Dishonour (11 page)

Tasha turned her head to see Arnold’s reaction. But he wasn’t listening and had the same faraway look in his eyes she’d often seen. There was a part of her that wanted to ask him more questions about himself. About his life. But she knew not to. Not asking questions was part of her life since as far back as she could remember. Whatever he did, it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. He’d tell her if she needed to know. In that way he was no different to Freddie.

‘Arnie?’

‘Mmm? … Sorry, did you say something?’

Turning away, she watched the rain from the sudden cloud burst hit against the passenger seat window. ‘No. Don’t worry darling; it was nothing important. Okay, half an hour, that’s all and then I really have to go and see Ray-Ray.’

‘So, you’ll let me take you?’

‘Looks like I’ve got no choice.’

The flats were nondescript; a low rise block like thousands of other low rise blocks which had been built in the sixties for working families. The outside was clean, almost sterile with a few trees lining the pathway to the communal front door and Tasha was struggling to conjure up any enthusiasm for the place. ‘Is this what you wanted to show me Arnie, a concrete block of flats?’

Aware it was almost midday, she glanced at her emerald-encrusted Rolex, a treat to herself after finding Freddie humping one of the little tarts from Frankie Taylor’s club, a good friend of Freddie’s and a known face back in Soho.

‘No, of course not. You should know me better than that. Today’s the day. 28, 7, 98. Remember?’

Tasha frowned. Arnold was forever quoting numbers at her. It was one of his little quirks. She’d given up asking him what they represented a while ago, after one too many long-winded explanations. It was odd to Tasha to see anyone love numbers the way he did, lighting up when he talked about them as if someone had just given him the biggest diamond on Bond Street. She’d always hated maths at school and even now it took a calculator for her to work out the simplest of sums. Yet Arnie seemed to have a passion for numbers, seeing an equation to solve or a pattern of numbers in the most ordinary of things.

Arnie was looking at her with expectation. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?’

Shit. She’d no idea what he was talking about, but the look in his eyes told her it was something important; something which mattered and something she’d clearly forgotten. Was it his birthday? She wasn’t great with all that stuff at the best of times, and with the added anxiety of Ray-Ray it must have gone clean out of her head. Actually, she couldn’t even recall the conversation they’d had about it. Still, she didn’t want to hurt him and let on she’d forgotten. He’d been so good to her.

‘Oh course I remember silly … Today’s the day.’ Tasha smiled weakly, hoping Arnold wouldn’t pick up on the fact she wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to be getting excited about.

‘Come on then. I can see you want to get on with it,’ Arnold said as he opened the driver’s door. He paused and leaned back in. Reaching across to the back seat, he smiled as he grabbed the twisted rope from the back seat.

Inside, the flats were just as spotless as the outside of them, with a smell reminding Tasha of the hospital; the place she should really be getting back to.

Arnold had gone ahead in front of her and from the stairwell, she could hear the sound of him opening his front door. Sighing, she continued to make her way up the stairs, hoping that they could leave soon.

‘Jesus, Arnie, what’s that smell?’ Tasha walked into Arnold’s flat covering her nose.

‘You can smell it too?’

‘Yeah.’

Arnold blinked. ‘Really?’

‘Too bleeding right I can, open one of them windows darlin’. I reckon you must have a blocked drain. Haven’t you reported it?’

‘Thought perhaps it was just me, so I didn’t want to cause a fuss.’

‘Arnie, you’re a sweetie but Christ, sometimes you’ve really got to grow a bleeding pair. You ain’t getting nothing done in this life if you can’t give it a bit of bollocks when you need to. I’ll get them to sort it. Where’s the number for the management office?’

‘Over there on the table next to the phone. There’s a list of numbers.’

Tasha walked across to the table. The place was tiny. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but certainly not this. Apart from the smell, the place was pristine. Nothing seemed to be out of place. The row of cups she could see in the small kitchenette were lined up with regimental precision and she watched as Arnold straightened the last mug, making sure the handle was turned the same way as the others.

The brown kitchen worktops gleamed nearly as brightly as the stainless steel sink did. And the two tea towels left on top were folded up into what Tasha could only describe as an origami type bird.

Catching Arnold staring at her, she smiled back, feeling slightly annoyed at the length of time it was taking for the phone to be answered.

Walking out of the kitchenette, Arnold watched her from the back. Her blonde hair was tied up in a high ponytail, giving him a glimpse of her neck. Smooth, long and beautiful.

Arnold tightened his grip on the rope. Perhaps he wouldn’t need it. Maybe she’d be happy to stay. She seemed so keen. So helpful.

He didn’t know why, but he could feel his breath beginning to become shallow. The drips of sweat were prickling at his skin and running down his forehead. His palms were wet, causing the texture of the rope to feel rougher on his hands. Taking one step closer to her, he shut his eyes. He was ready.

The knock on the door was loud. Tasha swung round with her hand on her chest.

‘Bleeding hell, that frightened me. Scared me half to death.’ They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Tasha glanced down to see what Arnold had in his hand.

‘What you still holding onto that for? Put it away, it’s filthy.’ The second knock on the door was louder and more prolonged. ‘Hold on, we’re coming,’ Tasha shouted as she put the phone down, gently pushing past Arnold and going to open the door.

A small man dressed in jeans and a stripy blue jumper followed Tasha back into the living area. ‘Sorry to bother you, but I heard you come in. I’m from number twenty-five by the way. It’s a bit embarrassing, but there’s a really nasty smell and I sort of worked out it was coming from here. I wondered if you had some drainage problems?’

‘Oh that’s fine babe; I was actually just trying to get through to the caretaker about it now. No answer though. I don’t suppose you know anything about drains do you?’

The man smiled, eyeing Tasha’s well-proportioned body.

‘A little bit.’

‘Maybe you want to take a butchers in the bathroom then? See if there’s anything to see.’

The tiny width of the flat meant Tasha could reach the bathroom door without needing to move. As she put her hand on the door and began to open it, Arnold who’d been frozen to the spot, leapt across the room, frightening the man and stopping Tasha from opening the door fully. He pulled it shut with force and spoke in a trembling voice. ‘No. Not yet, it’s not ready for you yet. You can’t go in there.’

Tasha glanced at the neighbour who looked slightly shocked and mildly embarrassed. She smiled warmly, then giggled, sounding like a teenager.

‘Your face is a picture. It’s a surprise; I’m not allowed to see it yet. Been going on about it all day, though really it should be me giving him the surprise; it’s his birthday.’

The man beamed at Arnold and a moment later a grinning Tasha and the neighbour burst into an impromptu rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ to a pensive-looking Arnold.

‘I’ll meet you downstairs in the car.’ Arnold spoke monosyllabically as Tasha walked down the stairwell with the neighbour, chattering away.

Everything seemed to be going wrong. It was supposed to be so simple, and now he’d let her down. If he hadn’t been so hesitant he’d be giving her what she deserved. His father had always told him he was hesitant. Hesitant and stupid. Stupid and hesitant Arnold.

Putting his head round the bathroom door, Arnold scowled. ‘Well, would you look at that.’ He walked into the windowless room as he spoke to himself and picked up a towel lying on the floor. As he straightened the towel, putting it back on the rail with meticulous care, he caught a reflection in the mirror. Mess. Mess seemed to be everywhere.

Standing over the bath, Arnold brought out a tissue from his pocket and began to rub the offending tile, which held the tiniest of black marks. Stepping back to admire it, a scowl appeared on his forehead. There was another mark. He’d no idea how they got there. He was grateful Izzy hadn’t seen the mess.

After a few minutes of rubbing the ceramic clean until it squeaked, Arnold gave a final check before leaving the bathroom, closing the door and ignoring the headless torso lying in the bath.

‘Pull over here.’ Tasha felt sick. Her stomach turned in a cramp and her heart began to race faster. There, outside the hospital, she saw the figures of two large men standing by the entrance. They were Freddie’s men and they couldn’t be more obvious if they tried. Dark glasses with expensive leather jackets. Designer jeans with handmade Italian shoes. They stuck out like the proverbial, especially
as this was Bradford, not Soho.

Her stomach lurched as Arnold slowed down the car, bringing it to a stop in full view of the men. ‘Arnold, I’m sorry but I have to go. I’ll call you. I’m sorry about spoiling today.’

Arnold looked at her. He’d been quiet the whole journey.

‘I’m the one who should be apologising to you. I know this isn’t how you expected it to work out but …’

Tasha interrupted sharply. ‘Not now Arnold. Like I say, I’ll call you.’

The car door was slammed as Tasha got out and she was oblivious to Arnold’s car driving off. Her mind was on other things. Taking a deep breath, she walked towards the men who she knew by name, trying to ignore her legs wanting to give way underneath her.

They saw her and nodded. No smile. No wave. Only the small acknowledgement telling her they were here for a serious reason. Freddie.

Tasha couldn’t see their eyes behind the Ray-Bans but she could tell they were watching everything around them.

‘Who was that?’ The cockney accent growled out at her.

‘Who was what?’

‘The car you just got out of. Whose was it?’

Tasha swallowed and looked directly at them. ‘A cab. I felt too tired to drive. Problem?’

‘Not particularly; not yet anyway. We need a word.’ The men stood unmoving, waiting for Tasha to give them their full attention.

‘Freddie’s coming out.’

A look of astonishment crossed Tasha’s face. ‘What?’

‘He’s coming out. We’re springing him out on one of his visits to Ray-Ray. We’ll have to move fast when we get the nod. So you need to be on standby.’

Tasha’s face drained of colour. ‘Is he off his fucking head Johno?’

Ignoring her comment, Johno continued to talk. ‘He asked me not to give you any details. Oh, and you’ll be driving one of the cars.’

Tasha opened her mouth to say something but her shock silenced her.

‘You’ll only have to take him to where the helicopter will be waiting. He’ll worry about the rest but once Ray-Ray is out of hospital you’ll both go and join him.’

‘Just tell me why? And how he thinks he’s going to pull it off?’

‘Listen Tash, you ain’t got to worry about that. He wants to get out. Get whoever did this to Ray-Ray and once he has, you’ll all be shooting abroad.’

Tasha shook her head. ‘You don’t get it do you? There’s been enough shit already. My son’s lying inside there and you lot are talking about breaking out and fucking revenge. You make me sick.’

She began to walk away but her arm was grabbed by Johno. ‘Don’t make this hard for yourself Tash. Just be ready for our phone call. I’ve always liked you, but Freddie ain’t happy with you and however I feel about you won’t come into play if he gives me the nod … I don’t want to have to hurt you.’

Tasha shook off Johno’s hand and walked away without saying anything, feeling not only their stare but the chill of their warning.

12

Laila Khan looked at the man who was waving his arms about and shouting, not understanding a word he’d just said.

The hostility in the old man’s voice holding the cart was evident but the words didn’t make any sense. Tears stung Laila’s eyes but she refused to cry again. It seemed as if she’d been crying for the whole of the journey. Her nose was so blocked she could hardly breathe out of it and the combination of the dust and the heat wasn’t helping.

‘He’s telling you to move. To get out of the way before you’re killed. Did my brother teach you nothing?’ Mahmood stood behind his niece, once more despairing at the lack of teaching his dead brother had given his children.

Moving back, Laila braved herself to look around. Only a few days ago she was struggling over her maths homework, texting her friend Jasvinder and wondering how she was going to persuade her uncle to let her have a Saturday job to afford the jeans she’d seen in Topshop.

Yet here she felt virtually in a dreamlike state; a sense of almost being removed from her own being, looking down on herself standing by the side of the dusty road, in a country which looked as if every house, every road, every village had been scorched by the sun.

Terror ran through Laila in powerless, uncontrollable waves, the fear gripping her mind, instinctively putting her body on heightened alert and sending panic signals to her brain, telling her to run; to escape the danger she was in. But where would she go? Where would she hide, when she knew her uncle would stop at nothing to find her.

Ray-Ray came into her head, but the thought of his kindness, contrasted so much with what was happening around her that she blocked the thought out of her mind.

‘Stop daydreaming Laila, we’ve got a lot to do and you’re slowing us down. Tariq take the bags off the cart, I’ll get someone to help us. Stay here with your sister.’

Laila watched in horror as Mahmood walked towards the clay buildings. She’d presumed they’d just been taking a break from the unforgiving journey. Her body ached and she was exhausted. They’d taken the plane, a taxi and then a train, squashed in a stifling, squalid carriage with women, children and even a goat.