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THE DISC JOCKEY INFORMED the nation it was a bitterly cold morning in County Dublin, and there were snow showers on higher ground. Dorothy examined the windows over the sink as she carefully tilted the two litres of batter into the oversized jug, and sealed it with its red plastic lid. There was nothing but inky blackness on the other side as sunrise was still an hour off. The glass was dry. No snow here, thank the Lord. Looks as if the rain is holding off as well.
She pushed the jug to the back of the worktop so it wouldn’t get in her way, and went to fetch the new pancake makers from the cupboard. They were an electric style capable of cooking four medium sized pancakes at once, which was the reason Glenda had purchased two. The housekeeper reasoned that using both devices at full capacity for thirty minutes would just about keep up with demand for food at the palace. Dorothy was not convinced the facility to cook eight pancakes at a time was capacity enough for her home and its always-hungry occupants, yet deferred to the other woman’s judgment.
She rooted in the junk drawer until she found a pair of reading specs, then spent a minute perusing the instructions. She filled the smallest sink with warm water and followed the cleaning guidelines for the new gadgets. It didn’t take long, and she soon had them washed, dried and left open on the worktop to air.
She checked the grill and saw the sausages were almost cooked. She turned them a final time and reduced the heat a fraction. She surveyed the kitchen and tried to decide what to do next. She was tempted to make herself a slice of toast and cup of tea, but was not certain as to how the lump of lead that was her stomach would react to such a delicacy so early in the day.
Instead, she busied herself making a small pot of coffee and a couple of sandwiches with the freshly cooked sausages. She put the coffee and plate of food on the wicker tray Nelson had made for Glenda, and added anything else she felt might be required. Then she carried the tray to the office and spent a moment or two chatting with the man on duty.
When she returned to the kitchen, she spent a few minutes cleaning up the equipment she had used to make the batter, and set the dishwasher to a fast wash. She covered a plate with a piece of kitchen paper and transferred what was left of the sausages to it. Then she pulled on a pair of pink rubber gloves and spent five minutes scrubbing the grill pan until it shone. She dried it thoroughly before returning it to its rightful place. That done, Dorothy stared hard at the window, searching for the morning sun. It was still pitch black and she was still alone, worried, and frustrated by the lack of communication.
She resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall and yell the house down. Patience, Dottie, they’ll put in an appearance soon enough. She went into the boot room to use the toilet. As she washed her hands, she noticed how pale she was. Unsurprisingly, she had dark circles under eyes too red to be attractive. She rummaged in the cabinet and located the white-eye remedy Glenda kept for emergencies.
She tilted her head back and applied three drops to each eye, then waited a minute to allow the chemicals to work their magic. Sure enough, when she lowered her head again, her eyes were bright and sparkling. She pulled her hair loose from the blue scrunchie holding it back off her face, ran a comb through it and tied it again in a neater style. She glanced at her outfit. Furry slippers, skinny jeans, a check shirt and her long, grey, belted cardigan. Maybe she should go upstairs and make herself a bit more presentable?
‘Fuck that,’ she said aloud. ‘They can take me as they find me. Feckers that they are. What the hell are they up to?’
She opened the door to the outside and listened hard. There was no sound except waves lapping against the shore, and the wind in the trees. She strained her ears for the sound of human voices, but heard only the faint hum of an engine as a car passed on Thormanby Road. The stars in the November sky seemed to mock her with their beauty.
Last day of November. Where has the year gone? Admitting defeat, Dorothy closed the door against the elements and washed her hands again. She returned to the kitchen and touched the kitchen icon on the big screen. She found the recipe section and touched the folder marked: Breakfast Recipes. She spent a minute scrolling through it.
‘Bacon and cheese cupcakes sound very interesting,’ she mused. ‘Making a double batch of those should keep me busy for a while.’
An old Dylan track began to play over the airwaves, and she immediately felt better. ‘Good old Bob,’ she said, as she went to the fridge to see how much streaky bacon she could lay her hands on. As per the instructions, she snipped two hundred grams of the meat into small pieces, and fried them until they were crispy.
She transferred the cooked pieces to a plate and while they were cooling prepared the cupcake trays and collected the rest of the ingredients. It took her ten minutes to combine everything else, and another seven to spoon the mixture into the cases and transfer the trays to the oven. While the cupcakes cooked, she cleaned up yet again and packed the second dishwasher.
At the very moment the timer pinged on the oven, the sun crept over the horizon and the first hint of light crept into the room via the doors to the terrace. Dorothy heaved a sigh of relief, and the lump of lead in her abdomen lightened a fraction. She hummed along to Etta James while she transferred the cooked cakes to a cooling tray. She checked the recipe again and saw she needed to mix cream and grated cheese for the topping, then pop a sliver of crispy bacon on top as the piece de resistance.
‘These are incredibly fattening cupcakes,’ she told the big screen, then returned to the fridge to source the necessary ingredients. James Brown began to sing about feeling good, and she joined in with the lyrics as she grated the cheddar on top of the cream cheese. She made herself comfortable on her usual stool at the island, and spent five minutes thoroughly combining the two types of saturated fat.
After another tense glance in the direction of the window, she went to the baking cupboard and spent a minute searching for the special piping bag and nozzle Glenda used for cake decorating. She hooked the bag over a large glass so the mixture wouldn’t spurt out all over her, then carefully spooned half the cheese concoction into it. When it was nicely full, she unhooked the bag from the glass and set about piping the mixture onto the first cake. When she was finished, she stood back to admire her handiwork.
‘Not bad if I do say so myself,’ she told the cupcake. ‘Might be a little OTT for breakfast, but in for penny and all that.’
As Elvis Presley crooned in the background about being lonesome tonight, Dorothy continued with her work. When the bag was empty, she refilled it with the remainder of the cheese mix and continued with the job of piping until all twenty-four of the cupcakes were beautifully decorated. She retrieved the two dozen slivers of crispy bacon she had held back, and tapped each one into place on top of the cheese topping at a jaunty angle. Then she stood back again for the final critique.
‘Excellent,’ she said proudly. ‘If you blow all the dough on canoes and designer clothes, you’ll still be able to make a buck working in a bakery.’
For what felt like the hundredth time that morning, she cleaned up yet again, then scrutinised the kitchen for anything that had no business there. The cupcakes had been given pride of place on the island, perched on the tiered porcelain cupcake stand Glenda loved, yet seldom got a chance to use. Next to them was the plate of cooked sausages, already looking slightly congealed. Dorothy frowned at them as she slowly applied her hand cream. Perhaps it would be better to put them in the fridge. Perhaps the cupcakes should go in the fridge as well. There was enough cheese in and on them to fill a delicatessen shelf. They really had no business sitting on the island growing stale, no matter how pretty they looked.
She applied another thin layer of hand cream, then threw the tube back in the junk drawer. Determined to save the goodies from spoiling, she took a resolute step in the direction of the cooked food. A scuffling sound in the boot room reached her ears, and she froze in place. Whatever individuals were in there were muttering amongst themselves.
She guessed they were removing their footwear and hopefully washing their hands. After a suspenseful two-minute wait, she heard the door opening and the softest of padding sounds as four men wearing only socks on their feet made their way into the kitchen. Jack was the first one through the alcove. At a glance, he took in the black circles under her eyes and the evidence of cooking.
‘Have you been up since zero dark thirty, Boss?’ he enquired gently.
Dorothy looked past him and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw that Marco, Josh and Deco were present and correct, and looking none the worse for wear.
‘Where are Jive?’ she enquired fretfully. ‘Are they safe?’
‘They headed home to get some shut-eye,’ Jack answered. ‘They’re on duty later. You’re hosting a party this evening, Boss. Shouldn’t you be resting?’
Tears filled her eyes and a treacherous one slid down her cheek. ‘I had the weirdest dream,’ she whispered wretchedly. ‘I got up to see if Josh was okay but I couldn’t find him. Then I realised Deco and Marco were missing as well. I knew you were with them and there was no need to worry, but it’s been a strange morning and I couldn’t help it.’
Moving slowly, Jack plucked a tissue from the box on the worktop and approached her. He gently dabbed away the tears on her cheeks. ‘What was the dream about?’ he asked softly.
‘It was about a tall woman with grey eyes wearing a sapphire ring,’ she gulped back the rest of the tears. ‘Then Josh somehow got mixed up in it which is what woke me. When I discovered his room was empty, I went back to bed and tried to sleep. I was thinking about taking a tablet when Dad called my mobile.’
‘Why did Granddad call you at the crack of dawn?’ Josh spoke for the first time, edging closer to the food. Deco shadowed him, his eyes taking stock of the plate of sausages.
‘His Aunt Eileen passed away during the early hours,’ Dorothy replied sadly. ‘He and Mum were with her at the time, which was a blessing. Dad was upset and didn’t realise how early it was. His parents and Eileen were very close, and she was the last of the older generation. The funeral is scheduled for Tuesday, although you and Diane don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’
‘We’ll go,’ Josh sounded sure. ‘Granny and Granddad will worry if we don’t show, and start talking about psychiatrists again. Feck that.’
‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ she gave him a watery smile. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m good,’ he replied shortly, and grabbed a sausage off the plate. ‘Tired and urgently in need of a shower, but grand nonetheless. Did you make these sausages for us?’
‘As a matter of fact, I made them for Dylan,’ she replied guiltily. ‘I came across him in the office in the wee hours, and decided to make him a little snack to cheer him up. He’s experiencing problems with his lock-picking skills. He has an old cash box in there, but he can’t get it open with the special tools Clive lent him for practice. I must say, I never realised police work was so interesting.’
‘Pity about him,’ Deco said shortly, and reached for a sausage. ‘The big thick.’
‘I thought he was your friend,’ Dorothy sounded shocked.
‘He is,’ Josh shrugged. ‘That doesn’t make him less of a thick.’
‘He can’t expect to be good at everything, Boss,’ Deco explained. ‘He can take more punishment than any guy at SBA except for Dumbo, and he’s whining ‘cause his massive fingers ain’t nimble enough for lock picking. Pity about the Deck Ape.’
‘I thought he was Young Bull,’ Dorothy looked dubious.
‘We prefer Deck Ape,’ Josh replied firmly.
‘The lads are right, Boss,’ Marco piped up. ‘The oversized goon wins most of the competitions because he doesn’t know how to quit. Don’t waste any more sympathy on him and his salami fingers. He’ll never be required for stealth work anyway. I don’t know why Clive’s even bothering to train him up.’
‘Chief’s orders,’ Deco said cryptically, and eyed the cupcakes covetously. ‘What’s in the fancy cakes, Boss?’
‘Bacon and cheese,’ she replied distractedly. ‘Are you not going to tell me where you’ve been? Was it something to do with girls? Have you been to an all-night club?’
There was a stunned silence before Josh answered, ‘You think we’ve been out clubbing in our oldest clothes?’
Dorothy stared around the four men helplessly. ‘Now you mention it, you do seem rather scruffily dressed, and your faces are quite grubby. What have you been up to?’ She looked to Jack for the answer.
‘Operation Yorick,’ he said gruffly. ‘Formerly known as Hellraiser.’
‘Oh my God,’ Dorothy moved closer to the island and gripped the granite for support. The cool of the stone under her fingers provided comfort of sorts. ‘You’ve been to dig up Declan and move his body?’ she could barely get the words out.
‘Don’t forget Foxie,’ Marco added helpfully. ‘He’s resting peacefully in the place where your psycho of an ex-husband used to lie. It took a while, but we got there in the end.’
‘Your clothes are so clean,’ she gawked at him.
‘We wore these special coverall yokes over our duds like the serial killers,’ Marco replied cheerfully. ‘We burnt them and our gloves when it was all over. It was quite a neat job after we got past the teething problems.’
‘What problems?’ Dorothy watched her son take another sausage and calmly bite into it with his sharp teeth.
‘Nelson,’ Marco uttered the single word in a voice full of loathing.
‘You’ve been to England?’ Dorothy gasped.
‘We couldn’t leave the guy out of the operation, Boss,’ Deco said in the voice of reason. ‘It was his idea in the first place. Jimmy borrowed a family chopper, which made the logistics considerably easier. That’s why we’re so late back. All that toing and froing from the UK took longer than we expected. Sorry if we worried you by the way,’ he finished almost as an afterthought.
Seeing she was going to get very little feedback from a phlegmatic Josh, Dorothy looked to Jack for more information. ‘Did it all go according to plan?’ she enquired timidly. ‘Any problems?’
Jack snorted and rolled his eyes all at the same time. ‘Who knew?’ he said bitterly. ‘Who knew?’ he repeated. ‘Deco Moynihan had it in him to keep a cool head on his shoulders when all about him were losing theirs.’
‘Oh dear,’ Dorothy’s brow furrowed. ‘Did Nelson give you trouble? Does he not understand the chain of command?’
‘He certainly does not, Boss,’ Marco replied grimly. ‘He almost scuppered the graveyard part of the entire operation because he wanted to take charge. To make matters worse, Jimmy felt honour bound to defend his little bro from the wrath of the Dog, ergo he was fuck-all help in resolving the dispute. Clive couldn’t very well go up against his partner, hence he stood back and let the situation dissolve into carnage.’
‘Goodness me,’ Dorothy looked at Josh. ‘What were you doing while all this carnage was taking place?’
‘I was trying to get my head around the fact I was standing in Fingal cemetery at two in the morning with a shovel in my hand, all set to dig up the decomposing remains of my biological father,’ her son replied coolly. ‘I was barely aware of the fact your precious Tinman was on the verge of murdering the Honourable Nelson in cold blood, or the Bug was doing his level best to talk him out of it.’
‘Why didn’t you call the whole thing off?’ Dorothy enquired. ‘You could have walked away and nobody would have thought the worst of you. By the sounds of it, that would have been the sensible option.’
‘I wanted to do it,’ the young man shrugged. ‘I just needed a few minutes to process because it was a bit like being in a dream. I sort of zoned out for a few minutes and by the time I came to, Deco had taken Nelson to one side and persuaded him to fall in line.’
‘I’ve known the fella for years,’ Deco explained humbly. ‘I thought I might be able to talk some sense into him before he got hurt. It never crossed his mind he was in any danger, or what the consequences would be if he didn’t start working as part of the team. I know chicks dig poetry and all that Latin shite, but I’d rather have a basic understanding of self-preservation. What a lamesass.’
‘Was Nelson obsessing about separating the soil?’ Dorothy asked. ‘I hear that’s super-important when you’re trying to make a grave look like it’s never been touched.’
‘How did you know that, Boss?’ Jack regarded her suspiciously. ‘Did that hairy bollox text you?’
‘Lord no,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘I saw it on a crime drama recently. The detective who spotted the mixed soils was extraordinarily handsome, which is the main reason I remember it so clearly. Did you manage to assuage his fears?’
‘Clive did,’ Jack muttered in vexation. ‘The Welsh Prick presided over his fair share of exhumations back in the day. He knows a helluva lot about soil separation. More than one might deem to be emotionally healthy.’
‘Things settled down after that,’ Marco added. ‘Between the bunch of us, and working in shifts with military precision, we had the lovely Declan out of his hole on the double, and Foxie packed in there in an identical casket. That was my idea,’ he finished proudly. ‘In case the grave is ever opened again. Nobody will suspect anything if they see the same casket. We even transferred the brass plaque.’
‘Good job, Deco,’ Dorothy smiled at the young man warmly. ‘Why don’t you sample one of my cupcakes and tell me what you think?’
