Dead Pretty (12 page)

He scanned his face in the train's window. It was getting to be a habit. Did he look like a hunted man? Tick. A haunted man? Tick. A murderer? What did one of those look like? The smudges under his eyes were getting bigger, like dabs of dark blue face paint, and he could smell himself. He was in a great state to see his mother. That time with Lena had been his only trip back in five years. They hadn't even managed a Christmas. Doubt crept in. Maybe it was better not to go there, just take off for the hills. Buy a few supplies and let them come to him. They would come.

Mark still missed the open places a stone's throw from the house of his childhood. The hillsides were the closest things he had to security when growing up. They hid him, when things were tough, and were quiet and calm when he was boiling inside; they replaced people. If you are running, it was best to run in a land you knew. It would not be long before they were on his trail, but Angelo, Stellachi and anyone else they sent were city boys, they preferred concrete and cars. There was a flash of light as the train exited the tunnel. Wales, Mark thought, whatever that meant.

He slept again until the train pulled into Cardiff. Half-hour naps might be the norm from now on, but at least he was used to this. It had often been necessary on the agency jobs, watching people like a thief in the night, and cat-napping in between. Mark trod cautiously around the station, it wasn't possible anyone would be here yet, but thinking the impossible might keep him alive. All was quiet. Tail end of summer traffic and not much else. He got another coffee and a sandwich and was filling up with caffeine and bread. It was a pity it was a Sunday. He needed to buy stuff, hillside stuff, clothes, food, maybe a tent. What he was wearing would have to do.

Mark delayed going to his mother's place for a while. She'd always had the ability to see right into him and he wasn't quite ready. Two young coppers walked past. It was true about the shaving, Mark thought, and I'm now old enough to think it. They walked just feet away from the guns. For a moment he wanted them to ask what was in the holdall. It would be the spot check of their lives and his problems would be over for the next twenty years. Nah, he'd rather go out with his boots on rather than be banged up, that would be a slow death of thousands of weeks. He'd learnt that as a young offender. The policemen walked away from him without another glance and Mark exited the station. He went to the nearest taxi.

His mother was five miles away, on the edge of Cardiff, and the sea. Mark walked around a bit before he relocated her flat, one of a block of ten. It had a good view of the channel. Even on a sunny day it looked like grey sludge, but the sky was high and free. He ran a hand through his hair as he rang the bell and stood back with the most upbeat look he could conjure up. A man answered.

It was not what Mark had expected. It hadn't occurred to him that Julie would ever meet anyone again, but at least this chap was in a different class from his many runtish uncles of the old days. They eyed each other suspiciously. The guy was in his early fifties, about the same height as Mark and had kept himself fit. Mark saw the edge of a tattoo on his T-shirted right arm. Three feathers. Probably ex-army.

‘We're not interested in religion,' the man said.

‘I'm not selling God, mate. I'm Mark, Julie's …'

‘Good God, what are you doing here?'

Julie appeared, pushing the man to one side.

‘Thought I'd come down.'

Julie gave him that age-old look that told him she knew everything, even if she didn't. There was more than a moment's silence.

‘You better come in then. Why didn't you phone?'

‘Wanted to surprise you.'

‘Well, you done that. Oh, Carl, this is Mark, my son.'

Mark stuck out a reluctant hand and it was taken by one equally reluctant.

‘How do,' Carl said.

‘All right.'

‘Give your mother a hug, then.'

They held each other briefly. He'd forgotten how light Julie was, like a young girl in his arms.

He knew his mother would be seething inside, he'd intruded on her new life, without any warning, and on a Sunday, which would mean something was up. He wondered how much Carl knew of the Richards past. Not much if Julie been sensible. She had a new life, so why not a new man. He'd hated the endless succession of hopeless wasters when he was a lad, none of them interested in him, and some too handy with their fists. Until he got too big. This Carl was nothing like any them, he looked more a doer than a taker. Perhaps he came with the new territory.

‘How have you come down?' Julie asked.

‘Train. I had a taxi here.'

‘Just you?'

‘Looks like.'

Carl didn't like this. He'd be the type to say don't talk to your mother like that, if Mark had been fifteen years younger.

‘Do you want something to eat?' Julie said.

Now that the shock was wearing off, his mother was glad to see him. She fussed with her hair, and pushed him towards the sofa. They'd obviously been in bed when he'd knocked.

‘Sit there, I'll get you a coffee to start.'

Great. He was turning into caffeine city. From the sofa Mark could see through the window to the coastline and the town that curved away from it. Terraced roofs were catching the sun and flashing the sea a silver salute. His mother had found a nice spot. Mark put the holdall between his feet and could feel the guns through the canvas.

‘Sorry just to barge in like this,' Mark said, ‘spur of the moment type of thing.'

Whatever he'd planned to tell Julie was now knocked off course, but after the last few days, this came as no surprise. His whole life had been knocked off course.

Carl picked up a Sunday paper and pretended to ignore him but Mark knew he was watching him over the top of the paper, checking him out and wondering if his presence would change things. He got up and went into the kitchen. Carl thought of saying something but kept the paper in front of his face.

‘Why didn't you tell me you were coming down?' Julie whispered, pushing the kitchen door shut.

‘How long's this guy been around?'

‘Not too long. You're not going to stick your oar in, are you?'

‘No, why should I? We've moved on from stuff like that now, Mam – haven't we?'

‘I bloody hope so. What's wrong, Mark?'

‘What?'

‘What's going on? I know something is. As soon as I saw you at the door.'

The thought of telling her, with her new bloke yards away, was not on. Carl had made up his mind for him.

‘Nah, everything's cool. Just fancied a short break, that's all.'

‘It's awkward now. Carl is stopping.'

‘Oh, I didn't mean here. I thought I'd hire a car, have a drive around, that type of stuff.'

‘There is something up. You've finished with that Lena, haven't you?'

‘Nothing ever gets past you, Mam. Okay, yes, I have. Just the other day. It's over.'

‘I never thought that was meant to be.'

‘What, after seeing her just the once?'

Julie shrugged, ‘Just a feeling. It's difficult when a woman is that good-looking. Most men would be always looking over their shoulder.'

She was about to spoon sugar into his coffee.

‘Don't take that no more. Just as it comes.'

‘God, you
have
changed. Well, I'd like to say you're looking good but you look like you've been clubbing all weekend.'

In the past it was Julie who'd always looked like she'd been out on the tiles, though it was usually just life taking its toll on her face. Their long grind on little money and even less opportunity. Julie looked good today, better than Mark could ever remember. She must be close to fifty now but her face had lost some of its tiredness and her blue eyes had regained a little sparkle. Maybe she was dealing with Shane at last, maybe this Carl fella was good for her.

‘Where did you meet him?' Mark jerked a thumb towards the door.

‘In a pub in town a few months ago. I was going to tell you, next time you phoned. Carl's all right. He's a builder, got a small business. He's on his own now, like me, so I thought, why not? And no, he doesn't know nothing about the wonderful Richards family.'

‘Well, you're looking good on it.'

‘Thanks.'

‘I don' think you'll ever do anything normal,' Julie muttered. ‘You turn up, disappear, turn up again, like you always did. The Richards family is good at disappearances. It's okay, I'm not going to start. And I don' want Carl to know neither. It doesn't help, talking about it.'

‘Good at disappearances, Mam, not very good at normal. That could be our family motto.'

‘Aye, you got that right.'

‘So, you met Carl in a pub, eh?'

‘I thought I might try returning to the land of the living, 'specially now that I'm working. I went with some of the girls from the factory. They
were
girls too, I was old enough to be their mother.'

‘Moved in a bit quick, hasn't he?'

‘Ah, now that sounds like the old Mark. Carl's had a messy divorce and needed to get away from his old place for a while. Besides, I've decided life is all about speed. For people like us, anyway. I'll make you a breakfast. I got plenty of stuff in. Carl eats like you used to. Go back in the lounge, we shouldn't be whispering in here.'

Mark went in and stood by the window. The sky was taking on a deeper blue, with just a few clouds scudding away over the Somerset coast. Carl rustled his paper. He'll start to check me out any second, Mark thought, but maybe it's better that he's here. I can't tell Julie anything now.

‘Living in London?' Carl said.

‘Aye. For a few years now.'

‘Like it?'

‘It's all right. It's where the work is.'

‘What work's that then?'

‘Bits and pieces. Bit of investigation work, bodyguard stuff.'

‘Well, you got the frame for it. I used to be pretty fit myself.'

It's all right, mate, you don't have to fight me for my mother.
Mark might have said this out loud a few years back. Before Lena. It would always be before Lena and after Lena from now on. BL and AL.

Mark sat in the chair opposite Carl. He wanted to shut his eyes but Lena lay behind them. On that bloody bed, in the boot of the Lexus, dropping into the black sea. He knew what would be happening to her body now and detested the knowledge.

‘You look done in, mate,' Carl said.

‘Been doing a lot of work. That's why I'm down. To have a few days off.'

‘Oh.'

Carl studied his paper again and they sat in silence until Julie called them into the kitchen and the small table there.

‘Two breakfasts ready.'

Mark ate everything in front of him. It amazed him how he could. How instinct took over when the brain had been fried as well as the crispy bacon on his plate. He didn't want it to be Sunday. He wouldn't be able to get a car and couldn't stay here now. Perhaps it would be better to take a train up to the valleys and find a B & B, if there were any left up there.

‘I got a good idea,' Julie said. ‘Since you've turned up like this, why don't we all go for a run in Carl's car, get a spot of lunch.'

Both men glared at their plates.

‘We could have a few drinks. You an' Carl can get to know each other.'

She nudged Carl in the ribs. ‘You can't drink much, mind, you're driving. I'm going to have a shower and get ready.'

‘You're ex-army, aren't you,' Mark said. He nodded at Carl's arm.

‘Yip, career soldier me. Made sergeant.'

‘Mam said you were a builder.'

‘Went into it after. Done all right, too.'

He's been in Ireland, in the Falklands, he's the right age, Mark thought. Pity he was getting on a bit, he might have been useful if Angelo showed up. Christ, get a grip, Mark. What you thinking of, shooting it out with deputy Carl from your mother's flat, the last act of a proven madman.

‘You working now?' Mark asked.

‘Got a new job starting next week. Don't worry, I'm not sponging off Julie.'

Carl's face reddened as he said this, and he jabbed hard at his bacon.

Time rushed back twenty years, when Mark had hidden upstairs in their two-bedroomed shoebox of a house while some new uncle played tricks with Julie's head, trying to close his ears to the wild drunken shouting that cut through thin walls like a knife. Sometimes they played tricks with her body
  don' you dare hit me you bastard
  then that dull, vicious sound of blows that he could still hear in his mind. As Carl waited for his response Mark saw himself sticking his head under a pillow to deaden the noise, wanting to be older, a man who would come rushing downstairs to protect his mother, not a ten-year-old kid who sometimes ran out the back of the house in fear and desperation, over the busted fence and onto the hillside, where he'd hide out on a dark night. Coming back hours later to Julie's marked-up face.

‘No problem. Didn't think you were,' Mark said.

‘All right, then. I wouldn't want us to get off on the wrong foot. I like your mother, she's got a bit about her. I know she's had a hard life. She hasn't said much but I'm not stupid.'

‘I wouldn't want her life to be hard any more,' Mark said quietly.

‘Point taken. How'd you get so big, anyway? Julie's only a little dot.'

‘Old man maybe.'

‘No contact?'

‘Person unknown.'

‘We got that in common then. That's why I went in the army. As soon as I could. All my mates were into that sixties stuff, but I shaved my head and got into guns. It helped a bit because I used to get bloody frustrated ‘bout everything. Would have got into trouble if I'd I hung around the estate.'

You're singing my song, mate, Mark thought. I did hang around, and made my own trouble. Strange that Julie should take up with someone not unlike himself. Or maybe not so strange.