The Last Card (21 page)

A
rm-in-arm, H and Nina entered the small Virgin record store in Notting Hill. Bob Marley’s ‘Jamming’ played over the shop’s
hi-fi
system. H was wearing a new Adidas tracksuit, a clean white T-shirt and old skool, navy and white Adidas Gazelles. H looked lean and healthy. He’d also shaved his head. The short dreadlocks that he’d seen as a part of his personality for the last ten years were gone. H’s scalp was now as clean as an egg.

H felt good as he browsed the bargain CDs, leaving Nina to search through the Pop/Rock. He was focused in the gym, he hadn’t been near a gambling shebeen for weeks, and he and Nina had been seeing more and more of each other.

Nina was not the kind of woman that he would ever expect to see in any kind of a serious way. Yet over the last month she had constantly surprised him with her humour, her knowledge and her drive.

H looked across at her as she stood at the front of the shop waiting to pay. Seeing her head moving in time to the jumping bass line, H had to smile. Always the tough chick was Nina. For some reason, as he looked at her, a lascivious smile playing on his face, she turned and looked right back at him. As though she had read his mind.

They both grinned.

Again arm in arm H and Nina left the shop and walked down Holland Park Avenue. It was now only four days before the fight with Mancini and H’s rigorous training regime had wound down to almost nothing. Just a light morning run and an hour of gentle sparring.

They approached Nina’s house and the chatter between them
stopped. As soon as they were into her kitchen H slammed the front door shut behind them, moved Nina up against the wall and pressed against her body. His lips found their way on to hers while his hands probed inside her jacket, under her shirt and up the side of her stomach and breasts. He gripped her under the armpits. She had her hands under his T-shirt, down his briefs, digging in her nails, pulling him to her. They stayed like this for a moment, feverish.

They broke apart and ran upstairs to the bedroom. They shed their clothes and with their arms and legs wrapped around each other resumed kissing. Soon Nina had worked her way on top of H and held his face in one hand while she sucked ferociously at his lips. Moments later H had flipped her over and was working his way down her body, kissing, licking, stroking. She lay back, her head raised, looking down at him while his tongue and lips reached her clipped hair. She moaned as she stroked his head.

His turn now, he wriggled higher up the bed. Flushed and glowing, Nina knelt between his legs. She cupped him with one hand, held his girth with the other and made him wish time would stand still.

Some time later they were sprawled across the bed, the bedclothes a tangled mess on the floor. As H dozed he watched the evening light dying through the bedroom window. Darkness crept through the room and all was still.

The moment was shattered by the shrill ring of H’s mobile. H opened his eyes and saw Nina’s sleeping face. The ringing continued, jangling, loud and insistent. He sat up and looked around,
disorientated
. He tried to indentify the source of the ringing. His sweatshirt. He leant over Nina to pick it up from the floor. He plucked his mobile from one of the pockets.

‘Hel …’ he coughed, his voice still thick with sleep. ‘Hello?’ He couldn’t hear anything but crying at the other end of the line. ‘Hello? Who is this?’

‘It’s me.’

‘What’s the matter?’ His voice was suddenly full of concern. He scooted his legs round and sat on the edge of the bed.

‘It’s Cyrus. He’s gone missing.’

‘He’s what?!’ He was wide awake now. ‘He’s what did you say?!’

‘He’s gone missing.’

‘What do you mean?! Where is he?’ There was a pause at the
other end of the line. Beverley was almost incoherent, but through her sobs, she explained what she had been told by the police.

‘What?’ H’s breathing shallowed and he could barely speak. ‘Just like that?’

Beverley’s response was a sob and a sniff.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, so what’s happening now?’

Nina was sitting up, trying to glean as much as she could from his side of the conversation.

‘The police …’

H interrupted her. ‘Where are you?’

‘At my mother’s.’

‘Stay there! I’m coming over.’ He hung up and twisted round on the bed. Nina’s eyes were full of concern.

‘That was Beverley. My son Cyrus has gone missing.’

‘Missing?’

‘Someone took him from his school. This morning.’ Grim-faced, H began to dress. Nina sat and watched him. She pulled on some clothes and sat hugging her knees to her chest.

H sat next to her as he laced his trainers. He glanced over at her.

‘I think it might be Alan that’s got your boy.’ She spoke as though in a daze.

H stopped as though he’d been slapped. ‘What?’

‘I think it might be Alan.’

‘Why would you think that?!’

‘Earlier today Gavin mentioned something about Cyrus. He said something about telling you that Alan wanted to see you and Cyrus would pass the message.’ H stared at her dumbfounded. ‘Christ, I’m sorry, Hilary, it just … we were … I had no idea. I think it must be about this.’

‘What the fuck is going on, Nina?’

‘I know what you want to do, Hilary, but …’

‘But what?!’

‘Hilary, you’ll get hurt …’

‘Hurt! I’ll fucking hurt somebody! Alan’s..!’

‘Alan’s not around!’

‘Where is he?’

‘Out of town. On business …’

‘Don’t fucking lie to me!’

‘Even if he was here, what good would that do?’

‘If he’s touched one hair on Cyrus’s … I’m going to crush his windpipe! I’m going to break his fucking back!’

‘Think! Just think about it! If it is Alan that’s taken Cyrus – and let’s hope that it isn’t – but if it is him, he knows you’re going to be going crazy! He’s taken Cyrus for a reason! He’s not going to let you just walk in there and take him back.’

‘Call him!’

‘Call who?’

‘Alan! Call him now. Or Gavin. Find out what the fuck’s going on! In fact, give me the number, let me call him.’ As Nina left the room, H finished dressing and sat back down on the edge of the bed,
thinking
. He made himself take slow, deep breaths.

Nina returned and handed him a piece of paper. As she gave it to him she slid an arm over his shoulders. He shook it off and stood up.

‘Can I borrow your car?’

‘Of course.’ She said the words but she knew, they both knew, that their relationship had changed. The honeymoon was over. She knew why he wanted her car and they looked at each other in silence

‘How’s Beverley?’

‘How do you think?’ Nina didn’t say anything. H picked up his mobile and tapped in Gavin’s number.

H and Beverley strolled across the grass at the back of her mother’s house. It was a large parkland area where the local kids played football, but as the darkness of the evening drew in, the place was quiet.

‘I’m sorry … I just, I just can’t …’

‘It’s all right, Bev.’ He squeezed her hand. They had been walking along in silence for some time, Beverley crying, allowing the sobs to come unchecked. He recognised that Beverley rarely showed her vulnerability. Despite his own grief, it was H who was being strong, it was H who was taking charge. He put his arm around her and she tried to compose herself.

‘How are you, anyway?’ she managed to squeeze out. H shrugged, sighing heavily.

‘I don’t know. Away from all this … same shit, different day.’

‘I read …’ she sniffed heavily. ‘… In the paper. You’ve got this fight coming up soon. Mancini.’

‘That’s right.’

‘They don’t give you much chance, do they?’

‘No.’ They walked on in silence for a while.

‘One of the last conversations I had with Cyrus was about this fight. We read about it in the papers together. He just looked up at me and said ‘I want daddy to win, win, win!’ This set Beverley off crying again and H had to swallow hard. He stopped and turned to face her, drawing her to him. They stood like this for a moment, H feeling the wet of her tears soaking through to his skin.

‘Look, Beverley … I know I’ve been an arsehole … but I’m serious now. This is going to be my last fight. Ever. And … once I do that, I think I can kick the gambling as well. I’m going to get Cyrus back, trust me. Then, is there any chance for us to start again?’ He pulled her away from his chest and looked into her red, swollen eyes.

‘I think … maybe … it’s too late for us now, H. Best just be friends, eh?’

Again, H had to swallow hard.

The next day H strode quickly into Roxy’s. He’d called Gavin the previous evening and the arrangement had been to come in at 12 o’clock, midday. Gavin had been vague on the telephone but had implied that if H spoke to White Alan today all would be revealed. Without anything more specific H had thought it wise not to mention any of this to Beverley.

That night H had managed very little sleep and today his head felt thick. He’d spent the night disturbed by thoughts of Cyrus, alone and frightened. These were quickly followed by thoughts of what he, Hilary, would do to Akers when he saw him. It was anger that drove him now. As he bowled through the main entrance of the club, H spotted Gavin reading a newspaper at the bar. The club was empty but for three cleaners, two of them working behind the bar, the third gliding round the dance floor with an electrical floor polisher.

Gavin looked up from his paper. ‘Hello, Hil …’

‘Let’s cut the shit. Where’s Akers?’ Gavin folded his paper. A lack of pleasantries was fine by him.

‘Are you carrying?’

‘No.’

‘You won’t mind if I check then.’

Gavin walked over to him. H raised him arms and Gavin patted him down.

‘Right this way.’

They walked through the dark hallway and up the stairs in silence. On the landing H stood behind him as Gavin knocked. Without waiting for an answer Gavin opened the door and leant his head in.

‘Hilary James here to see you,’ said Gavin. ‘He’s outside.’

H could just see Akers locking a safe in the wall behind his desk.

‘Good. Bring him in.’ Akers replaced the mirror that disguised the safe and checked his reflection. Only once he was back in his seat did Gavin usher H into the office. H stood in front of Akers’ desk, while Gavin sat in a wooden chair behind him. H could scarcely contain his rage. His words burst out of him.

‘Where’s my boy? Was it you?! Did you do it?!’

Alan Akers looked back at H with the inscrutability of a cat. Today he wore a white cashmere jumper and a pair of baggy white woollen slacks.

‘You know what I want.’ Akers spoke in a soft, confident voice. ‘I want insurance that you’re going down in the first round. I repeat … in the first round.’

H thought his head was going to explode but he made his voice flat, devoid of emotion. ‘You’ve got it. What about Cyrus?’

‘He’s fine …’

‘If you’ve …’

‘He’s fine!’ Akers spat out his assurance as though H’s concerns were a waste of his valuable time. ‘As soon as the fight’s over, and you’ve done what you’re supposed to do, he’ll be dropped off with the lovely Bever …’

That was it. H lunged over the desk for Akers’ throat. He grabbed him by his polo-neck, dragged him out of his seat and back over the desk. The next instant Gavin had a choke hold round H’s neck and pulled him backwards, across the office. Gagging, H was forced to release his grip on Akers’ throat.

Akers rolled off the desk and straightened his clothes. The bruise to his dignity had him so angry he could only bark ‘Out! Get him out of here!’

Gavin shuffled H round so that he was facing the door and then slowly released his hold. He seemed ready to re-apply the pressure if H showed signs of losing it again. But H headed quietly for the door without struggling. Just before he left he stopped and turned back.

‘How did you know about Cyrus and Beverley?’

Akers glared back at him. But then he suddenly gave a grim smile. ‘Nina, of course. Didn’t she tell you?’

H let his face betray no emotion. He dipped into the top pocket of his jacket and pulled out Nina’s car keys. He weighed them in his hand for a moment, then tossed them at Akers. ‘I guess these belong to you.’

H turned and left. Back out on the street he took some deep breaths of fresh, clean, air. He was in shock. Nina had told Akers about Cyrus? He wandered, dazed, up to Oxford Street. He didn’t know what to do but he didn’t want to go home just yet. He needed time to think.

H stopped in a Starbucks and ordered a coffee. When it arrived he stirred it, endlessly, thinking, thinking. Did Nina tell White Alan about Cyrus? Deliberately tell him? No, she couldn’t have. It must have come out accidentally. But she’d given up badgering him about Akers’ money or killing him. Why? H couldn’t figure it out. And then other questions crowded their way into his mind: Akers was forcing him to throw the fight. What could he do about that? Akers was forcing him to throw the fight! Akers had Cyrus, H knew he would have to take the dive. But could he live with that?

H laid his head next to his coffee on the counter in front of him. He closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep.

‘Are you all right?’

He looked up. The young French waitress was looking down at him with concern.

‘Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to call the manager or something?’

‘No, you’re all right. I don’t think the manager can help me on this one.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘You want another cup? This one is cold.’

H looked at his coffee. A thin layer of skin had formed over the top.

‘Can I?’

‘Of course you can!’ She scooped up his mug and returned a moment later with a fresh one. ‘Don’t tell anyone; it’s on the house.’ She winked conspiratorially, then gave him a broad smile and walked away. H’s eyes followed her as she weaved her way between other customers. Something about this brief, momentary encounter inspired H - this small act of kindness seemed to make the world a better place.