The Revenge Trail

by A A Abbott

  “He moved out,” Vince said, without mentioning Jon was detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure. “But my place is in Tottenham, anyway. Do you know it? You wouldn’t want to go there.” Marshall wasn’t used to that sort of area, nor it to him. Vince imagined the ex-MP strolling down the High Road with his Savile Row suit, Rolex and air of entitlement. It wouldn’t end well.

  “Oh yes. I crossed swords with your MP back in the day,” Marshall said. “A principled man, but the other side of the political divide. I can’t say I miss the House of Commons anymore. My little legal problem with expense claims taught me who my friends were. I’ve heard from a handful of members since I left the house, but I’ve had far more approaches from the prisoners I met in Belmarsh.”

  “Let me guess,” Vince said. “They’re down on their luck, and they want money.”

  “A few of them asked, yes,” Marshall admitted. “I gave them tobacco, or burn, as they call it. They appreciated it. But mostly, people contact me about bigger problems. I was rather the agony aunt when I was inside. I shared a pad, as he might put it, with your chum, Shaun.”

  “I know,” Vince said. He recalled the occasion when he’d visited Shaun, only to see Marshall across a crowded room. Jeannie had been sitting with her husband. She had been weightier, and her hair greyer, than the recent image. Vince’s cheery wave had provoked a glare from her. He wondered if she were really as comfortable with her husband’s sexuality as Marshall thought.

  “It’s terribly sad,” Marshall said. “Shaun tells me he has prostate cancer.”

  “Yes, he’s in a bad way,” Vince said, hopeful that Marshall could be enlisted in Shaun’s escape plan. “He’ll be dead in two months without proper treatment, and he isn’t getting it.”

  “I suppose the doctors only give him aspirin,” Marshall said. “That was all they did for me when I caught flu. I found them most unsympathetic.”

  “Exactly,” Vince said gloomily. “It’s so unfair.” He widened his eyes, attempting a puppyish expression. “You have friends in high places, Marshall. Can’t you get him out on compassionate grounds?”

  Marshall began to melt. “I can’t promise that, but I’m sure I can pull strings to secure medical treatment for him.”

  This was working like a charm. “Shaun should be in hospital,” Vince said. “He needs specialist care, not analgesics.”

  Marshall looked at him sharply. “That’s a big word for you.”

  “I’ve got GCSEs,” Vince said. “Just because I live in Tottenham, it doesn’t mean I’m thick. I hang out in Hoxton most of all, anyway.”

  “Isn’t that rough too?” Marshall asked.

  Vince stifled a snigger. “You’re more likely to get a latte than get mugged in Hoxton Square,” he said. “Is there any champagne left? Otherwise, I’m swigging the rest of that stout out of the bottle.”

  Marshall attacked the ice bucket. “No,” he reported. “Let’s go upstairs. Do you have any, you know, Charlie with you?”

  “Sweet white dreams coming up,” Vince said. “Can you reimburse me? That stuff’s expensive.” Everyone else paid him for cocaine. He didn’t see why Marshall should be different.

  Marshall fidgeted. “I don’t buy drugs.”

  “Think of it as boosting my finances,” Vince said. “A late Christmas present.”

  Marshall appeared to relax. This was obviously familiar ground for him. “Of course. I’ll always help a young friend out. Let’s have more champagne sent up to the room. Ready?”

  Chapter 23.

  Kat

  Kat’s alarm sounded at six. Bleary-eyed, she staggered out of bed. Sleep had been fitful at best. Now, awake once more, she struggled with the question that had occupied her mind during the night: was she expecting Tim’s child?

  After the grilling by Angela, she’d googled pregnancy tests. Apparently, they weren’t reliable until two weeks after conception. She was over that hurdle this morning, her first day back at work.

  Her usual routine involved a bus, sometimes two, but always a stroll through the city centre. Marty had snapped up old factories and warehouses on its fringes, planning to turn a profit as Birmingham’s core expanded. One of the run-down properties housed the Starshine distillery. Kat’s route took her past several pharmacies, all of them open early to catch morning commuter trade.

  She hovered at the door of the first of these before marching inside. Rows of brightly coloured cosmetics, skin and hair products bombarded her vision. Where were the test kits? She headed for the medicine counter at the rear of the store.

  There was an array of boxes on display, all promising fast, reliable results. Kat had no idea which to choose.

  “I always use this one.” A heavily pregnant young shop assistant, perky in her smart uniform, pointed to a lurid pink and blue box.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” The girl beamed at her. “It’s your first, isn’t it? I can tell. How exciting!”

  Kat plastered a smile on her face, freezing it there until she’d paid at the till.

  Even though the box was light, it seemed to weigh down her handbag like a lump of lead. Her steps slowed. She realised she was staring at a shop window crammed with babywear. Kat’s stomach heaved.

  She was rarely this jumpy. Although she’d given up smoking, she stopped at a newsagent for a pack of Silk Cut and a lighter. Fingers trembling, she lit a cigarette.

  She had no chance to experience the tranquillising effect of nicotine. The smell triggered a fresh surge of nausea. Kat threw the packet away.

  While she managed a small team now, none of them were there yet. Kat was always first in and last out, unlocking and locking up her ground floor premises. She didn’t encounter other occupants of the three-storey redbrick building, either. After Marty had reconfigured it for the distillery, some space remained on the upper floors. He’d rented it to a T-shirt printer and a man who stored Christmas decorations there. Neither had expected the first week of January to be busy, and she wasn’t surprised to hear no footsteps above her.

  In the shared ground floor washroom, she opened the testing kit and read the instructions carefully. She was to place the tip of the plastic detector in a flow of urine, wait a few seconds, then check the result.

  It was bound to be negative, wasn’t it? How silly to panic. Kat looked at her watch, feeling blood pulse through her temples as time moved slower than she’d thought possible. She counted: one, two, three, four.

  The test was positive.

  Kat re-read the instructions. She’d done everything right. There was a blue line, and a cross. It couldn’t be wrong.

  She suddenly felt both alone and too crowded, her body invaded by an unwelcome stranger.

  Despite sleepless nights and imagined conversations, she still couldn’t guess how Tim would react. Was their relationship strong enough for this? She was sure it would never survive if she simply terminated the pregnancy without a word. Either the secret would gnaw at her soul, or it would spill out and split them apart. However tempting it was to let ambition lead her down that path, she had to tell him.

  Kat picked up the phone, hoping as she hit speed-dial that the call would go to voicemail.

  “Kat.” Tim’s voice boomed cheerily from his hands-free set, as if he was already two coffees to the good. “What’s new? I’m driving - just about to join the M6 toll road.”

  “I’m sorry, Tim. I’m pregnant.”

  There was a pause. Kat closed her eyes, wishing she’d found a better way to express herself.

  “Whew. I didn’t expect that,” Tim said. He sounded anxious. “Are you at work? I’ll be straight round.”

  The clock ticked slowly. She’d mapped out the morning’s tasks in her mind, but found herself pacing the distillery floor, devoid of focus. Finally, she stood on the pavement outside, watching traffic go by until his gold Subaru slid to a halt in front of her.

  “Tim?”

  He glanced at his watch as he stepped from the car. �
�Under thirty minutes,” he said. “Good going.” Grinning like a clown, he enveloped her in a bear hug. “This is marvellous news. How are you?”

  “Shocked,” Kat said. She may as well be honest. “I’m so close to achieving my dream. Your dad’s showing faith in me at last. He’s planning a significant investment in Starshine. Now I’m pregnant. I don’t know how to make this work.”

  Tim kissed her lips. “We’ll make it work together.”

  For a second, cocooned in his arms, she could believe it. Then Marty intruded on her thoughts again. “What will your dad say?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be pleased too. We should tell him at once.”

  “I can’t face it. Don’t women wait until three months before informing their employers?” She didn’t share Tim’s confidence in Marty’s attitude.

  Tim stroked her hair. “It’s not a normal employer-employee situation, is it? You’re his business partner, and you can’t afford to give him cause to mistrust you. Dad needs to know. That’s why I’ve asked Tanya to book a meeting with him today.”

  She pulled away from him, dismayed that he hadn’t asked her first. “Does he know what the meeting’s about?”

  “No, I didn’t tell Tanya. I wanted Dad to hear it from us.” Tim smiled. “We’ll see him this afternoon. I can’t wait.”

  It was obvious he wanted to keep the baby. Hard as it was to tell him the truth, she had to do it now, before he broadcast the news. “I’m not the motherly sort,” Kat said. “I’m considering a termination.”

  Tim’s eager expression vanished. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her again. “Don’t,” he said. “Please?”

  His blue eyes, wide with concern, held hers. “You really shouldn’t worry,” he said. “You’ll love the baby when it’s born. Believe me.”

  Kat didn’t. She was overcome by fear of the future. She’d either lose Tim or have an unwanted child. Neither option appealed.

  Tim would be devastated if she didn’t continue the pregnancy, though. For his sake alone, she had to do it. “All right,” she whispered.

  Chapter 24.

  Marty

  “Tanya, my angel,” Marty said, “can you pop out for chocolate biscuits, please?” One of the perks of the area’s de-industrialisation was the opening of three convenience stores within a five-minute radius.

  “I thought you’d be on a diet again,” Tanya said.

  “My wife thinks I am,” Marty said. “We know better.” Alarmed by his expanding waist, as she seemed to be every January, Angela had announced that his New Year’s resolution was to cut his carbs. While she held sway at home, he didn’t see why he should take any notice in Florence Street.

  “Well, I’ve brought some Quality Street in for the girls,” Tanya said. “You can have a few of those with your morning coffee, and I’ll buy biscuits later. By the way, Tim and Kat wanted to meet you. I put them in your calendar for four o’clock.”

  “Fine,” Marty said. He settled down to work, thinking no more about the meeting until Tanya phoned to say his visitors were on the way.

  He was about to ask her to fetch tea and biscuits, but thought better of it. It would only take one unguarded remark from Tim to Angela, and his wife would learn of his disobedience. “You’ll be bringing in drinks, won’t you?” he said to Tanya. “No need for nibbles too.”

  A white china teapot and cups were waiting in his office when his PA ushered Tim and Kat inside it.

  “Sit down,” Marty said. He remained in the imposing leather swivel chair behind his desk.

  The room was large enough to accommodate a meeting table and half a dozen chairs. Tim pulled two of these closer to the desk, facing his father. He gestured to Kat to sit in one, taking the other for himself.

  Despite his salesman’s polish, Tim’s body language was tense. His shoulders were crunched up near his ears. He leaned forward onto Marty’s desk rather than lounging back. Kat, too, in a sombre black trouser suit, looked apprehensive.

  “Who’s dead?” Marty asked.

  That elicited a grin from Tim. He almost relaxed. “I’ve got good news and bad news, Dad.”

  “I’ll take the good news,” Marty said.

  “Well,” Tim beamed at Kat, “it’s all of a piece. We’re pregnant.” His nerves seemed to have vanished. Pride shone from his face.

  Marty managed to hide his shock with a passable smile. “Congratulations,” he said.

  “Of course, we want to minimise the impact on the business,” Kat said. Her poise was perfect and her voice calm, the accent that of an English aristocrat.

  She owed a lot to her posh boarding school, Marty thought. “I assume there will be an effect on your personal lives as well,” he said.

  Kat had the grace to blush.

  “We’ll take it day by day,” Tim said, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “There’s almost nine months to go, so we’ve got plenty of time to get ready.”

  “And that means we can ensure vodka production isn’t interrupted,” Kat said. “My team will step up, and I’ll find temporary operatives and train them. The Starshine business plan won’t suffer. Then I’ll be back as soon as I get childcare sorted out.”

  Kat’s green eyes gazed at Marty with apparent sincerity. He suspected she was trying to gauge his reactions. She’d see nothing to disappoint her; he’d make sure of that. “I’m delighted to hear of your dedication,” he said. “Can you give me your proposals on timings and cost by, say, this time next week? Meanwhile, I’m afraid I have to go soon, as I have a commitment this evening.”

  For the first time in the meeting, Marty rose to his feet, knowing it would compel the young couple to do the same. As if acting a part, he clapped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Congratulations, son,” he repeated. Then, kissing Kat’s cheek, he said, “Congratulations, bab.”

  Once they’d left, he sat at the desk again, his head in his hands. How could his son be so careless?

  He should have realised Kat would never be satisfied with a half-share in Starshine vodka. She wanted all of Marty’s business. It would be Tim’s when Marty retired, giving Kat the opportunity to take what she pleased before discarding his son. There were financial difficulties right now, but he’d overcome them. It made him sick to think he was working so hard for Kat’s benefit.

  Marty tried to drink the rest of his tea. It tasted tepid and bitter. Finally, he packed his briefcase, donned his black wool winter coat and strode out of the room to his secretary’s workstation.

  “Tanya, I’m going to call it a day,” he said. Eyes alighting on the packet of chocolate digestives, he added, “And I’ll have a biccie or three for the road, please.” He’d enjoy whatever small comforts life could still offer him.

  His silver F-type Jag was another indulgence. There was no way he’d take it to the ton on his mile-long journey in the Birmingham rush hour, but he enjoyed a brief thrill at the Bristol Road traffic lights, accelerating from zero to forty miles per hour in what felt like a split second. It barely took the edge off his anger.

  He unlocked his front door, removing his coat as the centrally heated air warmed his cheeks. A delicious smell permeated the spacious hallway. It was a shame that, whatever Angela was cooking, there wouldn’t be enough of it.

  His wife emerged from the kitchen, dusting off her hands. Apart from a few specks of flour, her grooming was immaculate. She was wearing a pale pink silk blouse, skinny jeans and fluffy mules with a three-inch heel. Marty, although of average height at best, still towered over her. A wave of relief washed over him. Unlike the sly and manipulative Kat, there was no side to Angela. She loved him, and just wanted to please. Even the diets she foisted on him were an attempt to serve his best interests.

  “You’re home early,” she said.

  “I’m just dropping the car off,” he said. “I thought I’d go down the Harborne Club for a jar.” He had no appointments that evening at all; the club was a place where he could expect decent beer, like-minded company and a symp
athetic ear. With luck, he could have a convivial curry afterwards with a some of his buddies.

  Angela looked puzzled. “It’s not five thirty yet. The club won’t be open.”

  “It will be by the time I’ve walked there.” The route, downhill and sober, took around thirty minutes. He’d call a cab to come back later.

  Her quizzical expression hadn’t disappeared. “What’s the matter, Marty?”

  “It’s like this,” Marty said, determination cutting through the gloom in his voice. “Kat’s pregnant, and I need a drink.”

  “I thought she was!” Angela said triumphantly. “That’s wonderful. Let’s crack open the champagne.”

  “You knew?” Marty asked, discomfited.

  Angela tapped the side of her nose. “Call it a woman’s intuition. Make yourself comfortable in the drawing room, and I’ll bring the drinks through.”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” Marty said, “I’d rather have Two Towers Birmingham Mild. Lots of it.”

  “Each to their own,” Angela said. “We’ve got a few bottles of that in the kitchen, as it happens. I’ll fetch as many as you want.”

  Marty forbore from saying she couldn’t. His desire for beer was enough to drink a brewery dry. He kicked off his shoes and slumped into the embrace of a plump vanilla-hued armchair.

  “Here we are,” Angela said brightly, placing a tray on the spotless coffee table. “I’ve just opened a quarter-bottle of champers for myself. I can always get another. Here’s your beer.” She poured mild into a glass and handed it to him, before helping herself to fizz.

  “I don’t know what you’re so happy about,” Marty said. “We don’t even know if it’s Tim’s. Although he thinks it is.”

  Angela showed as much surprise as Botox allowed. “There’s no need for that, Marty Bridges. Kat isn’t a slapper.”

  “What makes you so sure?”