The Savages (16 page)

Sasha found herself listening so closely to what Ralph had to say that a moment passed before she registered her question.

‘Me? Oh, I'm just going without meat for a while. I just want to see what it's like.'

‘And how is it going?'

Across the floor, Jack Greenway had finally muscled into a conversation between Amanda Dias and the alcoholic cook. He was nodding furiously, switching his attention from one to the other, but mostly returning to Amanda. Sasha looked back at Ralph. He was next in line to be served.

‘I've surprised myself so far,' she said. ‘But it's good to know I'm not alone in facing moments of temptation.'

Ralph seemed a little taken aback at this. Then that smile returned, before he turned to face the table. It left Sasha wondering whether she'd just said something, and then realised that she had. Before she could find a way to explain that she hadn't just tried to score on him, Ralph moved aside for her.

‘Some of this stuff looks good,' he said, and then dipped down to find her ear. ‘And a lot of it looks like squirrel bait.'

Giggling, and with her cheeks still hot, Sasha decided to say nothing. Instead, she picked off a slice of the bake for Jack, skipping one for herself, and then collected two plastic cups of cola.

‘Are these drinks vegan?' she asked him.

Ralph shrugged.

‘Even if they aren't,' he said under his breath. ‘It can be our secret if you like.'

Vernon English had slumped so far down in the driving seat that he could no longer see over the dash. He'd done so on purpose, just as soon as Titus Savage strode into view. Waiting for his target to cross the street in front of the vehicle, on his way to the lobby in the building opposite, the private investigator couldn't help noticing that the lower half of the steering wheel was mottled with his greasy fingerprints

‘That's it,' he said to himself. ‘No more chips in the van.'

Vernon had been expecting Titus. Having tailed the man for weeks now, and with an ear inside his house, he knew that today would see the takeover completed. It was all over for the company who had hired Vernon. Sure, he could've presented them with some evidence that Titus had engaged in corporate crimes, but what would that achieve? The company would call in the cops, and if the Savage house hid secrets about Lulabelle Hart then Vernon would just be a footnote in the story of his arrest. By staying quiet as Titus broke up the company and sold it off, the private investigator would be sacrificing his full fee. What persuaded him to just keep on the man's tail was the belief that one day soon they would both be making headlines. While photographers tried to snatch a shot of Titus through the window of a speeding police van, Vernon would be giving lengthy interviews to the broadsheets about how his intuition and persistence had paid off.

‘There's blood on your hands,' he said, grunting as he sat up in the seat. Across the street, Titus had entered the lobby. He was there as the company's new boss. The lion had arrived at his new den, and Vernon knew just what would happen next. The man wasn't there to save the business but carve it up and toss out the parts for profit. Vernon had seen it all before. Normally, these guys, the asset strippers, were cold-hearted individuals. Some even got a kick from the misery they caused. Titus was different, however. At home, he made every effort to spend time with Angelica and their children. Through Vernon's eyes, and with his suspicions, there was something about the guy that he was missing. Somewhere, a link existed between the beast in the boardroom and the father who put family first.

The first of the staff to be given immediate notice left about an hour later. Vernon watched them exit, some clutching boxes with their personal effects, others looking shell-shocked and tearful. How could anyone do such a thing, simply to make money? He could just imagine Titus picking off members of the workforce without a trace of emotion. Once he'd got the numbers down to the bone, he'd have them sell off the company bit by little bit. Eventually, there would be nothing but a skeleton plus a fattened bank account, and that's when he'd move on – setting his sights on another corporate kill.

Towards lunchtime, Vernon was surprised to see Angelica making her way towards the building. She was wearing a pair of large sunglasses, despite the fact that the sky was overcast. A straw tote bag swung from the crook of her arm. Vernon squinted to see what was peeking from the top. A baguette and a bottle of champagne, he realised, before pulling the peak of his cap low in case she happened to glance in his direction.

‘So, your husband ruins lives one morning, and you show up with a celebratory
picnic
?'

Vernon shook his head, struggling with the insensitivity of what he was seeing here. Titus and Angelica were one of a kind. Even in the privacy of their home, food came first. It's all he'd heard the pair talk about, but there just had to be more to them than that. Vernon watched Angelica make her way up the steps outside the building, and suddenly realised that he was following the wrong people.

If Vernon English was going to uncover the truth about Lulabelle, then he'd need to find a different way into the family. The private investigator twisted the key in the ignition, and again when the engine failed to start. Titus and Angelica were clearly too wise and experienced at covering themselves, but he felt sure the same couldn't be said for their kids.

Ivan Savage enjoyed a game of chess. What he loathed was losing. That wasn't why he joined the school club. He was there to prove his sense of strategy and logic was close to perfection. On those occasions when his opponents began to tighten in on his queen, he would turn to rules of his own in a bid to avoid checkmate.

‘Prepare for a butt kicking,' crowed Ali Kaar, leaning on his elbows as he studied the board. ‘Whenever you want to make your move, I'm ready!'

Ivan watched him closely. He didn't once glance down to consider his position. He barely moved, in fact, but for a tensing in his jaw muscles as he ground his molars together.

‘I need to think about this,' he said eventually.

‘Take your time.' Ali pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. ‘I need a leak anyhow.'

They had been playing for several hours. Ivan had opted for an aggressive strategy, but that left him with only one back-up plan when Ali pulled several surprise moves. This took the form of a jug of water and two cups. Ivan always made sure that they were in easy reach before he sat down to play. Then it was his turn to go for something unexpected. This involved refilling his opponent's cup on a regular basis, knowing that he would have to answer the call of nature eventually. As soon as Ali left the table for the toilet, Ivan popped open his schoolbag and carefully fished out a small wooden box. It contained a complete set of both black and white pieces, identical to those used by the school chess club, as well as a thin metal mesh glove. First making sure that everybody else was engrossed in their own games, Ivan slipped the glove on and then set about replacing his opponent's pieces. He'd done this many times over, which meant he had easily completed the manoeuvre before Ali returned. Finally, when the boy dropped back into his seat, Ivan moved one of his pieces.

‘Your turn,' he said, and grasped the corners of the table as if to brace himself for something.

Ali studied the pieces for a moment.

‘Is that it?' he asked. ‘You've left yourself wide open.'

‘We'll see,' said Ivan, who smiled to himself when Ali reached for the pawn he expected him to play. As soon as he grasped it, the boy's face contorted in shock and pain.

‘What's the matter?' asked Ivan, as his opponent set the piece back down smartly and shook his hand. A smattering of blood spots hit Ivan's shirt, but he didn't mind one bit. ‘Everything OK?'

‘Splinter, I think!' Ali examined his finger, where a bead of blood was growing. ‘Man, that's really painful.'

‘Unlucky,' said Ivan, who gestured at the table. ‘Feel free to try again.

For the next few minutes, poor Ali Kaar suffered one assault to his fingers after another as he attempted to make each move. Even when he switched strategies, every time he touched a chess piece it left him gasping. Eventually, with tears streaking his cheeks and his hand shrouded in a bloodstained handkerchief, Ali conceded defeat in order to seek medical help from the school nurse.

‘You win,' he sniffed, clutching his hand to his chest. ‘I never want to play you again!'

‘They all say that,' said Ivan under his breath, and quietly reached for the glove so that he could return the pieces to the box.

It was a satisfying victory. Ivan would've preferred to win without suffering and bloodshed, but sometimes it was necessary to avoid the incomparable pain of defeat. In some ways, he liked to think that substituting the chess pieces for a set with a sprinkling of iron filings glued to them was just another strategy of the game. At the very least, he had thought ahead and used his brain to win.

Ivan left school that afternoon with his bag slung over one shoulder and his hands in his trouser pockets. He headed for home on foot. The school bus only ran after school had finished, but he didn't mind missing it. The afternoon sesssion had made it all worthwhile. It also meant less time fighting with his sister or getting a hard time from his mum about making a mess around the house.

Ivan followed the usual route, heading from school towards the park. It took him across the high street, where he went on to follow the long, curving road towards the pedestrian crossing. It was here, about a minute into the walk, that he became aware of the vehicle. It was a battered white van, not an unusual sight, but it had been parked outside the school when he left the gates. A few minutes later, he had spotted it in a disabled parking bay in front of the charity shop. This time, the van was sitting at a junction on the other side of the street. Ivan walked on, keeping his head down but listening keenly.

Sure enough, a short time after he had passed the junction he heard it pull off. The boy glanced over his shoulder. The van was just behind him, moving at a walking pace which increased when the boy picked up his stride. Ivan had heard about moments like this. There were some sick people out there. Back in primary school, a policeman had even come into assembly to talk about stranger danger. It never seemed like such a big deal now that he was older, but suddenly this felt very real and Ivan felt entirely alone. He glanced over his shoulder one more time. Sure enough, there it was. With the sun overhead, reflecting on the van's windscreen, it was impossible to see who was behind the wheel. That's when Ivan's imagination went into overdrive, and a sense of fear caused his skin to prickle.

‘Be cool,' he whispered to himself, and reached for his phone. Quickly he found his father's number. It went straight to answer machine, which wasn't unusual, but just then he wished his dad didn't have so many meetings during the day. Ringing off without leaving a message, Ivan turned to check he hadn't been mistaken, and then steered closer to the shop fronts as if that might offer him some kind of protection.

The pizzas, when they arrived, looked just as Jack Greenway had imagined. Each one featured a lot of tomato, mushroom, pepper and onions, but with no sign of any cheese.

‘Yum,' he made himself say for the benefit of the girl sharing his window table. ‘You made a great choice.'

Amanda Dias studied her topping for a moment, declining an invitation from the waiter for a twist of black pepper.

‘Food should be pure and simple,' she told Jack, collecting her knife and fork. ‘I would sooner gnaw off my own fingers than eat dairy.'

Jack sat across from her with his hands on his knees and just stared.

‘Awesome,' he said eventually. ‘Just
amazing
.'

He had contacted Amanda the day after her talk. Friending her on Facebook was out of the question. That would only invite Sasha's suspicions. Instead, he had headed back to the university on his lunch break, where he found her handing out leaflets outside the Union bar. She recognised him straight away, and even seemed pleased when he approached. That's when Jack had switched on every charm button in his body and invited her to lunch. He wanted to learn more about veganism, he had told her. From someone who could provide him with guidance, wisdom and inspiration.

The lunch, he had said to finish, would of course be his treat.

Now that Amanda was here, in his company, Jack found himself a little lost for words. It wasn't something that had happened to him before. In fact, he prided himself on being able to talk easily to girls and win them over by showing how much he cared for animals. Sure, Amanda was attractive, but in terms of conversation he felt outclassed. She just seemed so confident. So sure of her outlook on life. Sasha was lovely – beautiful, kind and funny – but she had needed him to lead her into his vegetarian world. Amanda was different. Her views went way beyond anything Jack held, and now he wanted to go there. Having been in the audience when she spoke, he found himself seduced by her hardline veganism.

Unlike Sasha, she also looked like she might go all the way if he cooked for her one night.

‘I have a question,' said Amanda, chewing on her second slice of pizza. ‘It's hypothetical, of course, but I'm interested.'

‘Go ahead,' said Jack, who had yet to start his meal. ‘Ask me anything.'

‘Let's say we have two dishes on this table. Both of them covered with a lid, but you have to choose one.'

‘Sounds good,' he said. ‘What's on the menu?'

Amanda pretended to lift an invisible lid from her plate.

‘Roast leg of lamb,' she told him, and then repeated the gesture. ‘Or braised human heart.'

The way she presented this, with a wicked smile and her eyes penetrating his, left Jack with no air in his lungs.