Redemption (29 page)

I understood the technicalities of the sport, but hell, I was only human, and the sight of all those men pounding around the pitch was a joy to behold. Still, just eight more days until the World Cup Final. Eight more days until we could start planning the rest of our lives. 

I didn’t need Oliver to be a national hero; he already was a hero to Maisie and me, regardless of what happened in the final. I was ready to move on with our lives, and soon Oliver would be too.

“I need to talk to you three for a bit,” I said to Michelle, Maisie, and Shaun, interrupting them while they were watching TV. “It’s important.”  

I’d already told Shaun the whole story. He knew most of it already, so all I had done was fill in the gaps. He’d handled it as well as could be expected. He even thanked me for trying to help his dad get out of the mess. Not that I’d been much help; Gary was dead and his killers still hadn’t been punished.

Michelle was the first to pick up on my tone of voice. She immediately turned the TV off and turned to face me, encouraging Maisie and Shaun to do the same.  

It was cute how close the three of them were now. For a few seconds, I considered not telling them, and keeping it a secret forever. That had always been the intent, but if things went badly tonight… No, they had to know the truth. I owed them that much.

“What’s wrong?” Michelle asked. She’d been asking me that question a lot recently, but I’d never given much of an answer.  

“It’s about what happened back in 2007. The attack that left you both with those burn marks.”

“What about it?” Maisie asked.

“I told you before that the whole thing was my fault.”

“And we told you not to be so stupid,” Michelle said. “If you’re still feeling guilty for what happened, then don’t.”

“Let me finish. I am to blame. Shaun’s dad and I got involved with some bad men back in 2007.”

“No,” Shaun said. “My dad got involved with bad men and Oliver tried to help him get out of the mess.”

“I believe those men killed Shaun’s dad, although I don’t have any proof. They wanted me to help England get eliminated from the World Cup. I refused.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Maisie exclaimed. Neither Michelle nor I were in the mood to scold her for language right now.

“They wanted me to throw the final, but I refused.”  

I desperately wanted to get this conversation over with, but all I could do was talk in short, choppy sentences. I had to pause after each one to regain my composure. I kept switching my gaze between Michelle and Maisie, but I didn’t know which one I should be focusing on.

Maisie had the worst physical injuries, but Michelle had been torturing herself with the guilt of not protecting her sister for eight years. Both the physical and mental injuries were my fault.

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Michelle asked, ever the sensible one.

“That’s what my dad did,” Shaun said.  

“Oh. Sorry.”  

“To show me they were serious,” I continued, “they hurt two people I care deeply about.”

I told Michelle and Maisie exactly what had happened that night. How I had seen Wayne following us, and abandoned them to go speak to Carl. How Carl had then given the order to have Michelle and Maisie harmed when it was too late for me to help them.

I left out the bit about deliberately missing the kick in the final. I would tell Michelle later, but I didn’t want Maisie to know. She’d hate to think I had missed the kick just to protect her. That would tear her up inside more than her facial injuries ever had done.

By the time I had finished, I was dripping in sweat. Michelle sat next to me and held my hand, but I didn’t even have the strength to squeeze hers in return. It wasn’t often I felt this physically weak, but right now I could barely stand, let alone play in a World Cup Final.

“So the attack wasn’t random?” Maisie asked.  

“No,” I replied. “You were attacked because of your relationship to me.”

I stared at Maisie, desperately awaiting her response. Her face gave little away. Was she going to yell at me? Or would I just get the silent treatment from now on?

“But the people who did it are locked up now?”

“Yes,” I said. “The people who threw the acid were arrested, following the description you both gave to the police.”  

Michelle’s hand spasmed slightly when I spoke. I looked up to see her looking confused, but then she shook it off and squeezed my hand again. The people who threw the acid had been arrested, as had the man who gave that order, but there were more out there. Not for long, though.

“Okay,” Maisie said. “Can I go back to watching TV now?”

I shook my head in puzzlement. “Aren’t you annoyed? Isn’t there anything you want to say to me?”

“Yes, I’m annoyed,” Maisie said. “You came in here and interrupted the TV program I was watching. The only thing I want to say is ‘put the TV back on.’”

“That’s it?”  

“What else is there? I thought it was a random attack, but it wasn’t. Doesn’t really make much difference in the grand scheme of things.”

“She can be quite mature when she wants to be,” Michelle said, resting her head on my shoulder.  

“She gets that from you,” I replied. I switched the TV back on and for once I watched a reality TV show without wanting to claw my eyes out.  

I would let myself be happy for a day, but then I had to get down to business. Telling Maisie and Michelle the truth had only been half the battle. The real challenge would be tomorrow night. Tomorrow, I would be confronting the men who ruined my life eight years ago. Tomorrow, everything was going to change.

-*-

I never told Hodgson that I was going after Winston. Hodgson was the only one at the police station I could trust, but she couldn’t mount a sting operation by herself. Not to mention, any kind of undercover operation involving wires would take weeks to organise and get signed off.

No, I had to do this myself. I could record my conversation with Winston and even if that wasn’t enough for a conviction, it should at least be enough to get him thrown off the force. Once he was no longer a cop, I could truly go after him in a way that would not involve me recording any of our “discussion” for use as evidence.

The bar was located on a busy main road, but there were three side streets that all led to that main road and afforded a view of the bar. I choose the quietest of those streets, even though it didn’t have the best view of the bar.  

I didn’t need to see the actual side door they would walk in and out of; seeing either Dave or Winston approach would be enough. Once in position, I double checked that my phone was recording everything and then waited.  

The fishing knife was sheathed and in my jacket pocket. My hand grabbed hold of it every five seconds just to make sure it was still there. If everything went smoothly, I wouldn’t need to use the knife, but I wasn’t sure I wanted things to go smoothly.

A part of me—a large part—wanted Winston to attack me. I wanted to have an excuse to use the knife in self-defence. Either directly or indirectly, I didn’t care which, this man was responsible for the attack that left Maisie and Michelle with permanent scars on their bodies. It would be tough to look at him, let alone talk to him and pretend to go along with the scam for long enough to get incriminating evidence.  

For thirty minutes, all I saw were men and women leaving the pub through the front door and heading out into the night to go home or onto the next drinking establishment. Small groups of people gathered while they waited for taxis, but I saw no sign of Dave or Winston.  

There was no guarantee they would come here tonight, but they only had a few more days of the World Cup left and wouldn’t be slacking off at such a peak moment for illicit money making.

I hadn’t even realised how tense my body had been, until my phone vibrated in my pocket, making me jump, but at least giving me a chance to take a few deep breaths. It was Michelle, wondering where I was. We were supposed to be watching a movie, which I’d completely forgotten about.  

I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to lie to her. I could make up an excuse about my phone being dead next time I saw her.  

An hour passed. I had to move around to keep sane, so I walked past the pub, trying to look as casual as possible, and glanced down the alley to see if the light was on in the back room. Nothing.  

I walked to another street and waited again. This time I did see something. Dave walked out of the pub like the other patrons, but instead of walking away he walked down the alley and into the back room, switching on the light as he did so.  

Dave wasn’t my target tonight. It was Winston I wanted. Sixty seconds later, Winston was exactly what I got. He parked up a hundred yards away and walked towards the alley.  

Okay Oliver, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for.
I checked the knife once more. Still there. I was good to go.
Showtime.

“Can we start the movie anyway?” Maisie asked. “I’m already going to struggle to stay awake for the whole thing.”

“I guess so,” I replied. “I just wish I knew where Oliver was. He’s been acting so strange lately.”  

“He’s just nervous about the game,” Maisie said. “I can’t even imagine the pressure he must be under right now.”

“I suppose,” I said, before sending him a quick text to ask him if he was coming home soon. I’d told him we all wanted to have one last quiet night together before he went and joined back up with the England team. From tomorrow night, they would all be staying at a hotel together, so I wouldn’t see him until after the final.  

Maisie and I had even gone to the effort of making healthy snacks for Oliver to eat while we watched the film. Now it looked like I would be snacking on carrots and celery by myself. Lovely.  

We tried to watch the movie, but I couldn’t concentrate. Something didn’t feel right. Oliver never disappeared without telling me where he was going, and he always responded to my messages. After thirty minutes, he still hadn’t replied, but my phone told me that the message had been read at his end.

“Okay,” Maisie said, pausing the film. “You’re obviously worried about him. You always bite your nails when you’re nervous.”  

I took my nails out of my mouth. It was a nasty habit. “It’s not like him to disappear.”