But it was enough, as far as the world was concerned, we were an item, and he told me that I would have to meet his family soon. This terrified me.
But events overtook us, A Levels came and went, and before we could blink, he was a leaver.
It then dawned on me that he was not going to be there next year, and it terrified me. He was my rock, but he was leaving.
I was working hard, doing Art, French and Design for A level, and I found the design the most rewarding. I seemed to have a knack for designing clothes, and chose to specialise in this field for my special assignments. There was a charity clothes show held in the school towards the end of term, and I managed to design several outfits for the show. I now had to find someone to model them.
I asked Jenny.
“Get away. Don’t be silly. My bum is way too big,” she said.
It wasn’t, but no amount of talking persuaded her otherwise. I went around all my friends, and there was a conspiracy against me. They all told me to do it myself.
“Sandi, you’re daft. You’re the one with the model’s figure, so just bite the bullet, girl, do it yourself,” said Caroline.
In the end, I knew that I would have to do just that.
I took my AS levels, and found them relatively easy. Then I knuckled down and created my works of designer art. I made a stunning long evening dress in black satin, that was really risqué, but at the same time formal enough for a really fancy do. I had a mini dress that doubled as a sort of smock to be worn with a pair of my trousers; and finally, a swimming costume that just hid the essentials. The criss-cross design would make interesting sunburn marks on the tummy.
My piece de resistance was a semi formal strapless cocktail dress that hugged the figure and was guaranteed to drive men wild. It was in black silk, and left only just enough to the imagination.
Aside from this, life seemed to grind on.
My father was conspicuous by his absence. I had not heard from him since my birthday in May. I almost forgot about the looming threat of Frankie Holland, except every time I saw the key in my purse I remembered.
So, one Saturday morning, I left an ambiguous note for Jenny and slipped out of the Hotel early. I rode to the station in Brighton, and caught the train to London. I spent a lot of time on the trains or tubes, to Heathrow to collect the folder, and then to Stoke Newington, to be told that Detective Inspector Randall was a Detective Chief Inspector now, and was at Enfield Police Station. They rang his office for me, to be told he was off on a rest day.
Feeling frustrated and not a little pissed off, I asked the officer to call him at home and to ask him if he wanted to talk to Johnny Lake’s daughter.
To his surprise and mine, the man decided to come all the way in to meet me. I was still sitting in the front office when a tall man in a pair of jeans and a tee shirt came in.
“I’m Jim Randall. You say you are Johnny Lake’s daughter?”
I stood up, looking up at him.
“Do you have a warrant card or something?” I asked.
He patted his trouser pockets, eventually producing a black leather wallet. He opened it and showed me it. There was a silver crest and a card with his photograph. James Randall, Detective Chief Inspector, it said.
“Can we go somewhere quiet?” I asked.
He smiled and nodded, leading me out of the station to a Ford Mondeo parked across the road.
He unlocked it and opened the passenger door. I got in.
He got behind the wheel.
He started the car and started to drive away from Stoke Newington.
“Stoke really is a bit of a shitty area, how far have you come?”
“South coast, near Brighton.”
“So, how’s Johnny?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen Dad for ages, he could be dead for all I know,” I said, staring straight ahead.
“Why?”
“He crossed Frankie Holland, whoever he is.”
He frowned. He pulled into a pub car park, and looked at his watch.
“Have you had lunch?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ve been hunting for you.”
“Come on, I’ll buy you a pub lunch.”
We went into the pub, and he bought me a drink and a ploughman’s.
I showed him the letter I had been sent.
He read it and laughed.
“He hasn’t lost his sense of humour. So, what have you got for me?” he asked, returning my letter.
I passed him over the folder. I then told him everything that had happened, even the bit with the truck.
He listened and frowned, then, when I had finished he opened the folder, starting to leaf through the contents.
“Fucking hell!” he said, suddenly. Then he looked at me.
“Sorry. Have you looked in this?”
I shook my head. “One thing I learned from my old man - never ask questions and no lies will be told. No, it’s nothing to do with me, as it’s probably dirty so I want no part of it.”
He smiled. “You’re very like your mother, did you know that?”
“You knew my Mum?”
“Yes, I met her several times. Fuck knows what she saw in your dad, but she was a nice girl. He was always a charmer, your Dad, even though he was a villain.”
“Was? He’s not dead yet,” I said.
“Is, was, whatever. You just look a heck of a lot like your mum, that’s all.”
I looked down. I never knew what to think about my mother.
“She didn’t deserve what happened, you know?” he said.
“What did happen? I always suspected Dad had something to do with it.”
He smiled. “So did I, but he didn’t. I know that for a fact.”
I stared at him.
“Your dad was working for me at the time. He was an informant on a nasty armed team who were doing some jewellers in North London. They had already killed one old boy, and left another for dead. Your dad had standards, never into violence, thievery, yes. But never he hurt anyone, unless they threatened anyone he loved,” he said, and looked meaningfully at me.
“When news of the accident came though, he was on the verge of solving the case for us. He just carried on, and cracked up after the arrests were made.
“It was an accident, no suspicious circumstances at all. Just a bad gas valve on a hired yacht.”
“He never showed me he cracked up,” I said.
“He wouldn’t, he was old school, was Johnny, never showed his emotions. Besides, he never stopped loving your mum. He told me, he said, “If only I stopped, she would still be with me.” But it was too late then.”
“If. Bloody if. I have heard it from him so much. If he had been honest, I wouldn’t be sitting here now,” I said.
“True enough.”
I finished my lunch, and he continued to look through the folder.
“Sandi, is it?”
“Yes, it’s short for Alexandra.”
He smiled.
“This is very valuable. Would you like to see if I can get something from the reward programme for you?”
I shook my head.
“No, if there is any money coming, put it in the widows and orphans fund. Dad would think that was suitably ironic.”
He smiled. “You are a cut off the old block. I can see why he is so proud of you.”
“Don’t ever link him with me, he may be my father, but I am my own person, and I seek a different destiny than he did,” I said, quite heatedly. He smiled and apologised.
“I’m sorry, I can see that. But we can never take away our parents, no matter whom or what they were. Look, can I give you a lift?”
“To a station, I need to get back down south.”
“You’re a brave girl, thanks for doing this.”
“I had a choice?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I suppose not.”
I stood up, and he put the folder under his arm.
“Look, what’s going to happen now? It’s just that I’m still afraid that Frankie’s men will try to get me again,” I asked.
He looked at me for a while, as if trying to assess the danger I was in, and then he took out his mobile phone. I sat down again. He asked me some questions, and then punched a number into his phone.