Jenny shivered, cold in just her cardigan, but her mother sounded sincere and she wanted to believe her. ‘I’ll have to get my coat.’
‘Rather than getting yours out we might as well go in my car,’ Delia said.
‘All right,’ Jenny agreed and after getting a jacket rather than a coat, she climbed into her mother’s car.
‘I don’t know about you, Jennifer, but I’m a bit peckish. I thought Penelope would have at least offered us a biscuit with our coffee…and the way
she was dressed. My goodness, she looked awful.’
‘She’d just returned from the stables.’
‘She could have changed.’
‘Perhaps Penelope doesn’t place as much importance on appearances as you do.’
‘Obviously not, and I’ve been silly, Jennifer. I haven’t got a thing in common with the woman, least of all horses, and no doubt the rest of her friends will be of a like mind. In future, I don’t think I’ll bother with Penelope. She really isn’t my cup of tea.’
Jenny hid a smile. In reality the situation was the reverse, and it was her mother’s pride talking. It had been nice though when her mother had said that she enjoyed their time together. They usually met once, sometimes twice a week. At other times Jenny had to admit that she was often lonely. She hadn’t had a real friend for ages, not since Tina, and still found herself thinking about her now and then, wondering where she was and if she’d at least put her father’s money to good use.
It still hurt to think about what Tina had done, and the experience had left Jenny slow to trust. It had meant that the young women of her own age that she had met at cookery classes remained just acquaintances, and these had now drifted away. She had Marcos and her parents, but what Jenny really wanted was a baby, something to fill the empty space she still felt in her life.
Jenny inadvertently touched her tummy, a small smile playing around her lips. It was possible, just possible.
The end of February found Jenny smiling in anticipation. She couldn’t wait to see Marcos’s face and just hoped he’d be home a little earlier than usual. She had been wondering what to get him for his birthday, and had eventually settled on a watch, giving it to him that morning. Now, however, she had something much better – the perfect gift.
Headlights lit up the curtains and she rose to her feet. It was only five o’clock but he was here. She wanted to fly out to the hall to welcome him, to blurt it out, but resisted. This was so special, so precious, and she wanted to savour the moment.
‘Hello, darling,’ Marcos said.
‘I was hoping you wouldn’t be late, but wasn’t expecting you yet.’
‘Is this a nice surprise then?’
‘Yes, lovely.’
‘Good, because I’m afraid I won’t be home at all tomorrow night. I’ve been offered a garage in Wales
and as sorting out a deal might drag on I’ve booked a hotel for the night.”
‘Oh, right,’ Jenny said, hardly listening.
‘You’re not upset, are you? It’s only one night.’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ she said. Then, unable to wait any longer: ‘I…I went to see the doctor today.’
‘The doctor! Why? Are you ill? What’s wrong?’
Poor Marcos, he looked a little worried, and now Jenny smiled widely. ‘There’s nothing wrong. That’s unless you consider pregnancy an illness.’
His eyes widened, his mouth opened, then closed again, and the next thing Jenny knew she was in his arms, lifted off her feet.
‘You’re having a baby!’ he cried out joyfully. ‘Jenny, you’re having a baby!’
‘Yes, I am,’ she said as he put her down, though his arms remained around her.
‘I can’t believe it. A father. I’m going to be a father.’
‘You certainly are, and our baby will be born in August.’
He was quiet for a moment, but then said, ‘That means you’re already three months gone. Why didn’t you say something before this?’
‘We’ve had false alarms, disappointments, and well, this time I wanted to be one hundred per cent sure.’
He released her, stepped back. ‘What am I doing, Jenny? Sit down. Rest.’
‘There’s no need. I’m fine.’
‘I’ll have to see about getting you more help. We’ll extend Edna Moon’s hours.’
‘Marcos, please, that isn’t necessary.’
‘All right, maybe not now, but in a few more months.’
He looked so worried and just to reassure him, Jenny said, ‘We’ll see, but there’s no need to get in a tizzy. I’m only having a baby.’
‘Only! Jenny, you have no idea how much this means to me.’
‘Me too,’ she said, moving back into his arms. Over the last month or so, she had dared to hope, but her monthlies had always been a bit irregular, and until the doctor had confirmed it she’d had doubts, especially as there’d been no sign of the symptoms she’d heard about, morning sickness being one of them.
‘I wonder if it’s a boy or girl?’ Marcos said, standing back again to place his hand on her stomach.
‘Do you mind?’
‘No, but a boy would be nice. I can’t believe I didn’t notice before. You’ve actually got a little bulge.’
‘It’ll be a lot bigger than that soon.’
‘You’ll still be beautiful. You’ll always be beautiful to me. Now then, time to be practical. No doubt babies need lots of things, and we’ll have to kit out a nursery. I’ll put more money into your account before I leave for Wales tomorrow, enough to cover everything.’
Jenny smiled. Yes, there were times when Marcos appeared different, cold, hard, but they were few and far between. Mostly he was like this, so loving, so generous, and he’d be a wonderful father too.
Marcos went upstairs to freshen up, his mind racing. As though she was in the room with him, he whispered, ‘See, you old witch, you were wrong.’
Smirking, he shaved, something he had to do twice a day. A son, yes, he’d love a son, and his boy would never suffer as he had. His father had beat him, thrashed him with a belt, while his mother had stood by watching it happen, doing nothing to stop it. He knew why, of course, she had been too frightened that the old man would turn on her. Better to let her son suffer than for her to be at the receiving end of his blows.
He had grown up with hate in his heart and had hardened, determined that outside of his home nobody else would dare to lay a finger on him. He’d become the leader of a gang, and built a reputation for violence to any opposition. Still the beatings from his father had continued, until one day Marcos had turned, using his fists and more until the old man’s face had looked like pulp. It was only then that Marcos realised he’d gone too far, and he had stupidly agreed to his father’s dying words, made that vow that had held him for so long. What a mug he’d been then, but at least as he’d had the wits to
cover his tracks well, disposing of the body so far from home that it had been weeks before it was found. Only the old witch had guessed, thought she knew, but she couldn’t prove it, which was just as well or he’d have taken her out too.
Marcos didn’t want to think about her now. He’d just had wonderful news. He was going to be a father and he swelled with pride. His child would want for nothing and it was just as well the job was on for tomorrow night to fill his coffers. Jenny was pregnant, but it didn’t mean he had to change his plans. With the proceeds, along with everything else, they’d still go to Spain where his son, or perhaps his daughter, would be born.
Refreshed, Marcos went back downstairs and pulled Jenny into his arms again. ‘Have you told your parents?’
‘No, of course not. I wanted you to be the first to know.’
Marcos found that he wanted to share the news, to preen, to show he was a man. ‘Come on then, let’s go round to your parents’ house now.’
‘But what about dinner?’
‘It’s only six o’clock, and anyway, I think that after we’ve told them we should all go out to celebrate.’
‘They’re going to be grandparents and thrilled to bits,’ Jenny said, her eyes shining as she went to get her coat.
Marcos hid a smile. By the time the baby was
born they’d be long gone, in Spain, and Jenny’s parents would be well and truly out of the picture.
Delia was surprised to see Jennifer and Marcos, even more so when her son-in-law said, ‘We’re going out for dinner and wondered if you’d like to join us?’
‘What, this evening?’ she asked.
‘Well, yes. You see, we have something to celebrate.’
Delia smiled as the penny dropped. ‘Of course, your birthday.’
‘And thank you for your card and present.’
‘You’re welcome and happy birthday,’ Edward said.
‘Thanks, but we’ve more than that to celebrate and I’m sure Jenny is itching to tell you. Go on, darling.’
With a radiant smile, she said, ‘I’m having a baby.’
‘What! Oh my God, that’s wonderful,’ Edward said, rushing forward to wrap Jennifer in his arms.
‘My turn,’ Delia said.
Edward vigorously pumped Marcos’s hand. ‘Well done and congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Edward, we’re going to be grandparents.’
‘Though smashing news, it makes me feel a bit old.’
‘Nonsense, Marcos isn’t that much younger than us,’ Delia said, but then flushed. Trust her
to say the wrong thing, but thankfully Marcos was still smiling, Jennifer too. ‘Of course, Marcos, we were a lot younger than you when we married, so that accounts for it…you know, that we’re about to be grandparents when we’re little older than you.’
‘Delia, before you dig an even deeper hole,’ Edward said, ‘I think we should all have a drink to celebrate this wonderful news.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she agreed, feeling hot and flustered. ‘What can I get you, Marcos?’
‘A whisky please.’
‘Jennifer, what about you?’
‘I think I’d better have something nonalcoholic.’
‘I’ll see to the whisky while you sort Jenny out,’ Edward offered.
‘I’ve told you so many times that a
jenny
is a female donkey, but I give up now. Come on,
Jennifer
, leave the men to their whisky and join me in the kitchen. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’
‘Lovely,’ she said, ‘but no sugar for me. I’m going to have to watch my weight.’
Delia made the tea, pleased for Jennifer that she was having a baby, though it was still impossible to think of her as a daughter, and it always would be. They did get on now though, jogged along nicely together, and Jennifer, just as she had hoped, had turned out to be useful at last.
‘I’ve got a bit of news for you too, Jennifer. You’re
not going to believe this, but Penelope Grainger has actually invited me out to lunch.’
‘Has she now, and what brought that on?’
‘I have to confess I manoeuvred it. You see, when she invited us for coffee, ages ago, I realised that on occasions I overdress, and that I can come over as too formal and pompous at times.’
‘What you, Mummy? Never,’ Jenny said, grinning.
‘Now don’t be cheeky,’ Delia said, yet she was smiling too. ‘You must have noticed that I changed my style.’
‘Yes and I did from the start, but didn’t like to say anything. You certainly dress less formally now.’
‘I also stopped going out of my way to speak to Penelope when I saw her at the WI, but last week she approached me. It seems we now have something in common. Penelope has become acquainted with someone in the diplomatic service, and he, in turn, is acquainted with Beatrice and Timothy.’
‘So that makes you acceptable now? It’s so snobby, Mummy.’
‘Of course it isn’t, and I’m rather looking forward to joining Penelope for lunch. I’ll also encourage Beatrice to hold a dinner party and, along with us, she can invite the Graingers and this mutual acquaintance of theirs too.’
‘Keep us out of it. Marcos won’t want to go.’
‘Honestly, Jennifer, I just don’t understand him.
It’s like he wants to live in a castle and your security gates are the drawbridge.’
‘I’ve told you so many times before, Marcos is very busy and tired when he comes home. He just likes to relax during the evening and cherishes his weekends off. He’s only suggested going out to dinner now so we can celebrate the baby.’
Yes, the baby, Delia thought, and she found herself hoping it would be a boy, and a dark-haired one like Marcos. The last thing she needed was another blonde-haired girl, another reminder.
Delia doubted that she would ever be able to think of this coming baby as her grandchild. Of course Edward would adore it…but of course it was easy for him.
It had all gone to plan, and Marcos was smiling behind his balaclava at the size of the haul. Piece of cake, he thought. They’d be leaving the same way they came in, by the back door, where Dan was waiting in the car a few steps away in St Cross Street.
Careful not to use Liam’s name, Marcos pointed. ‘Take him, and when you get to the car shove him in the boot.’
‘But…but I’ve done what you asked,’ the man protested.
‘Shut up!’ Liam spat. ‘You’ll be released when we’re clear.’
This was where they’d split up and going to the back door, Marcos opened it. He poked his head out and, seeing nothing to worry him, turned back to nod at Bernie.
‘You take the haul, and you,’ he said, looking at Liam, ‘make sure you hold onto him. Now
go
!’
Bernie was first out, followed by Liam, intent on
holding the man as he dragged him towards the car. Marcos yanked off his balaclava, ran out, and was headed in the opposite direction towards Grenville Street when all hell broke loose. There were shouts, yells and when he saw rubbish bins, along with a stack of empty cartons just ahead, Marcos shot behind them. He ducked down, but felt trapped, his mind screaming to get out of there and in a burst of adrenaline Marcos did just that, keeping as close to the wall as he could, expecting to feel hands on him at any moment. He thought he’d never reach Grenville Street, but at last, just ahead, Marcos saw the car, the engine already revving. Tommy, you fucking saint, he thought, dragging open the door and jumping in.
With a scream of tyres Tom shot off towards Farringdon Street, and expecting to hear the sound of sirens, of a police chase, Marcos couldn’t believe it when they actually made it that far.
‘The bastards were waiting,’ he ground out through clenched teeth as they took the corner, heading for the Thames and Blackfriars Bridge.
‘It must have been a tip-off,’ Tom said, keeping up the speed, his hands tight on the steering wheel.
At that time of night, in fact two in the morning, there wasn’t much traffic, just the lights of a lorry coming towards them on the other side of the road. Marcos turned to look out of the back window. There was still no sign of anyone giving chase. Of
course only Bernie knew about this part of the plan, and that probably accounted for it, but now his hands clenched into fists. He should have trusted his instincts, should have smelled the rat.
‘Yes, and from Steve,’ he spat.
Tom turned his head. ‘What! You think it was him?’
The stench of his breath hit Marcos. ‘For fuck’s sake Tommy, have you been drinking?’
The car swerved. ‘Watch out!’ Marcos yelled, but it was too late, they were veering onto the other side of the road and into the path of the lorry.
There was a sickening crunch. It was the last sound Marcos heard.
Paul Ryman wasn’t surprised that Steve looked gloomy. The ones they’d nabbed had been carted off to the station and the premises secured as Steve said, ‘I can’t believe Cane slipped away. He didn’t say anything about that part of the plan.’
Paul felt sorry for him. Steve had been undercover for ages, worming his way in, and unless they apprehended Cane it would have all been for nothing. ‘We’ll get him and in the meantime at least we’ve got the other two.’
‘
Shit
,’ Steve said angrily, Paul’s words failing to console him. ‘Cane fell for the lot, had no idea it was a setup, that Keith here wasn’t really the jeweller and I wasn’t holding his family hostage.’
‘Come on, back to the station,’ the DI ordered as he walked to their side. ‘We’ve got those two to interview and a debriefing before we can call it a night.’
‘Waste of time if you ask me,’ Steve said, the two of them lagging behind the DI as they walked to the cars. ‘They won’t tell us where Cane is heading.’
‘He won’t get far,’ Paul said, hoping to placate the man.
‘He’s a slippery bastard, and knowing him he’ll have a contingency plan, probably one to get out of the country.’
‘If he tries that, they’ll get him at passport control.’
‘Oh yeah, you think he’ll take a normal route?’ Steve said sarcastically. ‘He’ll have a small boat on standby somewhere, ready to slip across the Channel unnoticed.’
They reached the cars and were about to get in when a uniformed officer approached the DI. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘You put out a warning to all units?’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘It might be a coincidence, but we’ve just heard about a car crash on Farringdon Street, a nasty one.’
‘You might as well check it out, Paul.’
‘What about me, sir?’ Steve asked.
‘I doubt it’s anything and therefore Paul can handle it.’
The DI obviously thought this was a waste of time, Paul thought, just sending him to check it out, but he nonetheless followed the patrol car to Farringdon Street.
As he approached, the lights of an ambulance were flashing, the fire brigade already there too. Paul got out of his car and found himself staring at the mangled remains of another. He moved closer, gagged, while the uniform beside him said stoically, ‘They’re not a pretty sight, sir.’
‘Who is that in the ambulance?’
‘The lorry driver,’ said the policeman on the scene. The man in the ambulance was sitting up, a bandage wrapped around his head. He looked all right, Paul thought, but he certainly couldn’t say the same for the men in the car.
‘Both dead,’ the policeman on the scene observed. ‘They’ll have to be cut out.’
‘Have you found any ID?’ Paul asked, again fighting nausea.
‘Not yet, but it shouldn’t take long,’ he said as a fireman approached the car with cutters.
As the doors on the first ambulance were being closed, another turned up. ‘No hurry, mate,’ he heard the driver shout to the other. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do for them.’
‘Did the lorry driver tell you what happened?’ Paul asked.
‘He said the car looked to be speeding when it
veered onto his side of the road. He didn’t have a chance to do anything before they hit.’
Paul’s brows furrowed. Speeding! Impatient now, he watched as the bodies were cut out, but with so much blood it was hard to see what was left of their mangled faces. It was the dark hair on one that did it and he leaned closer. Was it him? Shit, it could be. He raced to his car, got on the radio, and then slumped. There was nothing he could do now until Steve turned up. He’d been close to Cane, might be able to make a positive ID, and if it was him…Bloody hell, what a night!
Well over an hour later they were back at the station, celebrating and Paul saw that Steve couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
‘Even with that mangled mug I recognised him,’ he said.
‘Who was the other one?’ Keith asked.
‘Tommy Moon, small fry.’
‘Dead fry now,’ Keith observed.
‘Sick,’ Paul said in mirth.
‘Yeah, I suppose it is really,’ Steve agreed. ‘Moon’s mother is going to take it badly. She’s on her own and he’s all she has.’
‘All she
had
,’ Keith pointed out.
‘Well, I hope it isn’t down to me to tell her.’
The DI called order. ‘You’re right, their families need to be told, but you’ve done your bit, Steve.
Good work too. Now bugger off home and get some sleep, you deserve it.’
‘Thanks, sir,’ he said.
‘You too, Keith.’
He chorused his thanks too, and as the two men left the DI spoke to Paul. ‘Take a female uniform with you and go to Cane’s house. I know it isn’t a nice job, but she’s got to be told.’
‘Which house, sir?’
‘You can go to the one in Wimbledon. Just tell her he was involved in a robbery, died while attempting to escape, and no more. Steve said the young woman had no idea, that she’s innocent in all this, and she’ll find out the rest soon enough. I’ll send someone else to Battersea and when you’ve done your bit you can go home too.’
‘Thanks, sir,’ Paul said. This was the first time he’d had to do a job like this and he was dreading it, but at least he’d have a female uniform on hand if there were any hysterics.
Jenny opened her eyes, but then closed them again. There had been that noise again, one that had intruded into her dream, and for a moment she felt disorientated. The buzz sounded again, and awake enough now to realise that it was the entrance gate, she dazedly reached out to switch on her bedside lamp to look at the clock. Five in the morning! Who on earth was at the gate? Fear clutched her stomach,
a dread. Had something happened to Marcos? Had there been an accident?
She flung back the blankets and grabbed her dressing gown, throwing it around her as barefoot she hurried downstairs. Frantically she pressed the intercom.
‘Yes, who is it?’
‘Police. Let us in please.’
Jenny pressed the button to allow entry. She then shoved her arms into her dressing gown, her heart beating like a drum in her chest as she fumbled to tie the cord. At last she managed it, and at the sound of car doors slamming she opened the door. It was dark and Jenny quickly turned on the outside light to see a man and a policewoman. Her legs trembled, and she almost caved, clutching the doorframe for support.
No, no, not Marcos! Please, not Marcos!
Hands supported her, and Jenny found herself staring up at the man. He looked vaguely familiar and she blinked, but then the policewoman said, ‘By the look of her she needs to sit down.’
‘Which way?’ the man asked.
Jenny pointed to the drawing room, glad of his continued support, and soon, head swimming, she found herself sitting on the sofa. For a moment nobody spoke, but then the policewoman said, ‘Would you like a glass of water?’
‘No, no,’ Jenny said, feebly shaking her head. She
dreaded the words, wanted to shut them out, but then the man spoke.
‘I’m here to inform you that Marcos Cane was involved in a robbery.’
It wasn’t what Jenny expected to hear and the first thing she felt was relief, swiftly followed by denial. ‘That’s impossible.’
As though she hadn’t spoken, the man said, ‘I’m afraid that while attempting to escape there was an accident.’
Jenny frowned, unable to make sense of any of this. Marcos wouldn’t have been involved in a robbery. They had made a mistake, a dreadful one. ‘Where was this accident?’
‘In London, on Farringdon Street.’
Angrily she said, ‘Marcos is in Wales! You come here, saying such dreadful things but you’ve obviously got him mixed up with someone else!’
‘There’s no mistake, he’s been identified, and the accident was a bad one. He…he didn’t survive.’
Jenny found herself staring up at the man, his words impossible to believe.
‘No, I told you, it can’t be Marcos. He’s in Wales!’
The policewoman knelt in front of her. ‘I’m sorry, but we haven’t made a mistake. The ID was positive, and the man with him, his associate, has been identified too. Perhaps you know him. Thomas Moon?’
Jenny gasped. Tom, Edna’s son! She saw pity in
the policewoman’s eyes, compassion. She felt odd, sick, and the truth when it hit her was more than she could bear. Her vision blurred, the room dimmed. Sinking into darkness, Jenny knew no more.