Time to Play (North East Police) (24 page)

A moment of lucidity in a life of turmoil.

'You sure that's a good idea, Dad?' he asked quietly, sitting down at the table.

'Can't hurt, Son. Your mum seems OK today. And she rarely leaves the house now: it'll be good for her to get out and about.'

'But what if –'

'No buts, you're not a goat,' said his mum, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Just for a minute, he let himself enjoy it. It was how she used to kiss him when he was a boy, her lips as light as butterfly wings. It reminded him of how happy they'd been when he was growing up. They were always out and about, making quick picnics whenever the mood took them. Even if it rained, they would go to the airport to watch the planes.

It had been almost four years now since his mum’s diagnosis, and he could count on one hand the number of times she'd kissed his head like this.

But, as suddenly as it had started, her mood changed. She stepped back and he saw confusion on her face. He didn't have time to react as her hand slapped him hard across the face, and she started screaming.

His dad sat there, shrugged his shoulders as if saying 'you can deal with this one' and took another drink of his coffee.

His mum had just calmed down and he had her seated in her chair by the window when the front door opened and Fred strode inside. He hated that, his uncle just walking in unannounced as if he had the God given right to do so.

'Fred,' he greeted coolly.

'Just off, are you? Never could stick around when the going got tough, you. You're a disgrace. Your mother should have drowned you at birth.'

'Well she didn't so you're shit out of luck on that point. Go fuck yourself, Fred.' Connor felt his blood start to boil. A confrontation was well over due. He was sick to the back teeth of being blackmailed and pushed around by his uncle, and today, for the first time, it showed.

'You wanna watch who you're talking to, lad. I've shivved people for less. You think you're so hard, the big tough cop. You're nothing but a bloody water rat. That last intel you passed me was a crock of shit, too. Doing it on purpose, are you? ’Cos if that's the case, I might as well kill you. You've never been of any real use anyway.'

'So shiv me then, you bastard,' spat Connor, 'cos I've had it leaking intel to you about raids, and having you sneer in my face. You don't know jack about me. I'm better than this.'

'You think? I doubt it like. Gunna go in and fess up are you? Tell the big boss that you've been slipping your uncle confidential information about raids and the like?'

As Connor hung his head, Fred grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. His shoulder blade hit the metal edge of the mounted mirror.

'Just try it, you little shit, I swear to God, you come after me and I'll show you a side you'll wish you'd never unleashed. Not only will I make sure I drain every single penny from your beloved parents and pack their bloody boxes meself, I'll bring that lovely little Marie home and teach her what it's like to earn her keep. She'll learn just what her education cost me in the most heinous of ways. And all you'll be able to do is sit and watch.'

'Get off me, you fucking prick,' said Connor, pulling free of his grasp. He raised his fist and swung it round, connecting with Fred's face. Fred stumbled, then turned in full rage. Grabbing Connor's shirt, he swung him round and threw him against the unit in the hallway. One of his mum's vases flew and shattered on the floor. Then Fred brought a knee up into Connor's stomach, causing the breath to expel from his lungs and making him gasp as he tried to draw in oxygen. His uncle was full of rage, and Connor couldn't avoid the fist that impacted with his nose. His eyes streamed as blood spurted forth and gurgled in his throat.

Connor heard a roar from the kitchen door, and saw his dad barrel through and tackle Fred. He was like an animal possessed, raining punches down on Fred’s face, grunting and red cheeked.

Connor grabbed his dad and pulled him off, ‘Dad, stop, it’s OK. I’m OK, stop it!’

His dad sagged against him, ‘He hit you. I’m sorry, Son. I’m sorry.’

‘Son? He’s not your son.’ snapped Fred, pulling himself to his feet. ‘Your shitty sperm couldn’t even create a speck of life, you useless twat. It was damn lucky I was on hand to help old Sheila out, wasn’t it, or you’d never have had those bloody spawn you call yours.’

His dad paled, and whispered, ‘No. You swore you’d never tell. You bastard. Get out of my house.’

‘
Your
house? I think you’ll find the mortgage is in my name. I’ll have my solicitor pen out your eviction notice. Or even better I’ll just send round some of the boys. Let them give you a helping hand. I’m done with this shit. You’re a bunch of ungrateful fucking arseholes. Good luck on the streets. And as for you,
Son
, I’ll be looking out for you.’

Fred then turned and left, slamming the door so hard it shook the house.

Connor was in shock.
What the hell just happened? Not my dad?

Silent tears fell down his dad’s face. ‘I’m sorry, Son,’ he repeated, his voice shaking.

‘What did he mean, Dad? He said you weren’t my dad. Is that true? Is Fred my dad?’

His dad fell silent, his head shaking from side to side, his eyes filled with sorrow.

‘Dad,’ pushed Connor, turning him round and looking at him. He looked so sad, so full of pain that Connor knew instantly what Fred had said was true. Instinctively, he stepped back. ‘Jesus. That prick is my father? Why would you and Mum do that, Dad? Why would you turn to him?’

‘He used to be different,’ defended his dad feebly, ‘before …’

‘Before what? Before he got into the whore and drug business? Before we were born? Jesus, why the hell would you keep something like that from us. Marie’s going to be devastated. Fuck.’ Connor paused, hurt filling him completely.
How the fuck am I meant to deal with this?
He knew he couldn’t, not now. ‘I can’t be here right now, Dad. I need to go.’

As he walked down the path, he wondered what else in his life would turn to shit. Everything he knew to be true was falling apart. Christ, his mother had shagged his uncle. More than once. And his dad knew. Did life get any more fucked up than that?

Chapter Twenty-Three

15
^th
November, 1620 hours – Ali’s flat, Sunderland

Ali precariously balanced the shopping bags in one arm whilst trying to unlock the door to his flat. He didn’t know if Marlo was still inside with Elvie, but he figured the two eggs and spring onion that were in the fridge wouldn’t feed one of them let alone three, so he’d stopped at the supermarket on the way back.

Pushing open the door, he heard laughter from inside. Laughter that sounded awfully familiar.

Stepping over the threshold, he peeked round into the living room, and was surprised to see his mum sitting on the couch, chatting to Elvie and Marlo.

‘Ma?’ he asked, stepping through. He was confused. Had he invited her down then forgotten? Or was she staying with Cass and Alex, and his brother had failed to mention it?

‘Alistair,’ she greeted warmly, pulling herself to her feet and coming to him. She wrapped her arms round him and squeezed tightly, ‘Surprise! I thought I’d pop down and see my sons. Is that shopping? That’s good because what ye had in was pitiful. How do ye expect to feed a woman and bairn if you dinnae keep food in the fridge? We had chips for lunch, from that place round the corner. Quite nice, it was. Not a patch on Clyde’s Chippy near us but still good.’

He followed his mother into the kitchen and stood silently as she started unpacking the bags. After a few seconds, he decided he couldn’t hold back.

‘What’re you doing here, Ma? I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I know that, Son. That’s the whole point of a surprise, ye know. I just missed ye, is all. It’s been months since ye’ve been up, and Alex mentioned ye might be having a tough time of it at the minute with work and what not. It’s nae bother if me being here’s an issue: I can go and stay in a hotel.’

‘No. I didn’t mean that, Ma. I was just curious. I’ve missed you too. Every time I plan to come up, something happens and it ends up not being possible. I’m sorry, Ma.’

‘OK, I’ll take the couch, though admittedly the flat seems a little crowded. I presume ye’re aware there’s a young lassie in there who needs yer help? She’s had an awful time of it, the poor wee mite.’

‘She told you about it?’ Ali tried not to sound incredulous. Not only was he harbouring an illegal immigrant; now his mum knew about it too. He could picture the interview with professional standards now: ‘
No, I was not aware that she was illegally in the country, sir.’

‘Well your mother and colleague both were, so it stands to reason that you also knew, McKay, doesn’t it?’

‘Aye, she mentioned it in passing. The other lassie, Marlo is it? Nice girl that one. Head’s well and truly screwed on. Dive team she tells me? Seems to think highly of ye.'

‘Don’t do this, Ma. That’s none of your business,’ Ali groaned.

‘What?’ asked his mother innocently. ‘I don’t know what ye mean. Cup of tea?’

Ali sighed and nodded, ‘Want me to help?’

‘Go get yourself in there and chat to your guests. Figure out how to help the wee one.’

Ali made his way through. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know Mum was coming down.’

‘It’s fine, she’s lovely. We’ve been having a good chat. I came back in about 2 p.m. Had some errands to run, and Elvie wanted to stay inside. Hope that’s OK?’

‘Course it is. How you doing?’ he asked, turning towards Elvie.

‘I have to go back, yes?’ Her voice was barely audible, her eyes turned downwards. He could see she was dreading his response.

‘Not if I can help it, love. I’m going to see what we can do. We need to speak to immigration, but I need you to come to the station with me tomorrow and answer some questions. Is that OK?’

Elvie nodded; she didn’t have any reason to trust him, but he could see that she did.

Turning back to Marlo, he added, ‘So you didn’t get called in, then?’

‘Nope, but tomorrow’s a whole new day. Supposed to be off tomorrow too, but we’ll see. Angelo from Bravo team has text to say their search will extend into tomorrow too. They’re looking for a teenager, believed to have been drunk, who somehow wandered into a storm drain near the viaduct in Bishop Auckland. So if anything comes in we’ll get the call.’

‘Well hopefully it’ll be as QT as today seemed to have been.’

‘You’ve jinxed it now,’ said Marlo with a wry smile.

Just at that point, his mother came in carrying a tray of tea and a plate of biscuits she’d apparently found in the cupboard. Ali didn’t have the heart to point out they were probably there from Alex’s time in the flat. He never bought biscuits.

He took one dutifully though, and as he bit down he frowned slightly. What would tomorrow bring? How would he explain holding Elvie at his home for two nights before bringing her in. This was gunna blow back and bite him on the arse. He could feel it now.

15
^th
November, 1825 hours – Connor’s parent’s house, Sunderland

Connor found himself sat in the car outside his parent’s address again. It seemed to be the only thing he did, sitting there dreading going inside. It was worse today though: he’d struggled all day with what he’d found out the night before. He’d spent hours looking over photos of him as a child, innocent with blond hair and blue eyes. And he’d examined them for hints as to his lineage.

Deep down, he knew what Fred had said was true. There was no reason for him to lie. He’d said the words because he knew he would hurt Connor, that it would cut deeper than any knife could. All these years of trying to hold the family together and cope with his mum’s illness and his dad’s reluctance to accept any help: it was all for nothing.

His whole life was a big fat lie.

His home life was a lie. Work was a lie, too. They didn’t know who he was, didn’t know that he was the son of a major criminal, that he fed him information on drugs raids to help ease the guilt he felt at not being able to look after his own parents. Which in itself was beside the point now, since his dad wasn’t actually his dad so there was no reason to feel guilt.

But he did. Guilt threatened to overwhelm him, it was heavy and he didn’t know how he could continue to carry it.

Sighing again, he tried to remember the last time he had been genuinely happy, the last time he had smiled so wide he’d actually thought his face would split. It took a minute, but he eventually recalled.

He’d been about fifteen years old. The girl he’d liked at school had passed him a note secretly in class, asking him to meet her later. That she’d sent him a note had been the highlight of his day, and later, when they’d met up under the cover of darkness after he’d snuck out of the house, she had made his night. They’d gone walking by the river, just the two of them. Holding hands and bumping into each other in that accidental way people do when they like someone, where it’s not really an accident but they pretend it is so they can make contact and apologise. And under the light of the moon, he’d had his first kiss.

That meant it had been almost thirteen years since he had been totally and utterly happy. He’d come close when he’d made the dive team down south. Having a working brain he’d aced the tests and exams, and he had the natural affinity for the water that most divers had. But then they’d found out about his uncle. It hadn’t got to the investigation stage. He’d transferred back up north to get away from Fred and the people he used to call friends. They’d dropped the case as he was no longer classed as an associate. Then his uncle had followed him up north, and the cycle had started again.

Now it was all threatening to turn to shit again, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether it was worth it.

After sitting there for almost an hour, he decided it was time to head inside, and head bowed low, the feeling of intense despair flooding every pore, he made his way up the path.