to slot into a gap between two parked cars, and jolted clumsily up the low kerb onto the pavement, stalling the motor.
I twisted round to see Garton-Jones and West dive out of the way with an undignified haste that was grimly pleasing. It was difficult to make out much more than the basic shape of the vehicle that came barrelling through the space we’d so recently vacated. One of these new four-by-fours, with a set of industrial bull-bars on the front. Other than that, I couldn’t even have given you the colour.
It reached the corner of the street and slithered round it in a near-perfect sideways drift, engine howling as the tyres skittered over the wet road surface. I couldn’t suppress a certain amount of admiration for the driver. Whoever was behind the wheel obviously knew his stuff.
Before the taillights had even disappeared, Garton-Jones had grabbed a walkie-talkie from his belt and was snarling into it. “Gary! What the fuck’s going on at your end?” he demanded. “That damned Grand Cherokee with the Dutch plates on it has just been through here again like it’s a fucking racetrack. Either keep that end of the estate locked down, or I’ll put someone in charge who can.”
He shoved the walkie-talkie into his jacket pocket without waiting for a reply. He glared first at West, and then across at me, as though daring either of us to comment. Neither of us fancied the prospects of that move overmuch.
I busied myself with flicking the gear lever back into neutral so I could kick-start the bike again. I rode it carefully ten metres along the uneven pavement until there was a gap between the parked cars, and dropped back into the road.
As I rode the short distance to Pauline’s place, I reflected that the arrival of Garton-Jones and his mob on Lavender Gardens should have meant things had just got better. So why couldn’t I shake the feeling they’d just taken a downward turn? And one so steep it was more like a nose-dive.
***
That evening, unable to put it off any longer, I rang Pauline in Canada.
I’d been avoiding making the call, in the hope that things were going to get better. The likelihood of that one was far away, and growing dimmer all the time.
I couldn’t lie to her when she asked what had been going on, and even though I severely edited down the truth, she was still horrified by news of the attack on Fariman, and the arrival of Garton-Jones and his boys.
“The Committee were talking about calling his lot in before I left, but I didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to actually go ahead with it. They’ll bleed us dry,” she said bluntly, her voice coming across the transatlantic line as clear as a local call. “Oh, why did this have to happen now, when I can’t do a damned thing about it?”
“There’s another Committee meeting next week. I’ll go,” I heard myself saying. “I’ll try and stall them. He’s just totally the wrong man for the job.”
“OK, Charlie,” she said, still sounding worried, “just don’t do anything rash, will you?”
I said of course not in what I hoped was a convincing tone, and Pauline rang off, slightly more reassured.
I didn’t want to go walking into that meeting completely blind, but it still took me a few moments of staring at the telephone to make the decision to call Jacob and Clare for help.
If you’d asked me at the beginning of last winter if they were my friends I would have said yes without hesitation. Then I’d put Clare in a position of danger from which she’d been lucky to escape alive. It wasn’t that they hadn’t forgiven me over it, you understand.
I hadn’t forgiven myself.
I picked the receiver up quickly, and dialled before I had chance to change my mind. Jacob answered almost straight away.
“Oh, hi Charlie,” he said. Was it me, or did he sound a little cool in his greeting? “Long time, no hear.”
I could picture the
I twisted round to see Garton-Jones and West dive out of the way with an undignified haste that was grimly pleasing. It was difficult to make out much more than the basic shape of the vehicle that came barrelling through the space we’d so recently vacated. One of these new four-by-fours, with a set of industrial bull-bars on the front. Other than that, I couldn’t even have given you the colour.
It reached the corner of the street and slithered round it in a near-perfect sideways drift, engine howling as the tyres skittered over the wet road surface. I couldn’t suppress a certain amount of admiration for the driver. Whoever was behind the wheel obviously knew his stuff.
Before the taillights had even disappeared, Garton-Jones had grabbed a walkie-talkie from his belt and was snarling into it. “Gary! What the fuck’s going on at your end?” he demanded. “That damned Grand Cherokee with the Dutch plates on it has just been through here again like it’s a fucking racetrack. Either keep that end of the estate locked down, or I’ll put someone in charge who can.”
He shoved the walkie-talkie into his jacket pocket without waiting for a reply. He glared first at West, and then across at me, as though daring either of us to comment. Neither of us fancied the prospects of that move overmuch.
I busied myself with flicking the gear lever back into neutral so I could kick-start the bike again. I rode it carefully ten metres along the uneven pavement until there was a gap between the parked cars, and dropped back into the road.
As I rode the short distance to Pauline’s place, I reflected that the arrival of Garton-Jones and his mob on Lavender Gardens should have meant things had just got better. So why couldn’t I shake the feeling they’d just taken a downward turn? And one so steep it was more like a nose-dive.
***
That evening, unable to put it off any longer, I rang Pauline in Canada.
I’d been avoiding making the call, in the hope that things were going to get better. The likelihood of that one was far away, and growing dimmer all the time.
I couldn’t lie to her when she asked what had been going on, and even though I severely edited down the truth, she was still horrified by news of the attack on Fariman, and the arrival of Garton-Jones and his boys.
“The Committee were talking about calling his lot in before I left, but I didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to actually go ahead with it. They’ll bleed us dry,” she said bluntly, her voice coming across the transatlantic line as clear as a local call. “Oh, why did this have to happen now, when I can’t do a damned thing about it?”
“There’s another Committee meeting next week. I’ll go,” I heard myself saying. “I’ll try and stall them. He’s just totally the wrong man for the job.”
“OK, Charlie,” she said, still sounding worried, “just don’t do anything rash, will you?”
I said of course not in what I hoped was a convincing tone, and Pauline rang off, slightly more reassured.
I didn’t want to go walking into that meeting completely blind, but it still took me a few moments of staring at the telephone to make the decision to call Jacob and Clare for help.
If you’d asked me at the beginning of last winter if they were my friends I would have said yes without hesitation. Then I’d put Clare in a position of danger from which she’d been lucky to escape alive. It wasn’t that they hadn’t forgiven me over it, you understand.
I hadn’t forgiven myself.
I picked the receiver up quickly, and dialled before I had chance to change my mind. Jacob answered almost straight away.
“Oh, hi Charlie,” he said. Was it me, or did he sound a little cool in his greeting? “Long time, no hear.”
I could picture the
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