by Phil Redmond
Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Title Page
Part One: The Night Before the Funeral
Part Two: The Day of the Funeral
Read an Extract from Highbridge
Copyright
About the Book
A free digital short story from Highbridge author Phil Redmond, the creator of Brookside, Hollyoaks and Grange Hill.
If launching a new soap, this would be the opening episode.
Joey and Sean Nolan are planning their sister Janey’s funeral.
Amongst the family politics and cast of characters is their sister’s husband, Luke, now serving in the special forces.
Once the funeral is over the brothers’ search will begin. For revenge. For justice. For whoever killed Janey.
Doing right is not always doing right by the law.
Highbridge is out in January 2016.
About the Author
Phil Redmond is best known for creating three of Britain’s longest-running drama series, Grange Hill, Brookside and Hollyoaks. Redmond came up with the concept for Grange Hill in 1978 and has written extensively for TV, radio and stage, running independent company Mersey Television for 20 years until 2005. A fellow of the Royal Society of Arts and made a CBE in 2004, Redmond was appointed Deputy Chair and Creative Director of Liverpool’s time as European Capital of Culture in 2008. Since then he has worked pro bono in the public sector, being influential in getting David Cameron to launch the ill-fated Big Society in Liverpool.
Highbridge: The Beginning
Phil Redmond
Part One: The Night Before the Funeral
• 20.30 p.m. – RAF Valley, Anglesey
The problem with life, Joey Nolan thought, is that it just doesn’t know when to stop. It should have been easy. Picking up his best friend and brother-in-law. It seemed like a simple thing. The least he could do. To collect him and take him home. To the funeral. His wife. Joey’s sister. It should have been straightforward, if a bit grim. Now he was staring at a young buck with a 9mm Browning pistol pointed at his head. Why, Joey thought, does life always do this?
• 20.31 p.m. – Sean Nolan’s Kitchen, Highbridge
It was a thought going through his big brother Sean’s head. How come, even when you’re trying to arrange a funeral, people can be so self-centred?
‘Cousin Billy wonders if we could make an exception. And swing the cars past his house to pick him up on the way to the church. He’ll walk back, though,’ he said to Sandra, his wife, as he dropped his phone on the wraparound kitchen bench they had just had installed in the new and nearly finished kitchen. They had been looking forward to the first family lunch in its dining area when the news came of his sister Janey’s death.
‘That’s big of him,’ Sandra replied. ‘Considering he is not even being invited.’
She put yet another cup of tea in front of him and glanced at the spreadsheet he had printed of the funeral guests, then kissed him on the head as she picked up the phone and found recent calls.
‘What you doing?’ Sean asked.
‘Telling that paedophile. No exceptions. He is not welcome anywhere near the family.’
• 20.45 p.m. – Joey Nolan’s Kitchen, Highbridge
Natasha, Joey’s wife, just had time to finish sending a text to him, HOW U DOING? LXXN, before turning to keep two more of life’s plates spinning. Family harmony and the dog’s ablutions.
‘Alex, take Roscoe out.’ First plate.
This didn’t go down well with either oldest son eleven-year-old Alex or Roscoe, who knew he would just get a quick walk up and down the road. In terms of parental and school chores Alex had already decided on his life strategy. Bare minimum. Do more, they’ll want more. Just enough to get through.
As the front door slammed, Natasha turned to the second plate. Her fourteen-year-old daughter and oldest child. ‘And you, young lady are to stop winding him and Ross up. Especially now. Your dad’s got enough on his particular plate.’
‘He’s not here, is he? And Ross is only eight. He hasn’t turned yet. It’s just the beast that––’ But the look that came back was enough for her to know. Enough. She gave a small shrug and continued making the three mugs of chocolate she had set out. ‘Just trying to be supportive.’
Natasha smiled. ‘Good response. And I appreciate it.’ She went over and put her arm round her daughter. ‘But there are ways of doing it that don’t mean an instant fight.’
‘Huh. Tell him.’
‘I will.’
Tanya picked up the mugs and gestured towards the ceiling. ‘Carol and Becky asked if they could come tomorrow. That be OK? They really got on with Aunty Jane.’
‘Of course. But what about school?’
Tanya now gave her mother a look that was enough. No contest. Natasha smiled an acknowledgement and held the door as Tanya went out with the drinks for her friends. ‘And tell them, even with no school in the morning, it’s time to start thinking about going home.
Another exchange of looks. But both grinning. Tanya went out as Natasha went back to her phone. Nothing back. What’s happened to him?
• 21.00 p.m. – Container, RAF Valley, Anglesey
The real problem for Joey was not knowing in whose territory he had stopped. Or whose toes he might be treading on. At night. Joey knew all this. Growing up on the streets of Highbridge. If the best education you got was from the university of life, Highbridge was where they handed out the certificates. A typically northern town, Joey had once read, where lots of people lived but no one really knew why. Where the weight of history seemed to crush any thoughts of a different future than the present, shaped by the twin tides of industry leaving and immigrants arriving. Industry being exported overseas while the immigrants were refugees from the same job losses and high housing prices in the surrounding cities. Highbridge was almost a last resort. For some. For Joey it was home. Family. And friends.
That’s how this particular journey had started. With the killing of his sister. And while initially setting out to pick up his best friend and brother-in-law, he now found himself sitting at a steel table, in a steel windowless container, staring at the buck standing on the opposite side of the room, under the CCTV camera, next to the door, with one hand permanently on the Browning strapped to his thigh. Although the buck was half his age, the scruffy jeans, waterproof bomber jacket and shaved head could belong to any of the bucks Joey had locked horns with during his own rites of passage. Only the Welsh Police Heddlu decal above his breast pocket indicated that Joey had definitely wandered into something he shouldn’t have.
The door suddenly opened. The young buck immediately stiffened, indicating the arrival of a senior officer. Despite the same jeans and bomber jacket look, the new arrival was slightly older, but still much younger than Joey. The decal on his jacket simply said Boss. He nodded to the other and flicked his head for him to leave. Then smiled as he offered Joey’s phone and wallet back to him.
‘What size fuse should I use for a MIG welder?’
Joey immediately knew this was a test. ‘Depends on the duty cycle amperage. Get away with 13 amp up to 120-ish. But over that you need to ramp up,’ he replied. Then paused as he took back his proof of identity, before adding, ‘But it’s the RCD rating you really need to think about.’ He then cocked his head to one side. Challenging. Did I pass the test?
The Boss shrugged. ‘Just thinking of getting one for my garage. But, seems like you are who you say you are. But a bit late qualifying, weren’t you?’
Joey grinned. Same old game. Poke and provoke. So he joined in. ‘Too busy fighting you lot.’
‘So I saw. Until tamed by the love of a good woman?�
� the Boss fired back, laced with sarcasm.
Joey didn’t rise to the bait. He knew one life had ended and another begun when he settled down with Natasha. But he was intrigued by the level of detail. He nodded at the decal. ‘Your turn, then? That fashion or rank?’
‘Clarity.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Need to know, and all that,’ the Boss replied.
‘And what do I need to know? Nothing, I suppose?’ Joey responded.
‘Correct.’ Another smile but nothing more as he turned back to the door and opened it, gesturing for Joey to exit.
‘But they might give you a cup of tea at the Gatehouse. If you ask nicely,’ the Boss responded, then saw the anger still burning in Joey’s eyes. ‘I think I’d better call ahead. For your sake.’
• 21.15 p.m. – Sean Nolan’s Kitchen, Highbridge
‘Paedophile is a bit strong.’
‘Then how else would you describe someone who shoves a young girl’s hand inside his trousers, Sean? Over-friendly?’
‘He said it was a doctors and nurses thing.’
‘Oh, and what was he playing? A consultant paediatrician? He was nearly thirty, Sean. And Janey was only fourteen.’
As usual, as well as being the supportive rock, Sandra had cut to the chase. The whole family had danced around the issue for years, ever since Janey had told Sean what their cousin Billy had done to her in his shed. Although only eighteen himself at the time, Joey had wanted to face up to his older cousin himself but Janey had insisted they shouldn’t. They couldn’t tell anyone. At fourteen she was already aware of the minefield that was human sexuality. Cousin Billy had sowed the seeds of doubt by telling her mother, his auntie, how Janey needed to be careful around men. She seemed overtly sexual, he had said. Always wanting to play doctors and nurses. Flirting with him. Her mother assumed it was because Janey was becoming aware of her own body, as she put it when she thought she was merely offering words of advice. It had done the trick. For cousin Billy. Janey came away from the chat terrified that she would be accused of trying to seduce her cousin. So she asked Sean not to say anything. Especially to Joey.
And neither of them ever did. Sean made Cousin Billy aware that he knew something. But never said what. Janey made sure she was never alone with him. For years. Until Joey caught his cousin paying too much attention at her 18th birthday. The kiss and hug seemed to go on too long. For Janey. Then her awkward body language afterwards. Joey was now twenty-two. Four more years on the streets of Highbridge. Older. More attuned. He could see the fear. So he badgered her. Until she eventually confided in him but swore him to secrecy. Made him promise not to tell anyone. Not Sean. Not their parents. Especially their mother, as she doted on cousin Billy for reasons no one really understood, while their father would only refer to a difficult upbringing.
For Joey there was nothing anyone could say that would absolve his cousin. But he had agreed. Reluctantly. He wouldn’t tell anyone. Which he didn’t. But Janey had not thought to ask him not to do anything. So he didn’t tell anyone about the visit he made to cousin Billy. Or why Billy walked with a stick after that. And why he never came to family get-togethers. Joey kept his promise. He never said anything. No one said anything. Not even Billy. But everyone seemed relieved. And it was all before Joey settled down, with Natasha.
‘How did he take it?’ Sean couldn’t help asking, as Sandra put the phone down.
‘He said he understood. Especially when I mentioned Joey probably wouldn’t like it.’
‘OK,’ Sean said. ‘Moving on. That’s the paedo sorted. What about the bigot?’
• 21.30 p.m. – Gatehouse, RAF Valley
Joey was sitting in Natasha’s Volvo V70, having been given a cup of tea. To go. His head was now banging. His mind bouncing between rage, guilt and impotence. As it had been since he first heard of Janey’s death. Rage at the injustice. Guilt about not being there to defend her. And impotence about not being able to do anything. About any of it.
‘It’s just grief, Joe.’ Natasha’s soothing words flowed into his ear. Through the phone now held between his ear and the car window.
‘I know Tan. I know. But …’ And he was back to that moment. When the only thing he could kick against was his own tears.
She picked up the choke. ‘You OK? I should have come with you. It’s a long way to be going and dwelling on it all.’
‘I’m OK,’ he said. But the sniff gave it away.
She waited. She’d been there a few times over the past week or so. She could imagine him as he was. Eyes clamped. Mouth locked. Trying not to let a tear escape. If he let one go, the others would follow. And then he would try to talk his way through it. Like now.
‘It’s just … It’s just …’ he risked unlocking his eyes. Nothing flowed. Safe to continue. ‘I’m OK when I’m alone. Or with you. It’s just … Other people … Sorry for your loss. Where the hell did that come from? Sorry for your loss. It’s like I’ve lost my bloody bike or something.’
‘Who said that?’ Natasha asked, sensing he was getting angry, but knowing her husband, that was probably a good step towards recovering his composure. Many a time she’d said ‘He’s never happy until he’s angry about something.’
‘Oh … Sorry …’ he muttered, realising she probably didn’t need to know about the men with guns at the moment. ‘Just one of the locals when I told him what I’m doing here.’
‘It’s just something to say, Joe. Probably got it off the telly. It’s just people, Joe.’ Natasha prattled bit, forcing the normality. ‘But he was probably trying to be nice.’
Joey glanced across at the Gatehouse where one of the uniformed guards was still keeping an eye on him. He didn’t look nice, Joey was about to say, when the passenger door suddenly opened, causing him to jump with fright as his friend and brother-in-law dropped in, still tucking his ID into the breast pocket of his desert camouflage jacket. No luggage.
‘Let’s go.’
‘That Luke?’ Natasha asked.
‘Er. Yeah.’
‘Send him my love. Love you. Drive carefully.’
‘Yeah, to everything. Especially about loving you. I’ll text when close. Bye.’ He ended the call and turned to Luke. ‘Didn’t hear a plane land.’
‘That’s the point,’ Luke responded. Not in the mood for talk. But then, seeing Joey’s reaction, he realised it might have been too harsh. So softened up by adding, ‘It’s why they call us special.’
The two old friends then went into a hand-grip and half-hug, held for a second or two longer than they would normally. Glad to feel each other’s presence. As they broke, Joey took in the tired and travel-worn face of his best friend, still covered in grime. And then noticed the reddish brown stains on his jacket and trousers.
‘That er… blood?
‘Used to be.’ Luke responded without looking.
Joey waited, but nothing else came. He assumed that to Luke it was just a stain. Something that happens at work. And that he didn’t want to talk about it.
‘No time for a wash and shower, then?’
But if he was going to talk, there was only one thing on Luke’s mind. ‘What happened, Joe?’
This was something else Joey knew. That sooner or later Luke would want to get into the detail. He took a deep breath before responding. ‘Not much more to tell you that I didn’t on the phone.’
‘I was a bit busy at the time.’ The fatigued irritation returning. ‘Tell me again.’ It wasn’t a request. More an order. For a report.
‘We just got the call from the cops. Well, it was Hilary Jardine, actually. Remember her? Head girl when we were at the Comp together and now she’s Police Superintendent––’
‘Christ, Joe,’ Luke interrupted. Sharp. Intolerant. ‘Stop prattling. Tell me about Janey.’
‘Hey,’ Joey shot back. ‘Don’t. She’s … was… my sister, remember.’
Luke held up a hand of apology but the two men lapsed into silence as Joey turned on to t
he A55, also known as North Wales Expressway, and headed home.
• 22.00 p.m. – Britannia Bridge, Menai Strait
The silence lasted until the Britannia Bridge across the Menai Strait, just as Joey glanced across to see the old, original Menai Bridge dimly lit in the distance. He looked at Luke, who was also staring across at it, and wondered if he was thinking about the old bridge that gave their home town its name.
‘Longest suspension bridge in the world, when it was built,’ Joey commented.
‘Aye,’ Luke added: ‘1826. Thomas Telford. And I wonder what tales it could tell of people travelling to and fro across it.’
‘Same as the one into Highbridge, probably,’ Joey replied, taking their thoughts back home. ‘She was found in the street,’ he continued. ‘Hit and run they reckoned at first. But then her car was missing.’
‘What? She was killed for her car?’
‘They don’t know. Hilary…’ Joey hesitated and glanced across. Luke rotated his hand. Carry on. The flashpoint was past.
‘Hilary,’ Joey continued, ‘told me they still haven’t found the car. They don’t have anything to go on.’
‘And how often have I heard that in my time. Nothing to go on?’ Luke slowly shook his head at some personal thought or image he didn’t share with Joey. But then said, ‘What they mean is they haven’t got anything to protect their backs. Kicking in a few doors might turn up something to go on.’
‘Er… It might where you’ve just come from, but––’
Luke cut Joey off with another hand wave. ‘I know that, Joe. I know it all, OK?’ He was trying hard to control his anger.
Joey nodded. ‘I’ve been through it, mate. I’ve walked up, down and across the town trying to figure it out. Trying to find someone to…’ He tailed off.