The cigarette slipped from his mouth, as Prifti’s head banged against the patio flag. He lay lifeless on his back, shot cleanly between the eyes.
Crunch time.
Slinging the cumbersome gun over his shoulder, Sion crouched and stalked smoothly and rapidly back through the bushes, speedily reaching the perimeter fence.
Faint shouts began to ring out as Sion leapt and vaulted himself cleanly over the wooden trellis, as he’d practised. Not looking back.
Clearing the cutting, his balaclava removed; he stored the gun back in the case he’d concealed in the shrubbery by the fence.
As he walked swiftly along the street, he heard the first shots ringing out. The hired white transit van was parked around the corner.
Calmly, he stowed the cased gun out of view, behind the driver’s seat. Not that anyone was paying any attention to him. Slipping on a high visibility jacket and placing a clipboard on the dashboard, he became just another delivery van in the London suburban street.
Moving casually into the traffic, he drove past Prifti’s place, slowing down slightly to subtly assess the situation.
In the front driveway, the electric gates were open, and several of Prifti's muscle were waving their handguns about. He saw them jumping into their luxury cars and shouting at each other.
But, Sion wasn’t worried. He’d already slipped into anonymity.
With the van returned to the hire company, he headed back to Jason’s South London apartment, where he reversed parked the Volvo into a free space.
He reached for his phone and sent a text to Irish.
‘I’ve made the booking and the payment’s gone through.’
Inside the flat, he clicked into his other encrypted message space and sent another message. A thumbs-up emoji. Another job for Queen and country. The security services now had the Albanians in disarray. Next up, the Scousers would be in their sights.
Quickly and methodically, Sion packed up his things. With the weapons safely stored in the boot of his Volvo, it was time for him, as predicted, to get out. Get off the grid.
His heart thumped with excitement as he thought about it. About seeing Claire again.
???
It had been going through Jac’s restless mind all night. And then all morning, he went over and over it again, as he drove the tractor.
He agonised about whether he should ask her or not, as he took the silage up to the fields. And how she’d react, and what she’d say to him, as he unloaded the bales into the feeding rings.
Spreading the fermented grass out evenly to the sides with a fork, he worried about being rejected. He’d been too hard on her over those letters. He’d rubbed her face in it. But then, she’d deserved it.
He smirked to himself. Once he’d taken the letters away she couldn’t help herself, she’d been desperate to read them.
He thought about how her eyes had flashed in temper. It stirred something deep within him. He hated to admit it, but he loved that stubborn spiritedness he brought out in her. It was part of who they were together, it sparked the electricity that coursed between them.
The wasted years. That was a damn shame. But, all the more reason to go for it now.
Things had moved on. They’d agreed to start over.
Moving the bales was a mucky job. It meant wading around the feeders where the animals had trampled the ground into a sea of mud. By lunchtime, his waterproofs and wellies were caked in sludge, and a sweet cloying odour clung heavily about him.
There was no way he could ask her like this. He’d get a shower and then go up to the farmhouse to see her. Ask her out to dinner. The prospect excited him in a way he hadn’t felt for years.
He never did dating. It wasn’t his style. As he’d told her in that last letter, he was more of a get-with-a-woman-on-a-night-out kinda guy. There was rarely a second date. If he was being honest, over the last decade he’d stuck to his rule fairly religiously. He hadn’t felt the need for a relationship. He’d always had his army buddies for friends. They’d been all the family he’d needed. But, that was then.
Since he’d been back at the farm, he’d had nights out from time to time. He’d meet women; stay over, if he had half a chance. And he was always meticulously careful. The army had taught him that too. But, he’d not found anyone he’d wanted to spend longer than a night with.
And that was the problem with Annie. Even though he didn’t mean to, he measured every other woman against her.
He’d been kidding himself.
He wasn’t over her.
He never had been. Not even close.
What Glyn did was tragic, but he was glad that it had brought Annie back to him. Perhaps, it was meant to be? Like fate? Not that he believed in all that guff. What mattered, was that she was here now, and he had a second chance. He couldn’t and wouldn’t pass that up.
Shaved and smartly dressed, it was early afternoon when Jac found himself in the farmhouse kitchen. As he walked in, Annie was busy making tea and cutting up cake.
Her face lit up flirtily at him, giving him a little hope.
“You look good. Off out?”
“Err… no.”
Her nose crinkled at his abrupt response.
It was a bad start. He was nervous as Hell.
Annie, thankfully, seemed oblivious to his tongue-tied state.
“Dad’s body’s been released by the coroner. The minister’s in the living room.”
She arranged the plates and cups onto a tray to take through.
“We can arrange his funeral, at last.”
“Want me to come back later? I can see you’re busy.”
For the first time in his life, he was bottling it.
“No, don’t be daft. I’ll be right back.”
Annie grabbed the laden tray.
“Anyway, they were having a bit of a heart to heart when I popped my head in before. Best leave ‘em to it. Make yourself a brew, while I take this through.”
He went over his game plan again. It had seemed straightforward, when he was on the tractor. But here, now, he wasn’t so sure.
He felt foolish. And, what would he do if she said no? She might be angry with him, still. And there’d been no indication at all that she wanted to be more than friends. Except, perhaps, when she’d been angling about other women. And when she’d been jealous of Jess.
The other hope he had, and he might have imagined it, was the look on her face when he’d shown up for dinner. Before they’d argued about the letters. She’d looked a little hurt. Like he’d just broken up with her. Which, technically, he had.
“You’re looking serious.”
The chirpy tone of her voice cut through his thoughts.
“Uh… I was thinking… about lambing.”
“Yeah, you’ve got your work cut out this time, pal, that’s for sure.”
He leaned back against the kitchen unit. This was a bad idea. He put his mug down. He was chickening out.
She stood by the side of him, leaning against the worktop too.
“Will you be needing help?”
“Probably.”
Annie was quiet for a moment.
He could seriously use her if she was up for it.
“Wanna give me a hand?”
“If I’m here.”
She bumped her shoulder against his arm playfully.
“Depends on how much you’re gonna pay me?”
He bumped her back.
“Depends on your experience.”
She pivoted around sparkily.
“Got more experience than you, mate. And much better hands.”
She held them up against his, measuring their daintiness against his big paws.
Her eyes danced as they met his, but her voice shook slightly.
“See… much better.”
Stealing himself, he interlaced her small fingers with his.
“Annie?”
Her emerald eyes gazed up searchingly, drawing him magnetically in towards her.
&nbs
p; “Yes?”
He couldn’t help himself.
Her breathing quickened as he leaned in close.
“Would you…? D’you wanna...?”
The front doorbell cut shrilly across his inarticulate utterances as he struggled to ask her out. Or kiss her. One of the two. Or both.
It rang impatiently again.
Letting out a small sigh, she moved apart from him.
“I’d better get the door. It might be a visitor for Mam.”
The bell rang out insistently for a third time as if whoever it was, was keeping their finger on it until somebody answered.
“Bloody rude.”
Jac raked a hand through his hair. The moment was broken, and he’d failed.
“If it’s a delivery driver, I’m gonna tell them where they can go.”
Straightening herself up, she walked through the hall to the front door.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming.”
Jac sloped after her.
“Annie.”
She was standing, mouth open, staring at a tall, well-groomed stranger on the doorstep.
“Seb.”
Jac could see the man’s taxi disappearing down the track.
“Can I come in?”
“What you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Could you not have phoned?”
“I did. There was no answer.”
She shrugged resignedly and stepped to one side to let the stranger into the hallway.
From the shadows, Jac studied this ‘Seb’. He was older than her. In his early forties, Jac guessed. His dark hair was beginning to pepper with a little grey at the sides. But there was an air of sophistication about him that made Jac think that he could have stepped straight out of a department store clothing advert.
There was no doubt that he was perfectly put together, but there was something shallow about him too. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was to do with his smile. It didn’t match the steely intent of his eyes.
Stepping up to embrace her, Annie froze. Taking the hint, he settled for a perfunctory peck on each cheek.
They both moved through to the kitchen, and Jac slunk awkwardly behind.
He needed to get out of there.