Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc (10 page)

Malcolm had been cosying up to Jamie, welcoming him into his home, bunging him cash and generally making Jamie feel like he was the best mate a man could have. The two-faced bastard was clever like that.

Now his father was asking him what he was going to do to keep Jamie sweet and unsuspecting.

The answer was this phone call. Richard hoped the grand gesture would get his co-conspirators off his back.

As Jamie slumped wearily in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea, Pippa called him to the phone. It was Richard, summoning him to dinner that night and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

`You're coming, mate. No arguments.' `Sorry, Rich, not tonight.'

`Look, you're out of prison now. You're allowed to have some fun.

Anyhow, the table's booked and Vanessa's dying to get to know my best man.'

`What did you say?’

'Didn't I mention it? My wedding - next May. You're the best man.' 'Rich. .

.'He floundered. Why would anyone want an ex-con for his best man?

Especially - considering Richard and Malcolm had been his passengers at the time of his crash - an ex-con who'd nearly killed him. Ì don't know what to say,' he mumbled.

`Course you do. The word's yes. And just you be ready at eight.' So he'd foregone his early night and togged himself up in his old clothes for dinner with Richard and his gorgeous fiancée of whom, he reminded himself, he was not supposed to have had carnal knowledge. Richard was on his own when he picked Jamie up. Vanessa, he said, was meeting them at the Roman Arms. Jamie didn't smell a rat until they entered the crowded bar.

He spotted Vanessa at once, perched on a high stool, all legs and blonde flamboyance. Next to her was another girl, a contrasting brunette, with legs maybe not so long and possibly more flesh on her bones, but out of the same stable nonetheless. The women turned as one as Richard and Jamie approached, their eyes gleaming.

61

`This is Georgie,' said Richard. `She went to some boarding school with Vanessa where they had to wear green knickers.'

`Richard!' Vanessa sniffed in pretend disapproval.

Àctually, we didn't bother much with knickers,' said Georgie as she gave Jamie a firm handshake. `Not in the sixth form anyway.' She gazed at him with a white-toothed smile and ill-concealed curiosity. Jamie remembered Vanessa saying at the races that she'd fix him up with one of her friends.

Obviously she wasn't wasting any time.

Jamie was out of practice with small talk. Fortunately the others were less inhibited and he was able to take cover in some horse chat with Richard while he adjusted to being in the company of an unknown but available woman.

Up close he revised his first impression of Georgie. There wasn't that much resemblance to Vanessa. She looked older than her friend, with shadows under her eyes that make-up could not conceal. And she talked too quickly, her Home Counties vowels cutting through the barroom Yorkshire chatter in a head-turning fashion. It occurred to Jamie that she was as nervous as he was.

The small restaurant upstairs was humming with enthusiastic diners and bustling service staff. Jamie found himself wedged onto an alcove banquette next to Georgie. He was instantly aware of her thigh, sheathed in a floral print skirt and flesh-toned tights, pressing into his.

`You two look cosy,' said Vanessa guilelessly from across the table. The witch.

Marie put down the phone and wandered into the front room where her father was watching Who Wants to be a Millionaire? At her approach he flicked the mute button on the remote control.

`Going out then, lass?'

She shook her head and slumped down next to him on the sofa. `When I was your age you'd not catch me at home on a Friday night. Get out and have some fun.'

Ìt's OK, Dad. I don't feel like it.'

The television flicked up a caption beneath the worried face of a contestant.

62

`Thirty-two grand question. Money for old rope,' muttered Clem Kirkstall.

`You haven't fallen out with young Colin, have you?'

She'd been avoiding Colin for weeks but she didn't want to debate it with her father who was keen on him. Colin would take the trouble to sit with Clem and jaw about racing. He'd also been Alan's best friend. But that didn't mean she had to marry him, did it?

Ìt's not that,' she said, `but there's no point in going out when I've got to get up at five in the morning.'

She'd said the same to Gail on the phone just now when she'd declined a trip to a club in Leeds. Once or twice she'd turned up for work after she'd been out all night and shed barely made it through the shift. Her friends must think she was really boring. Getting old before her time.

`Go on, lad, it's ruddy obvious. February the fifteenth, 1971.' Clem was bawling at the television. `Calls himself an economics lecturer, that one, and doesn't know the date of decimalisation.'

Marie laughed. She'd given up telling Dad to get himself on the programme. He knew all the answers. But if she thought he'd dropped the subject, she was mistaken.

`You don't have to go on a flaming great bender, you know. Get Colin to take you out for an hour or two.'

She could, of course, ring Colin. He'd change his plans and come running at the drop of a hat. But what girl wanted that? There was such a thing as being too devoted.

Àny road,' said her father, Ì've been asking around. They're looking for someone to help out in the surgery. Gooding told me when he popped in.'

Dr Gooding was an old friend of Clem's as well as his doctor. Time was when Clem would service the doctor's car - a reciprocal MOT

arrangement, her father called it. It was a one-sided arrangement now.

Ì'm not a doctor yet, Dad. At this rate I never will be.' Marie had always wanted to study medicine at university. A disappointing grade in Chemistry A-level had scuppered that prospect - which was why she was resitting.

Clem ignored her remark. `Now they've got their new computer system running they want to sort out their records. Apparently they're in a right 63

mess and they need someone to do a job short term. He says you're to call him in the morning.'

Òh,' said Marie as she digested this information. Instinctively - like the business with Colin - she resented having her life organised for her. `Mind you, if you want to carry on scrubbing toilets while the rest of the world is lying in bed then that's your business.'

The words `Yes, it is' leapt into her mind but she didn't utter them. She wasn't that stupid. The prospect of jacking in the cleaning was too enticing.

Ìf you take my advice,' he added, `you'll phone a friend.'

Ì'll call in the morning,' she said and reached out a hand to grip his.

`Thanks, Dad.'

He turned up the sound on the TV.

The conversation moved inevitably to Jamie's time in prison. Georgie, it seemed, knew about his situation and was eager to find out more. Her curiosity increased with every glass of wine she put away.

It started with the appearance of the restaurant's menu cards. To Jamie the list of choices was bewildering. He'd once been told by an old con at Garstone that one of the problems of adjusting to the world after a stretch inside was accepting responsibility for everyday things. Ìn here, you can't decide nothing for yourself. When you sleep, when you work, when you crap - it's all decided. You can't even open a door for yourself. It tell you, it's a ruddy great shock when you get outside.'

Jamie thought of these words as he read the list of dishes over and over. It was impossible to make a choice. He realised that the waiter was hovering with a notepad and the others were looking at him. `Sorry' he said. Ì'm a bit out of practice.'

Georgie leaned closer and a strand of raven hair brushed his cheek. `The steak's the best thing here. And onion soup to start.'

Èr, OK.'

`He'll have the same as me,' she announced, taking the menu out of his hands and returning it to the waiter.

Jamie felt both grateful and foolish. It was hardly the way to impress a woman. He tried to explain and suddenly his time in prison was the primary topic of conversation, hard as he tried to head it off.

64

`Come on then, Jamie,' said Vanessa. `What about sex behind bars?' She was sitting directly opposite him, the fall of her hair screening her knowing look from Richard.

Òoh yes, do tell,' cried Georgie. `What goes on with all of you tough desperate men cooped up in one place with no women?'

For a split second Jamie was tempted to get up and leave. He'd found prison hard and degrading. Fear and loneliness had sapped his spirit from the first day to the last. He'd walked a tightrope of survival and all his energies had been harnessed to getting across in one piece. And throughout his time inside his sex drive had simply disappeared. When he'd thought of women, he'd yearned for warmth and comfort, of a body wrapped around his at night. Thought of carnal pleasure had not entered into it. He couldn't answer for his fellow prisoners but he guessed it was the same for many of them. A man's sensual imagination was the first casualty of a place like Garstone.

But this was not the occasion to pour cold water on his companions'

ignorance. He'd been enough of a social flop already. And now he was a free man, the effect of Georgie's rounded hip rubbing suggestively against his was proof enough that the old urges were functioning again. More than that, they were raring to go.

Ìt's not what you think,' he said. `Nobody ever accosted me in the showers. Mind you - I made damned sure I never dropped the soap.'

The joke had the desired effect. The pair opposite laughed and Georgie squealed with tipsy excitement. She leant all over him, her eyes dancing and one hand gripping his arm. Across the table, Jamie saw Vanessa observing this with quiet satisfaction.

Then, over Vanessa's shoulder, he noticed a middle-aged waitress approaching to clear the table of their first course. She too was looking at him but with a different kind of expression on her large pink face. Hatred, pure and simple. He'd seen a lot of it where he'd been.

The pink face was thrust into his own.

`Murderer!' she shouted, spraying him with spittle. `They should never have let you out!'

65

With a sweep of her beefy forearm she upended everything on the table -

dirty plates, glasses and bottles - onto Jamie and Georgie. Red wine and brown soup splattered everywhere.

`This bastard killed my nephew,' she shouted to the astonished spectators at adjoining tables. `He's ruined my brother's life and he's free to go out with his fancy tart. There's no justice. He should rot in jail for what he's done!'

Jamie sat totally still as the place around him erupted. A posse of serving staff converged on the enraged waitress, who burst into tears as she allowed herself to be led away. Beside him Georgie, her clothes utterly drenched, screamed in outrage. Vanessa and Richard were on their feet as were many other diners. A man in a bow-tie - the manager, Jamie presumed - appeared, together with other senior restaurant staff. In the buzz of excited conversation, Jamie heard his name mentioned and then repeated. People were craning their necks to get a look at him.

There was even a smattering of applause from those who evidently approved of publicly humiliating drink-drive killers who escaped with piffling prison terms.

Vanessa had extricated Georgie from her seat now and was hugging her tight, trying to calm her hysterical friend.

Ì am so sorry,' gabbled the manager as a waiter tried ineffectually to put their table to rights. `This is quite unprecedented, I can assure you. Do you want me to call the police? I will if you want but I'm sure we can sort it out between ourselves. If you give us a few moments we'll have everything back to rights, I promise.'

Jamie stood up. `No police, thanks. Come on, Richard, let's go.' The manager fluttered around them on their bedraggled progress to the door.

Georgie's sobs mingled with the whispered hum of conversation from the other tables. Every eye was upon them.

Outside they split up, Vanessa ushering Georgie straight into her car and driving off with an unhappy glance in Jamie and Richard's direction.

`Jesus Christ,' said Richard. `You could sue.'

`No,' said Jamie. `Just get me out of here please, Rich. As quick as you can.'

The two men drove home in silence, their thoughts loud in their heads.

66

Upstairs in her bedroom, her eyes glazing over as she stared, yet again, at the Periodic Table, Marie heard the familiar phut of a car bumbling up the lane and parking outside the house. She glanced at her watch. It was not yet ten - early for Auntie Joyce to be returning from her weekend stint at the Roman Arms.

A moment later the front door opened and was slammed shut with a bang that shook the house. Marie's fatigue vanished in an instant. Something was up.

By the time Marie got downstairs Auntie Joyce was sitting in the armchair in the lounge opposite Dad. She still wore her coat and her face was working with emotion. She appeared to be having difficulty getting her words out.

Èasy now, lass,' said Clem. `Take your time.'

`That bastard came in the restaurant tonight. Laughing and boozing it up with a tarry piece hanging on his every word. I couldn't believe it. I was that upset.'

`Who came in, Joyce?' rumbled her dad.

`Him. Jamie Hutchison. I'd know that smug face anywhere. He didn't look so clever by the time I was done with him, I can tell you that.' `What do you mean, Auntie?'

'I threw his dinner in his face and I told everyone just who he was - the murdering bastard who did for our Alan.'

`You never did.' Clem's mouth gaped in amazement.

`He should be rotting in jail, I said. For the rest of his miserable life.' `My God, Joyce, you're a woman and a half.' Clem was grinning from ear to ear. `So what did he do?'

`Nothing. Just sat there like he'd been caught with his pants down and his dinner all over him. I wish you could have seen him, Clem. Serve him bloody right to show his face.'

He began to laugh, a low wheezy shudder deep in his chest, and Joyce joined in, dabbing her florid face with a dainty white handkerchief that looked out of place in her large fist.