was seven, returning occasionally to spread his particular brand of anguish and upset. Her mother, more punchbag than person. And her two brothers, who, when she had last seen them, seemed to be doing their best to emulate their father’s life and work.
But the nuns, for all their fierce attempts to impart to her a love of Jesus Christ with whatever instrument of punishment the law would allow, physical or otherwise, had at least done one thing right. Spotted her intelligence.
A scholarship had taken her from secondary school in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, to Cambridge, where she studied psychology. Revenge on her father was how she regarded it at the time. Trying to understand why he was the way he was and did what he did. Marina had inherited his dark Italian looks and sometimes, she feared, his temper. At the back of her mind the course might have been a way for her to understand herself. Or how to not turn out like him.
Her mother had died of cancer before she could see her daughter graduate, something Marina always regretted. But she knew in her heart that her mother had been proud of her.
Her brothers less so. The last she had heard of the elder, Lanzo, he was doing time for a string of robberies on petrol stations in Walsall, with no imminent release date.
Her other brother, Alessandro, had contacted her recently. Now living in Jaywick, Essex, he had suggested they go out to dinner. She hadn’t wanted to respond, but Phil, having no siblings of his own, insisted she make the effort.
They met for dinner in the Warehouse, a brasserie in Colchester. As soon as Alessandro entered, Marina knew it was a mistake. He had brought with him a woman who was dressed as if for the late shift in a seedier copy of Spearmint Rhino, and as soon as he found out what Phil did for a living, he cursed him fluently in two languages.
The meal never reached dessert.
Alessandro had phoned a couple of days later and apologised. Said he was under a lot of stress, shouldn’t have said what he did. Wanted her to know he was there for her, his little sister, whatever she needed. Wanted to try again.
Marina had never phoned him back.
Phil and Josephina. That was her family. And she had never felt a stronger need to see them than the one inside her now.
She got up off the bed, fighting back tears, screams. She could see them both in her mind’s eye. Phil, tall, blond and good-looking; Josephina, with her dark curls and wide eyes, taking after her. She wished they were together, wished she could touch them, hold them, tell them what they meant to her. She felt her body start to slip into emotional meltdown once more, knew that wouldn’t help. She fought it. Tried to do something positive, something that would help.
She looked down at her bag. The alien phone stared up at her. She picked it up. Gazed at it. It would be so easy …
No. They might be monitoring it. She looked round the room again. The phone on the bedside table. A beige plastic box. She saw the faces of Phil, of Josephina, and felt how her whole being was aching to see them again. She had to risk it.
She picked up the receiver, punched the button for an outside line. Directory Enquiries.
‘Ipswich General, please.’
She was connected. It rang. Was answered.
‘Yes,’ said Marina, voice small and croaking, trembling. ‘You’ve … Phil Brennan. You’ve got a patient called Phil Brennan. I’d … I’d like … How is he, please?’
She was asked for her name and relationship.
‘I’m … I’m his wife.’ No going back now.
She was asked to wait. Plunged into silence. Her heart hammered louder than the hold music. The nurse came back on.
‘He’s stable,’ she said. ‘Out of surgery and resting.’
‘Oh, thank God … ’
The nurse was about to say something more but seemed distracted by someone else on the end of the phone. ‘Can I … can I just ask you to stay on the line, please?’
Marina slammed the phone down.
No one was going to trace that call.
She tried to sit back on the bed but was humming from the conversation, the contact. She replayed the words in her head. Stable. Out of surgery.
She felt that ache in her heart, that yearning. She desperately wanted to be with him. Needed to. She looked round the room. Crossed the floor, looked out of the window. It was dark outside. The car park was in shadowed pools from the orange sodium lights. Beyond that was the A120.
Marina looked at the phone lying on the bed. It hadn’t rung. She had been told they wouldn’t ring until the morning. She looked again at the window, the road.
They can’t be watching all the time, she thought. Not round the clock. Her heart beating faster, she made up her mind. She picked up her car keys. Left the room.
The lobby was deserted. No one on the desk, no one in the hall. She made her way to the front door, moving as fast as possible, then stepped outside. She stopped, looked round. Checked every angle, every corner of the car park for an observer. Looked up to the road, checked there too.
Saw no one anywhere.
Trying not attract attention by running, she hurried to the car, got in. Turned the engine over and, giving one last look round, made her way out of the car park. Up the slip road, on to the A120. Heading eastwards. Towards Phil. Scanning behind her all the time, checking for other cars following her.
Traffic was light. No one came up the slip road after her. No one joined the A120 at the same point. She breathed a huge sigh of relief. Felt a smile crawl on to the corners of her mouth. Gave a giddy laugh.
She hadn’t been followed. She knew she hadn’t.
Then she heard it.
Her heart turning to stone, she put the call on loudspeaker.
‘Who’s been a naughty girl, then?’
That voice again. That same fucking stupid voice.
‘I … I don’t know what you mean … ’
‘You were told to stay in the hotel. You’re not there now, are you?’
‘I … I … ’ Her hands began to shake on the steering wheel.
‘Turn the car round, go back to the hotel, wait for instructions in the morning.’
The roundabout was ahead of her. She signalled. Went right round it. Back the way she had come.
‘Good girl,’ said the voice.
The hotel was in front of her once more. She signalled and turned off. Pulled up in the same slot in the car park.
‘Just do as you’re told, Marina. Then we’ll all be happy.’
The phone went dead.
Marina sat there, numb.
Eventually she got out of the car and went back to the room.
To stare at the ceiling all night.
22
The night air hit hard, making Tyrell gasp. It was unexpectedly cold, especially when the April day had been so warm. But then night was something he had only watched from his prison window for years, never actually
