Dan nodded. ‘I can understand.’
‘Can you? How do you cope so well?’
‘I’m not sure that I do, particularly.’
‘That’s not how it looks to me.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive. Honestly, Louis. I don’t deserve the praise ...’ Now Dan was struggling not to cry. He felt a savage pain in his gut, and from it came a sudden resolve.
Admit it. Be a real man. Tell him
.
‘I’m a lousy role model, if you want to know the truth.’
Louis took a step back, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because ...’ Dan swallowed. This was even more difficult than he’d imagined. ‘Because I’m a grade one fuck-up. The other night—’
It was the clip-clop of heels on concrete that drew his attention to a noise he’d only dimly registered: the purr of an engine idling in the street. The neighbour’s security light snapped on and suddenly Joan was bustling up the drive.
‘Well, this is a fine place to hang out, isn’t it? Something wrong with the lounge?’
Her face was flushed, and there was an air of suppressed glee about her. Although Louis turned to respond, Dan could sense that his brother was still anxious to hear his revelation.
‘Yeah, mad,’ Louis said. ‘You go in, we’re just coming.’
He turned back, but Joan didn’t move. Dan quickly murmured: ‘Me and Hayley are in a bad way.’
‘What are you boys plotting?’
‘Nothing,’ Louis said, and his gaze fluttered uncertainly between the two of them.
He doesn’t believe me
, Dan thought. But he knew that the moment to confess had passed. Knew it beyond doubt when Joan grabbed his arm and squeezed it, giddy with excitement as she told him: ‘Ron asked me out, and I said yes!’
Stemper left the Blakes at eleven p.m. He’d spent some time researching the letting agency. He’d also gathered the information he required to deal with Jerry Conlon, mindful that there could be no mistakes.
As he’d pointed out, Jerry was a direct link to the Blakes, and therefore posed a tangible threat to them: dead as well as alive.
Before returning to Brighton, he made a detour into London. It was part reconnaissance, part thinking time; and tremendously valuable on both counts.
The late nights were beginning to wear on him. Over the years Stemper had conditioned himself to get by on very little sleep – often just three or four hours a night for the duration of an assignment. But once this was done he would return to the small town near Ipswich and recharge his batteries under the watchful but blissfully ignorant eye of Debbie Winwood.
And when
that
assignment was complete, he would take a proper holiday. By that stage a spell abroad might be advisable in any case.
****
It was past two a.m. when he reached Kemptown, the narrow street on the hill deserted save for an urban fox, which paused by a discarded fast-food carton, waiting patiently until Stemper had made himself scarce.
Before entering the guest house he glanced down the street, saw the dull black gleam of the sea and felt for a moment the pull of its secret world. This was the hour when his father would have stalked the streets, having slipped away after the show to one of the many private drinking clubs that had flourished in those days. Hours later he would come in drunk, and his vigorous review of the night’s performance would commence.
There was no sign of Quills, but Stemper expected him to be awake. The door on the first floor marked ‘Private’ opened at his touch. On the other side of the door the key was sitting in the lock.
Stemper smiled. This was an invitation that, in all probability, he should decline. But there was no denying that Quills, as a result of his inquisitive nature and his susceptibility to male charm, could one day pose a problem. And that problem wasn’t going to resolve itself.
****
Some of the skills he’d acquired from his father had little practical application. Juggling, for instance. Or tap dancing.
Others were of far greater benefit, and none more so than hypnosis. Stemper had shown a natural aptitude from the beginning. He found it almost absurdly easy to put someone under. Along with his rather bland appearance, he had exactly the right manner – calmly authoritative – and the ideal tone of voice with which to lull and soothe.
He made his way along the hall without resorting to lights. The first door he opened revealed a small, neat living room. The bedroom was next to it, lit by a single lamp draped in muslin.
There was a body beneath the covers, its respiration slow and deep. Stemper crouched beside the bed and placed his hand on the sleeping man’s shoulder.
Quills grunted, his body twitching at Stemper’s touch.
‘Ssshhh. Don’t wake up,’ Stemper urged him. ‘We’re going to talk, and you’ll stay asleep because you’re lovely and relaxed now, and you want to remain that way. In the morning you’ll wake and recall how
wonderful
it was, that we shared this experience.’
Quills wriggled. He was lying on his side, and Stemper saw his eyes flicker, trying to open. He laid the back of his hand against the man’s cheek, the skin both soft and slightly rough with stubble.
‘Sshh. Don’t wake up, or I’ll have to leave, and that’s no way to end such a
wonderful
dream.’ He began stroking, slowly, from temple to jaw, and heard a moan of appreciation.
‘You’re easily besotted, Bernard. You’re a lonely man, and you think I’m the answer to your prayers. Well, I’ve got some good news. I do have the answer. I know the cure for loneliness, and I can help you to find it. But you have to play your part. You have to let me help you, and by relaxing now and remembering how this feels, that warm
wonderful
sense of security that comes from knowing you’ll follow me to the very ends of the Earth ... that’s how you’ll find the answer, Bernard.’
Quills mumbled a response. Stemper had no idea what he said, but the tone was agreeable, compliant, and that was enough.
‘From now on, Bernard, leave the door unlocked and I’ll be here again soon. Tomorrow night, perhaps. I’ll visit you in your sleep and we’ll talk, and at the end you’ll come to feel what you already know in your heart – that I understand you better than anyone has ever done or tried to do.’
Another sleepy murmur, another twitch of pleasure.
‘I can see into your soul. I see the sweet, lonely man who resides there, so often misunderstood, so often rejected or overlooked. That doesn’t matter any more, because now you have someone who truly wants your soul. Sleep now, sleep deeply and remember this: ultimately I want what’s best for you, Bernard. I’ll be here for you again, very soon. Very soon.’
Quills smiled, but his eyes remained closed. He didn’t stir as Stemper got to his feet and left the room.
Having to be up at eight on a Saturday felt like an imposition to Robbie: practically an abuse of his human rights. Even though it was Compton’s busiest day, he invariably managed to wangle a late start or a reason to avoid going in altogether.
Today he was happy to make an exception. Anything for the sister of the late, unlamented Hank O’Brien.
He was gulping down a coffee when Jed wandered in, naked except for a pair of filthy grey shorts. Robbie made a mental note to turn the heating down.
‘All right?’ he said. Jed rarely surfaced before eleven, especially if he’d been out the night before. Robbie had heard him come in around four.
‘That car you wanna ditch? Feller I know works at a scrapyard near Winchester. Says he’ll disappear it for you, but best if it’s got some serious damage on it.’
‘Okay.’
‘
Has
it got some serious damage?’
‘It will have. How do we get it there?’
‘He can collect, if you want.’
‘Great.’
‘Three hundred,’ Jed added. ‘Cash, mind.’
Robbie nodded. Dan was going to blow his nut.
‘Bit steep, isn’t it?’
‘He only works there, so he’s taking a risk with his job. And since I was getting the impression this was important to you ...’ Jed said it playfully, as if to demonstrate that he already knew the answer.
‘It’s for a mate.’
‘Aye. And you’re fretting that he won’t wanna stump up the cash?’
‘No, no. It’s cool.’
‘Good. So you’ll give us a hundred up front?’
‘Now?’
‘I’m seeing him later. That’s why I’m up at the crack. Doing this for you, Robert.’
Trying to hide his reluctance, Robbie went into his bedroom. Jed followed, and Robbie couldn’t think of a way to stop him. He knew a direct request was likely to be ignored, and then what would happen?
Jed leaned against the door frame, absently scratching his groin. Robbie stopped by his bed, not wanting to reach under the mat where his floor safe was concealed.
‘Planning to get dressed?’ he asked.
‘Nah, thought I’d head out naked. Give the womenfolk of Brighton the thrill of their lives.’ Jed grinned and crossed his arms. He was going nowhere.
Robbie told himself that it didn’t really matter. Jed wouldn’t see the combination from where he was standing. But it was the principle that irked him, the feeling that he was being denied privacy in his own home. He’d have to tell Jed it was time he moved on.
He couldn’t say it now, of course. But soon.
Keeping his back to Jed, he opened the safe and took out a wad of notes. When he’d told Dan on Wednesday that he was absolutely skint, he had meant it sincerely. This was money he didn’t even consider when he was totting up his assets: his ultra, ultra emergency funds. The
do-or-die
money.
He counted out five twenties and returned the rest to the safe. Jed stuck his hand out, a broad smirk on his face.
‘Just give us a shout when you want the motor collecting.’
‘Soon, probably. A day or two.’
‘That’ll be swell!’ he said in a bad American accent, and he clapped Robbie on the shoulder. ‘Always a privilege to help my favourite landlord.’
****
The weather was dull but dry, so Dan walked to work. Louis hadn’t yet surfaced, which wasn’t surprising, but even Joan had only got up for a cup of tea and then returned to bed. From the brief chat she’d had with him, it was clear she was still euphoric about accepting a date. Dan knew he would have to ensure she didn’t get cold feet between now and Wednesday.
At Fiveways he bought a tube of Polo mints and an
Argus
. He felt sure there would be a shock waiting for him in the paper, and he wasn’t wrong. The e-fits occupied almost half a page: Dan and Robbie in grim digitised glory.
Except that it wasn’t the two of them; not really. As Cate had said, knowing who the images were supposed to represent made it impossible to evaluate their accuracy.
He binned the paper before he reached the shop. Hayley didn’t normally read the
Argus
, so there was no point making it easier for her to see it. She’d texted him to say she was coming in to work today. She’d also asked if his car was fixed yet. He’d replied:
Soon. Looking forward to seeing u xx
The car park was almost empty, Hayley’s Corsa conspicuous by its presence. The shop always had a different feel on a Saturday. The staff cut it fine when they turned up, and the mood tended to be more laid-back. There were jokes about hangovers, the prospects for different football teams, the plans for Saturday-night celebrations.
Hayley was alone in the restroom, eating a low-fat yoghurt and reading a glossy celebrity magazine. Dan glanced at it as he leaned over to kiss her cheek and saw pictures of some C-lister’s extravagant wedding.
Uh-oh.
She seemed to squirm slightly at his touch, and he changed his mind about a second kiss.
‘So you’re feeling better?’
‘Not really. But Maisie’s off, isn’t she? I didn’t want to let the store down.’
He tutted in a way that conveyed both admiration and disapproval. ‘I’m glad you’re back.’
She shifted round in the seat. ‘Are you?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You tell me.’ She dabbed her thumb against her tongue and turned the page: more satin and bows and bottle-brown cleavage.
‘I was hoping we’d move on from yesterday’s conversation. Frankly it didn’t make a lot of sense.’
Hayley said nothing. Dan poured stale water from the kettle and refilled it. He found a clean mug for his coffee, took one out for her, then put it back. If Hayley wanted a drink she would ask for one.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘Well what?’
‘I don’t know what you meant about “emotional stress”. Is that really why you were off sick?’
He heard the snap of another page. ‘This isn’t the time or the place, Daniel.’
For some reason he thought about Louis, and the quite unwarranted adoration that his brother had expressed last night. It acted to toughen Dan’s resolve, so that instead of trying to reason with Hayley he gave a shrug and said, in a voice too low to hear over the burbling kettle: ‘Suit yourself.’
Stemper was almost put out to find other guests in the dining room – two retired couples, by the look of them, dressed in the bright vulgar clothing that he associated with affluent leisure pursuits: golf, perhaps, or sailing.
He adapted swiftly, exchanging the necessary greetings, then sat at the far side of the room. He didn’t much care for breakfast but he needed to see Quills to assess the efficacy of last night’s session.
Within a couple of minutes the proprietor emerged from the kitchen, carrying two plates of bacon and eggs. He was wearing a chef’s apron over a check shirt, and there were bright spots of colour on his wide cheeks. His first sight of Stemper caused him to break his stride.