Even Angels Fall (41 page)

“Why don’t you sit down?” Moorland invites politely and Marcus cautiously makes his way over, pulling the seat further back and away from the table. Tommo and Gazza remain loyally by his side but they are starting to look increasingly uncomfortable, “And you… shut the door will you? We don’t want to disturb the neighbours if we can help it, do we?” He smiles a sinister smile and the lackey looks awkwardly to Marcus who simply nods in agreement. As the door clicks shut Moorland turns his full attention to Holt and ignoring everyone else in the room, they stare at each other for the longest time. Moorland is the first to speak.

“You’re messing with my interest’s old friend…” He claims in a threatening whisper.

“I’m here to get my revenge, revenge I clearly deserve…” Marcus instantly snaps back, gesturing towards his face.

“As far as I’m aware, you were the one who dug your own grave… or, scarred your own face, shall we say? You came after him, he got you the money, which to be honest I certainly wouldn’t have done… but young Alex clearly felt as though he owed you in some way. You both agreed the debt was paid and then you went back on your word, you pushed your luck… this was the result…” He waves his hand casually, as if they are sat chatting about the weather.

“My dispute with Alex goes back a damn sight longer than you know…”

“He filled me in…” Moorland shrugs, “Told me how he left you, how he’d had enough of your unpredictable ways. It’s a free country Marcus; he’s entitled to do that…”

“And if he did the same to you? Cut you off, ended your business relationship without warning? How would that sit with you?”

“I certainly wouldn’t turn it into a personal vendetta if that’s what you mean?”

“Of course you wouldn’t…” Marcus scoffs sarcastically, and Moorland tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. His patience is limited and it is wearing thinner by the minute. Marcus Holt is without doubt the complete polar opposite of him. The way he conducts himself and the way he handles his business. His approach couldn’t be more different. They have known each other for years and have inevitably crossed paths before, but he has made a point of staying away from this wannabe gangster and his amateur ways as much as possible. This whole debacle is proof that he is clearly no professional and Moorland is highly irritated that he has had to travel all the way from London to deal with him. It is a waste of his time and an extreme inconvenience.

“This ends now…” Moorland states and Marcus immediately goes on the defensive as his self-assured confidence returns.

“It ends, when I say it does…” He grins.

“No. It ends now, Marcus. If I were you I would accept that and disappear quietly, because I am less than thrilled about having to leave my home and my family to travel up here and deal with you. I’m annoyed at the fact it’s 3 o’clock in the morning and I’m sat in this kitchen conversing with a fucking mediocre halfwit who isn’t even worth my time when I could be in bed with my wife…”

“Mediocre halfwit…?” Marcus snarls as he rises to his feet, and Moorland stands too as the rest of his men rise in unison beside him, preparing themselves for a possible fight but still displaying no emotion what so ever. The tension in the room is palpable and the forced civility that has been displayed so far is teetering on a knife edge.

“That’s right…” Moorland confirms as he walks around the table, standing face to face with Marcus. He towers over him, his presence powerful and domineering.

“And what if I refuse to disappear quietly…?” Marcus smirks with slightly less authority than before, and Moorland leans forward so that the two of them are standing just inches apart, staring angrily as his lip curls back.

“I’ll make you…” He whispers and Marcus doesn’t respond. He simply takes a subtle step backwards to widen the gap between them and swallows hard, “You’re a little fish in a tiny fucking pond, my friend. You don’t even come close to being in my league and you know it. Alex Matthews is one of my investments… if anything happens to him, my business suffers and that is not something I will tolerate, do you understand me?” Marcus nods slowly and Moorland’s demeanour quickly slips back into mock friendliness as he ushers them through the kitchen, “Well then, I’m glad we all understand each other. It’s late, I’m sure you fella’s ought to be getting home…?”

Moorland smiles as he opens the front door and gestures politely out into the hallway. The lackey can’t get out of there quick enough and he is followed closely by Tommo and Gazza, who are trying hard to keep their tough guy images intact whilst being completely out of their depth. Marcus is the last to approach the door and his anger is visibly raging below the surface, yet he is unable to act. He knows - although it pains him to admit it - that Moorland is right. He is far more powerful and connected and he is definitely the wrong man to cross. His revenge will have to wait until the day Alex no longer has Moorland’s protection, which could be years down the line, but he will bide his time. He will not forget this.

“If I have to come up here again because of you there’ll be no pleasantries or friendly conversation around the dinner table. I am only going to warn you once. Stay away from Matthew’s. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear…” Marcus snarls through gritted teeth before striding furiously out of the flat, his face twisted in anger and his fists clenched at his side.

To Alex’s own amazement, he has managed to stop obsessing about what is taking place over 200 miles away in Leeds. When he and Abbey arrived in Ireland it was all he could think about and focus on, yet now, after a relaxing couple of weeks and receiving the unbelievably good news about Tom’s improvement, he has decided to take a more laid back approach. ‘What will be, will be’. There is little he can do about it now anyway, tucked away with Abbey in this tiny little corner of the world.

He has always had an extremely hard time putting his trust in other people, especially when trusting them to sort out his problems, but this time, he had been left with no other choice. He knows that Moorland will do right by him, but his friends are the only people he believes in enough to rely on completely; his friends and Abbey. She is the one person he has opened up to more than anyone else in his life. She has helped him, fixed him almost, although he is still perfectly flawed on many varying levels and probably always will be. But he feels different with her, like he isn’t battling through this shitty life alone anymore. She picks him up when he spirals down, calls him on his bullshit and makes him laugh when he needs it the most.

Like now, as he leans in the doorway of the tiny little kitchen watching her dance around in her underwear and a faded T-Shirt that is full of holes, he feels completely at ease. She looks so good. And whatever it is she is cooking, smells amazing. It is simple moments like this, these little snap shots in time, that make him yearn for this kind of life. He wants out of the world he has lived in for so long. He wants, for once, to walk a decent path instead of constantly straddling right and wrong. He wants it all and he wants it with Abbey.

Yet if he is totally honest with himself, he isn’t sure if he will ever be able to fully break away from the drug dealing and petty crime that over the years have become commonplace. Anything outside of that world feels completely unknown to him.

“Anything I can do?” He asks, as he opens the fridge door and pulls out another beer. Abbey turns, not quite startled but clearly not expecting him to be standing so close.

“No thanks. I think I have everything under control…!” She smiles, skipping over to him in time to the music and planting a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth. Alex takes a swig of beer as she turns back to the stove and he watches fondly as she sways back and forth, singing under her breath more than a little out of tune. Smiling, she tilts her head round and raises her eyebrows.

“Are you making sure I don’t burn anything?” She enquires, sarcastically.

“No… mainly I’m just enjoying the view…”

“Is that right? Well dinner is almost ready…” Alex takes the hint and slaps Abbey’s backside as he walks back into the living room and over to the two seater dining table that sits in front of the bay window. It is another perfectly clear night. The moon reflects beautifully across the ocean which is calm in the stillness and the sky is littered with stars.

“Shall I open a red or are you sticking with beer?” Abbey shouts from the kitchen.

“Red is good…” He yells back, unsure whether she has heard him over the music until she dances through the door with the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. She wiggles her hips and uses them to push Alex out of the way so she can place them down on the table and he grabs hold of her waist, kissing her neck.

“It’s really not fair of you to flaunt a vision like that arse you know?”

“I am not flaunting… I’m dancing! And you get to see this arse on a regular basis so it shouldn’t really be affecting you in such a red blooded way…!” Alex laughs at her feministic statement and kisses her seductively below the ear.

“The day you don’t affect me in that way Miller, it will be a fair few degrees colder in hell. It’s out of my control…” As he begins to slide his hand underneath her t-shirt Abbey slaps it away and wriggles in his arms.

“Well you’ll have to control it right now because the food is ready…”

“Forget the food…” Alex murmurs as he nuzzles her neck.

“ALEX!” Abbey giggles, trying her hardest to squirm free, “It’s still on the stove, it’s gonna catch on bloody fire in a minute…!” As she breaks out of his grasp and darts back into the kitchen he shakes his head in amusement.

“I suppose we don’t want you setting off the smoke alarm again, do we?”

“I did not set the smoke alarm off, it was the log fire!”

“If you say so…” He smirks.

“I’ll have you know the smoke alarm loves my cooking…” Abbey states defiantly, “It always cheers me on!” Alex laughs loudly at Abbey’s joke which has an element of truth to it, but before he has chance to sit down at the table his phone rings and he jogs over to where it is plugged in on charge, picking it up and swiping the screen.

“Hello?”

Abbey serves up the food and carries it proudly through to the living room, but her smile quickly fades as she notices the concern etched on Alex’s face. He is leaning against the fireplace with his phone to his ear, listening intently. His anxious body language speaks volumes and it is there in his eyes, that look that she had almost forgotten about, the one she hasn’t seen since they left home. He is in full on business mode and the serious, defensive, in control Alex is back without question.

“OK… so what now?” He asks.

Abbey can guess who is on the other end of the line and her heart sinks as she drops dejectedly into one of the chairs, suffering from a sudden loss of appetite. It is the call she has been dreading. She knew it was bound to happen eventually but she isn’t ready to give all this up and return home to face reality. She doesn’t want to leave, “OK. Thank you… and I’m sorry about all this. I never meant for it to get so out of hand, I really appreciate you stepping in…. will do… thanks…” Alex hangs up the phone and turns to face Abbey. The flickering orange glow from the fire lights the contours on his face, plunging him half into shadow, almost as if the darker side of his personality is already clawing its way back to the surface.

“Moorland?” Abbey asks, meekly.

“Yeah… apparently it’s all sorted…” His answering tone is just as quiet as he stares down at his feet.

“So I guess the holiday’s over…” Abbey tries to muster a smile but she can feel the tears forming behind her eyes as she desperately tries to swallow back the lump in her throat, “I should probably start packing…” She stands and Alex frowns at her, taking three steps forward as he holds his hand out tentatively.

“Aren’t you going to eat your food?”

“I’m not so hungry now…” Abbey can hear the tone in her voice changing into one of sadness and disappointment. She knows this isn’t Alex’s fault and that they had to go home eventually but she is struggling to hide her true feelings.

“I’m sorry; I wish we could stay, but…”

“I know…” She sighs, closing the gap between them and wrapping her arms loosely around Alex’s waist. He bends his knees so that they are both at eye level and tilts her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

“Things will be different. All the bullshit with Marcus, it’s over now and once were back home things will be a lot easier. I promise…” Abbey smiles and nods in agreement as Alex pulls her into a tight embrace. She wants so badly to believe his words but she isn’t reassured. After the conversation several days ago on the beach she is well aware that they want the same things and she genuinely believed him when he confessed to craving a normal life, with no more crime or drug dealing or wannabe gangster thugs threatening them at every turn. But now that the notion of going back to Leeds is an actual reality she can feel the dread creeping back in and the dark clouds descending. Something tells her that the life they both long for isn’t going to be quite as easy to maintain away from their perfect little bubble in Ireland.

The journey home turns out to be worse than Abbey could have predicted. Alex is lost to her again… locked away deep in his thoughts, with those all too familiar frown lines permanently fixed on his face. She can tell that he is already planning three steps ahead, plotting his next move, ready to get back into the swing of things. Business as usual. She can feel the young, care free side of him slipping further and further out of her grasp as the distance between them and their beautiful little cottage grows.

At the airport they sign off the papers for the hire car and head straight to the departure lounge. The plane is delayed by half an hour due to bad weather, prolonging the inevitable and torturing Abbey even further. When they do finally take off, the flight feels like it is over in no time at all and they are soon descending into Leeds and Bradford Airport. Home at last.

It is a little after 8:00pm when they finally arrive back at the flat. As they round the corner to the front door Alex’s pace slows and Abbey peers around his shoulder, trying to see what has caught his attention and made him approach more cautiously. The front door handle is completely smashed in, with several splinters of wood sticking out of the frame work and scattered across the floor.