Chapter 3

 

Twenty-three Besworth Close had never looked so inviting - classic leafy suburbia and situated in a cul-de-sac idyllic for family life. The only problem for Milton was that in his pursuit of keeping everyone happy his anti-football hooliganism team had become more of a family than his actual family.

“That’s twenty-seven quid, mate,” stated the taxi driver, whose conversation all the way through London had centred on the crowd trouble he had witnessed the day before. He had drawn his own conclusion as to what should be done, not realising whom his fare payer was in the backseat.

“The cops have not got a clue, mate,” he had declared. “They should just stop them travelling over. Lock up all the known troublemakers on the day of the game over here. There’s no way they are going to get over there then, is there?”

Not wanting to be drawn into an argument, Milton had simply agreed and replied, “That’s right, mate, lock the buggers up, although I think a few human rights organisations might have something to say about that.”

“Bloody do-gooders, ruining the bloody country they are,” he had growled over his shoulder.

The driver had then gone on to talk about his beloved Leyton Orient and how they would definitely go up that season and how they would become the Manchester United of the new millennium.

It made Milton realise just how much he actually hated the game and the lack of interest he had in it. Football had become his job, his life, but it was gradually strangling him every waking hour. Football was now England’s official religion, and for the fans the World Cup 2006 would be the biggest religious festival the country would ever stage. Pilgrims would come from across the world to pay homage to a celebration of humanity. But to Milton it was still a bunch of overpaid playboys kicking a ball about a pitch.

Mind you, Milton had thought to himself, if people go to war over which God they follow, why shouldn’t a few blokes have a punch-up over what colours they wear. It was all the same nonsense as far as he was concerned.

Suddenly he had found himself making excuses for football hooliganism. He smirked as the taxi pulled up to his semi-detached home.

“Keep the change, mate,” he said, handing over three crisp ten pound notes. “And good luck for the season.”

The taxi driver beamed like a Cheshire cat and shouted to the retreating Milton, “Hey, pal, you never said what colours you wear?”

Realising he didn’t even support a football team, Milton stopped and turned with a grin. “The underdog, mate. I always put my money on the underdog!”

Milton quietly unlocked the light brown front door and sneaked into the carpeted hallway, the walls of which were adorned with family pictures.

It was almost two weeks since he had kissed Maggie and his two boys goodbye for a mission he was unable to tell them anything about. Milton may have been the head of the anti-hooliganism operation, but he was able to remain virtually anonymous, as his media-hungry superiors were glad to have their faces splashed across the morning papers. They had all expected early success and if the story finished with a happy ending they would be queuing up for the back slaps and the commendations. Meanwhile, the foot soldiers, marshalled by Milton, would be congratulated behind closed doors and promoted if they were lucky! They had even been termed internally as the ‘stealth squad’.

None of this mattered to Milton anymore. He was determined not to fail and right now he just wanted to feel his Maggie’s soft skin with his own fingertips, fill his nostrils with the fresh smell of her long brown hair and kiss those beautiful lips. He knew the kids would be at school so he could have an afternoon with his stunning wife of nine years.

The pair had met at a police function some 11 years earlier. Their fathers were friends and it seemed the perfect match that the offspring should tie the knot. Things had been going well, but the burden of the last 12 months had started to show. He couldn’t remember the last time they had made love and Milton had spent more time in planes jetting around Europe than he had in his own front room with his family. Being unable to talk about his day’s work made things even worse and more than once Maggie had suspected him of having an affair. Even his previous assignment undercover had been less of a burden on his private life.

However, he was going to brush all of his problems aside for the rest of that day and spend some long overdue quality time with his family. There was just one problem though. Milton’s determination to surprise his wife meant that she did not know he would be home. On this particular Thursday afternoon, she had obviously decided to visit the gym, or a friend, or, as Milton shuddered to think, a lover.

Whatever. He decided he didn’t want to waste the moment and went into the kitchen, freshly refurbished in that past year, to prepare a dinner to remember.

Two hours went by and Milton was still in the kitchen when he heard the front door open and in came Maggie. He rushed out and almost gave her a heart attack.

“My God, John. You almost killed me, you fool,” she said.

Milton, unable to make out her beautiful facial features due to the glow from the sun that had entered the hallway with her, plunged for the outline.

“I’ve missed you, darling,” he declared with a hug that lifted his wife off her feet. Without warning and not allowing her to speak by pressing his lips firmly against hers, he carried her up the 16 stairs to the bedroom and closed the door.

 

“John, this can’t go on,” Maggie said, breaking the silence, as the two lay naked on the thick quilted bed.

“This is not a proper marriage. I’ve seen Lord Lucan more times than I’ve seen you over the past year. The kids miss you but most of all, John, I miss you. I miss having my husband.”

It struck a chord with Milton. “I understand, honey, but it will all be over soon, don’t worry. At the most, I have three months of this mess remaining and then it is all over.”

“Three months, John! Three months! I’m not sure if I can go on like this for another three months. Not knowing if you are coming home at night. Not even knowing if you are in the same country as us. In three months, John, you might come home but don’t be surprised if there’s no one here to greet you.”

Maggie, understandably upset, climbed off the bed and wrapped her dressing gown around her well-trimmed body.

Milton pulled on a pair of jogging shorts and sat at the end of the bed to listen to more from his wife.

“What am I supposed to say to people who ask what you are up to, John?” she continued. “I was having coffee this morning with Janet and Ellie and both were asking if you had left me because you have hardly been around. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

Milton had had enough of the verbal battering and decided it was time to defend himself.

“Janet and Ellie’s husbands are bankers. I am a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police Force. I am seconded to special duties and I am pushing myself to the sodding limit trying to keep everybody happy. Has anyone for a minute stopped to ask how I feel about things?”

The increase in volume told Maggie that her husband was sincere. She tried to interrupt but he got in first.

“I would be quite happy being a desk sergeant in some shitty village police station, but no, everybody expects me to be just like my father, just like your father and no one is worse for this than you, Maggie. I am trying to secure a future for us all here and I would like a bit of support.” There was a brief pause. “PLEASE?”

The argument was halted by a bang on the front door, which was still ajar, and an inquisitive yell of “hello?” from the hallway.

“Shit, that’s Janet,” said Maggie. “It was her turn to pick up the boys after school.”

The pair ran down the stairs, Milton still in his shorts and Maggie desperately trying to tie the belt to her dressing gown before she came into view of the front door. Janet’s sly smile told Milton and Maggie that it was perfectly obvious what they had been up to.

“Good to see you back, John,” said Janet. “Maggie’s missed you.”

This was followed by simultaneous infant shouts of “daddy, daddy” from two gloriously blond-haired boys running from the Ford Focus parked on the pavement outside.

“Hi boys! Daddy’s missed you so much and I’ve cooked us all a lovely dinner to make up for not seeing you for a couple of weeks.”

Milton turned to enter the living room carrying five-year-old John jnr and holding the hand of seven-year-old Jack.

The girls exchanged smiles at the door and Maggie pivoted to enjoy the first family moment they had shared for some time. She was feeling lonely, but never in her mind had she ever thought of leaving her husband. How would she explain that to her friends and how would it go down with her parents? No, John was a good man. It was just a shame he was never around.

The rest of the afternoon was spent painting, drawing, watching the television cartoons and generally being a proper family. There were smiles all round - if only life could be like that every day.

“Come on, kids, it’s time to eat,” said Maggie, who had decided to trash her husband’s sad effort of a roast dinner after smoke from the oven filled the kitchen. So she had whipped up a quick spag. bol. instead.

The two boys gulped down their small portions and returned to the television, leaving the couple with a few minutes to themselves.

“I’m sorry, honey, about earlier,” apologised Maggie. “I just listened to too many other people and let it all build up inside. I love you, John, but I want you closer to the kids and me. Dad said that by the time he was your age he was being lined up as a Commissioner. He said he never spent so much time away from his family. Surely you must be close to that by now?”

This was a conversation Milton had been through a thousand times. It was beginning to wear thin.

“Honey, the force has changed since your father’s day. You don’t just solve a few burglaries to climb up the promotion ladder anymore.

“I promise that after this one I will take a desk job and work 9 til 5 if that is what you want. I promise. I just need your support. At least give me that, Maggie, because at the moment I don’t seem to have anyone on my side.

“I am walking up a hill backwards. It’s taking me ages to get to the top of this case and I don’t know what I will find when I get there. At the same time I’m looking down at what I’m leaving behind and every day it is becoming more tempting just to walk back down the hill because at least I can see what is down there.

“If I do that though, honey, we can kiss goodbye to all this and I will have to start again. That’s the last thing any of us want now isn’t it?”

Maggie reluctantly agreed but it was not what she wanted to hear. She wanted to brag over an oversized Costa Coffee mug to her friends that her husband was going places and they would be moving to their five-bedroom detached house soon. After what her husband had just announced, this now all seemed a distant dream.

The kids were packed off to bed and an exhausted Milton and Maggie called it a night early. They made love again before falling asleep but both had very different things on their minds this time. Earlier that afternoon it was raw, exciting sex, like teenagers discovering each other for the first time once again. This time it was more disciplined, going through the motions like a married couple of nine years. If they had been able to read each other’s minds they would probably have stopped halfway through.

Maggie was desperately trying to work out what she was going to say to her friends over coffee the next morning. “Oh, we had a wonderful day but I’m not sure when I will see him next.” This would only add fuel to the speculation that they were close to splitting up. She hated being the topic of their rumour-mongering.

Milton, on the other hand, had a totally different agenda. Ahead of him lay hours of watching CCTV footage and looking for a breakthrough that could bring an end to all this nonsense and let him return to being a normal husband, if there could be such a thing for a policeman working undercover.