Sacrilege - Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Thankfully, Jackie’s injuries were nowhere near as bad as they looked. Once I had cleaned her up, her appearance was considerably improved. It took a very large brandy, however, before I could get much sense out of her. We were in the kitchen, since that was the least messy part of the flat. “We need to get you to a hospital,” I told her.

“And hang around for hours? No thanks.”

“At least say you’ll see a doctor tomorrow.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t, probably the latter. What do you care anyway?”

“Why shouldn’t I care?”

“Because it’s down to you and your friend Danny I look such a fright and have a thumping headache, that’s why. Heaven only knows what those apes have done with Marc.”

“There was more than one?” My mouth went dry again and I reached for the bottle on the table.

“You don’t honestly think one person could do all this do you?” She swung her arm to take in the general shambles. “I was in the shower. Marc was having a lie-in. I heard the doorbell ring and thought it was you. He must have thought so too. Marc would never have let strangers in. Suddenly, I heard a commotion, like all hell had broken loose. Naturally, I rushed to see what was going on.  Two men had already overpowered Marc and were dragging him away. When they saw me, one of them chased me into the kitchen and hit me with something just as I was reaching for the carving knife. I fell and tried to get up again, more fool me. He hit me again and the next thing I remember is your ugly face staring at me. Oh, God, I thought. I must be in hell.”

I ignored the jibe.

“Why, that’s what I want to know?” Jackie glared at me accusingly. “And don’t you dare tell me it has nothing to do with that little fiasco yesterday. I haven’t even moved in properly yet, and look at the place! Look at me!” she shrieked, clutching a hand mirror while draining a second brandy.

“It could have been anyone…local yobs maybe or scumbag opportunists…just about anyone.” I mumbled unconvincingly.

“Before breakfast…? I don’t think so, any more than I think your little caper yesterday is a coincidence. Why come here, though, and why take Marc?  How did they know where to look anyway?  He hasn’t lived here that long. How did they get this address? Nothing makes any sense.”

She reached for the bottle again, but I beat her to it.

“It has to be a coincidence,” I insisted. “They must have mistaken Marc for someone else, the person who lived here last maybe.”

“An eighty-five year old woman with chronic arthritis who’s now in a Care Home?” observed Jackie scathingly. “No, this is your doing, yours and that Danny. Marc has only told me a little about what happened a few years ago but it’s more than enough to let me put two and two together and make four.  You’re trouble, the pair of you. Trouble, I just knew it, trouble, nothing but trouble!”  Hands shaking, she poured another generous measure of brandy. “My moving in was supposed to be a fresh start, a whole new chapter. He’s been such lost soul since Nick Carter died.”

“I thought he was over Nick.”

“A fat lot you know then,” Jackie snorted. “Oh, sometimes he thinks he is until it knocks him for six all over again and he hits the bottle.”

“Marc hardly ever touches a drop.”

“Like I said, a fat lot you know.” She paused. “Do you know how we met, Marc and me? He was sitting at a bar, pissed as a newt and crying into his beer. He wouldn’t leave so the bars staff had to literally throw him out into the street. But for me, he’d have lain in the gutter all night. As it was, I took him back to my flat and looked after him.”

“How sweet,” I murmured.

Jackie glared and continued. “We became …”

“Lovers…?”

“Not at first.  Oh, we recognized each other as soulmates. The rest came later, much later. And now…Oh, God, he could be dead. They wouldn’t, would they? They wouldn’t kill him?” She began to cry, and then started tapping at the keys of her mobile phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m calling the police. Hell, I must be in love!”

I snatched the phone. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, I can’t? We have no choice. Give me back my phone, damn you!” I jumped up and we did a peculiar dance around the table. “Give it to me! You may not care what happens to your brother but I do!”

“Of course I care!” I yelled. “But what are you going to tell the police, eh, that your boyfriend has been abducted? They’ll just write it off as a lover’s tiff. Oh, they’ll be sympathetic and go through the motions…until they realize what you are and then they’ll just laugh in your face.”

“They wouldn’t do that. They can’t. There are laws. What about equality and all that?” She shook her head, tears streaming down her face, “No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. All animals are equal but some animals are less equal than others, right?” aptly misquoting George Orwell.

I had no answer to that and would have taken refuge in another swig of brandy had not my own mobile phone suddenly bleeped to advise me someone had sent me a text message. Hands shaking, I retrieved it from a pocket and stared at the tiny screen. It was from an unknown number. I opened the message. It was from Philip. Excitedly, I read: ‘M ok. Meet me outside F H 1800. P.

“F H, what the devil was FH?  He must mean The Flying Horse!” I cried. Marc was safe and Philip would bring him to The Flying Horse at 6.00pm. I relayed the news to Jackie. She, however, displayed none of the relief and delight I was feeling.  Moreover, she had not only worked herself up into a rage but was also regarding me as if I were public enemy number one.

“You bastard!” she screamed across the table, “I knew this had to be down to you, I just knew it! Why couldn’t you have stayed away? We were going to be so happy, damn you! Damn you, damn, you, damn you!” The rage evaporated before my eyes. She sunk into a chair then, almost at once, slumped forwards. Arms folded on the table, she rested her head in them and proceeded to utter a stream of pitiful sobbing noises.

I organized some fresh coffee. We drank it black and sweet. It helped calm us down.

Unanswerable questions continued to buzz like flies around my head.  What on earth was going on? What was Philip’s role in all this?  It was inconceivable, surely, that he had led the thugs to Marc’s address, and yet…if he hadn’t, who the devil had and why? Nothing made any sense.

“Is there someone you can stay with?” I asked Jackie, “A friend, relative? You can’t stay here, that’s for sure.” Jackie merely shrugged.  “Do you have any family?” I persisted.

“I have three sisters. So you can imagine how my parents reacted to losing their only son. We haven’t spoken for years. The eldest sister, Heather, she respects my decision and is sort of okay with it. Middle sister, Steph, is okay’ish about it although the same can’t be said for hubby, Simon. He’s …”

“…a pain in the proverbial?” I suggested.

 “You’re too kind. Let’s just say that, when Mother Nature got rid of the dinosaurs, poor Simon got left behind. Mind you, he’s a vicar so what else can you expect? He’s rich, though, so I suppose that more than makes up for the rest. His doting granny left him a small fortune. I believe he had some daft notion about giving it all away to the poor. Steph, bless her, arrived in the nick of time. She not only swept him off his carpet slippers, but also but managed to convince him that charity begins at home.”

“And your other sister…?”

“You mean the youngest, prettiest and by far the nastiest? She’s a waste of space. Always was, always will be. I believe Heather keeps in touch, heaven knows why. The parents blame me, of course. Brother-becomes-sister trauma leads to family breakdown and all that crap.” She grimaced. “Some people are just born nasty. Why should the likes of me…or anyone else for that matter… carry the can for other people’s shortcomings?  As it is, we cop the blame for just about everything. Parents are the worst offenders, mine included, although I suppose I can’t really blame them. I must be a huge disappointment,” she told me with a self-deprecating smile.

I felt too embarrassed to speak.

“You can imagine how the Mums and Danads of this world relate the facts of life to their little darlings,” she went on, resorting to bitter mimicry, “Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. One day, you’ll realize how fucked up the world is. But you mustn’t blame yourself, you nasty, spoilt little brat. Dear me, no. Blame the trannies. Not content with being totally fucked up themselves, they have to go and fuck everyone else up as well.”

“It goes with the territory I suppose.” I tried to sound sympathetic.

“That may be so…but a total family breakdown? If the family unit can’t cope with an occasional crisis, it’s not fit for purpose, end of story.”

I sighed. Although relations with my own family had improved in recent times, we had been estranged for years. They had never met or so much as contemplated meeting my first partner, Harry. It was only after Harry’s suicide and my father’s death that I had been reconciled with Marc and discovered he too was gay.

“I could call Heather, I suppose…” Jackie was saying.

Guiltily, I reflected that I rarely gave Harry a thought these days. I was only vaguely aware of Jackie talking into her mobile phone. True, Philip had helped fill the awful hole that losing Harry had made in my life. But was it enough, I found myself wondering?  They were very different people, Harry and Philip. One had been gentle and kind, the other was a true grit cop. Oh, Philip could be gentle and kind too but… was it really enough?  Or was I simply jogging along, making the most of things?

I pulled myself up sharply. Philip and I loved each other. I’d have given anything to feel his arms around me now, the heat of his passion, taste of his kisses, words of love in my ear. Instead, I suddenly found myself thinking about Ryan Banks, the young man I’d met at the café in King’s Cross.

“That’s settled. I’ll throw some things in a bag and be off. Heather’s fine about our crashing down at hers for a while,” Jackie declared.

“Our?”  I pounced on the word.

“Marc and me, that is. Presumably, your Philip will deliver him to you and you’ll deliver him to me. Safe, sound and in one piece, I trust, or else...” she added aggressively. Isn’t that the plan?”

Needless to say, I had no plan.  The suggestion sounded about right, though, so I nodded agreement.

“I’ll take the car and be there in no time. Heather lives in Mile End, has done for years. She likes to keep an eye on the parents, you see.  They live in Stratford. Heaven only knows why she bothers. Mind you, a finer pair of ostriches you couldn’t wish to meet. Oh but they’re sweeties really. It’s just that they’re not really up to the twenty-first century. You know the sort. Hate mobile phones, blame the yanks for everything and won’t have any truck with computers, MP3 players…or transsexuals.” Her grey-green grey eyes misted over.

“You can’t drive in your condition,” I pointed out.

“You may have a point,” she conceded ruefully, “You can drive then.”

“Sorry, I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I can’t drive.”  My hackles soared, as they always did, under the inevitable quizzical scrutiny intended to make me feel a freak. .

“Oh?”

“I always meant to learn but never got around to it,” I mumbled.

“Oh, never mind. Life’s so full of disappointments, what’s one more?  We’ll take a cab. Or I can go on my own. Don’t feel you have to nanny me because I’m a complete nervous wreck. If I fall apart on the way, so be it. Cab drivers are such sweeties and Heather will help pick up the pieces. I swear she has a vocation for it…”

But I was barely listening. For no reason, my mind’s eye had yet again conjured up a profile of Ryan Banks. I could almost smell his aftershave and feel the smoothness of his cheek brush mine as we’d fallen impulsively into a parting hug. Although the smiling image vanished as quickly as it had appeared, it left me feeling oddly unsettled to say the least.

Jackie’s elder sister was brisk, efficient and charming. She fussed over Jackie and despatched her to bed almost as soon as we arrived. If she didn’t quite know that to make of me, she didn’t let it show, nor did she ask any questions but accepted me at face value as Jackie’s friend.

“Sorry about this, sis. Had a spot of bother,” Jackie mumbled.

“No surprises there then,” said Heather, smiling with the air of someone who was no stranger to crisis in all its shapes and forms. Moreover, she extended a warmth and friendliness to me that took me by surprise. I had expected to be blamed for Jackie’s shell-shocked appearance and the bandage applied very amateurishly to the gash on her head. Jackie, however, was less than forthcoming to her sister about what had happened and seemed content to let Heather place me in the role of Good Samaritan.

Later, I took a cab back to the widow Finn’s and spent a restless day anticipating my rendezvous with Philip. Andrew Bolton, I couldn’t help but notice, was conspicuous by his absence. But if May Finn seemed a little distant towards me, I had no wish to pry. Besides, I knew I would be wasting my time. My erstwhile neighbour had always been a very private person.

Six o’clock found me waiting outside The Flying Horse…in vain. .

Customers came and went. I paced up and down for more than an hour before diving inside, gasping for a pint.

“The usual pint is it, Laurence?” Mo called.

I nodded and continued to fret. Why hadn’t Philip arrived? Was he okay? And what of Marc, was he still in one piece or…? I was close to tears.

“Are you aright?”

“I’m fine thanks,” I lied. Mo looked sceptical but did not press me and moved along the bar to serve someone else.

I finished my drink and left. Once outside, I hung around, half expecting a car to pull up at any second and a familiar head to lean out of the window. Unable to face a tangible tension at the widow Finn’s, I took a walk along familiar streets I’d often revisited in my dreams. On the way, I stopped off at several pubs. Should I have waited longer, I kept thinking? In my heart, though, I knew I’d waited far longer than was necessary, having sensed after the first ten minutes that Philip would not be coming. “So…” I asked myself without expecting much by way of an answer, “what do I do now?”

It did not take me long to reach the conclusion that the only choice open to me was to confront Ginny Sharp once more. By this time I had lost count of how many beers I’d had at how many bars.

I sighed heavily. What had I done to deserve this?  Whatever, poor Marc deserved much less, I pondered tearfully and silently prayed that Philip would take good care of my kid brother. “Fat chance, given the mess we seem to have fallen into,” I groaned, barely aware that someone had taken me by the arm and was steering me to the door.

“Do you have far to go, mate? Can I call you a cab?” The barman was saying, but I paid scant attention, made no reply and shuffled off along the road feeling desperately sorry for myself.

At the next pub, the bars staff refused to serve me and I was escorted to the door a second time.

As I staggered down the street, I heard quickening footsteps behind me and started to run.  (Wasn’t there a serial killer on the loose, for heaven’s sake?) I stumbled, lurched to one side and clutched at a lamppost to keep from falling. In the event, I slid to the ground anyway and found myself staring up at a vast expanse of starry sky and an unsympathetic moon. I shut my eyes, wishing myself back in Manchester and things as they had been until just a few weeks ago.

“Laurence, are you alright?”

“Philip?” My heart leapt, only to plummet as I recognized the same pungent aftershave that had haunted me earlier.  I opened my eyes.

“It’s Ryan, Ryan Banks. You may not remember me. We met in a café in King’s Cross. I was wearing a suit.”

“I remember,” I mumbled as he helped me to my feet.  “You had a job interview. Did you get it?”

“What? Oh, yes. I started almost straight away.”

“Congratulations,” I started to say but had to turn my head quickly in order to throw up in the gutter.

“My car’s parked nearby. I’ll take you home.” I was glad of a supportive, not to mention comforting arm around me and did not resist. “So, where to?” he asked once we had settled in our seats and he had fastened my seat belt for me.  Again, I caught an appreciative whiff of his aftershave and made a mental note to enquire what brand he used. I liked it. I liked him.

I began to panic and fiddle ineffectively with my seat belt. “It’s kind of you but I can get a bus,” I stammered.

“Don’t talk daft, you’d never make it to the bus stop,” he observed cheerfully, “It’s no trouble. Where you’re staying?”

“I don’t want to go back,” I muttered to the surprise of both of us. I knew I should return to the widow’s house but my alter ego had other ideas. Even so, I attempted to put up an argument of sorts. Supposing Philip or Marc turned up?  They would expect to find me there.  But the widow would take care of things. May Finn was good at that. Besides, Danny was there. Danny would know what to do. If in doubt, Danny was more than capable of improvising. Wasn’t that his forte, I reflected grimly? No, I didn’t in the least want to go back. Not yet awhile, anyway.

“You’re welcome to stay at my place,” Ryan offered.

“Won’t your partner mind?”

“He’s away at the moment.”

“Your place it is then,” I agreed and would have thanked him had I not fallen asleep.

By the time we were drinking coffee at Ryan’s flat, I had sobered up and was feeling both refreshed and…nervous.

“You can have Eric’s room, he won’t mind…” Ryan was saying, but as I watched his full, almost feminine lips move, I could only think how desperately I wanted to kiss them.

We were sprawled in opposite armchairs in a room that was neither large nor small and very untidy but, nevertheless, had a cosy, lived-in feel about it. “Have you and Eric been together long?” I felt obliged to ask.

“We were at school together. Chemistry is still our favourite subject,” he joked and smiled.

I smiled back, sensing powerfully that he, too, was nervous. There could only be one reason for that.  “He fancies me too,” I thought and promptly proceeded to beat myself up metaphorically. “Ryan has a partner and I’m with Philip,” I told my alter ego forcefully. “It would be nice if we can be friends but that’s all we can ever be.”

Who was I kidding?

“Do you want a hand with the washing-up?” I offered.

“No, it’s okay. There’s loads more dirty mugs and dishes in the kitchen. It can wait till morning. You’re welcome to take a shower, by the way. Now or in the morning, it’s up to you. I’ll find you a clean towel.”

He disappeared and came back, minutes later, carrying matching bath and hand towels. “This is Eric’s room. It’s always a mess but clean.” He opened a door and went inside. I followed and watched him place the towels on a chunky plum coloured duvet. I’ll leave you to it. You know where the bathroom and kitchen are. Feel free to make yourself at home.” He made to pass me and paused in the doorway. We locked glances that were frantically darting mixed messages.

I kissed him.

 Even as it struck me that I should know better, his arms were around my waist and he was kissing me back. “We can’t do this,” I protested weakly.

“You’re right.” He pulled away slightly hand inside my shirt tweaking a nipple.

“Eric and I have been drifting apart for ages.”

“Philip and I are rock solid.”

Ryan grinned. “You won’t want to sleep with me then.” He kissed me again. The lingering scent of his aftershave conspired with warm, sensual lips pressed against mine to obliterate my last vestige of resistance.

Sex in Ryan’s bed was no earth shattering experience but a delightful one all the same.  His smooth, young body needed to be coaxed into play at times but he proved an apt pupil. I kept telling myself it was just sex. But we shared more than sex, that first time. I had to keep reminding myself that it was just a bit of harmless fun. It was hardly as if we were falling in love or indulging in anything as simplistic as a romance even. Yet, we felt something for each other that found expression in an act far more sensual and rewarding than anything I’d expected of or experienced with casual sex.

It had been a long, long time since I’d had a one-night stand.

Later, as I lay wide awake, Ryan’s head resting on my chest, his right arm flung across me, I found myself thinking about Nick Carter. He and I had been lovers before he and Marc got together. We hadn’t loved each other, Nick and me. Hadn’t he warned me it was just sex? Yet we became good friends. I’d often wondered if that was down to good sex or had it been on the cards anyway?

Ryan stirred but did not wake. The slightly parted lips that I had so enjoyed kissing released a gentle snore.  As I ran my fingers through his red hair, my stomach turned turtle. Nick, too, had red hair. Involuntarily, I recalled Nick’s anguished expression before smoke and flames overcame him in an appalling inferno.

 Tearfully, I regarded the head on my chest. Ryan Banks deserved better than the likes of me. Then I began thinking about Philip. He, too, deserved better than me, I admonished myself. What was I doing here in bed with a young man I scarcely knew? Whatever happened to Philip and me being rock solid?

My thoughts turned to my first love, Harry, and how he, too, had turned to one-night stands for…what?

“Oh, Philip, what have I done?” I groaned inaudibly and headed for the bathroom, taking care not to disturb my companion. Even so, those hot-blooded opportunists, desire, self-pity and betrayal, dogged my every step. They would not, I suspected with a heavy heart, be thrown off easily.  As things weren’t bad enough…

I left early the next morning without waking Ryan and made my way by tube and bus to the widow Finn’s. Danny greeted me with a hug and demanded to know where I’d been all night. I brushed off the question with a shrug. He had dyed his hair black and shaved off his goatee.  The difference this made to his appearance was quite remarkable. Moreover, I found it very unsettling since it drove home the message that my life had been turned upside down yet again.

May Finn was discernibly cross. “If you want to stay out all night, that’s your business. But at least have the decency to let people know in future. Danny and I were worried sick. You might have had an accident…anything.”

“I wasn’t worried,” said Danny, “I did wonder who you were sleeping with though.”

He grinned and I looked away uncomfortably. I had no intention of mentioning Ryan Banks.  “Sorry,” I muttered, “I met an old friend and we got chatting over a few drinks. To be honest, we both got so drunk I don’t even remember going back to his place.”

“There, I knew it. He scored. Sorry, dad, I’m only teasing” Danny gave the widow a knowing wink that did not succeed in putting a smile on her face.

“It wasn’t like that,” I lied before offering May Finn what was meant to be an apology but didn’t quite come out as I intended. “I’m sorry if you were worried, but I’m a grown man, not a child. I can take care of myself.”

“Really..?” A withering look told me she suspected I was being economical with the truth. “Well, you look a mess. A bath and change of clothes might help make you look half decent. Danny has bought you something to dye your hair, although I wouldn’t bother if I were you. If you’ve seen one middle-aged man, you’ve seen them all. Now, run along and sort yourself out. I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.”

“I’d rather have coffee,” I murmured and wished my head would stop throbbing so, “black and sweet.”

“The tea is for Danny and me. You can make your own coffee. You’re a grown man now, after all, not a child.” She withdrew to the kitchen, her body language continuing to rebuke me much as her expression.

“You could at least have sent a text,” said Danny, “The old girl’s hardly slept a wink for worrying about you.”

“I was drunk,” I admitted, “and you’re a fine one to talk. It’s not so long ago you were haring off in all directions without telling anyone.”

“That was then. This is now.”

“Too right it is, and whose fault is it we’re up to our necks in bother…again?”

“I didn’t ask you to interfere,” Danny flared. “In fact, I told you not to because I knew you’d only make things worse.”

“So you’d rather go back to being a prostitute would you? How does the saying go, something about a leopard never changing its spots? I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t.”

“Nor me!” Danny yelled and ran out of the room.

I heard the front door slam and wished a hole would appear in the floor and swallow me up. I hadn’t meant a word of course. It was just that I was feeling so tired and…yes, angry with myself.

“Was that the front door I heard?” The widow reappeared.

“Danny’s got a mood on him.” I retorted.

“I hope you haven’t said anything to upset him?” She flung me an accusing glance. “He’d rather die than admit it, but he’s been out of his mind with worry, we both have. Now, for heaven’s sake go and tidy up. Apart from looking like something the cat dragged in, you smell even worse.”

She returned, to the kitchen in a huff, leaving me to resist letting my conscience get the better of my temper. I failed miserably. By the time I had bathed, shaved and decided against dying my hair I was feeling marginally normal. I lay down on the bed to contemplate my sins and fight my corner. I would be fifty in a few years, for heaven’s sake. What did it take for a man to be treated like one, I demanded angrily of a fly on the ceiling? But I was fast asleep before it could reply.

Much later, feeling rested, refreshed and not a little sheepish, I descended the stairs and was soon enjoying a cup of tea in the kitchen. There was no sign of May Finn or Danny.

After devouring a mountain of buttered toast and several more cups of tea, I began to give so thought as to what I should do next. I was feeling remarkably relaxed and calm. True, I was worried about Marc but reassured myself that Philip would see to it he came to no real harm. True, too, that I was concerned about Danny and the widow. I had been inconsiderate and unfair. I would give Danny a big hug next time I saw him and buy the widow some flowers. That should do the trick, I told my alter ego with renewed confidence, and returned to mulling over events of the previous day. Why had Marc been targeted? It made no sense. How had the bastards known where he lived?

The answer came to me in a flash, “Ginny Sharp!” I yelled, whereupon heads at several tables turned to glare at me as if I’d uttered an obscenity.

It was possible, even probable. In no time, I became convinced Ginny Sharp was the guilty party. But…why on earth should she? “To throw them off the scent of course, the vixen,” I hissed into my teacup. I leapt up, determined to pay that nasty little madam another visit. My mobile phone‘s erratic ring tone burst into my head as if to remind me I was still feeling fragile.

“You got home okay then?” It was Ryan and his greeting was on the cool side. “You could have woken me,” he said reproachfully.

Caught off guard, I didn’t quite know what to say so played safe and made do with an evasive, “How are you?” I’d forgotten we’d exchanged business cards at our first meeting and that my mobile number was displayed on mine as well as my work number.

“When can I see you again?”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” I hedged, “Eric…”

“Eric and I are all washed up and have been for ages.”

“Yes, well, I have a partner too, remember? And we’re not all washed up, not by a long chalk.”

“So what was last night all about?”

Having no ready answer, I hastily turned the phone off in case he called again before I had time to think of one. I tried to tell myself that Ryan Banks, sweet guy though he was, meant nothing to me. He had been a welcome one-night stand at a time when I was feeling vulnerable. There was nothing more to it than that. He was history and best forgotten.

Who was I kidding?

As distractions go, Ginny Sharp was not a welcome one but at least she fitted the bill.

Yet a different young woman was perched on a stool at the reception desk, too preoccupied with her MP3 Player to even notice me. Swaying on her seat, hands waving and eyes closed, she remained blissfully unaware of my presence as I came behind the counter and let myself into the same back room into which Ginny had ushered me previously.  It was empty. I was considering whether to leave and come back later of sit down and wait when curiosity got the better of me and I began to leaf through some of the files piled on the desk.  I leafed through a couple. Names, dates and figures meant nothing to me. I was about to leave when the name on one file caught my eye – Musoke, A. It had to be Agnes, surely?

I sat down on the swivel chair and opened the file. It comprised a single page of unlined A4 sheets and made no sense whatever at first glance. Then it dawned on me that what I had taken for some kind of code was in fact SIM-speak. Even so, it was abbreviated even further and hard to read. I vaguely recalled hearing about some college students handing in essays written in the same manner. But this was neither the time nor the place to reflect on falling standards of literacy. I had to concentrate on the business in hand. Ginny, or anyone else for that matter, might come in at any minute. They would not be best pleased to find me sniffing around. I hastily grabbed a piece of paper and a biro and copied as much of the document as I could before I heard voices outside.

By the time Ginny and the receptionist, earphones still in place, entered I had replaced the file and was swivelling about with an inane smile on my face.

“What the hell…?” the latter began but Ginny cut her short. “I’ll deal with this, Monica.”

“But…”

“Are you deaf as well as blind? Oh, and next time, pay attention to whose waltzing in and out as if they own the bloody place, okay? Now, out. Go on, clear off.”

It was Ginny herself who slammed the door, immune to the aggrieved expression on the other young woman’s face. She rounded on me, eyes blazing. “What the hell do you think you’re playing out?  You must be mad, coming here again. Oh, but you are mad, aren’t you? I’d forgotten. Now, get out of my chair and piss off before I forget you’re a friend of Danny’s.”

I got up from the chair and went to the other side of the desk.

Ginny sat down, swivelled violently for several seconds before fixing me with an angry glare. “Are you still here?”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why some thugs have kidnapped my brother and beat up his girlfriend. And don’t you dare tell me you know nothing about it because I won’t believe a word of it. How did they know where to go, eh? Did Danny tell you?”  But even as I spoke, I couldn’t imagine Danny even discussing my brother with Ginny Sharp, let alone giving her his address.

In the event, she made no attempt to prevaricate. “Would you rather they had paid a visit on you and Danny?” she demanded, “I had to say something, didn’t I? Besides, they only said they were interested in a geezer, name of Fisher. They didn’t say which one. So I had ten seconds, if that, to improvise and watch my back at the same time. I’d like to have seen you do any better.”

“My brother has nothing to do with all this. He’s an innocent party. You have no right to put an innocent person at risk, you…you…slut!” It wasn’t the word I was looking for. At the same time, it occurred to me that if the cap fits…

Ginny leaned forward, eyes narrowed and glossy lips pouting, “Sticks and stones,” she snarled. “Do you really think I’m bothered about what people think, especially a pompous ass like you?  But if I’m a slut, what does that make my dear brother in your book, eh, or yours come to that?”

“Your brother…?”

“Ah, I see our Jack hasn’t got around to telling you the half of it yet.”

“Jack?” I felt my jaw drop. “You mean…?”

 “Yep, you’ve hit the nail right on the head. Who’s a clever boy then? Oh, but I dare say a gent like yourself would prefer I didn’t spell it out for you. Am I right or am I right?  So, you see, we go back a long way, me and that that useless piece of goods your brother is shacked up with?”

It suddenly dawned on me. “You were getting even with Jackie, that’s why you send those thugs to the wrong address.”

Ginny sat back in the chair and swivelled. “I’m sorry about your brother. But I had to point the finger somewhere and quick. I thought, if anyone has to get hurt, no one deserves it better than our Jack. Where is he now, by the way? What, cat got your tongue?  He’ll have gone running to our Heather I expect. She always did have a soft spot for him.”

“Where’s Marc?” I demanded.

“I haven’t the faintest idea and that’s the God’s honest truth. Now, piss off and be thankful it was only Monica and me found you here and not a few other people whose names I could mention but won’t. Believe me, there’s some would make your hair curl. Do yourself a favour. Stop interfering and piss off back to Manchester.” She spread her perfectly manicured hands in a gesture of mock despair. “Didn’t messing with the likes of Fat Georgie teach you anything, you stupid, stupid man?”

“It’s like you said,” I said stiffly, “Sticks and stones.” I turned on my heels and made what I hoped was a dignified exit. At the same time, I couldn’t help wishing people would stop telling me not to interfere. Anyone would think I was a liability, that it was a crime to have everyone’s best interests at heart. At least I didn’t have my own personal agenda…did I?   The question stopped me in my tracks, but not for long. This is no time to get all psychological, I told my alter ego, inaudibly but with such passion that a woman passer-by gave me a withering look.

Nonplussed, I quickened my step.

To be continued on Monday