A failed project, if ever there was one.
‘Noel might be coming back from Spain,’ Jacqui says with a sprinkle of barbed glee. She and Noel are hardly doting siblings, but it’s payback for the reminder that Dad funds her life.
And something I could have really done without hearing.
‘When? What do you mean might?’ I look over at Finn, currently engaged in a climatic gun fight on his PlayStation. I lower my voice. ‘He’s out of prison then?’
She sets the Stormtrooper mask aside, stands up. ‘He’s been out for months, Cat. It was nothing . . . a few Es.’
‘Three-hundred, Jacqs. Remind me not to come out with you for “a few” cocktails.’
‘Yeah right, like that’s ever going to happen. Remind me when we last had a night out?’
To be fair, I walked straight into that one.
I quickly change the subject. ‘So where is he then? The one-armed bandit?’
She flicks her head towards the kitchen window. ‘He’s in the garden. I think he likes the peace.’
‘He lives above a bloody pub!’
‘A pub that doesn’t have an eight-year-old boy constantly shouting at Fortnite.’
‘Ange didn’t fancy playing nursemaid then?’
‘She runs her own salon, some swish place out in Essex. Does pretty long hours. It made more sense for Dad to stay here for a week or two.’
‘Is there any danger of her turning up here?’ If the answer’s ‘yes’, if there’s even the slightest chance we might be forced into a pained intro, I’m going to break the land speed record getting out the front door.
‘No, she’s coming tomorrow night. But there’s no “danger”, Cat. She’s nice.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ I lie. ‘I’m just not in the mood for small talk.’ I pour another wine – a large one this time, a third of the bottle. ‘And anyway, I need to talk to Dad. Alone.’
‘Oh yeah, what about?’
‘Work.’
I leave her pondering that and head outside into the now-bearable evening heat. Dad’s sitting on a wooden swing bench at the top of the garden, his head back and eyes closed, two Citronella candles flickering either side of his bare feet.
‘Didn’t think you were a meditation kind of guy?’ I call, halfway up the path.
He stirs and looks up. A look of complete love that makes me feel five years old.
‘My God, we don’t see you up this way often. Did you bring your passport?’ He sits up a little, smiling. ‘I was having a snooze, actually, sweetheart. I think my painkillers make me drowsy.’
‘Or it’s old age.’
He laughs. ‘You might be right. Catches up with everyone at some point.’
Except in his case it hasn’t. Dad’s always had good genes and kept himself in pretty good shape, but I’m starting to believe that he was kissed by a fairy at birth. Even in his half-crocked state, he could pass for a decade younger than his fifty-six years.
‘They don’t work, you know – these candles. You watch, we’ll still get eaten alive by mosquitoes.’ I sit down beside him, making myself a sitting target for the little bastards. ‘So how are you then?’
‘I’m fine. As I keep telling everyone, I broke my arm, not my neck.’
‘And how are the ribs doing?’
‘OK. Hurts a bit when I laugh, but you know, that’s not too much of a problem around here.’ We share a grin. ‘If it’s not Fortnite, it’s decluttering.’ Another grin. ‘And then there’s Ash, of course.’
Strong, dependable, kind-hearted Ash. One of the good guys, for sure. You just wouldn’t want to sit next to him at a dinner party.
I use one foot to push us off the ground, the bench swinging softly. ‘So you’re definitely OK?’
He looks at me, confused. ‘God, I knew Jacqui would flap, but I was hoping for some indifference from you.’
‘I don’t mean the injuries. I mean how you got them.’ I take a sip of wine. ‘Is it all sorted now, all square? Another “barrel of beer” isn’t going to drop on you any time soon?’
‘It’s sorted.’
I take his word for it, proceeding to the next headfuck on the agenda. ‘Jacqs said Noel might be coming back. Any idea what “might” means? I mean, a plane might crash into the garden in the next five minutes, but it’s unlikely – although it’s preferable to Noel being back in London.’
‘He’s coming back.’ Dad stares into the candle, looking solemn. Looking sorry.
‘You needn’t look so fucking gloomy about it. If he’s coming back, it’s because you’ve paved the way for it to happen.’
‘Frank wants him back.’
I halt the swing, turning to him fully. ‘But Frank hates Noel! That’s about the only thing me and Frank Hickey have ever agreed on. Christ, Dad, he had Noel beaten to a pulp for skimming off him.’
He shrugs his bad shoulder. ‘I’m back in the firm now. He knows I’ll keep him in line. And Noel’s good muscle, always was.’
‘Give Finn ten years and he’ll be good muscle too. Is that what you want? Is that the plan? ’Cos if it is, he’s already coming along nicely – shooting at things and waving fifties around like a mini-pimp.’
‘Calm down.’ An order, not a suggestion.
‘Calm down? Are you serious? Noel being back is bad news, Dad. If he ever met Aiden, it wouldn’t bear thinking about.’ I’ve never really thought about what that phrase actually means, but now I know. Now I feel it in every cell, every vein, every hair on the back of my neck. ‘Noel would put two and two together, I know he would. Worrying about Jacqui is bad enough, but for all her “neglected big sister” act, she’s too wrapped up in herself to bother about me. But Noel makes it his business to poke his nose into mine.’
‘He won’t go near you, Cat. I won’t let him.’ There’s a fierceness in his eyes that says I should believe him, but I can’t afford to. ‘Same with Frank. Frank knows the day you’re hurt is the day me and him are finished, and Noel will know the same soon enough. I love my boy, Cat.’ He takes my hand. ‘But you’re the good one. You’re the one that proves I did something right in my life.’
‘I compromised a murder investigation. Your standards are pretty low.’
‘The people responsible went to prison, that’s all that matters. And now all that matters is that you’re safe and happy. I won’t let Noel hurt you.’
And maybe he won’t, not fatally. But in the same way he always used to delight in kicking my top bunk, pulling my hair, calling me names, stealing my things, Noel’s never happy unless I’m miserable. Unless the Golden Child’s losing her sheen.
Another tick in the box for Manhattan.
‘I might be moving to New York for a while.’ I didn’t mean to blurt that out, but all those years of spewing vitriol at Dad means my brain-to-mouth filter can be a little leaky when it comes to him. ‘I guess that could solve the Noel problem.’
‘Wow, that’s some news, sweetheart.’ A light’s gone out in his eyes, but he still manages a weak laugh. ‘I can just see you now – “NYPD, open up!” ’