worker then, properly political, militant you’d probably say now. We thought they were the enemy. And they could be at times. But not all the time. And not all of them. I thought he was at first. All cocky, Jack Regan, throwing his weight around.’ She laughed, eyes no longer in the room. ‘He said he was just doing it to impress me. Told me that years later. Thought it would be the kind of thing I’d go for. Didn’t know me at all well … ’
She drifted off. Lost in memories. Came back again.
‘Kept asking me out. Eventually I said yes, just to shut him up. And he was different. To what he had been, to the others too. Softer, gentler. Talked about his work, about the things he’d seen. Some of the problem families he’d dealt with, the things he wished he’d been able to do but couldn’t. To put things right. I liked him … ’
She smiled at the memory, clung to it, instead of facing the present.
‘And then we … ’
Phil’s eyes moved. Eileen missed it.
‘We started to see each other regularly. And I knew. He was the one. The one for me … ’
Phil’s eyes moved again. Flickered back and forth beneath his eyelids.
This time Eileen noticed.
‘No … no … ’
She looked round to see if there was a nurse in sight. Not a seizure, an attack. She couldn’t bear that.
His eyes kept moving. His body moved too. Shoulders lifting up, dropping, as if he didn’t have the energy to move fully.
‘Phil … ’ Eileen didn’t know what to do. She held on to his hand. ‘No, don’t … don’t go, I’ve got so much more to say to you … ’
Then his eyes opened. Fully.
Eileen stared.
‘Phil?’
She watched as they focused, flinched from the light in the room, closed again.
‘Phil?’
And opened once more. Slowly this time, cautiously.
‘Phil?’
He saw her now. Smiled.
‘Phil … ’
The tears sprang from Eileen’s eyes, ran down her cheeks. A nearby nurse hurried in.
But Eileen didn’t notice.
She had her son back.
66
‘So you could handle them, could you? That’s right, is it?’ Dee sat on the sofa. Unmoving. Stared as Michael paced the floor before her. Stared hard.
‘Just police, you said. “Nothing to worry about. Wrap them round my little finger.”’ He waggled his own finger to emphasise the point. ‘Well you couldn’t. They outsmarted you. I told you to say nothing, let Nickoll handle it, get the solicitor to run interference, but you knew best. Now look at it … ’
He walked away from her.
She stared after him, eyes like laser beams boring into him, pulling him back. ‘I was trying to clear up your mess, Michael. That’s all I was doing. The mess you made. The mess you
He turned back, stood over her. Most people would have felt intimidated, would have backed down. But Dee wasn’t most people. She stared up at him, unblinking. ‘The mess you made. Leaving the car in front of the cottage. Letting it get burnt out.’
‘Precisely. I didn’t have time to move it, so I did the next best thing. Left it to burn.’
‘But it didn’t burn enough, did it? They traced it back here. They may even find some DNA in it.’
Michael shrugged, attempting nonchalance. Failed in his attempt. ‘So? Of course there’s my DNA in the car. I drive it. Yours’ll be in there too, probably.’ He tried to lighten his voice once more. ‘Nickoll’ll tie them up. We pay that fat fuck enough, let him earn his money for once. Keep them off our backs.’ He stared at her. ‘Like we should have done earlier today.’
Dee ignored his response, kept staring up at him. ‘And the false name and address? Stuart Milton? At Hibbert’s address? Couldn’t you have just drawn them a map?’ She fixed him with a cold, unblinking stare. ‘They’ll find you, Michael. They’ll come for you. And then what?’
He opened his mouth, retort at the ready, but snapped his lips closed once more, biting it back. Instead he sat down on the sofa opposite. Leaned forward, hands clasped together.
‘You know what you are, Michael?’
‘Do tell, Dee.’
‘You’re like some celebrity who’s got it all but still isn’t satisfied, that’s what you’re like. You’ve got everything but it’s too easy. And you’re bored. Now you’ve got to mess it all up.’
He sighed, ran his hand through his hair.
‘I’m not going to be part of your celebrity meltdown, Michael. You can go down if you want to. But you’re not taking me with you. I’ve come too far and worked too hard for that.’
He sighed once more, let his hands drop. ‘Look,’ he said, voice full of reconciliation, ‘we have to work together on this. Not fight each other. There’s a way out. I’m sure of it.’
Dee didn’t reply.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’ve spoken to some of our contacts on the force. Asked them about this DS James woman. And they all say we’ve got nothing to worry about.’
‘Really.’
‘Yes, really. She’s an alky. Doesn’t know if she’s coming or going. Incompetent.’
‘She didn’t seem that incompetent a couple of hours ago.’
‘It’s her sidekick you’ve got to watch out for. He’s the sharp one.’ Michael put his head back, thinking. ‘And he hasn’t seen me.’
‘So?’
‘So there’s only her word for what I look like. The man she spoke to. We can work with that. We can handle her.’
Dee was staring straight ahead. In the room but lost to her thoughts. She was thinking, plotting, strategising. She had done this for years. And she always came up with something. A way out, a way forward. Ever since …
Her eyes came back into focus. She looked at Michael. Calmly, levelly. Then she spoke.
‘She has to go.’
Michael blinked. ‘What?’
‘She has to go.’
‘Yeah, but … she’s a police officer. We can’t just … get rid of her.’
‘Why not?’ Her voice was light, inconsequential, as if she was discussing buying a new ornament or painting the room. ‘We did it with Hibbert. Very cleverly. Very carefully. He won’t be traced back to us.’
‘Yeah, but … she’s a
‘No they’re not. We just do it differently. Not be crude and obvious, like Hibbert. And not with the Golem. We have to be more subtle.’
‘But … ’
‘We have to. And we will.’
Michael said nothing. Ran his hands through his hair once more.
Dee stood up. Crossed the room. Stood over him. He looked up to her as she spoke. ‘This is damage limitation. It has to be done.’
‘But—’
