crybaby who wants to give up at the first hurdle!’
There was silence and Kendall could only picture her mother’s crumpled expression. She got that very wrong.
‘We, Alastair? We? Who is the we? Because as I recall, it’s me who happens to be the member of parliament. I hold that seat, not you, and this isn’t the first hurdle. I’ve been working my bloody arse off to get to where I am.’
Alastair’s voice instantly mellowed. ‘Sorry, love. Look, it was just a turn of phrase. I am proud of you, and what you’ve achieved. You’re such an amazing MP. It’s tough, I grant you, but it’ll get easier. The voters love you and no doubt they’ll vote you in again and then you can relax. How about after the election we take a short holiday, just me and you, eh?’
Her step-father, the ace manipulator, Kendall thought. She pictured the scene and recognized her father’s skill at managing the situation to his own personal advantage. She could just imagine her mother falling into Alastair’s arms and wiping her eyes. She is so pathetic, she thought. Why, Mother, can’t you see through him?
‘Forget it, Alastair. I am fed up with everything. Our marriage is a mess because either you’re working or I am. We never spend time together, and as for my job, I hate it. I am sick of it. The crime rate in my constituency is climbing daily, and I’m damn sure my voters will view it as me being incompetent. Why should I have to go through all this stress? I’ve enough money saved not to work ever again.’
‘I know, my darling, it’s hard. I’ll tell you what. I’ll take a week off and help you as much as I can. I don’t like to see you like this. What do you say?’
Kendall cringed, wishing her mother would flatly refuse his offer. Stand your ground, Mother, she willed.
‘Well, you’ve no need to do that, Alastair.’
Kendall sensed her mother was taking back control.
‘I want to, Rebecca.’
‘No, I mean, I have help. I have Father and Conrad and they have a plan to—’
Alastair interrupted before his wife had a chance to finish. ‘You what! You never said. How? I mean, what do they propose to do?’
The sudden panic in Alastair’s voice made Kendall stay put. Surely, her mother would have recognized that worried tone?
‘Conrad has a plan to clean up the streets and get to the bottom of this gang problem.’
‘What? How? I thought he didn’t have the budget for that?’ Alastair asked, now quite agitated.
‘He doesn’t have the budget, so I guess he has another plan. Anyway, I’m bushed. I’m going to have a shower.’
Finally, Kendall was about to creep back up the stairs before her mother caught her earwigging when she realized her parents hadn’t finished talking.
‘Wait a minute. What’s going on, Rebecca? Your brother is the chief of police. If he doesn’t have the budget, then what does he propose to do? We need to know because . . . well, what if he makes a mess of things? Christ, Rebecca, if he does, then you’ll be the one with egg on your face, not him. You need to find out what his intentions are, and then we can decide whether or not to let him get involved.’
‘I’m pretty sure he has a good plan because he’s been discussing it with our father!’
Kendall sensed her mother’s tone was now tainted with annoyance. She waited to see who was next to serve, thoroughly enjoying this game of tennis.
‘Your father? Jesus, it gets worse. What the hell does your father know about politics? Seriously, Rebecca, you should be discussing this with me, your bloody husband, not running to your daddy like a child!’
‘Alastair, I am not discussing it anymore. I’m going to take a shower and then I’m off to bed. I’ve had quite enough rows for one day.’
Kendall quickly snuck away to her room. This is getting interesting, she thought. Maybe she should have studied politics or puppet mastery.
Mike looked behind him to find four eager faces. ‘Before we get outside, just remember, not a word to anyone, even family. We got released early because of overcrowding and cutbacks.’
Staffie frowned. ‘D’ya think they’ll buy it?’
Mike nodded. ‘Come on, Staff, they’ll be only too pleased we’re out to bother about questioning it. Not a word though, ’cos who would understand it, and we don’t want to lose respect, now do we?’
The others nodded in agreement. It was a good point and they certainly didn’t want to lose face.
The last secure door slid open. He winked as if to say, ‘This is it, lads.’ There, waiting to greet them, stood Arthur, Mike’s father, and Teddy Stafford, Staffie’s father. Embraces were exchanged, and, excitedly, they hurried to the cars. Mike stopped for a moment and looked up at the clear blue sky and sighed. He was free: for almost twelve years he’d been locked up, and now he could breathe and learn to live again. Ricky was by Arthur’s side, held close with Arthur’s arm around his shoulders. Mike looked on, fondly. He knew that Ricky would be fussed over for months or even years to come.
Ted opened the door for Staffie, Willie, and Lou to climb in, while Mike and Ricky travelled home with Arthur.
For Ricky, it was a dream come true. He’d been sentenced to a year in the nick, believing he would come out only to face his mother and their tiny caravan – a way of life that he detested. To be sitting next to his grandfather in the front seat of a new car and driving off to his real family’s home, after serving only a few weeks, felt overwhelming and left him with a permanent grin.
As Arthur pulled away, Mike looked back at the dark, miserable building and tears began to well up. All those years of sitting in solitary confinement, believing his son and Zara were dead, tormented with all the what-ifs, the whys, and the wherefores, and now to be free and to have his loved ones back once more, he wondered if he should actually start going to church because God had undoubtedly answered his prayers.
Mike knew the outside world would have changed in twelve years and if he had served out his full sentence, he suspected it would have been a slow process to acclimatize to the life of civvy street. Having missed out on so many changes, the first one he noticed was the billboards advertising new technology and the number of pedestrians with their faces glued to a phone or wearing, as he saw it, oversized headphones. And while his mind was on those, looking at the interior of his father’s car, it seemed as though he’d entered the space age. The technology was incredible, and he gazed in wonderment at the huge dashboard with sat nav, hi-fi, and telephone, all integrated and shown on just one screen. He clocked the way people dressed – these new skinny jeans – on men – and it made him shake his head. What the fuck did they look like? He saw some young women walking down a street and noticed that their hairstyles were different too, now every shade of the rainbow.
Ricky took less interest in his surroundings. He’d only been inside a short while, so to him the outside was nothing new. His eyes were on his grandad and being driven in his latest Jaguar, with the smell of expensive aftershave pervading
