Hope Dies Last

by Deborah Finn

  Farren followed him, and began walking around the shop, rattling the shelves to see if they held. “What did they used to sell in here, then?” he asked.

  “It was fruit and veg, wasn’t it, boss?” said Jango. “Didn’t we used to get the rent here?”

  Farren laughed. “No wonder they went out of business. Take that one on Dragon’s Den: I’m gonna sell vegetables. Great business plan. ”

  “You could do with some veg,” Jango said in a low voice. “It’d be good for your brain. Five a day.”

  “I thought that was fish,” said Farren.

  “Five fish a day?”

  “No, dickhead. Fish for your brain.”

  “Yeah, that an’ all,” Jango muttered.

  “Alright,” Gallagher said loudly. “Have you two geniuses got something for me?”

  “Yeah, boss,” said Jango, reaching into the inside pocket of his coat. “We followed her like you said, in the park.”

  “Did she spot you?”

  “No. We took loads of pictures. I printed out the ones that were any good.”

  Gallagher nodded. He walked over to what had once been the cash desk. “Put them on here.”

  Jango put the pictures down, one by one, facing Gallagher.

  “Who’s this?” Gallagher asked, his finger tapping at the figure of the man.

  “Dunno, but look at this.” He put down some more pictures. “There was something going down. Look at this one. See he’s grabbing her. And then here, he looks like he’s going to do her.”

  Gallagher nodded. “You’re saying she went and spoke to this bloke straight after I saw her?”

  Jango nodded.

  Gallagher looked back at the pictures. He shuffled through them. Could be nothing to do with him, but the timing was suspicious.

  “We got some that were a bit more close up, but they’re not so good.” Jango put down a few more photos, zoomed in but blurred.

  Gallagher snatched at a picture. “I know him,” he said. He closed his eyes and tried to scan his brain. “I know that face. Who is it?” He looked at the photo again, and put it down on the counter. Suddenly he began tapping it. “I’ve got it. I’ve got it. That architect bloke. The one who wouldn’t do the.... oh what the fuck was his name? Hang on, hang on. Martin. Martin something.”

  He looked at Jango as if he could help him out.

  “I never had nothing to do with him, boss.”

  “It’ll come to me. Martin... Martin Halton. That’s it.” He smiled, momentarily pleased to have retrieved the memory, and then his face darkened. “What are they doing together?”

  Gallagher took a few paces back, as if he’d suddenly walked into an obstacle. He shook his head slowly. “What can they...?” As far as he knew, the only connection between those two was him. They would have met at the office when Marilyn was his PA. Martin Halton had been the architect on plenty of projects before he’d pulled out of the first version of Hallowfields. There were things he knew...

  “You didn’t hear anything that was said?”

  Jango writhed inside his shiny suit. “We weren’t close enough, boss.”

  Gallagher stepped back, rubbed his hand over his brow. He could feel the sweat springing up all over. “Shit,” he muttered. “What are they cooking up?” He stared into the shadows, trying to piece it together. Were they in together? Were they trying to blackmail him? But those two together... it didn’t make sense.

  “I don’t get it,” Gallagher said at last. His eyes snapped back towards Jango. “Where did they go next?”

  “Dunno, boss,” Jango said.

  Gallagher stared at him. Jango was a big man in a tight suit trying to look small. “What do you mean, you don’t know? I’m paying you to know.”

  “She went to the shops and then we kind of lost her,” Farren said. “And then we went back to the park and he was gone.”

  Gallagher sighed.

  “We’ll find out what you want, boss,” Jango said. “Just tell us what you want to know.”

  “Alright. I want you to find out what she’s up to. Find out where she lives. She works shifts at Steamship Laundry. Follow her out of work and see where she goes.”

  “Yeah, boss.”

  “Couldn’t we just ask the girl in the office?” Farren suggested. “I could do that. Get it done in no time.”

  Gallagher felt a sharp pain stabbing behind his eyes. “I don’t want you speaking to anyone. You got that?”

  “Yeah, boss. No problem,” Jango said.

  Gallagher watched as Farren turned away, casually dragging his foot through the dust on the floor.

  “And you, apeshit?” Gallagher said. “Have you got it?”

  For a moment there was no response, and then Farren turned slowly back. “You talking to me?”

  “You see anyone else here that answers to apeshit?”

  Farren smiled. “I heard you, alright. Loud and clear. Boss,” he added after a moment, his lip curling.

  “Get the fuck out. And call me when you’ve done it.”

  Gallagher turned abruptly. His head was splitting. He’d like to put that cocky bastard’s teeth in. He heard the door clanging shut and he fumbled inside his jacket pocket for his pills. He just needed a few minutes and he’d be alright.

  Twelve

  Ben had been following his dad across the park, dribbling the football on the open lawn. He stopped the ball, resting a foot on top of it, and stared at his dad. “Where you going?”

  Martin’s hand was already on the gate to the fenced in play area. He was so distracted he’d been about to go and occupy a bench, waiting for Marilyn to show up. He’d completely forgotten his cover story of having a kick about with Ben.

  He slapped his head and tried to laugh it off.

  “Did you want to have a go on the slide?” Ben said cheekily.

  “Yeah, alright,” Martin said. “Let’s see if your foot’s as smart as your mouth. Kick it over here.”

  Ben side footed the ball and Martin stretched out to stop it. He kicked it back, looping the ball over Ben’s head so he had to turn and run for it. Martin glanced at his watch. Nearly two o’clock. Ben was heading back now, stepping over the ball and practising his fancy footwork. Martin felt a swell of pride, almost immediately undercut by fear.

  A younger boy had appeared near the path, watching them. Martin nodded at him in a man to man sort of way. Ben hoofed the ball right back to Martin’s feet. Martin moved towards Ben, and as he got close he feinted left, then moved right. He got past Ben, kicked the ball, then raised his hands in triumph.

  “The old man’s still got it,” he called.

  Ben ignored him, running off towards the ball. Martin jogged back to his original position. The little boy was still there, silently watching. Martin looked around for a parent, and finally located a woman inside the play area watching the boy. Martin caught her eye and gestured a query and she smiled in return.

  “Want to play?” Martin asked the boy.

  He nodded solemnly.

  “OK, here you go.” Martin received the ball from Ben, and tapped it towards the boy. The boy ran at the ball and kicked it with surprising effectiveness.

  “Whoa! That’s some right foot!”

  The boy smiled and ran after the ball.

  Martin glanced around. Still no sign of her. Across the park, he noticed Albert, the eight year old son of a neighbour. He was kicking a ball with another kid that Martin didn’t recognise. Albert’s dad wasn’t there.

  “Shit,” Martin muttered under his breath. Only now did it occur to him that people might see him talking to Marilyn. It was even possible that Beth could come over to the park. It was really unlikely, but she could. “Idiot.” He shook his head, marvelling at the never ending quality of his own stupidity.

  Albert and his friend were making their way over to Ben, ready to merge games.

  “I’ll just watch for a bit,” Martin called to Ben. Ben nodded.

  “And Ben...”

&nb
sp; “Yeah?”

  “Don’t leave him out,” Martin instructed, pointing towards the younger boy.

  Ben shook his head, smiling. “No. He’s good.”

  Martin backed off onto the path then walked along a little way, just beyond the play area. He sat on a bench and waited. It was quarter past now. What if she didn’t turn up? For a moment, there was a bloom of hope in his heart. What if she disappeared just as fast as she’d come? No. It was too much to hope for. This was his penance and he had to suck it up. He looked off towards the north entrance, and saw her. She was unmistakeable.

  Martin leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He breathed hard, his heart hammering as if he’d just run up a long hill. He had to get this right. Somehow he had to convince her to go away. “Get a grip,” he told himself, closing his eyes. He sucked in long, slow breaths, forcing his shoulders to drop. He didn’t look up until he saw her shadow, even more elongated than her long stringy body. He’d been listening for her footsteps, but she made no sound, creeping along in her shabby trainers.

  He looked up, saw her silhouetted against the sun. Her long hair was clean and shining. Backlit, it glowed like sunset, streaming out in the light breeze. Her face was shadowed, and for a moment he recalled how beautiful she’d once been. But when she sat down, the details came into focus: the malicious tightness of her lips, the knifelike dents between her brows.

  “You brought him,” she said, staring down the park towards the boys. Her eyes were strangely bright.

  Queasiness stirred in Martin’s stomach. He wondered if she was on something.

  “You’re not getting any closer than this,” he said. He was pleased to hear his voice sounding more controlled than he felt.

  She laughed. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

  Martin laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “We can’t stay long. Beth is making dinner. She’ll expect us back.” He heard his own words. That didn’t sound so good. That sounded weak, henpecked.

  “You didn’t tell her,” Marilyn said. It wasn’t a question.

  Martin coughed, not wanting to acknowledge her deduction. “So, you know, get your fix now.”

  She chewed at the corner of her lip. “My fix?” she said, still staring off at the boys. “That’s what you think I am. You think I’m a junkie?”

  Martin shrugged. “I’ve no idea what you are.” There was an unmistakable tone of contempt that he regretted as soon as the words left his mouth. He couldn’t afford to alienate her. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to you, what made you...” He didn’t know how to go on.

  “Give you my baby?”

  He nodded, and glanced sidelong at her. “Why you did it, where you went, why you’ve come back.”

  She looked at him, her lip curling. “Like you care. When am I going away again? That’s all you care about.”

  Martin held her gaze, staring at her for long moments. “That too,” he said at last.

  “Well maybe I’m not going away,” she said. “Maybe this time I won’t crawl off and make things easy for everyone.”

  Martin frowned. “What’s that mean?”

  Her skinny shoulders tightened up. Her eyes were glazed as if she was staring into the past. “I’m going to...” her thin fingers clawed in the air as if she was trying to find the words. “I’m going to get my own back.”

  Martin laughed at the childish phrase. And then it occurred to him. “You don’t mean Ben?”

  She turned to him, her eyes refocusing. She pulled a face as if he was stupid. “Gallagher,” she said. “It’s payback time.”

  Martin couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him. “Payback time?” he said. He saw her eyes darken. She didn’t like being mocked. But there was something pitiful in her anger. She was like a weakling being laughed at in the playground.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not following what you’re saying. What’s Gallagher got to do with anything?”

  She looked around, her eyes fixing on the café beyond the lawn. “Buy me a coffee and I’ll tell you.”

  He looked at her thin, pinched face. She didn’t look like she could afford a takeaway coffee. “OK,” he said, and his voice was softer.

  Martin looked over to where Ben was still kicking about with his friends, and then set off along the path towards the cafe. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. His head was down, but he was on the lookout. He didn’t want to see anyone he knew. No, really what he meant was he didn’t want to see any of Beth’s friends. He could just imagine what they’d make of it, what they’d say to Beth.

  Marilyn trailed along, slightly behind and to the side of him. It was like walking with a dawdling kid. And that was weird. Martin remembered the first time he’d gone to Gallagher’s place. He’d signed in and the receptionist had called Marilyn to come and get him. The foyer was designed to impress: an expanse of marble floor, double height glass wall, leather benches where men in suits tried to live up to the surroundings. Marilyn had cut a direct line across the centre of the space. It was like a demonstration of how to wear stiletto heels with a business suit. She must have known how the eyes of the men followed her, but it was beneath her notice. And when she’d lead him back to the lift, she’d walked a pace ahead of him. What on earth had happened to bring her to this?

  Martin ordered the drinks and paid up. There was a table with seats outside. He could still see Ben from there. Martin gulped down a mouthful of hot coffee.

  “So,” he said heavily. “Tell me. What’s this about Gallagher?”

  Marilyn stirred sugar into her cappuccino, watching the froth as though some image might appear there. Finally she looked up.

  “You haven’t guessed?”

  Martin shrugged. “Guessed what?”

  She chewed on her lip for a while, as if trying to figure out how to say it, and then shrugged. “Gallagher is Ben’s father.”

  It was like a blow to the gut. Martin sucked in a deep breath. “What?” he managed at last. “No...” His voice trailed off. He didn’t know how to say it, that it wasn’t possible, that he was Ben’s father. She was looking at him, but he could read nothing in her eyes, they were like mirrors. So of course it was possible. And all these years he’d given almost no thought to the father, only ever to the mother; the mystery woman with the baby.

  A nasty smile tightened her lips as she watched his shock.

  “Gallagher,” he said. “So, you and he, you were...”

  Her face distorted suddenly. “No way,” she spat at him. “You think I’d touch that slimy old man?”

  Martin’s throat was tight, the words croaking out. “Well, obviously,” he gestured helplessly. “You must have, mustn’t you?”

  She leaned across the unsteady table until he could see the open pores, the dry skin of her lips. “That bastard raped me.” She stared at him, daring him to disagree.

  “Gallagher? Lester Gallagher?”

  “Yes.” She sat back, as though satisfied that she’d made her point. “And I’m going to make him pay.”

  Martin felt as if he was being sucked downwards. The sensation was so strong that he actually put his hands on the table to resist. “You’re saying that Ben was...”

  She nodded, sucking her spoon.

  Martin stared off into the park, finding Ben. “And that’s why...” His eyes narrowed against the light as he tried to think. There was too much to piece together.

  “Yeah,” she said. “That’s why I disappeared. That’s why you got the baby.”

  The question he’d wondered about all these years. “Why us?”

  She ignored him. Her mind was racing off after Gallagher. “You’ve seen him on the telly, right? All the time. Election this, election that. Everywhere you look, there’s his ugly face.”

  Martin nodded. Then it crossed his mind that maybe she’d made it all up? She’d seen Gallagher on the TV, and she’d latched onto this story. His heart leapt at that hope. “W
hat are you going to do?” he asked.

  “That bastard ruined my life,” she said. “And I’m going to make him pay for it.” Her voice was shrill. People at the other tables glanced over.

  “OK, OK,” Martin agreed. “I get that you have an axe to grind with Gallagher. But, Ben?” he said. “There’s no need to bring Ben into it. He’s just a kid.”

  “Yeah. Not just any kid though, is he?”

  “No,” Martin agreed, trying to keep his voice calm. “He’s my kid. And I’m telling you that whatever went on between you and Gallagher, it’s got nothing to do with Ben.”

  Marilyn leaned across the table towards him. “What do you mean? Nothing to do with him? He’s the evidence!”

  Martin stared at her. “What?” he asked.

  “DNA, isn’t it? Like they take after you’ve been raped.”

  Martin felt an urge to shove her away, to shut her up.

  But she went on. “I went to the police. Afterwards, I reported it. They did all the tests, took a load of swabs and photographs.”

  Martin frowned. “Well then, why did nothing come of it?”

  She laughed. “Gallagher sent in one of his friends, didn’t he? He’s got friends everywhere. In the police, everywhere. I should know. I was his PA. You wouldn’t believe the things he’s into.”

  Martin looked away briefly, remembering. He would believe it. “So you didn’t go through with it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you listening? I told you, he sent in one of his mates, a nice friendly copper, ready to give me a word to the wise.”

  “Saying what?”

  “He told me there was no point going after Lester Gallagher. Who’d take my word against his? I should save myself a lot of grief and drop it. That’s what he said.”

  Martin dropped his eyes to the floor, trying to think. “Maybe they just thought it’d be hard to prove. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Unless there are injuries or witnesses or whatever.”

  She nodded. “Oh I had injuries, alright. I had a black eye, a crack in my jaw. My ribs were broken.” She opened her mouth and poked a tongue through a gap where a tooth should be. “He did this. Can you imagine what I looked like? I was a mess. He left me lying there. I could have been dead.”