Ultimatum

Twenty-eight

15.55

Of all the things I lost on the day I attacked Alfonse Webber, the worst, by far, was my family.

My marriage hadn’t been the best in the world, but then whose is when you’ve got a young child and a stressful, time-consuming job? But up until that moment, we were still doing OK. I loved my wife; I loved my daughter. I think they both loved me.

But clearly the bond between Gina and me wasn’t as strong as I’d thought because our marriage didn’t survive my prison sentence. Six months in, she said she wanted to end it, and no amount of pleading from me changed her mind. I think there was someone else — at least for a while. She never admitted it, and if there was someone on the scene, he was gone by the time they released me from prison, but there were plenty of nights when I was lying alone in my cell staring at the ceiling, torturing myself about what the woman I loved was up to, and who she was up to it with.

The clouds were beginning to gather behind me and the wind was picking up as I walked up the narrow overgrown path to the front door of my old house in Stamford Hill and rang the doorbell — a process that never felt quite right.

Gina appeared behind the frosted glass a few seconds later. I’d called to say I was coming because I had something for her, and she opened the door straight away.

She was wearing track pants and a T-shirt, and had no makeup on, but she still looked fantastic. Gina might have been a single mother struggling to make ends meet, but the years had treated her well.

‘Hey,’ she said, with a forced smile. ‘You said you had something for me.’

In the pantheon of enthusiastic welcomes it didn’t score particularly highly, but then I could hardly blame her. I hadn’t been round much lately, not since I’d fallen behind on the child support payments and she’d threatened to call in the CSA to hunt me down.

How the mighty have fallen, eh?

‘Can I come in?’

She nodded suspiciously and stepped aside to let me in. The TV was on in the kitchen showing BBC News. The Prime Minister was on screen saying that there would be no negotiations with terrorists, and that Britain would never bow down to blackmail. He advised all citizens to go about their business as usual, but to be on their guard against further attacks. Which of course was easy for him to say.

‘God, have you seen all this?’ she said, picking up a mug of coffee from the sideboard. ‘The terrorists have said there’s going to be another attack later today.’

‘They would say that. They want to scare people.’

‘And it’s working,’ said Gina quietly, running a hand through her thick curly hair as she stared at the TV screen. ‘I can’t believe this is happening again.’

I fought the urge to put a protective hand on her shoulder and pull her to me, but it was hard. Very hard.

‘Wasn’t our involvement in Afghanistan meant to have protected us from this? I remember Gordon Brown saying that once while you were out there.’ She looked at me like it was somehow my fault, her body language instinctively defensive.

‘Politicians say a lot of things. Most of them are lies.’ I realized as I spoke that I sounded a lot like Cecil. Or the mysterious Mr Cain.

She took a sip from her coffee — she hadn’t bothered to offer me one — and abruptly changed the subject, which was an old habit of Gina’s. She didn’t dwell on things. ‘So what is it that can’t wait?’

‘This,’ I said, producing a wad of cash secured by an elastic band and handing it to her. ‘There’s two grand there, in lieu of all my missed payments.’

She frowned, looking down at the wad as if it was tainted. ‘Wow. That’s a lot of money. Where did you get it?’

I committed an armed robbery. I shot up a police car containing people I used to work with.

‘I’ve been doing a lot of doorwork, and some bodyguarding too.’

‘It obviously pays well.’

‘Not particularly, but I’ve been saving up.’

‘You’re not doing anything illegal, are you, Jones? Because if you are, I don’t want this money.’

‘I’m not a criminal, Gina.’

Her expression softened. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I know you’re not.’

I am. I’m a violent thug. I’m worse than the men I used to put behind bars.

‘Thanks. I appreciate this. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to call off the CSA. I need regular payments, Jones.’

‘I know. And you’ll get them, I promise.’

For a moment we just stared at each other, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. I’d never stopped loving her, and it hurt to look at her now, knowing she didn’t feel remotely the same way. When I’d come back from that last tour, she’d been there waiting for me at the air-force base. She’d touched the scar on my forehead — fresh then — and taken me in her arms and held me, sobbing against my shoulder, repeating over and over again that she’d never stop loving me, but that it was time for me to stay home for good and leave the army.

So I’d left the army, knowing it was the only way of keeping my marriage intact. But in the end it had made no difference because she had stopped loving me. It had happened slowly, and I know it was my fault rather than Gina’s. I’d had mood swings; I was distant; I had bad dreams — dreams of murder and men dying; and the pressures of my new job as a cop kept pushing me closer and closer to the edge, until that final, bitter incident with Webber. The truth was that even before I was sent down, I could see that our marriage was over. The time inside just sealed it.

‘Where’s Maddie?’ I asked, looking around.

‘She’s having a nap. She’s got a bit of a cold at the moment. I think it’s the time of year.’

‘Can I go up and see her?’

‘I don’t want you disturbing her.’

‘I’ll just look in on her. That’s all I want to do.’ I hadn’t seen Maddie in close to two weeks and there was no way I was leaving without seeing her.

Gina sighed. ‘OK. But if you wake her …’

‘I won’t. I promise.’

I made my way up the narrow staircase, remembering when this had been my home. It was the first place we’d bought together, almost ten years back now. The house wasn’t much, nor was the area, but for the most part my memories of it were good which, to be honest, just made the situation feel worse.

Maddie was fast asleep on her side on top of the covers, wearing jeans and the Dora the Explorer top I’d bought her the day I was released. A small lamp in the corner cast a dim glow over the room, showing the posters covering the wall and the toys that littered the floor.

I approached the bed and looked down at my daughter. Gently, I lifted a lock of blonde hair from her forehead and touched a finger to her face. I wondered what the future held for this four-year-old girl. Was she really going to become like a foreigner in her own country, as Cain had suggested, or was she going to go on to do great things? Become a doctor or an architect? I didn’t honestly care so long as she was happy. And so long as she wasn’t ashamed of her father, which made it essential that she never found out what I’d done today.

I mouthed the words ‘I love you’, and kissed Maddie once on the head, half-hoping she’d stir and smile up at me like she’d done when she was a toddler, so we could share a few snatched words before she fell asleep again.

But she didn’t move, and reluctantly I turned away and went back downstairs.

‘You didn’t wake her, did you?’ asked Gina. She was still watching the news. The Prime Minister had been replaced by an aerial view of the block of flats in Bayswater where the second and third explosions had occurred. The death toll from these two was now five police officers and a civilian.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘she’s fine. A pack of hyenas wouldn’t wake her right now.’

‘Good.’ She gave me a lopsided smile. ‘Thanks for the money, Jones. It’s a real help.’

‘Look,’ I said, feeling a sudden flash of hope, ‘do you fancy going out for a bite to eat one night? Somewhere nice. You could get a babysitter.’

The smile disappeared, and her expression saddened. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ It looked like she was going to elaborate but she stopped herself, and I was reminded of something she’d said to me during one of the few infrequent prison visits she’d made: ‘When the light goes out, it doesn’t come back.’

‘Sure,’ I said, turning away, conscious of an unfamiliar ringtone coming from my pocket.

It was the phone Cain had given me.

‘Where are you?’ asked Cecil as I let myself out of the house. He sounded excited.

‘Visiting my kid,’ I told him.

‘Stay where you are. I’ll be with you in five minutes.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘You know that meeting Cain was telling you about? It’s on. Now.’

He ended the call before I had a chance to reply, leaving me staring at the phone and wondering how he could only be five minutes away, unless he’d followed me here.

I put the phone back in my pocket and zipped up my jacket against the cold. I thought about calling Mike Bolt but something stopped me. I wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was just instinct.

Either way, it turned out to be one of the best moves of my life.