Tom winced inwardly at the reference to ‘your lot’ but let it go. His father was getting into his stride and at least it deflected the conversation away from him. ‘Well, she is the home secretary, Dad.’
‘Of course, of course.’
Hugh leaned across the table and dropped his voice. ‘You know what I think? There are some people who actually want things to get worse, precisely so they can take drastic action.’
‘Such as?’
‘Oh, you know, dumping some of this human-rights legislation that keeps coming at us from Brussels, all the politically correct stuff that ties the hands of the police and the judiciary.’
‘You agree with that?’
‘Trouble with today is, the collective memory of the last war — I mean the Second World War, when our forebears had to muck in and all pull together, when there was a real threat of invasion — has pretty well died out. The truth is, us baby boomers have had it too easy. So we’re panicking.’
The lamb arrived: two huge plates of roasted meat and a bowl of vegetables. Gradually, Tom felt himself perking up.
‘And let’s have some of the house claret to keep this company.’
As they tucked in, the waitress returned with a bottle and two fresh glasses.
‘That’s the one — just pour it.’
Hugh fell silent as they attacked their food. Tom was well aware of how little he was giving away, but Hugh would have to lump it as he topped up the claret, no doubt hoping it would oil the wheels.
‘Did you um, get back to Rolt?’ The question broke the silence. Tom stared at his father warily. ‘Vernon Rolt. You were at school with him.’
‘Yeah, you said. Look, I’m not talking to anyone right now.’ He drained his glass.
His father refilled it. ‘He’s very keen to get hold of you.’
‘So you gave him my number.’
Hugh could tell straight away that this had been a mistake. Tom’s face had turned to stone.
‘Look, I’m sorry, old boy. I know it’s private and all that but I just thought, what with you being back and… He’s a pretty big deal, these days, as I’m sure you know. Quite a hero — and they seem to be in pretty short supply right now. And he was a mate of yours.’
‘Hardly. I seem to recall I once decked him in a boxing match. What sort of a “big deal” is he?’
‘You don’t know? Well, it’s quite an interesting story. He dropped out of university, drifted around America, fell in with the dotcom crowd in California and made himself a fortune. Then he got homesick for Blighty, came back and ploughed a load of his savings into starting up Invicta.’
‘Why? Is there some military angle to his family?’
‘Apparently he encountered a homeless guy outside his pad in Mayfair who turned out to be a decorated hero of Iraq Two, and that’s where it all started. More than two thousand ex-service chaps have been through his programme.’
‘Impressive.’
‘He stays out of the limelight and shuns attempts to credit him for what he’s done. But among those who know, he’s much admired. And there are plenty of people in high places who have the wit to realize his programmes saved a lot of these guys’ lives and cleared up a lot of sick that the MoD’s left behind.’
‘What did he say he wanted?’
‘He was very charming, said he’d heard you were back…’
Tom could feel his face heating up. He smelt a rat. As he was going through the army recruitment process, his father had engineered a number of occasions when acquaintances of his with Interesting Jobs in the City had been invited to join them for dinner. It was painfully obvious that he had cajoled them into coming in the vain hope that Tom could be diverted from the army. And having set his heart on that course, Tom had refused to go to Sandhurst and become an officer.
‘Hope this isn’t another of your career-management initiatives.’
Hugh took a gulp of wine. ‘I learned that lesson a long time ago. I’m sure it’s quite innocent. He’s making a name for himself through his work with these—’
‘Yeah, these people whose lives are in freefall. You aren’t suggesting I’m one of them, are you?’ Tom realized his voice had risen several decibels. A couple of old buffers at the next table were staring at them.
‘What do you mean?’ Hugh was stung. ‘Steady on, old boy. I’m not implying you’re on the scrapheap, if that’s what you mean. The chap called me out of the blue. I’m sure his intentions are entirely noble.’
The room felt stifling. Tom pushed his chair back. His father gazed at him in horror. ‘I’m going for a leak.’
Tom marched out, pushing his way through the doors and nearly knocking over an elderly member. Outside it was starting to rain. He took a deep lungful of grey London air and cursed himself for being so sharp with his father, who only had the best intentions, who had put up with his waywardness, and the uncertainty, all these years, and who loved him.
What the fuck was he going to do anyway? He hadn’t given it a second’s thought. But before he could descend into any kind of self-pity he found himself thinking of Blakey. He took out his phone and searched the number for Selly Oak.
The nurse on the ward sounded relieved to hear from him. ‘No one’s been to see him at all. Are you a relative?’
‘No, just a mate. How is he?’
She didn’t answer.
‘He is going to make it, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, it’s just — well, he’s going to need a lot of help.’
‘Can I talk to him?’
‘He’s with the surgeon. Could you come in later?’
‘I’m in London, but I’ll phone back.’
He ended the call and noticed the missed calls from two days before. Maybe Rolt could do something for Blakey.
When he got back to the table his father behaved as if nothing had happened. He was good like that.
‘Two jam roly-polys on their way.’ Hugh grinned at him guiltily, just as he used to when Tom was small, as if the puddings were some kind of transgression. At least some things didn’t change.
22
Sarah Garvey reached for her phone, which was buzzing like a trapped fly on her bedside table. She glanced at the time — 2:25 a.m.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Home Secretary.’
It was Halford, the Metropolitan Police commissioner.
‘No problem, John,’ she lied. ‘I’d only just got to bed.’
After giving him such a hard time in COBRA she had made a mental note to be more positive.
‘We’re just getting reports of a fire at an ex-servicemen’s hostel in Redditch, probably the result of an explosion.’
‘Fatalities?’
‘Too early to say. But, looking at the footage, I’d say almost certainly. The front of the building’s been blown out. Several passers-by taken to A and E. Should have a clearer picture in an hour.’
There was an energy to his tone that had been absent at their meeting. She guessed why. This was off his patch and was sure to take the heat off the shooting.
‘Hold back as long as you can on the details. Let’s be very careful what we feed to the media. Nothing, repeat nothing, suggesting a bombing until it’s confirmed by forensics. And even then let’s discuss what we say first.’
‘Well, I’d advise you to prepare for the worst. An eyewitness reported seeing a disturbance in the doorway as if someone was being stopped from going in.’
‘Okay, thanks for that.’ She put on the light and found the TV remote.