Chapter 32
I was back to gazing wide-eyed at the bedroom ceiling, unable to sleep once more.
Not this time because I was trying to work out how I was going to tell Dean it had all been a mistake letting him move back and I wanted him out of my life for good.
Now, it was trying to work out the events of the past couple of days: the red paint and smashed window at The White House; my falling – just a little bit – in lust with Henry Cavendish-Brown who, it now seemed, had turned out to be someone called Darren Singleton.
Darren Singleton for heaven’s sake? I tutted out loud to myself, watching the clock’s luminous digits flick themselves steadfastly through the minutes.
* * *
Both Dean and Joel appeared to have disappeared, despite my constantly ringing and texting the pair of them.
Were they both mixed up in the goings-on down at Queen’s Gardens?
I really wouldn’t put it past Dean to have got himself involved somewhere in it all.
Hadn’t Henry said he spent much of his time at the golf club these days?
Had he met Dean there? Dean and Darren together?
Dean, I knew, was daft enough to go along with anyone offering to make him a quick buck.
Hell, if Dean was in some way involved with this OCG – which, it was now pretty obvious, Henry was – how on earth was I going to tell Lola if her dad ended up being arrested and thrown in the nick?
* * *
2.16 a.m.
And what about Joel? Should I be informing Andy Somerville, Joel’s social worker, that he hadn’t come home?
But wasn’t Joel a sixteen-year-old? Legally able to have consensual sex, to marry, leave home, have as many body piercings as he liked (no tattoos though – funny that!), drive a moped…
My brain’s love of lists had me ticking off each one and I knew, if I hadn’t dropped off, I’d be on to the shipping forecast next: Viking, Dogger, German Bight…
(What the hell was a German Bight? Something to do with eating frankfurters… ?)
* * *
2.19 a.m.
The red numbers continued to taunt me while Lola slept somewhat fitfully at my side.
And then, a noise from downstairs. I strained to hear, my pulse racing. A couple of muffled barks from Arthur down in the kitchen. Was someone already making their way up the stairs with a machete down his pants, ready to silence me about what I might know…?
Which was absolutely nothing. I was as much in the dark as the next person, and putting me in the bath and waterboarding me (my absolute worst make-you-talk nightmare) would reveal zilch.
My ears out on stalks (deary me, terror was having me think in clichés) I clutched at the duvet, listening as the footsteps made their way to my bedroom door and then past it and on to the box room. It was either Joel. Or someone after Joel.
I waited a couple of minutes and then, making sure Lola was sleeping soundly, I inched my way out of bed and went to Joel’s bedroom door.
‘Joel? Joel!’ I knocked softly on the door and Joel appeared behind it, opening it just a couple of centimetres.
He’d obviously hastily wrapped a towel around his waist, and I averted my eyes.
‘Where’ve you been?’ I hissed. ‘Get some clothes on and come back downstairs. I don’t want to disturb Lola. I’ll make us some tea.’
* * *
Five minutes later, Joel was at the kitchen table in sweatpants and T-shirt while I waited, standing in the old candlewick dressing gown I’d quickly thrown over my pyjamas, for the kettle to boil.
I spooned sugar and added milk and passed the mug over to Joel. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
He said nothing, but simply examined the mug before drinking deeply from its contents. He sighed heavily.
‘Joel? If you’re supplying again, I need you to leave. Are you? Have they got you working for them again?’
Joel shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I’ve lost your husband’s bike. I’ll pay for it…’
‘Down at Queen’s Gardens?’
He nodded.
‘I saw it down there,’ I snapped. ‘Joel, the police think it was Dean that was down there this evening. Was he there?’
‘The police know it was Dean’s?’ Joel’s head came up from his mug of tea. ‘Because I left his bike there? How did they know it was his?’
‘For once in his daft life, Dean did something right. The bike was registered to his name and this address.’
‘I didn’t know you could do that!’ Joel pulled a face. ‘For a pushbike?’
‘Neither did I, to be honest… But that’s not the point, is it? You were down there, this evening? It was you?’ When Joel didn’t reply, I shook my head. ‘Joel, I can’t have you here if you’re back working for this lot. You know that.’
‘I’m not… I wasn’t.’ Joel sank his head back into his tea and then, pushing it away, laid his arms and head on the table. ‘I’m so…’
‘So what?’ I was angry now. ‘So fed up that you’ve been caught again? That the police are soon going to be putting two and two together? They’ll know that you’re staying here with me – at Dean’s old address? It doesn’t take a genius to work out it’s not actually Dean they’re after, but you, Joel.’
‘I was trying to look out for Lola.’ Joel raised his head.
‘What do you mean, look out for Lola?’ I frowned. ‘What d’you mean, Joel?’
‘Making sure you and she were OK.’
I actually laughed out loud at that. ‘Oh, come on! You’re down there up to no good with the others – Rob Traynor and George Sattar – and who knows who else about to crawl out of the woodwork – and then there’s a full-on police raid and they’ve taken Dean’s bike that you’ve left in a hedge.
And so you come up with this daft story that you were looking out for us?
Oh, yes? And how did you know we were actually there this evening? Hmm? Hmm?’
‘Lola’d been boasting about this new best friend of hers. She wasn’t half going on about it…’
‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘But she was telling you?’
‘Lola doesn’t talk to me, Jess, you know that. Sees me as pushing her dad out…’
‘Oh, don’t be daft, Joel,’ I began. ‘So, who was she talking to?’
‘Dunno. She was on the landline in the hallway. Probably telling some other kid in her class what she was up to. You know – off to Ruby Cavendish-Brown’s down at Queen’s Gardens for a sleepover. You know how girls her age always want to get one over on other kids in their class.’
‘I don’t think Lola—’
‘Jess, I’ve a sister a little older than Lola. Thirteen-year-old girls can be quite brutal at that age. Anyway, as she was going on about this Ruby Cavendish-Brown, boasting about where her new friend lived, I knew at once who this Ruby’s dad was.’
‘Right!’ I stared. ‘So, you’ve come across Henry Cavendish-Brown before?’
‘Henry Cavendish-Brown, Piers Barrington, Edward Thornton…’
‘There’s three of them?’
‘The names he goes under.’ Joel tutted. ‘Real name, as far as I know—’
‘Darren Singleton?’ I put in quickly.
‘Think so. Darren changes his name every time he moves to a new address. He’s been here about a year.
Probably rents the house down on Queen’s Gardens rather than owning it.
He’s always ready for a quick getaway and a new identity.
’ Joel sniffed. ‘Probably thought he was fairly safe changing it to Henry Cavendish-Brown and moving to a sleepy village like Beddingfield.’
‘But surely his daughter – Ruby – thinks it weird that her dad keeps changing his name? Her name as well, presumably? I can imagine what Lola would be saying if Dean kept changing his name…’
‘I don’t know, Jess, I don’t know,’ Joel said irritably. ‘It’s all a totally different world from the cosy little one that you and Lola live in.’
‘It’s not that cosy,’ I snapped. ‘I have my problems as much as the next person.’
‘You don’t know the half…’ Joel shook his head again.
‘Right, OK, OK! So, are you trying to tell me you’ve nothing to do with Darren Singleton?
That you weren’t down there this evening as part of his gang?
Well, I’m sorry, I think you’re telling me a whole load of lies.
’ I glared at the kid, ready to ring Andy Somerville that very minute, even though it was the middle of the night.
‘And d’you know, Joel, I thought you were genuine, that you’d only got mixed up in all this OCG stuff because your mum and little sister, as well as your dad in prison, were being threatened.
No, you were out for yourself, weren’t you?
Out for what you could get and not caring who you might be involving in all this.
’ I was so angry now. So cross that Sorrel, Robyn and I had all been taken in by his lies, but particularly Sorrel.
Thank goodness she seemed to be making a new life for herself well away from this kid.
‘I told Fabian what was going on…’
‘Fabian?’ I stared. ‘What the hell’s Fabian got to do with any of this…
? Oh, right…’ I put up a hand as Joel started to explain.
‘You were hoping he’d manage to get you off again, weren’t you?
Warning him that the shit was about to hit the fan again now that Darren Singleton’s place had been raided and the bastard’ – it still smarted that I’d let the man inch his fingers up my bare leg – ‘arrested.’
‘Fabian knew the police were going in.’
‘Oh? Oh? And how the hell do you know what Fabian knew? Knows? You’re his secretary now, are you? His confidante?’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous, Jess.’
‘I’m being ridiculous?’ I felt so angry I wanted to slap him. ‘Joel, you’re gone in the morning. D’you hear? I’m not having you a minute longer in my house.’
‘Jess, who the hell d’you think’s been trying to scare Fabian into submission?’
‘What d’you mean? Into submission?’ I stared at the kid, whose face was set.
‘God, you’re so na?ve.’ Joel tutted crossly. ‘All the stuff that’s been happening up at The White House?’
‘Trolls that are continuing the harassment of Fabian for taking on the Soho Slasher!’ I said.
‘Happens all the time.’ I went on, ‘According to Sally Maynard, one of the restaurant consultants Kamran had us meet with. She warned us that physical obstruction or intimidation are often a sign that a rival’s out to get you.
And don’t forget, the Sattars are not the most popular family round here, now that they’re on a mission to pull down St Mede’s. ’
‘As I said, Jess, you’re effing na?ve.’ Joel sat back in his chair, arms folded.
‘Excuse me…!’ I started.
‘Listen, has Kamran been targeted personally in the way Fabian has?’ Joel asked. ‘Has he, Jess?’
‘I don’t know! I’m sure he’d have kept it to himself, if he had.’ I looked directly at Joel. ‘OK, not that I know of, I mean, not personally, like Fabian’s slashed tyres.’
‘Exactly. It’s Fabian they’re after. Not the Sattars; not the restaurant itself. And now it’s pretty obvious George Sattar has some involvement with Darren Singleton’s lot; well, it’s also obvious Fabian is Daniel’s target rather than the Sattars or The White House.’
‘George? So George was there this evening? I wasn’t mistaken then?
’ I felt another huge disappointment hitting me head-on.
I liked George. More than liked him, I realised.
Mind you, I’d liked Joel too. And, bloody hell, come on, admit it, Jess, you really liked Henry.
I was obviously one very rubbish judge of character.
‘I saw his car,’ Joel was saying now.
‘Me too.’
Joel nodded. ‘I wasn’t quite sure it was him, but once I saw the very distinctive registration, I knew immediately it was George. He came racing out of the main gates as I was looking for a way in. Lucky for me.’
‘Lucky?’
‘That’s how I managed to sneak in, before the main gates closed on me again. How I was going to get out again, I hadn’t really worked out. Expected those big dogs of Darren’s to come out at any moment and tear me limb from limb…’
‘You’ll be great as Danny in Grease.’ I sniffed.
‘Sorry?’
‘Well, you’re one hell of an actor.’
Joel shook his head and glared at me and, for a moment, neither of us said anything.
‘So, what then?’ I finally asked. ‘Go on, finish this fairy tale.’
‘I hid Dean’s bike in a hedge…’
‘Not very well. The police soon found it.’
‘…and made my way round to those big windows. I saw the four of you eating. Jess, I just wanted to warn you that Henry wasn’t who you thought he was.’
‘Didn’t occur to you to text me, then? You know, while you were peering in at us…?’ (Oh, please don’t say he’d seen me on the sofa with Henry!)
‘Couldn’t get a signal being outside,’ Joel went on. ‘And then it all kicked off. So, I kept to the shadows and made my way back towards the main gates. You know, tried to find Dean’s bike. But saw a couple of uniforms going over to it. The main gates were bashed in. So I simply walked out.’
‘And then?’
‘And then I walked home.’
‘Home?’
‘I mean here. To you.’ Joel looked embarrassed at his words.
‘Seven miles?’
Joel bent to unfasten his trainers, peeling off obviously damp and grubby white socks.
‘Have you anything for blisters?’