The Villain’s Daughter

by Roberta Kray

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Chris asked. ‘What does he mean about Liam?’

  Guy’s grin grew even wider. ‘He knows who murdered your brother. He’s always known. And it wasn’t Davey bloody Tyler. No, he was just the poor sod who your daddy took his frustration out on because he couldn’t kill the real culprit.’

  Terry threw his cigarette butt on to the carpet and ground it in with his heel. ‘He’s talking shite.’

  ‘No, he isn’t,’ Iris said, determined to have the whole truth revealed. She glanced over at Chris. ‘My father, the man I once thought was my father, was called Sean O’Donnell. He was a good man, a decent man, but he was destroyed when he found out Terry had been having a long-term affair with my mother, and that I was the product of that affair. Sean bought a gun - I don’t think he meant to use it, but that’s beside the point - and went with Tyler to your house. He only intended to rob it but . . .’

  ‘Is this true?’ Chris said, glaring at his father.

  ‘What?’ Danny said.

  Terry ignored them both. As if his only desire was for Iris to hear his side of the story, he addressed himself purely to her. ‘Did Guy tell you about how I broke his arm? Poor little boy, seven years old. I bet he laid that on thick, didn’t he? Terry Street, the brutal kiddie-beater. What he probably forgot to mention was that I found him in the living room in the middle of the night with a can of petrol and a box of matches. If he had his way, we’d have all been ashes by the morning.’

  Guy laughed. It was a nasty brutish sound that sent a chill though Iris. ‘You deserved to burn in hell, the whole bloody lot of you!’

  ‘Is it true?’ Chris said again, advancing on his father. ‘You let the bastard who murdered Liam get away with it?’

  ‘Of course he did,’ Guy said, trying to stir things up even more. ‘What kind of justice is that for your brother? Iris’s mother - she’s called Kathleen by the way - made him promise not to tell the law, or go after her husband. And you know what else? Even after everything that had happened, that pathetic excuse for a man still wanted to be with her. He thought more of his slut of a mistress than he did of Liam.’

  Chris stared into his father’s face. Suddenly his hands whipped up from his sides and grabbed the lapels of his suit. His eyes flashed with rage. ‘All this time,’ he hissed, ‘and you never said a word.’

  Terry took hold of his wrists. ‘For God’s sake, you don’t know the half of it.’

  ‘He was your fuckin’ son!’

  Breaking free, Chris lashed out and caught him with two quick blows to the jaw. Terry staggered back against the cabinet. A tray containing cups and saucers clattered to the floor. Chris launched himself forward again, grabbed Terry and began to shake him. ‘What about Liam? What about Liam?’ Terry tried to fight him off and the two of them, caught in an unholy embrace, staggered around the room, crashing into furniture. A vase of flowers toppled over and smashed, spilling water and white chrysanthemums over the faded carpet.

  Iris, unable to control the situation, stood well back. She could understand Chris’s rage: she might have felt the same way if it was her brother who’d been killed and her father who had chosen not to tell the truth about it. Danny was usually the first to resort to violence, but this time he’d been caught unawares. Perhaps he was too out of his head, or too busy worrying about his own secrets, to really comprehend what was going on.

  Guy, enjoying the conflict he’d caused, laughed again. Perhaps it was that derisive laugh that reminded Danny Street of what he should be doing. Turning suddenly, he delivered a low ferocious blow to his stomach. Guy doubled over, the breath flying out of him, but as Danny went in to finish the job he recovered enough to grab hold of his legs. There was a brief ungainly struggle before the two of them thudded to the ground.

  Within seconds the room had dissolved into chaos. Grunting, spitting, cursing, the four angry men screamed abuse at each other. Fists started to fly haphazardly. It was hard to know exactly who was fighting who. Somehow they had all got entangled in a vicious knot of rage and bitterness.

  Iris withdrew to the safety of the corridor. She saw Gerald poke his head out of the door, and then rapidly retreat again. He’d be straight on the phone to the cops, but by the time they got here it would all be over. As she looked back into the room, Iris experienced one of those déjà vu sensations. There was something overly familiar about the scene. It was as if she’d come full circle from that first day, not so long ago, when Guy had come to view the body of his mother. As she witnessed the growing devastation, the smashed furniture, the crushed white petals of the flowers, she could see it all as a fitting metaphor for the wreckage of her own life.

  Iris slowly shook her head. There was only one thing left to do. She went through to reception, picked up her coat and her bag, and without a backward glance walked away from it all.

  Epilogue

  It was a snowy Christmas Eve. As the plane rose up into the sky, Iris took a final look at the city of London. She didn’t know when, if ever, she’d see the place again, and couldn’t put a name to the emotion she was feeling as she gazed down on the myriad of lights beneath her. Exhilaration, relief, anxiety? She wasn’t even sure why she was doing this - except that doing something, going somewhere, was better than doing nothing. William’s offer had come out of the blue and she’d accepted it without a second thought.

  He put down his newspaper. ‘You will get through this.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘You could try and say it like you meant it.’

  Iris forced a smile. ‘Am I doing the right thing?’ She suddenly felt scared, disturbed by the notion that she was simply running away from it all. Wherever she went, the truth would always follow her.

  ‘It’s a bit late if you want to get off now.’

  Aware of the other passengers sitting around them, Iris lowered her voice. ‘I don’t,’ she said, ‘but Terry Street’s never going to pay for what he did, is he? There’s no proof that he arranged to have Lizzie killed, or that he murdered Michael.’ And there was nothing she could do to change the situation. She couldn’t even pursue the accusations without dragging her mother’s name through the mud, and she wasn’t prepared to do that. ‘He just gets away with it.’

  ‘Does he?’ William said. ‘It depends on how you look at it.’ He paused, his grey eyes becoming thoughtful. ‘From what you’ve told me, his one desire was to be reunited with his daughter. He’s spent the last nineteen years believing that would happen. You’ve deprived him of the only thing that he can’t buy or steal.’

  Iris still hadn’t come to terms with who her father really was. She scowled as Terry’s thin, gaunt face rose up into her mind. ‘It’s not enough.’

  ‘What would be enough? Terry Street rotting in jail for the rest of his life? This might not be justice, but it’s the closest you’re going to get.’

  Iris sat back in her seat and considered his reply. Perhaps he was right. After what Terry had said that final day at Tobias Grand & Sons, she had no doubt that his feelings for her were genuine. He had always hoped that there would be a happy ending. And perhaps there could have been if, long ago, different choices had been made.

  ‘Did you call your mother before you left?’

  Iris nodded. ‘I told her I was going away for a few weeks. I didn’t say where in case she took it into her head to get on the next plane out. Believe me, she’s more than capable. I need a bit of space from her, time to think things through.’ It hadn’t been an easy conversation; there was still a gulf between them, an ocean of awkwardness. It was painful to look back over those years, to count the lies she’d been told, but at least it was all out in the open now.

  ‘Tell me,’ William said, ‘would you have started the affair with Guy if you’d still been with Luke?’

  She was surprised by the question. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Truthfully?’

  Iris hesitated. She understood what he was getting at. Sometimes, even when you
knew what you were doing was wrong, you still went ahead and did it. There were people who got under your skin, who connected in a way that went beyond good sense or morality. Isn’t that what had happened to her mother? And could she really put her hand on her heart and claim that she wouldn’t have succumbed to Guy Wilder’s charms even if she had still been attached? ‘You think I’m being a hypocrite.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘not a hypocrite. I didn’t mean that. But we all make mistakes, and then occasionally make even worse ones trying to put them right. Your mother never intended to hurt you. What she did was wrong, but she’s had to live with that for a very long time. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but maybe one day you can begin to make your peace with her.’

  They were silent for a few minutes. Iris gazed out of the window again. All this talk of mistakes, of the terrible things people did, had got her thinking about someone else. ‘What will happen to Alice?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. Hopefully, she’ll get the help she needs.’ William frowned down at his paper. ‘I know Toby was my nephew but . . . well, he wasn’t the nicest person in the world. And I’m not saying he deserved that kind of end, but after what he did to her, what he put her through, I find it hard to look on him as a completely innocent victim.’

  Despite the warmth of the plane, Iris shivered. ‘But will she even be able to give evidence? I mean, will anyone trust her word after what she’s done?’

  It was Gerald Grand who had made the gruesome discovery. After the police had arrested Guy and the Streets, he had gone down to the basement to make sure the rest of the building was clear. What he’d found there had been beyond his worst nightmare: Alice Avery standing calmly by the counter . . . and laid out on the table, the perfectly embalmed body of his son. ‘Poor Gerald,’ she said. ‘God, it must have been horrific! I should have told you what Vita said - about Rick’s blackmail, about Danny Street. I could have—’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. It was already too late. Toby was dead before you even got back from Guy’s.’

  ‘Why did she do it?’ Iris murmured. But it was a purely rhetorical question. Others would claim it was down to hatred or revenge, to bitterness at being dumped, but the truth was much more disturbing. Alice, tragically, had done it for love.

  ‘I doubt if Danny Street will ever go to trial,’ William said. ‘He’s been questioned by the police, but he’s denying everything. There’s no physical evidence - the body of Jenni Brookner’s already been cremated - so it’s her word against his and with her current mental state . . .’

  Iris, knowing he was right, gave a small groan of despair. Alice Avery had been driven to the edge, and then Toby Grand had pushed her over. She had given a statement to the police backing up Alice’s story - but what she’d been able to tell them was only hearsay, a reiteration of what Vita had said to her. Before she’d left, she’d posted a cheque to Vita for six hundred pounds. It had been a final goodbye, a severing of all links between them. It was unlikely that any action would be taken against Rick Howard; although the money had been found on the floor of the embalming room, Vita was denying ever giving it to her to pass on to Toby, Toby was no longer around to confirm or deny its source and Alice was hardly a reliable witness.

  And Guy - what would happen to him? Iris gritted her teeth. Every time she thought of him, her body stiffened with revulsion. All those things he’d done, all the ways he’d used her, his callous and twisted manipulation. He wouldn’t have to answer to anyone. He wouldn’t even have to take responsibility for the damage caused to the room at Tobias Grand & Sons. Gerald had more important things on his mind than pressing charges against a load of scrapping thugs. The business had closed down and would never reopen. ‘And Guy’s another one who’s just going to walk away from it all,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Do you think he’ll ever be happy?’ William said.

  Iris didn’t need to think twice about it. Guy was empty inside, dead and empty. ‘No.’

  ‘Well then.’

  Iris sighed. He had a point. Guy would spend the rest of his life battling with his demons. Nothing and no one could ever give him back what he really wanted: his mother’s love had been lost long ago.

  Alice Avery sat down in the chair, neatly crossed her legs and before opening the letter took a moment to survey the room. Other people might have considered it rather bare, spartan even, but she was pleased by its simplicity. It was small and neat and she didn’t have to share it with anyone else. Here, away from all the trappings of modern life, she was finally able to relax.

  Alice talked to the psychiatrist every day. These were meetings she looked forward to: no one had listened to her quite so intently before. For the first time in her life she felt able to speak openly. She liked to talk about Toby most of all, the things he’d said, the way he’d made her laugh, the time they’d spent together. When she was doing that she felt close to him again. She was less happy to discuss Danny Street. Even now, as his name came into her head, she shuddered. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. It was Danny who’d made Toby say all those terrible things, who’d corrupted his mind with the coke and the crack and all the other vile substances he’d encouraged him to buy. The real Toby would never have abandoned her. It was the real Toby that she’d reconstructed on the embalming table. It had been her finest piece of work and she didn’t regret it. He had never looked more beautiful.

  Alice glanced down at the letter. Her mother’s thin spidery handwriting crawled across the envelope. She didn’t need to open it to know what was written inside: all the letters were the same, filled with anger, outrage and disgust. That any daughter of mine could be so evil, could do something so perverse . . . But none of it mattered any more. Alice smiled as she pushed the envelope aside. Her mother couldn’t touch her now. Nobody could.

  Terry Street gazed gloomily down into the glass of whisky. He didn’t get much past breakfast these days before having a drink. In his head, he went over and over what had happened, always starting with the very first night he had seen Kathleen, always ending with the horrifying contempt in Iris’s eyes when they’d met for the final time in that room at Tobias Grand & Sons.

  He wasn’t sorry that he’d killed Michael O’Donnell. How could he be? The bastard had deserved it. If he hadn’t gone shooting his mouth off all those years ago everything would have been different - Liam would still be alive, Kathleen would still be at his side and he wouldn’t have a daughter who despised him. He stared at the wall, reliving the almost climactic feeling he’d had as he’d put his foot down on the pedal, as he’d felt the acceleration of the car, the moment of impact, the dull, satisfying thump of hard metal against soft flesh . . .

  And okay, so he’d broken his promise, but he’d made that promise at another time, in another life. Kathleen had no hold over him any more. She’d relinquished that loyalty from the moment she’d walked away. He should have taken his revenge years ago. If he could have run the bloody car over Sean O’Donnell, he would have; he owed her murdering, scumbag of a husband absolutely nothing.

  Terry knocked back his drink, got up and poured another. He could hear someone moving around in the kitchen. Chris? Chris’s wife? Not Danny. Danny had been avoiding him ever since that trouble at Tobias Grand & Sons. The rumours were still circulating . . . crazy rumours that he couldn’t control. They were enough to send Terry demented. That mad Avery woman spilling all her bile and filth. He slammed his fist down on the table. That’s what women were like. Full of lies! Full of shit! No son of his was capable of what that bitch was accusing him of.

  Terry poured himself another whisky. Lizzie was probably enjoying this, laughing at him from her grave. The thought of it filled him with a rage he could barely control. And then he thought of Guy Wilder and how he’d violated his daughter. If it hadn’t been for him filling her head with all those lies . . . This was
all his fault! Terry got to his feet and hurled the glass against the wall, feeling a brief rush of satisfaction as it smashed into a thousand pieces. Well, he wasn’t going to let him get away with it. He’d make him pay. He’d make him fuckin’ pay!

  There were only ten minutes left before they were due to touch down. Iris found herself thinking about Michael again. She missed him. She always would. He’d known all along that she wasn’t really his niece, not by blood at least, and yet he’d never shown her anything but affection. And even though he’d lied, she felt his lies had been spoken more out of a desire to protect than anything more sinister. There had been kindness there, love and tenderness. He could have turned his back on her, but he hadn’t. He’d made her feel like she belonged.

  But now it was time to move on, to start again. She felt a brief rush of excitement, of anticipation, as the plane started its descent. Ireland - home of her ancestors. She’d never even been here before. By the time she was born, both sets of her grandparents were dead. Iris, despite her more hopeful mood, made a resolution not to expect too much. She turned to William, trying to keep her voice light. ‘If it’s raining, I’m on the next flight out to Spain.’

  ‘If it didn’t rain so much, the grass wouldn’t be so green.’

  Iris pulled a face. ‘Is that one of those fatuous clichés about how the good wouldn’t be so good if it wasn’t for the bad?’

  ‘No,’ he said smiling. ‘It’s a simple fact. Sometimes there aren’t any lines to read between.’

  Iris wrinkled her nose. She still wasn’t sure what William expected of her. Was he after something more than friendship? He might possess a wealth of kindness and a certain quirky charm, but she had no intention of getting involved with any man, ever again. From now on she was resolutely single. The only person she was going to rely on was herself. If he imagined, even for a second, that she was going to . . . but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she felt an echo of his smile creeping to her lips. Who exactly was she trying to convince? And there was nothing remotely predatory about William; whatever his feelings for her, he wouldn’t act on them unless she gave him some encouragement. She had a long way to go before she could trust anyone again, but it might be a journey worth taking if a man as good and decent as William Grand was at the end of it.