The Wild Heart

by Menon, David

  Ian was fuming. ‘ Is this meant to imply a threat of some kind?’ he demanded.

  Alice answered in measured tones. ‘ You can take it, Ian, however the bloody hell you like but hear this, our operation is not going to be compromised by your private life and it wouldn’t be in Mark Earnshaw’s interests if he got in the way’.

  Halfway through the morning Kevin’s wife Sandra came storming into the site and sought out the bloke Ian had taken on to cover for Kevin. She began to inflict a barrage of verbal abuse on a bewildered looking Malcolm before Ian went over and told her to lay off him. She then turned her fire on him.

  ‘ Don’t you fucking tell me to lay off!’ she raged ‘ If I can’t feed my girls this week it’ll be his fault! He’s stolen my husband’s job!’

  Ian took a deep breath. He was in no mood for her antics after his meeting earlier with Alice. Sandra was standing there in her pink sweat suit and white trainers. She was dripping in rings, bangles, and earrings, and her dyed blond hair was tied back to the point of severity. She was wearing no make-up but the expression in her eyes was the unmistakable stain of pure anger. The rest of the lads had stopped whatever they’d been doing and were watching the drama being played out.

  ‘ I took Malcolm on, Sandra’ said Ian, firmly. ‘ Because your husband seems to have forgotten he has a job I pay him to do’. He’d love to tell the stupid bitch what the real story was on her total fucking wanker of a husband. That would take the wind out of her fucking sails.

  ‘ And why did you do that, eh? After all the work Kevin’s done for you all these years’.

  ‘ Sandra, I had no idea when Kevin was going to be back’ said Ian. ‘ What was I supposed to do? We’ve got a lot of work on and not even you know where Kevin is’.

  ‘ Well I’ve had the police round asking me about … they think Kevin might have murdered that policeman … ‘ she broke down and cried. Ian put his arms out to comfort her but she pushed them away. ‘ Don’t you touch me! It’s the fault of all you Irish! You’re poison. Do you hear me? Poison!’

  Ian recoiled. He understood she was upset but he’d only let her go so far with her nasty remarks. The rest of the lads gathered round and Sandra leaned on Len who put his arm round her.

  ‘ I can’t believe it, boss’ said Len, doing his best to comfort Sandra. ‘ Kevin murdering a policeman? It can’t be. They’ll have made a mistake Sandra, love. You’ll see’.

  Oh no they haven’t, thought Ian.

  ‘ I want his money’ Sandra demanded, between sobs and wiping her face clean with her hands ‘ What he was due’.

  ‘ Of course, Sandra’ said Ian. ‘ Come into the office and I’ll sort you a cheque’.

  ‘ I want cash!’ she screeched. If he gave her a cheque, as soon as it was paid in it would all be swallowed up by the overdraft she’d run up. She really didn’t know what she was going to do. She was already on a credit blacklist because of her debts. Kevin’s wages had been her only lifeline.

  Ian drew breath. Jesus, she was pushing her luck. ‘ Then I’ll tell you what he’s due and have it ready for you later. I’ll even bring it round’.

  ‘ Go on, Sandra’ said Len ‘ Go with the boss and get things sorted. Is there anything any of us can do?’

  Sandra shook her head.

  In the office Ian made Sandra a cup of tea and she sat down. He worked out what Kevin had been due and said he’d bring the cash over to her later when he’d had a chance to go to the bank.

  ‘ What are you going to do for money when this runs out?’ asked Ian.

  Sandra shrugged ‘ Go on the social I suppose, nothing else for it. I just wish I knew where he was so I could get the police off me back. I told them that … wait a minute, who told them that he’d gone to Belfast anyway? Was it his parents? Or was it you?’

  ‘ It was me, Sandra’.

  ‘ You fucking bastard!’

  She leapt out of her chair and went to slap his face but he was too quick for her and grabbed her arm before she was able to make contact.

  ‘ Don’t even try it, sweetheart’ he said, seething. ‘ Because if you do I’ll forget that you’re a woman’.

  ‘ Well what would you know about women?’ she sneered ‘ A fucking poofter like you!’

  ‘ That’s enough!’.

  ‘ Gay, straight. It doesn’t matter in the end. You’re all Irish navvies who shouldn’t be here’.

  ‘ Oh don’t you get me started, lady’.

  ‘ I don’t want to have anything more to do with my so-called husband, no matter what’s been going on and I’ll make damn sure the girls don’t either. And I’ll be cutting all ties with his Mum and Dad and all. Me Mam will look after me and the girls. She always said he was a no good Irish navvy and that I shouldn’t have married him. I should’ve listened to her’.

  Ian bristled. ‘ Sandra, you’re Kevin’s wife. He may need you’.

  ‘ Tough! I need. Do you hear me? I need! I need money for me and the girls and he’s just gone and made sure we’ll go without. That coppers' family won’t go without, will they? Oh no, they’ll get thousands in compo. If Kevin is involved then I won’t get a bloody penny!’

  Ian stood back and shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘ What the fuck is up with you?’ she demanded. ‘ I’m going to sue for all the emotional trauma. I’ve seen all the adverts on the telly about it. Oh yes, somebody is going to fucking pay’.

  ‘ Sandra, if your husband has murdered a policeman, then where do you think the compensation is going to come from?’

  Sandra shrugged her shoulders. ‘ I don’t care. But if the copper’s family get something then it’s only fair that I should too. I’m just as much of a victim’.

  Ian felt sorry for Sandra’s daughters. They’re stuck with just her now. ‘ Why don’t you think about getting a job?’

  ‘ How can I get a job? I’ve got the girls to look after’.

  Ian flinched. Her voice was like a fucking drill. ‘ Sandra, they’re both at school. You could get something part-time’.

  ‘ No I couldn’t. The girls need me. Besides, they don’t give decent jobs to good white English people these days. They only give them to immigrants who’ve come to sponge off this country. It does my head in when I see all these asylum seekers getting everything’.

  ‘ How can they have a job and be sponging off the country at the same time, Sandra?’ He was heartily sick of lazy English fuckers like Sandra using the presence of immigrants as an excuse for not getting off their fat arses and finding work.

  Sandra didn’t answer.

  ‘ Well like I said, Sandra, I’ll be over about five with the money. Okay?’

  She turned to the door and then paused ‘ How do your lot sleep at night?’ she asked.

  ‘ I beg your pardon? Who do you mean exactly by my lot?’

  ‘ The Irish! How do any of you sleep at night knowing that for all these years you’ve brought all this trouble to England?’

  ‘ Sandra, you know nothing about the history of Northern Ireland, nothing at all. But let me ask you a question. How do you sleep at night knowing that your husband has done a disappearing act and the police want to question him about a murder, and yet you, his wife, couldn’t give a shit about him? As long as you’re alright it doesn’t matter to you that he could’ve been using my yard for criminal reasons. No, as long as you get your cash, as long as you’re alright’.

  ‘ Well at least Kevin’s a real man’ she taunted ‘ At least he doesn’t sleep with other men’.

  Ian was incandescent with rage ‘ Get out, Sandra. Get out before I change my mind about the money’.

  ‘ You can’t! It’s Kevin’s money!’

  ‘ Exactly. Kevin’s money. I’m under no obligation to pay it to you so like I said, get out before I change my mind’.

  As soon as Kevin Matheson was arrested Alice got on the phone to Ian. She told him that the Police Service of Northern Ireland had received a tip-off that had led them to a fairly unrem
arkable house in Larne, Co. Antrim. Nobody else had been in the house at the time leading Alice to conclude that Kevin had been hung out to dry and seen as expendable which was why they hadn’t killed him. She said the arresting officers had found Kevin in a terrified state and arrested him for the murder of P.C Stuart Wheeler. He’d confessed outright and agreed to co-operate.

  ‘ So what’s he saying?’ Ian asked.

  ‘ He’s telling us that some sort of low level bombing campaign is being planned for Manchester and our colleagues in the Greater Manchester force are now aware of it. He says he was told to hand over the building materials he’d stolen from your yard to someone he never saw. He was told to drive them to an industrial estate in Stockport at a certain time late at night and park in a viaduct under a railway line. His instructions were to wait in the van but to leave the back doors unlocked and not to look round. All he was aware of was two bodies clearing the contents of his van out and loading them into another one parked next to it. Once they were done they hit the side of his van as his signal to drive off. He never saw any faces. They’ll be taking him back over to Manchester in a couple of days and he’ll go away for a long time’.

  ‘ And what’s the latest on Campbell?’

  ‘ He’s on the mainland and we believe he’s in Manchester’.

  ‘ So he’s close’.

  ‘ Yes, Ian. You really do have to watch your step now’.

  Natalie had cooked pork chops for tea. When Shaun came in just after six he said he was ravenous. He always was when he’d been on a punishment beating.

  The young lad in question had been stealing cars from a working-class estate on the outskirts of East Belfast and taking them for a ride. The police had not been able to apprehend him mainly because the local community had all refused to give them his name even though they knew damn well who it was. But they had their own way of dealing out justice and that’s when they’d called for Shaun to get onto it.

  Shaun and four others had burst into the end council house the lad shared with his parents and four younger sisters. They’d found him sitting in the living room with his mother. They were watching ‘Neighbours’.

  His mother was pleading for them to let him be as she screamed and cried and tried to hold onto him. But they had him out of the house and into the back of the car in seconds. It was broad daylight. Nobody came to see. Nobody would ever say anything. They knew better than to get involved and not even his mother came running after them. Her sixteen year-old son with his freckles and ginger hair was beyond her help and all she could do now was pray that he came back to her in one piece.

  They bound the lad with tape around his wrists and ankles and across his mouth. His initial struggling was neutralised by the blows he received but they were nothing compared to what was dished out to him when they got him to the waste ground behind the old chemical factory. Shaun Campbell’s favoured weapon of choice was a plank of wood with three-inch nails stuck to it. The others used the more traditional implements of correction such as crowbars and hammers. They left the lad lying unconscious in a pool of blood and all went home to have their tea.

  ‘ Aren’t you having anything?’ asked Shaun as he tucked in and saw that all Natalie was doing was smoking a cigarette.

  ‘ I’m not hungry’ she answered. ‘ I’ll maybe have a sandwich later’.

  ‘ Are you not feeling well?’

  ‘ I’m not ill, no’.

  ‘ What do you mean?’

  ‘ I’m pregnant, Shaun’.

  She watched the shock drain the colour from his face like approaching fog drained the colour from the landscape. She could well tell that he wasn’t enamoured with the idea.

  ‘ But we always use something’.

  ‘ It must’ve torn’ said Natalie, nervously ‘ They can sometimes do that’.

  Shaun put his knife and fork down and pushed his plate away. ‘ Well you’ll get rid of it’.

  ‘ What?’

  ‘ Natalie, there’s no way I want to be saddled with a kid’.

  Natalie was fighting back the tears ‘ Not even if it’s mine, Shaun? I thought you loved me’.

  ‘ Ah fuck’s sake not the bloody crying game again. Look Natalie, I don’t want to be a father. So make an appointment and get rid of it. End of discussion’.

  Natalie ran out of the room crying her heart out.

  .

  CHAPTER TEN

  Graham knocked on the door of Jimmy Kent’s office.

  ‘ Sir? Do you have a minute, please?’

  ‘ What is it?’ asked Jimmy.

  ‘ Sir, I will need some more time off after all. The family aren’t settling after the Jamie Robertson incident and I need to try and sort them out’.

  Jimmy didn’t believe a word of it. His instincts were telling him that once again Armstrong was speaking with a forked tongue. But he didn’t have any choice but to agree to him taking some more time off. He had offered it to him in the first place.

  ‘ Okay’ said Jimmy. ‘ How long do you want? A week? Two?’

  ‘ A week’ said Graham. His next job was to book a plane ticket over to Manchester and see for himself if Ian Taylor was his old mate Duncan Laurence. ‘ That should do it, Sir. And thank you’.

  ‘ Before you go, DI Armstrong, are you planning to hand over the investigation into who this Judas character is? The investigation I handed to you?’

  Graham stopped momentarily to think about his answer to what was such a stupidly obvious question but one he hadn’t thought of.

  ‘ I’ve requested certain pieces of information on that, Sir’ said Graham ‘ DS Patterson knows how to contact me if they come through’.

  ‘ Don’t you think it would be more efficient to hand the whole thing over?’

  ‘ With all due respect, Sir, no I don’t. This could prove to be extremely delicate and I think it should stay with one officer’.

  ‘ Okay, DI Armstrong. But don’t let me down on this. I’m expecting you to produce a result’.

  Lynne had just walked into Mark’s office with a mug of tea and to have a sit down and a chat when their attention was taken by the sound of shouting coming from the staff lounge down the corridor.

  ‘ What the hell’s going on?’ said Lynne.

  ‘ Sounds like Tina’s voice’ said Mark ‘ We’d better go and see’.

  Mark got to his feet and Lynne followed him down to the staff lounge where it was looking very ugly indeed. About six of his team were looking on as Shakira, a Muslim girl from Oldham who always wore her traditional shameez, was sitting on a chair with her head in her hands and in floods of tears. Tina was standing over her, pointing her finger and unleashing a torrent of racial abuse. Mark liked Shakira. She was never late for work, always on top of everything, and she could say sorry when she’d made a mistake. For that she earned his total respect. But Tina was ranting that Shakira and ‘her lot’ were to blame for the London suicide bombings. Mark seethed at Tina’s racist stupidity. Shakira had condemned the London bombings as much as anyone had.

  ‘ They didn’t do it in my name!’ screamed Shakira ‘ They didn’t do it in the name of Islam!’

  ‘ Oh listen to her!’ scoffed Tina ‘ You’re a Muslim and you’re responsible!’

  ‘ What the hell is going on here?’ Mark demanded. ‘ I’ve never heard anything like it!’ He went straight over to Shakira and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘ Shakira? Are you alright?’ He looked around at all the others standing there. They were watching but they were doing and saying nothing.

  Tina wasn’t having any of that. ‘ Oh that’s it! Stick up for her because of course we mustn’t upset the darkies’.

  ‘ And that’s enough talk like that from you, Tina!’ said Mark. She should keep her pig ignorant views to herself. He could see so much venom in her eyes. It was appalling.

  ‘ Enough? I haven’t even started yet. We’re all living on the edge because of people like her’

  ‘ Oh you mean people from Oldham, Tina? Th
at’s where Shakira’s from’. Mark was disgusted by Tina’s performance. It was totally mindless but then what did he expect from a girl who’d gone to Blackpool with a load of mates and been proud of the fact that in the Italian restaurant where they were eating she’d asked them to stop playing Pavarotti and put some ‘English’ music on.

  ‘ Since them bombs went off in London and killed all those innocent people, none of her lot are to be trusted no matter where they’re from’.

  ‘ Are you going to apologise to Shakira for what you’ve put her through?’

  Tina baulked ‘ Apologise? For what I’ve put her through? You’ve got a flaming nerve. No way’.

  ‘ Lynne, would you take Shakira to the ladies and make sure she’s okay, please?’ Mark asked.

  ‘ Of course’ said Lynne, moving forward and putting her arms round Shakira when she stood up. ‘ Come on, Shakira. Let’s get you cleaned up’.

  ‘ I’ll see you in a minute, Shakira’ said Mark, softly.

  Shakira was sobbing her heart out as Lynne led her out of the room. But Tina couldn’t resist throwing a parting shot.

  ‘ And whilst you’re there take that flaming scarf off!’

  ‘ You’ve said your piece, Tina’ said Lynne ‘ Now shut it! Can’t you see the damage you’ve done?’

  ‘ Oh that’s typical’ said Tina. She looked around for support. ‘ She gets all the sympathy and I get told to shut it. This country doesn’t belong to proper English people anymore’.

  ‘ Tina, would you go to my office now please?’

  ‘ But … ‘

  ‘ … I said now, Tina’. He didn’t relish confrontation but he had to stand up for what he believed to be right. He’d always been like it. It had got him into a lot of trouble at school. This was one of those times when turning the other cheek was just not acceptable.

  Tina turned on her heels and stormed out the room leaving an atmosphere that was heavy and excruciating. Mark turned to all the silent spectators.

  ‘ I cannot believe that you all just stood by and let that happen. Do none of you have any guts or any principles? Don’t any of you stand up for anything worthwhile? Or is sending texts to speculate on who’s going to win Big Brother so much more fucking important to you!’