He explained how he had returned home from Spain where he had been living and working for the last seven years. After a failed business venture and a subsequent disastrous romance, he had decided to return home. Before leaving Spain, he had put an appeal out on Facebook for anyone who knew of any jobs going in the bar or restaurant trade. An old school friend, Ryan Johnson, had messaged him about a bar manager’s job at The Farmhouse. Spence had jumped at the opportunity and emailed his CV to Ryan, who had then passed it on to the owner, Aiden Donnelly.
Spence had had a brief telephone conversation with Donnelly, who had offered him the live-in position there and then. With hindsight, he should have questioned why he had been offered the job without even asking for references. But Spence had been too grateful for the opportunity to question it. Three days later he had arrived back to England on a late flight. He had hired a taxi to take him straight to The Farmhouse where he had met Donnelly. It had been past midnight, so he had pretty much been shown to his room with the assurance that he would be shown the ropes the following morning.
Spence had only been asleep a few hours when he had been rudely woken by the arrival of armed police. The smashing of doors and sudden arrival of what looked like storm troopers had been nowhere near as scary as Aiden Donnelly’s reaction. He had fought against the police who tried to arrest him. Even when the taser officer had red-dotted him, he had continued to lunge at the cops. Swinging out at whoever he could reach.
Fortunately, the taser had subdued him long enough to get him handcuffed. It had taken six police officers to sit on him until leg restraints were applied. They carried him still thrashing and threatening to the police van. Then he had turned his anger towards Spence. He had screamed accusations, blaming Spence for setting him up and threatening to kill him.
Spence had breathed a sigh of relief when Donnelly had been dragged away to the waiting police van. The heavy police presence had felt like a weak line of defence against Donnelly’s wrath. He desperately hoped he wouldn’t have to meet him again any time soon. He believed every one of the threats made against him had been genuine. Even in custody, Donnelly had continued to bang around in his cell, screaming Spence’s name and promising he was a dead man. He was still shaking now despite being away from the confines of the police station.
Despite the entire surreal and terrifying experience, Spence smiled to himself as he recalled the SOCO he had met. His heart had skipped a beat the moment he laid eyes on her. And it wasn’t just because she was beautiful, there was something special about her. He cringed as he recalled their conversation. He knew he had come across as arrogant. It had been a long time since a woman had had such an effect on him. The shock and embarrassment of the raid and arrest had caused him to ramble on cockily and incessantly. Spence would do anything to undo that conversation. To undo the first time they met and be able to start again. To be able to show her the real him.
Now, he was in a quandary. He had no job and no home. He had his savings, of course, but he was astute enough to know that once he started dipping into them, they wouldn’t last. Years of conscientious hard work would run like water through his fingers with nothing left to show for it other than an empty bank account. Going back to Spain certainly wasn’t an option. He had far too much pride to go scuttling back to his ex with his tail between his legs, begging for scraps.
Plus, the police had pretty much told him not to leave town. Whilst in custody he had phoned his sister who had agreed he could stay with her for as long as he needed. She was married with a young child and he was conscious of outstaying his welcome and intruding on their family life. So much for a fresh start. He was in trouble with the police, had lost his new home and job and received death threats from a renowned criminal. With his future so uncertain, Spence began to wonder if he’d made a mistake coming home.
8
Jim Baron wore his squalid armchair like a shroud. He was watching Terry Brewer warily as the man unpacked his shopping bags. Although they had known each other for decades, there was no trust between the two.
‘Change,’ grunted Jim as he extended a clammy paw towards Terry. The armchair groaned with exertion as he shifted his expansive bulk forward. Jim was a grotesque man in every sense of the word. His squashed face resembled a toad. He habitually licked and smacked at his lips; a lack of teeth causing him to dribble, so he resembled an oversized baby, but without the cute factor.
His hair was ‘styled’ in a greasy, greying comb-over. It was longer at the back, giving him an uncharacteristically feminine appearance, which added to his curious bad looks. The only small thing about him was his bloodshot, piggy eyes, which were a dull, watery grey.
‘All right, all right. Give me chance,’ Terry grumbled as he handed over a black zip-up purse. ‘Receipts are in there, so you can check if you want. Which you always bloody do.’
‘Nowt personal. Where’s me pork scratchings?’
Sighing, Terry sifted through the bags and threw a packet towards the armchair, making oinking sounds as Jim tore at the packet. He shook his head at the repulsive sight, barely able to remember the Jim of his childhood. Back then, Jim had been small for his
