The two reception rooms on the ground floor were separated by a pair of stripped-pine doors set into a wide arch, and these had been fastened back, allowing people to move freely between them. Glasses, borrowed from the off license, Derek and Sean had arranged on the low shelf unit, bottles alongside them-white wine, Lorraine had thought, along with some soda water in case anyone cared to make themselves a spritzer; orange juice, quite a few beers, cans of Coke and Fanta for the kids; no spirits, not in the middle of the day. The food, Sandra helping, Lorraine had set out on a long table near the French windows, which were open out into the garden.
It was one of those early summer days that had started off bright and fresh, then threatened to cloud over as it wore on; any breeze had dropped and now it was becoming decidedly muggy. Even though she’d taken off her suit jacket, Lorraine could feel her blouse sticking to her when she moved.
Preston’s handcuffs had been removed as soon as they had arrived at the house and one or two people had come over to him, made a few remarks about his loss, then hurried away again, never pausing long enough for conversation. Sandra bravely brought over a plate of sausage rolls and held it out to him, avoiding his eyes; the moment he had taken one, she spun away, his thank you strangely gentle to her ears. Young Sean spent an age hovering, daring himself to ask questions that, in the end, remained unasked.
Lorraine aside, it was only Derek’s sister, Maureen, who seemed at all comfortable in Michael’s presence, leaning back against the wall after offering him a cigarette and encouraging him to tell her what it was like inside, being locked away like that with no, you know, women-Maureen flirting with him almost, that was how it seemed.
“Clock that?” Wesley said, nodding toward where Preston and Maureen were standing, Maureen laughing a little now, arching back her neck.
Evan nodded. He’d seen women like that before, visiting days, some bloke’s reputation as a hard nut getting their hormones all in a tizzy.
“Keep that up,” Wesley said, “get more’n she’s bargained for.”
Evan wandered across the room and fetched a couple more sandwiches. “You know your name?” he said. “Wesley.”
“What about it?”
“I was thinking, are you named after Wesley Snipes or what?”
“Christ, man,” Wesley exclaimed with a laugh. “You know how old I’d have to be to have been named after him? How long you think that guy’s been around, huh? White Men Can’t Jump. Nobody heard of him before that.” He shook his head and laughed. “Wesley Snipes, my black arse!”
“So then, who?” Evan asked, unfazed.
“You know Wes Hall?”
Evan shook his head.
“Cricketer. Fast bowler, man. The best. Wes Hall and Charlie Griffiths. Played for the West Indies a long time back. Wes, he’s from Barbados. Like my old man.” Wesley laughed again. “These guys today, you think they quick, well, you slow to get your head out the way when Wes Hall bowl you a bouncer, wave your head goodbye.”
Evan standing there, staring at him, eyes becoming glazed.
“You into cricket, Evan, or what?”
“Bunch of grown men standing round for days trying to hit a small red ball, that’s what my dad used to say.”
“Never mind your dad for once, it’s you I’m asking. You appreciate the finer points of the game or not?”
“Not.”
“Missing a lot, man. Grand game, cricket. Sport of kings.”
Evan thought that was horse racing, but he saw no sense in arguing.
“Where’s he gone?” Wesley said suddenly, pushing himself away from the wall.
“What? Who?”
“Preston, he’s not there any more.”
Evan staring at the spot where their prisoner had been moments before; no Maureen, no Michael Preston, just an empty glass on the floor.
He hadn’t gone past them into the garden, they were sure of that; they checked the kitchen, then doubled back along the hallway, heading for the stairs. The first two doors were open, the kids’ bedrooms, the third was locked. Evan hammered upon it with his fist. “Preston? You in there?”
“Yes, course I’m in here.”
“Open the door.”
“I can’t.”
“Open up now.”
There was a shuffle of movement, followed by the small click of the bolt being pulled back and the door opened to reveal Preston standing there, underpants hoisted back up, but trousers still midway up his thighs, shirt flapping down.
“What’s all the fuss about? I didn’t know I had to ask permission to take a crap. Or maybe you just want to wipe my behind?”
Grim-faced, Evan closed the door firmly in Preston’s face, far from appreciating the amusement in the man’s eyes.
When he emerged five minutes later, Preston had recombed his hair and was smelling of somebody else’s cologne. Evan was still standing outside the door, more or less to attention, Wesley sitting on the top stair, nursing a can of Coke and wishing it were Carlsberg.
“Thought I was doing a runner,” Preston said.
“You were told to stay downstairs, within sight.”
“Call of nature.”
“I don’t care.”
“So okay, won’t happen again.”
“I know.” Evan held out the cuffs and moved toward him.
“Look,” Preston said. “There’s a favor I got to ask.”
“Forget it. No more favors.”
“My sister, I just want to talk to her.”
“You’ve been talking to her.”
“No, alone.”
Evan shook his head. “You heard what I said.”
“Come on,” Preston said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You got family of your own, right? Close. How’d you feel in my shoes?” He stared at Evan until Evan dropped his shoulders in a shrug.
“Be quick,” Evan said, glancing along the landing. “In there, the bedroom. Ten minutes, tops. And remember, there’ll be one of us out here, the other down in the garden-just in case you have a mind to do a Peter Pan.”
“Okay,” Preston said. “Thanks.”
Evan stepped away. “You’re wasting precious time,” he said.
Five minutes later, Sean dogging his heels, Derek wandered over to where Wesley was standing in the garden, eyes flicking from time to time toward the bedroom window.
“You’ll be on your way soon, I dare say,” Derek said.
“Yeh. Just as soon as they’re through.”
“Through with what?”
“Preston and your wife, making their fond farewells upstairs.”
Derek followed the direction of Wesley’s gaze. “You stay here,” he said to Sean. “Stay here and don’t move.”
“Dad …”
“Just stay.”
On the upstairs landing, Evan moved to intercept him, but he was too slow. Three paces and Derek pushed the bedroom door all the way back so hard it rebounded from the edge of the dressing table with a hollow crack. Michael was sitting on the edge of the double bed, head bowed forward; Lorraine standing close in front of him, hand resting on his shoulder.
“What the hell’s all this?”
Lorraine turned toward him. “Michael and I were just talking.”
It had been silent in the room: neither she nor Michael had been saying a thing.
When Michael slowly moved his head away and sat back, Lorraine left her hand where it was. “Don’t close the door, Derek,” Lorraine said. “It’s not allowed. Just leave it ajar, the way it was. All right?”
Flushed, Derek turned on his heel and pushed past Evan, taking the stairs two at a time. His sister Maureen was in the hallway with Sandra, but he swept on past, not speaking, pausing only to grab his car keys before slamming through the front door.
They were twenty miles shy of Leicester, heading south, the signs for East Midlands Airport just coming into view.
“Today,” Preston said, surprising both Evan and Wesley by initiating a conversation. “You were both pretty decent. I hope you don’t end up getting into trouble ’cause of what you did.”
“Thanks,” Evan said, with a slight turn of the head. “It’ll be okay.”
“Yeh,” said Wesley grudgingly. “No problem.” And he felt a sudden sensation, burning and sharp, along his arm.