The Villain’s Daughter (37 page)

‘Iris?’ Vita called up the stairs. ‘Are you okay?’

Iris shouted through the closed door, ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’ She wanted some time alone to gather her thoughts. She couldn’t stay here, she decided, not with everyone against her. Even Vita didn’t believe that her father was in Kellston. Not that she’d said it in so many words, but it didn’t take much to read between the lines.

Iris took off her boots and socks and flexed her aching feet. She gazed around the room that had been decorated according to Candice’s taste: everything in shades of pink, the paintwork and the curtains, the built-in cupboards. There were posters of boy bands pinned above the bed along with some photographs. A couple of Barbies, dolls Candice had probably grown out of, lay discarded on the dresser. Iris sighed and turned again to the window. It was time for her to move on and at the moment there was only one place she could go - back to Silverstone Heights. The thought filled her with dread, but what was the alternative?

Lemon Road was bathed in a thin orangey light from the streetlamps. The remains of the last snowfall still lay on the ground, a stripe of crisp white ice by the front garden walls, a grey dirty slush on the rest of the pavement and in the gutters. She watched as Michael and Rick turned the corner and disappeared. Were they talking about her, she wondered, discussing her state of mind, her terrible
obsessions
? She felt a spurt of frustration. But this was swiftly followed by a wave of sadness and regret. She didn’t want to fall out with her uncle. The past, which he must have tried so hard to leave behind, was coming back to haunt him too. Perhaps she shouldn’t judge him too harshly.

She was about to go downstairs when her eyes alighted on a man walking slowly along the road. He was on the other side, coming from the opposite direction to the one that Michael and Rick had taken, and was stopping occasionally to peer through the gloom at the houses. Checking the numbers, she thought. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark overcoat and a hat that was pulled down low on his forehead. When he was about twenty yards away, he paused again to light a cigarette. She saw the match blaze briefly before he extinguished it with a flick of his wrist and dropped it on the ground. There was something about that gesture that set off a spark in her memory. Then he looked up and stared directly at her window. She only caught a fleeting glimpse of his face, but it was enough to send her pulse racing: a face of middle age, with a strong chin, heavy brows and a full mouth. He was the right height too and the right build. It was him! Oh Jesus Christ, it was him!

Iris dashed down the stairs, flung open the front door and ran outside.

‘What is it?’ she heard Vita call out. ‘What’s going on?’

The slush was icy beneath her bare feet, but Iris hardly noticed. She sprinted along the short path, out of the gate and into the street. Her breath was coming in short, excited bursts and she could feel her heart pumping. ‘Dad!’ she yelled.

The man had already passed the house. At the sound of her voice he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

Iris dodged between the parked cars and ran across the road, not even thinking about traffic. She was only feet from him now and in seconds she would be able to touch him, to throw herself into his arms. He’d come back! Her daddy had come back for her!

But then she saw him clearly for the first time. He was about the right age, but his features were completely wrong. The eyes were small and brown, the nose too flat and wide. Even his mouth, which at a distance had seemed so familiar, was quite different to her father’s. She stopped dead in her tracks, anguish sweeping through her.

‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ she stuttered. ‘I thought . . .’

The man looked confused and then embarrassed. His gaze quickly swept over her, taking in her dishevelled state, her wide eyes and naked feet.
A loony
, she could almost hear him thinking.
A mad woman. One of those Care in the Community cases.

‘I thought . . .’ she began again, but her mouth was too dry to continue.

Suddenly Vita was beside her, gently taking her arm. ‘Sorry,’ she said briskly to the man. ‘We thought you were someone else.’

Iris felt absurdly grateful for the ‘We’, as if its utterance somehow proved that she was not insane, not the only one to have mistaken his identity. She felt the tears gathering under her lashes and tried to blink them away.

The man stared at them both for a moment, gave an uneasy nod and continued on his way.

‘Come on,’ Vita said softly, ‘let’s get inside before we both freeze to death.’

‘I was sure it was him,’ Iris managed to murmur.

‘I know. It’s dark. It was an easy mistake to make.’

Iris nodded. Her disappointment was almost too much to bear. She felt like a kid at Christmas, a kid who’d been given the present she’d always wanted and then had it cruelly snatched away.

They crossed the road and went back into the house. Vita shut the door. ‘Look, why don’t you run yourself a bath and relax for half an hour. I’ll order a takeaway. It’ll be here by the time you come down.’

‘Thanks,’ Iris said. She was aware now of the coldness of her feet, of the ice between her toes. She wrapped her arms around her, starting to shiver despite the warmth of the hall.

‘And then we can have a chat,’ Vita said. She patted Iris on the arm.

There was something overly solicitous in the gesture, something that set alarm bells off in Iris’s head. ‘A chat?’

‘Just the two of us.’

Iris frowned at her, the truth gradually dawning. ‘Christ, you think I’m losing the plot, don’t you?’

‘No,’ Vita said. ‘Don’t be daft. I don’t think that at all. But you’ve got to admit that you’ve been through a tough time recently. These things can get to you. They all add up, one stress piling on another, and before you know it—’

‘So did you ever find out where Rick really got that money from?’ Iris snapped back defensively.

Vita looked puzzled. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

The words sprang out of her mouth before Iris had time to consider them properly. ‘You don’t think it’s odd, that thief nicking his wallet from outside a club owned by the Streets?’

‘For God’s sake, Iris, what are you suggesting?’

This would have been the time for Iris to apologise, to claim she was upset and didn’t know what she was saying, but a streak of stubbornness prevented her from going there. She was sick of being judged, of being on the receiving end of other people’s pity.
Poor old Iris who lost her baby and her boyfriend and now imagines that her father’s coming home to rescue her.
Turning away, she started walking up the stairs. ‘I’m just saying that it’s odd, a bit too much of a coincidence.’

Vita followed her up and into the bedroom. ‘You can’t say something like that and then just walk away. What’s going on in that head of yours? What exactly are you accusing Rick of?’

Iris pulled on her boots and began to gather her belongings. She had to get out of here before she really did go mad. She glanced at Vita, saw the mixture of anger and bewilderment in her friend’s dark eyes, and hesitated. But she was too wound up, too despairing to stop now. ‘You do the maths. The Streets have been threatening me. Rick’s been getting cash from the Streets. I tell you things, you probably pass them on to Rick. People like the Streets tend to pay for their information.’

‘You’re crazy,’ Vita retorted. And then, realising what she’d said, her long slender hand rose quickly to her mouth.

Iris forced out a laugh. ‘Well then, it’s probably better if I go and be crazy somewhere else.’

‘But you can’t actually believe . . . God, we’re your friends, Iris. Rick would never do something like that.’

Iris could cope with the anger, but the pain on Vita’s face cut her to the quick. What had she done? It had been stupid, hurtful. But there was no way to salvage the situation. The words had been uttered and couldn’t be taken back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I really am, but the truth is I don’t know what to believe any more. That’s why it’s better if I leave.’

‘And go where?’

‘Back to the Heights. Luke’s paid the rent to the end of January. The place is sitting there empty so I may as well use it.’

Vita didn’t argue. ‘If that’s how you feel.’ She stood watching silently as Iris stuffed her clothes and make-up into a bag. When the packing was done, she said, ‘Let me call you a cab at least. I can’t give you a lift. I had a few drinks earlier on.’

Iris shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’d rather walk. I need some air.’

They went downstairs together and stood for a few awkward seconds in the hall before Iris opened the door and stepped outside. She looked back at Vita, but couldn’t think of anything to say. There wasn’t anything
to
say. She had crossed a line. She had broken the bond between them and shattered their friendship into a thousand tiny pieces.

Iris shifted the bag on to her shoulder and began to walk. By the time she got to the High Street she was filled with remorse. She wanted to turn around, to run back to Vita’s and tell her she was sorry. But she couldn’t. Until she found her father there was no going back. It was only then, when the truth was out, that bridges might eventually start to be rebuilt. But would Vita ever forgive her for what she’d said? Iris screwed up her face. Whether her suspicions about Rick Howard were right or wrong, she should never have voiced them.

A few snowflakes had begun to fall. They gathered on her hair and the shoulders of her coat. She wiped her eyes and marched steadily on. It was still early, not yet nine o’clock, and there were plenty of people around. Most of them were girls dressed in their Saturday night attire: short skirts, high heels and slogan-carrying skimpy tops. Apparently immune to the cold, they were standing at the bus stops, laughing and joking, waiting to be transported to the glories of the West End. Some of them were drinking, their hands clasped around bottles of cheap cider and cans of Special Brew. It was too expensive to drink much in the clubs, more economical to get smashed before they got there.

Iris let out a sigh, trying to remember the last time
she’d
been so carefree. The wild days of her youth felt like a million years ago. How had everything become so complicated, so serious? She yearned for the superficial pleasures of the past. Since returning to Kellston, every part of her life had started to unravel. And yet she couldn’t be entirely sorry about coming back, not if it meant that she would, eventually, be reunited with her father.

Five minutes later, as she was approaching the corner of Silverstone Road, a dark blue car slowed and drew up beside her. Iris glanced at it nervously. The windows were tinted and she couldn’t see the driver. She walked a little faster, moving in towards the shelter of the shops, but the car continued to cruise along beside her. It was a fancy low-slung motor, the kind of car that Chris or Danny Street might drive. Her whole body tensed with a shudder of fright. She was about to make a run for it when she heard the faint whir of a descending window. A voice called out, ‘Iris!’

Iris recognised the voice. She stopped abruptly, looked over her shoulder and saw Guy Wilder leaning over the passenger seat. Trying to appear casual, as if she hadn’t been about to attempt a one-hundred-metre sprint, she strolled over to the car and leaned down. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Your friend - Vita is it? - rang me at the bar. She’s worried about you.’

‘Oh.’ Iris wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or pleased. On the one hand it was galling that Vita felt her incapable of coping, but on the other it was reassuring that she had taken the trouble to call. Surely that meant she still cared? Or at the very least, cared enough not to want her to be on her own.

‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ he said.

‘Where are we going?’

‘My place,’ he said. ‘Unless you’ve had enough of me for today. I thought you might be in need of some company.’

Iris hesitated. She
did
want to be with him, but not through some misguided sense of responsibility. She’d had her fill of other people’s concern for one night. ‘I’m all right, you know. You don’t have to do this.’

‘I’m not doing it because I have to.’ He grinned and pushed open the door. ‘Can you stop being so damn proud for just a minute and get in the goddamn car? I’m getting snow on the upholstery.’

She smiled, climbed in and pulled her seatbelt across. ‘So why are you driving this? What happened to your car?’

‘My keys were upstairs so I borrowed Noah’s.’

Which meant he must have rushed straight out to find her after Vita’s call. She sank back into the seat, trying not to look too pleased about this snippet of information. As he pulled away from the kerb she said, ‘Did Vita tell you what happened?’

‘Only the edited version. Something about a row with your uncle?’

Iris nodded. ‘That’s how it started. They were all waiting for me when I got back tonight, Vita, Rick and Michael, gathered round the table like the three wise men.’ She gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘Well, two men and a woman. They’ve got it into their heads that all this “stuff ” about my dad is garbage, that he hasn’t come back, isn’t ever likely to, and that I shouldn’t be searching for him. We had what might be called a frank exchange of views. It all got a bit out of hand.’

‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Poor you.’

‘And then . . .’ She paused, unsure about telling him the rest of the story. But now wasn’t the time to be holding back - she either trusted him or she didn’t. ‘Well, I was upstairs, looking out of the window, and I thought I saw him. Dad, I mean.’

Guy turned his head sharply. ‘What?’

‘Except it wasn’t him,’ Iris quickly admitted. ‘I went rushing out into the street like a madwoman, no shoes or anything, ran up to this total stranger and made a complete and utter ass of myself.’