Fear of the Fathers (29 page)

“Who's
we
?”

“It's just a phrase. But I guess I mean me and Oggi.”

“Oh. Okay,” she grunted. She pulled out her cigarettes and offered one to Oggi. She lit both. “So what was the point in bringing me down here?” she continued. “Why not just fuck off to India and leave me to get on with my life without you?”

Stratton, wary of the smoke alarms, got up and opened the window. “For a start, I wanted to let you know the truth,” he said. “From what Tags told us, you were in a real state after Alonso had put the seeds in your head. I couldn't let you live in doubt. It would have eaten you up.”

Stella let out a puff of smoke. “My hero,” she said.

Stratton carried on. “And secondly, we're going to need as much help as we can get to escape the country.”

“Oh, I see. You want my help now do you?”

“Yes I need your help. Well you and Jennings. You two must know all the ways of getting out of a country unnoticed. Tags can get us fake passports and the like, but I'm not sure if it will be enough. I don't know if it's worth the risk.”

“Well,
you'll
be fine,” she said. “No-one's looking for you. But Oggi's a different matter. I don't think he'd get through passport control however heavily disguised he was. Not unless you left it a year or so.”

“That's what I thought,” said Stratton. “But time's a luxury we haven't got. We need to get the box safely away very soon.”

“So you have got the box then?” she said.

“Yes, of course.”

“How the hell did that happen? It went missing at Stonehenge. You were dead.”

“Good question,” said Stratton. “The simple answer being that Oggi took it.”

“But he wasn't even there.”

Oggi laughed. “You didn't see me,” he said, “but that doesn't mean I wasn't there.”

“And I suppose it was you who brought this bag of shit back to life,” she said, pointing her cigarette at Stratton.

“Yes, it was. Well, me and the lads. It took four of us to do it. With Stratton's instructions of course.”

Stella looked at Stratton. “So you knew you were going to die?”

“No, of course not,” he replied. “But I thought I'd better have a plan in place if I did.”

Stella stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another. Her head was whizzing with so many questions that she couldn't make sense of anything. She took a few seconds to still her mind. “So why couldn't you bring Jeremy's son back to life?” she asked.

“It wasn't a case of not being able to, it was a case of it not being right.”

“What? So it's okay for you to rise from the dead, but not anyone else.”

“No, it wasn't like that. His spirit had moved on, he didn't want to come back. That's why I broke off the ritual. I felt him screaming in my head. You can't drag somebody back against their will.”

“Why didn't Jeremy hear him?”

“Because people only hear what they want to hear. Jeremy was so fixed on bringing him back that he didn't stop to think of whether it was right. His son could have screamed forever and Jeremy wouldn't have noticed.”

Stella got to her feet and walked to the window. She stood quietly for a while staring out into the trees.

Oggi finished his coffee. “Right then,” he said. “I'm going to make a start shaving all this off. I'll leave you two to it.” He went to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Stratton joined Stella at the window and put his hand on her shoulder. Her instinct was to shy away, but his touch was warm and comforting. “I am sorry you know,” he said. “Really sorry.”

Stella's eyes started to swell. “I know, it's just all a bit much for me at the moment. I can't…I can't make sense of anything.”

Stratton gazed ruefully up to the stormy sky.

Diana Stokes downed the last of her tea and made ready to leave. Slipping the letter inside her coat she picked up an umbrella and left the house. The rain was teeming and she kept low and huddled to stay dry during the short walk to the tube station.

All week she had debated what to do with Abebi's letter. A strong part of her wanted to hand it over to the police and confess everything, to clear herself of any wrongdoing. But as the days had gone by she realized that her delay in coming forward would look suspicious, and the longer she left it the worse it became.

Countering the desire to save herself was a compassion for the deceased man. Abebi had been a most gentle soul and the beseeching look he had given when handing over the letter had stayed imprinted in her mind. There was also the small matter of the addressee: a man of the cloth. How could she possibly hand the letter over to anybody but him? Of course, it could all be a massive con, but she had to find out for sure.

After numerous stops and a change of line she finally arrived. She left the tube station and hurried along the route she had memorized from the A-Z. A feeling of doom gripped her and grew as she walked. By the time she arrived at her destination she wanted desperately to turn back and run to the police.

She took a deep breath and looked at the imposing building. Her mind was suddenly made up. Whatever the consequences she couldn't go against the will of the Lord. With renewed heart she walked up to the doors and into the church. Save for an old woman sitting at the front with her head bowed it was empty. Diana walked reverently down the left-hand aisle towards the confessional. On reaching it she pulled back the curtain and stepped in. “Hello,” she said. There was no answer.

Stepping back out she continued onwards towards the chancel. To her left was a door. She opened it cautiously and poked her head round into a small passageway. Before she could investigate further a voice from behind stopped her. “Can I help you?” it said.

She turned round to see a priest. “Sorry Father. I was just looking for someone to help me.”

The priest smiled. “No need to apologize,” he said. “Can I be of any assistance.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I'm looking for a Father Patrick Cronin.”

“Well then, you're in luck – you've found him. Now, what can I do for you?”

It was 6pm when the Prime Minister's car finally pulled up outside Downing Street. It had been another long day and Jennings was looking forward to kicking his shoes off and relaxing in his room. The pressure of being constantly alert had exhausted him, and all he really wanted was some time to himself.

“Thank God for that,” said Appleby, as they watched the Prime Minister and his wife ascend the stairs.

“Yeah,” agreed Jennings. “It's been a long old week. I'm absolutely shattered.”

“You and me both,” said Appleby. “My head's still buzzing though. I need to unwind. Do you fancy going for a drink?”

“Do you mind if I don't?” said Jennings. “I just want to lie down and watch some TV.”

“Come on,” urged Appleby. “A couple of drinks, then you can come back and rest as long as you like. We're off tomorrow.”

Jennings sighed. “Oh, alright then,” he said reluctantly. “But just a couple, then I'm coming back.”

“Good lad. There's a place just round the corner. We'll be there in five.”

Jennings followed his partner and they headed off up the road. The rain hit his face hard and stopped him from falling asleep on his feet. By the time they reached the bar he was drenched but wide awake.

He didn't look at the name of the place, but he didn't need to. It was one of the many faceless wannabe wine-bar-cum-bistro's, that sprouted up every now and then, yearning for some celebrity patronage to promote their progression into the pantheon of credibility. He shook himself off and took a seat next to the window. Appleby went to get the drinks. He returned with two pints of lager and two large cognacs.

“Chasers as well,” said Jennings. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I thought we could do with them to ward off the chill. This weather's not doing my health any good at all.”

Jennings raised the smaller glass. “Cheers,” he said. “Here's to brighter skies.” He took a swig of cognac and sat back in his chair.

Taking off his jacket he pulled his mobile phone from the pocket and, as it had been on ‘silent' all day, checked for messages and missed calls. There was just one text, it was from Stella and simply read:
Please call me. I need your help. Xx

“Anything important?” asked Appleby.

“Maybe,” said Jennings. “I'll deal with it when we get back. I just need half an hour to relax.”

“Told you,” said Appleby. “Always good to wind down with a drink. Who is it? Female?”

“Yes, but not like you think.”

“Oh aye,” Appleby winked. “That's what they all say.”

Jennings, too tired to be defensive, laughed. “I suppose they do…I don't know mate – it's a complicated situation.”

Appleby nodded sagely. “It always is with women buddy. Three marriages, two divorces – I'm still none the wiser. Can't live with ‘em – can't kill ‘em…”

Jennings chuckled and glugged some lager. “The thing is mate,” he said. “I just don't know where I stand. We're good friends—”

Appleby raised his hand. “Stop right there old son. You've already made the fatal mistake. Never start befriending them. You're on the slippery slope to niceness now. I've seen it enough times. She'll keep you there – hanging on in hope, occasionally giving you a few morsels of encouragement – until eventually she finds some hot bloke who pushes her sexual buttons, and then it's bye bye Jennings.”

“Thanks for the encouragement mate,” said Jennings, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He thought talking to someone might help. But he should have known what to expect from a grizzled campaigner like Appleby.

Appleby gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry mate,” he said. “Don't listen to me, I'm just an old cynic. If I knew anything about women I wouldn't have fucked up so many times. You go ahead and do what feels right to you. Whatever happens, you've got to be true to yourself – fuck what anybody else says.”

Jennings raised his glass. “Cheers,” he said. “Fuck ‘em.”

They stayed for another hour, drinking slowly and chatting about nothing in particular, until eventually Jennings suggested they head back.

“Already,” said Appleby.

“Yes mate,” said Jennings. “I'm dog tired. If I have anything more to drink I'll probably fall asleep at the table. Tell you what though – if you're up for it, we'll have a few tomorrow lunchtime. Make it a bit of a session. I've not made any plans.”

“Why not,” said Appleby. “I haven't had a Saturday session for a while.”

They walked the short distance back to No.10 in silence, hunched against the rain, and made their way up to their quarters.

“Listen mate,” said Appleby. “I know you're tired, but I'll just go and get you those notes I was talking about last night. You know the ones I mean.”

“Okay mate,” he said wearily. “Bring them down and I'll have a look at them later.”

“Cheers Jennings,” he beamed. “I'll be back in a couple of minutes.” He headed up the corridor to his room.

As soon as he was through the door Jennings took off his jacket and fetched a towel from the bathroom. He sat at his desk, dried off his hair and face, then changed into his tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. Switching on the TV, he sat back on the bed and waited for Appleby to return with his notes.

Two minutes later he was fast asleep.

Stella dismounted the Harley, took off her helmet, and handed it back to Tags. “Thanks for today,” she said. “It's been good for me.”

“You're not mad at me for keeping it a secret then?” he said.

“No, of course not. It's not your fault, you were only acting under instructions.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I'm glad you're okay with it all. I was starting to feel guilty.”

“Well then,” she said. “I'd better get inside, I'll catch my death out here in this. Are you sure you don't want to come in?”

“Thanks for the offer, but no – I've got things to do. But if you need anything just give me a call.”

She said goodbye and ran to the front door.

The flat was warm and she felt a strong glow as she walked in. She put the kettle on and changed into some dry clothes. After making a hot chocolate she sat down in front of the TV and lit a cigarette. Her mind was still in a state of confusion, but inside the turmoil had subsided somewhat, and for the first time in two days she was able to relax.

She watched the news half-heartedly, taking a slight interest in the main Tracy Tressel story, but drifting away until footage of the Prime Minister in Manchester came on. In the background she could see an eagle-eyed Jennings checking out the crowd. She smiled as the camera panned round and gave a better view.