The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (30 page)

‘How do you think she felt when the papers were calling you London’s biggest drugs dealer?’ she retorted angrily. ‘How do you think she felt about that? And what about when you were sent down? If anyone’s let this family down, it’s not me.’

Terry looked at his daughter for several seconds. She was staring at him with a mixture of anger and hatred, and he realised for the first time how much he’d hurt her. He wanted to reach over and hug her, to hold her and tell her that he was sorry, but he could see in her eyes that she was in no mood to be mollified. ‘I do what I do to keep this family together,’ he said.

Trisha’s face contorted with anger. ‘You left us, Dad! You didn’t keep us together, you broke us apart. What fucking planet are you living on?’

Terry pointed a finger at her. ‘Hey!’ he shouted.

‘Don’t tell me to mind my language!’ she yelled. ‘Don’t you dare tell me to mind my language!’

Terry said nothing. Trisha grabbed her mug with shaking hands and raised it to her lips. She sipped her hot chocolate slowly and gradually her hands stopped trembling. She put down her mug. There was a choco-latey moustache on her upper lip and Terry put out a hand to wipe it away. Trisha flinched and Terry took his hand back.

‘You’ve got chocolate,’ he said. ‘On your lip.’

She wiped it away with her hand. ‘Thanks.’

‘Is it okay? The chocolate?’

‘I guess. Mum makes it better. But this is okay. Thanks.’

Terry watched her take another sip of hot chocolate. ‘Why drugs, Trisha? Why do you need them?’

Trisha shrugged. ‘Why do you drink? Why does Mum smoke?’

‘That’s not the same.’

‘Says you.’

‘It’s not just me.’

‘Dad, you can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who’ve died from ecstasy. Yet cigarettes kill hundreds of thousand every year. Cancer. Heart attacks. You don’t see them banned, do you? Thousands of road deaths caused by drunk drivers. But booze isn’t banned. How many times have you driven home drunk?’

‘I have people drive me, Trisha. I don’t drink and drive.’

Trisha looked away as if she didn’t want to argue with him.

‘I don’t understand what you get from ecstasy, though. Why do you need it?’

‘It makes me feel good, Dad. That’s all. You feel . . . different. More confident. Happier.’ She looked suddenly serious. ‘I’m not an addict, Dad.’

‘I know. I know you’re not.’

‘And I can handle it. It’s not a hard drug.’

Terry could feel that he was losing the argument.

‘Anyway, it’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Considering.’

‘Considering what?’

‘Considering how you earn your money.’

Terry stood up. ‘Bed,’ he said.

Trisha grinned in triumph. ‘You don’t have an answer to that, do you?’

‘I don’t want an argument, Trisha,’ said Terry.

‘No, you don’t want to
lose
an argument,’ said Trisha. ‘There’s a difference.’

Terry walked out of the kitchen and back into the sitting room. He sat down in front of the television and turned up the volume.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Sam arrived at Heathrow just after midday. Andy McKinley was waiting to meet her. He took her bag and walked with her to the multi-storey car park. ‘Terry says he’s sorry he can’t be here to meet you himself, Mrs Greene,’ said McKinley. ‘Said he had some business to take care of.’

‘Like what?’ asked Sam.

McKinley shrugged but didn’t answer.

‘Hear no evil, see no evil?’ teased Sam.

‘He honestly didn’t say, Mrs Greene.’

‘But if he had said, would you have told me?’

McKinley looked uncomfortable. ‘That’s not a fair question to ask me,’ he said.

‘And that’s you being evasive, as usual,’ said Sam.

McKinley screwed up his face as if he were in pain, and Sam linked her arm through his.

‘I’m only teasing you, Andy. I’m sorry. I’m sure my dear darling husband is behaving himself.’

McKinley looked across at her and Sam burst out laughing at the look of incredulity on his face. ‘Teasing again,’ said Sam. ‘Sorry.’

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Kim Fletcher swung the cricket bat along the shelf, and dozens of bottles of white wine crashed to the floor. ‘You just haven’t got the message, have you?’ he shouted. He swung the bat again and smashed a display of magnums of champagne.

The owner of the off-licence pleaded with Fletcher to stop. He was an Indian in his late forties, his black hair flecked with grey, his moustache almost white, and he bore a passing resemblance to a young Omar Sharif. Fletcher had remarked on the resemblance, and had just asked the man if he was related to the filmstar, when Roger Pike and Johnny Russell had grabbed his arms and Fletcher had started to demolish the shop.

Steve Ryser popped the tab on a can of strong cider and helped himself to a packet of crisps. He was slotting a handful of cheese and onion into his mouth when Terry strode in, his feet crunching on broken glass.

‘This isn’t a fucking picnic, Steve,’ warned Terry.

‘Sorry, boss,’ said Ryser, spraying crisp crumbs as he spoke. He brushed pieces of crisps out of his beard.

‘Terry, please, there’s no need for this,’ said the Indian. ‘My heart. I was only in hospital last year. Any stress and the doctor said it could kill me.’

‘Don’t fucking talk to me about stress,’ said Terry, stepping to the side to avoid a pool of creme de menthe.

Fletcher opened a chilled display case and started dropping bottles of wine on to the floor. The Indian winced as each one smashed.

‘For God’s sake, Terry,’ he whined. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

Terry walked over to the man. The Indian struggled to get away but Pike and Russell held him firm. ‘You’re supposed to buy your booze from me, like we agreed.’

‘But the Kosovans . . .’ began the Indian.

Terry cut him short with a warning look. ‘Fuck the Kosovans.’

‘Terry . . .’

Terry raised a hand and the Indian fell silent. ‘Don’t Terry me,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I’m fed up with being Terryed. Just do as you’re told.’

‘But . . .’

Before the Indian could continue, Terry grabbed him by the throat and pushed him back. Pike and Russell kept hold of the Indian’s arms so that he was sprea-deagled against a rack of wine bottles. ‘I don’t want to hear any buts,’ hissed Terry. ‘I don’t want to hear you say “but” and I don’t want to hear you say “Terry”. Okay?’

‘But Terry.’

Pike and Russell grimaced. Terry grabbed a bottle of red wine and the Indian cowered and closed his eyes, whimpering like a scared dog. Terry was just about to bring it crashing down on the Indian’s head when he noticed the label. ‘This okay, yeah?’

The Indian opened his eyes fearfully. ‘What?’

‘This wine. Is it okay?’

The Indian swallowed nervously. ‘Yeah. It’s a fruity red. Full bodied. Blackberry aftertaste.’

Terry pursed his lips as he studied the label. He nodded. ‘It’d go with lamb, yeah?’

‘Perfect,’ said the Indian.

The Indian flinched as Terry reached out with his free hand. Terry smiled and took another bottle of the wine.

∗      ∗      ∗

 

Jamie turned away from the sitting room window. ‘Dad’s here,’ he said.

‘Hooray,’ said Trisha. ‘Let’s hang out the flags.’ She was arranging knives and forks on the table.

‘Be nice, Trisha,’ said Laura.

‘It’s so false, that’s all,’ whined Trisha. ‘Playing at happy families.’

‘Dad’s back, isn’t he?’ said Jamie. ‘He’s back with Mum, yeah?’

‘If you can call it back,’ said Trisha. ‘His toothbrush is in the bathroom, but that’s about the extent of his commitment.’

‘That’s not fair, Trish,’ said Laura, putting placemats between the knives and forks.

‘How would you know what’s fair. You don’t live here any more.’ She pointed a knife at her brother. ‘And neither do you.’

‘What are you saying?’ asked Jamie. ‘Is he back or not?’

Trisha sighed. ‘He says he is, but he keeps coming and going at all hours. I don’t know why she stands for it. And he’s still got his flat. The one he moved into before.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Jamie.

‘I just know,’ said Trisha. ‘It’s his safety net.’

‘It’s a rented flat,’ said Laura. ‘He’s probably just waiting for the lease to run out.’

‘You always take his side,’ complained Trisha.

Laura shook her head but didn’t say anything.

Jamie put a hand on Trisha’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Trish. This means a lot to Mum. Just make an effort, yeah?’ Trisha opened her mouth to reply but Jamie held up a warning finger. ‘Or I’ll flush your head down the toilet.’

Trisha laughed. ‘I’m not two years old any more,’ she said.

Jamie looked at her seriously. ‘I know you’re not,’ he said.

Trisha narrowed her eyes. ‘You are going to be such a good lawyer.’ Jamie grinned. ‘That’s not meant to be a compliment,’ she said.

Jamie patted her on the back and went off to the kitchen, where Sam was basting a huge joint of lamb, her hair tied back in a ponytail. ‘Dad’s here,’ he said.

‘Table set?’

‘Almost.’

They heard the front door open. ‘That’s a good sign,’ said Jamie. ‘You’ve given him a key.’

Sam grinned and pinched his arm. ‘He’s always had a key, Jamie. It is his house. The mortgage, anyway.’

‘How are things? Between the two of you.’

‘We’re getting there. I did miss him. More so when I thought he was going to be behind bars.’ She shuddered. ‘One day at a time, yeah?’

The kitchen door opened and Terry walked in with two bottles of red wine. He hugged Jamie and kissed Sam on the cheek. ‘Smells lovely,’ he said.

‘Me or the lamb?’ joked Sam.

‘Both,’ said Terry, trying to kiss her again. She flicked him away with a tea towel.

Terry went into the dining room. Laura rushed over and hugged him, and he kissed her on the top of the head. ‘Long time no see, love,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve just been busy.’

Terry looked closely at her face. ‘Is that a bruise?’ he said.

‘Ages ago. I bumped my head on a cupboard door.’

Before Terry could say anything else, Jamie pushed open the door and Sam came in carrying the lamb joint on a huge plate. ‘Trish, Laura, can you bring in the veggies?’

‘How about a hug first, Trish,’ said Terry. Jamie gave Trisha a warning look and mimed flushing a toilet. She grinned despite herself and gave her father a perfunctory hug and a peck on the cheek before heading off to the kitchen with Laura.

Terry handed one of the bottles of wine to Jamie. ‘Open that, kid,’ he said.

Jamie nodded approvingly at the label. ‘Didn’t know you were a wine buff.’

‘Got advice from an expert,’ said Terry.

Trisha held out her glass and Jamie looked at Sam. Sam shook her head. ‘No way.’

‘Mum, I’m fifteen.’

‘Come on, Sam,’ said Terry. ‘A little wine’s not going to hurt her.’

Trisha looked across at her father, surprised that he’d stuck up for her. He winked.

‘Yeah, the French let babies drink wine,’ said Jamie, pouring some into Trisha’s glass.

‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ said Sam. ‘Come on, sit down, Terry.’ She pulled out the chair at the head of the table for Terry. He took his place and began carving the massive joint.

‘Lovely,’ he said, carving off a large slice.

‘Better than bread and water, hey, Dad?’ said Jamie.

‘Jamie!’ said Sam, shocked.

Terry grinned amiably. ‘Nah, he’s right, love. A few weeks behind bars makes you appreciate home-cooked food.’

‘Well, thank you very much.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Terry. ‘Your grub’s always been top notch.’ Terry heaped meat on to Jamie’s plate and nodded across at Laura. ‘So where’s that husband of yours?’ Terry asked her.

Laura shrugged. ‘He had a golf game he couldn’t get out of,’ she said.

‘Too good for us?’ said Terry.

‘It’s not that.’

‘When was the last time he set foot in this house, hey?’

Laura looked plaintively at Sam.

‘He works hard,’ said Sam.

‘We all work hard. He was keen enough to take our money for the reception.’

‘That was four years ago. And you insisted,’ said Laura.

‘I don’t remember threatening to break his legs if he didn’t take it.’

‘We’ve only got your word for that,’ said Trisha. Sam flashed her a warning look. ‘Well, we haven’t,’ muttered Trisha under her breath.

‘The lamb’s lovely,’ said Laura.

‘Yeah, great,’ said Jamie.

Terry raised his glass. ‘We don’t do this often enough,’ he said.

‘Being in prison didn’t help,’ whispered Trisha.

Terry grinned and raised his glass to her. ‘You’re right, love, it didn’t,’ he said. ‘But I’m out now, and we’re a family. So come on, everyone raise their glass.’

They did as he asked.

‘To family,’ he said.

‘To family,’ they echoed, though Jamie kicked Trisha under the table when he saw that she was only miming the words.

Terry helped himself to vegetables. Sam watched him pile carrots and sprouts on to his plate and wondered whether they were truly a family again. Straight and narrow, he’d promised, but Terry didn’t appear to be doing anything to distance himself from his criminal associates or activities. And there was still the question of where Terry had been the night that Preston Snow was shot. Terry had lied to her about that – so what else had he lied about?

Terry looked up and smiled at her, and she smiled back, trying to push the dark thoughts to the back of her mind.

∗      ∗      ∗