The Goldsworth Series Box Set

by Davie J Toothill

  Bolton groaned and opened his pocket, pulling out the small packet of white powder.

  “Fine, you got me,” he said, waving the packet at her. “I took some off him so he wouldn’t finish the whole lot. He was wired enough as it is; you saw the state of him when he left. I couldn’t let him have anymore, not tonight.”

  “That’s touching,” Charley laughed, feeling her temper rising, “Even if it is bullshit.”

  Bolton looked as if he was losing his patience and the calm facade began to slip from his face. Charley glared down at him, challenging him with her eyes.

  “I’m going to go to bed,” Bolton said, rising to his feet. “You’re just being hormonal. My mum told me you might get like this, what with the baby and the stress of the party.”

  Charley took in a sharp intake of breath.

  “Stress of the party?” she said, nearly shouting. “Hah, you really don’t give me enough credit. I ain’t stressed from the bloody party, I’m stressed because I just found your little armoury in the wardrobe.”

  Bolton froze with his back to her, halfway to the bedroom door. Charley knew she had hit a nerve and Bolton spun around to face her. His face was getting flushed and his temper was rising.

  “You went through my boxes?” he said, voice raised. He threw his hands up, and Charley felt some satisfaction. “You didn’t have any right to do that.”

  “Did I hell. You bring guns into my flat, and you’re trying to get all high and mighty with me?”

  Charley watched as Bolton took a few steps forward, his fists clenching and unclenching in agitation.

  “It’s private property,” he said, lowering his voice. “They aren’t even mine.”

  “Let me guess, it’s for work?”

  “We can’t be talking about this, it ain’t your business.”

  “Yes it is, when you bring stuff like that into my home.”

  “Our home,” Bolton interrupted, face flushed with anger now. “And in case you’d forgotten, I’m the one who’s paying for this place. I’m the one who paid the deposit and who bought you all this furniture.”

  “By dealing in guns,” Charley said, throwing her arms up. “You can hardly call it a respectable job.”

  “What else am I supposed to do? I don’t see you bringing any money in.”

  “I’m six months pregnant,” Charley snapped. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t expect you to do anything, just let me get on with what I do,” Bolton said, trying to control his temper. “You can’t complain about having no money, then complain when I start earning some.”

  “I didn’t think you were doing anything this bad.”

  “What the hell did you think I was doing?” Bolton shouted. “Handing out fucking flyers down Oxford Street?”

  “I don’t know,” Charley said, feeling tears building behind her eyes. “I just thought you were better than this.”

  “You wanted out of your mum’s flat and I did it for you,” Bolton said.

  “With dirty money.”

  “It’s still money isn’t it?” Bolton said, kicking a can against the wall, sending cider spraying across the carpet. “The estate agent wasn’t too worried when I showed her how much I was making. Practically wet herself thinking of all her commission.”

  “So what exactly do you do then? Apart from selling guns, of course. Drugs? Robbery?”

  Her voice was loud now, and she knew that the neighbours would soon be banging on the door with a noise complaint, but she didn’t care. She was too angry to be considerate.

  Bolton was quiet, working on controlling his temper.

  “Come on,” Charley shouted, picking up an empty glass and throwing it against the wall. It shattered and shards flew in all directions.

  Bolton looked at her for a beat, breathing hard from the exertion of keeping control.

  “It’s not your business, just keep your nose out,” he said. “That’s the way it works.”

  “Not for me it doesn’t. I want to know.”

  “I ain’t doing this with you,” Bolton said, shaking his head, “No way.”

  He crossed the room and headed for the front door. Charley watched him, feeling her heart beating hard in her chest.

  “That’s it, run off to your pathetic mate and have some lines,” she called after him, flecks of spit flying from her mouth. “See how much better it’ll make you feel.”

  Bolton threw the door open and paused, glancing back at her.

  “Let me know when you’ve cooled down a bit,” he said, still fighting not to lose his temper in front of her. He stepped out into the corridor.

  “You’ll have a fucking long wait,” Charley screamed, as the door slammed shut behind him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Charley woke up with the start of a migraine and looked down at the tangle of bed sheets at the foot of the bed and the empty half of the mattress where Bolton should have slept. She sat up, pulling the covers over her body, and listened.

  The flat was quiet and she guessed that Bolton had stayed the night at Dante’s house, probably badmouthing her to his mates and replaying the argument, making her out to be a bitch. She sighed, showered and dressed.

  Without Bolton, the flat seemed empty and she felt uncomfortable. She made coffee and sat in the kitchen, but her mind focused on the wardrobe in the bedroom, in which the boxes of guns remained untouched.

  She had every right to be angry with Bolton for bringing them into their home without so much as consulting her. She remembered that Dante had helped him move them in. She should have known that he would be involved as well. He was always there in the background whenever Bolton did something that she wouldn’t have approved of. He was like the devil on Bolton’s shoulder, his input far outweighing whatever the angel was saying.

  Her phone rang and she grabbed it off the counter and looked at the number. It was Leigh-Ann, and Charley let it ring until she hung up.

  She wasn’t in the mood for small talk or Leigh-Ann’s advice. She loved her, but she knew that she would end up telling Leigh-Ann about the argument and it would only serve to further taint Leigh-Ann’s opinion of Bolton.

  After finishing her coffee, Charley picked up her phone and debated whether or not to ring Bolton. She wanted to speak to him and make sure he was safe. She also wanted to make it up with him, but she didn’t want to seem too eager. That might give him the impression that she regretted what she had said last night, and she was adamant that she had been in the right.

  She put her phone back onto the kitchen counter and turned on the radio. Christmas songs blared out of the speakers and she was reminded how close it was to Christmas Day. She hoped that she and Bolton had made it up by then, or she would have to call her mother and let her know that she was coming home after all.

  No, it wouldn’t come to that, she told herself. She and Bolton had argued in the past and were always back on good terms within a few days. She figured that he would be back with an apology and a promise to get rid of the guns by the end of the day.

  * * *

  Bolton was stirred from sleep by a doorbell ringing. He opened his eyes and felt a pounding at the base of his skull. His throat felt dry and he knew that he’d had too much to drink last night, not to mention the lines of coke and his argument with Charley.

  He groaned and looked around the room. He was in a double bed and his clothes lay in a pile on the floor. He checked to make sure the bedroom door was closed before getting out of bed and pulling on his underwear. He found his phone in his pocket and checked.

  There were no messages from Charley. He took this as a bad sign. She normally text or rang him after they had an argument, but not this time. Perhaps she had meant what she had said about being angry for a long time. He would give her time to calm down before he went home, he decided.

  He pulled the rest of his clothes on and padded out of the room and down the stairs. The house seemed tidy and small, but he didn’t recognise it. This was bad. He
usually woke up on Dante’s couch with little memory of the night before but with the knowledge that he was somewhere safe.

  Pausing on the last step, he heard voices coming from down the hallway and heard Dante’s familiar laugh.

  Relieved, Bolton followed the sound of voices and pushed through the door into a cluttered kitchen. Dante sat at the table with a plate of toast, a cigarette burning away in the ashtray. Sapphire, his cousin, was standing at the stove, a smile on her face and a pan in her hand.

  “I was just going to send Dante to wake you up,” Sapphire said, seeing Bolton before Dante did. “You want any breakfast?”

  Bolton nodded and sat down at the table, rubbing his temples.

  “You were well drunk last night,” Dante said, observing him. “I’ve never seen someone down that much whisky in one go before. It was something, all right.”

  Bolton fought to find the memory but he couldn’t.

  “I don’t remember,” he said, pouring himself a coffee and taking a long drink.

  “I ain’t surprised,” Dante said, offering him toast. “You’d already had a load of drinks at your party. Then you rang me mouthing off about Charley. I drove back and picked you up, and we came here for a few drinks.”

  “A few drinks too many,” Bolton said, shaking his head.

  “At least you had a good night,” Dante said, exchanging glances with Sapphire.

  Bolton looked at him questioningly and Dante’s smile faded.

  “You don’t remember?” he said, glancing at Sapphire again.

  “Remember what?” Bolton asked, panic rising in his chest.

  “I kept telling you it weren’t a good idea,” Dante said, stammering now. “I told you but you weren’t having any of it. You just kept saying how you could do what you wanted, and that Charley weren’t the boss of you.”

  Bolton felt his temper rising and leaned forwards.

  “Just tell me what the fuck I did,” he said.

  Dante frowned.

  “You slept with Sapphire,” he said. “But don’t worry, I gave you some protection, you know. Make sure you don’t end up with another one on the way.”

  Bolton’s heart skipped a few beats as the news sank in. His headache seemed to grow in intensity and guilt settled in the pit of his stomach. He had cheated on Charley.

  “You don’t look so good,” Dante said, eyeing him with concern. “Looks like you going to heave or something.”

  “The bathroom’s on your left before the stairs,” Sapphire added.

  Bolton rose unsteadily to his feet. He half-jogged to the bathroom and leant over the toilet just as he threw up. His throat burned and his eyes watered, but he figured that he deserved it. He had never cheated on Charley before, and he could never take this back.

  The thought made him feel worse, but his stomach had stopped churning and he flushed the toilet. He ran some cold water and splashed it over his face.

  He wanted to go home and make amends with Charley, but he wasn’t sure he could look her in the eye anymore.

  “You all right in there?” Dante called through the door, rapping on the wood.

  Bolton turned off the tap and opened the door. Dante had his hands shoved into his pockets and looked weary of him.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked. “About Charley? You going to chuck her or what?”

  “I guess I’ve got to tell her what happened.”

  Dante shook his head.

  “I don’t think that’s such a great idea. I know people say that honesty’s the best policy, but that’s bullshit. You tell her the truth, and she’ll rip off your bollocks.”

  * * *

  Toni bit down her true thoughts as Torey paraded around the kitchen in a short skirt and low cut top, test-driving her new ankle boots.

  “Everyone’s going to be so jealous,” Torey was saying, doing a spin on the tiles. “I can’t believe I could actually afford them, but obviously I’m not going to tell anyone I bought them in the sale.”

  “You’re going out tonight then?” Toni asked, looking up from peeling the potatoes.

  Torey looked at her, lip curled up, and rolled her eyes.

  “Mum, I’ve told you like a million times, I’m going to my friend’s party. Don’t you listen to anything I say?”

  “It’s just hard to keep up with you all,” Toni said, returning her focus to the potatoes. “I have my own life to lead; I can’t manage all your social diaries as well as my own.”

  It was true, she realised. Torey was always out at parties, Charley had a life of her own now, and Asher seemed to be out more often than usual. He still hadn’t come home from his staff party and she wondered if he had met a new girlfriend last night.

  Torey snorted from the doorway.

  “Don’t make me laugh,” she said, amused. “You don’t have a social life.”

  Toni heard her clattering down the corridor just as the phone began to ring.

  “Answer that,” Toni called.

  Torey groaned but she answered and Toni heard muffled voices.

  “It’s for you,” Torey said after a few moments. “Maybe somebody is inviting you to a party. Then you might stop trying to get so involved in my life.”

  Toni wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and went into the hallway, watching as Torey’s heels disappeared into her bedroom and the door closed firmly behind her.

  “Toni Brunns here,” she said, picking up the phone.

  “Toni, don’t hang up.”

  Toni felt her stomach drop. It was Nathaniel again.

  “What do you want?” she said, irritated. “I’ve told you, I don’t want to hear from you. Can’t you just leave me in peace?”

  “I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice desperate.

  “Your needs aren’t my problem,” Toni said, her fingers itching to drop the phone back into its cradle. “Now leave me be.”

  “I’m back in London,” he said, and Toni froze.

  He was close. Too close. The thought frightened her.

  “I have to go,” she said, trying to stop her voice from shaking. “I can’t stay here chatting, I have things to be getting on with.”

  “I want to meet you,” Nathaniel continued. “We have to talk about things.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “I know your address, Toni. I haven’t been round, but don’t think I won’t. A man can only be pushed so far. You should know that.”

  Toni felt her hands begin to shake. He was threatening to turn up on her doorstep. She had been afraid of this. He was going to ruin her life and knowing him, he would enjoy it.

  “I can meet you tomorrow,” Nathaniel continued, pressing his advantage. “Let’s say ten o’clock at the cafe on the edge of your estate.”

  Toni struggled to find her voice and murmured her assent.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Nathaniel said, sounding relieved. There was a pause, and Toni held her breath. “And if you don’t show up, I’ll come looking for you.”

  He said goodbye and hung up, but Toni didn’t move. The door beside her opened and Torey came out, looking haughty, and went into the bathroom.

  Toni put the phone down and retreated to the kitchen. She glanced at the pile of potatoes still to be peeled. She had lost the desire to finish them now.

  The time for action had come and Toni wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

  * * *

  Asher woke up and was relieved to find Carl asleep beside him. He had been worried that when he opened his eyes he would find that it had all been a dream, but now he knew that it had been real and he had really spent the night in Carl’s arms.

  He rolled over and the springs creaked under him. Carl stirred and Asher smiled at him. Carl rubbed his eyes and groaned as he rolled out of bed.

  “Morning,” Asher said, reaching for his jeans on the floor by the bed.

  Carl looked at him, pulling his own clothes on.

  “Morning,” he said. His voice sounded f
raught and there was no smile on his face.

  Asher pulled his clothes on and followed him into the kitchen. He knew they should talk. Last night had happened so quickly. One minute he had believed Carl was going to hit him and then they were kissing. They had driven back to Carl’s flat in silence and then began kissing and undressing each other as soon as the front door had closed behind them.

  Now, the silence between them seemed awkward and Asher wanted to put it right.

  “What do you think about last night?” he asked.

  Carl began making coffee and looked frustrated.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. The phone rang but he didn’t answer it.

  “Why didn’t you answer it?” Asher asked.

  “It might’ve been Clare.”

  “She won’t know I’ve been here.”

  Carl continued to look conflicted.

  “You shouldn’t have been here,” he said. “I’m a married man.”

  Asher felt uncomfortable, but he shook his head, knowing with a sense of dread where this was going. Carl regretted their night together.

  “I’m a straight man,” Carl said, with force, as if trying to convince himself as well as Asher. “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”

  “You didn’t seem so straight last night,” Asher said, keeping his voice low. “Not when you kissed me, and not when we had sex in your wife’s bed, either.”

  Carl looked at him, eyes wide with alarm, and ran a hand through his hair. Asher knew that he could make this easier for him, but he didn’t. He couldn’t believe that after last night, Carl was still going to reject him.

  “It was an accident,” Carl said. “I guess I’d had too much to drink and –”

  “No, you don’t get to play that card, not this time,” Asher interrupted him, feeling his frustration rising. “You hadn’t had that much to drink and you were the one who kissed me. I was all ready to forget about you, but you stopped me from leaving. You kissed me. You invited me back here. You wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

  “I wasn’t saying it was your fault,” Carl said, shaking his head, pouring a mug of coffee. Asher realised that he wasn’t being offered one, that he was outstaying his welcome now. “It just shouldn’t have happened. I was just missing Clare. I needed a release and I guess you were just there. It won’t happen again.”