“Yeah, thought so,” said Tracy, giving him an appraising look. “I can usually tell. Seen lots of people coming ’ere for the first time. You’ll soon get used to it.”
They turned off the main road and the prison was suddenly ahead of them. You couldn’t miss it. Dan reckoned it was as big as the whole of the rest of the village. It was surrounded by a high wall topped with cylindrical concrete that reminded Dan of pictures he’d seen of the Berlin Wall. It was a strange and forbidding sight, out here in the middle of the English countryside, like a forgotten remnant of the Cold War. Dan followed Tracy through the main entrance into the grounds and was taken aback when the guards greeted them in English. His sub-conscious had expected to hear Russian or German. The guards searched them thoroughly before letting them through. No chance of smuggling anything into this place, thought Dan.
The high concrete wall enclosed a modern compound of red-brick buildings, grassed areas and yards. There was an armoured van parked in front of the main building, a brick cuboid, windowless except for four small, square windows on the ground floor. Inside it had the clinical impersonality that Dan had come to associate with public buildings like hospitals. A prison guard escorted them to the visiting room and told them that all mobile phones had to be switched off.
Dan had imagined a long room divided by glass panels, the prisoners on one side and the visitors on the other, communicating via telephone handsets, so he was surprised when they were taken to a room with a dozen or so Formica tables and plastic chairs, all screwed to the floor. It reminded Dan of the school hall on parents’ evening, although there they hadn’t felt the need to secure the furniture.
There were already a number of visits in progress. A prison officer led Dan to a table in the middle of the room and told him to wait there. Tracy and Callum sat down at the adjacent table, Callum talking all the while in a loud voice about the video games he was playing at home. Tracy tried to get him to sit still.
Dan leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. He just had to get this first visit over and then he’d be able to cope better next time. It wasn’t that he didn’t think his dad deserved visitors, but it felt all wrong to be visiting him in a place like this. Shameful somehow. And what were they going to talk about for a whole hour? They didn’t usually spend that much time together.
The door opened and two prison guards escorted Ryan and another bloke, Ted presumably, into the room. They were wearing identical grey jumpsuits.
“Daddy!” called Callum in an excited voice. Ted spotted his son and his face broke into a huge grin.
“Hey, Callum,” he called. “All right Tracy?”
“Hiya,” called Tracy. “Sit down Callum!”
Dan tried to block out the noise from Ted’s table and focus his attention on the man who had sat down opposite him. He barely recognised his dad who was pale and unshaven with dark rings under his eyes. What had prison done to him? Weren’t they supposed to rehabilitate offenders? Not knock the shit out of them.
“Guess I’m not looking my best right now,” said Ryan, with an attempt at a smile.
“Well...”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to answer that. I got what I deserved.”
Dan shrugged.
“Anyway, it’s good to see you, Dan.”
“Sure.”
Dan racked his brain for something to say, but came up blank.
“So, how are things?” asked Ryan.
“Yeah, um, great, thanks,” said Dan.
“And how’s your mum?”
Pissed most of the time, thought Dan. “Yeah, she’s good. She’s on a training course today. That’s why she’s not here.”
Ryan nodded as if he understood how convenient it was to have a training course at the weekend.
“And how’s school?”
“Yeah, it’s good.”
Having exhausted all topics of conversation in about thirty seconds, they fell silent. Ryan glanced over his shoulder at the guards who were standing on either side of the room. There was a general low level of chatter around them and a lot of noise from Tracy and Ted’s table where Callum appeared to be re-enacting video games and Tracy was complaining in a loud voice that she didn’t know how she was going to be able to afford new trainers for him. Then she started having a go at Ted’s mother who was being “a right arse.”
Ryan leaned forward and said in a voice barely above a whisper, “Listen, there’s something I want you to do for me.”
~~~
“You have to try it on!”
“I’m not sure about it.” Rose held up the coat hanger and fingered the slinky purple fabric. It felt like liquid silk, slipping through her fingers, shimmering in the artificial lighting of the shop. A young sales assistant with large butterfly earrings dangling from her lobes hovered nearby, pretending to tidy a rack of party frocks but ready to pounce if Rose showed the slightest interest in trying on the purple dress she was now holding in her hands.
“It’s in your size,” said Sophie, pointing to the label. “I’d never get into it but it would fit you perfectly.”
It was true that this was one of the few dresses in the whole of Scarborough in the right size. The label was helpfully international, giving the size as a UK 8 and a US 4. What’s more it looked like it. Rose had tried on a few dresses in other shops that purported to be a UK 8 but were more like a 10 going on a 12, obviously designed to flatter older women who still thought they were the same size they had been as teenagers.
It was certainly tempting to try it on. But it was more money than she’d ever spent on a dress. Fifty quid. And it wasn’t the sort of dress you could wear often. Andrea would disapprove for sure, but that made it all the more delicious.
“Go on,” urged Sophie. “If you want to show Scarlett you mean business then this is your chance.”
That did it. “All right,” said Rose. “I’ll try it on.”
The sales assistant was at her side in a flash. “The changing rooms are this way.” She plucked the dress from Rose’s hands and strode off towards the changing rooms, her butterfly earrings bouncing. It was the sort of shop where the staff encouraged you to buy by going out of their way to offer you a personalised service, escorting you to a changing cubicle and hanging the clothes up for you, then offering to fetch a different size if required. Rose felt under pressure already.
Still, they’d been traipsing round all afternoon and Rose had found nothing she liked or that was in her size so she should at least give this dress a shot. They were now in their fifth or sixth shop which meant they’d pretty much exhausted Scarborough’s retail choices. Shopping in Scarborough was so much harder than shopping in London. She used to love going to Oxford Street with her friends on a Saturday and visiting all the big stores. Sometimes she used to explore the markets in the East End or the small shops on Carnaby Street and find something really unusual.
She pulled her T-shirt over her head and slipped out of her jeans. The dress slid off its hanger as soon as she touched it. The fabric felt so seductive, Rose wasn’t sure if she had the nerve to wear something like this. But she knew Dan wasn’t that keen on going to the party, and if she looked fabulous then maybe he’d think it was worthwhile. She stepped into the dress, hoisted it up over her hips and pulled the straps over her shoulders.
“How are you getting on in there?” called Sophie.
“Not sure,” said Rose. “It’s a bit tight.”
“Come out and let me see,” said Sophie impatiently. “You’ve been ages.”
Rose unlocked the cubicle door and stepped out into the public area of the changing rooms.
“Oh my God,” shrieked Sophie, her fingers flying to her mouth.
“What is it?” asked Rose, alarmed. Had she ripped the dress putting it on?
“You look absolutely stunning in that,” gushed Sophie. “Like a film star on an opening night.”
“Do I?”
“It’s a perfect fit,” chimed in
the shop assistant with gushing enthusiasm. She was now sorting through a rack of clothes that other people had tried on and rejected.
“Look at yourself,” said Sophie, taking Rose by the shoulders and guiding her towards a full-length mirror at the far end of the changing rooms.
Rose stared at her reflection in the mirror. The shimmering purple dress skimmed her figure, showing off her slender waist and the gentle curves of her hips and breasts. It was sleeveless with a scooped neckline and stopped a couple of inches above the knee. Turning around she saw how the dress was cut so that it skimmed the natural arch of her lower back, then hugged her buttocks. Getting it on, she’d thought it tight, but now she could see that it could have been made for her.
“You’ve got to get it,” said Sophie. “No arguments. Scarlett will be green with envy when she sees you in that!”
Rose had to admit that she liked the idea of riling Scarlett. “But I haven’t got any decent shoes to wear with this.” It was a weak argument and she knew it.
“We can soon see to that,” said Sophie, dismissively. “I know a good shop that sells cheap shoes that look awesome.”
Five minutes later they were walking out of the shop, the dress expertly folded in tissue paper and placed in one of those stylish paper bags with string handles by the ever helpful assistant with the butterfly earrings. Rose swung the bag from her shoulder feeling both exhilarated and a bit freaked out by what she’d just done. It was the most exotic garment she’d ever bought. Her mother would have an absolute fit when she saw it.
Sophie led the way to the shoe shop where Rose bought a pair of black suede ankle boots with stiletto heels that would look just right with her new dress. Then they went to a coffee shop, bought two extra large hot chocolates, a muffin each, and sat down in a couple of comfy chairs by the window.
“That was an awesome shopping trip,” said Sophie, beaming. She’d bought a dress in the first shop they’d been in: red, with a full skirt. It was only Rose who’d been difficult to shop for. If it hadn’t been for Sophie urging her on, she would have given up hours ago and gone home empty-handed.
“Thanks for your help,” said Rose.
“Any time,” said Sophie. She bit into her blueberry muffin and then almost choked on it. “Oh my God,” she said, spluttering. “I don’t believe it. Look over there.” She pointed out of the window. Rose looked across the street. A motorcyclist in black leathers was walking towards a parked motorbike, which Rose thought looked suspiciously like the Harley-Davidsons she’d seen online. He was carrying a black helmet under his arm and with his blond hair and three-day-designer stubble was good-looking enough to attract their attention. But he wasn’t the one Sophie was pointing at. Right behind him was a girl, dressed in skin-tight jeans and a leather jacket. She too carried a helmet.
“Scarlett!” they both said in unison, exchanging astonished glances.
“Looks like she’s got herself a new boyfriend,” said Sophie. “And he’s not bad.” They sipped their hot chocolates and watched as Scarlett donned her helmet and climbed onto the back of the bike, wrapping her arms around the rider. “Well, there’s some interesting gossip. No doubt we’ll hear all about it on Monday.”
The motorcyclist hit the throttle and the bike swerved out into the street and disappeared down the road. Rose felt a creeping sensation of dread crawling up her spine. It had to be the motorcyclist Dan kept going on about.
~~~
Dan glanced nervously at the prison guards. One of them stood by the door, chewing a piece of gum. He looked bored. The other was more alert but for the moment was looking in the opposite direction.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Dan, his voice barely above a whisper. He’d dreaded something like this and it was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted to come here on his own.
Ryan leaned in close. “Remember that bracelet I gave your mum for her birthday last year?”
Dan looked blank. How was he supposed to remember something like that? She was forever getting new jewellery and stuff, at least she did before they lost the amusement arcade and their finances went tits up.
“You know,” said Ryan in an urgent whisper, “the diamond one?”
Dan remembered then. Fiona had literally screamed in delight when she’d opened the box and found a diamond bracelet nestling in its velvet bed. Was his dad going to ask him to take it to the pawn shop or something? As if Fiona would allow something like that.
Ryan looked over Dan’s shoulder, not meeting his eye. “Well, it was, you know...”
“What?”
The gum-chewing guard started to pace the room and Ryan sat back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other and said, “So how’s your girlfriend?”
“Yeah, she’s fine,” said Dan, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in topic.
The guard passed by their table and Ryan gave the guy a cheery smile. Don’t do that, thought Dan. It makes you look guilty. The guard resumed his position by the door and Ryan leaned forward again, the smile wiped off his face.
“So, anyway, this bracelet. I got it from Max. In return for a job, you understand? Like a sweetener in return for keeping my mouth shut about the...well, about his business activities.”
“No, not really,” said Dan. He knew full well his dad was referring to Max’s drug business, but he couldn’t comprehend why Ryan had been so stupid as to accept a diamond bracelet that was obviously nicked because Max wasn’t the sort of person who obtained anything by lawful means.
Ryan shifted in his seat. “Let’s call it a payment in kind. The thing is, Max almost certainly got it from that raid in London. Do you remember the Hatton Garden robbery?”
“Yeah, I think so,” said Dan. He had a vague memory of hearing something on the news about a bunch of old codgers who’d drilled through a wall at a safe deposit company in London. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn that Max had been involved in that heist.
Ryan dropped his voice so it was barely audible. “I think Max is still alive.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He sent someone to watch the house.”
“You mean the motorcyclist?”
Ryan nodded. “I think Max might try to get the bracelet back. He probably needs the money now his drugs business has gone belly up.”
Dan wanted to shout at his father, but he kept his voice close to a whisper. “So why didn’t you tell the police about Mr Harley-Davidson?”
Ryan wouldn’t meet his eye. “I didn’t want to get into trouble for handling stolen goods. I thought it would make me look even more guilty. But now it hardly matters given that I’m banged up inside anyway.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Dan. He didn’t like the way this conversation was going.
“Find the bracelet. Take it to the police.”
“And tell them what?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan held his hands up. “Make something up. But don’t let Max get his hands on it. That bastard doesn’t deserve it.”
“And what do I tell Mum?”
A whistle went and visiting time was over. The gum-chewing guard walked over and hauled Ryan to his feet. There was no chance for Ryan to respond to Dan’s question.
Dan walked back to the bus stop, his mind whirling. What the hell was he supposed to tell his mum? “Oh, remember that diamond bracelet that dad gave you as an extra special present for your fortieth? Well it was stolen and he got it from a drug baron in return for doing a job, so is it all right with you if I just pop down to the police station with it?” Yeah, Dan could imagine how that conversation would go. Fiona would go absolutely ballistic.
He wished he hadn’t come here today. The bus was late arriving. Callum nagged his mum to let him have a bag of sweets and Tracy puffed on a cigarette whilst complaining to no one in particular that she’d spend the rest of her life visiting Ted in prison if that blockhead didn’t get his arse in gear. A fine, cold rain started to fall.
CHAPTER TEN
“Do you want to try it on?” asked Ruby.
“Of course,” I said. We went upstairs to my room.
I took off my working clothes, a plain skirt and blouse, and laid them carefully on the bed. Ruby slipped the dress over my head and stood back to admire her handiwork. The dress fitted me perfectly. The hem skimmed the middle of my calves and the neckline revealed my collar-bone but not too much cleavage. With the sleeves gone I felt free to move. Wearing that dress made me want to dance.
There was no full-length mirror in the cottage so I tried to see what I looked like using the small, rectangular mirror on the top of the chest of drawers.
“It looks lovely,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Hmm,” said Ruby, tapping her chin with her finger. “There’s something not quite right about it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, dismayed. After all this effort, the dress had to be right. There wasn’t time to alter another one.
“Oh, the dress is fine,” said Ruby. “It’s just your hair.”
“My hair?” I put a hand to my head. I had always kept it long, usually pinned up to keep it out of the way.
“It needs cutting,” said Ruby bluntly.
“But...”
Scarborough Ball (Scarborough Fair Book 2) Page 13