‘You met her, yes, and it was a lucky break for you. What if when she gave Jackson your business card, he already knew your name?’
He frowned, shaking his head. ‘Jackson? Interested in me because I uncovered a money laundering operation in Manchester? Nah.’ He resumed eating.
‘Haydocks is a competitor of Jackson’s, isn’t it?’
He sighed and lowered his fork; she was annoying, she knew that was a problem. ‘Not really. Look, it’s more likely he read about the arrests in the newspapers. He never even asked about Haydocks in the interview.’
Julianna called that a red flag. The one thing Jackson should have raised in the interview was the thing he didn’t. And yet Mark wasn’t seeing why. What if Haydocks was known to Jackson for a different reason, and having Mark in his company was a useful asset because of it.
He twizzled his fork round and round, without lifting the spaghetti to his mouth. ‘All the same,’ he said, ‘please don't say anything to anyone. I'm watching my back, that's all.’ He was suspicious. Perhaps, it might make him open up more another time. Maybe he might tell her what made him decide to bring down Haydocks.
She lay down her knife. ‘I won't say a thing about it at work. Honest. You're right, it's none of my business. But can I just say I'm proud of you, Mark. That took guts.’
She had recovered herself well; the shadow across his face lifted.
‘Okay, tit for tat. Tell me something that you've kept secret.’
A fair request. ‘My husband screwed my best friend.’ Julianna poured them both two full glasses of wine.
‘Friend? I thought she was his secretary?’ Mark leaned forward on his elbows, keen to hear the dirt on her ex.
‘Paralegal secretary. She and I studied at the same sixth form college down in Cornwall. I left home and she joined me in London. Best mates for years and then she got a job at this law firm where Alex worked and introduced us. It was how we met, Alex and me. Never crossed my mind back then that she would have her own designs on him. She was my bridesmaid.’ Julianna stabbed at the pasta. ‘And right under my bleedin nose.’ She gave up and tossed aside the fork.
Mark collected the dishes and carried them through into the kitchen. She followed him.
‘You couldn't have known—’
She cut him down with a glare. ‘I'm a copper, or I was. I worked for the government in intelligence. And I couldn't even work out my husband was cheating on me with my best friend! It's galling, truly, fucking... Back-stabbing bitch. Betrayal by two important people in my life.’ Downstairs was the punch bag. She needed it. Without it, objects would probably fly around the room and doors would be kicked in. Her anger wasn't directed at them, those two, but her failings. Her inadequacies.
He grabbed her flailing hand and drew it to his waist, forcing her into his embrace. ‘You quit your job out of shame because you don't trust your instincts anymore. A bit like me, really, isn't it? Failing to notice Dad was a gangster. At least, the kind of hardnose criminal who gets involved in murder. It’s easily done when it's about the people you love. Blind faith, eh.’ He tipped her chin up.
She glanced over his shoulder, refusing to calm down. ‘I suppose I don’t expect much from others these days.’
‘Except me, I hope.’ Mark leaned back on the kitchen counter, taking her with him. He was warm and soft about the middle. He had put on weight since she first slept with him.
‘I’d rather know the truth than a pretence at loving somebody again.’ Her temples had ceased throbbing. There wasn't any doubt that Mark had a calming influence on her.
‘Me, too. That why I'm still there, trying for resolution with Dad. I have to know categorically one way or the other. I have to know: did he lie to me, because he promised me he was innocent.’
‘He did?’ She hadn’t known there was a promise involved.
‘One of my lasts visits. I pinned him to his seat, metaphorically speaking, and looked him in his eyes.’ Mark possessed dark pitted eyes. Black olives surrounded by saffron skin. She was now hungry with a different kind of appetite
‘And?’
‘He said he wasn’t a hired assassin. Those words exactly.’
‘Very precise.’ Almost pedantically so. It seemed Mark was unaware of the potential ramifications of what his father had said. She couldn't bear to tell him. She didn't want to be the one to smash a promise apart.
‘Hence the legal wrangling. Mum doesn't need a promise. She just wants to walk down the streets and not feel humiliated.’
‘Then let's hope Sophia can help you.’ She smiled and he eased off with his arm lock.
‘So what’s for afters?’ he asked sweetly.
‘You.’ Her smile broadened into a grin.
12
Mark
She landed on her bottom for the third time and even from a distance of several metres Mark could see she was laughing her head off. With some difficulty she got back on her feet and continued on her disastrous circuit. Her arms floated out to her sides and her knees kept knocking together as she attempted to push forward. Julianna might be a kick-boxer and karate expert, but she couldn't ice-skate with any grace. Eventually, she made her way over to Mark, who stood by the ringside, slurping on a can of coke.
‘Sure you don’t want to join me?’ She leaned on the barrier, panting heavily.
‘Absolutely.’ What he was witnessing was cold, wet and guaranteed to embarrass. ‘What’s with the ice-skating?’
‘It’s on my bucket list of things to do before I die. This ice-rink is on my doorstep and why not?’
