The Villain’s Daughter (36 page)

At the thought of what would happen tomorrow, her stomach began to churn. But there was no going back now. She had told Toby, and Toby had called Danny Street so she had no choice but to go through with it. And perhaps it was meant to be, for why else would God have delivered poor Jenni Brookner so fortuitously? The moment this profane thought entered her head, her eyes automatically rose towards the heavens and her fingers gripped the trolley. But there was no clap of thunder, no divine retribution, and gradually she relaxed again.

Alice made her way to the shelves of alcohol and picked out three bottles of wine, a bottle of vodka and twelve cans of lager. She wasn’t sure when she’d get the chance to shop again and Toby was always in a better mood after a few drinks. Not that she blamed him for getting tetchy. While she was out at work, he was trapped in the flat all day with nothing but the TV for company. Still, he’d been decidedly more upbeat since she’d got home last night and told him about Jenni Brookner. Well, at least he had been after that one small altercation.

‘Is she a looker?’ he’d asked.

The question had made her squirm. ‘A what?’

‘You know,’ he said. ‘Not a dog or anything?’

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Alice had snapped back. She had found his question both insensitive and crude. Or maybe she was just old-fashioned when it came to that kind of talk.

‘I was only asking,’ he’d said. ‘There’s no need to have a fit about it.’

‘I’m not having a fit. I just don’t think we should be . . . well, discussing her like this.’

And then, of course, Toby had gone into a sulk, the corners of his mouth turning down in that all too familiar style. ‘You mean
I
shouldn’t.’ He’d glared at her for a second. ‘I’m not asking for my own benefit. I’m not some kind of perv. Only if Danny Street gets there on Sunday and finds that we’ve provided some old crone—’

‘He won’t,’ Alice had insisted. ‘For heaven’s sake, she’s only twenty.’

Toby had shrugged, turned away and given her the silent treatment. And of course she had backed down. She couldn’t bear it when he was cross with her. And she dreaded him leaving. What would she do if he walked out? Therefore, in order to placate him, to please him, she’d spent the next ten minutes describing the tragic Jenni Brookner in intimate detail. He’d been happy after that, and when he was happy he was affectionate.

Alice headed for the checkout, smiling again. Had that been their first major row? All serious couples had rows; it was normal, natural. And it was almost worth the pain for the making up that came after. She blushed a little at the memory. With Toby she did things she had never even imagined before. But it was all right, wasn’t it, because he loved her and she loved him. It was just the two of them now against the world.

As Alice waited in the queue, her thoughts inevitably returned to Sunday night. She was supposed to do the embalming on Monday, but William would be none the wiser. Toby had keys and they would use the rear door. No one would see the lights unless they came round the back. Her only concern - well, not perhaps her only one, but the only one she could face at the moment - was that Gerald Grand, if he’d recovered from his flu, might come in early on Monday morning and start poking around. William, like Iris, rarely came down to the basement, but Gerald liked to keep an eye on things. He was always looking over her shoulder, always checking up on her. How would she explain that a job booked in for nine o’clock had already been completed? They would need a cover story just in case.

The awfulness of what they were doing descended on her again, the horror swooping down like a devilish crow pecking at her conscience. She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. She had sworn she would never do it again, but what choice did she have? She had to remind herself that no one was getting hurt. Yes, it was dubious, certainly immoral, but it wasn’t strictly illegal. And it had to be endured if Toby was to be saved. He had made a mistake, that was all, a stupid mistake. Villains like the Streets knew how to exploit people, how to take advantage. None of this was really Toby’s fault. All he had done was to play a few games of cards - a game that was probably fixed - and now that blood-sucking leech Danny had latched on to him and wouldn’t let go.

The thought of seeing Danny Street again filled her with dread. She still felt guilty over leaving Iris to deal with him on her own. She remembered standing on the stairs at Tobias Grand & Sons and listening to him rant. He was vile, wrong in the head. She had seen what he’d done to Toby and it made her sick with fear.

The queue shifted forward and Alice found herself next in line. Forcing her worries from her mind, she started to empty the trolley. She wondered if the middle-aged woman behind her carrying a basket containing a few microwave meals for one, a pint of milk and three small tins of cat food, was examining what she’d bought. Alice often stared at the shopping of the person in front, gauging from their purchases whether they were single or attached, always envying those who were buying for two. And now, incredibly, she was one of those people. She was part of a couple. She had Toby, beautiful Toby, and for all her fears she wouldn’t change that for anything.

Despite the apparently casual nature of the gathering, Iris had the feeling she was about to go on trial. It was eight o’clock on Saturday night and she’d returned to the little terraced house in Lemon Road to find Vita, Rick and Michael installed in the kitchen. The sudden silence as she entered the room was enough to inform her that she’d been the subject of their conversation.

‘Don’t stop on my account,’ Iris said.

‘We were just . . .’ Vita began. She paused and chewed on her lip for a moment. ‘Well, we’re worried about you. All this stuff about your dad.’

‘Stuff?’ Iris repeated abruptly.

‘You know, knocking on doors and everything. Are you sure it’s safe? There are some odd people living round here. And you look exhausted. You’ve been out for the past couple of nights and most of today. You’ll drop if you don’t start taking care of yourself.’

Iris sighed. She really didn’t need this. Her feet were aching and she was desperate for a long, hot soak in the bath. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re not fine. Grab a chair and sit down.’

Iris, too tired to argue, did as she was told. Whatever they had to say, she would be forced to listen to at some time or another. Better to get it over and done with. She glanced at Michael. He shifted in his seat and looked uncomfortable. ‘So?’ she said. ‘I take it you’re not here to offer your support and ask me how it’s going.’

Michael frowned. He made a shrugging gesture, lifting and dropping his heavy shoulders. ‘It’s like Vita said. We’re just worried about you, love. You’re going to make yourself ill if you carry on like this.’

‘So why don’t you do something useful instead of criticising? You could come out and help us look. You’re the only one who might actually recognise this Fin guy if we come across him.’

‘No one’s criticising you,’ Vita said. ‘But don’t you think that if your dad wanted to be found he’d get in touch? All he has to do is pick up the phone.’

‘It’s not that simple, is it? You all know what he did, and that Terry Street isn’t going to forgive him for it. He has to be careful. If he contacts me and the Streets find out about it then—’

‘But you’ve got no proof that he
is
back,’ Michael interrupted. ‘Where’s the proof, love? There’s not one bit of evidence to suggest he’s come within shouting distance of Kellston in the last nineteen years.’

‘I’ve been threatened,’ Iris said, ‘and more than once. What does that tell you?’ She looked around at their faces and her heart sank. ‘Or do you think that I’ve been making all that up, that I’m going quietly crazy? Is that what’s going on here?’

‘No,’ Vita said quickly. ‘Of course not.’

But Iris could imagine what they’d been discussing before she came back: her loss of the baby, depression, problems with Luke . . . She shook her head and stared at Michael. ‘You had a fight with Danny Street over this.’

‘Not because I thought Sean was back. I’ve never thought that. It was only because of what that kid from Tobias Grand & Sons told me.’ The kid, Iris realised, being Toby. ‘He said Danny had a go at you the day before the funeral. I wasn’t having that. And I was upset over what’d happened to Lizzie. It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking straight.’

Vita, who was sitting next to her, gently touched Iris on the wrist. ‘No one’s saying that the threats weren’t real. But maybe they just stemmed from idle rumours. Maybe someone, someone like that old guy Jenks, thought he saw your dad - or maybe he made the whole thing up to try and squeeze some money out of the Streets, and out of you. I mean, that would explain why they’ve been bothering you, wouldn’t it? With Jenks dead, the Streets have no way of knowing whether what he’d told them was true or not.’

‘Is that what you think?’ Iris said, turning to Michael. ‘Do you really believe they’d be hassling me this much, wasting so much time on me, because of a few idle rumours?’

Michael didn’t answer directly. He folded his arms across his chest and deliberately avoided her gaze. ‘Your dad’s got no reason to come back.’

Me!
Iris wanted to shout at him.
Aren’t I reason enough?
Instead she took a deep breath and counted to ten. Getting mad wasn’t going to help; in fact it would only add credence to what they already suspected - that she was in the midst of some kind of nervous breakdown, even suffering from delusions about the extent of the danger she was actually in. She had thought they were on her side, but that was clearly not the case. But she mustn’t lose her cool. She had to try and stay calm, to answer all their objections quietly and rationally. ‘Because of Lizzie,’ she explained softly. ‘Now she’s dead, there’s nothing to stop Terry Street from doing whatever he wants. Guy thinks he wants revenge and that the way to get it is through me. And it makes sense. You have to see that.’

‘But you have no actual
evidence
,’ Vita said, echoing Michael’s use of the word.

Iris looked at her despairingly. ‘What kind of evidence do you want? For Dad to walk in through the door? For me to be found murdered in some dark alley?’

It had been a stupid thing to say. She heard the gasp that came from Vita’s throat. ‘If you’re that worried, Iris, you need to go to the police.’

‘I’ve told you why I can’t do that. And Guy thinks that if we can find Dad, find him before he tries to get to Terry Street, then we can stop him from doing anything stupid.’

‘Guy thinks, Guy thinks,’ Michael repeated roughly. He took a swig from the can of beer that was in front of him and replaced it with a bang on the table. ‘I don’t get what any of this has to do with him.’

Iris moved her hand out of sight, laying it on her thigh as her fingers clenched into a fist of frustration. ‘He’s Lizzie’s son, isn’t he? He knows things. Like the fact that she made sure Terry never came after you after Liam was killed.’

‘He didn’t come after me because I had nothing to do with it.’

‘And since when did that ever stop a thug like Terry Street? You helped Dad get away, didn’t you? You gave him money and clothes. He might even have told you where he was planning on going.’

‘He didn’t.’

‘Yes, but Terry wouldn’t have known that, would he? You’re Dad’s brother, the first person he’d turn to when he was in trouble. Well, apart from Mum, but that option wasn’t open to him after what he’d done.’

There was a short silence. Iris looked around again, hoping to find a person who might actually support her. Rick was the only one who hadn’t spoken. When she’d talked to Michael on Wednesday night, he’d told her that, until recently, Rick hadn’t known anything about the past, but she wasn’t so sure. Once Michael had had a few drinks his tongue tended to run away with him. He could have told Rick the whole story, every gory detail, and not recalled a thing about it the following morning.

‘So what do you think?’

Rick hesitated, glancing at his wife as if he wasn’t sure of what to say. ‘Er . . . well, I think Vita’s got a point. Whether your dad’s back or not, you should tell the cops if you think you need protecting.’

‘But I can’t do that, can I? Why isn’t anyone listening to me? If he gets arrested by the police then—’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Iris!’ Michael’s voice was filled with exasperation. ‘This has to stop. Your dad was a selfish bastard. He ran away because he was too scared to take responsibility for what he’d done. He abandoned you and your mother and didn’t give a toss about the consequences. He’s never coming back, not in a million years, and it’s time that you accepted that.’

Iris stared at him, feeling the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. A lump rose to her throat and she tried to swallow it down. ‘You’re wrong,’ she eventually managed to mumble through her tears. ‘You’re all wrong.’ Then she pushed back the chair, dashed out of the kitchen and ran quickly up the short staircase. As she reached the top she heard Vita say reprovingly, ‘Jesus, Michael, there was no need for that.’

Iris went into her bedroom and shut the door. She slumped down on the single bed, leaned forward and put her head in her hands. She and Michael had never argued before, had never even exchanged a cross word. Her whole body was trembling. Michael didn’t know what he was talking about. Her dad
was
out there somewhere. She was as sure of it as she was her own name. She was his little girl, wasn’t she? He wouldn’t let her down. And he wouldn’t let Terry Street hurt her.

After a while she heard the front door slam. Wiping the tears from her face, she stood up and went over to the window. Michael and Rick were striding down the road, probably heading for The Dog. That was Michael’s solution to everything, she thought bitterly. Just put your head in the sand, have another drink and pretend that nothing’s happened.