by Sarah Flint
‘In there.’ Rocky pointed at the entrance to a set of underground garages at the start of the wall. ‘Do a U-turn, in case we need to make a quick getaway. I’ll only be a few minutes.’
Thomas followed the directions given, driving forward into the cramped space and turning the car round. A 4 x 4 stood facing away from them, stationary and unlit in the centre of the garages, its engine running. He blinked in the darkness, allowing his eyes to acclimatise to the gloom, instinct telling him to follow the lead of the other car’s occupants. Any spotlight on their activities would clearly be unwelcome.
Once stationary, he watched through the centre mirror, rapt, as Rocky climbed out and swaggered towards the other motor, whose front doors both opened simultaneously. Two men climbed out, one of average build, the other mountainous in comparison, obviously the minder. The smaller of the two slapped hands in the air with Rocky and they all moved to the boot, the minder opening the lid with a remote control. An interior light came on, casting a glow over its hidden contents, and all three men bent over, peering into the compartment, their backs to his inquisitive stare.
Within three minutes, it was all over. With a shake of their hands, they headed back to their vehicles. Business concluded, the 4 x 4 roared away, exiting the garages before Rocky had even returned, clutching a small grey bag to his chest.
‘What the hell was that all about?’ Thomas had to ask, even though he didn’t really want to know the answer.
‘Let’s get out of here first and I’ll show you,’ Rocky grinned in obvious delight.
Thomas drove for a short distance before being instructed to pull over in a secluded private car park, the boy clearly unable to contain his excitement any longer. Inside the grey bag, wrapped in a hand towel, was a small black handgun. Rocky unfolded it almost reverently, stroking his hand along the barrel.
‘It’s a Beretta M9A1 semi-automatic 9mm. I’ve been wanting a burner like this for some time now.’ He pressed the release mechanism and the magazine ejected into his hand. ‘Capable of firing up to fifteen rounds in one go.’ He pulled the trigger and held it out. ‘Go on, Tommy. Have a play with it.’
Thomas hesitated, before opening his hand. He didn’t like this sort of thing. Never had. Everything in his upbringing had taught him that guns were wrong and not to be messed with, but even though still unwilling to handle it, he had to admire the craftsmanship and sheer magnetism of the firearm. It was fashioned from a matt black metal, with a slender barrel, shiny and unmarked. It felt heavy and powerful even without the magazine being loaded. He turned it round in his hand and looked down the barrel, sliding the safety catch back and forth.
‘Wait ’til Jason sees it, he’ll fucking love it,’ Rocky shouted, pulling the empty gun back off him and aiming it towards Thomas’s temples. ‘Die you bastard, die,’ Rocky laughed, pulling the trigger and sending an imaginary bullet blasting through his skull. ‘I’ve got a spare clip for it too, and I can get another whenever I need. Look, Tommy, you just keep pressing the trigger. Bang, bang, bang. When the magazine’s empty you load another and you’ve got another fifteen rounds.’
Rocky continued to manoeuvre the gun around in his hands, entranced. It was if all his Christmases had come at once. Watching the boy, Thomas was immediately reminded of previous yuletides, when Emma was a child, eagerly tearing away the festive wrappings to reveal every gift, each precious toy. This wasn’t a plaything, though. It was serious. The gun made him nervous and he was glad Rocky hadn’t had it in his possession at the burglary the night before.
The memory had ignited an urge to return to Emma, but, as Thomas pulled away, he knew his first stop would have to be at Jason’s.
Rocky’s prediction was right. Jason did love it – but he didn’t want it anywhere near his flat.
‘Very nice, Rocky, but you’re not fucking keeping it here,’ he said, grinding a half-smoked cigarette into an ash tray. ‘I’m not going to take the rap for that, if the cops come knocking.’
Thomas saw Rocky bristle. Things looked as if they might kick off between the two men. He needed to provide a distraction. ‘Four hundred and fifty quid or thereabouts, and no hassle from anyone. How about that?’ He delved in his pocket and pulled out the bundle of notes, holding them out towards Jason.
‘That’s the sort of present I like.’ Jason gave a low whistle and took the notes, looking pointedly towards Rocky. ‘I can do something with this.’ He peeled a hundred pounds’ worth of notes from the bundle and passed them over to Thomas, along with two rocks of crack and a share of his joint.
Thomas took everything he was offered gratefully. It was good to know that, after yesterday’s harsh words, he was back in favour. Holding the joint to his lips he inhaled, savouring the sweet taste of success. His home life would soon be sorted. All he had to do was stay in Jason’s good books – and Rocky’s.
This fact was still running through his head, ten minutes later, as he strode from the flat with the Beretta M9A1 semi-automatic 9mm tucked into the waistband of his jeans; Rocky clearly having taken heed of Jason’s fears at being caught red-handed with the firearm.
So now he, Thomas Houghton had been entrusted with Rocky’s precious possession - just for safekeeping.
16
Bath time was just finishing when Emma joined her friend, Kelly, in the bedsit upstairs. Her father had just returned with a package that he’d immediately hidden in a drawer and, as usual, they’d argued, leaving them both angrily heading in different directions: he stomping off first to God only knew where, and she to Kelly’s – but not before she’d taken a peep at the package.
Now she didn’t know what to do.
Kelly’s little daughter, Yasmin, was screaming at full volume as she entered, in protest at the plug being removed. At the sight of her mummy’s friend, however, she immediately stopped crying, reaching up instead to be held.
Emma leant across and lifted the little girl out of the bath, burying her face in her wet hair. For a few moments, the scent of the young child took away her fear.
‘You smell gorgeous.’ She held the toddler high so that her head nuzzled against the little girl’s tummy. ‘In fact, you smell so scrumptious I could eat you.’
Yasmin giggled with delight and Emma was immediately transported to a time in her life when her mother had done the same to her – before the illness had taken hold.
‘Right, let’s get you ready for bed, while Mummy has a nice rest.’ She expertly ran through the bedtime rituals, tucking the little girl in and watching, mesmerised, at the way Yasmin’s eyes sank low with fatigue as she lost her fight with wakefulness and succumbed to sleep. Folding the duvet round the sleeping child in her cot, she bent down and kissed the little girl’s damp hair, hit suddenly by a powerful wave of loneliness.
Apart from Yasmin and Kelly, she was all alone. Today, on the anniversary of her mother’s death, she had taken the chrysanthemums and maintained a solitary vigil at her graveside. And, until Thomas’s short-lived arrival home, she had remained on her own, battling her grief and isolation in their dismal, frightening bedsit.
Now, though, her recent discovery had made things a hundred times worse. She was petrified of what she’d found and couldn’t imagine for one minute why her father should have it in his possession.
‘Do you want a beer?’ Kelly’s question brought her back to earth.
‘Yes please, just one.’ She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve and slumped down on the settee. ‘Kelly, can I ask you something?’
‘Sounds intriguing.’ Her friend produced two cans of lager from the fridge, offering her one and pulling the ring tab on the other. ‘What’s up then? You seem a bit serious.’
Emma pulled the tab on her own can and took a few mouthfuls, suddenly unsure whether she should be sharing her worries. Kelly didn’t have a lot of time for her father and she could just imagine what her friend was likely to say.
‘It’s Dad,’ she started.
‘How did I guess it
would be about him? What’s he done this time?’
She baulked at her friend’s tone but continued anyway. ‘He thinks he’s seen Mum alive and well and walking round Streatham. He’s convinced it was her, described her and everything. Then, this morning, when I woke up, he was in my bed.’ She swallowed hard. These days even her own father was a stranger to her.
‘Shit. That’s weird!’
‘Yes, I know. I gave him a piece of my mind, but he just kept saying he still cared and that he was going to make everything right.’
Kelly was quiet.
‘I don’t know what’s going on in his mind any more, Kel. He talks shit most the time – but just now he had a hundred quid in cash and was saying there’d be more to come and that he was going to find a proper home for us. I know it’s not a lot, but he never normally has a penny.’
‘That’s got to be a good thing though, surely?’
She stood up, chewing on her lip. ‘But that’s the problem. I don’t think it is. I think he’s finally flipped. One minute he’s quite normal, but then you say one word wrong and he’ll go into a world of his own, mumbling and not making any sense. He needs help.’
‘You could try his doctor.’
‘I don’t think they’d be able to do anything if he refused to come with me. I can just imagine what they’d say. You’re too young. What do you know? They’d probably say I’m making it all up.’
She paused, biting her lip again, still unsure whether to say anything further about her recent find, but then she couldn’t just sit back and say or do nothing.
‘Kel, he’s got a gun. I saw it just now, after he stormed out. He doesn’t know I’ve seen it. He had it all wrapped up in a little grey bag and he hid it as soon as he came in, but, after seeing the cash, I was worried about what else he had, so I looked.’
‘Shit, Emma. Do you think it’s a real one?’
‘As sure as I can be. I picked it up and it was heavy. It certainly looks real enough. And there’s some spare ammo with it.’
‘You’ve got to tell the police.’
‘But then he’ll get nicked, and I don’t want to get him in any trouble.’
‘Emma, you have to. You haven’t got a choice. If he’s gone mad, like you keep saying, and it’s a proper gun, then he could do anything. You don’t know what he’s capable of. You’ve said so yourself. He could even shoot you.’
‘He won’t do that,’ Emma tried to sound convinced, but the thought had already crossed her mind. ‘I can’t grass on him to the cops, Kelly.’ She turned away, knowing that her friend was right, but wishing her fears hadn’t been confirmed so stridently. Tears were coursing down her cheeks at the thought of her father behind bars. ‘Besides,’ she wiped them away miserably, ‘if they take him away, I won’t have anyone.’
‘You’ll still have me, and Yasmin,’ Kelly pleaded. ‘You’ve got to tell the police. If you don’t want to think of yourself, then think of others. What happens if he comes round here with it? If you don’t phone the cops, I will.’
‘You can’t, Kelly.’ Emma swung round to face her friend, suddenly appalled at having opened her mouth and the implications of what might happen. ‘They’ll take him away and then I’ll be kicked out of my room. And I’ll have nowhere to go. And your place isn’t big enough for me.’ She grabbed Kelly’s arm, her voice rising in volume. ‘I know you don’t like my dad. God knows I’ve sometimes hated him, but you can’t get him nicked.’
‘And you can’t just sit and do nothing. He’s a selfish bastard and I can’t believe you’re still protecting him. If he’s banged up, it’s his own fault.’
‘But you can’t tell the cops.’ She turned away forlornly, her voice squeaky with emotion. ‘I should never have told you. I thought you’d help, not grass on him.’
‘I’m trying to help, Emma, can’t you see? If you volunteer the information to the cops, then the chances are they can deal with it in a different way and he won’t get locked up. But if you don’t tell them… well, he could do something awful and be banged up for life – and you’d never forgive yourself.’
‘You’re talking shit.’ Emma was panicking now, the promise made to her mother on her deathbed repeating over and over in her head, as she squared up to her only friend. Look after your father, look after your father. ‘You’ve never liked my dad. This is just the chance you’ve been waiting for. You just want to see him locked away.’
Their argument was interrupted by a loud wail. Yasmin was awake, standing in her cot looking wide-eyed and bemused at the noisy awakening, her arms outstretched.
Emma took a step towards the toddler, but as she did so, Kelly elbowed her hard to one side, sending her sprawling across the settee. She lay still for a few seconds, before sitting up shakily, shocked at the sudden aggression. Kelly was holding Yasmin tightly to her chest, rocking her back and forth protectively.
For a few seconds, Emma was tempted to return the blow, but then the reality of the situation started to register. Blood really was thicker than water. Kelly was like a lioness. Her friend would fight to the death to protect her cub… just as she too realised she would now have to fight. It was as if Kelly’s actions had thrown a switch in her brain. Her father was all she had left in the world. She couldn’t watch him thrown in prison to rot. He needed help, love even, and she would be there to provide it.
‘If you grass to the cops about my dad, I will never come round and visit you or Yasmin again. It’s your choice,’ she whispered, her heart breaking. She could feel the heat of Kelly’s eyes burning into her shoulder blades as she turned and walked across to the door, but her friend said nothing. So this was how she was to be repaid for all the help and encouragement she’d given willingly as Kelly had battled night after night with her wilful child. In that instant, their friendship clearly meant nothing. It was over.
Emma turned, one last time before she left, watching mother and child fused together as one, the blood ties impenetrable.
‘It looks like you’ve made your choice.’ She took a deep breath, her eyes dry now. ‘And I respect your decision. But at the end of the day, whether you hate Thomas or not, he’s still my dad!’
*
Meg, Lucy and Beth greeted Casper more enthusiastically than they did Charlie, as she entered the lounge.
‘Is he really ours to keep, for now,’ Beth threw herself towards the old dog, fussing him so fervently that Casper flopped straight down on to the carpet, rolling on to his back and extending his legs into the air. His tail wagged almost as fast as Beth’s excited questioning.
‘Yes, he is. Ben’s had to go away to get some stuff sorted. I don’t know when, or if, he’ll be back.’
Her mother’s eyes shot straight to hers, picking up on the ‘if’ in an instant. That particular word had been purposely excluded in the hurried text she’d sent earlier. She looked away, ignoring the concern on her mother’s face, concentrating instead on unpacking the bag of toys and treats she had selected ready for Casper’s move. She was in no mood to explain, and in any case, Meg was not usually the one she’d go to for lengthy heart-to-hearts. Their relationship had long been based around the practicalities of life. Her mother kept her emotions tightly reined in and, as a consequence, so had Charlie. Her half-sisters didn’t seem to have picked up on the situation; their joy at having a dog in the house, far eclipsing any angst at the reason. She was sure they would ask at some point though. Ben was a family favourite. But at least now she had some breathing space.
‘Any other news?’ she asked, changing the subject in her next breath and halting any chance of further conversation.
‘Well,’ her mother heeded her unspoken warning, ‘I’ve given in my notice at the school and enrolled in a Back to Nursing course. I gave up nursing soon after you were born, when I was still in Scotland.’ She paused, smiling at Charlie’s look of curiosity. ‘The shifts weren’t conducive with having an energetic young child like you, and your father would never have coped.’
&n
bsp; The disclosure caught Charlie by surprise. Meg had rarely spoken of her early years in Scotland, and she’d almost never mentioned her birth father. Just hearing him alluded to was like a bolt from the blue. All she really knew was that her father had been a violent man, both towards Meg, and any other person who dared to provoke his wrath. The last thing she’d heard was that he was doing time for stabbing a man to death in a drunken pub brawl.
‘I start in a month’s time.’ Her mother was as adept as she was at calling a halt to any further probing questions. ‘Oh, and Lucy’s got a place in college for next year.’
‘That’s good,’ Charlie replied, still stunned by her mother’s previous revelation, but thinking that she should congratulate her half-sister. Lucy, though, just like Beth, was completely absorbed with the dog, lying on the carpet with him, playing tug-of-war.
She turned instead and walked to the kitchen. Just time for a quick cuppa and then she would make a move back to her own flat. In the back of her mind, she knew she still had to pay a visit to the graveyard, but with her whole world seemingly crashing down around her, and her mother’s words adding to the turmoil, her weekly vigil suddenly seemed like an irrelevance. With twenty years having just recently passed since her brother’s death, perhaps now was the time to move on.
An hour later, she parked up outside her flat, having barely stayed five minutes at the graveyard, but not feeling quite ready to forego it yet. A bouquet of flowers was standing on the doorstep. She picked it up and walked inside, noticing that the blooms were very similar in size and colour to a vase full of flowers that had been on the table at her mothers. Switching the light on, she checked for an attached card, but there was none, the sender evidently preferring to remain anonymous. They must have been sent by Ben – and the ones to her family too. A goodbye gesture maybe.