Eddie Chase stood before the gravestone, head bowed in respect. It was the final resting place of his former commanding officer, mentor, comrade — and friend — Colonel Jim McCrimmon, known to all close to him as ‘Mac’. The Scot had taken the young Corporal Chase under his wing when he was first accepted into the SAS, teaching him both what it meant and what was necessary to be a member of the British army’s elite force. Eddie had repaid the favour by carrying his badly wounded commander to safety while under intense fire in Afghanistan, the act for which he had received the Victoria Cross.
Mac had helped the Yorkshireman out on several occasions after he left the SAS, even joining him and Nina on some of their adventures. Until one of them cost him his life.
Eddie had thought he was long over the grief of Mac’s murder, but the memory brought some unexpectedly raw emotions. He swallowed, but held a stoic expression, not wanting his daughter to realise he was upset. His eyes went to the headstone’s inscription.
Fiducia integritatis honore
He served and protected his country
Latin was one of Nina’s specialities, not his, but he had checked the text’s meaning after first visiting the grave some years before. With courage, integrity and honour was a near enough translation, and as far as he was concerned, completely accurate. Mac had given him standards to live up to, and he hoped he had done his commander proud.
‘Was he your friend, Daddy?’ Macy asked, drawing him out of his reverie.
‘Yeah, love, he was,’ Eddie told the red-haired five-year-old. ‘He was… my boss when I was in the army. He taught me everything I know.’
‘So he was like your mommy?’
He smiled. ‘Not exactly. Come on, then. Shall we go and meet Auntie Lizzie and Grandad?’
‘Daddy!’ she chided. ‘She told you to call her Elizabeth, not Lizzie.’
‘Did she? Must have said it to my bad ear.’ He faced the grave again. A last moment of contemplation, then he saluted. ‘Wish you could have met my little girl, Mac,’ he said quietly, again feeling emotion welling. He took her by the hand and walked away.
Eddie checked his watch as they headed for the nearest Underground station. They were due to meet his family in about thirty minutes; he knew from having once lived in London that they should make it on time.
Things had changed since calling the capital his home, though. Times were clearly harder: payday loan companies the only new businesses amongst boarded-up shops, cars jolting hard over crumbling potholes, refuse spilling from uncollected rubbish bags along the pavement, a general sense of grime that nobody had the money or inclination to scrub away. London’s energy was still there, but compared to fifteen years earlier it felt as if people were keeping it to themselves, hoarding it. Heads were down, eyes fixed on the ground one step ahead so as not to bump into anyone while scurrying to the next appointment.
Eddie knew the vibe. He had felt it before, but in places he would never have expected to compare to London. He associated it with the fringes of war zones, a perpetual tension and worry that however bad things were now, they could get worse at any moment. Don’t look anyone in the eye, don’t attract trouble…
Rather than give in, he lifted his own head higher. ‘What do you think of London, Macy?’
The little girl’s reply was hesitant, as if not wanting to hurt his feelings. ‘I… I don’t like it as much as home, Daddy.’
Having lived in Manhattan for twelve years, and mainly associating London with his disastrous first marriage, he was inclined to agree. ‘That’s okay, love. I don’t either.’
‘It’s very dirty,’ she went on. ‘And everybody looks really angry. Or scared.’
‘That’s London, baby,’ he said with a smile, impressed by her astuteness. Although a raised voice had perhaps given her a clue. Ahead, a large man was shouting at someone he had cornered in a vacant shop’s doorway. A few paces nearer, and Eddie realised the object of his ire was a much smaller woman with pale Slavic features, clutching shopping bags. Other pedestrians hurried past, unwilling to get involved. Not liking the look of the situation, he quickened his pace.
The man’s words became clear as they approached. ‘… an’ now we’re out of Europe — so you lot are out too!’ he bellowed, his accent a coarse Estuary English. ‘This is our country, not yours, so fuck off home!’
‘This — this is my home,’ the woman stammered, terrified.
‘No it fuckin’ isn’t! Fuckin’ Poles, you came over here an’ nicked all the best jobs! I ’ad ten years on the dole ’cause of you lot! Well, we’re kickin’ you all out now, so you can fuck off!’
‘Oi!’ Eddie said, ushering Macy behind him. ‘There a problem?’
The red-faced man glowered at him. He was six inches taller than the Yorkshireman, and much broader, though fat rather than muscle stretched the fabric of his football shirt. ‘What’s your fuckin’ problem?’
‘You, if you don’t stop swearing in front of my little girl.’ He looked at the frightened woman, who was barely half her abuser’s weight. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I–I was just shopping, he started shouting at me,’ she said, almost in tears.
Eddie turned back to the man. ‘I think you should leave her alone.’
‘Fuck off, you bald ponce!’
‘Macy,’ Eddie said, ‘go back by that other doorway, love.’ His daughter hurriedly retreated.
The man wheeled on him, fists clenched into meaty balls. ‘Who d’you fuckin’ think you are?’ One arm drew back—
Eddie’s combat instincts had already kicked in. Killing, crippling or knocking out his opponent were all readily available options, but instead he chose forceful self-defence. He grabbed the other man’s arm as it swung at his head, ducking and twisting sharply to shove it up behind his attacker’s back. The man gasped in pain — then the sound was abruptly cut off as the former SAS soldier slammed his face against the shop window. ‘I’m the bloke who’s going to make you apologise to this lady.’
The man strained to peel his mouth off the glass. ‘Fuck off, you — aaaagh!’
Eddie forced his arm even higher, making his shoulder joint crackle. ‘Sorry begins with an “s”, not an “f”. You want to try again?’ He increased the pressure.
‘F— s— sorry!’ the man screeched. ‘Sorry, sorry!’
‘Say it to her.’
He squinted at his victim. ‘I’m sorry! Oh God, stop, let go! You’re breakin’ my arm!’
‘Macy, cover your ears,’ said Eddie. She did so. ‘Okay,’ he growled at the now-keening thug, ‘you: fuck off. And if I see you again, a broken fucking arm’ll be the least of it. You get me?’ The other man nodded. ‘Right. Now bugger off.’
He eased the pressure and stepped back. The sweating man gasped, lowering his arm as far as Eddie would allow. The Yorkshireman turned him away from the woman, then shoved him clear. The man made a hasty retreat, shouting abuse once he reached a safe distance.
Eddie ignored him. ‘You all right?’ he asked the woman.
She managed a faint smile of relief. ‘Yes, thank you, thank you. I don’t know why he did that — he just trapped me and started shouting. I’m not even Polish, I’m Estonian!’
‘I think he was too thick to know the difference.’ He returned to Macy, who was still covering her ears. ‘Okay, love, you can let go now.’
She lowered her hands. ‘Are you all right, Daddy?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?’
She nodded, looking worriedly after the retreating thug. ‘He wasn’t a nice man.’
‘He wasn’t, no.’