Authors: Bob Summer
Joe sent somebody else to watch Stuart and Gemma get to school and, by the time I got to the caff, he had news for me about Fran. ‘Some guy with a suit, ISS Approved, came and took the baby away. All legit, Carl and Fran signed the paperwork.’
The second ISS approved in a week. ‘Gold tooth?’
Joe second-glanced me. ‘Never mentioned it, why? Do you know something?’
‘No. Just that I happened across an ISS approved last week. What exactly does it mean? ISS Approved?’
‘It means he might have come from anywhere in the country, or even out of the country. He can travel around and do pretty much what he likes with International Security’s approval. There’s a few of them around, could be the same one I suppose.’ He gave a shrug and made a helpless gesture with his hands. ‘But the baby could be anywhere by now.’
I shook my head. ‘Fran wouldn’t have signed anything, no matter who had approved what. She loved that baby.’
Joe puffed out his cheeks as he released a slow breath. ‘She probably didn’t have a choice. Or maybe she couldn’t cope any more. People do things you don’t expect them to do all the time.’
‘She’d have told me.’
‘Maybe she wanted to protect you.’
‘From what?’
‘From how unhappy she was.’
‘But I could have helped her.’
‘Not necessarily. Life is tough for a lot of people. We can’t save everybody, Atty.’
‘But if it was the same guy from last week …’
‘What?’ He looked at me with his mouth open. ‘What could you have done?’
I studied the ceiling to avoid his eyes.
‘
Nothing
is what, Atty. What happened last week that you didn’t tell me about, anyway? I’m guessing it wasn’t important.’
Oh Lordy. Way too late to mention it now. ‘No. Nothing important.’
‘I hope not. I need to know everything, do you hear me? If an ISS agent is giving you grief then I’ll have to pull you off the job.’
‘It’s fine. I saw one flash his badge at some girl in the park, that’s all. But if they’re out there nicking kids, maybe the park is somewhere we should be watching.’
‘Nobody nicked the baby, Atty. Fran signed her over. There’s nothing we can do.’ Joe turned away and fiddled with something on a shelf. ‘Why don’t you go away for a few days? I’ve got contacts up in the hills that’ll welcome having you stay.’
‘I’m not going to do anything stupid.’
‘I never said that. But maybe you need a break.’ He’d given all the tenderness he had to offer. It was time I manned up or shipped out.
‘I can’t. If I blow this, job M Gee might not trust me with another. And besides, what would be the point? I’m better off here, keeping busy.’
Joe studied me hard. ‘Don’t go doing anything without my say-so. Stay focused on the job.’
‘I can handle it.’
I avoided Bastion Square and mum’s spot on the way east. I’m not so stupid as to think Mum could have known, but I felt embarrassed at being so angry at the world. Not to mention bone-deep ashamed at the way I wanted to lie down and wallow in self-pity. Yet another person had left me. Me, me, me. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood to watch my language, far from it. I wanted to scream and curse and work the anger out of my system.
I watched Stuart wait for Gemma outside her school. He stood right up close to the door so, when it opened, all the kids came streaming past him like water round a pebble. He kept his hands in his pockets and stood square. The teachers hung back and whispered behind their hands, giving him wary looks. When Gemma didn’t appear, Stuart yelled at the teachers and paced about looking agitated.
I plugged in my earpins and tuned in.
‘You must know!’
‘You need to leave the premises, Stuart.’
‘Not until you tell me where she is.’
‘Leave now or we’ll call The Law.’
I toyed with the idea of wandering over, nipping out any potential trouble before it took root. But Stuart strode away and took his mobile from his pocket.
‘Dad? Why didn’t you tell me you were getting her?’
He stopped walking and sat on a low wall.
‘Boarding school? When? Where?’
My spine turned icy cold. Something was wrong. M Gee would have told Joe if one of the kids was going away. Or maybe she had and he’d forgotten to tell me. Unlikely. A horror shiver ran right from my toes up. Oh God, I’d lost Gemma.
Stuart jogged all the way to his dad’s house and hammered on the door. If his mum’s street rated posh, then his dad’s road, which I didn’t even know existed, must rank palatial. They might easily have got away with calling it Greedy Gits Close. There were lawns and cutesy little flower borders, ponds with little stone boys weeing into the breeze - even little summerhouses sitting pretty in quaint designer gardens - all tucked away behind a row of trees and a high spec security fence. Just one of those trinkets might have helped Fran out of whatever hole she’d found herself in.
I stood out of sight of the cameras under a big old oak. Some woman, Stuart’s stepmother I presumed, opened the door. I tuned in.
Her voice twanged tinny and cold. ‘I’ll get him for you.’
She left Stuart stood on the doorstep like a Jehovah.
His dad appeared, in a well-ironed tracksuit, and stood with his hands in his pockets. ‘What can I do for you, Stuart? We’ve got people coming over.’
Stuart sounded angry enough to spit. ‘Oh really? Am I being a bit of an inconvenience, Dad? Care to have me shipped off somewhere, like you have Gemma?’
‘She’s a little girl, Stuart. She needs stability, looking after properly.’
‘Does Mam know?’
Good question, Stuart. I couldn’t have done better if I’d been in there asking the questions myself.
His dad sighed but stood straight to his full height and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Of course she knows.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Now don’t go getting chopsy.’
‘You want chopsy? I’ll give you chopsy. What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Stuart spoke through his teeth, it sounded like he was the strict father and struggling to keep his fists to himself. He turned in a small circle, his hands on his head before stepping back up into his dad’s face. ‘And I don’t just mean Gemma, I mean about you being a sad old git who thinks he’s pulled a young, horny little thing.’ The words poured out in one big rush. ‘Hell, I wouldn’t touch her with a dyno rod, and you’ve picked her, that bony, ugly cow, over your own kids, over Gemma! She’s six years old – you selfish, selfish… bastard!’
Holy moly. Breathe, Stuart, breathe. I thought rich people were all “pass the decanter” and horses and cricket. Stuart and his dad stood nose to nose despite his dad having the doorstep advantage. Stuart – tense with clenched fists. His old man – relaxed and controlled.
‘Get away from my house.’
‘Where’s Gemma?’
‘She’s safe. I’m not going to tell you again. Leave. Now.’
The neighbours came wandering out of their houses, one by one, to have a good nose. They didn’t whoop and cheer like they did on Shanks estate, they were worse. They pretended to wash their cars, look down drains, empty buckets in the gutter - all the time creeping towards Stuart and his Dad, hoping to listen in on the drama.
Stuart looked over his shoulder. ‘Neighbours friendly around here, are they?’
His dad took a roll of money out of his pocket. ‘Take this and concentrate on your exams. Gemma’s safe.’
In classic spoilt rich-kid style, Stuart ignored the wad of cash – the great,
fistful
of cash. ‘I need to see Gemma.’
‘You’ll see her soon, when she comes back for a break. Meanwhile, go and finish your exams and have a night out with the lads.’
Stuart nodded his head towards a bloke weeding a border twenty feet away from where they stood. ‘He wants to witness a nice little scene … tell the whole neighbourhood how the sad old geezer with the tart for a wife is spoiling the local ambience.’
His dad smirked. ‘He’d also like to call The Law to have you removed.’
‘Let him. Your wife would love that, eh?’
Stand off.
Somebody tapped me on the shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my boots.
‘Shoosh. I didn’t hear you coming.’ I waved the earpins in the air. ‘Music.’
Bluebottle frowned. ‘What are you doing here?’
I shook my head and put on my best wide-eyed innocent look. ‘Just looking how the other half live.’ I pulled a whatever-face. ‘You know. Dreaming.’
‘I see.’ He nodded towards Stuart. ‘Friend of yours, is he?’
I laughed. ‘Naaa. East – west. Rose – crap. One feeds off the other, know what I mean?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘Oh dear.’ I smiled to show my sympathy, crinkled my nose. ‘Never mind.’
He looked at Stuart. ‘He’s a handsome lad. At least I’ve heard of uglier blokes attracting stalkers.’ He looked around at all the glass and shiny steel on the houses. ‘Family money to consider too, by the looks of it.’ Back to me. ‘Maybe you’re smarter than you look.’
‘Money isn’t everything.’
‘No. It ain’t.’ He studied my face and left a lengthy interview pause.
Stuart walked past behind him but I didn’t stop looking straight up into those blue eyes. And no way would I fill the silence, we could stand there all day. I smiled and waited – a look of obedient patience. Leaves rustled in the breeze, bees buzzed and the seconds ticked by.
‘I tell you what,’ he said, ‘why don’t I give you another lift back to the west side?’
I grinned. ‘Another free ride? In your nice shiny van? Why, yes please, sir. That would be fabulous.’
I sat in the back of the van, Bluebottle up front alongside the driver. We pulled away and cruised down the street slower than I ran. Stuart walked just up ahead.
Bluebottle turned to the driver. ‘Let’s stop and have a chat.’ He put one elbow out the window and chewed on a toothpick. ‘Need a lift, mate?’
Stuart didn’t look round simply spat out, ‘Piss off.’
The driver pursed his lips. ‘Oooh not very polite, is he?’
Only an easty kid would get away with telling a Red to piss anywhere, let alone off. Stuart stopped and glanced into the back of the van, straight at me. He caught and held my eye, just a fraction longer than necessary. He swallowed, looked back to Bluebottle. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you were somebody else. And well,’ he shrugged, ‘it’s been a tough day.’ A small smile. ‘Exams, you know.’ Another shrug.
‘I see. I understand.’ Bluebottle turned back to me. ‘And you do, don’t you? It seems it’s a funny old day all round today. Perhaps we’ll all start afresh tomorrow, eh?’ Stuart looked at me and chewed the inside of his mouth. Neither of us said anything. ‘See you later, mate.’ Bluebottle eased up the window and the van moved on.
The driver dropped me at the edge of Shanks estate. Whatever game they were playing they’d clearly got bored with it, but Joe was going to be vein-popping mad at me. My cover had been blown. Three run-ins with the same Red couldn’t be ignored, I’d have to report it. But the worst and most terrifying thing of all, Gemma had been removed from range and I had no idea where she’d been taken. If her dad wouldn’t tell Stuart where she was, no way would he tell me. I paced in circles, my nails digging into my palms. Think. The sensible thing would be to tell Joe, now, or better still yesterday, but the thought of it made me feel sick. I’d messed up. My first job and I’d fracked it so far up it’d soared clean beyond the stratosphere and I could see no way of bringing it back.
Joe’s words about the consequences if I fouled up rang in my head all the way home. I needed to shower and grab fresh clothes before doing anything hasty. Think. Perhaps an idea for a salvage operation might drop out the sky but if not, I needn’t go and get the rollicking of a lifetime smelling quite so ripe.
The last person I wanted to see after a night of crying, a day of disasters, and stinking in stale clothes, was Gavin. But that was who I found sitting on my step when I got home. I didn’t offer the friendliest welcome. ‘Why doesn’t anybody let themselves in anymore?’
He followed me through the door. ‘I just heard about Fran. Jesus, Atty. I can’t believe it. Are you okay?’
‘You always were the master of stupid questions.’
‘You found her, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
He put his hands up in surrender. ‘Okay. What do you want to do?’
‘Shower.’
‘I’ll cook for you while you’re in there.’ He lifted a bag to eye level and smiled. ‘Pasta and cheese. Your favourite.’
My eyes followed his arm and wandered down to his waist. His tee shirt had risen when he’d lifted the bag; his tight olive skin stretched across his belly, his warmth, his smell … the list went on.
‘Atty?’
Eyeing up talent while my career in the resistance was over before it had even started. Committed, uh? And while Fran lay cold on a slab. Not the greatest friend, me. But I didn’t want to be alone. And he looked like he might be a pleasant distraction.