‘It’s the school holidays, Dad.’
‘Oh – that would be it. So you are doing your A levels?’
Hathaway’s cheeks were burning from the whisky, a drink he wasn’t used to.
‘No.’
According to IQ tests at school Hathaway was above average intelligence. He liked learning stuff. And reading.
‘More books,’ his mother would say when he came home with yet another pile. ‘Haven’t you got enough books?’
But he couldn’t settle at school. The teachers drove him potty.
‘So you’re financially dependent on me?’ his father said.
Hathaway put his glass down. The whisky really burned.
‘The group is doing pretty well.’
His father rolled his whisky round in his glass.
‘As I said.’
‘What do you mean?’
Hathaway’s father didn’t seem to hear.
‘Let’s change the subject,’ his father said. ‘I’m afraid your mum’s got worse.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘She’s going through the menopause – her hormones are all over the place. Big change – it can send some people mental.’
‘You’re saying mum’s mental?’
‘Not exactly – and I hope just for the time being.’
‘What does the doctor say?’
‘He’s given her some tablets. Valium. Brand-new on the market. Tells me it’s a wonder drug.’
‘I heard her talking to herself in the kitchen.’
‘All the brightest people do,’ his father said cheerfully. ‘Usually because they find they’re the only people worth talking to.’
He saw Hathaway’s face.
‘Don’t be worried. She’s fine, just a bit… irregular.’
His father topped up their glasses then gave his son a long look.
‘What?’ Hathaway said.
‘There’s real money to be made in the pop business,’ his father said.
‘If we can hit the top ten,’ Hathaway said.
‘With me, you berk.’ His father saw Hathaway’s look. ‘Yes, a proper job. Have you any idea what I do?’
‘No – but I have been wondering lately.’
The doorbell rang. Hathaway’s mother answered the door. It was Sean Reilly. His father stood and shook hands with Reilly.
‘You’re looking fit.’
‘You too.’
Hathaway stood awkwardly and also shook Reilly’s hand whilst his father poured another whisky.
‘Irish, I hope,’ Reilly said.
‘Irish-Canadian,’ Hathaway’s father said, handing the glass to Reilly.
They all sat.
‘Son, as you may know, not everything I do is exactly above board. But then I don’t know an honest man who doesn’t try to fool the taxman if he can. I’m no exception.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ Hathaway said, though he really didn’t know anything about tax.
Hathaway’s father and Reilly exchanged a look.
‘I thought you might want to join the family firm. It would be management-level entry for you, so to speak.’
‘Yeah, but, Dad, I’ve got a job. The group.’
Dennis Hathaway looked at his son for a moment.
‘We’re going to go all the way.’
‘I’m sure you are, son, I’m sure you are. But, in the meantime, help your old man out a bit. You’d get a proper salary. Cash in hand, of course. And frankly the way you splash out on clothes and the latest gizmos you can always use money.’
‘I don’t know, Dad. What exactly would you want me to do?’
‘Nothing much at this stage. But I just wanted an in principle agreement with you at this stage.’
‘An in principle agreement?’ Hathaway said.
His father laughed.
‘I heard the leader of the council say it once. I’ve no idea what it means.’
Hathaway’s mother and father had decided on a welcome home New Year party that night. ‘Invite your friends,’ his mum had said, but none of the group was on the telephone and he didn’t have any friends locally. He didn’t think the invite included Barbara.
Caterers arrived late afternoon. Hathaway went up to his room whilst they took over downstairs and thought about what to say to his father about Barbara. He hadn’t imagined there would be a problem, even though Barbara worked for the family business.
The family business. He wondered exactly what else that business entailed.
The party was a boisterous affair. Hathaway was surprised that his parents, after a six-months absence, had got so many people there, on New Year’s Day, at such short notice.
As usual, the women gathered in the kitchen whilst the men stayed together in the main rooms. There were loud voices but also lots of murmured conversations in quiet corners. The Great Train Robbers were a main feature of conversation among the men.
Hathaway observed his parents’ guests as if for the first time. There were a number of hearty but tough- looking men, bursting out of their suits.
He was standing by the radiogram helping his father change the record when Reilly came over.
‘The twins are here,’ Reilly murmured. Dennis Hathaway looked over the heads of the people around him.
‘Better treat them like royalty, I suppose. Who’s that with them?’
‘McVicar. Nasty piece of work from some south Peckham slum.’
‘Come on, Johnny,’ Dennis Hathaway turned to his son. ‘Time you met some big-time villains. They think.’
Hathaway looked over at the two stocky men in identical, boxy grey suits. He’d seen their photos in the newspapers, usually surrounded by cabaret people or minor film stars. He followed his father and Reilly over.
‘Gentlemen, an unexpected pleasure.’
‘As we were down here,’ one of the twins said, though Hathaway didn’t know which one was which.
‘This is my son, John,’ Dennis Hathaway said.
McVicar looked him up and down.
‘Tall, ain’t he? Hope you’ve killed your milkman.’ He laughed loudly. Dennis Hathaway smiled thinly, the twins not at all. Hathaway smiled politely but had already taken a dislike to the man.
‘So you’re down on business,’ Dennis Hathaway said. ‘If there’s anything I can help you with…’
The twins just looked at him.
‘Right, then, let me introduce you around.’
‘Before you do that, please allow me to say hello,’ a voice said.
They all turned to look at the tall, slender man who had just arrived, accompanied by a much broader man of similar height. Both men were in their fifties, Hathaway judged, and both wore sports jackets and slacks.
‘Chief Constable, glad you could make it,’ Dennis Hathaway said to the thinner of the two. ‘Gentlemen, this is the newly appointed Chief Constable Philip Simpson, who has brought law and order to the whole of Sussex after the bad behaviour of our previous chief constable, Charles Ridge. These men are-’
‘They hardly need an introduction. I even know Mr McVicar there – by repute that is.’ The chief constable
