Chapter 53 #2
‘Questions at the end, please.’ Caiger ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. ‘I am now in a position to confirm that seven letters were sent out, all to people living in the Southwest. No further information will be issued about the token recipients at this time.’
A murmur ran around the room; several people bent to make notes.
‘I can also confirm, because this is very important, that it is the token, and not the letter, which indicates the beneficiary,’ Caiger went on.
‘You mean whoever has the token gets the cash?’
Caiger fixed the reporter with a hard stare before replying. ‘Precisely.’
Tug reached out for the token that lay on a small table to one side of his armchair. He closed his fist around it.
In the press conference, there was a flurry of noise as those assembled absorbed the implications of what they were hearing. Caiger held his hand in the air.
‘I’m almost done, ladies and gentlemen. This next part is important, so I ask your patience.
Mr Quick has authorised us to tell you that he has recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and that, despite the best medical care available, his doctors are not optimistic about his life expectancy.
He is not expected to live beyond the next twelve months. ’
Robin watched the press conference that evening.
He’d spent most of the day in bed. His head hurt too much to work and so he’d cancelled the meetings he’d had planned for the next few days.
More than once, in the forty-eight hours since Neil had beaten him up, he’d wondered if he’d sustained internal damage, if maybe there was an unseen bleed that would, over the course of the next few days, bring his life to an end.
On balance, he’d decided, he’d prefer it if it did.
He couldn’t breathe too well either; he should really go to hospital. But a fear of bumping into either Neil or Jax in the corridors held him back. And so, he stayed home and licked his wounds.
When the press conference was over, he switched the TV off. So, it really was legit after all. He was going to inherit a fortune in the foreseeable future. The disgruntled clients could do their worst. He’d survive.
He wished he could care.
The doorbell rang. Robin pushed himself to his feet and made his slow, unsteady way to the front door. Bracing himself to answer well-intentioned questions about his injuries, he pulled it open.
Jax.
Clad in her usual black leathers, clutching her helmet under one arm. Her eyes opened wide with shock at the sight of him.
It was a dream. He’d slipped into a coma in front of the TV and his subconscious, for once, had picked exactly the right direction to go in. Well, who was he to argue?
He said, ‘I’d say you should see the other guy, but I guess you already have.’
‘I will kill him,’ she said.
‘No argument from me. Do you want to come in?’
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and led the way into his sitting room.
He had a moment of wishing that the empty bottle of red wine and the glass with its tell-tale purple stain weren’t still on the coffee table, and that he’d cleaned his teeth and showered in the last twenty-four hours but decided it would hardly make any difference.
Jax dropped her helmet and jacket on the sofa. ‘Sit down and keep still,’ she told him. ‘I need to have a look at you.’
She knelt in front of him. He winced when she took his head in her hands.
‘Shit,’ she said, when she saw the wound at the back of his head. ‘Robin, this needs stitches. And an X-ray. Your nose looks broken. If it’s not properly set, you’ll spend the rest of your life looking like an unsuccessful rugby player.’
‘I’ve developed a recent but acute distrust of the medical profession,’ he replied.
She tilted his head so that he was forced to look at her. ‘If part of that is directed at me, I didn’t tell Neil what happened on Friday. He heard me telling my sister over the phone.’
‘That text came from you.’
She leaned back on her heels. ‘No, it came from my phone. It was sent by Neil. I was in theatre all day yesterday. He knows my locker combination. I think he must have seen us when he arrived on Saturday. Or enough to rouse his suspicions.’
Robin had a moment of feeling glad that Jax, at least, had not given him away. ‘Yeah, well, I can’t exactly blame the man. I’d have done the same in his shoes.’
She ran her fingers lightly down his cheek. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’
How little she knew him.
‘I’m taking you to hospital,’ she said. ‘Can I drive your car? I don’t think you should be on the back of a bike in your condition. If not, I’ll call an Uber.’ She saw his raised eyebrows and added, ‘I’ll stay with you. Nothing else will happen, I promise.’
‘Give me a minute.’ Robin took a deep breath. He didn’t want to throw up in front of her, but his nausea had got worse since he’d answered the door.
‘I’ll get you some water.’
Robin closed his eyes until he heard her come back. The water was cold from the fridge.
‘Why are you here, Jax?’ he said, when the nausea had receded a little.
‘Neil forgot that messages sent from my phone also appear on my iPad,’ she replied, which didn’t answer his question, but possibly explained how she knew what had happened.
‘He deleted the ones he’d sent to you from my phone, but they were still on the iPad until I synced it up. I’m so sorry, Robin.’
Jax being nice to him really wasn’t helping right now.
‘It’s for the best,’ he said. ‘I’ll take myself to hospital. I can drive.’
‘Did you mean what you said on the clifftop?’ she asked him.
Of course he’d meant it; he’d meant every word and a thousand more besides. He tried to shake his head but it hurt too much. ‘What does it matter?’
‘Well, I’m postponing the wedding,’ she replied. ‘So, I’d say it matters quite a lot.’