“I’m innocent,” he called after her. “Please, Claire. Why won’t you come with me?”
She stopped, turning back to face him.
“Because…”
Her eyes met his.
“Because, I’m not sure I believe you.”
???
Sion stopped by the cottage to pack up his things, while the police driver waited for him outside.
He was sad to be leaving, but he could never stay. He’d be forever watching his back. Kevin may be banged to rights, but that would only further infuriate the Scousers. From everything he’d seen and heard, Irish was a dangerous sociopath. He’d never be able to breathe easy here again.
Locking the door behind him, he posted the key through the letterbox.
He gave the driver the keys to his car and told him about the secure cases he’d put in the boot. His sniper gun. A rifle and another handgun. His knives. His bag of tricks. All handed to the police.
He wasn’t sure where he was headed. An English speaking country hopefully, far away. Australia maybe? Or America? If he had a choice, he knew where he wanted to go.
He put his one large rucksack into the police car. Clothes and some bits of tech. It was all he had. He’d need to delete all traces of contacts, all apps, all social media.
The things that mattered, he couldn’t take with him.
His friends. His name.
And she was dead to him too.
Claire’s final words had pierced him worse than his misericorde.
???
“You awake?”
I yawn and stretch. It’s four a.m. and Jac’s lying awake in the darkness beside me.
“You missing the night feeds or something?”
Jac’s found the latest milk feeder on the internet. The bottle-fed lambs are strong enough to come up to the tank now and feed as they need it. And the bonus is we get to sleep through. Genius.
“What’s up?”
He pulls me to him, and I rest my head on his deliciously muscular, warm chest.
“Can I buy the farm off you?”
I tilt my head upwards to look at him.
“Why d’you wanna do that?”
“If Cal lends me half, I can borrow the rest from the bank.”
“Jac, stop. Where’s this coming from?”
I rack my brains.
“Flippin’ Ellis Roberts. What exactly did he say to you?”
“That we got Sion to kill Glyn. That we did it to get the farm.”
“He tried that one on to me, too. I told him where to get off.”
His chest rises and falls as he chuckles.
“He said I was only with you because of the farm. That’s not true, Annie. Whatever our circumstances were, I’ve always wanted to be with you. Forever.”
I kiss his chest.
“I know that. And I did have letters to prove it, once.”
I start to feel the injustice rising inside me.
“Why is it no one bats an eyelid about a poor woman marrying a rich farmer? But swap that around, so’s I’m the farmer. Then, all of a sudden, ‘cos you’re my boyfriend, you must be trying to fleece me.”
He strokes my shoulder.
“Would it feel better, though, if I bought the farm off you?”
“No. It’d be bonkers for you to get into a whole pile of debt because of some bad-minded gossips. But can you live with that? Or, does it still bother you too?”
I can feel his mouth on the top of my head as he lightly brushes it with persistent kisses that are now working their way down my neck.
“Doesn’t bother me at all, now you’ve put it like that.”
CHAPTER 28
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The silage is baled, and the calendar marker for the appointment sits in my phone, screaming at me. Every time I think about it, my stomach knots up.
A mate of Jac’s from school is looking after the stock and Jess while we’re away in London.
There shouldn’t be any major dramas. The sheep are sheared and are grazing the summer meadow grass, high up in the hills. It’s usually a time for farmers like we are now, to go to agricultural shows, relax and enjoy the late July sunshine.
Jac and I head off to pick up Claire in our new SUV. Trusty Rusty has sadly been retired to farm duties.
She’s waiting for us on the high street as we pull over, a large backpack at her side.
“Hey! I can’t believe you’re finally doing this. You must be so excited?”
She giggles.
“I can’t wait… I've been dreaming about this trip for so long. Does this look bad?”
She’s still self-conscious of the angry red welt down the side of her neck. She’s taken to wearing a scarf and high necklines, but today’s hot, and she’s wearing a t-shirt. Her travelling clothes.
“Claire, you look great. You always do. Don’t worry about the scar. Your long hair covers it.”
“Thanks, Annie. You always make me feel good.”
Time goes quickly as we both sit in the back, chatting about Claire’s trip. She’s going to be enjoying a summer in Europe, before heading over to Southeast Asia, and then Down Under. She’s no real plans, just a couple of contacts and the promise of some work in a café in Crete.
We’ve become quite close, and she’s told me about that evening when we were being questioned. They’d questioned her too, about me and Jac.
“I think I made a mistake, Annie.”
She’s staring out of the window at the motorway traffic in the opposite lane.
“I keep catching myself wondering how different things’d be, if I’d’ve gone with him.”
“You can’t ever look back.”
I offer her a bottle of water and she takes a swig.
“Where did you get to be so wise, Yoda?”
“It’s Cal. She’s spent her life trying to sort me out. Must have rubbed off.”
Jac flashes me an ironic look in the rear-view mirror, and I pull a face back at him that makes him smile.
“I can’t wait to see her.”
I’ve made vegan brownies for a meal we’re making tomorrow evening. A thank you to Jason for letting us stay. Cal and Sam are coming over too.
“I’m quite nervous.”
“About the tattoo?”
“No. ‘Course not. About meeting Jase. I hope he likes me.”
Jac’s listening.
He’s still convinced that I’m only going through with it to please him.
???
Irish stabbed at them with his cocktail stick.
What had happened to Liverpool boozers?
A dish of feckin’ olives?
The intricate stained glass and Victorian tiles of the Philharmonic bar still pulled in the tourists. Even Paul McCartney had breezed in recently. It wasn’t his usual choice of city pubs, but more Pete’s style these days.
“So, he’s cost us ten million? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Peter had sent him the three-month accounting breakdown. As predicted, turnover in the south had tanked since the arrests.
“Afraid so. Your fixed laundering costs are still high. But, it could be worse. The stock’s still secure. Police didn’t find any of our depots. We simply need to build up our routes to market again.”
Irish studied the figures in front of him. That was all very well as a business recovery plan. But, his ‘routes to market’ were his loyal foot soldiers, his private army. He couldn’t very well post up job adverts or employ a recruitment agency.
Or, could he?
He smiled to himself ironically. They’d both said from the start that they would run the operation like a corporation. Peter, the company secretary, crunching the numbers, laundering the cash. And Irish, with his contacts and his unique skill set, leading the operation on the ground.
Maybe, he needed to develop a graduate scheme? Internships, even? He had plenty to offer bright students who wanted an alternative career path.
Prestigious co
mpany car, regular staff nights out, flexible hours, performance-related pay. There were plenty of incentives for talented, like-minded go-getters who could grow their customer base. It was how he and Pete had started out.
“How’s your brother?” Pete asked,
Irish stopped murdering the olives.
“Better, now he’s been moved.”
He’d not spoken to Tony since his sentencing, but his mum had told him that he was in the new super-prison thirty miles away. A much cushier number. Woodwork and school classes. Rehab and personal growth bullshit. Still, it was better than the place he’d been in, on remand.
Plus, he’d heard it was a cinch to get drugs in. That’d make his life a bit easier; getting some dealing going on.
Irish went back to pummelling the olives; now a pulpy mush in the dish.
“What've they done to you?”
Talking about the losses, the business compromised, his brother; it still made him tense.
Irish's face cracked into a grin. Pete knew it. They went way back.
They’d first started drawing up their county lines model as students. They’d worked out a unique distribution model that would turn their small-time dealing operation from the house they shared, to the big league. Make them super rich. And it had. If they were in any other business, they’d have been listed by Forbes by now.
“Any joy on the contract you put out?”
“A few red herrings.”
Olives pulped, Irish started on the beer mat. Tearing off the corners, pulling them away, like he was slicing off ears.
“What would you do, Pete? The trail’s gone cold.”
“Leave it, Irish. Walk away.”
“Can’t.”