by Nick Oldham
‘Giving us no say in anything. A family led by a fascist,’ Danny said.
‘Oi,’ Jake said. ‘We have to go where my work takes me.’
‘You mean you couldn’t have transferred to Fleetwood?’
It was just the latest in a long line of face-offs he and Jake had been having since the move to Kendleton three months earlier: a move that was very unpopular with Danny and Emma and almost as unpopular with Anna, who was struggling with it, but trying.
A horn tooted outside – the taxi that took them on their school run – and it broke the tension.
‘It’s tough for us all, Dan,’ Jake said softly.
Danny simply looked at him bitterly as he collected his school gear. ‘On top of which we get taken to school by Mr Creepy, the taxi driver.’
‘I know, I know.’
Danny shouldered past Jake, but Emma stopped and pecked his cheek. ‘He’ll be OK, Dad,’ she assured him. ‘We all will … and I still love you.’
‘Thanks, babe,’ he said and hugged her.
‘And good luck today, you guys,’ Emma said to both of them. ‘Big day?’
‘Very big day, but we should hopefully be home before you,’ Jake said.
Jake and Anna followed them to the front door, where Danny picked up his rugby kit – he was playing for his new school that afternoon – and then they watched them pile into the back of the KountryKabs taxi waiting for them. They waved them off.
Emma waved back; Danny just slid down into his seat and stared forwards.
‘Do you think we’ve done the right thing?’ Anna asked Jake.
‘I think if we’ve done the right thing for us, then ultimately we’ve done the right thing for the family … Has to be … Maybe.’ His voice trailed off uncertainly.
She sighed deeply.
Jake pulled her to him. ‘I’m sorry for hurting you.’
‘Tell you what, Jake – stop saying it now, eh? I get the message, and I’m learning to live with it and, actually, I think it’ll be great here once everything else has settled down and this week is over.’
‘OK. How’re you feeling?’
‘About today?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘OK, I suppose. I saw what I saw … It’s not nice, but I’m not the one who pulled the trigger, so it’s you who needs asking how you feel.’
‘I feel OK.’
‘Then let’s get ready to rock. Time to get into best bib and tucker.’
Henry emerged from the cellar of the Tawny Owl through the door behind the main bar, having just wrestled with a barrel of Guinness which he had then connected to the taps. He pulled a pint – for test purposes only – and practised making the shape of a shamrock in the foam, but with little success. He was not arty, and it more resembled an ejaculating cock and balls rather than the proud emblem of a country. He tipped it away, frustrated, but at least the beer was flowing OK.
‘New barrel for tonight,’ he announced to Alison, who had just served up a couple of breakfasts to some last-minute guests who had rolled in from the moors the night before.
‘Well done, barman,’ she said, looking harassed, and disappeared into the kitchen for more breakfasts for the pre-booked guests who had just come down from their rooms.
Henry surveyed the bar proudly. Spick ‘n’ span. It had become ‘his’ little area of responsibility and was fantastically clean, the glasses all extra sparkly, the bar top shining lustrously from his repeated polishing.
All he had to do now was learn how to draw in Guinness foam.
He glanced up as two people entered the pub, Jake and Anna Niven, both looking very smart.
Jake had been keeping Henry up to date with the progress of the inquest into the sudden, violent deaths of PC Dave Morton, Fraser Worthington and the other member of the robbery gang, Saul Dyer, who Jake had been forced to shoot and who had, unfortunately, later died from his wounds.
Since retiring, Henry had kept his distance from that inquest, but had been involved in the inquest into Wayne Oxford’s and Sophie Leader’s deaths, which had started but been adjourned for various reasons.
‘Morning, folks,’ Henry greeted the couple, who he liked immensely. And not only that, Jake was turning out to be a popular and effective rural-beat bobby, whilst Anna was working a few evenings a week at the Tawny Owl.
They walked up to Henry’s bar. ‘Two pints, two whiskey chasers,’ Jake said.
‘Coming up.’
‘Or just two very strong coffees.’
‘Also coming up … Americanos?’ Henry asked. They both nodded, and Henry turned to the newly installed coffee machine, a gleaming monstrosity Henry had insisted on buying. He had even gone on a two-day Barista course to master it. It was his pride and joy and did make wonderful coffee – something he never tired of pointing out to Alison.
‘Big day,’ Jake said.
Henry detected a slight tremor in those two words. ‘It’ll be fine; you’ll see,’ he reassured Jake.
Even though it was against all the rules of Human Resources and their personnel transfer policies, as a superintendent in HR, Henry had ruthlessly steered Jake’s application to become the new cop on the beat in Kendleton and the surrounding area through the system. The selection process should have been open to all, but Henry was having none of that. He pleaded a special case to the head of HR – a lady who actually seemed to despise him – and won.
Jake’s application was turned around within days of receipt, and the new cop on the block was in place less than a month later.
Henry had retired after that, quietly and without fanfare. His leaving ‘do’ had consisted of a dinner for a few selected friends and colleagues at a very posh hotel in Blackpool, at which Henry got royally drunk, made an embarrassing speech slagging off the constabulary, and then fell over. Alison had dragged him bodily to bed, and it had taken three days before his very nasty, lingering hangover had departed.
He retired on half-pension with a hefty lump sum in the bank, thank you very much, a couple of grand of which went on the fancy coffee machine – money well spent.
He did not have much time to mope around, though, because he immediately began working at the Tawny Owl and sank another chunk of his money into the refurbishment of the wedding function room upstairs, much against Alison’s wishes. Not that the work wasn’t necessary, just that she was very wary of him investing in the business and then regretting it. And she was at pains to point out that she wasn’t after him for his money, but then she got extremely cross with him when he gave her a knowing look.
He knew he would never regret the investment, and eventually she accepted the money with good grace.
There were plans for a long holiday, but they were put on hold until the inquest into the deaths was over and the trial of Charlie Wilder came to court, as Henry knew he would be required to attend both to be cross-examined minutely.
Neither worried him.
He was, of course, following the progress of the Fraser Worthington inquest via daily updates from Jake, who was a vital witness and player in the game.
Even though an inquest is not a criminal trial, it does establish a cause of death and can have a big influence on subsequent criminal proceedings. Henry knew Jake had gone through a torrid time at the hands of a barrister representing the Worthington family – this despite it being obvious to all that Jake had acted lawfully and bravely in an intense, dangerous confrontation, and all witness testimony backed this up.
Jake was a hero, there was no doubt about that, but he would never carry a firearm again as a police officer, and his whole life would never be the same again – even though he was allowed to give his evidence from behind a screen and not be identified because of possible repercussions from the criminal underworld.
The inquest had lasted over three weeks, and today was the last day. The jury had been deliberating for two days, and now the coroner was ready to hear their verdicts.
‘We don’t have to be there until eleven a.m.,’
Jake said as the coffee dripped from the machine into two large cups. ‘Hence the brew.’
Henry placed a cup in front of Anna, who smiled at him. He vaguely remembered her being a policewoman some years back, but he had not known her, as such. He’d come to like her a lot over the last couple of months. He asked her how she was feeling.
‘Jittery.’
‘Yeah, I get that,’ he said, placing the second cup in front of Jake. ‘How’s the house progressing?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘It’s damp, cold and quite windy,’ Anna said, grinning. ‘But y’know …’
‘You’re going to love it, ain’t ya, babe?’ Jake said.
‘You know something,’ she said, pondering, ‘I think I am.’
Danny and Emma Niven sat morosely in the back of the taxi, not speaking or even acknowledging the presence of each other, as per brothers and sisters the world over. It was a longish haul, a tedious journey, for them to be deposited at their new schools in Lancaster, and their earphones were plugged firmly into place; each inhabited their own little musical world.
It was the usual taxi, an eight-year-old Skoda, driven by the usual driver. Not that either teenager was remotely interested in who drove them or in what car, and they certainly had no interest in chatting to the country-bumpkin behind the wheel.
With the tunes of Eminem thudding into his brain, Danny wedged his elbow on the door and supported his head on his hand as he watched the countryside whizz by. His mind churned with annoyance at his whole fucking family and the way in which his whole fucking life had been turned around just because his stupid fucking dad couldn’t keep his cock in his pants.
Danny thought he hated Jake now, but he was trapped: living in a freezing house in the countryside – which bored the living shit out of him – unable to mix with his mates or see his girlfriend (who he knew was now seeing someone else).
He swore under his breath and caught the eye of the taxi driver, who was watching him in the rear-view mirror. He tried to shake the negative thoughts from his mind and looked around the taxi, which had seen much better days. It was a mucky, unimpressive heap. He sighed.
The taxi passed under the motorway bridge into Lancaster. Danny was first to be dropped off, and he reminded the driver he was playing rugby that afternoon and would not need picking up at the usual time and place. He would get a lift back to Kendleton.
‘But I will,’ Emma piped up.
The taxi driver nodded.
Danny slammed his car door as he got out and walked towards his new school without a backwards glance at Emma.
The move to Kendleton had been a culture shock to all the Niven family.
Jake had always been a town cop; he’d spent his service in and around Preston and Blackpool first on uniformed patrol, and then in firearms. He was used to turning up at work and being pitched into a maelstrom, job to job, incident to incident, emerging bleary eyed, eight hours later, from the lake of human existence.
Anna had got used to being a busy mum with two fast growing kids; she had a part time job and adored looking after the home, providing a bolt-hole for her family. She had a small but thriving social circle and was completely happy until Jake had spoiled it all. She’d realized then, too, that they were in a rut of their own making and needed to do something drastic to get out of it.
Running away to the back of beyond was not the adventure she had anticipated.
On the day Jake had driven her to Kendleton for the first time, and they’d stood looking at the battered old police house, her heart had sunk. But then Jake had wooed her, slowly and skilfully, and glimpses of the way their relationship had once been began to appear again.
Firstly by his words, then his actions.
On that day he had asked her to bring an overnight bag, so after viewing the house (which did not go that well), he drove her into the village and pulled up outside the Tawny Owl, where he made an announcement.
‘Look, you don’t have to do this, but do you fancy a night here?’ He pointed at the pub. ‘I can get my mum to look after the kids, and I thought maybe you and me could have some time together, talk, walk, sleep. I mean, y’know,’ he stuttered, ‘we don’t have to “do” anything … I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. I know what’s going on is massive, but a bit of me ‘n’ you time might not go amiss.’
She sighed, deeply troubled.
‘If nothing else, we could just get legless – without consequences. No driving, no kids … What d’you think?’
She closed her eyes and shook her head as she considered this. Then: ‘OK.’
It had been a lovely night, and the owner of the Owl had been amazing and welcoming, and Anna had been surprised to discover that Henry Christie lived there too. Not a man she knew well, but one whose reputation she had been well aware of during her time in the police.
The meal was superb, and in the bar afterwards they were looked after by Henry and Alison and also met a few of the locals, who all seemed to be drunk and larger than life.
There was one point in the night when Anna was sitting alone at a table and Jake was at the bar ordering drinks. She watched him, scrutinizing him and thinking, ‘You utter bastard … but I still love you,’ and at that exact moment he glanced her way and smiled. There was still a lot to get over, to work out, but, putting all that aside for a while, she did something she hadn’t done for a long, long time. When they retired to bed that night, she fucked his brains out.
And now after many deep conversations and pledges, they were living in Kendleton and maybe just about starting to get a grip of their lives.
The move had not been easy for Jake, either. The shootings were still hanging over him, and the pace of life as a rural beat officer was much less frenetic than in town. It was a very different job. He found himself simply getting to know the locals, and he was welcomed warmly into a community desperate for their own cop.
‘Good luck – you won’t need it,’ Henry said to Jake and Anna, then stood back from their car as it drove off. He gave a wave and went back into the Tawny Owl, where it was time to grab breakfast.
He had been sensible enough to wean himself off anything fried, so he had two slices of wholemeal toast and a coffee from his new toy, which, as usual, he took outside and settled on the wall. The early morning had been chilly and misty, but now a weak sun had cleared all that and the bright sky seemed to foretell a beautiful early winter’s day.
Henry crunched his toast and sipped his coffee, amazed at how lucky he was: retired, debt-free, living in a superb location with a beautiful lady who he was definitely going to marry (no more excuses), and running a healthy business.
He blinked sadly as he thought of Kate, but though she would always be there inside him, her memory was becoming more distant. That was just a fact of life.
He sniffed, drank his coffee, watched the village creak into life.
The local doctor drove past in an old Rover, waving at Henry, then swerving dramatically to avoid the immense four-wheel drive monstrosity driven by a farmer coming the opposite way. Both shook their fists angrily at each other, even though they were good drinking buddies. Both had been in the Tawny Owl the evening before, drunk. Henry suspected their blood-alcohol levels were still over the limit.
Then they were gone, and the next vehicle to come along was Spencer Bartle’s animal transporter from Thornwell, packed with maybe a hundred sheep. Henry stiffened, put his coffee slowly to his mouth and watched the vehicle trundle noisily past.
Spencer Bartle was at the wheel.
Henry found himself grinding his teeth. The missing policewoman and her car still had not been found, and Henry remained convinced that Bartle was the one in the frame for it. Henry knew from bitter experience that running a murder/missing person enquiry from a room in Lancaster, fifteen miles away, was not the way in which this case would be solved. It was totally impractical.
That was one of the selfish reasons why he had ensured that Jake got the
job in Kendleton. He knew Jake was a decent cop and would be good for the community. He also knew that having a cop in the heart of this area could be the key to cracking the case, because folk opened up when they trusted the local bobby.
Plus, now that he himself also lived and worked full-time in Kendleton, he could keep his ear to the ground. Even though he was retired now, he had made a promise to himself that one way or another he would crack the job, and if it meant getting the locals to talk to him over a pint of Guinness, then so be it.
Henry gave Bartle a little wave and a cheeky smile. ‘I’ll get you, you fucker,’ he whispered, then returned to the bar to have another go at drawing a shamrock in the top of a pint of the black stuff.
It was a day of waiting, killing time.
The inquest was being held at Blackpool Magistrates’ Court, across from the police station. When Jake and Anna arrived, expecting the inquest jury to have reached their verdicts, they and other key witnesses were told there had been a delay – the reason for which was not explained – and to return to court at two p.m.
The message had been passed by a court usher to Jake and Anna, who had been waiting in a secure witness room, separate from the other room, in order that Jake could maintain his anonymity. They strolled out through a side door and walked into Blackpool to have a look around the shops and get lunch.
Even though the delay was a pain – Jake’s nerves were shot enough – the enforced time spent doing nothing was quite nice, and they looked around for possible Christmas presents for the kids.
Anna also texted them both to say they might be home later than expected, but promised them a meal at the Tawny Owl that evening.
Emma replied with a smiley face. There was nothing back from Danny.
Henry’s Guinness-decorating was only partially successful. Before he could reach perfection he was chased out of the bar by Alison to help clean and change the bedding in a couple of the guest bedrooms, which he found hard graft, bending and twisting and lifting heavy mattresses, forcing himself to use muscles he had not even known existed. After these daily chores he usually had a little bit of free time, in which he went for a run, often as far as Thornwell and back. It took him the best part of an hour at a steady pace.