The Villain’s Daughter

by Roberta Kray

  Turning back to face the front, she glanced at her mother. ‘I never realised Michael knew so many people.’

  Kathleen gave a shrug of her shoulders. Her voice was hard, almost cynical. ‘All his drinking buddies, no doubt. He spent more time in the pub than anywhere else.’

  Iris felt a spurt of annoyance. She wondered why her mother had even bothered to come if she had nothing better to say about him; it wasn’t as if she’d had any time for Michael while he was alive. But then, like before, she felt ashamed of judging her too harshly. Everyone dealt with loss in their own way. For all the water that had passed under the bridge, some of it turbulent, he had still been her brother-in-law. She supposed they must have been close once.

  Guy reached out and took her hand as the coffin was carried in. She grasped his fingers tightly, barely able to contain her emotions. As they laid the coffin on the plinth, she blinked back the tears. Rick turned around and walked back past without looking in her direction; keeping his gaze focused straight ahead.

  As the mass began, Iris stared over at the stained-glass windows. The sun had come out and it was slanting through the glass, making multi-coloured rainbows at her feet. She found herself thinking of all the trials she’d put Michael through, all the secrets she’d forced him to reveal. What if the Streets hadn’t been responsible for his death? Maybe she was just trying to shift the blame on to someone else. What if he’d got blind drunk and staggered out into the road because of everything she’d said and done? Her obsession with finding her father had clearly driven him to distraction. Iris bowed her head, suddenly overwhelmed with memories of that last argument at Vita’s.

  As the service continued, Iris automatically went through the responses, slipping in the Hail Marys where she was supposed to. She was only half listening. Her mind was distracted. Another thought had popped into her head and she kept turning and glancing quickly over her shoulder to scour the faces of the assembled mourners. Surely her father wouldn’t miss his own brother’s funeral? But at the same time she knew it would be madness for him to come here. If the Streets were still searching - and why shouldn’t they be? - this would be the obvious place to look. But still, she couldn’t help wondering, hoping, that he might be close, at the same time willing him to stay away, to keep safe.

  She caught sight of William Grand standing at the back. He gave her a tiny nod, his eyes full of concern. Over the last ten days, she had relied on him almost as much as she’d relied on Guy. He had taken her through the funeral arrangements, endlessly kind and sympathetic. He’d helped her choose the coffin, the hymns and readings, never losing patience as she hesitated, dithered and frequently changed her mind. Each decision had felt so momentous she could hardly bear to take it.

  Guy leaned in a little closer and she felt the warmth and comfort of his body. As she looked at him, he mouthed, ‘Are you okay?’ She tried to smile but didn’t quite succeed. Her lips felt dry, almost frozen.

  The priest was talking about Michael. Iris tried to concentrate, to listen to what he was saying, but her thoughts kept floating away. How had this happened? Why? But she knew why - the past had finally caught up with them all. Michael had paid the price for all her father’s terrible mistakes.

  As the final prayers were said, Iris bent her face and gazed at the polished wooden floor. So this was it. She glanced sideways at the coffin with its raised crucifix. She thought of Michael lying motionless inside, dressed in his crisp white shirt and dark grey suit. She wanted to believe in God and heaven, but wasn’t sure if she could. What if this was it? What if there was nothing else?

  Outside, the sunlight was glinting on the snow. The sudden brightness made Iris screw up her eyes. Guy put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s over now,’ he said. She nodded, even though nothing much did feel over. The funeral, yes, that had been survived, but it had done little to assuage her grief. The pain rolled over her again in waves so strong that she thought she might drown.

  ‘It will get easier,’ Guy said. ‘I promise you.’

  But Iris wasn’t in a place where she could imagine such a thing. She gulped down a sob and brushed the tears away with the back of her hand. ‘Will it?’

  ‘What I mean,’ he continued softly, ‘is that there’ll come a point when you can look back on the happy times and not the sad ones. You’ll be able to remember the Michael you loved and not just the agony of losing him.’

  She buried her face for a moment in his shoulder. Was he speaking from personal experience? It wasn’t that long since he’d lost his mother. They may have lived separate lives, but she knew that he missed her. ‘Do you . . . do you wish that you’d gone to your mum’s funeral?’

  Guy shook his head. ‘She made a new family for herself. I wasn’t part of that. I wouldn’t have been welcome.’

  She raised her face, frowning as she looked into his eyes. ‘But you had every right to be there.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but it wouldn’t have made me feel better about anything. The only kind of closure I’d have been looking for would have involved my fists and Terry Street’s hypocritical jaw. And I’ve always thought there’s something rather undignified about scrapping in church.’

  Iris smiled despite herself. ‘But not in funeral parlours?’

  ‘Ah, but I didn’t start that.’

  As Iris looked back towards the door of the chapel, she saw her mother talking to the priest. She would be doing the decent thing, expressing her thanks, saying how nice the service had been. Iris felt a rush of both gratitude and guilt. Enclosed in her bubble of grief, clinging on to Guy, she had forgotten all about the common courtesies. She should be putting on a brave face, talking to people. She should be looking for William and thanking him for everything he’d done. She should be searching out Vita and trying to build some bridges.

  But Iris couldn’t see either of them in the crowd that was gathering outside the chapel. Already some of the mourners were starting to drift away, to get into their cars, heading for the Dog & Duck. She looked towards the road, wondering if the Streets were watching. She thought again about her father and her eyes quickly raked the memorial gardens in case he might be viewing the proceedings from a safe distance. But there was no one there.

  ‘He won’t come here,’ Guy said. ‘Not today.’

  She looked up at him, startled by how easily he had read her mind. ‘I just thought—’

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  Iris didn’t get the chance to say anything else. Her mother had left the priest and was walking towards them. As she came closer, Guy slipped his arm from her waist. ‘I’ll be in the car,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t have to go.’

  He bent and kissed her again, this time on the lips. ‘I’ll be waiting. Take your time. Take as much time as you need.’

  As he left he smiled at Kathleen, but she didn’t smile back. Iris watched as her mother’s eyes narrowed into two thin slits.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Iris said.

  Kathleen pursed her lips, watching as Guy walked towards the car park. ‘How much do you really know about that man?’

  ‘Enough,’ Iris said sharply.

  The exchange was interrupted by the ringing of her mother’s phone. ‘Heavens,’ Kathleen said, ‘I thought I’d turned that off.’ She took it from her bag and checked the screen. ‘It’s work. I’d better take it.’

  ‘Don’t they realise you’re at a funeral?’

  But she’d already turned, moved a few steps away and was speaking softly to the caller. Iris didn’t get a chance to hear what she was saying. A couple of Michael’s friends came over to shake her hand and express their condolences. Iris went through the motions, saying, yes, it had been a lovely service; yes, there had been a good turnout; yes, she would see them shortly in the Dog & Duck. All the time she was watching her mother: Kathleen had her head bent to the phone, a small smile playing around her lips. If that was work, Iris thought, she was the Queen of Siberia. There was
more than business being discussed in that conversation. Still, why shouldn’t she have someone special in her life? She was only in her late forties and still a very attractive woman.

  ‘Something important?’ Iris asked as her mother hung up and put the phone in her pocket.

  ‘Oh, just some papers that had gone astray.’

  Kathleen worked as a PA for one of the senior partners in a large legal firm in Manchester. Iris could still remember her learning to type, her fingers tap-tapping away on the keyboard of a second-hand computer. That memory sparked off others too: a tiny kitchen with a damp patch on the ceiling, the roar of traffic from a main road, the strange sights and smells of an unfamiliar city. Which city had it been? They had lived in so many, especially in those early years. There had never been boyfriends, at least none that she knew of. Her mother must have been lonely with only a young child for company.

  ‘That’s all?’ Iris said. ‘Just some papers?’

  ‘It’s a busy office. Things go missing.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it goes to show how indispensable you are. Was that your boss?’

  But Kathleen wouldn’t be drawn. She looked down at her watch. ‘We’d better go. We don’t want to be late.’

  Iris didn’t see how they could be late - it wasn’t as if the guest of honour was even going to be there - but she didn’t say anything. If her mother didn’t want to talk about her mystery caller, then so be it. Everyone was entitled to a private life. Not that she was giving up on finding out. Maybe later, after a few drinks, she might be more forthcoming. As they walked towards the car, Iris took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Vita and Rick had organised the post-funeral gathering, for which Iris was grateful. It had been one less thing to worry about. The Dog & Duck was packed and they had to squeeze through the crowd to get to the bar. Their progress was slow; every few feet or so they were stopped by somebody wanting to shake their hands, to express their sympathy, to talk about Michael. Eventually, Guy had taken their drink orders and proceeded on his own.

  By the time he got back, Iris had become separated from her mother. It seemed that Kathleen had not been forgotten despite her long absence from Kellston. Old friends and neighbours had hugged and kissed her and whisked her away for a catch-up. Iris took the glass of wine from Guy and knocked half of it back in one.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘take it easy. You carry on like that and you’ll be legless before you know it.’

  ‘My homage to Michael,’ she said. ‘I think he’d approve.’

  ‘In that case I’ll get a bottle next time.’

  ‘Now that sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.’ She suddenly wanted to be drunk, very drunk, to be removed from everything that was going on around her. The gathering served to remind her of that evening, not so long ago, when she had met Michael in the Hope for Lizzie’s wake. Had Lizzie been the love of his life? Was that why he’d never married? No, she thought, with a little shake of her head, she was just romanticising. She wasn’t sure if she really believed in soulmates, in there being just one other person in the world who you were meant to be with . . . and yet when she looked at Guy she felt a quickening of her pulse, a stirring in her heart that she’d never experienced before.

  ‘Do you believe in . . .’ She had been about to say fate, but stopped and bit down on her tongue. In the circumstances, there was something decidedly tasteless about the question, and anyway it was way too early to be thinking of her and Guy as a long-term prospect.

  ‘Believe in?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She glanced around the pub and spotted Rick in the adjoining room. He had taken off his black jacket and was playing pool in a half-hearted sort of fashion. She should have a chat with him. But not right now. She wasn’t ready yet. Half a glass of wine wasn’t nearly enough to banish her embarrassment over what she’d accused him of. Shifting her gaze, she saw William Grand in conversation with a couple of tearful middle-aged blondes. Michael had been popular with the ladies and this pair, she suspected, were just two of his many conquests. How he had always managed to disentangle himself without causing any lasting bad feeling was beyond her. As she was looking, William raised his gaze and gave her a rueful smile. He had the forlorn expression of a man in need of rescuing.

  Iris turned to Guy. ‘I’d better go and thank William for everything he’s done.’

  He nodded. ‘Sure. I’ll wait for you here. In fact, no, I’ll head back to the bar and get us that bottle I was talking about.’

  ‘You’re an angel. I won’t be long.’

  William nodded at the two women, excusing himself as Iris approached. ‘How’s it going?’ he said to her.

  Iris pulled a face. ‘Not too bad. I just don’t know what to say to people.’ She frowned. ‘Well, I do know, but it all seems so trite, so glib. I feel like I’m just going through the motions. And that doesn’t seem right. It’s like I’m being fake, just pretending but . . .’ She paused, surprised by this sudden articulation of thoughts she hadn’t even realised were in her head.

  William placed his hand lightly on her arm. ‘You’re doing fine. None of this is easy. No one expects you to be the perfect hostess. It’s not a party,’ he said.

  She kept her voice low. ‘But I thought these things were supposed to help, to provide some kind of closure.’

  ‘Not closure,’ William said. ‘It isn’t about that. It’s about . . . I don’t know . . . celebrating the man he was, appreciating the memories he’s left you with.’

  Iris drained her glass and put it down on a table. ‘Except all I can think about is that we argued on the night he died. He got mad at me and . . . I should have made things right. I shouldn’t have just left it.’ She could feel the tears pricking her eyes and swiftly wiped them away.

  ‘And do you think that’s how he’d like you to remember him - that one single moment above all others?’

  She sighed. ‘No, I guess not.’

  ‘I take it this was his favourite pub?’

  ‘You could say that.’ She looked around at the shabby wallpaper, at the peeling paint around the windows. She glanced towards the other room where Rick was still playing pool. ‘Come to think of it, I’m surprised they didn’t charge him rent.’

  William smiled. ‘So you do have some good memories.’

  ‘Of course I do, but . . . but it doesn’t make anything right, does it? I mean how it ended. I never got the chance to tell him how much I cared, how much I loved him.’ Iris picked up her glass, found that it was empty and put it down again.

  ‘Here,’ William said, passing her his own glass. ‘Have this. I shouldn’t be drinking - I’ve got to get back soon.’

  Iris peered into the glass. It looked like whisky. She lowered her nose and took a sniff. Yes, it was definitely whisky. Mixing her drinks probably wasn’t such a great idea, but she took a sip nonetheless. ‘I wanted to say thanks for everything you’ve done. You know, for today and all the arrangements and coming to the mortuary with me.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘All in a day’s work?’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that.’ He turned his face away. Just before he did, she saw something flash into his eyes.

  ‘William?’

  After a second, he turned back to her, his features perfectly composed. ‘I want you to know that I’m here if you need me. I don’t just mean as an employer, although that too, but as a friend.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘I didn’t realise that you knew Guy Wilder.’

  There was something slightly strained about his tone. ‘Yes,’ Iris said. ‘We’re . . . we’ve known each other for a while.’

  ‘I see.’

  Iris was about to ask exactly what I see meant when Toby suddenly descended on them. And he was clearly well ahead on the drinks front. From the way he was talking, he’d probably shifted a few lines of coke too. ‘Shit,’ he
said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. ‘I know you must be mad at me. I can’t blame you for that. But the only reason I said that stuff about Danny was because I was worried about you getting involved with the cops and all. I mean, you weren’t thinking straight. And you don’t want to get mixed up with the Streets. They’re crazy, babe. And God, you don’t mind me being here, do you? I didn’t know Michael that well, but he was a great guy.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said, pushing him gently away. ‘Or at least it would be if you could give me a tiny bit of space.’

  ‘I should be going,’ William said. ‘Take care of yourself, okay?’

  ‘I will. And thanks again.’

  Toby watched him leave with a big grin on his face. ‘Grimm Junior trying to lure you back into work, is he? I tell you, that place has been falling apart without you.’

  ‘I doubt that very much,’ Iris said, sipping on the whisky. She felt the warmth as it slid down her throat. Having skipped breakfast, she could feel the effects of it too. Already a slight haziness was starting to invade her thoughts. She liked the feeling, the way it took the edge off the pain.

  ‘We’ve got a temp in of course, but she hardly brightens up the place. She’s as bloody old as the hills. I don’t think telephones were even invented when she was born.’ He picked up a sandwich from a plate on the table, bit into it and chewed. ‘So are you coming back soon?’

  ‘After the weekend,’ Iris said. ‘Can you survive until then?’

  ‘It’s not me I’m worried about. I spend as little time in that damn place as I possibly can. I think Grimm Junior might be pining though. He walks around all day looking like a sick puppy dog.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Iris said.

  Toby laughed. ‘The trouble with some women is that they can’t see what’s right in front of their noses.’