‘Tingley,’ Jimmy said, sitting in the armchair opposite Simpson. I sat in the chair beside him.
‘You’re on the brink of harassing me,’ Simpson said to me. ‘And that could get very nasty for you.’
‘What we know is pretty nasty for you,’ I said.
Tingley shifted his chair to put it at an angle to Simpson’s sofa. It also meant the man at the bar and the man behind Simpson were both in his view. Not that I could imagine for a moment anything kicking off in here.
‘Tingley – ah, yes. Our security services put quite a lot of work your way. You should bear that in mind.’
Tingley smiled, crossed one leg over the other.
‘And that means I know a lot of stuff of a very sensitive nature. You should bear that in mind.’
‘Why did you call this meeting?’ Simpson said, reaching for his glass.
‘To get the truth,’ I said.
‘The truth?’ He laughed. ‘That only exists in bad fiction, doesn’t it?’
‘Why didn’t you come to me for help?’ I said.
‘At what particular stage of your plodding career and my meteoric rise?’
‘At the stage when you were deciding to have a blackmailer killed.’
He stretched his arms out along the back of the sofa but said nothing. We looked at each other. It turned into a staring contest.
‘What is it that you think you’ve got on me?’ he finally said.
‘Didn’t know you were into rough,’ I said.
‘Oh, Robert. Surely you know – a little bit of everything does you good.’
‘But it didn’t work out with Little Stevie.’
‘Little Stevie? Sounds like a little scut. They all try it on.’
‘OK, then. But are you going to explain what happened?’
He slapped the arm of the sofa. A little puff of dust bounced into the air and slowly dispersed.
‘My dear chap – you’ve come to get a confession! How wonderful.’ He crossed his legs revealing bright red socks. ‘But this is not a crime novel and I have absolutely nothing to confess to.’
‘So why have him killed?’
He pouted.
‘Is that what this is about? The death of a rent boy.’
‘What else did you think it was about?’ Tingley said. He wasn’t looking at Simpson, he was looking at the man at the bar, who had his mobile phone to his ear. I saw a curious look cross Simpson’s face. I flashed a look at Tingley.
‘William,’ I said. ‘We know you’re up to your neck with the gangster families who rule Brighton. We know you were being blackmailed by a rent boy who stole your wallet. We know your daughter was threatened because you’re in hock to the crime families. And we know Bosnian Serb gangsters had possession of your blackmailer. Your high-flying government career is well and truly over.’
Simpson looked from me to Tingley and shook his head.
‘Robert, there was a time when I thought you were politically most astute. Of late, I’ve become aware that you’re a plodder. You have no feel for nuance. These scurrilous allegations – what can you possibly do with them? If so much as a hint leaks into Private Eye or a national newspaper, so much shit will rain down on you that you will drown before you can even reach for a hat.’
He gave a nod to the man sitting at the bar.
‘If, however, you decide to do things above board and take me through the courts, I will, of course, have more respect for you.’
He stood.
‘But I will also destroy you and your family.’
That teatime I went to see Molly. She opened the door and when she saw it was me turned away and walked back into the sitting room, leaving me to follow if I chose. I closed the door and followed her into the sitting room.
She was wearing a baggy trouser suit and looked pretty good. Except that she had logs burning on the fire on a sunny summer day. She sat down in her chair but said nothing to me. I sat down in the chair opposite.
‘Thanks again for intervening the other day.’
She shrugged.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
Her voice was harsh.
‘How’s it going with the drink?’
‘Grand, just grand.’
‘Look,’ I said. ‘I feel like a cog has come loose and I can’t find a way to put it back on.’
She pushed her tongue behind her teeth, thrust out her lower lip.
‘How do you think I feel?’
I sensed a softening in her.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ I shook my head. ‘Really sorry.’
She didn’t respond. I pushed my luck.
‘I want to be here to take care of you.’
Her tone didn’t change so it took me a moment to register what she said next.
‘Yeah, well, you can fuck off. You’ve fucked up this family. Family is meant to mean something. You make a commitment. You made a commitment. To our kids. To me. Our wedding day. Such a wonderful day. Remember when everybody clapped?’
I saw her grind her teeth, knew the calm was over.
‘You shit,’ she said. Then: ‘How does it feel to have ruined my life?’
‘Truly terrible,’ I said.
She had a lovely mouth. I watched as she worked it.
‘Good,’ she said, a dying fall.
Tingley met me in a bar on the Brighton boardwalk. When we’d left Simpson in London we’d talked a little but then gone our separate ways. Now, he looked at me.
‘So are you telling me this guy is going to get away with it?’ Tingley said.
‘For the moment it would appear so.’
There was an elderly couple leaning into each other, making their slow progress across the beach. The brim of the woman’s hat was blown up by the wind and she was holding it on with her left hand. His head was down, his chin tucked into his muffler. They had linked arms and she laughed, open-mouthed.
‘Terrific,’ Tingley said, swirling his drink in his glass.
‘We haven’t got the evidence – and we missed something.’
‘We did.’
‘How can you drink that shit?’ I said.
He said nothing. I sighed.
‘Do you think I’m happy about it? I lost my career over this. My life is in the toilet.’
He drained his glass and tilted his head to look at me.
‘So you’ve got nothing to lose by taking him on.’
‘There’s always something. And if we take him on, we won’t win.’
‘So? You lose either way.’
‘But I want to choose the terrain. You should understand that.’
He nodded.
‘You mean you want to live to fight another day?’
‘That’s the appropriate cliche, yes.’
He kept his eyes on me. Those pale, unblinking eyes.
‘I’m not giving up,’ I said. ‘I’ll get him some other day. Just not today.’
The couple stood facing the sea, the waves slapping slowly against the shingle. I looked back at my friend. He raised his glass.
‘To that other day.’
