by Liz Mistry
Forcing a smile to his lips, he flung the door open and ushered his best friend Mo and his wife Naila inside. Naila’s face was flushed and she made a pretty picture with her long black hair escaping her woolly bobble hat. Muffled up in a bright red coat, with a matching scarf and with hiking boots on her feet, she was well prepared for The Beast from the East. Gus smiled when a quick glance at Mo confirmed Patti’s point – Mo was indeed wearing jogging bottoms and a hoodie underneath a fisherman’s jacket that matched the one that hung in Gus’ under-stair-cupboard.
‘We walked through the park. Snow’s well and truly drifting now. When’s this nightmare going to end?’ Naila thrust a bottle of wine and a carton of Rubicon mango at Gus and began peeling off her coat.
Mo mumbled under his breath about wimpy Brits and how a little bit of snow brought everything to a standstill. The normality of the situation loosened the tightness in Gus’ chest and his shoulders relaxed. He noticed the decided chill in the air that was nothing to do with external temperatures. ‘Okay, you two… what’s up? Mo been farting inappropriately again?’
Naila screwed up her mouth in a look that Gus was all too familiar with and jerked her thumb towards her husband. ‘Ask him! He’s the one that has to blow up every situation into a massive event. Mr Mountains and bloody Molehills, that’s him.’
Gus looked at Mo, whose shoulders had slumped, and then back to Naila. It didn’t take a genius to work out they’d had yet another falling out. ‘Zarqa, I take it? What’s my favourite oldest god-daughter done now?’
Zarqa was finding things tough at the minute and had started to ask difficult questions of her parents. Questions that Mo didn’t want to address. The problem was, Mo and Naila had very different approaches to dealing with this particular issue. The strain of dealing with a hormonal teenager who was demanding they confront their pasts and reveal something they wanted to put behind them, was taking its toll on his friends. So it was no surprise when Mo’s reply exploded from his mouth like projectile vomit.
‘Tattoo!’ and was accompanied by Naila’s exaggerated sigh.
Patti, no doubt wondering what was taking them so long to come into the kitchen, sauntered through. As if sensing the atmosphere, she glanced at Gus, one eyebrow raised. Whatever greeting was on her lips stayed there as she took in the pugilistic stance of their friends.
‘Tattoo?’ Patti’s tone was hesitant, yet curious.
Naila tutted and turned to Patti, hands outstretched, ‘I told him to shut up about it tonight, but no. He can’t keep his big mouth shut for a minute, can he?’
Mo turned to Gus, traces of the sulky schoolboy he’d once been, bringing a slight smile to Gus’ lips despite the strained atmosphere. ‘She’s gone and got a bloody tattoo. Used fake ID and got a damn tattoo – on her wrist.’
Gus bit his lip. Hadn’t Mo done the exact same thing at sixteen?
‘Oh, good one Mo. That’s right tell the copper that our daughter got an illegal tattoo.’
Mo turned and glared at her, ‘What? You think Gus is going to hot foot it through the damn snow to drag his god-daughter off to The Fort for a major interrogation over a bloody fake ID, do you?’
Gus closed his eyes for a second. Tried to do the counting thing his psychiatrist had taught him, but gave up at five. By the time he reopened his eyes, the familiar gurgle of angry venom had wormed up from his stomach into his chest and erupted, ‘For fuck’s sake, you two need to sort this out. It’s getting beyond a damn joke. It’s been months since she first asked you and you’re still behaving like a couple of school kids. She’s in pain and she’s confused and she needs you two to be honest with her.’ He pointed his finger first at Naila and then at Mo. ‘So man the fuck up and behave like parents.’
The only sound to be heard in the aftermath of Gus’ words was the faint tinkle of Ringo’s toy bell being pecked followed by her own answering cheep. Realising his hands were shaking, Gus shoved the wine and juice carton into Patti’s hands and lowered his tone. ‘I know this isn’t easy for you, but you’ve had sixteen years to prepare for this day. It was always going to have to be addressed, you knew that.’ He reached out his arms and put one round each of his friends and pulled them into his embrace, ‘I love you, but you’re tearing each other apart and that’s not you. You need to sort this. Go and see the counsellor Dr Mahmood recommended.’ He sighed, ‘I know I’m not the best example, but even I get that letting things fester is destructive. You two mean too much to me to let that happen, so for God’s sake, get yourselves an appointment and start the healing process.’
Tears glinting in her eyes, Naila hugged Gus and turned to her husband and hugged him too. ‘He’s right, Mo. We need to work out a way forward and we need to put Zarqa’s needs first.’
Mo kissed her hair, and looking over her head as he held her, he nodded at Gus.
‘Well, if we’re not all hungry after that little scene, I’ll be damned.’ said Patti
Mo rubbed his hands together, ‘Chicken tikka masala? Hope you cooked, Patti. Gus never gets the spices just right.’
Gus punched him on the arm and, just like that, the tension evaporated.
Hours later, stomachs full, the quartet retired to the living room for coffee. The wine had relaxed Gus and, in good company, he had managed to put all thoughts of Alice to the back of his mind. Mo had teased him about his Bob Marley tattoo and mimicked his gasps and ‘wimpish’ cries during the process, much to the enjoyment of Naila and Patti. Gus, despite his denials, took it all in good spirit and laid in with some bittersweet, shared stories from his, Mo and Greg’s schooldays. The painting of Bob Marley done by Greg, in pride of place above the stove, made him feel close to his dead friend and he suspected Mo felt the same. Mind you, Mo didn’t carry the baggage regarding Greg that Gus did. Mo hadn’t been the one to see Greg kill his wife and son. Mo hadn’t been the one who killed his best friend in order to save his own life. And Mo didn’t carry that sense of failure with him every single day.
‘So, Patti’ asked Naila, ‘Weren’t you invited to the big hen do?’
Patti’s face scrunched up. She was sitting on the sofa, opposite Gus. Gus grinned, eager to hear Patti’s response. After their earlier conversation about Gabriella, he suspected her reply would be pithy, to say the least. He was right.
‘That stupid, rude, jealous, conniving bitch didn’t invite me.’
Naila flicked a glance at Gus as if to ask, ’Have I opened up a can of worms?’ Gus responded with a wave of his hand, ‘Just let Patti get it all off her chest.’
‘Katie invited me, assuming, no doubt that her paranoid, possessive other half would share the details with me… and did she?’ Patti’s glare was poisonous. ‘Did she heck as like? Stupid cow conveniently missed me off the email thread. Not that I was bothered. Last thing I wanted to do was head over to Dublin with Gabriella the Gross and her nervy sister-in-law-to-be for a weekend. Katie, I don’t mind. She can be fun when she’s not influenced by Gabriella.’
Nodding, Naila stoked the flames of Patti’s ire, ‘Don’t know why Gabriella was organising it anyway. She’s only just met the girl, hasn’t she?’
‘Exactly what I said.’ Patti turned a triumphant pout in Gus’ direction, ‘Didn’t I say that, Gus?’ Not waiting to acknowledge Gus’ nod, she continued, ‘Truth is, Gabriella barely knows her. She’s doing it for her brother and trying to rope us all in too. It’s as if the fiancée doesn’t have any friends of her own. Mind you, in fairness, she seems alright. Brainy too. Most of her friends are probably in Cyprus, so she won’t know many people in the UK.’
Naila turned to Gus, ‘You got Daniel’s stag do all planned, have you?’
Gus had been putting it off for days now. Partly because he’d been so busy and partly because he couldn’t be arsed. ‘Eh – sort of.’
Patti laughed and punched him on the arm, ‘Liar! You haven’t even thought about it, have you? Come on admit it.’
Gus glanced at Mo for help, but Mo just raise
d an eyebrow and shook his head. It looked like he was on his own with this one.
‘Isn’t it tomorrow, Gus?’ Naila looked at Mo, ‘Didn’t you tell me it was tomorrow?’
Mo, looking too bloody angelic to be believable, nodded, ‘Yeah, I’ve been on at him for ages to sort it out, but...’ he splayed his hands before him and shrugged. Gus glared at him. Flung to the damn lionesses. Some friend you are.
‘Calm down, calm down,’ said Gus improvising, ‘I’ve got a venue lined up. Daniel will love it. It’s right up his street
Patti and Mo simultaneously looked at him, eyebrows raised, ‘Oh, where?’
‘Well, em.’ Clutching at straws he blurted out, ‘The Delius.’
Patti began to laugh, ‘You’re having Daniel’s stag do at The Delius? Are you bloody mad? Gabriella will kill you? I love it!’
Naila frowned at Patti, ‘Don’t be mean Patti. We can’t let him have it there. Not at the club belonging to a known gang leader.’
‘Aw, come on Naila, Shahid’s toned down his gangster lifestyle,’ said Mo. ‘He doesn’t pimp anymore and I’ve heard he sold out his illegal trade to some thugs from Manchester. Think he only uses the club for money laundering now.’
‘Oh, so that’s okay, is it? Money laundering? Oh well, if that’s all it is, then that’s fine. Naila uncrossed her legs and pulled away from Mo, ‘And because he’s stopped exploiting women, the problem’s gone away has it? Don’t bloody think so. All he’s done is move it elsewhere. Given some other tosser the power. Not bloody good enough. Gus, you shouldn’t be supporting that sort of trash.’ Naila’s face was flushed, her fists clenched tight on her thighs.
‘Hey wait a minute, Naila. I’m not supporting Shahid. He passed the Delius over to Imti and Imti doesn’t stand for any of that shit. It’s not being used for laundering – not any more. He and Serafina are making a go of it and it does a lot of good in the Thornbury community.’
Patti squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘He’s right Naila. Imti’s doing a great job. He’s not crooked.’
Naila took a deep breath, cheeks pink, eyes flashing. ‘I’m sorry Gus.’
Pouring her another soft drink, Gus squeezed her arm.
She smiled, ‘Anyway, so who, apart from Mo, have you invited?’
Making a mental note to give Imti a ring in the morning, Gus shrugged. ‘Just a few mates, you know?’
Patti’s eyes narrowed. ‘Which mates?’
‘Well…’
‘You’ve not invited anyone, have you? What sort of stag do will that be with you three standing about like a trio of lemons. God’s sake Gus. The man deserves a decent stag do.’
Well, why doesn’t he invite some friends of his own? ‘I have invited folk…’ Gus, despite being well aware that he was fooling no-one, refused to back down. Racking his brains, he came up with a solution, ‘Compo and Taffy…’
Patti snorted in that inelegant way she did to show her disbelief.
He scratted around in his mental address book before plucking a final name from the air, ‘Dad… he’s coming too.’
Patti and Naila looked at each other before bursting out laughing. Holding her sides, Naila said, ‘You’ve really pulled the stops out, Gus. You, Mo, Compo, Taffy and your Dad at The Delius… classy, very classy.’
‘I didn’t want to have to organise the damn thing in the first place, did I?’ said Gus.
At the same time Mo, seemingly realising the implications of his wife’s statement, folded his arms over his chest, ‘Don’t know what you’re on about Nail, Daniel will be lucky to spend his stag do with us. Scintillating conversation, wit and humour. We’ll take him for a curry too, won’t we, Gus? What more could he want?’
Patti snorted, ‘Something with a modicum of panache perhaps, rather than the quintet of farce. After all he’s a bit more upmarket than you two.’
“Phew.” Gus was indignant, “How can a guy who spends his time rummaging about in dirt be more upmarket than us?”
Patti and Naila exchanged glances and laughed. ‘Shall we tell him?’
Acting like a pair of bloody schoolkids! Gus snorted, “Come on spit it out?
“He’s hot, Gus. Really hot.” Patti’s eyes twinkled, “And he’s all exotic.”
“And he’s an archaeologist – Indiana Jones and all that.”
“What and Mo and I are just Northern parkins?”
Naila prodded Mo’s stomach, “Well, maybe a bit more of a fat rascal than a parkin for one of you”
Realising they were beaten, Gus summoned Mo to the kitchen, ignoring the peals of laughter that followed him.
‘How did it go with Alice today?’ asked Mo. ‘Is she bearing up?’
Gus studied his wine glass for a long time. Not raising his head, he shrugged. The words were difficult to say, but he’d no intention of lying to his friend. Mo knew him too well anyway. He’d spot deceit in an instant. ‘She’s not the Alice we knew, Mo. Prison has changed her.’
SATURDAY
8
10:00 The Fort
Gus woke up to a six-inch-deep blanket of snow and a headache. He popped a pill and wished he could put his jogging kit on and run it off, but if the forecast was to be believed, he wouldn’t be jogging for at least a few more days. He’d left Patti in bed nursing a slight hangover and walked through Lister Park to work. The lake was covered in ice topped by a layer of snow and he wondered how long it would be till someone tried to skate on it. The tracks round the park told him some dog walkers had been out before him. Despite the chilly air, the park was busy – kids making snowmen or sledging or having snowball fights, but even so, Gus was distracted by his thoughts. Alice, and the way she’d behaved the previous day, haunted him. Had the things she’d claimed been true? Surely not. Could she have duped him like that for so long? It didn’t seem likely, yet Gus had come across more than his fair share of corrupt coppers. The bottom line was, why would she lie? Her defence team was prepared to fight and they were still looking for evidence to exonerate her. It wasn’t just her plea change or her big talk about Sean Kennedy being her patsy, it was what he’d seen in her eyes. Something was missing – like a piece of her soul had been ripped out and sold to the devil.
True, she’d been through the mill. The latest attack was by far the worst she’d suffered, but it wasn’t the only one. Soon as they’d sussed she was a copper, some of the other women had targeted her. Not knowing when the next attack would happen would be enough to send most women loopy – but Alice? He wasn’t looking forward to sharing this with Nancy and his team.
As soon as he walked into her office, DCI Nancy Chalmers got straight to the point. ‘So, how did it go?’
The cinnamon and apple candle and the over-strong aroma of coffee made Gus want to fling open a window regardless of the blizzard that howled outside. Instead, he settled for walking over to the coffee table and blowing out the flame before settling himself on the leather armchair next to it. Nancy frowned, but said nothing. Instead, she stood up, walked from behind her desk and poured him a mug of treacly coffee that she deposited on a coaster beside him. Long legs outstretched, he slouched in the chair and watched as Nancy resumed her position behind her desk. He waited till she’d slipped off her slippers and pushed her chair out far enough to enable her to rest her ankles on her desk. He remembered a time, not so long ago, when he’d find the ladder in her stocking amusing. Life, however, had inured him to the amusing aspects of Nancy’s idiosyncrasies and what was worse was that he didn’t even care. Since Sampson’s death and Alice’s incarceration, he’d lost something… was it his humanity?
He put that thought away for another day over a large glass of whisky when he was alone in his living room with Greg’s Bob Marley painting. Then, he could share his thoughts with his dead friend. It was the closest he ever got to feeling something… anything… these days. Well, except when he was with Patti. Not that he told her, though. No, that would be too dangerous.
‘Gus?’
Nancy’s t
one was sharp and told Gus he’d delayed answering her earlier enquiry for too long. He shrugged. What was he supposed to tell her? That Alice had become a monster? A parody of one of those American actresses on ‘Orange is the New Black’, all swearing and swagger?
‘Gus!’
He sighed again and lifted his mug to his lips, knowing full well he was playing for time. Why had he agreed to come in today? He could have delayed it till Monday. It was his weekend off after all. Should’ve put my foot down. The truth was, he’d nowhere else to go. Patti was visiting friends later and his mum was too damn perceptive for her own good, so he’d vetoed a parental visit. If his mum hadn’t dognapped Bingo for the weekend, he’d have gone up to the Cow and Calf rocks in the snow with him, spent the afternoon knackering himself hiking and rounding it off with a pint or two before heading home to a takeaway and The Voice. Bingo liked Will.I.Am.
Just as Nancy was about to repeat his name for the third time, he put his cup down and jumped to his feet, raking his fingers through his dreads as he did so. ‘She’s a damn mess, Nancy. Pale and weak as shit. If she was vertical, I could blow her over with one puff. She’s hacked her hair into a buzzcut and she’s clearly in pain.’
Nancy’s lips tightened and she clasped her fingers together, tapping them lightly against her chin as she thought. Finally, ‘And the rest?’
Gus paused in his pacing and shook his head. ‘Still insistent. Hard as nails. Never seen her like this. Glad I didn’t let Compo come with me. He’s going to be devastated when I tell him.’ He raked both hands in his dreads and groaned, ‘Think we need to face it Nance. We’ve lost her.’
9
10:35 The Fort
DCI Mickey Swanson paced her office. The powers that be had decided to leave DCI Hawes in charge of the Rawsforth train wreck and she was furious. Her boss had hinted that it was to keep Hawes out of the hair of the ‘real’ anti-terrorist team, who had inherited him on job experience initiative for two months and considered him a liability. If there was one thing that pissed Mickey off more than any other, it was pandering to male incompetence. If Hawes wasn’t able to pull his weight, then damn well tell him and confine him to a desk. Why should he take her job from her? Well, okay, the train crash wasn’t strictly speaking her job either, but at least she was keen to look into it properly. Paddy Toner’s family deserved that, didn’t they? Besides, it was quiet in Vice at the minute. Her team were on top of everything and, if she was honest, she felt redundant. Not for the first time did she wish she’d stuck at DI. Desk jobs weren’t really her thing. She craved the excitement of moving about, being on the street, responding to things with more than a click of her finger on the ‘send’ button of an email that more often than not bounced back anyway.