The Baby And The Brandy (Ben Bracken 1) (2 page)

Damn. The beer popping into my head again. I wasn’t expecting that - to only be out of the pen for 20 minutes and already be thinking about having a beer. But it signified freedom to me when I was inside, and I certainly have that freedom now. I’ll get my chance. Besides, I’m nearly there. Church Street.

The street is very quiet and I walk straight over to the glass doors of the apartment complex nestled between the businesses. Using the intercom system, I call up to the 5th floor flat I have been to only once before, and hope that someone is in. A female voice answers.

‘Hello?’ the speaker hisses.

‘It’s an old friend. Last time I saw you, you were in your night-clothes,’ I say, keeping an eye on the street.

The intercom is quiet for a moment, presumably while a decision is made. I hope she recognizes either my voice or the occasion I was alluding to. She should do.

‘Please come straight up,’ she says. I am relieved.

The door buzzes open, and I enter, aiming straight for the lift. I am not expecting anyone to be looking for me, such was the manner of my exit from Strangeways. If they reveal I’ve escaped, I break out my insurance plan. The authorities would come crashing down on that place like an angry ton of bricks, the regime examined and the players all revealed to have acted disgracefully while entrusted to uphold justice. So I would imagine that for all intents and purposes, Ben Bracken is holed up in his cell, patiently waiting out the remaining fifteen years of his sentence.

Fifteen years. That should be enough time to get more than a few things done. And it’s very heartening to know that nobody is looking for me. Or expecting me.

I get out on five and make the short walk down to the flat at the end of the corridor - the door to which is ajar. I knock and push it open a touch.

‘Hello?’ I call out. The door is slowly pulled open, to reveal a rather beautiful woman staring at me, her eyes filling a little, her hand creeping up to cover her mouth. She has shoulder length brown hair, and when I see her I am taken back to the last time I saw her. Bruised, frightened - in a very bad way. Her name is Freya, and last time I saw her, I saved her life.

‘Ben...’ she whispers, and throws her arms around me. I must cut quite the figure in my oversized comedy suit, and this is as good a welcome as I could hope for.

‘I’m sorry for the smell. I will explain. It’s been quite a day,’ I tell her, hugging her back. I’m genuinely glad to see her. We both went through a lot that day, and we haven’t seen each other since I sent her scampering down an emergency staircase in her nighty.

She let’s me go, and we enter the apartment. It is as nice as I remember, warm wood floorboards under an open living space, with bare brick walls and vast floor to ceiling windows, which overlook the quaint low rooftops unique to this end of town. If I ever were to settle down anywhere, it would be in a place like this.

‘Tell me to get stuffed, or whatever you like, but I wondered if I could trouble you for a change of clothes, fifteen minutes internet access and, if you are feeling especially generous, a shower?’ I ask.

Freya smiles and dabs at the corner of her eyes with the sleeve of her dark jumper.

‘Of course,’ she replies, and smiles warmly. It makes everything that I had to do to save her worthwhile, seeing her well and safe like this. Then, my happiness meter takes another unexpected northward spike. I notice a glitter on her hand, that catches my breath.

‘The wedding ring...’ I stutter. ‘You... and Trev?’

‘Yes,’ she says, looking at the ring and making that soft grin that bears pride and love. ‘After what happened, we... didn’t see any reason to wait anymore.’

I find myself beaming. Everything I did, and the reasons I did it, has been justified. I feel strength in my purpose, steel in my resolve. I feel reinvigorated.

‘No time like the present. I am delighted for you both. How is the man himself? And would he mind if I borrowed a couple of bits of clothing?’

Her smile broadens.

‘I think that’s a better idea than one of my dresses or something,’ she says. ‘He is doing very well. We both are.’

‘I am delighted. I’m just so happy for you both. Were you OK after... what happened?’

She sighs, her expression changing a little to more pensive, but she retains the slight fundament of a smile.

‘Yeah. It took some time, but we both got there.’

‘Freya, I would love to sit here all day and reminisce with you both. But I must come clean, and I don’t just mean the shower. I’ve just got out of prison, kind of. I don’t believe that anyone is after me at all, but I don’t want to put you in a difficult position, which I acknowledge I already have by just being here. But this time, I need someone to turn to, and yourself and Trev are my best bet. I am, most definitely, not supposed to be out of prison. But I am. And I don’t want it to come back to bite you.’

Freya takes a step towards me, and puts a hand on my shoulder. That warmth again. Trev is a lucky man, but it was nearly so different. Two years ago, he got home late from his IT job to find this very apartment ransacked and Freya missing. A nasty piece of work, Keith Sinfield, was running a child sex ring from a flat in a high-rise at the other end of the city, and by accident, his laptop, from which he conducted the whole operation, ended up in Trev’s possession. Keith kidnapped Freya to force the return of the laptop. He called me, and I helped get her back. It was a messy one.

‘After what you did for us, we will do anything we can to help. I’ll get some clothes together, while you hit the shower. Trev will be home soon after 5pm, so if you can wait that long, please do. Bathroom’s second door back there. We owe you our lives, Ben.’

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. I’m a bit overwhelmed. I have spent what feels like a lifetime undertaking grim tasks and never getting a words gratitude in return. So to receive it now, is just wonderful.

Freya leaves me to it, and I head to the bathroom, for a shower that I have thought about so often it has attained mythical status in my mind. Such a simple act, but signifies so much. A private shower, in freedom. It feels like a new dawn, almost symbolically, to wash away my previous life, all its mistakes and sadnesses, and start afresh.

2

The shower lived up to all expectations. I grab a towel, and dry myself quickly, since I really don’t want to outstay my welcome. Remembering the offer of clothes, I crack the door open in the hope that there might be some deposited outside so I don’t have to parade through to the living room in my grits and not much else. Perfect - just outside the door, which leaks steam into the hall as I crack it open, there is a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt. These will do just grand. I pull back on my old underwear (I can’t have everything) and then the jeans - which I am surprised to find are skinny. I have never worn skinny jeans before. It feels like I am wearing a denim wetsuit below the waist, something I’m not entirely comfortable with, but will navigate gamely. The t-shirt fits a gem, which is very pleasant. The smell of non-industrial strength detergent is also most welcome, and overall it is just great to be wearing civvies as opposed to prison issues.

I leave the bathroom, and pad out in my bare feet. That warm, polished, wood flooring feels like a luxurious massage to my concrete-battered toes. Savoring the steps, I edge back out into the living space.

Freya is there, at the kitchen end of the room, pouring boiling water into ceramic mugs on the counter top. The smell of fresh filter coffee fills my senses and I find myself salivating, both literally, in my now-grinning mouth, and metaphorically, in my cobweb-cleared head. I notice three mugs as opposed to two.

‘There he is...’ a voice exclaims, softly, almost as if afraid to disturb my fixation on the coffee. I turn to see Trev. Trevor Houghton, my old school friend, and eventual university compadre. ‘I made my excuses as soon as Frey text me. It’s good to see you pal.’

I am smiling as I move to meet him, again delighted to see him well. I have not seen him since that horrible day either, and now it feels like the jigsaw complete, that case closed.

‘Hi Trev,’ I offer, as I extend my hand, but he brushes it away in preference to a monster bear-hug instead, which would have crushed me like a bag of old pistachio shells if I hadn’t offered a little stout resistance.

‘Thank you,’ he says, with as much honesty I have ever heard in his voice. We were close pals at university, drinking buddies, football teammates and study friends, before I left it all to pursue what I felt was my destiny in the armed forces. And now to hear that truth in sentiment that only true friends show each other... It makes everything I did worthwhile. More sustenance for the road ahead.

He lets me go, as Freya moves into the room carrying a tray of steaming mugs. I find myself wallowing merrily in these little things, these tiny nuances of comfort that I have been deprived of barely a mile from the site of this happy reunion. I am ushered to a sofa, which I let swallow me as much as it can.

Perching on matching armchairs, Trev and Freya sit opposite me.

‘Needless to say,’ Trev begins, ‘it is so good to see you.’

‘I said you would,’ I reply. It’s true - I had. And I do like to keep a promise, even though this one was one I wasn’t sure I could keep.

‘Freya tells me you just got out of prison.’

‘In a fashion. I’ve taken a leave of absence, you could say.’

Trev looks at Freya.

‘We don’t care’, says Freya. ‘We don’t care what you did or why.’

‘Thank you’, I respond. I mean it, too. I have spent the last couple of years being judged from pillar to post when - largely - the right thing is the only thing I’ve tried to do.

‘Freya says you are not being pursued. Dare I ask how you can break out of prison and that be possible?’ Trev asks, struggling to keep a grin off his face.

‘I don’t want to tell you. The more I tell you, the more trouble you’d be in if I somehow come unstuck. I’m not expecting that at all, but I didn’t come here to drag you into anything unsavory.’

‘I can respect that’, says Trev. I raise my mug to him, and tip it towards him in a tiny, sober salut, before sipping noisily. My word, it is good. A rich, exotic, caffeine buzz damn-near smashes me bolt upright.

‘What is your plan?’ asks Freya. Neither of them are touching their drinks, merely holding onto them like props.

‘When I knocked on the door, I asked for some clothes and fifteen minutes with an internet connection, which I assume, given your IT-related employment, you have.’ I nod at Trev, who last time I was aware worked at PC Planet repairing computers.

‘By all means.’ Trev responds with commitment.

‘Thanks. Don’t worry, I won’t be doing anything traceable here. I used fake social media accounts to get things arranged when I was inside, using a kind of ham-fisted code. It was crude, but it got the job done.’

‘No problem at all. I kind of have my own sort of paranoia-protection firewall in place here anyway. In my line of work, you read... a lot... about what a simple Google search can open you up to. Can’t be too careful. It’s not fancy or anything but it’s better than your standard online protection, that’s for damn sure.’

‘Even better.’

A little silence befalls the room, as if we wonder what the next thing to say might be. I am enjoying their company greatly, and this little taste of a normal life which they are affording me. But we all know I’m a fugitive. My very presence in the room would get us all in a world of trouble. And I have work to do.

‘I’m very grateful for what you have done here. I’ll be on my way within the hour. At this point, it’s best I keep moving.’

Freya stands, as if some instinct has kicked in that she must busy herself with conforming to.

‘You can’t stay? Just for the night?’ she says.

Trev turns his gaze back to me. ‘It’s the least we can do.’

I stand myself, wishing I could just say ‘yes’, and have a lovely evening reminiscing. But my duty always has got the better of me, it’s engine a sense of purpose that is now much greater than before. I need to get the wheels in motion.

‘No. Thank you. Seeing you both has been...’ I don’t finish. I can’t. But I hope they know what I mean.

I am a bit socially awkward at the best of times. I can be very insular, quite happy with the internal dialogue I have with myself. This may well be down to trust - or, in truth, the lack of trust. I find it hard to trust anyone other than myself, and I most definitely find it hard to let anybody else in. I don’t tend to display my feelings too much. They are not really my strong suit, and it takes a hell of an event to get them to a point where I can show them to anyone.

But I trust Trev and Freya. I do care for them. And I find it genuinely painful not to stay with them a little while longer.

‘Just the internet, please.’

3

We exchange pleasantries and promise that, if my situation remains at a certain low level of drama, we will keep in easier contact. I am the secretly-proud recipient of two warm hugs and Trev’s business card. An anchor to something in England that doesn’t think I’m a piece of shit. It makes me feel I can’t be that much of a bad guy after all - but as soon as I do, I scold myself for being such a soak. No backward steps, Ben.

I step out onto the street, into the steady creeping twilight. There are cars crawling, trying to funnel out onto the ring road and out into the spiderweb roadways of Greater Manchester and beyond. The air is increasing in bite, enough so to make me zip the old leather bomber jacket Trev leant me up so far that I actually catch some chin scruff in the zipper teeth. I should have probably done something about my unkempt appearance back up at Trev and Freya’s.

I’m uncharacteristically sporting an unshaven half-beard and my dark hair is longer than usual. I’m still, through force of habit more than anything else, rather attached to my old no-nonsense military cut. I can’t get used to the fashion of being unshaven, that whole
‘hey, I’m so cool and laid back that I sport a scraggly near-beard that just oozes I can’t look after myself’
. I suppose, for the time being, I’ll just go with it. I really don’t want any giveaways to my military background, however minute.