Chapter Nine

Angelo sat behind Agani’s ornate desk. He liked the view from the window, and the way the sun brought up the finish on the polished wood, like rich gold. London spread out all around him, so many stone and glass fingers pointed upwards, each one announcing its wealth. Sometimes in his village someone would have a tattered magazine and he’d see cities like this. All the big ones in all the big countries, dripping with money. Even on worn pages they shone and the people also seemed to glow. Angelo fingered one of the gold rings he wore on each little finger. Those fingers were not good for much and rings gave them a purpose. A ring like this could buy that village, and the people in it. He was ten years older than Agani, it had taken him longer to get where he was. He was not so clever, but he was steady, sure, and he learnt. There was an intricate design carved on Agani’s table, two eagles flying. Agani had brought someone over specially to do it, to remind him of home, he said. Angelo did not want any reminders.

The big man came in and he stood before Angelo, like he’d stood before Agani. Angelo thought that maybe this Richards has done him a favour. Amsterdam would need a replacement, so why not him? Angelo would let the matter end now, if he had his way. An eye for an eye, and it was over. He doubted if this Richards would ever bother them again, and it would be better not to bother him. As Agani said, it was business. But those in Amsterdam clung to old ways. The Welshman had been a fool to let them live.

‘What’s happening with Kelly?’ Angelo asked.

‘They came, took him away. A policeman who looks like he should be in school stands outside that pigsty. In that bar he drank in they say he jumped. They say they could see it coming.’

‘Good. We have an address for this Richards from the girl’s flat, somewhere near Cardiff. His mother lives there.’

‘Where’s Cardiff?’

‘Near his birthplace. Less than two hundred miles west. Another country, they say, but not another country.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘They even speak another language there, I think. It’s the way this Britain is.’

‘I have not got very far with English.’

‘I’ve noticed, but we’re a long way from the village.’

The big man smiled, his two gold teeth putting on their own display.

‘Yes, we are, so was Agani, but he died in a girl’s gown with his head on this wall.’

‘It was his time. Get a car ready. We’ll go down in the morning.’

‘The Lexus is being fixed. Shall I take Agani’s Mercedes?’

‘You mean our Mercedes.’

The big man smiled again. ‘How do you know he’s gone there?’ he said. ‘He could be anywhere.’

‘I know, but Lena told Tony that this man will not fly. He will never fly she said. In his position I would go to the place I know the best. My homeland.’

‘Won’t fly?’ The big man’s grin became wider. ‘What about Stellachi?’ he asked.

‘He won’t come unless we need him. Get my things ready. We’ll go early.’

The big man is getting old, Angelo thought. Still as strong an ox, but also as slow-thinking as one. They were both getting old. He would not have been surprised by this Richards even five years ago. London had made them soft. Richards was like Stellachi, he moved fast like Stellachi, had the same sharp eyes as the Romanian. But Angelo had seen him kill and he was not like Stellachi in that. He’d seen Richards’ face when he pulled the trigger. This man was fighting himself, and he’d be fighting himself now. His woman was gone, and he had killed. Maybe this man was soft at the centre, but Stellachi had no soft, he was a man who hated every second of life. Angelo understood this, and feared it. He stretched out his hands so that his rings flashed, and he saw his reflection amongst the eagles. He hoped they weren’t coming for him.

*

Mark began to talk. He told Carl everything, keeping his voice low, like one of Carl’s old comrades reporting on a Falklands hillside. He couldn’t believe how easily it all came out, and what a relief it was when it did. By the time he got to the end it seemed like he was describing a film he’d seen the other day.

Carl did not interrupt or say a word until he’d finished.

‘By Christ, I knew it was something bad, when I found the guns,’ Carl said, ‘but nothing like this. This is the last place you should have come.’

‘I know, but it’s done now. Even if I hadn’t come down, they’d know where Julie lives. They’ll have found her address in our flat, or maybe Lena told them. You being here is a bonus, Carl. Julie might have been alone when they came, not knowing who the fuck they were or what was happening, and not being able to tell them anything. That doesn’t bear thinking about. We have a chance to get her away now.’

‘We?’

‘OK, you’ll have to do it, if you’re up for it. They’ll know nothing about you. You do have your own place?’

Carl was silent for a long moment, looking at the guns, and moving them slowly around in his hands.

‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered. ‘Only a few hours ago I was reading the Sunday paper, thinking I’ve met a good woman, and looking forward to a bit of quality time. Thanks a lot, Mark.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you if you just walked out that door.’

‘No, but I would blame me. Yes, I have got a place. Swansea way. It’s only an old council house. The divorce was messy, and it cost.’

‘What about your kids?’

‘Long gone. The boy’s in Australia, and Megan is an au pair in Florida. They both wanted to get away when their mother and I fell apart.’

‘Does anyone know you around here?’

‘Nah. I’ve only been on the scene a few months and Julie keeps herself to herself.’

‘Does your ex know about Julie?’

‘There’s no contact now. She’s with her new fella, further west. He’s minted, and she’s still not bad looking. It’s all right, I’m well out of it. At least I thought I was. Now you bring me this.’

‘Bit different to ‘Dad I got drunk and hit a copper,’ eh?’

‘Just a bit. Look, Mark, I’m sorry about this Lena. I don’t know how you’ve held it together today. Your mother is oblivious to it.’

‘Oh, she knows something is up all right, but she’s used to thinking that’s normal with me.

‘Surely it would be better to go the police, for Christsake.’

‘They’ll think I’m barking. They’ll never find any sign of Lena or Agani, and if they did take me seriously, with my form, they’d put me in the frame for Lena straight away. And I wouldn’t trust that lot to protect Julie. No, people like Agani never really exist. They have false everything. You never know what their real names are, or where they’re from. I’m not sure now that I knew Lena at all. That’s the worst thing. Two years that might have been just a game, and me the stooge.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Go back to the valley, lie low. Let them come to me and see what happens. It’s not much of a plan, but the only one I’ve got. I’ll pick up some gear tomorrow morning.’

‘I get it. Meet ’em on your own ground. Do you think they’ll track you down?’

‘If they don’t, then I’ll try to find this Stellachi. It won’t be over for me until I do.’

‘None of this is fair on your mother.’

Despite him saying this, Mark could sense the excitement in Carl. His worn eyes took on new life. He was running from fire in Bluff Cove, bending in the wind on the Falklands hillside, wishing he had eyes in the back of his head in the Falls Road. Carl was alive again, alert to each passing second, sucking in life with every breath and glad of it. Mark caught the mood, and knew why soldiers liked to work in teams. They had killing in common. Carl had witnessed a summary execution on the battlefield, he might have shot that Yank himself, murder in the eyes of some, but a just killing in his eyes. In his head his mates would still have been burning. Not many men experienced stuff like that.

‘What about these?’ Carl tapped one of the guns. ‘It would be best to get rid.’

‘No, things have gone too far. I’d be naked out there without them.’

‘If anything goes down here the police are bound to get involved. You can’t go shooting up the bloody hillsides, man. This isn’t Texas.’

‘Maybe they won’t. If I go down, they’ll make me disappear, like they did with Lena, and Agani.’

‘They went public when they ran over that Tony.’

‘Not really. It was hit and run. It happens every day on the roads and if they’d got me it would all be over. I’ve seen these people, Carl, they don’t give a fuck about life or death.’

There were sounds of Julie stirring.

‘How the hell am I going to fix this,’ Carl muttered, ‘what can I tell her?’

They looked at each other.

‘Well, let me put the artillery away for a start.’

Mark pushed the guns to the bottom of the holdall. He was zipping it up as Julie came back in.

‘You two look nice and cosy. Had a good chat, have you?’

‘I’ll be getting off soon, Mam,’ Mark said.

‘What? You only just got here.’

‘I know, but I’m not meant to be here at all. I’m working. I’ve got to get over to Bristol tonight. There’s a car waiting for me in Cardiff.’

‘Oh. I see.’

Julie looked at him the same way she used to when he came home from a job, wondering if the police would be there minutes after him. Mark felt like shit, and he was dishing more of it out. Why didn’t Lena tell him what was going on, just shown a little faith, just believed in him enough to include him? Now he was passing the buck to Carl.

Carl looked at him helplessly. He was Mark’s one piece of luck. Anyone remotely normal would pick up the phone as soon as he was gone, but Mark didn’t think Carl would. The man had only been on the scene a matter of weeks, looking for a bit of comfort after a bad domestic. He’d have every right to scarper, but there was something real about the man, something true. As a man who could hardly spell trust, Mark still thought this. He had to. He had to trust Carl, like he’d trusted Kelly. Two alien acts in one weekend, and it made him think how limiting it was to be always on your own. He’d needed an Irish bum and now he needed an ageing ex-army man. He was glad Carl had found the guns. If he’d said anything before he might have thought him just a nut spouting nonsense but guns were good for concen-trating the mind, he’d learnt that in the last few days.

‘Stay and have a bit of tea, at least,’ Julie said.

‘I’m still stuffed after that pub, Mam.’

‘You hardly ate anything,’ Julie muttered. ‘I’ll make you a cup of coffee, you have got time for that?’

‘Course I have.’

‘Do you want one, love?’ she asked Carl.

‘Okay.’

‘Get her down to that house of yours in the morning,’ Mark whispered, as soon as Julie was in the kitchen. ‘If they find me they won’t be interested in anyone else.’

‘How am I going to do that? She’s got her job and everything.’

‘The job’s no problem. Just phone her in sick. As for getting her down there, you’ll have to think of something. Do this, please, Carl, for both of you.’

‘Both of us?’

‘You can be good for her. Good for each other. Listen, when I was growing up it was one long line of wankers. It wasn’t her fault, it was just our situation. I thought it would never change, but it has. Even if I’ve fucked up again it doesn’t have to change that. Keep her down your place as long as it takes. Gimme your mobile number and I’ll stay in touch. If you don’t hear within a week, expect the worst. Oh, you better keep a check on the news too.’

‘Expect the worst, by Christ. What do I say then? You’re her only son.’

I am now, mate. Shane’s baby face loomed large in his head. If he lost out with Stellachi how would Julie cope with it? Another Richards disappearance, as final as the first. And if he got lucky, what then? Banged up for life? That would really bring some cheer into her life. Mark began to notice the unintentional movement of his hands, the way his fingers made shapes that his brain had no part in.

‘I’ve made one for all of us,’ Julie said, ‘and there’s some biscuits too.’

Perhaps he should have also told Carl about Shane but there was only so much the guy could be expected to take at one time. Mark tried to pick up a biscuit but it crumbled in his hands, pieces of it falling into his drink.

‘That’s what I call a dunk,’ his mother said.

Julie sat close to him on the sofa. He could feel her warmth on his leg, and for a moment was back twenty-five years, waiting for her to smother him after she’d slammed the door on another loser.

‘That girl hurt you, didn’t she?’ Julie said quietly.

‘What?’

‘That Lena. It’s obvious, been obvious all day. Was there someone else?’

‘Sort of. It’s over, Mam, best let it alone.’

‘You sure?’

‘Oh aye, I’m sure about that.’

‘And you have to go?’

‘Yip.’

‘I’m going to the loo,’ Carl said.

‘You got Carl now,’ Mark said. ‘Seems all right to me.’

‘God, I never thought you’d say that about one of my boyfriends. Remember all those fights we had over them.’

‘Well, you certainly could pick ’em, Mam.’

‘But I couldn’t though, could I?’

‘We’ve moved on a lot since then. Maybe this Carl will be good for you. You deserve it.’

‘It’s early days yet, but I think he might. Thanks, love … listen to us, we’re almost doing a normal family routine.’

‘Had to happen sometime.’

‘When will I see you again?’

‘Not sure. I’ve lots of work on.’

‘I can’t believe you live in London. I never thought you’d leave the valley, ’specially the hillsides. Don’ you never want to come back?’

‘We didn’t exactly leave nothing behind, did we?’

‘Except Shane.’

‘Aye, except him.’

‘Do you think it’ll ever be solved?’

‘Been a long time now. He’d be a teenager.’

Julie sniffed and pushed even closer as Carl came back in.

‘Right, time to go, Mam,’ Mark said.

‘All right.’

‘I’ll give you a lift,’ Carl said.

‘No need for that, mate.’

‘No trouble. Come on, then.’

Julie hugged him at the doorway. He was once again reminded of how small she was. It was like picking up a twelve-year-old.

‘Still a size ten,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Take care of yourself.’

‘Don’t I always?’

They drove off in the Merc. Mark saw the diminishing figure of Julie in the wing mirror. She was smiling, and waving vigorously. He fixed this image in his mind, just in case it was the last time he saw her.

‘Drop me off in the centre of Cardiff,’ Mark said. ‘I’ll get a hotel tonight. Make sure you’re gone in the morning, I don’t think those guys will hang around too long.’

‘I still haven’t a clue what I’m going to tell her,’ Carl said. ‘Any ideas?’

‘How much are you into Julie?’

‘We clicked straight away. And I’m not on the rebound, if that’s what you’re thinking. My marriage died a slow death for years. It was a relief for both of us when it finished, even if she did take up with that slimy ponce. Come on, gimme a reason why I should suddenly want to take her from here.’

‘Say that you’ve booked something as a surprise,’ Mark said. ‘You were going to tell her then I showed up. I know, take her to Ireland, she’s always wanted to go there. Try Donegal, I’ve heard that’s nice. You’ll be safe there, just in case they managed to connect you to Julie.’

Kelly came into Mark’s head. If he got through this, he’d take him a case of Irish whiskey and says thanks. He doubted it was a word Kelly had heard much in his life.

Carl pulled up outside a large hotel, built since last time Mark was here. He thought it would be better to be anonymous in a multi-roomed chain than in a small B & B.

‘I don’t know whether to shake hands or not,’ Carl murmured. ‘Before you appeared I was thinking that maybe my life’s getting straight, that I’ve met someone who might be right. I haven’t thought like that since that fucking war, and that was twenty years ago.’

Mark stuck out a hand anyway.

‘Sorry, Carl, I thought the same just a few days back. I’d change it if I could, believe me.’

Carl took his hand.

‘Aye, I know. The thought of anything happening to Julie like what happened to that Lena …’

‘It won’t. You’ll be there. Anyway, these people don’t kill for no reason. It’s not professional.’

‘Oh aye? The code of fucking killers, is it?’

‘Something like that. Look, you all right for money? I could let you have a few hundred.’

‘No thanks. I’ve got enough for Ireland.’

‘All right, let’s have your mobile number then.’

Mark logged it on his own phone. He’d charge it up in the hotel, for there’d be no electricity where he’d be sleeping for the next week. They shook hands firmly.

‘See you, then,’ Mark said.

‘I hope so, son.’

Mark watched him drive away quickly, anxious to be back with Julie. Apart from himself, Mark had never known her have a defender.

The weather was changing. What was left of the day had turned dark, and it was starting to rain. Small drops as he stood on the steps of the hotel, then harder as he pushed open its doors. I’ll bet it will be wet all next week, Mark thought, summer ending just for me.

The young man at reception didn’t like the look of him, and he was bored. He fingered his dark red tie with the hotel’s logo on it as he scanned Mark’s battered holdall, and was suspicious when he paid the deposit with cash. Mark half expected the git to put the notes up against the light.

It was a room like a thousand others in a thousand towns. Identikit furniture, decoration, a modern cell for modern man. It didn’t care if you liked it or not, but it was on the fifth floor, which gave Mark some kind of view over the city. He stood looking out at it with his hands in his pockets, watching the last of the light slip away. In the years he’d travelled around chasing people it had struck him how alike everything was becoming, same city centres, same brand names, same places to sleep. It was like he was on an endless journey that never stopped and never got anywhere.

He was running the water for a bath when his mobile rang, if you’re looking for trouble echoed around the room. He thought it would be Julie, she always wanted a last word. It would be another query into his state, or maybe Carl had come out with something. He answered.

‘Hullo, my friend. You are well? I have a message from Stellachi. He’s impressed, and says he will see you soon. Why don’t you meet with him, man to man? Get this over with? You are only delaying things.’

Of course, why wouldn’t they know his mobile number as well?

‘Won’t you answer?’ Angelo continued. ‘We know where you are. We know where you’re going. Shame you can’t fly, isn’t it? You’d have more choice then.’

Mark cut Angelo off. There was no point in responding. Lena must have told Tony his life history, in case they needed it for any future use. They did, and the future was now. Lena stabbed at him again, and the thought that these bastards might know about Shane made him burn. Maybe he should have killed Angelo, and his big friend. Stellachi would see this as a flaw, a weakness he could exploit. Let him try. Mark’s heart was hardening, taking on its old granite texture, and his resolve would have to match it. He turned off the phone.

Mark ran the bath deep and sank into it. Although he was safe for the moment his senses were on permanent alert, practising for what lay ahead. He imagined the door quietly opening, whispers in a strange language, then a knife or gun. Probably a knife. Whenever he heard footsteps in the corridor, he tensed. Once someone paused near his door and he was almost out of the bath and searching in the holdall.

The bed was welcoming but his sleep was troubled. Lena was with him throughout. His brain picked over her memory, their times together arranged in order, each piece of happiness paraded until his brain tried to salve itself by telling him it was all a bad dream, and that he would wake with Lena by his side. Then reality would be back, and her drained, stone-like face, that fixed the horror she’d endured. Each snatch of sleep ended like this.

He was up very early, showered, dressed and back at reception with maroon-tie man by eight. The night clerk was just knocking off his shift, his female replacement waiting bright-eyed by his side. She smiled at Mark and he tried to arrange his lips into something similar. Mark could see now that Maroon Tie wasn’t much more than a kid, realising he was on the slow grind of work, going over all the things he could be doing as his long night dripped away and wondering how long he could hack this. Dreaming of running the place. A sprinkle of dandruff was on each shoulder of his padded black jacket, like epaulettes. He made a point of carefully checking Mark’s bill and said thank you sir the way that snotty hotel clerks did the world over, when they thought you were beneath them. Mark hadn’t bothered to shave, it would be better for the hills. The girl was interested. A scruffy guy checking into a place like this might be someone, a rock star maybe, an event to push her day forward, to mock Maroon Tie for not recognising him.

Mark spotted a twenty-four hour convenience store on a corner. He put tinned stuff, cheese, bread, water and some tired fruit into a basket. From a rack near the counter he added a half bottle of unknown whisky. The guy smirked at him knowingly but packed the stuff quickly when he saw Mark’s glare. He was charged at convenience prices.

Next door was an army surplus place which wasn’t yet open. Mark went into the adjacent cafe and ordered another plate of grease. His good eating of the last two years had been crushed in four days.

Day four was starting. Two coppers passed outside. About the same age as Maroon tie, but happier. They had the jobs they wanted. Mark could go out to them now, hand them the holdall and tell them to look in it, let them rush him to the station, excitement reddening their baby faces as they showed off their trophy to their sergeant, who’d listen dumbfounded to Mark’s story before getting his inspector.

As he pushed undercooked bacon around his plate Mark began to doubt his shaky plan. He was bringing pain back to his homeland, where it had always thrived, writ large with his chaotic upbringing, his crime and the vanishing of Shane. Maybe this was the inevitable final chapter, and already he’d managed to involve Julie; his family. It was starting to rain outside, solid stuff that came down quickly, rain that would go straight through him on the hills. He needed to buy wisely.

The man in the surplus shop looked surplus himself. The shop smelt of musty canvas, a dead-end kind of smell that matched Mark’s mood. The man behind the counter had a grey face as creased as one of his tents, but it might have been healthy once, and in the army a long time ago. Mark bought a small rucksack, sleeping bag and a camouflage jacket, the type kids wore when they wanted to strut. The shopkeeper perked up, these were good sales for first thing Monday.

‘Going on a trip, are you?’ he asked.

‘Not really. I’ll have a pair of them too. Thirty-four waist, long leg.’

Mark pointed to a pair of waterproof trousers, a match for the jacket, and picked up a pair of boots. And these in a ten.’

The guy was almost in ecstasy at the unexpected sales. Mark thought about a small tent, which would really have pumped the man up, but decided against it. He needed to see around him at all times, and made do with a waterproof sheet. He could rig this up to keep the rain off, if he had to.

The man rang up his till.

‘That’s £160, dead on. Anything else?’

Mark saw a small pair of binoculars and a Swiss army knife, and added them to his bill.

‘You in the army?’

‘No, why?’

‘Only asking. Just that you look pretty fit and I’ve had a few of those boys in since Iraq kicked off. Army don’t give ’em enough stuff, see. Pathetic.’

Mark’s money had decreased quite a bit. Mark wondered if Kelly had drunk his way through his share of it by now. Probably. There was a national paper open on the counter. As the man bagged up his stuff Mark turned it towards him. It was full of the usual nonsense he never bothered with but a smaller paragraph halfway down the page caught his eye. Man jumps to his death in London on Sunday morning. Shoppers were shocked as … The man was handing him change and Mark almost turned away until he saw the name. Patrick Michael Kelly, a well-known character in the area … police are not treating the death as suspicious …

‘Your change, mate.’

‘What?’

‘Change.’

Mark took the money and picked up his purchases.

‘Have a nice day now.’

Mark needed the rain on his face. There was a tightness in his chest and he found it hard to get his breath. Too many people were dying. He stood in the rain in the middle of the pavement, making people walk around him. It was several minutes before he could move. The shopkeeper was watching him from his doorway. He’d go back inside and scrutinise the bank notes, then be relieved that this nutter hadn’t stiffed him.

Mark went to the nearest newsagents and bought the same daily. There were public toilets across the road, so he locked himself in a cubicle there and read about Kelly. He hadn’t told Kelly where he was going, that was his first thought. The second was that Kelly hadn’t jumped anywhere. Poor bastard. He shouldn’t have involved him, but this thought was too late now. He imagined the terror the man must have felt. It didn’t take much to frighten him at the best of times. He wouldn’t have known what the fuck was happening, he’d have snivelled and pissed his pants with his night’s booze but his last thought would have been clear – that it was all Mark’s fault.

A well-known local character. Kelly’s fifteen minutes of fame, or was that fifteen seconds. They’d come for him, and the poor bastard couldn’t have told them anything useful. Mark shut his eyes and saw the big man picking up the skin and bones that was Kelly and tossing him out the window. Fuck it. His brain couldn’t take many more images like this. Tony smashed on the road, Kelly airborne, Agani’s head saying bye bye, and Lena. Always Lena. Someone old shuffled into the cubicle next to him, he heard the man cough, splutter and sigh to himself. A sigh that was only Monday old. Out early on the streets because he was bored shitless, Mark thought, nothing to do, no place to go, and another long day beginning, but right now he’d swap places with him.

Mark loaded the holdall’s contents into the rucksack, and left the holdall in the cubicle. The guns went in pockets either side with an apple over each of them. The man in the shop had said the sack was waterproof, Mark hoped it was, else the guns might prove useless. He hoisted the sack onto his back and made his way to the train station, trying to walk steadily, breathe easily. Kelly was a signal they were sending him. Thank Christ Carl was around and Julie was out of that flat, at least he hoped she was.

Mark caught a train to the top of his old valley with Kelly jostling with Lena for first place in his waking nightmare. Julie was bringing up an honourable third. He was the only one in his carriage. The train was almost empty. Everyone was going the other way, to work or to shop. A few miles out of Cardiff, as the train began to climb, it stopped raining. As it passed into the gap in the hills that led to the valley, the sun struggled out, enough to make a faint rainbow on the hillside. Mark hadn’t been back here since they’d sent him to the Shetlands. While he’d broken his heart over dead whales, his mother had moved from the estate. It had been better for her to leave everything behind while he wasn’t around. She’d swapped a windswept hilltop house full of the wrong memories with an anonymous flat at the seaside. The council had made it easy for her.

Mark was close to his old stamping ground now. He got off at the last stop, went across the street to the nearest store and bought a small amount of extra supplies, then he shouldered his load and started to walk. There were quite a few people about, and one man gave him a long stare from the other side of the road. He might have been someone from the estate but Mark didn’t recognise him. His one friend was long dead, and he’d blanked everyone else out in the last ten years.

Despite his time in the city he was still good a good walker. Long, even strides that soaked up distance quickly. He was on the hillside in minutes. He’d almost forgotten how close it was, the way open country took over so quickly here, the built-up areas nestled on the valley floor, terracing hanging onto the lower slopes, as if gnawing at nature, then throwing it back out. In all his years of ducking and diving on the hillside he’d met very few people, and those he did were always old, out with their dogs. No one his age. Legs for the young had gone out of fashion.

Mark was on the edge of forestry now, regulation conifers planted twenty years ago. They were well grown and offered plenty of cover, and he knew from the old days they would be quite dry at their heart. Like a natural tent. The valley was showing its two faces at once. On the far hillside sunlight picked out the trees and bracken already starting to brown, on his side the wind drove fine rain into his face.

Mark had kept to the hill road so far, but now cut across country. Another twenty minutes’ walk and he could see his old estate. You could hardly miss it, it was a modern day hill fort, rows of housing trying to blend in with the contours of the hilltop. Multiple roofs caught the light and flashed him a salute but there was something missing. It took him a while to realise that some of the houses were gone, rows of them had been removed. They must have tried to sort the place out, Mark thought, cut out the bad bits, like rot from an apple. The old Richards house was still there, and Mark wasn’t sure if he was glad or sorry.

He’d camp near here, close by old nightmares, and let them merge with the new. They’d find out about this place if they didn’t know already. Stellachi might be piecing it all together right now, but Mark knew nothing about him, or Romania for that matter. What he did know was that their backgrounds would be similar, at least in terms of the shit doled out to them. He’d robbed a teacher’s house once, a history guy, and had taken some of his books home to keep. A first. Lots of pictures of the old days in the valley and one about famous generals. He was into war then, and even tried to read some of the words, something he’d avoided in school. He read about the way different leaders kept photographs of their opponents, trying to see into their minds, guess their moves. He hadn’t got it at the time but did now. Keeping that one Italian image of Stellachi clear in his thoughts would keep his own mind focused. Mark had hate on his side, killing Agani didn’t take it away, it just stirred the pot. Stellachi was the enemy general and Angelo and the big man his foot soldiers, cannon fodder that Stellachi might use to draw him out.

Mark looked around for a likely spot to camp, just far enough inside the forestry for cover, but not so his field of vision would be obscured. As he entered the forest everything came back to him. The smell first. He’d loved September, the heady smells of decay as the land prepared for the cold, the crisp air of darkening evenings ready to welcome him to a new season of crime. Large chunks of his early life had been lived here, away from the stone-clad pain that lay below. Mark’s childhood memories were laced with it. He’d built up an intimate knowledge of each changing month, becoming a homespun weatherman, botanist and birdman. He could name very few birds, but he knew them all and how they went about things. When his life boiled down on the estate, here all had been calm, life had an order it kept to and he’d felt he was part of it. There were no people.

The smoke of garden fires was drifting up the hillside from the terraces. Thoughts of Lena mixed with this earliest of all childhood smells. If he lived through this Mark wondered if he would always look back with such clarity as he did now. His light mood when he turned the key in the flat door that last time, eager to see her, more so than usual. Thinking he had a future at last, that his feelings which had twisted all ways in his life, had a focus now. It had always been just him, lying to himself that this was the best course, all that he needed. Letting his early life rule him, keeping him hopeless, lost and arrogant in his despair. Lena gave him a new life, or he thought she had. Then it was gone. Mark’s eyes welled up for the third time since Friday. It would be the last time, he determined, until all this was over.

It was right that he was here, where it all began for him. If they came for him, it was the best place to succeed, or go down. If it was the latter, they’d probably bury him up here somewhere, and that was right too.

Mark realised he was close to the spot where he used to hide some of the loot from the houses. It had been safer here than in his own house. He’d let it build up until the man came up from Cardiff in his fancy car. Then the money he received would go under the floorboards of his bedroom, where it stayed most of the winter, like some hibernating animal, growing all the time. He’d been the richest kid on the estate.

Mark walked a little further into the trees. His footfall was muffled by layers of old leaves and pine needles. He was treading on a soft and lifeless carpet. Mark remembered there were the remains of a farmhouse close by, long since abandoned to the forestry. He found it. Its walls were still a few feet high, but part of nature now, moss and lichen covered, so that they seemed to be growing from the earth. A stone plant. He put his sack at the right angle of two walls, and stretched the waterproof sheet over a few sticks to make a narrow, makeshift shelter, room enough to slide in his sleeping bag and not much else. He cut down some of the last green bracken and pushed it inside to soften the ground. His hideout was quite well camouflaged, and would be hard to spot, unless someone entered the trees at this precise spot.

Mark was ten metres inside the forestry, it was a good vantage point. He swept the valley with the binoculars, and all the old haunts jumped out at him. He noted the scattering of new buildings, small developments that had sprung up where the old industries used to be. The valley looked cleaner, but less lively.

It was still only midday, yet it felt like much later. Mark turned his mobile on. He’d always hated them, much to Lena’s amusement. He hated the way they wrested control from the user, the way he was at the beck and call of voices and messages, wherever he was. He hated the way people couldn’t live without them, when they always had before, and most of all, he hated the fact that he was one of those people. The agency had insisted he had one. Lena too.

There was a message. Julie on the voice mail. He listened to her message, expecting anything. It was the voice he’d grown up with: tense, a little shrill, panic and anger shaping it in equal doses.

Mark, Carl’s told me everything. I can hardly believe it, even with you. I knew something was up as soon as I saw you, I bloody knew it. But nothing like this.

I wanna go to the police but Carl says no. My head’s going round. Can’t think. Carl’s made me phone in sick. I’m going down his place. Phone me. Please, Mark, please.

Well done, Carl, for getting her away. Top man. Mark was surprised he’d told her though, maybe Carl wasn’t any good at lying. He texted Julie. It wouldn’t be a good idea to talk to her. Angelo could wait.

Mam, try not to get in a state. You’re in safe hands with Carl. He’s sound, like I said. No problems with me, either. I’m OK, and I plan to stay OK. Sorry for this mess.

It was pathetic, and wouldn’t reassure her for more than a few seconds, but it was the best he could do for now. At least he didn’t say it’s not my fault.

Mark leaned against a tree trunk and let the sun strike his face. It had warmed to modest autumn heat now, hot enough to soothe. He’d got to first base with his plan, he was here, and as ready as he’d ever be. Even Angelo and his friends would have to work hard to find him and they’d have to spend a lot of time. Maybe they’d think he wasn’t worth it, and give up. Maybe pigs could fly to the moon.

He must have dozed for twenty minutes, and woke with his face burning. At first he didn’t know where he was, he almost expected to find Daniels next to him, out of it on a flagon of cheap cider. The phone was still on. He rubbed his eyes, stepped back into the shadows, and read Angelo’s text. It reminded him of his spelling at school, and the class they put him in.

We are cumin. We now where you are. Why don we meet? Finish this like men.

Ah, you mean you only have a rough idea, pal, Mark thought, and when Julie isn’t where you expect her to be you’ll be well fucked. He didn’t answer it, but he might later.

*

Why did things turn upside down whenever Mark was involved? It was the first thing Julie asked herself. She prayed he hadn’t done anything to that Lena; he’d never been violent to girls before. Carl had been unsettled all night. He couldn’t keep still, and got up for a smoke several times. Maybe Mark had upset him. Her son usually had that effect on people, sometimes without even trying, but the two men had seemed to get on. She’d been so happy to see him, standing tall and healthy in the doorway, even if he did look really tired. She was proud too. Glad to show her fit son off to Carl, two big, capable men together. Big, capable, they were new words to her, runt and waster were the old ones. Men who flitted from nest to nest, pouring all their money down their throats and sometimes into their arms. The good old days.

It was almost seven in the morning when Carl came back into the bedroom.

‘You all right, love?’ Julie murmured. ‘You’re awful restless. Mark hasn’t said nothing, has he?’

‘No. Well, yes, in a way.’

‘I bloody knew it. You’ve had a row, haven’t you? What’s happened?’

‘Nothing. No, it’s all right between us.’

‘What’s the problem then?’

Carl had been thinking of something to say for the last ten hours, ridiculous things that would never wash with Julie, but was the truth any less ridiculous? Mark had breezed in and brought a horror film with him. If it was true. That had also crossed Carl’s mind. Maybe Mark was some kind of freak who lived in a fantasy world. His mother hadn’t said much about the past, but enough for him to know that things had been difficult, very difficult. No, Carl believed what Mark had said. He’d learnt enough about men in the army to be sure of that. A part of him wanted to get out now. After a divorce that had spluttered and sparked in his head for the last three years he didn’t need this. He could tell himself it wasn’t his business. Tell Julie to phone the police and clear off, but that wasn’t his style, and she was worth more than that. Even after a short time Carl was sure of this. They had connected. Julie was rough around the edges all right but there was something real about her he liked. He hadn’t trusted his ex for years, but this one he felt he could, and, if he was honest, what Mark had told him had been as exciting as it was shocking. He felt a bit like he had when he’d fixed his pack before walking over the Falklands hillsides. The metal of his rifle so cold in his hand it almost took the skin off, wind and rain whipping down off the heights to batter his unit. Frightened, but every sense on full alert, stretched and alive, making him feel so necessary, and that everything in his life was coming together for this moment. That was more than twenty years ago. He was still quite fit, but far from young.

‘I’m waiting,’ Julie said.

‘I want you to phone in sick today. I want you to come down to my place for a while.’

‘Jesus, he has done something, hasn’t he?’

‘Well, it’s complicated.’

‘Aye, it always is.’

Carl sat on the edge of the bed and reached out for Julie. She was sitting up now, wide awake and she knocked his hand away.

‘Tell me, Carl, for God’s sake.’

Carl did tell her. It was an instant decision. Anything other than the truth would have been impossible, and he knew he would have to tell her sometime. Better now, than in the wake of Mark’s death. He was interrupted every other sentence by Julie’s disbelief, anger, then fear. Fear turned to resignation as tears blocked her words. Carl felt so sorry for her. She was small anyway, but now Julie seemed to diminish further. She hugged the bedsheets like a child and moaned to herself.

‘This can’t be happening to me,’ she murmured, ‘not again.’

‘What?’

‘We must have done something awful bad to be punished like this,’ Julie said, her voice cracked now. ‘I thought Shane was it, I thought we’d reached the bottom then, but we haven’t.’

‘Shane?’

‘I don’ want to talk about it. Something long ago.’

Carl knew better than to push this. Shane was obviously a guy from her past, Maybe Mark’s father.

‘We’ll be all right, Jool,’ Carl said. ‘You’ll be safe with me.’

‘Will I? And what about Mark? What chance does he have? I’m gonna phone him on his mobile. Tell him to turn himself in. You should have done that yourself. It’s the only way he can keep alive.’

‘I did think of it, but Mark isn’t built that way. And I think he was trying to protect you, Jool, not just from those bastards, but from the media, all that shit. The police don’t know anything yet, and Mark wants to keep it that way.’

‘So wha’s he going to bloody do? Shoot it out on the hillside, like kids playing fucking cowboys?’

Just about right, Carl thought to himself. Men are kids. Especially when at their most destructive. And life is always a game, he’d learnt that much, though Mark’s games didn’t take place in any playground.

Julie was sobbing now, her body wracked. She punched the bed with little fists, then punched Carl’s chest in a rapid staccato attack which he barely felt. She punched herself out, then she let him hold her, crushing her in his arms like he had with his children. His two were grown and doing well now, but Carl could identify with what Julie was feeling. Desperate for Mark to be okay, and hating him for getting himself into something like this. For getting them all into it.

‘Come on, love. Get washed and dressed. I’ll help you pack. We want to be out of here asap.’

Carl checked outside. All was quiet, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for anyway. Two large wops, Mark said, in a gold Lexus, that was all he had to go on. There was a framed photograph of Mark and Lena on Julie’s mantelpiece. Mark had given it to Julie the one time he’d brought the girl down. Carl picked it up. She was a looker all right. Had been. He saw that they were in Paris. Mark must have thought he was quids in then, working in London, exotic girlfriend. Now he was hiding out on a hillside somewhere, with rain pissing down. All he could do was make sure Julie was all right, and would stay all right.

Julie put down the phone.

‘Told Ann the secretary it was the menopause,’ she said. ‘I’m bloody old enough, even if it hasn’t happened yet. Mark will probably gimme a heart attack before then. ‘Julie looked out of the window. ‘Look at the bloody weather. Knowing Mark, he’ll already be up there by now. He swore he’d never go back.’

‘No one could have expected anything like this to happen,’ Carl said.

‘I could. I know him. He shouldn’t have been doing work like that, or taken up with a girl like her. It’s always gotta be different with him, but he’s always ends up on the outside   in deep shit.’

‘Come on, love. Best get going.’

Carl paced around the flat while Julie got ready. His knee hurt, it usually did at this time of the year, then other parts joined it when winter set in. His body was a map of his time in the army. He put Julie’s stuff in the boot of the Mercedes, checked around again, then brought her from the flat.

‘That’s not him,’ the big man said.

‘No, not unless he’s aged twenty years,’ Angelo answered.

The black Mercedes eased out of the side road, its engine practically noiseless.

‘Don’t get too close now,’ Angelo said. ‘Don’t want to alarm this man, whoever he is.’

‘Why should we? Why should they know anything?’

‘They know. Richards has been here. They are running. We are chasing.’