Courting Trouble (32 page)

‘How do you mean?’

‘He started doing a lot of coke. Banking mates called this place “Antarctica” – or “Snowman’s Land”. I got suspicious that Chris had started dealing because of the amount of cash he carried. We went to the races once and he bet £20,000 on a horse without batting an eye. Twenty thousand!’ Nathaniel took my hand and helped me down from the chair. ‘The problem with dealing is that if you earn lots, you have to spend lots, too, otherwise, how do you explain it to the taxman? Anyway, he eventually got caught, of course, and sent down for three years. He sits in a cell twenty-three hours a day now. I can’t even send him books. And all they have in the library is Jeffrey Archer. Now that really
is
punishment! Anyway, I think you just found his secret retirement fund.’

‘At least it saved you from having to eat my cooking. We’d better call the police, though.’

‘Yes.’ Nathaniel reached for his iPhone, then paused. ‘But we have to be careful. When Chris was arrested I did wonder why the undercover unit was targeting what they call “low-hanging fruit”. Why did they nab my mate instead of the kingpins at the top of the criminal tree? Some covert operations become focused on getting “heads on sticks” which means “Let’s bag as many people as possible for whatever offence we can.”’ He picked some plaster pieces out of my hair. ‘But, other times, it’s because the cops in the drug squad are in on the act and taking a cut. The drug squad’s notoriously corrupt. This year alone, rogue cops have siphoned off more than £1.2 million worth of drugs seized in police raids and then sold them back on the streets. We’re not talking about one bad apple, but rotten-to-the-core institutionalized corruption.’

‘Roxy always says that you can tell an undercover cop . . . but you can’t tell him much,’ I agreed.

Nathaniel’s face took on a cloudy cast. He scanned the room. ‘I have to be really careful about getting framed, too. Through my work, I’ve put a lot of noses out of joint, and made a lot of enemies.’

‘How?’

‘By exposing various officers, on charges ranging from rape to drug dealing . . . Giving one cop away to another cop is very dicey. The blue brotherhood and all that . . . I think the best thing is if I take this load down to Scotland Yard myself this afternoon and speak to the chief . . . But let’s keep it quiet. I don’t want any addicts breaking in and ransacking the joint looking for contraband or quick cash. Jesus, what a hassle. But thank you for attempting to cook for me.’ His eyes sought mine. ‘Although I think what really set off the alarm is the fact that I have such a smoking-hot babe in my bed.’

He leant me back against the wall and kissed my mouth. His hands were on my haunches, pulling my hips against his. He scooped me up and lay me on the carpet, there among the piles of money, and breathed along the inside of my thigh, his lips brushing the skin, each place more delicate and electric than the last.

Later, when we finally stirred and got vertical, I looked at the mounds of money around us and grinned. ‘I think you’ve over-tipped, Nate.’

‘Really? I’d say you’ve undercharged.’ He held my hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

‘But, seriously, if you’re worried about the drug squad being corrupt, why don’t I ring my father? He has so many friends on the force. He’ll know who to trust. God knows, he’s desperate to help me.’

Nathaniel gazed at me with an expression that was both tender and perplexed. ‘You’d trust a man who cheated on your mother? . . . Those undercover operations had a terrible impact on the lives of innocent women. After you’d told me about Danny, I did a bit of snooping on the snoop, actually. And do you know what I discovered? Your father won an award for the best undercover infiltration of a left-wing group . . . But what are you? An embarrassing little postscript? A doggy-bag daughter? No. Better not tell him anything. Officers from those elite covert operations units inside the Met, they don’t shoot straight. Some of my clients, ex-dealers – well, the Special Branch guys give them class-A drugs as bribes. I’m told they often take the drugs themselves.’

‘Not Danny. I know he did some bad things in the past, but I’m convinced he’s changed. The man’s not just turned over a new leaf but a whole new tree.’

‘I don’t want to upset you, Matilda, but the truth is I saw your old man buying coke from a dealer. On my estate. Right near my office.’

My facial features rearranged themselves into the look of someone who had just been handed a jar of warm sputum. ‘What? Are you sure?’

He nodded sadly. ‘Yep. And I have a rule about that. Lawmakers cannot be law-breakers, even if they are washed-up hasbeens.’

‘You’re a hundred per cent sure that it was Danny? I mean, do you know what he looks like?’

‘Portia showed me some photos of him, one night when I was at your place. That’s why you have to be very careful about Danny’s influence on your daughter . . . I suppose you know she’s still sneaking off to see him? I saw them together a number of times through the summer, around Camden. I didn’t tell you before because you were so stressed preparing Chantelle’s case. I just kept an eye on her for you.’

I flew across the room as though propelled by a poltergeist. I grabbed my phone and punched in Portia’s number. When there was no answer, I was dressed and off out the door within minutes.
See Mother run! Hear Mother talking to herself! See Mother get down the bottle of tranquillizers!
. . .

I hailed a taxi and offered the driver a big tip to put his foot down. Careering west along the river towards Blackfriars Bridge at breakneck speed, I tried to reassure myself that Portia was okay. But I had a feeling that if I filled in a magazine quiz to see whether I was a ‘good mother’, I’d fail. And that I’d fail even if I
cheated
.

As far as I’m aware, no parenting manual has a chapter covering how to find a missing, disobedient daughter, most likely abducted by a drug-addled, duplicitous, absentee, ex-Special Branch biological granddad.

By the time the cab turned off Farringdon Road towards King’s Cross, I was wound up tighter than a Joan Rivers facelift. The windscreen wipers made a half-hearted salute at the sheets of rain which suddenly deluged the taxi. We lurched on to Euston Road, smack bang into a traffic jam. The grey highway ahead ran with molten red and green, as traffic lights changed as far as the eye could see. I swore and cursed and banged the seat, begging the driver to find a faster route.

Finally arriving outside my father’s flat, I leapt out before the cab had stopped moving. After ten minutes of banging on Danny’s door, his neighbour popped her head out to say that Danny had taken his granddaughter – ‘a grand lass’ – to the British Library, next to the Gothic towers of St Pancras.

Even though I get winded licking stamps, I sprinted the few blocks there, cutting through the graveyard of St Pancras but not even stopping to pay my respects to my heroine, Mary Wollstonecraft, buried here beneath a crooked tombstone. When I got to the library, the sun had come out again. The forecourt was dotted with buskers and tourists. Portia was easy to spot in the fray, with her high-winged collarbones and strong athletic stride. She and Danny were walking towards the ice-cream queue. I waved to her histrionically. When she saw me, she brushed her silky hair from her eyes. ‘Don’t do a Chernobyl and go into meltdown, Mum.’

But my anger had already reached thermo-nuclear levels. ‘You are
so
grounded! Roxy and I told you to stay away from this man and you directly disobeyed us.’ I reached for my daughter, but she vaulted out of my arms to Danny’s side.

‘He’s not this
man
,’ she exploded back at me. ‘He’s my grandfather.’ They both faced me now, side by side. At this close proximity, there was no denying their physical similarities – the blond features and lithe, wiry frames. ‘Why can’t I hang out with him? We get on great.’

Danny beamed at my daughter, who smiled back – which only infuriated me more. I was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, here was the father I’d yearned for all my life. But, on the other hand, here was just one more man in my life whom I couldn’t trust.

‘Because he’s a drug user, for one thing,’ I spat out.

Danny whipped around to face me. ‘What?’ He spluttered into laughter. ‘We’re getting ice creams. I’m definitely addicted to those!’

‘Don’t try to fob me off, Danny. A good friend of mine works with offenders. He told me he saw some of his boys selling you coke on the Tony Benn Estate.’

‘That’s complete crap. Not only have I never set foot on that estate, I would never do drugs . . . Mainly because there’s always a chance you’ll miscalculate the dosage and just end up in a vegetative state . . . or running for parliament.’ He winked at Portia, who disintegrated into a squall of giggles. She was clearly already under his spell . . . the same spell that had so beguiled my mother. I probed my feelings for this man, who called himself my father, in the same tentative way you poke your tongue into a loose tooth. All I felt was pain and irritation.

‘I don’t want you coming anywhere near Portia or me again, is that clear?’

‘Matilda, I’m your father.’ He gazed at me, hurt. ‘I wouldn’t lie to you about this.’

‘You’re no father to me. Why should I take any notice of you? You ran off before I was born, remember?’

Danny held on to my daughter with both hands, gripping her shoulders as if she were a human steering wheel. ‘This little girl – and you, too, of course, Tilly – mean everything to me.’ He sounded like a tyre going flat. ‘My life was turned to shit by the police force, too, you know. My own happiness – straight down the plughole. I’ve been fighting the world for so long – skirmishes, wars, clandestine operations behind enemy lines . . . bring it on! Yet all the time I’ve been on the run from my own shadow. Then to find out I have a family . . . The pure and simple joy of that! All I want is to be a small, supportive part of it. As Portia’s own dad’s done a runner, it’s important for her to have some male influence in her life, don’t you reckon?’

I felt the body blow as his words impacted. Stephen had abandoned me, just as my father had. Was it any wonder that I was constantly in HMS relationships that hit icebergs only to realize too late that nobody had told me there was a BYO-lifeboat policy? A thought struck me then, like a giant gong. The psychology of the scenario was so obvious it could have been neon-lit with airport runway lights, but somehow I’d missed it until now.

‘I would never have married Stephen if I hadn’t been searching for a father figure,’ I blurted. I gave Danny the kind of look usually reserved for a strangely vacant person you see sauntering into a fast-food restaurant wielding a chainsaw. ‘But you don’t have to worry about male role models for Portia. I’m going out with a good, decent man now. Nathaniel is honourable and dependable.’ Drawing on my fine command of diplomacy, I then added, ‘He’s the one who told me not to trust you. We found a stash of drug money today. I wanted to call you to deal with it . . .’

‘Huh? What drug money?’ His eyes flashed on to high alert. ‘Of course I’ll deal with it for you.’

‘Ah – I don’t think so! Nathaniel reckons you’ve told enough white lies to ice a wedding cake. He’s taken the drug money to Scotland Yard himself. You see, he’s not a double dealer, like you. Nathaniel’s exactly the sort of father figure Portia needs in her life . . . Come on, darling.’

Danny took hold of my arm. ‘Matilda, I’m not the type to get gravel rash on the knees from grovelling. But I will if that’s what it takes for you not to shut me out of your lives,’ he said dejectedly.

I felt my resolve wavering but drew on my inner Roxy. ‘I think it’s best if you stay away from us. I don’t know how else to say it – except with a stun gun. Now let’s go.’ I tried to grab my daughter’s hand, but she squirmed out of my grasp.

Portia stormed ahead of me in the direction of Euston station. All the way back to Camden on the Tube, she refused to speak. The old teenage silent treatment frays a mother’s nerves more than Chinese water torture. When we finally got home I told Roxy what had happened. She reiterated her orders that Portia was not to let Danny into her life.

‘Really?’ My thirteen-year-old daughter groaned, then looked from one to the other of us disparagingly. ‘
This
is my gene stock? Ugh!’ She then executed the clichéd teen stomp up the stairs to her room and the requisite door slam. The way things were going my daughter would soon just disappear into her room and I wouldn’t see her again until she got her driver’s licence and needed to borrow my car.

‘I’m just wondering how I gave birth to this soap opera?’ Roxy sighed. ‘Drink? I think we both could use one.’

I glanced at my watch. ‘Oh, God, I’m so late. I promised to go with Nate to Middle Temple Hall. It’s a charity fundraiser dinner for Reprieve, to get people off death row and out of Guantanamo Bay.’

‘Gee, try not to have too much fun in one go, will you?’ my mother commented drolly.

I threw on a black cocktail dress and did my make-up in my normal studied fashion – at traffic lights on the journey in, only nearly taking my eye out three or four times. I sweet-talked my way past the Middle Temple porters and drove through the ancient wooden gates, jerking to a halt outside the Temple Church. During my pupillage, I would often take quiet refuge here in the same place where the Knights Templar, a brotherhood of noblemen, met to organize protection for pilgrims travelling to the Holy Land in the twelfth century. But it was a quiet sanctuary no longer. The exquisite building, with its medieval choir, is the only Gothic church to have withstood both the 1666 Great Fire and the Blitz . . . but was now taking a beating from the boisterous onslaught of Dan Brown fans pursuing secret
Da Vinci Code
signs in baseball-capped packs.

I was so distracted by the noisy, exclaiming American tourists and my own heels clackety-clacking over the cobblestones towards the grand Middle Temple Hall that I didn’t notice the figure lurking in the gloaming by the courtyard fountain until his voice looped out of the darkness in my direction.