Civvy Street (43 page)

‘Camilla?’ Maddy headed for the front door and opened it. ‘Camilla.’ She faked a smile of greeting. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I want to talk to you about the community centre files. There are some missing.’

Maddy folded her arms; she wasn’t having her Sunday interrupted for this. No way. Camilla might sleep, eat and breathe the army twenty-four-seven but Maddy had a life. ‘You know, now really isn’t a good time. I’ve got a friend here for lunch and I am seriously worried about Susie and her daughters who were also due to join us. They were supposed to meet me earlier and they never turned up. So, to be honest, the last thing I want to do right now is worry about some missing file. I’m sure it’s something that can wait till Monday.’

‘Well, really,’ said Camilla, taken aback and disapproving of Maddy’s attitude.

‘Sorry, but that’s how it is.’ Maddy started to shut the door. ‘Although... are you in contact with the colonel?’

Camilla nodded.

‘And he’s out helping with the floods, like the rest of the battalion?’

Camilla nodded again. ‘But I don’t see—’

Maddy held her hand up to silence her. ‘Good. I need to get a message about Susie through to Mike. Seb’s lost his phone and I don’t have Mike’s mobile number so, presumably, Jack might be able to help with that.’

‘You want Jack to phone Mike?’ Camilla looked down her nose at Maddy.

‘Well, yes. Or talk to him, or send a runner with a cleft stick. Camilla, really I don’t care how Jack communicates with Mike but he needs to know that Susie might be stuck out there in the floods. I’m really worried, Camilla.’

‘But why should Jack do something for a man who has given him nothing but trouble?’

‘For God’s sake, Camilla, I have no idea what you’re on about and even if I did understand we’re not talking about some petty squabble between two grown men, but about a woman and her children who might be in danger.’ Maddy was tempted to tell Camilla to grow up but decided that might be a step too far.

Camilla leaned closer towards Maddy. ‘Do you realise that Mike has done his best to humiliate and undermine Jack?’

From what Maddy knew of Jack she thought he was perfectly capable of humiliating himself. ‘But how? How could Mike do that; he’s nothing to do with Jack or the army any more.’

‘He’s the emergency planning officer and, according to Jack, he’s been behaving like some jumped-up little Hitler. Jack’s in charge of 1 Herts and yet Mike seems to think
he
should direct operations at the flood, not Jack. And what authority has Mike got for that, tell me that?’

‘I... I...’ Maddy was at a complete loss. ‘But isn’t that his job?’

‘How on earth can someone like Mike order round Jack?’

The way Camilla put it, she made Mike sound like he was some sort of plebeian imbecile trying to direct affairs of state, not an expert in his field managing extra resources.

‘Look, Camilla, I don’t want to get involved in this and I don’t care what is going on between your husband and Susie’s but it doesn’t alter the fact that I think she’s in real danger and the only way I seem to have of getting a message to the people on the ground is via your husband. So are you going to help or aren’t you?’

Camilla stared at her and for a second Maddy thought she was going to refuse. ‘If I must.’

Maddy just managed to stop herself rolling her eyes in exasperation. ‘And I’ll come round to yours on Monday to talk about the community centre, promise.’ She had to placate the old bat somehow.

‘Good, see that you do. Ten o’clock.’ And with that, Camilla swept off. Maddy longed to call after her to remember to phone Jack about Susie but felt that it might just antagonise her into being contrary. Maddy didn’t trust Camilla as far as she could spit.

‘Will she do it?’ asked Jenna, leaning against the sitting room door.

Maddy shrugged. ‘If she’s got the least conscience she will.’

Jenna snorted. ‘If I were you, I’d report it to the police – just in case. Better safe than sorry, if you ask me.’

*

Mike finished the press conference and forced himself not to slump back in his seat as the reporters and cameramen filed back out of the rugby club bar. The TV and radio guys had buggered off some twenty minutes earlier to get the story back to their respective studios for the one o’clock slot but the print and other forms of media had stuck around asking further questions for some time. And now he felt absolutely wrung out, although he didn’t think it would be terribly professional to allow his exhaustion to show publicly. It was partly lack of sleep but it was also because of the stress of being thrust into the limelight at no notice and being expected to handle a difficult situation with no experience of doing anything like it in the past. Trying not to yawn he gathered his papers together and then stood up ready to follow the last of the throng from the room.

‘Well done, mate,’ said the police constable he’d spoken to earlier.

‘Thanks, you really think so?’

‘The press are happy, you made sense, everyone understands what’s being done to help the victims... I’d say that’s a result.’

Mike felt a surge of relief that he’d really got things right. Thank goodness he’d not made a fool of himself in front of TV cameras and the nation’s press. He headed for the door and the path down to the pub.

Outside the club it was still raining – no surprise there, he thought – and despite the fact it was still early afternoon it was already twilight. Down by the river, emergency lights were blazing as the army and volunteers continued to battle the floods with sandbags and Mike had no doubt that all along the Bavant valley the scene was being repeated. No one, he thought, could possibly say that everything that was humanly possible wasn’t being done for the locals.

Wearily he pushed open the front door of the pub and headed back in to the warm and dry. The first thing he noticed, as he kicked off his wellingtons in the porch, was the noise level. A terrific hubbub of voices was cascading out of the bar. How come there were so many more people than when he left to do the press conference just forty minutes earlier? Where had they all come from? He pushed open the inner door to the saloon bar. Well, the noise level matched the number of people he saw – no mistake there. The place was chock full. Mike squeezed through the door and began to push his way back to the table he’d been working at before he’d left.

‘ID, mate.’

‘What?’ Mike was confused – why on earth did someone want his ID? He looked in the direction the voice had come from.

‘ID,’ the voice repeated. It was a policeman. Then Mike noticed the copper’s stab vest and the logo emblazoned across the front. He wasn’t from the local constabulary but the Metropolitan Police. What the hell...?

‘Sorry,’ said Mike, ‘can I ask why?’

The constable sighed. ‘Security.’

‘I gathered that,’ said Mike, ‘but I’ve been working from this pub for twenty-four hours now and no one has wanted it yet.’

‘Maybe, but I want it now.’

Mike hauled out his lanyard from under his jacket and showed the constable his council pass.

‘Thank you, sir.’

Mike pushed his way further into the room. In the corner, where the maps were pinned to noticeboards, he could see the chief super holding forth. So, the boss had managed to get here, at last. Mike wondered briefly what had held him up and then he clocked just who the chief was briefing. Bloody hell – the prime minister. The PM in a high-vis jacket and waders. Well, that explained the need for those and why new ones had been so important. And it also explained why he’d suddenly had to deputise at the press briefing. And no wonder there was security on the door.

Mike ducked away from the VIPs, the hangers-on and the brown-nosers all congregated around the politician. And – oh God, wouldn’t you just know it – Colonel Rayner; trust him to try and cosy up to the prime minister. He found his way back to his corner and chucked his papers down. He’d been hoping to get another few minutes’ shut-eye but fat chance with this circus going on around him. To keep himself awake he glanced at his phone. There was a missed call from Susie and another from Jack Rayner – like he was going to return
that
one. If that git wanted to talk to him he could walk across the bar and do it. Instead he returned Susie’s. Straight to voicemail and there was no point in trying the kids’ phones – not since he’d confiscated them himself. He hoped to goodness she’d got through to Maddy’s. Of course she had. He’d have heard if she hadn’t.

‘Mike, can I have a word?’

Mike looked up to see the chief superintendent standing beside him. He dropped his phone back on the table.

‘Of course, sir. What can I do for you?’

‘I hear the press briefing went very well.’

‘Thank you, sir. Of course, they weren’t a tough audience. It wasn’t as if I was in the frame for anything illegal or immoral, so no nasty questions, no curve-balls or anything like that.’

‘Even so, Mike...’ The chief super clapped him on the shoulder. ‘And the PM would like a word, too. He caught the gist of your press briefing on the radio on his way down here. He was impressed.’

Blimey, praise indeed. Mike only wished Rayner had heard the compliment getting passed on, and then he checked himself for being so infantile. What did it matter what Rayner thought, anyway?

The chief super led Mike through the crowd of people, who parted as he approached as if he were Moses.

‘Sir,’ he said, when he reached the familiar figure, ‘you wanted to meet Mike Collins.’

The PM stuck out his hand and grasped Mike’s warmly. ‘Mike, good to meet you. I can’t tell you how impressed I was by the way you handled the press conference. Done like a true pro.’ He laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘And I should know. I’m also told that the smooth running of this operation is largely down to your planning.’

Mike could feel himself blushing and out of the corner of his eye he could see Rayner positively hopping with frustration that he wasn’t being included in this conversation. ‘Thank you, sir. I suppose I was lucky with my background.’

‘Which was?’ The PM sounded genuinely interested, but a bit of Mike wondered if it was a front that professional politicians were adept at putting on. Either way, he could hardly ignore the question.

‘Ex-army, Prime Minister.’

‘The army’s loss is Winterspring District Council’s gain, I’d say.’

‘Thank you, sir. Not that it was desperately difficult to sort things out. Basically I made sure the essentials were in place—’

‘Which were? interrupted the PM.

‘Oh, er, shelter for the evacuees, food, power and sanitation – plenty of water and portaloos. And the teams working here have been utterly brilliant and tireless in sorting all of that out.’

‘Even so, people get stressed and upset in these circumstances and I haven’t heard much in the way of complaints.’

‘With all due respect, sir, I think people are too busy at the moment, trying to keep the worst of the disaster at bay, to worry about complaining. I bet they will when it’s all over. But in the meantime we’re trying to keep everyone as well-informed as possible. Generally, as long as people know what’s going on, or what’s being done on their behalf, they stay calmer. It’s being kept in the dark that gets people’s goat. We’ve been careful to make sure as many of the victims as possible know what the emergency services have been doing on their behalf, and to inform people what they can do to help themselves, and, more importantly, what they can do to help others. People like to feel as if they are making a contribution – they feel valued. It all helps.’

‘All I can say, Mike, is that it’s worked. Well done. I’m proud to be a member of a country where we have inspirational chaps like you working on our behalf.’

The prime minister was led away by the chief super to meet other people who had been helping out with the floods and Mike was left with a warm glow at the words of praise. Of course, he realised about a minute later, this had been praise from a professional politician – he would say such stuff, wouldn’t he? – but, even so, it couldn’t do any harm where his future was concerned.

He watched the PM’s retreating back view and Jack Rayner, trying to muscle his way forward to have a word, but the PM’s close protection officers thwarted that attempt, much to Mike’s amusement. He turned away. Now that his moment in the sun was over, maybe he could get a few minutes’ rest uninterrupted. Mike made his way back to his corner, right away from the PM’s entourage, and sat down. He shut his eyes. Just five minutes...

‘I see you were busy sucking up just now.’

Mike snapped his eyes open. Rayner. There’s a surprise, he thought.

‘I wasn’t “sucking up”,’ he replied.

‘It looked like it from where I was standing.’

Mike was very tempted to retort with,
And where was that? Out in the cold, right on the edge?
but decided it wasn’t worth it. ‘Look, Colonel, I am very tired. I’ve had a couple of hours’ sleep at the most in the last twenty-four, so unless it’s important could we leave this till another time?’

‘If that’s what you want. I was going to pass on some information but...’ Jack smiled nastily, ‘...as you’re too tired, it can wait.’

Momentarily Mike wondered what the information might be and he was tempted to ask what it was. But, fuck it. He’d rather get his head down than spend any more time at all talking to this git. ‘Later then.’ He hoped Jack got the hint.

‘As you wish.’

Mike shut his eyes and was out for the count in a nano- second.

‘Mum, I’m cold.’

‘Me too,’ said Ella.

‘I know, darlings, I am too. And if the car wasn’t kaput I’d switch the engine on to get the heater going.’

‘Try, Mummy.’ Katie’s teeth were actually chattering.

Susie turned the key in the ignition again and the car coughed and spluttered but the engine refused to fire. She’d had several goes at getting it going, trying for thirty seconds at a time to get the engine to turn over, but the car wasn’t going to play ball. Obviously, when she’d dropped the back end into the ditch the damage extended further than just bending a rear wing but Susie didn’t know enough about cars to understand that ploughing the exhaust pipe into a bank and blocking it made it impossible for the engine to work.