The Impossible Fortune, page 7
‘He did say he’d be here to meet you,’ says Joyce. ‘And he wasn’t.’
Precisely what Elizabeth is thinking.
‘What does he do, this guy?’ asks Donna.
‘Cold storage,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Like fridge-freezers?’
‘Of course not like fridge-freezers,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Then what?’
‘Storage,’ says Elizabeth. ‘A storage system but an unusual one. Non-traditional.’
‘Ah, you don’t know,’ says Donna. ‘You know it’s okay just to admit you don’t know sometimes?’
‘Donna,’ says Elizabeth, ‘I do know – I just don’t know yet.’
‘Oh, that’s good,’ says Joyce.
Elizabeth regroups. ‘Joyce, we have to talk to Holly Lewis.’
‘As I say,’ says Joyce, ‘I haven’t met her, but –’
‘Where can we find her?’ Elizabeth asks.
‘I’ll ask Paul,’ says Joyce, then turns to Donna. ‘My son-in-law.’
‘Can I go now?’ Bogdan asks. ‘I left a Lithuanian to do the plastering.’
Elizabeth waves this away and turns back to Joyce. ‘Ask Paul if Holly might like to visit us for dinner this evening. And tell him to let you know if Nick Silver contacts him. If he does, we’ll know he’s gone into hiding, and if he doesn’t –’
‘Then he’s dead,’ says Joyce.
There is a beat.
‘You know,’ says Donna, ‘this really does feel like a police matter.’
‘It does a bit,’ agrees Bogdan. ‘Even I think.’
‘Donna, we don’t need you running around the county solving murders when you could be protecting Prince Edward,’ says Elizabeth. ‘And, Bogdan, you have a roof to fix, so we all have jobs to do, don’t we? If someone has been murdered, I’ll be sure to let you know. Until then, we have a minibus to catch.’
Among the chaos of the room, Elizabeth sees a file tucked neatly behind a radiator. Lifting it out, she sees that it is not just a file: it is a file with her name written on the front of it. She slips it into her bag.
Elizabeth leads Joyce, Donna and Bogdan down the stairs. Is there any sign that someone has been dragged down here? Any blood on the banister? Handprints smeared on the wall? Nothing that Elizabeth can see at first glance.
Perhaps he was waiting in his office, heard noises on the roof and, spooked, ran for safety? That would explain his leaving the file. And, if so, surely he will contact Paul? Or perhaps even her?
Out of Donna’s line of sight, Elizabeth takes the file from her bag. Inside is a single Post-it note.
Help me, Elizabeth. You’ll work out how.
She flashes it to Joyce and places a finger to her lips.
Joyce whispers, ‘So he’s alive?’
Elizabeth whispers back, ‘Joyce, this doesn’t tell us he’s alive. Just that he was alive when he wrote it.’
‘Of course, sorry,’ says Joyce.
Elizabeth leads them back out onto Templar Street, and realizes, to her shock, that she is hungry. When was the last time she was hungry? These days she has to force herself to eat, and yet here she is, suddenly ravenous.
The return of her appetite. Who would have seen that coming?
‘Before we get on the bus,’ says Joyce, reaching into her bag, ‘I thought you might like your flapjack. It’s cherry Bakewell.’
Who would have seen that coming, indeed?
Elizabeth takes the flapjack from her friend.
Joyce stops. ‘Do we know who planted a bomb under his car?’
‘We don’t,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Though our current suspect list consists of an online fraudster named Davey Noakes, a banker called Lord Townes and Nick’s partner, Holly Lewis.’
‘A lord wouldn’t kill anybody,’ says Joyce. ‘Honestly, Elizabeth.’
Elizabeth takes a bite of her flapjack.
‘Tell me, Joyce,’ says Elizabeth, ‘have you ever seen a bomb before?’
‘No,’ says Joyce. ‘I once saw someone with a Hoover attachment up his backside though.’
Elizabeth nods. ‘Thank you for that, Joyce. Tell Ron to come and pick us up from Hampton Road. We have a car to look under.’
15
Kendrick is building a Lego Death Star while Ron lies, flat out, on the sofa. Jason has made him a cup of tea. He’d offered his dad a beer, and Ron had been tempted, but one thing you truly learn with age is that you have to know your limitations. Pauline has left for work, seemingly as fresh as a daisy. Ron checks that Kendrick is out of earshot.
‘What gives? Why’s Kenny here?’
Jason speaks slowly and quietly. ‘Suzi rang, just said Danny’s left her. Done a runner.’
‘Left her?’ says Ron. That’s not unwelcome news.
‘So she says,’ continues Jason. ‘Said she had a few things she needed to arrange, and could I look after Kenny for a day or two? Nothing more than that.’
‘Is he gone for good?’ Ron asks. ‘Danny?’
‘Let’s hope so,’ says Jason.
Ron hears a grunt of frustration from Kendrick at his dining-room table. He calls over, ‘Problem, Kenny?’
‘Not a problem,’ says Kendrick. ‘Just thinking about Darth Vader. Why are people like that? Can I have a glass of water?’
‘Course you can,’ says Ron. ‘I keep it in the tap.’
Kendrick bounces off to the kitchen. Ron turns back to Jason.
‘What about the house, then?’
‘All hers, she reckons,’ says Jason. ‘He’s letting her keep it.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Danny,’ says Ron. Something’s not right here. ‘You’re telling me everything? No big row, anything like that? He just left?’
‘Nothing, Pops,’ says Jason. ‘Marriages fail, don’t they? You remember that.’
Jason’s lying to him, Ron can see that. Lying to protect him probably, but Ron doesn’t need protection. There will have been something – a bust-up, an incident – it’s all too quick otherwise. And if Jason’s going to lie to him, maybe Kendrick won’t. Kendrick comes back in from the kitchen.
‘Day off school, then, Kenny,’ says Ron. ‘Lucky thing.’
‘So lucky,’ agrees Kendrick. ‘I do like school, but sometimes you have to have a break to recharge.’
‘Got that right,’ says Ron. ‘Was there a lot of noise at yours last night? Your mum and dad?’
Kendrick fixes a laser cannon to his model. ‘No noise.’
Ron looks at Jason. Jason’s face gives nothing away.
‘So your dad’s taking a little break too?’
‘Yes,’ says Kendrick. ‘He took a case with him, and we waved from the front door.’
Say what you like about Kendrick, the kid knows how to lie. Ron tries a different approach.
‘Your dad can shout sometimes though, can’t he? Was he shouting last night?’
Ron looks at Jason again. Jason is drinking his beer without a care in the world.
‘Well, sometimes you shout too, Grandad,’ say Kendrick.
‘I don’t shout,’ says Ron.
‘At the television,’ says Kendrick.
‘Oh, at the television, yeah,’ says Ron. ‘You have to shout at the television or they won’t hear you. But no shouting last night? At home?’
Kendrick shakes his head. ‘I didn’t see anything or hear anything.’
Ron nods. The Ritchies are a family who refuse to grass, whatever the problem. And Kendrick is a Ritchie. An unusual Ritchie, sure, but still a Ritchie. Okay, change course again, Ron. ‘You know, when I go into my bank, Kenny –’
‘You have a bank?’ Kendrick asks.
‘Not the whole thing,’ says Ron. ‘Banks are a tool of the state.’
‘Okay,’ says Kendrick, nodding. ‘Like the newspapers and the water company?’
‘Exactly, good lad,’ says Ron. ‘Anyway, when I go into the bank, and I want to take money out for something, they always ask me what it’s for. Pay a builder, something like that.’
Ron sees Jason looking at him, wondering where he’s going with this.
‘So I tell ’em what it’s for, and then they say, “Has anyone told you to lie to us, or coached you into giving that answer?” So they know it’s not a scam, see?’
‘That seems a good idea,’ says Kendrick. ‘I’m glad they do that.’
‘Better safe than sorry,’ agrees Jason.
‘So can I ask you that question, Kenny? When you said, “I didn’t see anything or hear anything,” has someone, maybe in this room, told you to lie to me or coached you into giving that answer?’
‘No, Grandad,’ says Kendrick.
‘Even to protect me?’ asks Ron. ‘Uncle Jason didn’t tell you to say that?’
‘If Uncle Jason had told me to say it, it would have been “I didn’t see nothing or hear nothing.”’
Jason laughs and raises his bottle of beer at his nephew.
Ron is now being lied to by both of them. Which makes him think three things.
Firstly, something very bad has happened. Danny Lloyd isn’t a man to leave silently in the night, neat little case packed, thanks for fifteen years of marriage, here’s a handshake and I’ll see you around. Was there a row? How bad was it? Physical?
Secondly, he feels loved. He is being lied to for his own good, because Jason and Suzi, and now it seems even Kendrick, don’t want him to be hurt.
But mainly it makes him feel old. Ron used to be the one doing the protecting. His job was to protect Suzi and Jason, and now their job is to protect him. When did that happen? And now even his grandson is in on the game. When had Ron turned from a lion back into a cub?
Ron doesn’t know what happened last night, and what might happen next, but he knows one thing. He feels weak. Is this how it is from here on? Should he just accept it? To the family he looked after for so many years – as provider, protector, barbecue chef, turkey carver and chief rabble rouser – he’s now the old man on the comfy chair in the corner? That’s where they are?
He looks at Jason and Kendrick, and he thinks about Suzi. Why is she not here? What is she having to ‘arrange’? Why is Kenny not at school?
Danny Lloyd is a very dangerous man, always has been, and Suzi was a fool to marry him. But Suzi’s mum was a fool to marry Ron, so no one was in a position to judge. Ron already knows this story isn’t over, and they haven’t heard the last of Danny Lloyd. But whatever fight there is to come, Ron is scared that he might not have the heart for it.
‘You want to stay here for a couple of days, Kenny?’ Ron asks.
‘Can I?’
‘It’s your home too,’ says Ron. ‘You stay here as long as you want.’
‘That might be nice, Dad,’ says Jason. ‘Just over the weekend.’
Ron nods at his son. ‘Whatever you need. You’re a good kid, Jason, don’t think I don’t know it.’
‘Learned from the best,’ says Jason.
‘And I might still have a few tricks up my sleeve,’ says Ron. ‘If you need me.’
Jason nods. ‘Another cuppa?’
‘I’d kill for one,’ says Ron, and lays his head back down. Does he really still have tricks up his sleeve? He supposes he’ll find out soon enough.
Ron’s phone buzzes. A message from Joyce. Probably just waking up, the poor thing, needs someone to bring her round soup and painkillers.
Ron, it’s Joyce, but you know that, because my name will have come up, I find this thing so fiddly, don’t you? Elizabeth and I have been in Fairhaven this morning and we just broke into an office and, anyway, someone might be dead. Nick Silver? The vomiter? Also Bogdan has had a haircut. I can tell you all this when I see you. Why does texting take so long? Can you come and meet us on Hampton Road in Fairhaven? You know, the one with all the houses.
Okay, so she hasn’t just woken up. And the best man might be dead? And Elizabeth’s been into Fairhaven? Jason comes back in with the tea.
‘Can I get you anything else, Dad? Soup? Painkillers?’
Ron pushes himself up from the sofa. ‘Things to do, Jase, can’t just lie on my arse all day. You boys can stay here if you like? Go see the llamas?’
‘Grandad, you’re the best,’ says Kendrick, springing up.
Ron smiles to himself. His head is splitting, his knees are aching, his constitution is clearly weaker than Pauline’s and Joyce’s, but he’s still alive. He’s alive, he’s loved, and there may be trouble ahead on Hampton Road. Bring it on.
‘The Death Star will still be here when you get back,’ says Kendrick.
‘The Death Star’s always here,’ says Ron. ‘The trick is learning to live with it.’
‘Where you off to, Dad?’ says Jason.
‘As always these days,’ says Ron, standing tall and proud, ‘exactly where I’m told.’
16
Elizabeth appears, crawling on all fours, from undergrowth. She stands and steps back onto the pavement. ‘No,’ she says, ‘it’s not that one.’
Joyce has caught glimpses of Hampton Road from the minibus window, but it’s fun to see it on foot. The houses are private, and all set back from the road. Every time you pass a security gate, you can peek over and see a thatched roof or a turret through the trees. When the security gates are too high, Elizabeth scurries off into the bushes to find a better view. They are looking for the house in the photographs Nick Silver sent to Elizabeth.
So far, no luck, but it is, nonetheless, a lot of fun.
Joanna has recently introduced Joyce to Rightmove. It’s a website where you can see houses for sale. You click on them and they let you look inside! Thousands of strangers’ houses! Twenty, thirty, sometimes forty pictures. You can see their sofas, their kitchen cabinets, where they’ve put their wooden LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE signs, what they’ve done with their gardens and so on. And this site is free! Joyce doesn’t believe in all progress, self-service checkouts, for example, but she is certainly happy that somebody invented Rightmove.
Joyce can spend hours on it now. She was watching a detective drama set in Devon the other day, and she liked the look of the town that the grizzled, alcoholic detective lived in, and thought perhaps she might like to live there too. So she Googled the programme and found out it was set in a place called Budleigh Salterton. Bingo, put Budleigh Salterton into the Rightmove search box, and you have a good hour’s worth of entertainment – both imagining a new life for yourself and judging other people’s interior design choices. A nice three-bed apartment on the front for £475,000. You could certainly imagine sitting on the balcony with a glass of wine, but, really, £475,000 with that lino on the bathroom floor?
In the old days, when she was a Rightmove rookie, Joyce looked only at the properties she could hypothetically afford, but Joanna had put her right, and now that Joyce has no upper price limit the whole world has opened up to her. They have houses on there for ten million if you look in the right place. Those houses are all either estates with fifty acres of land and enormous marble-and-gold entrance halls or they are four-bed flats in the middle of London. Rightmove teaches you an awful lot about the world, and also a lot about people’s taste in curtains.
And so it is that she is looking up houses on Hampton Road as they walk up the hill to find Nick Silver’s house.
‘The one with the turrets at Number 16 last sold for £2.75 million,’ says Joyce. ‘And it has a fountain.’
Up ahead of them a Daihatsu pulls up to the kerb, and Ron steps out, looking very much the worse for wear.
He gives Joyce a hug. ‘You reek of booze, Joycey. That’s just how I like my women.’
Elizabeth has crossed the road and is on tiptoe next to a pair of wooden gates. She calls, ‘Found it! Nick Silver’s house.’
Joyce and Ron walk over to join her.
‘How do we get in?’ Joyce asks.
Elizabeth climbs the gates and opens them from the inside.
‘Oh,’ says Joyce. ‘Like that.’
‘So you’re saying Nick Silver’s dead?’ says Ron, as they start the walk down Nick’s driveway.
‘No,’ says Joyce. ‘Only might be dead. Someone put a bomb under his car.’
‘Okay,’ says Ron. ‘Bomb, is it? And where’s his car?’
‘It’s at his house,’ says Joyce.
‘But this is his house,’ says Ron.
‘Yes,’ says Joyce.
‘So what are we doing here?’
‘Elizabeth just wants to take a look,’ says Joyce. ‘You know Elizabeth and bombs.’
‘Just want to borrow the thing and get it analysed,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Find out who planted it.’
‘We’re going to take the bomb with us?’ Ron asks.
‘That’s why you’re here, Ron,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We needed a car. An old friend of mine called Jasper has agreed to assess it, and it’ll be quite safe at Coopers Chase.’
‘But –’ says Ron.
‘Bombs are fairly robust, Ron,’ says Elizabeth. ‘So long as you don’t drive over any speed bumps, we’ll be fine.’
They round a bend, and the house from the photographs rises before them.
‘Done all right for himself, Nicky Silver,’ says Ron. ‘Nice gaff.’
In front of the house is Nick’s car. Again, just like in the photograph.
Except.
Elizabeth takes a long look. She gets into a crouch, and then rolls herself under the car.
‘Don’t blow up,’ says Joyce.
Pushing herself up again, Elizabeth looks at Joyce and Ron and shakes her head.
‘It’s definitely the right house?’ says Ron.
‘Yes, Ron, it’s the right house,’ says Elizabeth.
‘And it’s definitely the right car?’ says Joyce.
‘Yes, Joyce,’ says Elizabeth.
It is the right house, and it is the right car.
But the bomb is nowhere to be seen.
17
Joanna is halfway up a climbing wall, and not happy about it. Paul bounds up just above her, grabbing the Day-Glo hand-holds with graceful ease. Like a gazelle that all the lady gazelles fancy.
