Chapter 15 Dominic
DOMINIC
The hallways of St. Mary’s are bright and confusing, and by the time I reach A&E, I’m shaking with worry.
“Mia Graves,” I say to the nurse, leaning on my fists. “My daughter-in-law, she was brought in by ambulance a while ago.”
“Yes, please.”
She points to a door to my right, and presses a button under her desk. I push through the door and hurry along the hall, looking for bed 11.
Please let her be alright.
I can’t think about that phone call I’d received, Charlotte telling me that Mia had been in an accident and taken away in an ambulance. She hadn’t given me details, just told me to come down immediately.
I reach a door that says Bed 11, and push it open. All eyes in the room turn to me.
Charlotte sighs with relief. Mia is sitting on the bed with a patch on her left temple, drinking water from a paper cup. She gives me a small smile.
“Hiya,” she says, her voice groggy and raspy.
The doctor raises an eyebrow. “Can we help you?”
“I’m Dominic Graves,” I say quickly, and the doctor gives me a nod of understanding.
“Ah, I see. Well, your wife doesn’t have a concussion,” he says, looking back at Mia’s head. “Just needed a few stitches.”
“She’s not my-”
“He’s my father-in-law,” Mia interjects quickly, and the young doctor smiles at me.
“Oh dear, sorry.” He picks up Mia’s chart and makes some notes.
“Now, you’ll likely be a bit sore as the wound heals, take ibuprofen or paracetamol for the pain.
Stay hydrated, and take it very easy for the next few days.
Any sudden headaches, nausea, slurred speech, disturbances in vision, numbness in your hands or feet, you’re to be brought straight back.
” He looks at Char and then at me. “Someone right to stay with her?”
“Yes,” Char and I answer at the same time, and we give each other a glance.
Mia chuckles from the bed, giving the doctor a smile. “As you can see, I am very well-looked after, doctor. Thank you.”
“Yes, I can see that.” The doctor gives Mia a friendly smile. “I’ll have the nurse bring your discharge papers and your scripts, and then you can be on your way.”
“Thank you,” I say as he leaves the room. I turn to Mia, determined to show restraint. But that fails after about 5 seconds of looking at her in that hospital bed, so small and vulnerable. I rush to her side, taking her hand gently in mine. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“You heard the man,” she says softly. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?” I gently brush her cheek with my fingertips, just under the patch on her temple. “Who did this to you?”
“How do you know it wasn’t my own clumsiness?” She chuckles softly, then sighs. “Reporters were chasing us down Portobello Road. One of them got a bit too close.”
“It was Paulie Hardcastle,” Char says from the other side of the bed, her arms folded over her chest. Her eyes lift to meet mine. “He tripped her up when she refused to talk to him. Sent her flying face-first into her car door.”
Rage simmers in my chest, and I look back at Mia. “I see. And was he arrested?”
Mia sighs and shakes her head. “No. He ran off, cowardly little bastard.”
“The police will be looking for him though,” Char says. “Although he’ll probably just claim it was an accident.”
“I don’t think he meant to hurt me.” Mia exhales heavily. “He’s just a little shitweasel, nothing more.”
“I don’t care, I want them to throw the book at him.” Char huffs out an angry breath. “He’s been harassing you for years, something needs to be bloody done about him.”
Yes, yes it fucking does.
The nurse comes to with Mia’s discharge papers, a small packet of paracetamol and a script for some stronger painkillers. I help Mia into her jacket, and she links her arm through mine as we head back to the carpark.
“You alright to drive her home?” I ask Char, and she nods.
“Yeah, of course.” She frowns at me. “Are you coming?”
“I’ll be there soon.” I help Mia into her seat, and she blinks up at me.
“Where you going?” She asks.
“Just got to wrap something up, alright? I’ll be at yours in a bit, promise.” I brush a gentle kiss against her forehead, and close her door. Over the car, Char is still frowning at me. “I just need to go get something sorted.”
Char’s eyebrows lift slowly, and she nods.
“Ah, I see. Alright. Well, I’ll get her home then.” Char smiles at me, and opens the driver’s door, dropping down into the car.
I watch them leave the carpark, feeling a pang that I’m not going with them.
But Char’s absolutely right.
Something needs to be fucking done about Paulie Hardcastle.
I pull out my phone and dial a number I don’t often call, but today I need to call in a favour.
“Mr Graves,” the man’s voice answers. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has indeed. You still a PC?”
“It really has been a long time!” The man laughs. “I’m now Chief Constable Warnham, thank you very much.”
“Congratulations on the promotion.”
“Thank you. Now, what can I do for you, Mr Graves?”
I get into my car, and exhale through gritted teeth. “I understand you’re searching for a photographer by the name of Paulie Hardcastle.”
“We might be, sure. Is that of interest to you?”
“Yes.”
“Right then.” Warnham lowers his voice. “Since it’s just a search inquiry, I’d say we could call it, what, thousand quid?”
I chuckle low in my throat. “Your prices are still so reasonable, Chief Constable.”
“Well, that and maybe some tickets to your private box? My kids would love it.”
“Done.”
“Excellent.” Warnham taps away on a keyboard. “Now, obviously this isn’t going to be a pinpointed search, but Paulie Hardcastle lives in a dingy little flat in Croydon. I’ll text you the address.”
“Thank you.”
“As for where he is now,” Warnham says, trailing off as he taps a little more. “One patrol said he was seen near Charing Cross about an hour ago, so who knows where he is now.”
“His home address is great, thanks.”
“Right. Well, details are the same as they were before.” Warnham’s voice is bright and cheery. “Nice to do business with you again, Mr Graves.”
“Be sure to tell me which email address to send those tickets to.” I hang up, and a few seconds later my phone pings as Paulie Hardcastle’s address pops up on my screen.
I gun the engine, navigating my way out of the carpark, out onto the busy London roads, and head south towards Croydon.
Hardcastle’s flat is above a small but charming bakery run by a friendly Indian woman with round cheeks. She waves to me as I check the doorbell by Hardcastle’s door, seeing that he occupies flat number 2.
“Hello there, darling,” I say, walking into the bakery. “I was wondering, I have a friend who lives upstairs, is there parking around the back?”
“Oh yes, but only for the occupants,” she replies. “Sorry.”
“Not a worry at all.” I look down at the glass case in front of me. “Give me two of what you think is the best you’ve got.”
The woman is thrilled and packs up a cake with a bright orange crust filled with light green cream, and something that looks like spun caramel which I’m sure I’ve eaten before. She sends me off with a complimentary cup of chai and tells me to come again anytime.
I drive around the back, parking up in the narrow alley. There’s a steep set of stairs leading to two doors, one clearly marked with a peeling number two. I kill the engine, and wait.
It’s getting dark, and I’m sure Hardcastle won’t be out on his usual rounds with the police looking for him. I drink the chai, which is the most delicious thing I’ve had in a long time, and decide that this bakery needs more exposure.
After an hour, I start to wonder if Hardcastle is hiding out somewhere else, to avoid the police in case they come to his house. It’s proper dark now, people coming home after work.
Finally, his silver hair illuminated by the harsh streetlights, Paulie Hardcastle traipses up the alley. His camera bag is slung over his shoulder, his jacket zipped up to his chin, giving him the appearance of being a hairy thumb rather than a human being.
I wait until he reaches the bottom of the stairs, where he pauses, hand braced against the railing.
As I climb out, his shoulders rise as though he’s taking a deep breath.
A breath that is swiftly interrupted by the slamming of my car door.
His head snaps in my direction, his eyes widening as I cross the short distance between us.
“Stressed are we, Paulie?” I ask, fists clenched at my sides. “I wonder why that would be? Busy evening evading the coppers?”
Paulie stumbles backwards against the lower step, almost losing his footing and steadying himself against the railing. “Now, now, let’s not lose our-”
He cuts off with a muffled shriek as I seize his collar with one hand, and drive my fist into his middle. He sucks in a breath, eyes popping out of his head.
“Lose our what, mate?” I snarl in his face. “Our heads? Hmm?”
“I-I never meant to hurt her,” Paulie pleads, the air leaving his mouth in one heavy whoosh as my fist slams into his stomach again. “Oh, bloody hell,” he chokes out. “Are you mad?”
“Yeah, I fucking am.” I shove him away from me, and he falls back on the ground, clutching his stomach. “You’re lucky I didn’t give you a good walloping after that stunt you pulled with her dad.” I spit on him, and he flinches. “You’re a rat, Hardcastle. Nothing but a fucking sewer rat.”
I lunge at him, and he yelps weakly. I grab the bag from his shoulder, swinging it up in the air and slamming it on the ground. The camera inside shatters loudly.
“You can’t do that!” Hardcastle cries, cowering quickly as I lean down over him.
“Do you fucking know who I am?” I point a finger in his face.
“Do you know what I could do to you? Well hear this, mate. You go near Mia again, you try talking to her, you come anywhere near, you fucking breathe the same air as her, I will destroy you. And if you get any funny ideas about running to the police, I will use all my fucking money and influence to ruin you, and anyone you care about, do you understand me?”
Hardcastle’s eyes widen, and he nods.
“I said, do you understand me?” I growl, and he actually whimpers.
“Y-yes. Yes. I’m sorry.”
Looking at his stupid face, all I can think of is Mia and when she found out about her dad. Her anguish. Her despair. The way she shook like a leaf in that car as she tried to make sense of it all.
I drive my foot into Hardcastle’s stomach, one last parting strike, and he gurgles pathetically on the ground.
“Good night, Paulie,” I say as I head back across the narrow alley to my car.
From behind the steering wheel, I watch as Hardcastle staggers to his feet, his hands still clutched to his stomach. As I gun the engine, he scoops up the camera bag. He shuffles to the stairs as I head down the alley, and in the rear view I see him tentatively take the first step up to his flat.
Right then. That was incredibly stupid and risky.
I know I shouldn’t have done that. But if Hardcastle learned his lesson, it’ll be worth it.