by P. F. Ford
‘He’ll wait,’ I said, nodding upstairs. ‘He can’t go anywhere anyway. I’ve blocked the drive.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ But the guilt gave her away so easily.
‘No love, of course you don’t. But if there’s no one upstairs, you can spare me five minutes can’t you.’
She struggled for an excuse.
‘Look at the state of me, Gloria. This isn’t a joke. I was lucky. I could have been in a bloody coma when you came to the hospital on Saturday.’
She quickly seized the opportunity to try to turn the tables on me. ‘You don’t want to get me started about Saturday. You made me look a right fool. And you cost me a bleedin’ fortune.’
‘Stop right there!’ I’d had enough of this. ‘Don’t you dare start giving me grief over that. If it wasn’t for you and your damned lies I wouldn’t have been in the bloody hospital in the first place.’ My voice was getting louder as my patience began to wear thin.
‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said, huffily. ‘But you’d better come in. I don’t want the neighbours to hear you shouting your head off.’
She led the way into her lounge. As we passed the foot of the stairs, I heard a footstep at the top. I looked up and nodded. ‘It’s alright, mate, she’ll be back in a minute. She’s just got to explain something to her husband.’
I couldn’t really see his face, but I swear he went a deathly shade of white. I heard a thump as he sat heavily on the stairs.
Gloria was ready for battle, arms folded across her ample bosom. ‘Right,’ she snarled. ‘What’s this all about? How’s it my fault?’
‘In all the time we were together, Gloria, did I ever hit you?’
Now that confused her. ‘What? No. Of course you didn’t. We wouldn’t have lasted five minutes if you were like that.’
‘But apparently I’ve been beating you up, over a number of years. Or at least that’s what all my old friends have been told.’
Suddenly she became a lot less aggressive and a lot more evasive. ‘I don’t know anything about that, honest.’
‘See, the problem is, you wouldn’t know honest if it slapped you in the face.’
‘How dare you?’
‘Oh come on, Gloria. Our whole bloody marriage was based on lies. What have you told people about our separation? From what I hear, you left me because you couldn’t take any more beatings.’
‘I never said anything of the sort,’ she said, uncertainly.
I was pacing around now, definitely in my stride, as it were. ‘Oh but you have, haven’t you? Why tell the truth when a good lie will get you off the hook and lay all the blame at my feet? That’s always been your policy, and it always will be. It’s about time you learned to take some responsibility for your own actions.’
I was in full flow now, and there was no way she could get a word in. ‘So, how many of our “friends” have you told. I mean that, in itself, would be bad enough, but best of all, somewhere along the line, you asked someone to come and beat the crap out of me. How could you?’
She had gone pale now and sank into an armchair. ‘Oh no! I’m so sorry. But it’s not like you think. I haven’t told anyone honest. But my sister…’
‘Your sister? What? You told her?’
‘Well, no, not exactly. She sort of hinted that you might have been hitting me.’
‘And?’
‘And, well, I didn’t exactly deny it. But I didn’t admit it either. And I haven’t told anyone else, honest.’
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. ‘You know, the problem I have, Gloria, is that you’ve told me so many lies in the past, I don’t know what’s truth and what’s fiction anymore.’
‘But, Alfie, I wanted you back – I wouldn’t have asked anyone to beat you up.’
‘So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that your sister has been going around telling everyone that I used to beat you up.’
‘Yes. It wasn’t me. Honestly, I wouldn’t.’
‘But you knew she was doing it?’
‘Well, I suppose so yes, but-’
‘You knew she was doing it, but you didn’t try to stop her, or mention to anyone that it wasn’t actually true?’ My tone made my disgust quite clear as I went on. ‘How convenient is this for you? Now all those people see you as an innocent victim and me as a real nasty piece of work.’
‘I’m so sorry-’
I headed for the door. ‘I don’t think there’s anything left to say, do you, Gloria?’
‘There’s one more thing you should know.’
I was in the hall now. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Yes, you do.’ She was following me. ‘Marie’s hooked up with a new man. His name’s Nugent. He’ll be the one who had you beaten up.’
It was dark at the top of the stairs, but I could just make out a shadowy figure. I stopped and turned to him. ‘Did you get that, mate? What do you think she might falsely accuse you of? Is it really worth risking your marriage for a woman like this?’ I let myself out.
Chapter Nine
I was still angry about Gloria and her lies next morning as I walked over to Dry Biro’s, but I’d managed to move on a bit. Yesterday, I was thinking it was no wonder no one ever contacted me. I could imagine how highly I must now rank in their eyes if they all believed I had been beating her up. Today, though, I had a different perspective. Today I was wondering how well had those people known me if they really thought I had been doing that? Perhaps they all had a pretty low opinion of me in the first place.
Then there was still the problem of what I could do about it. I’d never heard of this Nugent guy, and would talking to him really make any difference anyway? I asked myself if I was really bothered about it. The answer was a resounding ‘yes I was’. This was my reputation being booted around by all and sundry and all because of something I hadn’t done. It just wasn’t right.
I was given the usual noisy Betty the basset greeting when I got to DB’s house, and I had to stop and scratch her ears before she poured herself back into her bed, tail and ears spilling over the edges as usual.
Dry Biro looked rather thoughtful this morning as he made the tea, but I was impatient to see if he had any news.
‘So, did you find anything to help Jelena?’
He carried two mugs over and settled at the table. ‘I think I have some news for you.’
‘What? You found her aunt? Has she moved away? Is it far?’
‘Wait, wait, wait. Just one question at a time. Or, better still, no questions. Just sit and listen for a few minutes. This isn’t quite as straightforward as you think. I’ve had to think about whether I should tell you or not.’
‘How do you mean?’
He took a sip of his tea, then gave me a long, hard look. ‘Remember I told you I used to travel the world covering stories?’
I nodded.
‘Well, back in the late eighties and early nineties I spent a lot of time in what was then Yugoslavia, especially in the region known as Kosovo. There was some nasty stuff happening there at that time...’
Well, you learn something new every day. Old Dry Biro had been right in the thick of the action back then. This was serious stuff and as he recounted his story, I could see he still vividly remembered the things he had seen back then.
I listened, fascinated, as he told me his tale. I lost all track of time. It was easy to see why he had been so successful as a journalist. I found myself wishing I had his ability to tell a story. And what a story emerged.
It turns out that Dave, my pub landlord mate, had been in Kosovo too, but not in the capacity I had thought. I mean, I just assumed he was there as part of a peacekeeping force, but it turns out he was actually undercover. I’m not sure I really understood the part he was playing, but that’s not important to this story.
What is relevant is that there was a young Serbian woman working as some kind of freedom fighter in the same region. It wasn’t
a good thing to be Serbian in Kosovo at that time. The woman made many enemies during that time, and it was to cost her dearly. In reprisal, her family were wiped out, including her sister who had just had a baby. This much is known because all the bodies were accounted for, but the baby, a girl, was never found.
No one knew if she had been killed, kidnapped, or if she had been smuggled away to safety before the family was murdered.
Dry Biro had finished his story. I sat for a moment, a hundred questions seemingly fighting for my attention. I thought I understood what he was telling me, but it seemed a bit far-fetched. I mean, this is the real world, not some movie.
‘So, let me get this straight. You’re saying Dave was a sort of secret agent, or something like that.’
The old man nodded. ‘Uh, huh. Something like that.’ He obviously wasn’t going to get too specific.
‘But, what about this Serbian woman? What was her name? What happened to her? You do know, don’t you?’
‘Her name was Senka Ilic. She became a legend among her own people. I don’t know all the background, but I do know she ended up working for us, the British, after her family was wiped out. I also know that eventually, after all the troubles, for her own protection, she was given a new identity. She now lives quietly in England.’
I thought I saw where this was going, but surely it couldn’t be. ‘So what’s her name now?’
‘Sophia Ingliss.’
Even though I had already guessed, it still seemed incredible. ‘You’re joking! My landlady? The lady who lives in the flat above mine, and runs a quiet little tea shop?’
‘The very same. The tea shop is just a cover,’ explained Dry Biro. ‘Haven’t you ever wondered how she can make a living with a shop that has hardly any customers and is often closed?’
‘Well. Now you come to mention it, yes, that does explain why she comes and goes without ever worrying about the shop being closed.’
‘It’s the same with your “friend” and his pub. He’s taken on the pub in his own right now, but he was originally installed there to keep an eye on her and keep her safe.’
This was getting more fantastic by the minute. ‘You promise me this isn’t some kind of wind-up and you’re not making this all up?’ I asked him. Then I had another thought. ‘Are you supposed to be telling me all this?’
‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘So it’s probably not a good idea to spread it around. I just thought you ought to know. It’s also a little concerning to think your young friend managed to track down her aunt, don’t you think?’
‘Maybe it just means no one else is looking.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right.’
Now there was a thing. The last thing we want is some sort of vendetta going down in Tinton. But, right now, what was I going to tell Jelena?
‘Blimey, I never expected this to be so complicated. What do I do now? Should I tell Jelena her aunt’s living right next door? What d’you reckon?’
‘I think you first need to speak to Sophia. Maybe she doesn’t want to see her long lost niece.’
‘You really think so?’
‘Not really, no. If I’m any judge, and I think I am, Sophia will be overjoyed, but I still think you should speak to her first.’
He was right, of course. I would have to let Sophia know, and soon. In fact, she had been away for a few days but was due back tonight.
‘I could listen to you telling me stories all day long, but I’m going to have to love you and leave you.’
‘You’re always welcome here, you know that.’ He led the way back out to the door.
Then I had a thought about something else he might be able to help me with. ‘You know everyone around here, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know about everyone, but I know a few, yes.’
‘Ever heard of a bloke called Nugent? Bit of a heavy apparently.’
He frowned. ‘What do you want with him?’
‘Apparently he was the nice man who gave me all my bruises.’
‘You don’t want to get involved with Nugent, Alfie. He really is bad news. A psycho. He’s known as Nugent the Nutter. He’s a very dangerous and unpredictable man with a team of knuckleheads working for him. He likes to think of himself as the local godfather. Thinks he’s the mafia, you know?’
‘That sounds like the guy. Know where I can find him?’
‘You don’t want to find him, believe me.’
‘Oh, but I do. Me and him need to have a little chat about re-establishing my reputation.’
He really didn’t want to tell me, but eventually he gave me the name of Nugent’s snooker club. Apparently he’s there most of the time, so I figured he shouldn’t be too hard to find.
Chapter Ten
‘But you’re supposed to be the guy who’s positive about everything,’ I said.
‘Yes, that’s right, and I’m positive this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.’
I’d just told Positive Pete he was taking me to see Nugent, but he wasn’t keen. Apparently he had heard of Nugent’s reputation and wasn’t happy about putting it to the test.
‘It’ll be fine. We’ll just go in, have a pint and a chat, then we come home again.’
‘People like Nugent don’t “have a chat”. They batter you with baseball bats. I thought you’d learned that lesson. It’s their way of making sure you understand what they’re telling you. It’s how they get what they want.’
The discussion had gone on like this for about half an hour, but in the end Pete gave in and agreed to be my driver, again. I knew he would, and he knew if it was the other way around, I’d be there for him. It’s what best mates do.
I’d never met Nugent before but it was easy to spot him. He was about my age, perhaps a couple of years older, but he was a bit on the podgy side. I suppose that’s what comes of getting other people to do all your dirty work for you. The suit had been nicely tailored. He obviously liked to spend money on himself.
He was stood to one side of the bar, surrounded by half a dozen cronies. There were about a dozen other people in the club, all men. Two were playing darts and a couple more were clattering balls around a pool table.
Nugent spotted us straight away, but then we did look somewhat out of place. As if on some hidden cue, everyone in the place went quiet and, to a man, they turned to stare. We were obviously as welcome as a pair of turds in a hot tub.
You know what it’s like when you see someone for the first time, and something about them reminds you of someone else. It could be the way they dress, their mannerisms. Whatever, there’s just something familiar about them.
Well, I had that feeling when I saw Nugent. It was as if I knew him, even though I’d never met him, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. Until he spoke. Then I knew exactly where I knew him from.
He appeared to have modelled himself on Boycie from ‘Only Fools and Horses’. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a close enough approximation for me to picture Boycie when he spoke. I half expected Marlene to appear at any moment.
‘Well, well, well’, said Nugent for the benefit of his audience. ‘Look what we have here. If it isn’t the Tinton wife-beater. And he’s brought his dad along.’ He looked at me hard before continuing his monologue. ‘Oh dear! You seem to have had some sort of accident. Did you upset someone?’
I tried to ignore his sarcasm and carried on walking towards the bar. His tone changed from annoying to menacing. ‘You’ve got some balls coming here, Bowman. Especially in the state you’re in.’
Now, it’s not that I don’t get scared in these situations. That’s not the case at all. I get plenty scared, but there’s something inside me that sort of short circuits. I mean the sensible thing to do would be for my legs to start working and carry me out of there, right? But instead of doing the sensible thing my brain bypasses my legs and engages my mouth. That’s exactly what was about to happen.
‘Am I supposed to be scared?’ I said. ‘Because it’s not working.’
&nbs
p; Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pete wince as I spoke, and I’m sure I heard a faint whimper. He was beginning to twitch as his nerves started to get the better of him.
‘Come on, Pete, let’s get a drink.’ I took another step towards the bar and two heavies moved to block my way. As I made to go between them, the one on my right stuck his arm out, just enough to catch my cracked elbow. I couldn’t help but wince – it was still oh so tender. I looked at Nugent.
‘Can’t a guy get a drink in here?’
Nugent looked to be studying the situation as he considered my question. Finally, he spoke. ‘Careful, Tosser, we don’t want to damage our guests now, do we? Let the two nice gentlemen get to the bar and buy a drink.’
The heavies stepped aside and let us through. Every pair of eyes followed our progress. I could feel them boring into my back as I stood at the bar. Pete was crapping himself, but he was there right beside me, every step of the way.
‘Is this a good idea?’ he whispered. ‘I’m really not thirsty.’
We waited and waited. Another of the heavies was serving. Well, actually he wasn’t serving, he was just ignoring us. He continued to ignore us for a couple of minutes then looked across at Nugent. He must have got the nod to serve us.
‘Yes?’
‘Two pints. Bitter. Please,’ I said, as clearly as I could. I wasn’t going to let these arseholes intimidate me.
Now, Positive Pete is a bit OCD. As a result, he likes everything to be in its place and is always re-arranging things to make them nice and tidy. The more nervous and agitated he gets, the worse this compulsion gets.
There were about a dozen half-empty pint glasses on the bar, obviously awaiting the return of their owners. Or, at least, to anyone else it would have looked as if they were waiting for their owners. To Positive Pete, in his current, agitated state, they were just waiting to be tidied and put into some sort of order.
Without even realising he was doing it, he had arranged them all in a nice, orderly, straight line, with the glass containing the most beer on the left and the least full on the right. The first I knew about it was when I heard a loud aggressive voice.