Richard slumped at the table, swirling tepid dregs round a Tardis mug Bev had given his dad for a laugh. She’d found it tucked in a kitchen cupboard – one of the few things Richard hadn’t packed. Perhaps sonny didn’t find the in-joke funny. Either way he looked to have weightier matters on his mind right now.
‘I’d’ve killed him, you know.’
‘Yeah, and spend the rest of your life in prison. That’d work.’ She watched him stretch long legs across the quarry tiles, heard the wince. Little wonder: the Midget didn’t have a lot of limb room.
‘Get that down your neck.’ She plonked a fresh black coffee in front of him. The third since running him home. In the next life, she reckoned she could come back as a barista.
He glanced up. ‘Where’s yours?’
‘Coffee-ed out, me, mate. Besides, I’m not pissed.’ Neither was he now, thanks to a loaf of Mother’s Pride she’d found in the bread bin. She’d finally got round to the toast she’d promised herself. Made enough to keep the neighbourhood going; certainly enough to sober up Byford’s son. And he needed a clear head, because she was keen to set a few things straight.
‘Yeah, sorry about that thing in the car park, Bev.’
That thing? He’d thrown a right strop. She’d threatened him with cuffs and a drunk and disorderly. Still, silver lining … the Sunrise wouldn’t be welcoming him back with open arms any time soon.
‘That’s OK, Mr Banks.’ She treated him to a Morriss eye-roll. ‘What was that all about?’
He sat back, fingers laced on top of his head. ‘I thought if they knew who I was, they might not let me in.’
‘What? Let a homicidal maniac stalk the wards?’ She peeled herself off the fridge, flopped onto a seat opposite and folded her arms. ‘Yeah, I can see they might have a problem with that.’
‘I’d have wasted the creep if you hadn’t come along. And no one would have been any the wiser.’
She sniffed. ‘Yeah right.’ Fact was, he just might have got away with it. Homicidal smothering was notoriously difficult to detect: often little or no external sign of injury. And given Curran’s medical condition, there’d probably be no post mortem. But. You had to know what you were doing. Too much pressure left telltale marks: bruising to the gums, paler skin round the nose, petechial haemorrhaging. It only took one keen-eyed doc to spot those tiny red dots and … it’s a fair cop, m’lud.
That was without a pillow teeming with saliva and tissue cells.
Bev’s more or less timely intervention had nothing to do with saving Curran’s miserable skin, everything to do with saving Richard.
‘How come you were there, anyway?’ He gave a one-shoulder shrug.
Two could play at that game: she lifted both. Drummed her thigh until he broke the silence. He dropped the laid-back pose, hunched forward across the table.
‘You’re keeping an eye on him too, aren’t you?’
‘An eye?’ She snorted. ‘A pillow over his breathing gear’s what you had on him.’
And right now his knowing gaze was fixed on her. She glanced round the kitchen, dead casual. Inside she was anything but. It was unsettling enough that the subdued lighting made the guy look even more like his dad; the fact he’d cottoned on to their shared agenda rang all manner of alarm bells.
‘You want him dead too, don’t you, Bev?’ He moved his hand closer to hers.
She snatched it away. ‘What I want … is for you to ditch any stupid ideas about revenge.’
‘Revenge? I call it justice.’
Couldn’t argue with that. But she would. She leaned forward, fingers poised to tick off points. ‘One: he killed your father – don’t let him take you down as well. Two: he’s gonna die anyway.’ One way or another. Preferably not naturally and definitely not peacefully. ‘Three: you can’t take the law into your own hands.’
He nodded like he agreed with every word. ‘So how come it’s one law for me and another law for you?’
She ran her gaze over his face. Thought about fobbing him off with a load of old bollocks but his searching grey eyes saw the truth.
‘You hate him every bit as much as I do, don’t you, Bev?’
She nodded. ‘With every blood cell.’
‘Then why …?’
‘Stop you?’ She sighed. ‘You’d have got caught.’ And she’d no intention of making it easy for Curran. Shuffling off his mortal coil in his sleep? No way. She wanted him fully awake, compos mentis, scared shitless.
‘And you won’t?’ he asked.
‘Look, Richard, get it out of your head, I’m not—’
‘Don’t lie to me, Bev.’ His hand was in close proximity again.
She briefly closed her eyes. The less he knew the better, but he deserved the truth. ‘Let’s just say when the time comes, I’ll take care of it. Leave it at that, eh?’ His eyes searched her face again; he knew exactly what she wasn’t saying.
He moved to take her hand again but she jumped up smartish, jangled the car keys. ‘I’m off – early shout and all that.’
‘You sound just like Dad.’ Unsmiling, he rose too and held her gaze. ‘You don’t have to go, you know, Bev.’ The invitation couldn’t be clearer. Tempted? To wake up next to him in bed? Does a bear poop in the woods?
‘I think I do, Richard.’ She stood on tiptoe and pecked his cheek. ‘Catch you later.’ Lip curved, she turned at the door. ‘And don’t take that literally.’
Like father like son, for sure. Maybe just not alike enough. Either way, she wasn’t ready to find out. Before she was even out of the Midget, Bev spotted the flowers on her doorstep. Shit. What a shame. She must’ve missed Frankie on a peace-making mission. Bag hoisted, she locked the door, headed for a closer look. Talk about pushing the boat out: the bunch of lilies was twice the size of Bev’s offering. She sniffed. That’d be commensurate with the size of her mate’s guilty conscience then. Chuffed to bits anyway, Bev gave them a one-armed hug, made her way to the kitchen. Even through the cellophane, she caught a whiff of the bouquet. OK, it always reminded her of funerals but she could live with that.
Smiling, she stood them in the sink, then scouted round for a vase. Five minutes later, thought she might have to make do with a bucket. Richard’s final words kept popping into her head. He’d come to the door, called out: ‘If you ever change your mind …?’
She smiled. Never say never. Tearing open the envelope, she wondered what bon mots Frankie had to say. Her lip curled as she read the message. Cheeky toad. What a bloody nerve.
Can I buy you dinner? Oz x
I’d rather eat shit, mate. She tore the card into tiny shreds, stomped over to the bin, sprinkled them in. They sat like confetti on top of the corned beef hash and baccy ash. Marriage made in heaven, she thought. She frigging hated lilies anyway.
Standing there, tapping a foot, she creased her eyes. Hang fire a minute, Beverley. Simpson’s in Edgbaston would set him back an arm and two legs, especially if she ordered the most expensive nosh on the menu plus a bottle of bubbly or two. In return, she could give Oz bloody Khan a few home truths. She pursed her lips. It’d mean spending a couple of hours in his company. Could she handle that?
She sniffed, rammed the flowers head first in the bin. Yeah, why not?
Old times’ sake and all that crap.