Civvies

Susie interrupted. 'You keep the portable when you don't need it, or you do for phoning in your bets!'

'I don't call them in, I just go over the road!' Dillon told her with a nasty, leering smile. 'An' if you want me, that's where I'll be.'

'Then get somebody else to do this!' Susie was up out of her chair. 'I'll go back and work for Mr Marway.'

'You think I don't appreciate it?'

'Er, Frank… Frank?' said Harry uneasily, sniffing a storm force ten row brewing.

'Just a minute!' Dillon glowered at his wife. 'I'm sick of you shovin' that Marway down my throat.'

Susie snatched up her bag, really fuming now. Harry sidled to the door, the expression on her face convincing him that this was as good a moment as any to take a leak. He slipped out as Susie said very softly, the calm before the storm, 'I don't believe you said that. If it wasn't for him you wouldn't have a business.'

'I hear you – okay – I hear you,' Dillon snarled at her.

'If you go down, Frank, if you and your precious lads don't get this company working, then you will all fall flat on your faces.'

'You'd love that!'

'How can you say that? Don't you understand that if you don't show decent returns to the bank, they can review the loan – it is a loan, Frank, it's not a gift!' She added quietly, reasonably, 'You have to pay it back.'

'I know that,' Dillon muttered.

'An' if you blow it, Frank, then Mr Marway's liable for that loan.'

Here we go again, he thought. All roads lead back to Saint fucking Marway. He said bitterly, 'You want me to grovel to him? Thank him for lettin' my wife off early so she can give me a few hours…'

Susie yelled, 'He doesn't give you them, I do!'

Dillon nearly tore the handle off opening the desk-drawer. He slammed the petty cash box down, grabbed a fistful of notes and coins and flung them at her. Susie looked quickly away, blinking back tears. She snapped her handbag shut and picked up her coat.

'I'll collect the boys, no need for you to bother yourself.'

She walked past him to the door. Without turning, Dillon said, 'I suppose he'll be givin' you one of his cars to drive around in next.'

'Oh – you knew I was taking my driving test, did you?' There was something in her voice, odd, strained, that made him turn to look at her. 'Well, I failed it, Frank – happy? I failed.'

Dillon put out his hand, some small gesture of regret, apology even, but Susie wasn't there to see it. Smacking his fist into his palm, he went into the passage, hearing the click of her high heels on the basement steps. He could have run after her and caught her easily, but he was damned if he would. At his own pace, in his own good time, he went outside and up the steps.

The lavatory flushed. The phone was ringing as Harry came along the passage. Cautiously he poked his head in and looked round the empty office. 'Frank…?'

Cliff felt like death. He wished he was dead, actually dead, and then the awful sickly throbbing would cease. He was lying on the sheet-draped sofa, eyes closed, when Shirley arrived back at the flat. She dumped more fabric and wallpaper sample tomes on the table and hung up her coat.

'I've been sick again,' Cliff greeted her piteously. 'I've had aspirin, Disprin, Andrews… I've never had a headache like it.'

'I'm about to give you another,' Shirley said, taking off her silk headscarf.

'Have you been sick?'

'Yes, for the past five mornings.'

'Well, that couldn't be the pork pie,' Cliff said. 'Terrible pain right across my back, just here!'

Shirley stood in front of him and folded her arms.

'You know, sometimes I don't think the lift goes to the top floor with you. Didn't you hear what I just said, don't you know what it means? I'm pregnant, Cliff!'

Cliff closed his eyes again. 'Oh no!' he levered himself up. 'Oh shit!' The door banged behind her as Shirley went into the bedroom. Moaning, Cliff flopped back, something really to moan about now.

Trudie hung out of the upstairs window as Harry bounced down the steps of the Super Shine Travel Agency, to whop Cliff on the back.

'I just refreshed parts no beer can do justice to!'

Harry leaned on the railings staring down the street to the betting shop.

'I'm gonna be busy for an hour or so, you know Frank's takin' up residence in that shop, I'll catch him there.'

Cliff stood at the top of the basement steps. 'Shirley's pregnant!'

'Nothin' to do with me mate!'

'Ha ha, very funny, but I'm right in it!'

'Wrong son, I'd say she is!'

As Harry sauntered off to the betting shop, he paused by the strips of plastic curtains, watching Dillon looking at a newspaper, jotting down his runners, then flicking looks to a row of TV screens, clicking his fingers with nervous excitement. There was a nicotine smog that would have felled a carthorse.

'Skived off, did you?' With a grunt of self-satisfaction, Harry plonked himself down on the next stool. 'Cliff's back, Shirley's up the spout, not a happy man!' More than satisfied.

'We all got problems.'

'Yeah – marital! A situation I am glad to say I have successfully escaped from. In fact I'm becoming an endangered species – handsome, heterosexual, no strings, an' after the performances I've just administered, no problems with the old rod!' His smirk faded as he leaned closer. 'I'm just gonna meet up with a pal at Aldershot, you listenin'? I've checked out Wally's tip-off place, looks like it could be a safe house. Frank?'

Dillon nodded, eyes on the screen. 'I'm on a treble, this one comes in I'll be a rich man.'

'Wally's contact works in the Records Section. I mean, it might be out of the window, but on the other hand if those blokes are in London we'll need some ammo…'

'Go baby… come on, come on! Dillon was nodding, clicking his fingers. 'Yes, yes, look at that mother, yes… yes!'

Harry slid off the stool. He glanced briefly at Dillon's flushed face, body tensed, fists clenched, willing his horse on. With three furlongs to go, apparently the clear winner, the nag ran out of steam and didn't even merit a place.

'Bastard… Goddammit!' Dillon tore up his betting slip.

Harry was waiting at the door. 'You comin' with me or not, Frank?'

'Talk to you later,' said Dillon, already buried in the Daily Mirror's racing page. 'I got a good runner in the three fifteen…'

Harry went out, stony-faced. Dillon ferreted in his pockets, came up with a crumpled tenner. He looked guiltily towards the empty doorway and then jerked his head back to the screens. Five minutes later, clutching a new betting slip, Dillon was on a roll again. He'd gone for a long shot, shit or bust time, and the little beauty was tearing down the final straight as if it has a red-hot poker up its arse.

'Yes… Yes! Come on you lovely bastard, yes Dillon clapped it home and stuck both fists in the air. 'YES!'

CHAPTER 34

'Okay, close your eyes… ready?'

Taking his wife by the hand, Dillon pushed open the bedroom door and led her inside. Laid out on the bed, a long flowing nightgown in pale blue chiffon edged in lace, with thin satin straps. Beside it, a leather handbag, a bunch of flowers wrapped in cellophane, an envelope inscribed, 'For Susie – XXX.'

'Okay,' Dillon said. 'Open your eyes!'

For a long moment Susie could only stand and stare. It wasn't Christmas, it wasn't her birthday, and even when it was, Dillon had never been so extravagant.

'First, open this.' He held out the envelope. 'I'm sorry you failed, I didn't know about your test. So – six lessons with a proper driving instructor, next time you'll pass.'

Hesitantly she touched the nightdress, as if at any second it might vanish in a puff of smoke. Childishly eager to please, Dillon said, 'That's for you – and this, it's all leather, inside and out. I was going to get shoes, but I wasn't sure of your size. Well? You like them?'