Pain of Death (24 page)

Lesley Crawford holds Zoe. They are on the sofa beneath the window that looks out across the marshes to where the estuary once flowed free and wide. Zoe is running a temperature.

The baby has knocked out the last seal between it and the world. Now, it is a question of the baby’s will versus the membrane and muscle of its mother. Zoe is pleading to be taken to the hospital, but Lesley knows best. She really does. The vote is coming and they can stay put. They must.

Lesley Crawford strokes Zoe with a steady rhythm, running her fingers through the young woman’s hair. In her other hand, she fingers the buttons of her phone, flitting between Natalie Stafford and Nick Absolom.

It is her time.

She presses for Natalie and when it is answered, she says, ‘You must come quickly, the baby is on its way. She has had her show and the waters have gone. Yes I know. I know. If anything happens to this baby, we will all be ruined. Trust me.’

Natalie says, ‘We are done here. He is gone.’

Lesley Crawford says nothing. She knows you can’t be too careful, but as she hangs up, she gasps. The delight is deep and true, like nothing else she has known, ever.

Natalie hangs up her phone. The baby-blue Beetle is parked up on a C-road verge above the tin mines between St Agnes and Porthtowan. It is pointed towards the road to Truro and the A30. In two hours, with a following wind, they can be on the M5.

Emily is alongside her, holding Giselle, who has stopped crying. Natalie holds the orphan Samuel, who – like his baby sister, Grace – has survived his parents, Sean and Kerry. Together, they see a flash of light. Behind it is the mighty roar of the bungalow, beside the sea. A giant, mythical lick of smoke plumes the Cornish air and flames emerge.

Natalie empties her pockets and regards the syringe and scalpel – instruments designed to save a life. She wipes them clean and tosses them into the hedgerow, but as she does, another roar rises from the field beyond. The diesel fumes of a tractor poison the air and the machine drives along the edge of the field, the farmer taking a peek.

They get in the car quickly, will drive sedately to the A30 and then they’ll floor it – all the way to Merseyside and a more northern shore.

‘I’m afraid,’ says Emily.

‘Frayed,’ says Giselle, who has stopped crying now and looks up, adoringly, at her mother. But her eyes flit. For a moment she appears lost. Then, found again.

‘But I’m alive. I feel alive,’ says Emily. ‘Did he see us, that farmer?’

‘I told you, Lesley will save us. This is what she has planned. It’s her life’s work.’

‘Is she as clever as you say?’

‘Oh, yes,’ says Natalie.

*

Staffe is paying the bill for lunch. Eve has kicked off her shoes and has turned her chair so she faces the sun, away from him. His phone rings and he sees it is Absolom. He stands and walks towards the bank of the river, as calmly as he can.

‘Why can’t I hear?’ says Eve.

He ignores her and says softly, into the handset, ‘What is it?’

Absolom is plainly excited and even from here, Staffe can tell that the reporter is choosing his words carefully. ‘I’m on my way up to Merseyside. She’s called. Something’s going to happen.’

‘The vote on Vernon’s bill is tomorrow.’

‘Everything adds up.’

‘Where did she say for you to go?’

‘She didn’t. She’ll call again, is what she said.’

‘We had a deal. Remember?’

‘You know as much as I do. But she said not to call the police, and I feel bad even talking to you, Staffe. But we had a deal. I’m honouring it.’

‘Listen …’

But the phone is dead.

He calls Alicia Flint, tells her to get her plain-clothes men up to Parkgate. He doesn’t know exactly where. And they should redouble their surveillance of the roads. All he can say is that they need to look out for Tommy Given’s Merc. He is aware that his information is vague, not exactly up to date. ‘Hang on,’ he says, walking back to Eve. ‘What car has Natalie got?’

‘It’s a Beetle. The new sort. It’s blue. Baby blue.’ Which he relays to Alicia Flint.

He calls Jombaugh, tells him to search for Nicholas Absolom’s vehicle details. He recalls being followed down to the Lambs’, and says he thinks it is a T-plate Beemer, and he gives Jombaugh the number of Alicia Flint, tells him to call her first with the vehicle details. It could not be more urgent.

When he looks back, Eve Delahunty has stood up. She is stepping into her shoes, ready to go. He gets to the Peugeot first, reaches under the mat and removes the tracking bug device, scuttles to the patio of the pub and pops it under a plant pot.

*

Dan Carlyle sits in his favourite chair in the upstairs room he calls his study. His wife, Lovena, knows not to come in here. He stares blankly into the tree-lined street. This is Fulham. This is where, for £1.1 million, you can live in a terraced house not so far from the seedier realities of London town. If Dan were to look in the third drawer down of his reproduction writing desk, he would see that the building society had statemented his debt on this place at seven hundred thousand. In troubled times, this makes his shoulders stiffen. At the back of the very same drawer, he keeps his kit: his needles and his tourniquet and a couple of bags. He wants it now.

In the morning, the banker’s drafts could be discovered missing.

He can hear Lovena at the other end of the landing. Even though it is only six o’clock, she is persuading Luke to sleep. She told Dan earlier, when he came home unexpectedly early, that Luke has had a good day. Dan had held his beautiful boy who will never be right. Lovena was in the kitchen, preparing the paste for a Thai green curry. The other children were in the family room, between the kitchen and the landscaped garden. Luke had looked up at his father and squeezed him tight, had planted a kiss on his father’s cheek. It was the moment when Dan had decided to get clean. To come clean.

The noises from along the landing subside and he stands, opens the door to his study and turns his chair to face out of the room. He sits, waits for his wife. When she emerges, he says, ‘Vee,’ and raises his index finger to his lips. Lovena smiles and she mimes a tiptoe, comes towards him. His heart beats fast. Outside, it is sunny. The whole evening is ahead of them.

Dan has calculated all his options. He can afford to take a small place in Acton, or maybe further out while the dust settles. This house will need to be sold. Lovena can take the equity and buy a smaller place. He doesn’t know if he will ever get another job. It is the end of his gifted life.

‘What is it?’ she whispers.

He reaches out, pulls her onto his lap.

‘This is nice,’ she says. She kisses him on the mouth. ‘A nice surprise.’ She puts the flat of her palm to his cheek and says, ‘Sometimes, I feel like I’m losing you. Like you’re somebody else.’

He swivels on the chair and reaches down, pulls open the third drawer down.

She looks down, sees the mortgage statements. ‘We don’t need such a big place.’

He reaches to the back of the drawer and pulls out a syringe, the tourniquet and the two bags.

Lovena gasps.

‘You can have the house,’ he says.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m in trouble, Vee. I’ve done something stupid.’

‘Don’t tell me.’

‘I’ll lose my job.’

‘It’s not a woman?’

He thinks, Christ, if only it was.

‘No, it’s not a woman.’

‘I won’t let you go.’

‘You don’t understand.’

‘But I can.’ She reaches across and picks up the syringe, the tourniquet and the bags. ‘This isn’t the problem. It’s what it covers up. We can fix that.’

He nods his head. ‘But it’s too late.’

‘Tell me. I’ll help you.’

He doesn’t dare look at her. He presses his face against her breast and squeezes her tight. She rubs his back, tells him it will be fine, just fine, as if he is a child.

*

When he has told Lovena everything, Dan Carlyle says he will phone his boss. He says he wants to do it here, in his study, alone.

‘Oh, no. I have to be here when you tell him.’

He nods and makes the call. It rings and rings. He thinks it is too late and will ring to answerphone and maybe this is God telling him there is a chance for second thoughts.

‘Hello,’ says Finbar Hare.

‘It’s Dan. Dan Carlyle.’

‘Can this wait? I’ve only just got in. I’ve a shower running.’

‘No.’ Dan’s head is fuzzy and he doesn’t know how he will be able to find the words. ‘I’ve been an idiot, Fin. Someone found out I’ve been an idiot and … Christ, it’s a mess.’

‘Is this to do with work, Dan?’

‘You’d call it blackmail.’

‘What have you done?’

‘I use.’

‘What? Like crack?’ laughs Finbar.

‘No. Heroin.’

‘What? What the fuck! What have you done, Dan? Have you done something for them? Is it a dummy account?’

‘It’s a lad from the post room. Christ, Fin, I think he’s a gangster or something.’

‘Jesus!’ The line is deathly still. When he talks again, Fin’s voice has changed. He sounds like a parent, like a small miracle might have happened. ‘Tell me everything and we’ll see if we can fix it. You’re one of us, Dan. You’re not the enemy. He’s the enemy and we’re the ones in the bloody gang. Our gang wins, right?’

With this, Dan can’t say anything at all. The words he wanted to say clash in his head, collide in the top of his throat.

Lovena takes the phone. She says, ‘Mr Hare? This is Lovena Carlyle.’

‘What’s he done, Lovena?’

‘There’s a book of drafts gone missing. Dan says they are going to be used tomorrow. He says you can put a stop on them but this young man has them. He’s new and he works in the post room and his name is …’

‘Jadus,’ says Finbar. ‘Jadus Golding.’

‘Should we go to the police?’

‘No. Leave that to me. Tell Dan to come in tomorrow, like nothing happened. Tell him to come see me at half-nine.’

‘Thank you, Finbar.’

‘Look after him, Lovena. And prepare for the worst. That’s always best.’

*

Knutsford Services is like any other. Staffe brings back the coffees, passing through the cordon of smokers. Eve is leaning against his car.

‘How far?’ she says.

‘I got you a white with one sugar. You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.’

She says, ‘It’s how I take it.’

‘We’re an hour away.’ He looks for the sun. ‘Should still be light, with a bit of luck.’

‘Where will we stay?’

‘There’s a hotel.’

‘And it’s by the sea? Should be nice.’ The smile disappears from her mouth. She must remember the situation she is in. The coffee working.

Staffe’s phone goes and he answers, expecting it to be Jombaugh with Absolom’s vehicle details.

‘A right fine mess.’

‘What? Fin?’ Staffe backtracks quickly to what he thinks he might have witnessed yesterday in the vicinity of Peerless Street. ‘It’s not Jadus, is it?’

‘Christ alive, Staffe. It’s a whole fucking portfolio of things, but yes, Jadus Golding is up there in the bastard van.’

‘How?’

‘He’s blackmailing one of my directors. He’s got hold of a book of banker’s drafts that could cost us a bucketful and …’

‘What is it, Fin?’

‘I’d take care of this myself, Staffe, if I could. I really would. I’ve put a stop on the drafts but I have to let the police know, the Fraud Office, you know.’

‘Of course.’ Staffe watches the wagons thunder up the M6. It is rush hour and the traffic flows free, but dense. So much going off in the nation: hither, thither. Jadus, amongst so many lost souls. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t want it to be embarrassing for you, Will.’

‘What?’

‘I can let the Fraud Office know. I’m going to do that right now, but you should come round. Come and have a drink. I need a couple of men to watch my director’s house.’

‘Really?’

‘This Golding. He’s blackmailing my man.’

‘Oh, shit! I’m up north, Fin.’

‘I can’t put this under the carpet.’

‘I know. I know.’ Staffe looks at the wagons again. They go both ways, trundling north, trundling south.

*

Natalie had let Emily take the wheel, from Gloucester, but she had taken it back again before they got onto the M6. She is tired, but it is more fatiguing to be the passenger. In control again, she feels free, less prone to chance.

Lesley Crawford made another call, to see where they are. The Bright woman’s waters have gone and Natalie can’t help herself dwelling upon the rights and wrongs of that case. Nonetheless, Natalie will bring the child into the world, will make it survive.

‘How come you’re so calm, Nat?’ Emily has seen the first sign for Liverpool.

‘There’s nothing to worry about. Not now he’s out of the way. It will come to fruition, that’s what Lesley says. She likes “fruition”.’ She turns to face Emily, her eyes open wide as if it is, truly, a good thing she has done.

Emily wants to believe that, after all this time, what she suffered those years ago will be irrefutably for the good. What they have done today and will do tomorrow will be for the better. ‘Is the baby going to be fine?’

Natalie nods her head. She pats Emily on the thigh and turns the music up a little. It is a song from a few years ago by Lauryn Hill. ‘This is “To Zion”. Do you know it?’

‘I don’t like it,’ says Emily. ‘It’s too deep.’

Natalie turns it off.

Emily turns it on again. ‘But it’s good. And you like it.’

‘We’ll go this way,’ says Natalie, taking the M56. ‘It’s the junction for Ellesmere Port we want. Keep an eye out.’

*

Above, a souped Volvo sweeps down onto the slip road, slots into the middle stream of traffic three cars back from Natalie Stafford’s baby-blue Beetle. In the passenger seat, the DS removes the monocular from his right eye, says, ‘Looks like two women. And two baby seats in the back. Occupied.’