Taken (21 page)

Casey bit her lip as Josh pulled out the papers and gave her the pen. They held each other’s gaze for a moment before she put her head down and signed on the dotted line, with her hand visibly shaking.

‘I better go now.’

As Casey spoke she stroked Josh’s face, saying nothing as she saw the tears in his eyes. He hugged her again and she wished she was capable of loving him like he loved her.

‘I am sorry; you know that don’t you? I hope you have the happiness you deserve.’

As Casey turned to leave, Josh grabbed her arm.

‘Wait. I didn’t know if I should give it to you. I thought it might make things between us worse and maybe I should’ve given you it before now, but I thought if I did I might lose you and we wouldn’t stand a chance if something or somebody got in the way, but looking back I can see we never stood a chance in the first place.’

He handed her an envelope with simply her name written on it in familiar handwriting. Casey stared at Josh in puzzlement.

‘It’s from your father. Before he died he asked me to give you this when I thought the time was right. He explained a little bit to me but he was worried it might hurt you too much and neither of us wanted that, he wanted me to wait until you were strong but I can’t justify holding onto it, not now, not when perhaps it might help.’

‘I don’t understand. What does it say?’

Josh shrugged his shoulders feeling uncomfortable by his own guilt for not giving Casey the letter when he’d first got it.

‘I don’t know. I never read it, your father asked me not to but I know vaguely what it’s about.’

‘Wait Josh.’

Wanting to get away, Josh backed away not wanting to talk any longer.

‘Just read it. Goodbye Casey and please look after yourself. Be careful.’

Casey held the letter tightly in her hand as Josh walked away. When they’d got married, Josh, wanting to do the right thing, had insisted on inviting her parents; but they hadn’t come. Part of her had been glad, but another part had been hurt and angrier with them than she was already. When her father had become ill, it was Josh who’d gone to see him, not her, and over the months prior to his death it was clear Josh and her father had formed some sort of a bond, which she’d seen as a betrayal. On the day of her father’s funeral, Josh had stood solemnly by her father’s graveside, whilst she’d been miles away getting drunk with a nameless stranger.

Casey sighed; she would read it later. Whatever was in it, she was sure she’d need to sit down when she did. Quickly she headed back towards the tube station, passing a Paul’s bakery on the way, and not seeing the two men leaning on the pillar watching her.

‘Yes? Who the fuck is it?’

Oscar’s phone manner was as charming as ever as he answered the phone, but he got the surprise of his life when he heard who the caller was. In actual fact, he’d have been less surprised to hear his newly deceased ex-wife Lola on the other end.

‘Leave everything with me and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Don’t worry; you’ve done the right thing.’

Oscar put the phone down and roared with laughter. It couldn’t be any better. It was so good, in fact, that he was sure this is what it would feel like if he’d just heard his slag of a mother had just died.

Three hours later, Oscar was parked in Huntley
Street, a quiet road running parallel to Tottenham Court Road. He was listening to
The Golden Hour
on Magic FM and was uncharacteristically humming along to ‘Black Velvet’ when his car door opened.

‘Glad to see you could make it. Don’t look so nervous; if anyone can help, I can. Now, how about I take you for a cup of coffee, and then you can tell me all about it?’

As Oscar drove off, he glanced quickly at his passenger and wondered what he’d done so right to have luck like this.

Thursday night, and Alfie knew it wasn’t good. He’d been everywhere to try and sort out the money but no one was willing to help. It’d crossed Alfie’s mind it wasn’t a question of people not being able to help, but of them not being willing to, hoping to see him fall. He knew the underground rumour mill had been in overdrive, and all the important players knew why he needed the loan and were happy to watch the mighty Alfie Jennings take his punishment.

Outside his world, Alfie knew owing money only meant debts and humiliation and maybe the odd sleepless night, but in his world, if you owed money and didn’t pay it back – especially when you owed it to people like Oscar Harding – it only meant one thing; sooner or later you were going to be brown bread. Simple as.

He’d even gone to see Max Donaldson, a notorious loan shark and dealer who ran his business empire like he did his own family; with an iron bar and bucketloads of fear and intimidation.

Max was a cliché of his upbringing; a prostitute for a mother and an unknown father. He’d been in and out of reform schools before graduating to adult prisons as his reign of terror and bank balance grew. Alfie thought Max had small man syndrome: he stood no taller than five foot five, but his aggression and violence befitted twenty men.

‘Sorry Alf, you know how it is,’ Max grinned, making sure Alfie knew he didn’t give a damn about his problems.

Alfie did know how it fucking was. He knew Max was bathing in money. The interest Max charged his clients for taking out loans was eye-watering; so some poor sod who found themselves Berni Flint and couldn’t afford to pay the gas would take out a fifty-quid loan with Max and end up paying back five hundred. If they missed a payment they’d be looking at interest on top of interest, or if they were lucky a broken pelvis and a kneecap to show for it – but even having broken limbs didn’t see the loan wiped out.

‘You see it’s the recession, Alf; touches us all. Flaming fucking government are robbing us all blind.’

If he hadn’t found himself in this predicament with Oscar, Alfie might’ve laughed. He doubted Max Donaldson had ever paid any tax in his life. The phone jolted Alfie out of his thoughts and the number flashing on the screen brought him out in a cold sweat; it was Oscar. He switched off the phone and poured himself a drink in the empty club, wondering how he’d find just over seventy grand in the next few hours.

Emmie looked up at the clock; her dad would be home soon and she didn’t want him to catch her rooting round his office. Her mother was out shopping which meant she didn’t have to worry about her coming back until the shops had closed, and as it was late night opening in Bluewater
,
she still had plenty of time.

She couldn’t find what she was looking for but she knew it was here somewhere. She’d once seen her dad with it and she’d been certain he’d put it behind the large mahogany bookshelf, but it wasn’t there now.

Emmie was careful to put everything back as it was. The cigar box slightly angled to one side, the ashtray which she’d bought for him when she and her mum had gone to Paris for the day, and the various pieces of paper all placed back correctly.

She decided to look in the large wooden chest at the far end of the panelled room. Her dad always kept it locked but she knew he hid the key behind the large family photo hanging on the wall which was taken last year. Emmie hated the photo, she thought it made her look fat, but her dad had told her she looked beautiful and insisted on putting it up on the wall.

Opening the chest, Emmie looked round as it creaked and felt her heart thumping. Her eyes opened wide as she saw a wad of fifty-pound notes and a large packet of white powder which Emmie guessed was cocaine. She moved the money to the side and saw the green box she was looking for. She opened it up carefully and breathed a sigh of relief as she saw what was inside: a small silver hand gun.

It was getting late and Casey knew she had to get up. She’d spent the last couple of days in bed, drinking too much, eating too little and crying in abundance. The hospital had called to let her know Lola had regained consciousness and was asking to see her.

She felt terrible and she was sure she probably looked as bad as she felt. Her mouth was dry and sticky and her nose was blocked from crying but if she didn’t get out of bed now, she doubted she ever would. As she turned her head to the side, Casey saw the crumpled letter from her father on the cabinet, and in seeing it she put her head back under the cover wanting to disappear.

Before making up her mind whether she was going to go and see Lola, Casey decided to go and have a drink. Eight double whiskies, two straight vodkas and a pint of lager later, thoughts of not only Lola but also the letter were fading quickly from Casey’s mind as she sat unsteadily in Whispers. Casey was unaware she was being watched by Alfie, who was delighted to watch the car crash unfold in front of him, and he decided to speed things up a bit. Picking up the phone behind the bar, Alfie dialled Vaughn’s number.

It was open mike night and the club was buzzing. Punters and comedians were packed into the heat of the main drinking lounge, and Casey decided to move closer to the stage as the compere came on to applause and cheering.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, for the next part of the evening I’m going to invite any brave members of the audience to come up and have a go; come and see if you’ve got what it takes to make us laugh. He who dares!’

The audience looked round at each other, seeing if anyone had the bottle to volunteer to go up on stage. When nobody came forward the compere tried to egg them on.

‘Come on people, don’t be shy. How about you sir? Yes, you with the bald head.’

The man grinned and shouted out a retort. ‘Better a bald head than no head mate!’

‘You think so? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror recently sir? But then mirrors don’t talk – and lucky for you they don’t laugh either. Come on somebody, anybody.’

‘I will.’

The room turned to see Casey swaying unsteadily up to the stage. There was a round of applause and Alfie grinned, unable to believe his luck or the good timing as he saw Vaughn walk in. This was going to be good.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the brave lady.’

Casey stumbled over to the mike as the room fell silent. She stood for a few moments gazing up and blinking at the spotlight as the audience started to feel slightly uncomfortable.

Vaughn went to move forward but Alfie held him back.

‘Leave her; she’s fine, she’s just having a bit of fun.’

Vaughn angrily glanced at Alfie.

‘Is this why you called me? So I could see her make a fool of herself?’

‘I had no idea she was going to do this. I called because I thought you might want to come and have a drink with me and see if we could work things out between us.’

Vaughn pulled his arm away from Alfie’s grip, knowing he was lying, and watched Casey with a heavy heart.

The audience remained silent and Vaughn closed his eyes as Casey chuckled to herself, swaying.

‘Okay here I go … Two goldfish were in their tank. One turns to the other and says, “You man the guns and I’ll drive.”’

Casey looked out and grinned at the sea of people who stared blankly back at her. Slurring her words and playing with the mike wire as the spotlight glared down on her, Casey spoke in a quieter voice.

‘My dad told me that joke. I didn’t think it was funny either, but then nothing he did was funny. He wrote me a letter, now that was a joke …’

The compere mercifully ran on stage, interrupting Casey mid-flow.

‘Give it up for Casey, ladies and gentlemen. What a brave lady!’

The compere pulled her off and the round of relieved applause sounded round the room as Casey waved while she was hustled off into the wings. A tall wiry-framed comedian, equally intoxicated, offered her a drink.

‘I take it that was your first time; we’ve all been through it. I bet you need a drink after that.’

She nodded and knocked back the shot quickly and thirstily.

A further few drinks later, Casey was stumbling out of the back of the club trying to hold herself up against her new acquaintance and oblivious to the fact Vaughn was looking for her. She’d stayed in the room at the back drinking with the other comedians, rather than bothering going through to the main bar.

It was late but the streets were still full of people and Casey watched them in a blur, giggling slightly at nothing in particular.

She felt the man’s hands start exploring her body and then roughly go down the back of her trousers. He leant in to start to kiss her and she pushed him away, disorientated and suddenly realising that she wanted to go home. Over the man’s shoulder Casey saw someone staring at her and it slowly dawned on her that she recognised him. He continued to stare but a crowd of tourists walked in front of him, blocking her hazy view.

‘Casey!’

Casey tried to clear her mind but she found it too hard to focus enough to search out the voice in the crowd.

‘Casey!’

She felt as if she was playing a game of cat and mouse; her head was all over the place and she felt sick but eventually through the blur of the street lights, the person who’d been calling her finally walked forward.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’

It was Vaughn. Seeing him was like a sobering slap in her face. She felt the guy’s hand still halfway down the back of her trousers, and slowly she moved it away as Vaughn held her gaze before turning to look at the man with a cold dangerous stare.

‘Listen mate, you’ve got two minutes to get the fuck out of here, and count yourself lucky you’re getting away so lightly.’

‘I don’t think so
mate
.’

Vaughn, not caring who saw him, punched the man and floored him; immediately becoming annoyed with himself that he’d let his feelings make him stoop to such a level.

‘Do I have to repeat myself?’

‘Vaughn, leave him alone.’

‘Means something to you does he? Like the guy at the station?’

Vaughn could hear the jealousy in his voice and Casey was dumbfounded.

‘Oh my god you followed me, didn’t you?’

For a split second Casey thought she saw a flicker of shame cross Vaughn’s face, but it disappeared in a moment and he stood glaring at her, not saying a word, just staring intently and making her feel more like crap than she already did. She could see the mix of contempt and regret in his eyes and after a moment, he turned away.