Fear of the Fathers (27 page)

The room fell silent as a wave of uncomfortable thoughts passed through Annie's head. The intensity of the previous day and Marvo's ethereal cheerfulness had relegated her main worries to the sidelines, but now they had returned with a vengeance.

It was Kamal who eventually broke the hush. “Tell me,” he said. “Why did he call you Tracy?”

Stella woke with a lethargic yawn, her head heavy with the leaden fuzz of protracted sleep. Her ears ringing from the sound of the intercom, she stumbled out of bed and robotically slipped into her dressing gown. Then, with slow zombie-steps, she floated through to the living area.

“Who is it?” she said hoarsely, flicking the intercom with a lazy finger.

“Tags. Can I come up?”

“Sure, why not?” she acquiesced wearily.

Tags entered carrying a holdall. His mood was cheery, and slightly overwhelming. Stella boiled the kettle and made them both a coffee. “What time is it?” she asked as she handed him a steaming mug.

“It's half past eight.”

“Fucking hell!” she exclaimed. “I've slept right through. Must be nearly twenty hours.”

“Good,” said Tags. “You needed it. You were in a right old state. How do you feel now?”

“Like my head's full of putty. I need a cigarette. Have you got one spare?”

Tags obliged and lit one for each of them.

Stella took a couple of long drags and a sip of coffee. “That's better,” she said. “I feel a bit more human now. So tell me, what's the plan? Did you go and see Oggi yesterday?”

“Yes, I did. And the plan is for me to take you to him.”

“Why's that?” she asked. “Wouldn't it be dangerous for him?”

“Yes, it would. But he really wants to speak to you. Apparently it's really important. So, are you up for a little adventure today?”

“I guess so. I haven't got any other plans. You'll have to give me a half hour or so to get ready though.”

“No problem. Take as long as you like, there's no hurry…Just one thing though,” he said, and reached down for his holdall. “Could you wear these clothes please.”

“Why?”

“All will become clear later.”

Stella finished her coffee, grabbed the holdall, and went to the bathroom to shower. Tags helped himself to another drink and stood by the window staring out into the street. Alonso was still parked up and watching the flat. As if the police weren't enough of a problem, he now had some Spanish goon to deal with as well. The journey to Oggi and Stratton was going to be interesting. He caught Alonso staring at him and gave the Spaniard a friendly wave.

After showering Stella opened Tags' holdall and took out the clothes. There was a pair of dark blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a black leather biker's jacket. For her feet a pair of sturdy leather biker boots. Everything fitted perfectly. She looked a bit like a female Fonz.

“All good to go then?” said Tags, as she returned to the living area.

“I suppose so,” she said. “Although I feel like a bit of a biker's moll.”

“That's the idea. Have you ever been on the back of a bike?”

“In my younger days,” she said. “I used to hang around with the bad boys.”

“Bad boys?” laughed Tags. “I didn't realize owning a motorbike made you bad. But I guess it's better than being boring.”

Tags' Harley was parked down the street, a few cars back from Alonso. He handed Stella a black helmet and mounted the machine. Stella got on behind him. The engine started with a thunderous roar, then ticked over slowly until Tags engaged it and gently moved off. He passed Alonso in the Vectra and waved. Alonso started his engine and moved after them.

Rush hour was over and the streets were negotiable if not entirely clear. Tags rode carefully, seemingly unperturbed by the shadow of Alonso. Stella held on, easy and relaxed, confident in Tags' handling of the powerful beast beneath. Although the rain continued to spatter down, the jacket was extremely warm and she felt suddenly liberated by the fresh air. Months of solitude had caused her to stagnate, and every breath blew away another fusty cobweb. She leant back and let her hair fly in the breeze, savouring every lungful of oxygen as if the element was new to her.

They pressed on towards the M4 with Alonso in tow. A hundred yards behind an unmarked squad car tracked them all.

Annie sat in silence debating what to say. Kamal had asked her a straight question and he deserved a straight answer. But there was no straight answer to give. The complexities of her life couldn't be summed up in a sentence, a paragraph, or even a long-winded speech. She had spent years in therapy trying to come to terms with what happened, and even then she had only skimmed the surface: how could she possibly quantify it all to someone else.

“I don't know,” she said, eventually. “I don't know why he called me Tracy. Perhaps I remind him of somebody. You know what those guys are like – they're all fucked in the head.”

“Maybe,” said Kamal. “But he seemed very certain of his words. And if it was a mistake then you certainly overreacted to it.”

Annie stared out of the window, a sickening storm of emotion welling inside. She desperately wanted to tell Kamal everything, after all – he had opened up to her, but she could see no way of explaining it without him hating her. As soon as she told him the truth their friendship would come to an end. He would think her evil. And he would be right.

Kamal reached across and caressed her hand. “Listen,” he said softly. “Whatever it is, I do not mind. You know the evil I have done in my life, I am not able to judge anyone else.”

Annie turned to face him, then quickly looked away. His eyes were kind and open, filled with a compassion that she didn't deserve. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm just not ready to talk about it at the moment. I wish I could…” She stuttered and choked back the tears. “I just can't…It's too much.”

“Do not fret,” said Kamal, continuing with his calming tone. “You do not have to say anything. The past can stay where it belongs. All that matters is what you do now and in the future.”

Kamal's words, however, did not register. Annie's moistened eyes were fixed on the TV in horror. She was staring at a picture of herself.

Stella felt alive, losing herself in a windswept moment as the Harley cruised down the motorway at an even seventy, its robust engine emitting a satisfying, throaty grunt. Cars passed by with passengers giving admiring yet slightly envious glances. She revelled in the freedom of the open road, forgetting temporarily the reason for her journey, and the fact they were being followed.

After a while she looked back briefly to check on Alonso who, sure enough, was still tailing them, and wondered how on earth Tags was going to lose him drifting along at such a sedate speed. She wanted to ask, but the noise was far too great for any form of verbal communication.

Just after Bristol Tags made a pit-stop at the Gordano services. Stella remembered the last time she had been there, four months earlier when she and Jennings had been on their way down to Exmoor.

“I thought we'd grab a bite to eat,” said Tags as he dismounted.

“Sounds good,” Stella agreed.

They headed for the café. Behind them Alonso followed. A plain clothes detective tracked them all.

After standing dutifully in line and filling their plates from the breakfast buffet, they sat down at a table by the window. Tags started to wolf down his greasy morsels.

“Alonso's over there,” said Stella, pointing.

Tags didn't bother looking round. “I know,” he said, between mouthfuls. “Don't sweat it. Eat your food.”

Stella shrugged and did as she was told. The food was slightly cardboardy but the tea was good and helped wash it down. They ate in silence, mainly because of Tags' blinkered occupation with his meal.

When he eventually lay down his cutlery, Stella spoke. “How are we going to get rid of Alonso?” she asked.

Tags grinned. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “Everything's in hand. And besides it's not just Alonso, we've got the rozzers for company as well.”

“I haven't noticed them,” said Stella.

“You wouldn't have, you're too preoccupied with Alonso. But believe me they're here somewhere. They've been tracking me for months.”

Stella looked round to see if she could spot any likely suspects. Twenty feet behind her she noticed a man on his own sipping coffee and reading the
Guardian
, she immediately made him for police. “You're right,” she said. “Three tables back, grey suit.”

“You've got him,” laughed Tags.

“So how do we lose them?” she pressed.

Tags finished his tea with a slurp. “All in good time,” he said. “Now, I expect you'll be needing the loo before we head off won't you?”

“I guess so,” she replied.

“Well, run along then. I'll wait here.”

Stella made her way to the toilets, wondering why Tags had been so keen to get rid of her. Perhaps he was going to pull a stunt on Alonso and the cops while she was gone. Ultimately it was out of her hands so she just had to trust him.

The ladies' toilets were busy enough but there were plenty of spare cubicles. She passed by a few on the grounds of hygiene until finding one that was suitable. She entered, but before she could close the door, a figure shot in with her.

“What the—!?” she shouted.

The woman put a finger to her lips. “Shssh,” she whispered. “I'm a friend of Tags'.”

Stella looked her up and down. She had long dark hair just like her own, and was wearing exactly the same outfit. Apart from a few disparities in their facial features she could have been looking in a mirror. The penny slowly dropped.

The woman handed her a leather holdall. “Put on these clothes, put your hair up, then go to the Days Inn hotel next door – room 301. Good luck.” She exited the cubicle leaving Stella to her own devices.

Stella chuckled as she thought of Alonso and the cops following Tags on a wild goose chase with her doppelganger in tow.

After changing into her new apparel of black jeans and jumper, she fixed her hair and left the toilets. Tags' bike had gone, and so had Alonso's Vectra. The switch had been successful.

She walked casually over to the hotel and breezed through reception, eyeing the room numbers as she went. After a couple of wrong turns she found 301 and knocked on the door.

There was no answer so she knocked again. This time the door opened slowly and a familiar beady eye poked through the crack. It was Oggi.

Stella didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In the end she did neither. “Well, let me in then,” she said.

He opened the door and shuffled her in quickly. He'd only just had time to shut it when she leapt up and gave him a hug.

“Steady on,” he said. “You'll do me a mischief.”

She let go for a moment, but then grabbed him again and kissed his beard. “It's just good to see you,” she said.

“Likewise,” said Oggi. “I've been looking forward to it. I'm sorry it couldn't have been sooner, but it's a bit difficult arranging a social life at present. Can I get you a coffee or a tea. I've got some nice shortbread from the service station.”

“Coffee would be great,” she beamed.

She sat down on the edge of one of the beds and took off her boots. They were brand new and pinching slightly. “I hope you don't mind,” she said to Oggi. “I don't think they smell too much.”

“Not at all,” said Oggi. “The way I've been living for the last three months, they're positively fragrant.”

“You don't smell too bad now,” she commented.

“No. You're lucky, I've had a bath.”

“Where have you been hiding out anyway?” asked Stella.

“On the moors,” he replied, pouring Stella a coffee.

“Bloody hell!” said Stella. “In this weather? You must have been soaked to the bone. And January and February were so cold as well. I'm amazed you didn't catch hypothermia.”

“It wasn't that bad,” Oggi insisted. “I made myself a nice little dugout with a fire, and Tags and Dino brought me supplies, so I haven't starved.”

Stella sipped at her coffee. “All the same,” she said, “it can't have been easy. Wasn't it lonely?”

Oggi nibbled at a piece of shortbread, looking awkward. “I suppose it was, but I didn't really think about it. I guess I was just pleased to be free. I felt a bit like Grizzly Adams.”

“Well, you've certainly got his look,” she laughed.

“Yes, but I'm afraid the beard's going to have to go. I'm going to shave all my hair off as well. I can't risk being recognized.”

“No, of course not,” agreed Stella. “But to be honest there's a much bigger manhunt going on at the moment. The Prime Minister was shot at last week, or hadn't you heard.”