‘It happens,’ Reilly said cheerfully. ‘Any other broken bones aside from that swelling that used to pass for your nose?’
Hathaway realized he had no idea what he looked like. He stood and looked at his face in the mirror over the fireplace. Jesus. Huge yellow and black bruises around his eyes, his nose a swollen mess. He gulped.
‘Ah, that’ll all be gone in a fortnight, don’t you worry,’ Reilly said. ‘Sit yourself down again.’
Hathaway sat and Reilly continued:
‘I wondered what you made of these fellas?’
‘Looking for trouble, like I told the police. Razor blades in their lapels, steel toecaps in their brothel creepers. They were ready to rumble.’
Reilly nodded.
‘Your mates OK?’
‘Charlie the drummer got a good kicking – couple of broken ribs – and Bill the rhythm guitarist has swollen goolies. Dan the singer had to have stitches in the side of his head but no concussion or anything. It’s the equipment we’re most bothered about. We had no insurance.’
Reilly nodded again.
‘You say you spoke to the police?’
‘At the hospital. We just told them what had happened.’
‘Was there anything you didn’t tell them?’
Hathaway frowned.
‘What kind of thing?’
Reilly shrugged.
‘You tell me. Did these thugs say anything to you?’
‘Said I needed guitar lessons.’
Reilly smiled.
‘Aside from that.’
Hathaway told him what the Teddy boy had said about the pub not being his father’s anymore. Reilly sat forward.
‘And he used exactly those words?’
‘Well, he also called me Hank Marvin but aside from that, yes.’
Reilly sat back in his seat.
‘What about the landlord – did he wade in?’
‘No, but he’s only a little bloke. He did call the ambulance.’
‘And the police?’
Hathaway thought for a moment.
‘I don’t know. The ambulance whisked us off to hospital pretty quickly – police might have come after we’d gone.’
Reilly stood.
‘All right, then.’
‘What did he mean about the pub not being Dad’s anymore, Mr Reilly?’
‘Sean,’ Reilly said. ‘I don’t rightly know. Maybe something to do with the bandits, you know?’
‘Are you going to tell my father what happened?’
‘Do you want me to? No, I think he knows you’re old enough to look out for yourself.’ He squeezed Hathaway’s arm. ‘You were unlucky this time but you’ve learned for next time.’
Hathaway touched his nose tentatively.
‘I hope there won’t be a next time.’
Reilly smiled.
‘Tell your mates not to worry about the equipment. I’m sure we can find some way of making a claim through the business.’
‘Great – thanks, er, Sean,’ Hathaway said.
Reilly glanced over at the newspaper.
‘Looks like they’re on to the gang.’
Hathaway looked at the front page. There were photographs of three men the police wanted to help with their inquiries into the Great Train Robbery. Bruce Reynolds, Charlie Wilson and Jimmy White.
‘They found their fingerprints at the farm. Seems a bit careless. As for Roger and Bill…’
‘Those men who were caught at the start of the week? Is it the same Roger Cordrey dad knows? The florist?’
‘It is. Bill Boal’s his friend. The chances of Bill being involved in a robbery are about zero. Last thing he got charged with was fiddling a gas meter back in the forties.’
Hathaway pointed at the photographs.
‘You know these men as well?’
Reilly shook his head slowly.
‘I’ve heard of them. Hard men. Rumour is they were in that airport robbery last year.’
Hathaway remembered reading about the wages robbery committed by half a dozen bowler-hatted men armed with pickaxe handles and shotguns. A man called Gordon Goody had been tried but acquitted, because when, in court, he put on the hat he was supposed to have worn at the robbery, it was two sizes too big.
‘The one Goody was acquitted for?’
Reilly laughed.
‘That was a good gag with the hat.’
‘Gag?’
‘The story goes that he bribed a policeman to switch the hats.’
‘How do you know these things?’
Reilly shrugged.
‘You’d be surprised what you pick up at the racecourse.’
Hathaway nodded, feeling out of his depth but thrilled to be having a conversation with someone clearly in the know.
‘Will they catch them?’ he said. ‘The Great Train Robbers?’
Reilly smiled.
‘Doubt it – they’ll be out of the country by now, I would think.’
He moved towards the door.
‘Better get going.’
Reilly shook Hathaway’s hand and patted him on the arm before he stepped out of the house. As Hathaway was closing the door, Reilly turned.
‘Just remember one thing, John.’ He smiled, but again the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘There’s always a next time.’
‘Oh, John.’ Barbara’s face hovered near Hathaway as she seemed to be trying to figure out a place to kiss him that wouldn’t hurt him. She’d come straight from work but still seemed dolled up to Hathaway. She was wearing a tight skirt and an angora cardigan that clung to her breasts. Hathaway wrenched at the buttons of the cardigan.
Afterwards, as she lay on his chest, still straddling him, he said:
‘Did Reilly tell you?’
‘In passing,’ she said. ‘I had to wait an age before I was alone so I could phone you.’
‘Thanks for coming round.’
She gave a low laugh.
‘It’s absolutely my pleasure.’
‘Mine too,’ he said as she rolled off him and on to her side.
After a minute or two:
‘I’ve been wondering how Reilly heard,’ Hathaway said.
‘From the publican, I presume,’ Barbara said, sliding her hand down Hathaway’s stomach. ‘He’s an old customer of your dad’s.’
