3

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THERE WAS A NOTE OF finality in Horace’s voice, as if he considered the subject closed forever. This time, Simone eyed James nervously, hoping he was not going to react badly to this dismissal. James remained impassive, although the blank expression in his eyes did not bode well for his sibling. Simone eased her chair a fraction closer to Dorothy, hoping she would not be caught in any crossfire. Alas for Simone, she moved her chair in the wrong direction.

Marco had hitherto been completely silent at the end of the table, listening raptly to every word, and trying to make sense of what he was hearing. He had finished processing the raw data and reached his own conclusions. Now he came up out of his chair like a tiger and, leaning both hands on the table, snarled at their host like a wild animal. Horace leaned back in shock and his jaw dropped.

‘I’m not exactly sure what you think is going on here,’ Marco narrowed his eyes at the other man. ‘So allow me to spell it out for you, you hairy, dumbass loser.’ He pointed at Dorothy.

‘D-Ly needs your help. Hence she will receive your help.’ Now he gestured towards James. ‘Jimmy wants you to go home, hence you will be going home. We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way, Horace, or Nelson, or whatever the fuck your poxy toff name is, but make no mistake, you will be not be calling the shots for the foreseeable future. You are coming with us.’

Marco’s eyes had grown frenzied and his face had become flushed with anger. He had a sort of primal energy radiating from him which only served to increase his attractiveness. Simone was desperate to take a photograph for Charlie, but dared not move and spoil the moment. Marco now pointed at a rather bemused Horace.

‘I suggest you get your stuff together, hairy boy, because as soon as the Dog gets here, we’ll be off.’ He pulled out his phone while Horace’s eyes widened with horror.

‘Who are you calling?’ he demanded. ‘Not that ghastly American?’

‘That’s my best friend you’re talking about,’ Marco told him coldly. ‘He may be ghastly, but he’ll know how to deal with a sad sack like you all right.’

‘Damerel!’ Horace sounded panicked. ‘Are you going to allow Marco and his friend to kidnap me?’

‘I can’t stop them, Nellie,’ James did not sound especially sorry. ‘The boss needs your help. This is out of my hands.’

‘Jimmy, you and Clive take the women home,’ Marco ordered. ‘You can leave this to me.’

Jive exchanged a look and then, as one, rose to their feet.

‘Wait!’ Horace sounded desperate. He turned to his former neighbour. ‘Are you prepared to permit this outrage, Dorothy?’ he enquired plaintively.

‘I agree that James needs plausible deniability when he comes face to face with the family,’ she replied calmly. ‘He shouldn’t be present for this part of the operation. Don’t worry, Horace, they won’t hurt you as long as you do as you’re told. Let’s go, Si.’ She pushed her chair back and began to stand up.

‘Stop!’ Horace jumped to his feet. ‘Can we please discuss this like rational human beings? I don’t understand why you’re all behaving this way. Can’t you see how inappropriate it is?’

‘Inappropriate,’ Marco sneered at the other man. ‘You want to discuss inappropriate behaviour? You broke Diane’s heart, you miserable cunt. So you’re going to get your hairy ass over to Howth and see if you can cheer her up a bit. Personally, I hope she stabs you through the liver with a nail file, but she’s a gentle girl, ergo I doubt I’ll have the pleasure of witnessing that. After you’ve completed that element of your mission, you will be taking a little trip to visit the family you abandoned ten years ago. During that visit, you will apologise to your mother for allowing her to believe you dead all these years. You will also make a supreme effort to atone for that act of cowardice, you heartless, self-absorbed, piece of shit.’

The colour had drained from Horace’s face during this little tirade, and he slumped down into his chair. ‘Mummy,’ he said wretchedly.

‘Yes, Mummy,’ Marco repeated sarcastically. ‘Guys like you make me sick. You don’t deserve a mother, although no doubt she’ll welcome you with open arms and kill the fatted calf and invite all the neighbourhood toffs around to drink your health. Loser. I’d happily kill you with my bare hands for what you put that woman through.’

Horace eyed him warily.

‘Oh, don’t be such a sissy,’ Marco eyed him scornfully. ‘As if I’d kill you with Jimmy sitting there ready to defend his baby bro at the first hint of trouble.’

‘You’re very cross and I wish you’d shut up,’ Horace whispered in dejection. ‘I don’t respond well to threats.’

‘In that case, you’re going to love the Dog,’ Marco announced cheerfully, and picked up his phone again.

‘Dear God no,’ Horace held up an imploring hand. ‘Surely there’s another way.’

‘Of course, there’s another way,’ Simone sounded surprised. ‘Get in the car willingly and come with us. You can spend a day or two in Howth with Dottie and her gang. That will give James time to let your family know the good news and make arrangements for your homecoming. You’re a grown man, Horace. They can’t force you to stay with them against your will, although I agree with Marco that you owe them the courtesy of a visit. Why not spend ten days with them and then decide how to proceed? What’s ten days to you?’

‘A day for every year you’ve been MIA,’ Marco said nastily. ‘What a hero.’

Horace seemed to be mulling this proposition over so Dorothy sat down again and watched his mind churning. It took a full five minutes for him to reach a decision.

‘If I agree to accompany you, you have to promise not to call that hideous American,’ he regarded Marco with a degree of hostility.

Marco snorted in derision. ‘I’ve never met such a Jessie,’ he scoffed. ‘The Dog would hurt a woman before he’d touch a pussy like you.’

‘Is that true, Dam?’ Horace turned to his brother.

‘Don’t worry about the precious Tinman,’ James smirked. ‘Do we have an agreement on you coming home for a while? I need to know right now, Nellie. This is super-important.’

Horace sighed sadly. ‘I’ll go to Little Badger for ten days,’ he said, ‘but that’s my limit. This is my home now, and I fully intend to return here in due course.’

‘That’s going to be a difficult proposition to sell the governor,’ James twisted his mouth in a rueful expression. ‘I might be able to sell three weeks or a month to him. How about it?’

‘How about what?’ his brother enquired in acute irritation.

‘How about you agree to come home for a month, and in return I persuade the governor not to pressurise you into staying when your time is up,’ James replied patiently. ‘You need me to broker this deal, Nellie. Otherwise you could find yourself out-manned, out-manoeuvred, and without a scrap of ammo at your disposal.’

‘Horace, you need James in your corner,’ Dorothy jumped in. ‘He’ll act as your liaison, but you need to meet him halfway. If you were my son and you came back from the dead, I would never allow you out of my sight again. Let James smooth the way with your parents. You’ll be back in this cottage in time for Christmas, assuming you decide against staying in the UK, that is.’

‘Why would I decide to stay there?’ Horace narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

‘You might fancy the idea of a family Christmas,’ she replied gently. ‘Stranger things have happened.’

The expression on his face suggested such an occurrence was highly unlikely, although he did not respond to her comments regarding the festive season. ‘Graviora manent. Very well, Dam,’ he sounded resigned to his fate. ‘See what you can do for me, old chap, I’m in your hands. For feck sake, keep the governor away from Shankill.’

James shot to his feet. ‘I need to see you outside, Bug,’ he said shortly, and hurried to open the front door. Grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair, Marco instantly followed, and the two men leaped up the step and into the fresh air. Marco pulled the door closed with a bang and searched his jacket pockets.

He located a packet of cigarettes and handed one to James. Then he pulled the lighter out of his pants pocket, cupped his hand around it to shield it from the November wind, and lit it. James inhaled deeply with his eyes closed. They remained closed for another twenty seconds as he desperately tried to gather his scattered wits. When they opened, Marco saw by the glint in them he was ready.

‘Don’t worry about that hairy bollocks,’ the driver said firmly. ‘Go and get it sorted. Best of British.’

‘Thanks, man,’ James said gratefully. ‘Don’t let him give you the slip.’

‘I’d love it if he tried anything so stupid,’ Marco laughed. ‘What a girl.’

With the cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other, James jogged around the corner and was lost to sight down the lane. Marco made sure he was not coming back then knocked on the door. Clive admitted him to the house and both men faced Horace.

‘Find a box for your stuff,’ Marco’s voice was steely. ‘Don’t worry about clothes, you’ll be getting new duds. We’re not sending you home to your ma looking like a tramp. Just bring any personal items you can’t live without. That Latin shite and your sissy poetry books or whatever.’

‘Would you like us to help you, Horace?’ Simone smiled. ‘I quite like the name, Nellie. Would you mind if I called you that instead?’

Horace began to back away from them with a hunted expression in his eyes.

‘I can’t believe he’s related to Jimbo,’ Marco remarked in disgust.

In the meantime, James found a sheltered spot beside the ring fence surrounding Bluebell Wood. Willing his hands to stop trembling, he dialled his father’s mobile. The earl answered the phone promptly and his narrow face appeared on the small screen. He was seated behind the desk in his study.

‘Damerel!’ he sounded pleased. ‘These new-fangled phones are capital. Every time you call, I can see your face. How are things with you, old chap?’

‘Dad,’ James found his voice was letting him down badly.

The earl’s expression grew alarmed and, with his free hand, he reached for the black phone on his desk.

‘Dad,’ James repeated croakily.

‘Now you listen to me carefully, Damerel,’ his father said slowly and carefully. ‘Do not say one word to the coppers until your lawyer is present. I’m calling Lancelot on the other line. He’ll know who to send. Not one word, do you hear me, lest you incriminate yourself further. I’ll make sure he sends his best pilot to deliver the chap to you.’

James made a strangulated sound in the back of his throat, and the earl began to grow red in the face.

‘This is not helping the situation, Damerel,’ he said sternly. ‘How many men did you kill? Was it self-defence? Please say it was. Your poor mother. As if the woman hasn’t had enough to contend with these past few years without you embarking on a killing spree. I blame all those filthy Wild West films you used to watch as a child.’

‘Not that,’ James managed to get the words past the lump in his throat.

‘What do you mean, not that?’ the earl snapped. ‘What the devil is going on over there, Damerel? Are you in trouble with the law or not?’

‘Not,’ James took another pull on his cigarette. ‘You might want to fetch yourself a brandy,’ he said, before he inhaled a vast lungful of smoke. He closed his eyes.

‘Stop behaving like an infant and tell me what is happening this very instant,’ the earl suddenly roared at his son. ‘Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I’m not a young man, you know. This behaviour is deplorable. Are you drunk in the middle of the day, you irresponsible young thatchgallows?’

James slowly exhaled before opening his eyes and regarding his father with a hint of wickedness. ‘Nelson faked his own death,’ he said cheerily. ‘He’s alive and well and I’m standing outside his house as we speak. I’ve been drinking tea with the bollocks for the past hour. He’s amenable to paying you a visit for a month, but not until you agree to his terms. For all intents and purposes, you can treat me as his manager in this negotiation. By the way, Governor, I appreciate your offer of legal assistance. I’ll bear it in mind the next time I plan a killing spree.’

The receiver of the old-fashioned telephone dropped from the earl’s right hand, while simultaneously every jot of colour drained from his face. The mobile phone landed on the desk with a crash and James heard a thud as his father collapsed in a heap on the floor.

‘This might take a while,’ he said aloud. ‘I should have bummed another ciggie when I had the chance. Perhaps I should have called Mater instead.’