much as he mourned the death of Big Kev, one look at his grandfather lying slumped against the tree, his face grey, his leg covered with congealed blood, told Danny that it could just as easily have been Fergus who had died.

  And Danny couldn’t bear the thought of that. The events of the last few hours had shown him just how much his grandfather meant to him now. But that wasn’t easy to explain, not to a man like Fergus Watts; a man who seemed to have spent his entire life keeping his emotions in check.

  Danny stood up. ‘I’d better get going; it’ll take a while to get to Abergavenny.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Fergus, pushing himself up a little further. ‘We’ve never really talked about this sort of stuff – and you’re right, I’m not great at it. But Kev was a good mate; you’ll be lucky if you find two or three as good in your whole life. He was the last of mine, and I’ll miss him. And I’ve got to live with the fact that if we hadn’t turned up, he’d probably be starting another game of golf right now.’

  ‘But how do you? How can you live with it?’

  Fergus paused before answering. ‘I’ll think about the laughs we had. The good times. And I’ll remember that he died to save us. Paid me back for saving him all those years ago.’

  Danny couldn’t hold back what he wanted to say. ‘And what if it had been you? I’m sorry about Kev, really sorry, but . . . but I don’t want you to die. It took me seventeen years to find you and . . . and . . .’

  ‘I know, Danny,’ said Fergus gently. ‘And I’m not planning on dying just yet. I don’t want to lose you either . . .

  ‘You’d better get going,’ he added after a long pause. ‘And be careful.’

  ‘I will.’

  As Danny turned to go, his grandfather wiped away a single tear that was rolling down his cheek. He felt embarrassed, stupid, and he was glad that Danny hadn’t seen it. Fergus Watts didn’t do this sort of thing. He had no idea who the tear was for. For Big Kev? For the grandson he had come to love? Or for himself?

  He heard Danny moving through the branches and smiled. ‘You won’t get rid of me yet,’ he whispered.

  Elena was desperate to get rid of her dad. ‘No way! You are not coming with me!’

  ‘But I got nowhere else to go, darling, and no money.’

  Once Elena had recovered from the shock of seeing Joey standing there beaming at her, they had moved into the bus shelter, and they had been arguing for a full five minutes since then.

  ‘You should have gone back – I thought you had gone.’

  Joey sighed. ‘Yeah, well, there’s something I didn’t quite get round to telling you about, darling. I can’t go back to Nigeria – bit of a misunderstanding with the police.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Some money went missing, quite a lot of money. It was nothing to do with me, darling, honest. But once you get a reputation like mine—’

  ‘And a record like yours!’

  Joey breathed hard. He’d been living rough for the past couple of nights and it didn’t suit him. He was tired, hungry and broke, and he was certainly no Fergus Watts. Prison had been bad enough, but surviving out in the open, sleeping on benches – it was more than he could handle.

  ‘The truth is, babe, if I go back home they’ll lock me up and throw away the key. And prisons in Nigeria are a whole lot tougher than here. I won’t survive.’

  Elena looked at her watch. She was going to be late.

  ‘Where is it
you’re going anyway, darling?’ asked Joey.

  There wasn’t time to think up a convincing lie. ‘To see my friend, Danny. He needs my help.’

  ‘Him? Again? That boy’s always in trouble.’

  ‘Yeah. Like you.’

  ‘Let me come – I helped you before, I can do it again. Your dad’s always here for you, darling.’

  ‘No, Dad, no way. No, no, no!’

  30

  Considering everything that had happened to him in the past twenty-four hours, Danny didn’t look too bad, as long as no one studied him closely. He had washed his hands, arms, face and hair in an icy-cold Welsh mountain stream and had Kev’s Barbour done up over his own clothes to cover the dried bloodstains. The £60 in notes had also had a wash and was now drying in Danny’s underpants, next to his skin. Fergus had told him that was the way he used to dry his socks when out in the field.

  Danny was waiting across the road from the car park café, standing in the doorway of a closed down antiques shop. From there he had a good view of everyone leaving the station. He was feeling weary after a seven-mile tab to Brecon, where he had caught the bus for the forty-five-minute journey to Abergavenny.

  He took the mobile from a pocket in the Barbour and re-read the text he had received a few minutes earlier:

  b there in 10

  He was looking forward to seeing Elena, even though their meeting would have to be brief. At least they would have the time it took to go to the superstore he had spotted to buy some new clothes, food and drink, and the bandages, painkillers and antiseptic needed to treat the GSW. And at least they would be alone.

  Danny glanced down the road in the direction of the station. The train must have arrived, as a number of people were walking up towards the car park. Elena was easy to spot – there were not many black faces in that part of Wales. But Danny waited, wanting to be certain that she was not being followed. He watched her walk to the café and go inside and then looked carefully at the other pedestrians. It seemed fine: no one hovered by the door, or stopped and waited a few metres further up the road. But still Danny waited. After a few minutes Elena came out with two mugs of tea and sat down on one of the wooden benches outside the café. Danny had one more check in both directions and then crossed the road to meet her.

  He sat opposite her on the bench. ‘Journey OK?’

  ‘Yeah, no problem.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

  ‘Danny, I need to—’

  ‘I could really do with this.’ Danny wrapped both hands around the closest mug, lifted it to his lips and took a sip. He grimaced. ‘No sugar.’

  ‘That’s not yours.’

  ‘Oh, right. You given up sugar then?’ He reached for the other mug.

  ‘Danny, listen—’ Elena didn’t get any further. She looked to her left and then raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Oh, no.’

  Danny turned and saw the man approaching, a man he remembered only too well.

  ‘Hello, Danny. Nice to see you again, son.’

  ‘Dad, I told you to wait,’ said Elena, standing up. ‘I wanted to talk to Danny.’

  ‘I did wait, darling. But I’m desperate for that cup of tea. You two lovebirds take a little walk while I sit here.’

  Joey reached for the mug Danny had been holding a few seconds earlier and took a long swig. ‘Mmm, there’s nothing like a proper British cup of tea.’

  The way Danny glared at Elena made words unnecessary. He gestured for her to follow him and they walked off, leaving Joey to his tea.

  Danny was almost speechless with fury. Almost. ‘What the hell is he doing here? Does he know what’s happened? I can’t believe you brought him!’

  ‘I didn’t have a choice,’ snapped Elena. ‘And if you’ll listen for a minute instead of shouting, I’ll explain.’

  Danny tried to stay calm as she told him what had happened outside Foxcroft:’ . . . and he’s got no money, Danny, and he shouldn’t be in the country. He’s more of a danger running around on his own than if he’s with us. If that woman finds him, she’ll—’

  ‘Us? What d’you mean us? You’re not staying with us.’

  ‘I am, Danny. For tonight at least.’

  ‘Elena—’

  ‘Where’s your granddad?’

  ‘Miles away. I had to leave him.’

  ‘And how are you planning on getting back?’

  ‘I dunno. I could maybe get a taxi after we’ve bought all the stuff we need.’

  ‘We’ve got a car.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We hired it in London – it was quicker than getting the train, specially on a Sunday. It’s in the car park.’

  Danny had been trying to figure out how he was going to explain to a taxi driver that he wanted to be dropped in a lay-by with a whole load of shopping. ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘You need me, Danny. And my dad can be useful. We don’t have to tell him what’s going on.’

  Danny nodded. Nothing with Elena was ever simple.

  ‘Let’s go and buy what you need,’ she said. ‘Dad’s all right for a while – I’ve given him some cash.’

  They walked off in the direction of the superstore.

  ‘My granddad will go mental.’

  31

  ‘I seem to remember being in a situation like this once before, darling,’ said Joey, taking a drag on one of his favourite foul-smelling cigars and blowing the smoke out through the hire car’s window towards the brooding mass of Pen y Fan.

  Dark clouds were gathering over the mountain and the fir trees were swaying and rustling. The rising wind swept the first drops of rain and most of Joey’s cigar smoke back into the car. Joey ignored it. ‘Last time, we went to meet Danny’s dad; now it’s his grandfather. Any more members of the family lurking out there in the mountains?’

  ‘No,’ said Elena, staring into the trees and wondering why Danny was taking so long.

  ‘Mmmm. And how is the vicar, anyway?’

  Elena turned and stared at her dad. ‘Who?’

  ‘You told me Danny’s dad was a vicar, moving to a new parish or something. So who’s his granddad – the bishop?’

  Joey was feeling a whole lot better. Being needed was good for his battered ego, and his old swagger and confidence was returning by the minute. But however much his ego had suffered, his memory appeared to have survived intact. What he said was absolutely true. Elena had invented a spur-of-the-moment story about Danny’s dad being a vicar when she’d bribed Joey into driving her to Norfolk six months earlier, just before Fergus’s rescue. The man Joey had met was the journalist Eddie Moyes, who’d been dumbfounded when this stranger started calling him Reverend.

  ‘Actually, Dad, the man you met wasn’t Danny’s dad, and he wasn’t a vicar.’

  ‘No? You don’t say.’ Joey was starting to enjoy himself. ‘Listen, darling, you’re a wonderful daughter and I’m real proud of you, but you shouldn’t tell lies to your old dad. Haven’t I taught you to always be honest and truthful?’

  It was more than Elena could take. ‘Eddie’s dead! And he was a good bloke! And don’t you dare start talking to me about telling lies!’

  Joey took another puff at his cigar and threw the stub out of the window. ‘I’m sorry, babe,’ he said softly. ‘Look, don’t you think you ought to tell me exactly what’s going on?’

  ‘Probably. But I can’t. We have to wait and see what Fergus says.’

  ‘And this Fergus, he’s Danny’s real granddad?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, I reckon the boy should be ashamed of himself.’

  Elena stared at her dad. ‘Ashamed? Why?’

  ‘Bringing an old man into this wild countryside and allowing him to fall and injure his leg. It’s not right. He should be at home, watching the television, putting his feet up, taking it easy.’

  Elena smiled. ‘He’s not that sort of granddad.’

  ‘No? So what sort of granddad is he then?’

  ‘Well he’s . . . he’s fit an
d strong usually, and he’s . . . Oh, I don’t know, you’ll see for yourself when you meet him.’

  ‘When,’ said Joey with a sigh. ‘What’s keeping them?’

  What was keeping them was that Danny was having to re-dress his grandfather’s wounds, as well as trying to explain exactly why he’d turned up with reinforcements.

  Fergus took the news a lot better than Danny had expected, partly because the loss of blood made him too weak to put up much of a protest. But he could also see the logic of having someone, even someone as unreliable as Joey, driving them back to London. It would be a lot less complicated than struggling with buses and trains.

  Danny had managed to locate most of the items Fergus had told him to buy, and following his grandfather’s instructions he set about patching up the leg as well as he could.

  He cut off Fergus’s jeans by running a sharp pair of scissors up the outside of each leg and then peeling back the blood-soaked denim. Next he poured a whole bottle of mild antiseptic fluid all over the makeshift sweatshirt dressings still wrapped around the leg.

  ‘Use another bottle,’ said Fergus, flinching as the liquid soaked through the material and onto the wound itself. ‘It’ll moisten everything up, and stop any flesh scabbed onto the material from ripping when you pull it off.’

  Danny took a deep breath: that was the bit he wasn’t looking forward to, but he knew it had to be done. Gently and slowly, with Fergus catching his breath and grunting in pain, Danny pulled back the pieces of sweatshirt to expose the wounds.

  It looked bad: the round had passed through the thigh but had fortunately missed the bone, leaving entry and exit wounds on the front and side of the leg. The flesh was a dull red and small pus spots were forming around the edges of both wounds. Danny stared in fascination, moving his head closer to inspect the damage, like a surgeon preparing for an operation.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ hissed Fergus. ‘Get on with it, will you!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Danny, grabbing more of the antiseptic fluid and a roll of cotton wool. Tentatively he cleaned away the dried blood and grass and mud stuck to the skin. But it was hurting Fergus a lot, and Danny decided that talking might at least help take his grandfather’s mind off the pain.