Dillon came into the office to find Susie halfway through the invoices, a neat stack of typed envelopes, already stamped, ready for posting on the desk. He said, ‘Cliff not here?’ ‘No, he’s gone home, felt sick, said it was the pork pie.’ She rolled another blank invoice into the machine, gave him a look from under her eyebrows. ‘He was just hung-over!’ Dillon went to the board, hunting round for a piece of chalk. ‘Good news is, we got the Embassy job — two weeks’ work, bodyguard, driver for an official. The armoured Merc blew him away.’ Susie totted up figures on the calculator and started typing. ‘Still not covering costs. What’s the Embassy paying, and I’ll log it.’ ‘Four hundred a day!’ Dillon said, and when she didn’t leap up and hug him, tell him well done, he said testily, ‘Harry on a job, is he?’ ‘Mmm, could do with a few more like that…’ Susie frowned, concentrating on working out the seventeen-and-a-half per cent
VAT
. Bloody stupid figure. She said after a moment, ‘I don’t think that car will pay for itself, you know. The Granada will, even the security wagon…’ She glanced up. ‘What did you say?’ Dillon tapped the board with the chalk. ‘Who’s crossed these fares out?’ ‘Do you know what your outgoing costs are?’ Susie asked, resuming her typing. ‘The hire purchase, insurance, the rent?’ Dillon waved her off. He couldn’t be bothered with mere details. The phone rang. As Susie picked it up, Harry walked in. He gave Dillon a straight look. ‘We got to talk…’ ‘Stag Security, Taxi, Chauffeur Drive.’ Susie put her hand over the receiver. ‘Are you free, Harry?’ ‘Yeah, yeah…’ He plucked at Dillon’s sleeve. ‘Wanna word.’ Dillon didn’t want to have a word with him. He knew where Harry had been, and it wasn’t out on a job. He’d been cruising round in the Granada, checking out a certain address. Harry had his sights fixed, total tunnel vision, determined to see it through to the bitter end. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting… yes… Aldershot? And the address?’ Harry reached out. ‘That’s for me!’ ‘What?’ Dillon said sharply. Somebody calling from The Depot? What the hell was going down here? ‘Wants to speak to you, Harry,’ said Susie, handing the receiver to him. He sat on the edge of the desk, his back to them. ‘Yeah, it’s me, speakin’. Oh yeah, yeah … he told you what I’m interested in, did he? Okay, I’m on my way. Thanks.’ Harry put the phone down. ‘I’m not free,’ he said to Susie, and to Dillon, looking him in the eyes, ‘I need the Granada.’ He jerked his head towards the passage. ‘Frank…!’ Sighing, Dillon moved to follow him. Susie threw down her pencil, arms folded tightly across her chest. ‘Can we just sort a few things out first? One, you’re going to have to stop using the limo for straight taxi fares, it costs us. Eats petrol. What do you want the Granada for, Harry?’ Susie nodded fiercely at the telephone. ‘Was that a job?’ Sitting there, Miss Business Efficiency got right on Dillon’s tits. He burst out, ‘Nothin’ I do is right accordin’ to you! An’ don’t start handin’ out orders like you run the show —’ Susie interrupted. ‘You keep the portable when you don’t need it, or you do for phoning in your bets!’ ‘I don’t call them in, I just go over the road!’ Dillon told her with a nasty, leering smile. ‘An’ if you want me, that’s where I’ll be.’ ‘Then get somebody else to do this!’ Susie was up out of her chair. ‘I’ll go back and work for Mr Marway.’ ‘You think I don’t appreciate it?’ ‘Er, Frank… Frank?’ said Harry uneasily, sniffing a storm force ten row brewing. ‘Just a minute!’ Dillon glowered at his wife. ‘I’m sick of you shovin’ that Marway down my throat.’ Susie snatched up her bag, really fuming now. Harry sidled to the door, the expression on her face convincing him that this was as good a moment as any to take a leak. He slipped out as Susie said very softly, the calm before the storm, ‘I don’t believe you said that. If it wasn’t for him you wouldn’t have a business.’ ‘I hear you — okay — I hear you,’ Dillon snarled at her. ‘If you go down, Frank, if you and your precious lads don’t get this company working, then you will all fall flat on your faces.’ ‘You’d love that!’ ‘How can you say that? Don’t you understand that if you don’t show decent returns to the bank, they can review the loan — it is a loan, Frank, it’s not a gift!’ She added quietly, reasonably, ‘You have to pay it back.’ ‘I know that,’ Dillon muttered. ‘An’ if you blow it, Frank, then Mr Marway’s liable for that loan.’ Here we go again, he thought. All roads lead back to Saint fucking Marway. He said bitterly, ‘You want me to grovel to him? Thank him for lettin’ my wife off early so she can give me a few hours…’ Susie yelled, ‘He doesn’t give you them, I do!’ Dillon nearly tore the handle off opening the desk-drawer. He slammed the petty cash box down, grabbed a fistful of notes and coins and flung them at her. Susie looked quickly away, blinking back tears. She snapped her handbag shut and picked up her coat. ‘I’ll collect the boys, no need for you to bother yourself.’ She walked past him to the door. Without turning, Dillon said, ‘I suppose he’ll be givin’ you one of his cars to drive around in next.’ ‘Oh — you knew I was taking my driving test, did you?’ There was something in her voice, odd, strained, that made him turn to look at her. ‘Well, I failed it, Frank — happy? I failed.’ Dillon put out his hand, some small gesture of regret, apology even, but Susie wasn’t there to see it. Smacking his fist into his palm, he went into the passage, hearing the click of her high heels on the basement steps. He could have run after her and caught her easily, but he was damned if he would. At his own pace, in his own good time, he went outside and up the steps. The lavatory flushed. The phone was ringing as Harry came along the passage. Cautiously he poked his head in and looked round the empty office. ‘Frank…?’
Cliff felt like death. He wished he was dead, actually dead, and then the awful sickly throbbing would cease. He was lying on the sheet-draped sofa, eyes closed, when Shirley arrived back at the flat. She dumped more fabric and wallpaper sample tomes on the table and hung up her coat. ‘I’ve been sick again,’ Cliff greeted her piteously. ‘I’ve had aspirin, Disprin, Andrews… I’ve never had a headache like it.’ ‘I’m about to give you another,’ Shirley said, taking off her silk headscarf. ‘Have you been sick?’ ‘Yes, for the past five mornings.’ ‘Well, that couldn’t be the pork pie,’ Cliff said. ‘Terrible pain right across my back, just here!’ Shirley stood in front of him and folded her arms. ‘You know, sometimes I don’t think the lift goes to the top floor with you. Didn’t you hear what I just said, don’t you know what it means? I’m pregnant, Cliff!’ Cliff closed his eyes again. ‘Oh no!’ he levered himself up. ‘Oh shit!’ The door banged behind her as Shirley went into the bedroom. Moaning, Cliff flopped back, something really to moan about now. Trudie hung out of the upstairs window as Harry bounced down the steps of the Super Shine Travel Agency, to whop Cliff on the back. ‘I just refreshed parts no beer can do justice to!’ Harry leaned on the railings staring down the street to the betting shop. ‘I’m gonna be busy for an hour or so, you know Frank’s takin’ up residence in that shop, I’ll catch him there.’ Cliff stood at the top of the basement steps. ‘Shirley’s pregnant!’ ‘Nothin’ to do with me mate!’ ‘Ha ha, very funny, but I’m right in it!’ ‘Wrong son, I’d say she is!’ As Harry sauntered off to the betting shop, he paused by the strips of plastic curtains, watching Dillon looking at a newspaper, jotting down his runners, then flicking looks to a row of TV screens, clicking his fingers with nervous excitement. There was a nicotine smog that would have felled a carthorse. ‘Skived off, did you?’ With a grunt of self-satisfaction, Harry plonked himself down on the next stool. ‘Cliff’s back, Shirley’s up the spout, not a happy man!’ More than satisfied. ‘We all got problems.’ ‘Yeah — marital! A situation I am glad to say I have successfully escaped from. In fact I’m becoming an endangered species — handsome, heterosexual, no strings, an’ after the performances I’ve just administered, no problems with the old rod!’ His smirk faded as he leaned closer. ‘I’m just gonna meet up with a pal at Aldershot, you listenin’? I’ve checked out Wally’s tip-off place, looks like it could be a safe house. Frank?’ Dillon nodded, eyes on the screen. ‘I’m on a treble, this one comes in I’ll be a rich man.’ ‘Wally’s contact works in the Records Section. I mean, it might be out of the window, but on the other hand if those blokes are in London we’ll need some ammo…’ ‘Go baby… come on, come on! Dillon was nodding, clicking his fingers. ‘Yes, yes, look at that mother, yes… yes!’ Harry slid off the stool. He glanced briefly at Dillon’s flushed face, body tensed, fists clenched, willing his horse on. With three furlongs to go, apparently the clear winner, the nag ran out of steam and didn’t even merit a place. ‘Bastard… Goddammit!’ Dillon tore up his betting slip. Harry was waiting at the door. ‘You comin’ with me or not, Frank?’ ‘Talk to you later,’ said Dillon, already buried in the Daily Mirror’s racing page. ‘I got a good runner in the three fifteen…’ Harry went out, stony-faced. Dillon ferreted in his pockets, came up with a crumpled tenner. He looked guiltily towards the empty doorway and then jerked his head back to the screens. Five minutes later, clutching a new betting slip, Dillon was on a roll again. He’d gone for a long shot, shit or bust time, and the little beauty was tearing down the final straight as if it has a red-hot poker up its arse. ‘Yes… Yes! Come on you lovely bastard, yes Dillon clapped it home and stuck both fists in the air. ‘YES!’
‘Okay, close your eyes… ready?’ Taking his wife by the hand, Dillon pushed open the bedroom door and led her inside. Laid out on the bed, a long flowing nightgown in pale blue chiffon edged in lace, with thin satin straps. Beside it, a leather handbag, a bunch of flowers wrapped in cellophane, an envelope inscribed, ‘For Susie —
XXX
.’ ‘Okay,’ Dillon said. ‘Open your eyes!’ For a long moment Susie could only stand and stare. It wasn’t Christmas, it wasn’t her birthday, and even when it was, Dillon had never been so extravagant. ‘First, open this.’ He held out the envelope. ‘I’m sorry you failed, I didn’t know about your test. So — six lessons with a proper driving instructor, next time you’ll pass.’ Hesitantly she touched the nightdress, as if at any second it might vanish in a puff of smoke. Childishly eager to please, Dillon said, ‘That’s for you — and this, it’s all leather, inside and out. I was going to get shoes, but I wasn’t sure of your size. Well? You like them?’ ‘I don’t know what to say…’ Subsiding onto the bed, Susie fingered three or four leaflets with colour pictures of cathedral spires and elegant country houses on their glossy covers. ‘What’s this?’ ‘Weekend away…’ The phone rang in the hallway and there was the scampering of feet as one of the boys scurried to answer it. ‘Well, they’re just brochures,’ Dillon shrugged, ‘but you can pick any hotel, any place you fancy. Your mum will look after the kids.’ Kenny’s voice piped up the stairs. ‘Dad!… Dad, it’s for you!’ Dillon went to the door. ‘Try that on, I’ll be right back.’ Susie gathered up the nightdress and ran her fingers over the delicate lace neckline. The price tag was still attached. She looked at it in quiet wonder, slowly shaking her head. It was Harry on the phone, as Dillon dreaded it might be. On his way back from Aldershot, he was calling on the portable, couldn’t wait to tell Dillon the news. His pal in Records Section thought he could lay hands on a couple of mug shots,
IRA
suspects, for him and Dillon to give the once-over, see if they checked out. ‘For chrissakes, you should have talked this through with me,’ Dillon told him, exasperated. He got the feeling he was being steamrollered. Harry had plans, and whether he liked it or not, Dillon was included, a cog in the relentless, unstoppable machine Harry had set in motion. Why now of all times, he fretted, on his way back upstairs. Why now? He sighed and went in. ‘It was Harry. Nothing to worry about.’ Susie was sitting at the dressing-table, dreamily brushing her hair. ‘That makes a change.’ ‘Don’t you like this?’ Dillon said. The nightdress was lying on the bed, a bit rumpled, as if it had been picked up and discarded. Susie laid down the brush. ‘I’ve got to run the kids’ bath.’ ‘They’re okay, they’re watching TV,’ Dillon said, looking at her in the mirror. ‘But Kenny has to do his homework…’ Dillon put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Susie, his homework can wait —’ ‘No it can’t.’ She came suddenly to life, stood up, agitated almost. ‘If he doesn’t do it now, then he won’t at all.’ Dillon clumsily tried to embrace her. ‘Susie, I haven’t touched you for months…’ ‘It wasn’t me drunk last night.’ ‘You always say you’re tired… you’ve been tired since your started work.’ Susie pushed past him. ‘Don’t start in on that, Frank!’ After Harry, now this. When he’d gone to the trouble of buying her stuff, hoping to make his peace with her, trying his bloody best. Dillon held onto his temper and tried again. ‘I was going to say if it’s too much working for me as well, then —’ ‘Then give up my job? No, Frank. No… no!’ Christ, this was hard work. ‘I meant,’ Dillon ground out, ‘you needn’t come and work for me. But you take it any way you want, an’ I tried…’ He spread his hands helplessly. ‘I tried…’ ‘You tried what, Frank?’ He flared up at this. ‘To reach you, talk to you!’ ‘Why don’t you look at your face when you speak to me like that?’ Susie pointed at the mirror. ‘Go on, look… You want to reach me, talk to me, then start getting to know who I am —’ ‘Take a look at your own face, sweetheart! You think any man wants to come home to —’ He grabbed hold of her by the neck and thrust her head towards the mirror, ‘That! Everythin’ I do is wrong, I’m not good enough…’ He let go, and the force of it sent her hands skittering through bottles and lipsticks, knocking them to the floor. ‘Fine — you don’t like this —’ Dillon had the nightdress in both bunched fists, ripping it up in long slow tearing motions. ‘Frank, no, stop it…’ ‘You don’t want to come away with me, fine!’ The brochures went the same way, showered over the carpet. ‘I’ll find another bitch that does. You don’t like this —’ He snatched the driving lesson vouchers off the bed. ‘Fine!’ Susie plucked the envelope out of his hand, clutched it to her chest. ‘Haven’t’ you wasted enough money for one day?’ she said, not meaning it vindictively, more of a gentle chiding joke. Dillon hit her. A terrible, vicious crack across the face. Susie crashed into the wall and slid down. She rubbed her cheek, the marks of his fingers glowing fiery red. In contrast the blood had drained from Dillon’s face. In his eyes, the most mortifying pain. Hardly knowing what he was saying, he started burbling, ‘I’ve got money, I’m earning good money, I got thirty grand…’ Susie got up, holding her cheek. ‘You’d never have got that loan if I hadn’t sobbed my heart out to Marway,’ she said quietly, her eyes dry and hard. Dillon took a step towards her. A vein beat in his neck. He curled his fist but Susie didn’t flinch. He broke out hoarsely, ‘You got a new kitchen!’ ‘It’s not your money, and don’t expect me to jump around like some stupid tart because you buy me this.’ She swept her hand at the torn nightdress. ‘I am sick to death of looking out for you, trying to make you see sense.’ There was volumes more she could have said; instead she stormed out onto the landing, and would have slammed the door if Dillon hadn’t caught it on the swing. He went after her. ‘That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You want shot of me, need somebody else —’ Susie swung round at the head of the stairs and screamed in his face, ‘Yes. Yes. Yes. I need — yes — all right?” Huge tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head away from him. ‘And I wanted to pass that driving test so badly, I wanted to pass something…’ The smallness of her ambition moved him. That something so trivial, so petty, should mean so much. Dillon’s throat went tight. He reached out to cover her hand on the banister rail and Susie jerked away, missed a step, and in trying to save herself lost her footing altogether and tumbled to the bottom of the stairs, landing with a heavy jarring thud he felt in the soles of his feet. Dillon heard something break. There was blood. She lay awkwardly, one leg bent underneath her, head twisted at an angle, and he thought her neck was broken. Kenny skidded through the doorway, biting the fingers of both hands, Phil behind him screaming one endless, never-ending scream on a single high note. ‘Don’t touch here. Get away from her.’ Dillon knelt beside her. She was his wife, but he couldn’t help her by being the hysterical, panic-stricken husband. Part of his brain clicked into automatic mode. He pressed two fingers to the carotid artery in the neck, checking the pulse, and ran his hand along the leg that was partly doubled under. Satisfied it wasn’t broken, he eased it out and looked to the injuries to the head and face. Bruising to the left temple and a gash above the left eye, where the blood was coming from. Dillon rolled back an eyelid. Pupil constricted, which meant the nervous system was functioning okay. He cupped both hands under the head and very slowly brought it to a more natural position. ‘Kenny, get pillows, cushions on one end of the sofa, bowl of iced water. Come on, lad, move it! Phil, out of the way, get the TV off.’ ‘Shall I call Gran?’ asked Kenny in a quivering voice. ‘Dad?’ ‘No, Pm here, I’ll take care of her.’ ‘You pushed her down the stairs,’ Phil said, snivelling. ‘No, I didn’t, son, she fell.’ Dillon slid his arms underneath his wife. ‘Now move away. Get out of my way…’ Phil’s chin wobbled. He sucked in a huge gulp of air and his mouth opened wide. ‘Phil, you stop that!’ Dillon commanded, lifting Susie in his arms. ‘Get out of my way!’ He carried her through.