Highbridge (21 page)

‘You know. Oh, what's her name …? You know. She's always at the doctor's. Practically lives there.'

‘I wouldn't ask if I didn't …' But she bit her tongue. Go with the flow. That was the advice. She drew breath. ‘Give me a clue?' she smiled and squeezed her mum's hand.

‘Oh, I am getting forgetful these days. I know it must be difficult. I was only telling Pamela yesterday that I can't remember from one minute to the next at times.' She stopped and squeezed Natasha's hand harder. ‘I do have a friend called Pamela, don't I? She's still alive and living close …'

Natasha couldn't help but laugh as she interrupted the flow. More out of relief than the dark humour of trying to keep up with the short-circuiting that was starting to happen in her mother's brain. Sometimes she felt like she was carrying on three separate conversations at once. ‘Oh, Mum. Yes. Auntie Pam, as we all grew up calling her. And you were at the baking club with her yesterday.'

‘I knew that bit. Just had to check whether it was real or not. I'm getting confused more regularly these days, aren't I?'

Natasha just nodded. It was true. Even if it was difficult to admit. Like this morning. She still hadn't found out why her mother had called to ask her to come round straight away.

‘Bound to happen. Seen so many of them down at the hospice,' Grace continued. ‘Can't remember their own names, some of them. Remember the one who used to live next to the garage off Market Street? Had a snake tattoo. On her arm. Oh, what was her name? Began with the same letter as the shop over the road. You know, from where the vet used to take the horses.'

Natasha just stared. Trying not to look concerned. Go with the flow. But now totally lost. ‘I er … I don't remember anyone with a tattoo, sorry Mum.'

‘I'm not surprised,' her mother said. Then started to laugh and point at Natasha. ‘Your face. Had you there, didn't I?'

‘Mother! It's bad enough without—'

‘It's all right, love. If I can't laugh at it, who can? And at least I still can. Anyway, it was Betty I was thinking about.'

‘Betty?'

‘Who drove into the canal? Remember?'

‘Are you still winding me up?' Natasha asked warily.

‘No, I meant before. When I was trying to remember who I thought had driven into a canal. I was thinking of your sister-in-law, mother. Betty. The doctor's receptionist. But she reversed into a paddling pool, didn't she? At Joey's brother Sean's lad's birthday party. Noah. And it wasn't his paddling pool but the younger one's. Megan. She did that around the time I went through that fence and nearly …' she emphasised it again, ‘when I nearly, went into the canal. So, I just got the two things mixed up, didn't I? But, you see, I can still remember things.' She gave Natasha a broad smile, then sighed. ‘Just not every now and then. Or in the right order.'

To stop the tears welling, Natasha squeezed her mum's hand again, then started to gather the teacups. ‘Well, while you're remembering, you stopped driving after that.'

‘I remember it was you who stopped me,' her mum shot back. ‘And leave those. I can still manage.'

‘It was actually Joe. And it was the right decision.'

‘I know,' her mum conceded. ‘He's usually right, your Joe. I've always listened to him.'

It took all Natasha's strength to resist asking, since when? Just as it was fortunate her mother stood up and started gathering the teacups. Otherwise she would have seen Natasha's jaw hanging with incredulity. Her mother never listened to anyone, never mind her son-in-law. She was still telling anyone who would listen how Natasha had wasted her life on him. Go with the flow, she told herself. ‘So you still can't remember why you asked me to call round. Urgently?'

Grace slowly shook her head. ‘But you did say to dial Star 6 if I needed you. Perhaps I should write things down first. So I won't forget.'

‘Yes, perhaps,' Natasha agreed, thinking how long it had taken to get her to remember the speed dial function on her phone. ‘Was it something to do with lunch over the weekend?' It was a wild guess, but she had learned that Grace was entering that stage when food became the focus of life.

‘Yes. Yes, that was it. Was it? What time will we be eating, do you think?'

‘The usual time. As always. And we'll pick you up and take you to the restaurant.' She stood up and tried again to take the cups from her mother. But Grace held on. Slightly defiant.

‘I'd better go,' Natasha said, to avoid the confrontation. ‘I left Roscoe in the house.'

Grace nodded, put the teacups back on the occasional table and walked her to the door. ‘Give my love to Er … er…' But seeing her daughter's expression, not amused, she smiled. ‘That bloke you've been married to for seventeen years. Text him my love or whatever you do these days.'

‘I will. Bye, Mum.' She gave her mother a last hug and left, sending the text to Joe straight away.
MUM SENDS LUV. GETTING WORSE, MAKES ME MISS YOU MORE. SPEAK LATER LXXT
No sooner had she pressed send when a text from Tanya arrived.
GOING BECK'S AFTER SCHOOL HOME 9ISH.XX THAT WOULD MEAN LESS ARGUING AT HOME. OK XXX
It would also give her a quiet hour to speak to Joe, as although he said he wanted to talk, she knew he found it difficult while at work.

What she didn't know was that he was beginning to pace the kitchen wondering where she was. What he didn't imagine was that she was cursing her long-gone dad, as she always did when she had to ease the Q7 round the walled flower bed he had hand-built right opposite the front door, but smiling at the memory of how proud he was of it. He had no idea at the time that his daughter would at some point be driving a civilian troop carrier. Once clear of the wall and pointing towards the gate she turned to wave back at her mother who was, as always, standing in the window waving.

Time and age, Natasha thought as she gunned the Q7 down the road, it gets us all in the end. Something similar was going through Grace's mind as she watched her daughter drive off, too fast, as always. She turned away from the window and felt in her cardigan pocket for the card she had folded inside. Typed in bold were three words. Time. Clock. List. Beneath them Grace herself had written Betty – Sean's mum. Sandra – wife. Noah – oldest. Megan. She sighed, looked across at the clock on the mantel. What should she be doing now? She headed off towards the kitchen to look at her list, leaving the teacups where they were.

‘If you want to change anything, Sean, you should run for mayor or something. At least get it out of your system.' It was another of Glynnis's throwaway lines as she manoeuvred a Christmas tree through the entrance of the café. Stopping when she had another idea. ‘You could get your sister-in-law to design your electioneering pamphlets. People'd like that. Local jobs for local people.'

She then left him with that thought and he was more convinced than ever about the female hive. Or that Glynnis and Sandra either talked every day or were separated at birth. It was almost word for word what Sandra had said to him the night before when he had tried to recount his after dinner chat with Hilary Jardine. Followed quickly and emphatically with a reminder that they had put their time in building the business and all she now wanted was to enjoy the last few years they'd have with the kids before they all flew the nest.

His phone chirped as a text arrived. It was Arthur Young passing on Craig Harlow's contact number. He chuckled at the thought of a global rock star turning up to play Santa. But stranger things happen, he thought. And if Craig could win a Grammy, then why couldn't he himself win an election? Then he chuckled again as he wondered what Sandra would make of her soulmate Glynnis's idea of him running for mayor, even though Highbridge was too small a town to have an elected mayor.

Yet, he wanted to do something and as he liberated the Santas with a last slash of his retractable knife, he looked at his watch. Just time to get the Santas deployed before lunch. He grinned. Perhaps he could start his own party and take over the whole process. Local politics for local people. His grin morphed into a laugh. The idea of revolutionising local politics was probably not what Sandra would consider a way of enjoying the last few years with the kids. His laugh then developed into a chuckle. If he became some sort of party leader, though, it would be a good excuse for her to renew her wardrobe

Joey walked along the landing to the spare room, now changed and his hair wet after a quick shower. He looked in to see their weekend sanctuary, away from Tanya and her friends, was now doubling as Natasha's work space. Printed copies of inspirational quotes she would sell on Etsy were strewn across the bed and what looked like a half-finished design was still drying on the printer. He was now beginning to feel a sense of anticlimax. The hero's overnight odyssey battling the creatures of the night to be by the side of his princess was rapidly feeling like a sad over-reaction.

Where could she be? Joey wondered as he made another coffee. Anywhere, he concluded. Another reminder of how they led separate lives during the week, and while he imagined what lay behind the weekly headlines he never quite knew. Another side effect of mobile phones. You never had a clue where anyone was these days. Should he text again? But that would probably get her going. Then again, he'd said he'd call after the school run. She'd expect him to call around now. ‘What do you reckon, Rosk? I travel all night to get back and support her, and she's nowhere to be seen. Any clues?'

But as usual Roscoe opted to not get involved and went to the patio door to be let out. As he closed the door behind him, Joey reached for his phone.
CAN YOU TALK
? But no sooner had he pressed send than he heard Natasha's phone chirp, accompanied by a loud OMG of surprise. He turned to find her in the kitchen doorway holding both phone and hand to her chest.

‘What the hell are you doing here?'

Not quite the heroic welcome he had expected. ‘Yeah. Sorry. Didn't want to worry you last night, so I—'

But she cut him off as she crossed over to hug him, causing her hair to nearly suffocate him once again. ‘You scared the … Jesus, Joe.'

At the end of his lung capacity he eased her back and kissed her. This was a bit better. ‘Sorry for giving you a shock but I thought …'

She hugged him again and then stepped back. ‘No need. It's why I love you. You always know when I need you.'

As she took off her fleece Joey watched her closely. His attention on the frown across her forehead. He guessed his instinct had been right. Something was going on here that she'd been trying to keep from him. But she was recovering.

‘What … What about the work?' she asked.

‘Not important. Benno's sorted it. Just jumped the overnight bus.' It was all she needed to know at the moment. He'd tell her about the wino at Birmingham and psycho at Stoke some other time. ‘So. Go on. I'm here. What's going on?'

‘Don't know where to start, really.'

‘How about something typical? Cup of tea and begin at the beginning. Just ramble.'

And so she did. For the next hour.

‘Cracklin' cocaine,' Luke suddenly heard in his headset. He didn't respond, just waited. He knew one of Matt's philosophical ramblings was on its way. ‘There's Crack Cocaine, isn't there? Fatty's just invented another variety. Deep-fried? Crack-ling? Cracklin' Cocaine.'

Luke managed a smile as Matt chuckled at his own joke. Then carried on.' I mean, it's priceless isn't it. Why put the stuff so near to the fryer in the first place?'

‘Because he's at the bottom of the food chain?'

‘Yeah,' Matt agreed. ‘And looks like he's working out all his inner tensions on that countertop this morning.' His tone changed as something in his binoculars caught his attention. ‘Now then, what's Fatty doing now?'

Luke couldn't make out the detail on the monitor but Matt relayed how Fatchops was struggling to drag an old fridge from the back room towards the damaged cold drinks cabinet. He then started to pull the cabinet away from the wall to make space for the fridge. And as he did he noticed the damage the 50 cal round had made in the plasterwork.

‘He's found the impact point.'

Luke leaned on the Barrett but kept an eye on the monitor while listening to Matt's commentary as Fatchops eased the cabinet forward, to see the hole in its back lined up perfectly with the damage to the wall. They both waited. Tense. It was too early for him to discover what was going on. After a moment or two of fingering the damage, perplexed, wondering whether an exploding bottle of cola could do such damage, he backed away. They relaxed. His body language said it all. What else could it be? Even if he knew what he was looking for he wouldn't be used to seeing – never mind expect to find – the damage from a 50 Cal. Luke heard the relief in Matt's voice as he described Fatchops giving the damaged drinks cabinet one last shove to make space for the old fridge.

‘Do you think he's wondering if that's a design fault and it's still under warranty?' Matt asked.

Luke smiled as he checked the Barrett one more time. It would be another cold shot, but from this distance he could probably just point and shoot. Still, they had already laser-ranged the distance so he was ready. The closer distance reduced the margin. No flight time for people to accidentally step into the shot. This time, almost as soon as Luke squeezed the trigger the target would be destroyed. In one way it was easier. But in another way much more dangerous, as they would be in close proximity. Even with a suppressor the noise would be noticeable.

Again they were relying on the unfamiliar and unknown. And that there would not be many folk around at the time. However, there was always the chance of a passing smartphone and the chance of getting on the evening news. Unlike the previous night, this time they would have to get the job done and get gone, sharpish. Luke glanced at his watch. 30 minutes.