Leaving Irina and her pouting face perched firmly on the end of the dining room table, I headed to the kitchen where the chef Irina was fucking had left covered plates on the kitchen island. Fork in hand, I stood at the counter, eating semi cold Goulash, at seven o’clock in the evening. Early, yet it felt like the dark hours of the night had crept in far quicker than usual. I’d be in bed within the hour, for a solid twelve hours of sleep, the last two nights having been write offs.
Finishing the beef, I shoved the dirty plate into the dishwasher, then made my way up the stairs to the top of the house, to the bedroom I shared with the coldest-hearted bitch I’d ever known. A wife I didn’t love or touch, and tonight would not differ from any other. After all the years of sharing a bed, something I’d never done with anyone else since I was in my early twenties, it was remarkable how we slept. No gravitating toward one another, no spooning or cuddling, and come morning the great divide between us always remained. Why we even got in together… I’d forgotten long ago the reason.
It was a simple thing I craved with someone, to wake up wrapped around a soft and warm body, to wake up and not think about the terrible things that had been and gone. But not in Irina’s arms, never hers.
After a long shower where my mind remained blissfully blank, I slipped into checked sleep pants and climbed under the sheets of the enormous bed, switching off the lamp. Irina followed an hour later, early for her too, the scent of her nightly moisturising cream making my nose itch. The smell wasn’t repulsive by any means, more of a reminder she was lying next to me and that this was all a lie.
I should have left, slept in another room, yet I saw no harm in a night or two more in the uncomfortable bed with the uncomfortable woman, it made no difference. There were still a great many things to figure out from here, sleeping arrangements were at the bottom of the list, habits being hard things to break. It would be strange to lie somewhere without her, exciting for sure, but strange. My time as her whipping boy was over, I was so ready to move on.
* * * * *
“She ain’t coming back anytime soon if she’s got any sense. Moving company will come to shift this lot, I reckon.”
Surveying the piles of boxes stacked in each room, a sign Kayleigh had been readying to leave anyway, I agreed. She’d already had a plan in place and the boxes told their own story. The woman had been ready to run. She could try, stupid thing didn’t realise she wouldn’t get far because she didn’t have the smarts to outrun me, Kayleigh would leave a trail. Silly fucking woman.
“No, I don’t suppose she is.”
Sitting on the comfortable brown leather recliner in the front room of Kayleigh’s council house, I pulled my phone from my pocket. Time for Irina to do her part.
“There’s a guy sitting outside in his car, keeps looking over at the house.”
“Not my business.” Whoever it was, was likely looking for Kayleigh too, possibly the kid’s family. If they had any brains between their ears, they’d do well to stay out of my way. What they wanted with her was none of my concern, Kayleigh had made her bed and oh, how she was going to lie in it.
Grinning down at the text my ever-helpful wife had just sent, I stood, wiping down the pants of my suit. “Let’s go give wonder boy a visit.”
Sandir, my right-hand man and best friend, barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Irina’s info, you know it’s good.”
“Brave fucking lad,” he chuckled, cracking his knuckles one by one.
Clive was known as ‘wonder boy’ to me and my inner circle. The guy had always been eager to please and was one of my top runners, making me a lot of money, which meant making a lot of money for himself in turn. Clive held down a mediocre job on top of what he did for me, and with no signs of a drug problem, I’d always figured he was saving up for a life of girls and partying on the Costa del whatever. He was one of those types - sex, booze and sun kept him happy, easy pleased. Or so it had appeared, I’d clearly read him wrong. Whatever he’d been doing with that double-crossing bitch was more than pound signs in his eyes.
He lived on a rundown council estate in Bethnal Green, a place I tried hard to stay away from. Clive had plenty of cash and the means to live elsewhere, but chose not to, and again I wondered why I hadn’t questioned it or looked a little closer at the people he was hanging around with. Honestly, he’d given me no problems, and I hadn’t ever thought I’d need to threaten him or dangle him upside down from a five-storey balcony. He’d been a straight shooter, never pushed his luck, didn’t come across as greedy. He kept his head down and punted the packages I gave him, always coming up with the cash on time. I’d been so wrong.
Well, Clive was shit out of luck, Costa del Sol was going to miss the young lad. Both him and Kayleigh had tried to one up me, no more questions were being asked, they weren’t getting away with whatever they’d been trying to pull off. Yannick Ischmov was not a man known for leniency, especially not with
