Merely Players (12 page)

Luke began to wonder how many times his Dad had already played back this recording. He was hugging his thin chest with pleasure, rocking backwards and forwards and silently mouthing words which were clearly already familiar words to him as Adam spoke them. ‘He'll mention me in a minute!' he told Luke urgently, then sat back and grinned delightedly as Adam told of his father doing his bit for Queen and country.

‘You didn't fight in the war! You were too young for that!' Luke said indignantly. The words were out before he could stop them.

‘I did my National Service, didn't I? Two years in bloody uniform, and don't you forget it! Our Adam doesn't forget it.' He stopped the recording and wound it back resentfully. ‘You're making us miss the best bit! You just listen to Adam weighing into this copper about all the bloody Pakis in Brunton.'

He didn't do that, of course. Adam Cassidy would never involve himself in anything so controversial. But Harry Cassidy like all bigots heard what he wanted to hear. Luke said rather feebly, ‘The chief superintendent says we've a large number of Muslims in our town, most of whom are law-abiding citizens, Dad.'

‘He says we can't control the bastards, you mean. Just you listen – you're supposed to be intelligent.'

‘No, Dad. He says that there is a small minority amongst them who could be very dangerous.'

‘He says those wankers are working to destroy our country and the bloody police can do fuck-all about it. And our Adam tells him where to get off. Just you bloody listen instead of yapping, lad!' He had paused the recording as the exchanges with his son grew more heated. Now he switched it on again and the pair watched the conclusion of the show in silence. Luke noticed that Tucker wasn't allowed the right of reply to either his brother's or Clancy's wilder generalizations at the end of the broadcast. But he didn't point this out to his father, wisely recognizing that prejudice had gone beyond the point of hearing reason.

Luke brought in his father's meal on a tray and set it on his lap, tucking a paper kitchen towel into his collar to prevent food soiling his clothing. He sat with him for a little while longer, trying to talk about some of the problems in his own working life. But Harry was still too excited to talk about anyone or anything other than his younger son. ‘He's a lad, is our Adam! Pity you haven't got a bit of his go.'

It was intended as a challenge. Harry jutted his chin a little and waited for a response. Luke wondered why people became more aggressive with those around them as their physical powers declined towards helplessness. Or was that just his dad? Luke said mildly, ‘Adam and I are different beings, Dad, different personalities. Always were and always will be. It wouldn't do if everyone was the same, would it?'

Harry gazed unseeingly at the news pictures on his television screen. ‘He told 'em what was what, didn't he, our Adam?' He pushed his tray aside and hugged himself again, this time in slow motion.

‘Pity he couldn't pop in and see you this morning, as he'd promised faithfully to do.' The comment was out before Luke could stop it, a splutter of bile to release the tension of the resentment the old man had roused in him.

Harry Cassidy looked at Luke as if he had been thumped. His previously exultant face filled abruptly with shock and incomprehension. ‘He's a busy man, Luke. He's always busy, our Adam. You don't understand the life he has to lead.'

The life he's chosen to lead, thought Luke. ‘I expect he is busy, Dad. We all are, for most of the time. But he shouldn't promise to come to see you and then not turn up.'

The old man's face set back into its normal impassive state, and in that moment Luke felt guilty for snatching away the undoubted pleasure the television footage had brought to him. ‘He'd have come if he could have,' said Harry stubbornly. ‘He's fond of his old Dad, Adam is. Not like some I could mention!'

This time Luke managed to avoid any response. He slid the old man's dinner plate and pudding dish on to the tray and took them into the kitchen to wash. Whilst he waited for the water from the tap to run hot, he looked round at the familiar sink and the familiar kitchen, reviving memories of his boyhood here. He tried to relieve his frustration by reminding himself of the man that querulous old bigot out there had once been and what he owed to him.

Yet the memories brought not the comfort he had sought but a tumbling anger against the man who had been a boy here with him. Why the hell couldn't Adam at least pop in here regularly to see the old man who adored him? Why couldn't he at least keep his promises, instead of leaving others to pick up the pieces? Why should Luke collect only drudgery and contempt whilst Adam cruised through life and picked off its prizes?

EIGHT

T
here were others as well as Harry Cassidy who had recorded the afternoon's Gerry Clancy show.

At ten fifteen that night, after DCI Percy Peach had put Tommy Bloody Tucker in his place by watching programmes he considered more important, he sat with the new Mrs Peach and watched his chief's ordeal by interview.

‘He's not getting a fair hearing,' said Lucy after a few minutes.

They watched the rest of the show in silence, apart from one or two muffled oaths from Percy. There was a pause at the end before he said, ‘Tucker was bloody anxious to get himself on the telly. He couldn't wait to get himself sitting next to the man who plays Alec Dawson.'

‘That's probably down to his wife. She's a great fan of the series.'

Peach marvelled anew at the capacity of women to know trivia that would have taken men much effort to discover. ‘Well, I hope Brunnhilde Barbara is well pleased with what she's done to the poor sod.'

‘I should think she still thinks Adam Cassidy is marvellous. She'll probably think her husband should have stood up for himself better.'

‘I'd have to support her on that. It might be the first thing Brunnhilde Barbara and I have ever agreed upon. And probably the last.'

Lucy said thoughtfully, ‘He's right about the militant Muslim element. With thirty thousand in the town, there are bound to be a tiny number of fanatics among them. Once an ideology like that gets hold of young men, we're in trouble.'

He glanced quickly sideways at her, then said as casually as he could, ‘You making any progress with your investigations?'

She paused, considering her reply carefully; she knew that despite his relaxed manner, he worried about her involvement with ruthless people like this. ‘We've identified a couple of cells of militants. The trouble is, we need to find the people in the background who are pulling the strings. Those men are both more dangerous and more elusive – like drug barons, but bent on violence rather than profit. They're probably not even in the town. Maybe not even in the country.'

‘You just go carefully, girl.' It was a fatuous warning, but he was like an anxious parent, needing to voice his concern. He watched a politician trying not to answer Jeremy Paxman's questions about tax cuts and decided that Tommy Bloody Tucker had had it easy. He let his hand steal slowly across to Lucy's knee then on to the delicious thigh above it. ‘Sometimes we need to draw the curtains and forget all about the dangerous world out there.'

She leant against him and dropped her head on to his shoulder. ‘We're pretty good at shutting the world out, aren't we?'

‘We are indeed.' He brought a second hand to the task in hand: a body like Lucy's definitely warranted both hands. ‘A man has his needs!' he murmured softly into her perfectly shaped ear.

‘And isn't a woman allowed to have hers?' she said drowsily.

‘Bloody 'ell, Norah!' said Percy, suddenly sitting bolt upright. It was his favourite expression of mock outrage. ‘If you're determined to take me again, I can't deny you your rights, I suppose.'

He was in bed within three minutes, growling his approval as she disrobed swiftly in the chilly bedroom.

Ten days later, as December moved into its second week, the big stores watched the rising tide of Christmas trade and wondered whether the much trumpeted economic recovery would declare itself in the retail trade figures.

In the studios at Manchester, the final touches had been put to the last episode of the current Alec Dawson series. There was no party, as there might have been after a successful stage production. Many of the cast had already departed to other assignments; most of the supporting technical staff such as camera operators and continuity girls were now engaged in other television work.

In the office of ITV's senior producer, James Walton, an unexpectedly difficult meeting was in progress. There were only three people involved: Walton himself, the series director Joe Hartley, and Adam Cassidy as its star. They had met to confirm the final arrangements for the next series. Walton had expected this to be a matter of the three of them formally approving a series of decisions he had already made about the organization of shooting and the casting of the series. With his long experience and status in television, Walton prided himself on being able to anticipate snags and remedy things quickly, but he hadn't foreseen any of this. A star being prickly was the last thing he needed just now.

It was Joe Hartley who raised the matter of casting, when they had finished their review of the series just completed. ‘One of the problems of casting has been the need to find completely different personnel for each episode, except for Alec Dawson himself and one or two minor supporting roles. As you know, we've agreed two major changes which should help to remedy this. The first is to give our leading man a permanent girlfriend, instead of a succession of damsels in distress who are saved from either death itself or a fate which used to be considered much worse than death. The second is to build in a major figure who consistently pits his wits against Dawson's, instead of a series of villains who are outsmarted episode by episode. A sort of Napoleon of crime, like Moriarty in the Sherlock Holmes stories. It will build up the status of our hero to be pitting his own meagre resources against a man who can command huge forces. The implication will be that this monster's fortune and his heavies come from drugs, but that won't be made explicit. Pictures of coke and heroin addicts would be too squalid for a fast-moving, escapist series like this.'

Walton nodded. ‘I agree with that. We need to keep the right note in the new series. That isn't easy, when people see realistic policing all the time in programmes like
The Bill
. These moves will also make casting easier, as well as hopefully keeping it within budget.' He couldn't prevent himself glancing quickly at Adam Cassidy, whose agent had secured a major rise in his already astronomical salary for the new series. ‘The overall cost of one major villain and one heroine rather than a series of each should make us a saving. And we seem to have competent people already in place for these roles.'

‘Really?' Adam, who had been waiting for this moment, was pleased with his timing as he came in with the single word. The looks of surprise and apprehension on the faces of his companions showed how telling it had been.

‘I thought you were happy with Dean Morley for the major villain and Michelle Davies for your regular female lead,' said Walton. He glanced at Joe Hartley. ‘I think our director is certainly happy with their work in the series we've just completed.'

‘Very happy. Both of them are model professionals. And once I knew what was planned for the future, I've watched them off-shoot as well. They're excellent team players, as far as I can see. That can be as important as acting ability when you're asking people to work together for a whole series.'

Walton nodded. ‘I've always been impressed by the ensemble playing in the Alec Dawson episodes. It makes it easier for everyone when you operate as a team.'

‘And no one sets greater store by team playing than I do,' said Adam sententiously. ‘Nevertheless, I think both these roles need to be cast with great care.'

‘I can assure you that great consideration has already been given to them,' said Walton with his first visible sign of irritation.

Adam Cassidy smiled at him, feeling his power and enjoying it. ‘I don't remember anyone asking me for my views on these developments.'

Walton looked at Joe Hartley, who said, ‘Not formally, perhaps, Adam. But I'm sure you and I have discussed the new series and these two key roles. I got the impression that you were happy enough with Michelle Davies in the leading female role.' He glanced for the merest instant at Cassidy, who did not react. ‘And I know that Dean Morley is a very old friend of yours.'

By which he means that I'd never have got started without him, thought Adam. All the more reason to cast him off at this point, then. If I'm going to Hollywood and American television, I don't want anyone from the past clinging to my coat-tails. ‘We mustn't cast important roles on the principle of the old pals' act,' he said sanctimoniously.

James Walton knew quite well that he had verbally already offered these parts to the pair he had mentioned. He was also uncomfortably aware that Cassidy had the right of veto, that the bigger the star, the more necessary it was to keep him happy. For the first time, he realized just how big a star Adam Cassidy had become, and cursed himself for not taking note of it earlier. During previous series, the man had seemed happy to have his role and be paid big bucks for it. Now he was flexing his star muscles and asserting himself. This might be a late and wilful, even a mischievous, changing of his views, but there was nothing they could do about it. Walton had seen too many big names stamp their metaphorical feet like spoilt children to think they would be able to argue Cassidy round, but they had to try.

As if he read his producer's mind, Joe Hartley said, ‘Dean Morley has a lot of experience. He knows what he's doing. I think he'd play very well opposite you, Adam.'