Bone and Cane (9 page)

Nick wondered if Andrew intended a warning. He didn’t like hitting his friend up for money. But the only alternative was to ask for a job. That would be more uncomfortable for both of them. Family was different. Having your younger brother for a boss might be humiliating, but it was an acceptable temporary solution. Joe was helping him out, not ordering him around. Whereas Andrew was a natural boss, always had been, even back when they both despised bosses. It wouldn’t work.

‘How did you deal with prison?’ Andrew asked. ‘As bad as they say?’

‘At first. Then you go into a kind of limbo, pace yourself. It’s the only way to get through.’

Few people asked about life inside. That was the point of prison. It was elsewhere, a place civilized people needn’t think about. But Andrew didn’t flinch from the tough questions.

‘No beatings, attempted buggery, the stuff you hear about?’

‘There’s a lot of bullying, but I’m big enough to make people think twice and I kept myself fit. A few lads came on to me. You learn to say “no”, firm but polite.’

‘You’re heavier, in a good way.’

‘Mostly muscle,’ Nick said, dismissively. ‘Plenty of time to work out inside. It stops you thinking too much.’

Andrew’s voice became more serious.

‘It could have been me in there, some of the tricks I used to get up to. I don’t think any the worse of you for it. Sorry I didn’t stay in touch.’

‘You and all the rest,’ Nick told him. ‘I kept your name out of it anyhow.’

‘Appreciated,’ Andrew said, stroking his beard the way he did when he had something to think about. ‘Mind, I really was out of it by then.’

‘Pull the other one,’ Nick said. ‘You gave me the contacts.’

‘And left you to it,’ Andrew told him.

‘You took a cut,’ Nick reminded him, gently.

Andrew gave a faint smile. ‘Nothing traceable.’

‘Sounds like you have a flexible definition of
legit
.’

Both men allowed themselves a wide smile, the grin of old friends who understood each other.

‘What do you need, Nick? You know you only have to ask.’

‘Money,’ Nick replied.

‘How much?’

‘As much as you can afford to give me.’

10

T
he Commons had no system for boxing up and returning an MP’s possessions when they lost their seat. Sarah locked the door of her office for the last time as an opposition MP. She’d have to return before the next parliament to clear out her room.

‘Sarah?’ It was Gill Temperley. The minister’s light-haired, blue-eyed young researcher stood a respectful few yards behind. ‘I wanted to wish you luck. There are too few of us here and you’ve made such a strong start.’

‘Thanks. It’ll be a tough one, but you never know.’

Gill smiled gamely at this show of bravado, then swept off. Her years as a minister were over, but she’d had a good run. There would be many more women in the Commons when Labour won the election. Labour had instituted women-only shortlists for candidate selection meetings to ensure that. A legal challenge had stopped the policy, but not before dozens of female candidates had been installed. There would be plenty of women to take Sarah’s place.

‘Ah, I caught you.’ Jasper March intercepted Sarah in the lobby and handed her a brown envelope. ‘I don’t know where you got this,’ he said. ‘I suspect it was dug up by some diligent reporter on your local paper. Make sure he gets all the credit.’

‘Or she,’ Sarah said. ‘Thanks for . . . whatever it is.’

‘We’re even,’ Jasper said. ‘Or maybe when you’ve used that, you’ll owe me. But I won’t call in the favour until you’re in government.’

He leant forward and placed his hand on Sarah’s back, then made the affectionate rubbing gesture that was currently prevalent in London but had yet to penetrate Nottingham. The gesture was a kind of polite, implied hug, both too subtle and too shallow to catch on north of Watford.

Tories wishing me luck
, Sarah thought.
What does that mean?
She wanted to open the envelope straight away but to do so would mean returning to her office for privacy and she was already late. She placed the envelope beneath the
New Statesman
in her briefcase. So many MPs were leaving the building that she had to wait ten minutes for a cab to St Pancras, where she was just in time for the 17.04.

Sarah took a seat in first class but couldn’t open the envelope. There were too many other MPs around. David. Alan. John. Graham. Tony. She tried to work out what juicy morsel might puncture Barrett’s balloon. Extra-marital affairs were two a penny. Domestic violence, maybe. Or bribery. Another cash-for-questions scandal would be hard for a Tory to live down. Better, some straightforward, old-fashioned kind of corruption.

The train was delayed. Sarah thought about taking the envelope to the loo, opening it there. But you couldn’t flush the loo while a train was in the station. Her going there would look strange. Outside the carriage, a familiar figure hurried by, clutching one of those large, cheap, pre-booked tickets. This time, Sarah was sure it was him. Nick. No different at this distance from the way he looked twelve years before. His hair was the same length, not short enough to be fashionable now, not long enough to be fashionable then. Even his leather jacket was the sort of thing he wore when she knew him. And he was getting on this train. To talk to him, all she had to do was walk down a few carriages.

Dan had been gone for a month now. She missed him, but only a little. Not the way she had missed Nick, for years and years. Nick would never have let her get away with not telling him about Ed Clark’s assault. He would have noticed her change of mood, wormed it out of her.

The train started to move. Sarah sat stock still for several minutes. The PA system announced that the buffet car was open. There was a trolley service in first class that most passengers used. Her presence in second class might strike some as strange, if they knew MPs could travel first class for free, but she set off anyway. None of the seats Sarah passed had the reservation slips sticking out of the top. Nick would be in one of the reserved seats. It wasn’t enough that the railway made you travel on particular trains in order to get a cheap ticket. They also made you sit with all the other cheap ticket holders.

There was a large queue at the counter in the buffet car. She stood in it for a few moments in case Nick might come by. But he didn’t. Now she was faced with the choice of returning to her seat or walking through the remaining four or five carriages, looking for him. She would be recognised. Constituents might try to draw her into conversation. Even were she to join Nick, find a free seat next to him, there was every chance that somebody would eavesdrop on what was bound to be a delicate conversation. No, she decided. She would leave it for now. After the election, when she was a free woman, then she would find him.

The train got in at quarter past six, twenty minutes late. Nick watched as the suits hurried to get to the front of the taxi queue. Andrew had given him a couple of grand, in cash. Enough to be going on with, not enough to flash on cabs or a hotel in London. He’d felt uncomfortable in London. Nottingham was home. And he’d soon be out from under Joe and Caroline’s hair. Provided he could sort out a couple of references to convince the letting agency, Nick now had the deposit for a small flat on Alfreton Road. Probation would wonder how he got a decent place without a job, but Nick had a couple of lies prepared for them, too.

After eating, he drove for a couple of hours, then stopped off in New Basford. The kids were in bed and, soon, so were he and Polly. They could hear arguing in the next room.

‘Do they do this often?’ he asked Polly, when she came up for air.

‘One can’t sleep, so they wake up the other, who’s bad tempered. Then they start to fight. They only do it if they think I’m asleep. I’d go in there, except I sometimes bring one of them back to this room and . . .’

‘It’s okay.’ It wasn’t okay. The only way he could focus on sex was by making it more intense.

‘Turn over, would you?’

She did as he asked. He entered Polly from behind, one hand propping up his body so that he didn’t crush her.

‘Harder!’ She panted, and grabbed his spare hand, guiding it to her clit. The rougher he was, the more she seemed to like it. Polly had to bite the pillow to keep from making a noise. Both came quickly.

In the next room, the bickering seemed to be over.

‘Think they heard anything?’ he whispered as they lay together in the dark.

‘I don’t care any more,’ she said.

‘How long ago did you say it was?’ he asked, because if he didn’t ask soon, it would sound like he wasn’t interested. ‘The murder?’

‘It was five years ago today.’

Ouch.

‘What happened?’ he asked, when she’d been silent for a while.

‘Their dad, my brother Terry, he was in the police. This bloke Terry put away got out. Soon as he got out, he took his revenge. At least, that’s what the court said at the time. This bloke, Ed Clark, got out on appeal. That’s what I was seeing the MP about, the time you picked me up.’

‘And Ed Clark was found guilty of killing them both?’

She spoke quietly, on the edge of tears. ‘Shot them. Raped her first, the prosecution said, but the evidence was always slim. Look, I don’t . . .’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .’ There were no words, so he held her tight. ‘How much do the kids know?’

‘They were too young to really understand. But one day . . .’ She began to cry. He kissed away her tears. Then he made love to her again.

‘I needed that,’ she said afterwards. ‘Stay the night if you want.’

He kissed her tenderly on the side of her lips. ‘Too complicated, love. I’ll be off soon.’

She kissed him back. ‘I like it when you call me
love
. Go on then, get back to your wife.’

He ignored the taunt. Easiest to let her think there was a wife.

He left ten minutes later and drove for a while. When he got back, Caroline was up, drinking cocoa in the living room. She had been sleeping badly for a couple of weeks now.

‘Long night?’ she asked. ‘Make much?’

‘Enough to get by. I should be out of your hair soon. Seeing a flat tomorrow. Then I can make a bit of space in the attic and give you the spare room back.’

Caroline gave him a tired smile. ‘I like having you here some of the time, Nick. But now that I’m on leave . . . Joe and I want this baby all to ourselves when it comes. I’m sure you understand.’

‘I do. I need my own space too. I’m going to go outside for a quick smoke before I turn in. Helps me sleep.’

‘I’ll join you.’

He found the joint he’d left half finished two nights before. The three-inch tube was dry and flared when he lit it, illuminating the night. A half moon hid behind metallic grey clouds. He took care to blow the smoke away from Caroline.

‘When you came out,’ she said, ‘I thought you’d go on an enormous binge and take Joe with you. But you soon calmed down.’

‘I know what I was like before. I’m not going to make those mistakes again.’

‘We’re all condemned to repeat our mistakes, aren’t we?’

Nick didn’t answer.

After Sarah had opened the envelope, there hadn’t been time to see Brian Hicks from the
Evening Post
. She’d had a long session with the Nottingham West party executive to plan the local strategy. The meeting made clear that, for Sarah to have a real chance, she needed to give herself an extra edge. Jasper March had already provided it. She couldn’t tell the exec members that. Not tonight. Probably not ever.

She wasn’t able to catch up with Brian until midnight. Two hours ago. The contents of Jasper March’s brown envelope lay spread across Sarah’s kitchen table.

‘Quite a start to the campaign.’ Brian Hicks drained his third glass of malt. He was over the limit, but that was his problem, not Sarah’s.

‘You aren’t going to tell me where you got this, are you?’

‘Not likely. Am I wrong to use it?’

‘Good God, no. Though better that it doesn’t seem to come from you. Let me try another tack: where do you suggest I say I got the story?’

‘I thought journalists protected their sources.’

‘Only when the source has something to hide.’

Brian picked up his laptop. He had the story almost written, thanks to Sarah’s assistance, but it wouldn’t appear for another day. The final edition of the paper went to bed at eight in the morning. Brian needed to pass Legal and get a quote from Barrett Jones. He would talk to Jones at the last possible moment, not giving away how much he already knew. By then, he also hoped to have spoken to the girl’s father.

‘Are we even now?’ Sarah asked.

‘Oh yes. But you stand to make a lot more out of this than I do.’

‘I’ve given myself half a chance, that’s all.’

‘I always thought you were ruthless, when it came down to it. I like that in a woman.’

Sarah smiled, and sidestepped the kiss she could tell Brian was about to plant on her.

‘Looks like I’ll be keeping you up all night, Brian,’ she said, giving him a friendly wink.

‘A man can dream,’ he said, then saw himself out.

11

C
ane Cars’ Sherwood waiting room was for drivers and walk-in punters alike. Nick read the
Mirror
’s sports pages. He’d followed football before he went inside. Since getting out he’d struggled to reconnect with the game. When Joe was playing, Nick often went to see him at Meadow Lane, but these days Joe kept his distance from the club.

‘A’right, kid?’

Nick nodded at the bald-headed driver who’d just walked in.

‘Don’t come in here much, do you?’

Nick avoided the cab office when he didn’t have a reason to be there: he didn’t want the other drivers to connect him to Joe. Only Bob and the switch operators knew. This guy had given him a lift back to Joe’s one night but, as far as Nick knew, had not made the connection between the brothers, even though they looked similar. Maybe he didn’t know Joe. This afternoon, Nick was waiting for Joe to return and give him a lift to the flat-letting agency, where he would collect a set of keys.