An Unlikely Hero

by

P.F. Ford

Cover Design by Angie Zambrano

Edited by KT Editing Services

© 2013 P.F. Ford

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.

Contents

Free Novella Series

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

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Other Books by P.F. Ford

About The Author

Chapter One

It’s funny how you can live just 10 miles away from a town for 20 years and never have a good reason to visit. And then because you never visit, you grow to assume that it must be a nothing little town with nothing to offer. That’s what I used to think about Tinton… until I came to live here.

To be fair, it isn’t the sort of place you’d go out of your way to visit. But don’t get me wrong; there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this place. It’s just that if you were to drive down the High Street, you’d probably think you wouldn’t have missed anything if you had stayed at home.

I mean, just look at me right now. I’d just been away for a couple of days and driving around the town now, I got the feeling that nothing could have happened while I’d been away. But do you know what? That’s exactly why I’ve fallen in love with this little town.

There might not be anything spectacular about it but it’s honest, decent, and full of good intentions. That’s how I try to live my life, so I like to think we match each other pretty well. 

Being late September, it was dark even though it was barely 8pm. I was just doodling along the High Street thinking how this was the perfect little town for me, barely doing 20 miles an hour, when two drunks suddenly emerged from an alley on the right and lurched into the road. I slammed on the brakes, although I was in no danger of hitting them – silly sods.

As I screeched to a halt they clutched hold of each other and drew back hastily from the road. One did a mime to show me what a wanker of a driver he thought I was. The other gave me the universal sign of the finger. Then they both fell about roaring with laughter. Oh well, I guess nothing’s really perfect.

I followed the road around to the left, and there, like an oasis in a desert, was the familiar sign I was looking for.

The Cask was my local pub. Occupying a prime spot on the right-hand-side of the street, it was considered by many to be the best pub in town, with a selection of real ales few could match. There was a bank to its right and a shoe shop to the left. I crawled past. It was evident that even this early, it was busy inside.

I parked my car in my usual spot just down the road behind the shops, and two minutes later I was inside, elbowing my way to the bar.

When I’d first arrived in the pub a couple of hours ago it had been busy enough, but now it was 10pm and it was Friday evening. Outside it was dark and quiet, but inside it was lively and noisy. For many, the evening had only just got going. The beer was flowing and the jukebox was blasting out something dreadfully nondescript. I suppose someone, somewhere, in among the crowd must have actually been enjoying it, but I couldn’t even identify a tune. I guess that shows my age.

I winced as a particularly off-key note penetrated the haze that always seems to engulf my brain after a couple of hours drinking with Dave Burnham, the landlord. Both sound and vision were beginning to get a little blurred, a sure sign it was time to go home.

I slid carefully from my barstool and began to weave my way through the throng. The crowd and the noise reminded me why I usually hang out in the much quieter back bar, and for a moment I wondered what I was doing in here; then I remembered I had only popped in to collect my keys – two hours ago.

Halfway through the crowd, a large, wide back with massive shoulders blocked my path. It was Dave. At six feet two and fifteen stone of muscle, he had the boyish good looks of someone much younger than his forty-eight years, and girls half his age came into the pub just to flirt with him.

I carefully tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’m off, mate.’

‘What, already?’ He grinned. ‘When did you become a lightweight?’

‘Ha! I always was, as you well know. Way too noisy in here for me. Makes me feel old.’ I surveyed the young faces surrounding us. ‘I’m sure half this lot must still be at school.’

‘You’re just starting to feel your age, you poor old thing. Older customers usually stick to the back bar. It’s much quieter, and it’s where the classy customers hang out.’

I decided to ignore his sarcasm and continue my journey. He clapped me on the shoulder as I squeezed past. A petite dark-haired girl dressed in jeans and a well-padded jacket had been sitting at one of the tables near the door for the past two hours. I’d noticed her when she had arrived earlier and I figured some lucky guy must have a hot date. But she’d bought her drink and then very quietly and unobtrusively chosen an out-of-the-way table and sat with her back to the door and to the room.

She had managed to make her drink last two hours now. At first, she had turned every time the door opened, presumably in anticipation of her boyfriend arriving, but now she seemed to have given up on her date and was immersed in a book. She must have had amazing powers of concentration to be able to read with all this noise going on.

Just as I was about to pass her table, a hefty, ugly-looking guy burst through the door. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd and then settled on the girl. With her back to the door, she hadn’t seen him arrive. She was on the move now, but not quite quickly enough.

He took one pace and grabbed her by the shoulder as she rose from her seat. The look on her face as she turned around was enough to tell me this was most definitely not the guy she wanted to meet.

‘Take hands off me,’ she spat, jumping to her feet and brushing his hand away.

I couldn’t place her accent, but I figured Eastern European. The guy said something I didn’t catch and lunged for her again. Small but nimble, she easily dodged to one side and kicked him hard on the shin. This provoked an angry snarl and he made another grab for her.

Now I’m no hero and this guy was a real giant, twice the size of me. Maybe it was just the beer talking, but you don’t think about that when there’s a girl in distress, do you? Well, anyway, I don’t.

I had to shout above the noise of the jukebox and the crowded pub. ‘Hey, mate, she asked you to leave her alone.’

The ugly guy stopped for just a moment and then he turned to face me. He looked me up and down like I was some sort of bad joke. ‘She is no lady, and this not your business. Better you keep nose out.’ He flexed a huge fist. ‘Or else…’

Have you ever noticed, whenever there’s a tense situation in a crowd like that, the music stops and everyone goes quiet? Like it had been scripted? Well, that’s exactly what happened right then.

Standing in front of me, flexing his fists, the guy seemed even bigger. I really didn’t want to have to fight anyone, and the sensible thing to do would certainly have been to run away, but for some reason (probably the beer) I just had to reply. ‘Or else what?’

‘Or else I punch your feck head in.’

In my befuddled state I thought to myself Feck? What the hell’s feck?

It’s weird what goes through your head in situations like that. There I was, about to get flattened, yet all I could think was should I tell him about his mispronunciation? Or should I perhaps mention the missing ‘ing’? I mean, I don’t want to be pedantic, but even if he insisted on ‘feck’ it should be ‘fecking’ head. In the end, I decided it wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had. At his size it was probably best to let him pronounce his swear words any way he wanted.

 The hush that had descended on the pub seemed to get even quieter. Everyone had turned to look: those at the back struggling for a better view, while those closest were desperately trying to retreat out of the way.

Oh shit, I thought. Here we go.

‘Oi,’ roared a huge voice from behind me, breaking the silence. ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’

I became aware Dave was standing next to me. The ugly giant didn’t seem quite so confident now there was someone nearer his own size to deal with.

‘I said “what d’you think you’re doing?’’’ demanded Dave. ‘Who do you think you are coming in here upsetting my customers? Now get out. Go on, sling your hook.’

For a moment, the giant seemed to be weighing up the odds, then, like a ghost, a huge Rottweiler that had been casually scrounging food from besotted customers appeared at Dave’s side.

The big guy stared at the dog and took a step back.

‘Look,’ warned Dave, with an evil grin. ‘We don’t have fights in here. This is why.’ He pointed at the dog, whose lips curled back to reveal a set of gleaming teeth. ‘See, he’s smiling at the moment. You don’t want to make him angry, now do you?’

It looked as though the dog had swayed the odds in our favour.

‘I am sorry. My mistake’, mumbled the giant. Holding his hands up in a placatory gesture he backed carefully towards the door. ‘No make trouble,’ he said, backing away to the door. ‘See. I go now.’

As he reached the door he glared at me. ‘You will regret,’ he said, and then he was gone.

I let out the breath I’d been holding, and put a hand on Dave’s shoulder. ‘Wow! Thanks, mate,’ I said, sighing. ‘I think you saved me from a good hiding there.’

‘You think?’ He looked at me as though I was mad. ’And don’t kid yourself. I wasn’t saving you, I just don’t want my pub smashed up. If you’re going to go around picking fights with people, don’t do it in here. And for God’s sake pick on someone your own size. He would have killed you – and you don’t even know the girl.’

He looked around. ‘Where is she anyway?’ he asked.

I turned to look, but she was nowhere to be seen. ‘She must have slipped out while no one was looking. You’d have thought she would say thank you, at least.’

He gave me that look again. ‘Say thank you? When she could slip away from that moron without being seen?’ He sighed in exasperation. ‘Oh well, at least no one got hurt. You’d better go home before you cause any more trouble, and take care on your way. That thug might just have meant what he said.’

I headed for the door. ‘Don’t fuss,’ I said. ‘I’m only going round the corner. I’ll be fine.’

 I was running on adrenaline until I got outside and the fresh air hit me. Whoooh, steady on there, boy. I took a couple of deep breaths, but I was okay really. I figured once I calmed down I’d be pissed enough to be mellow, but with enough about me to find my way home in one piece.

Tottering a little unsteadily to the left and then to the right, I made my way carefully down the street and then right along the alleyway past the shops. Sophia’s Tea Shop was the end one of a row of half a dozen shops tucked away down the alley. I took another right after the tea shop and stopped.

The door to my flat should have been lit up just a little way along the side of the shop. But the outside light was off and the entrance was in darkness. Oh, bugger.

It was annoying, but there you go. It was probably a blown bulb. I could sort it out in the morning. I groped my way to the door and began to fumble for my keys. I knew I had put them in one of my pockets.

As I fumbled around, I promised myself this was not going to happen again. No more drinking with Dave. I was going to have such a headache in the morning. At last, I found my keys and started trying to feel for the keyhole.

The first blow landed across my kidneys and slammed my face into the door. I remember thinking what the ffff...? And then I collapsed in a heap on the ground. Oh God, that really, really hurt.

Someone was bending over me. A voice hissed in my ear. ‘Hurts doesn’t it? Now you know what it’s like’.

Then more blows began to rain down. I tried to protect my head with my arms, but I was too slow and there was a loud crack as something, maybe a baseball bat, caught me across the back of my head. Suddenly I understood why they call it seeing stars – there were hundreds of the bloody things! And then they began to fade, and everything slowly turned black…

Chapter Two

I opened an eye and quickly shut it again. The light was blinding. I tried to figure out where I was and how I had got there, but all that happened was my head started to hurt. I instinctively knew I was in hospital, but how the hell I had got there I had no idea. And why oh why did my bloody head hurt so much?

Gingerly, I opened my right eye. The good news was that I obviously wasn’t dead, despite the pain in my head. I opened the other eye. Or, at least, I tried to open my other eye, but there was a dressing covering it so I had to make do with just the one eye for now.

I was in a curtained cubicle. The quiet hum of activity going on beyond the curtains told me I must be in the A&E unit at the local hospital. I tried to sit up but was immediately overcome with a feeling of nausea. Shit. Best lie still then.

My head was beginning to itch but when I tried to lift my right arm to scratch it, there was more pain. I realised my arm was in a sling. What the hell had happened? My head, my eye, my arm ached – and I seemed to be covered in bruises. I could hardly move a muscle without some sort of pain.

‘Oh, you’re awake then?’ A gap appeared between the curtains and a cheery-voiced nurse popped her head through. ‘You must have a tough skull,’ she said, admiringly. ‘I thought you were going to be out all night.’

‘It certainly bloody hurts,’ I groaned. ‘What happened?’

‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me that,’ she said, smiling as the curtains closed behind her. ‘You were found lying in a heap in an alley in town.’

She folded her arms and looked into my eyes. I don’t think it was love, so she must have been looking for signs of concussion.

‘You’ve taken quite a battering. You’re covered in bruises, your right arm’s cracked just below the elbow, you have five stitches in your right eyebrow, and twelve stitches in the back of your head. Apart from that you’re fine, but you must have really upset someone.’

‘You make it sound as though it happens every day.’

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘You’re our first serious assault in months. Are you sure you don’t know what happened?’

‘I remember leaving the pub to walk home, and trying to find my keys in the dark.’ I struggled to remember. ‘And then something hit me, and I can’t remember after that.’

‘Well, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I would guess you had a meeting with a baseball bat. Or, more precisely, with several baseball bats. You’re lucky you don’t have a fractured skull.’

‘It hurts enough as it is,’ I said. ‘I guess I should say thank you for patching me up. When can I go home and get out of your way?’

‘You’re not going anywhere, at least not until tomorrow. You have a head injury, so you’re going to be here for a while yet. And the police are coming to talk to you.’

‘Police? What do they want?’

‘Assault,’ she said, sternly, ‘is not something we can ignore. We have to report it, and you should want to report it. You can’t let people go around doing this sort of thing.’

She fussed around me for a moment or two. ‘Just rest,’ she said. ‘I have to go. We’re pretty busy out there. I’ll pop my head in every now and then to make sure you’re ok.’

I drifted in and out of sleep. I wasn’t sure how long for. When I woke up, I suddenly became aware someone was sitting next to me. Carefully, I opened my one good eye. The person was on my left, so I had to turn my head to see.

A weary-looking police officer was watching me.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘Morning,’ said the officer. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Well, I have to admit I’ve felt better, but at least my bloody head seems to have stopped hurting so much.’

‘That’ll be the painkillers. It’ll hurt like hell when they wear off.’ He seemed to be warming to his subject. ‘You’ve had a good kicking that’s for sure. Best one I’ve seen in ages. You must have...’

‘...really pissed someone off,’ I finished for him. ‘Yes, I have noticed that. And what do you mean “best one I’ve seen in ages”?’

‘Sorry. It’s just that we don’t get that many assaults so they tend to stick in your mind.’

‘What time is it?’ I asked.

‘5am. Nearly time to go home. And I’m really looking forward to it – what a shit night.’ He heaved a sigh.

‘Bad one, huh? Well if it’s any consolation, my night hasn’t been the best either.’

‘No. Quite.’ He looked guilty. ‘I’m sorry. That was a bit insensitive of me.’ He fumbled in his pocket and finally produced a small notebook and a pencil. ‘So what can you tell me about what happened?’

‘Not very much, I’m afraid. All I can recall is leaving the pub, walking home, trying to get my keys from my pocket, and then getting clobbered. That’s it. Not much help is it?’

‘How many assailants? Two? Three?’

‘I honestly don’t know.’ Then I had a thought. ‘I suppose they’ve taken my wallet and phone?’

‘Well, that’s the funny thing,’ the police officer said. ‘It wasn’t a robbery. You still had all those things in your pockets when you were brought into the hospital. In fact, it was a call made from your phone, by a young lady, that alerted us to the crime in the first place. Presumably the young lady was with you. Maybe she saw something?’

‘Young lady? Ha! I should be so lucky. There wasn’t anyone with me. I was on my own. I’m nearly always on my own.’

Like a bloodhound on the trail, the young policeman seemed to think I was hiding something. ‘Are you sure about that, sir? Are you sure you weren’t accompanied by a young lady with an Eastern European accent? Can anyone corroborate your story that you were on your own?’

‘Just a minute.’ I was getting annoyed now. ‘I’m not the one who committed a bloody crime here. I was on my own. The only people who can corroborate my story are the arseholes who bashed my head in. When you catch them you can ask them.’

The young police officer looked pleased with himself. ‘So there was more than one, then.’

‘You tell me. According to the nurse it looks like I had a meeting with several baseball bats. That would indicate more than one person, right? Of course, it could have been my misfortune to meet some sort of homicidal juggler.’

 The curtains parted and, like magic, the nurse reappeared and glared at the police officer. ‘Two minutes, I said. Don’t upset him, I said. He has a head injury, Constable. I think perhaps you’d better leave now.’

‘But, but, I haven’t finished yet,’ he stammered.

‘Oh yes you have. Go on, out!’ ordered the nurse.

The chastened officer gathered his things together. ‘We’ll talk again, sir,’ he said, as he passed through the curtains.

‘Yes, great,’ I said. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

The nurse fussed around me again. ‘You don’t have to talk to them while you’re in here,’ she said. ‘Especially if they’re just going to upset you.’

‘Oh, he’s just doing his job. But I do hate being called a liar. I’m supposed to be the victim here.’

‘Just settle down and try to sleep,’ she said, soothingly.

‘What’s your name, nurse?’

‘Gail.’

‘Well, thank you, Gail. I’m glad you’re on my side. I certainly feel safe in here.’

I was asleep before she had a chance to reply.

Chapter Three

It was approaching midday on Saturday. Having been overcome by nausea when I had tried to get out of bed earlier, I was still under observation in A&E. A shortage of beds meant I had to stay where I was until they said I could go home, but at least now I was sitting up.

Gail had gone off duty to be replaced by a younger nurse called Gillian. A harassed-looking young doctor had just finished examining me.

‘When can I go home, doc?’

‘If it wasn’t for the nausea earlier I’d send you home now,’ he said. ‘Is there anyone at home who can keep an eye on you?’

‘No. I live on my own, but I could phone someone if you let me have my phone.’

‘Give us the number and we’ll make the call,’ said the doctor.

‘I still need the phone to find the number.’

‘I’ll ask Gillian to bring your phone over in a moment,’ he replied. ‘As long as you can promise me you’ll have someone with you for the rest of the day, you can go home.’

Five minutes later, Gillian came over with the phone. ‘You show me who you want me to call,’ she said.

I fumbled through the contacts until I found the one I wanted. ‘Here. This guy, Dave. He’ll come and pick me up, no problem.’

‘Ok. I’ll go and make the call,’ said Gillian.

A few minutes later she was back. ‘He said to give him an hour and then you’ll be on way home. Must go now, very busy.’ She gave me a dazzling smile and skipped away.

 With nothing better to do, I decided I might as well get my head down and catch up with some sleep. And I began to dream. I was in the pub; there was a girl there reading a book. Then there was this great big giant of a guy. And the girl told him to leave her alone. She had an accent. And then there was nearly a fight. And, as the big guy left, he had threatened me.

So, was that it? Had the big guy beaten the crap out of me? But how did I get here? And who had made the phone call? The girl had the right accent but she had run away, so how could she have made the phone call?

Once again, I became aware someone had sat down next to me. Well if it’s that miserable bloody policeman again he could piss off. Very carefully, I eased open my good eye. Wow! Things were looking up! This was no policeman.

She sat with her head bowed, either deep in prayer or deep in thought, I couldn’t tell. Although I couldn’t see her face, I remembered she was very pretty. I coughed quietly.

She looked up with a start and there we sat, staring at each other: she with her two rather beautiful brown eyes, and me with my one, rather bruised and battered, eye.

Finally, she spoke. ‘You are good, yes?’

‘I’m not sure good is quite the word I’d use, but the doctor says I’ll survive, so I suppose yes, I’m good, thank you. Your mate did a good job.’

‘My mate? Sorry, I not understand?’

‘That big animal who tried to grab you in the pub. He said I’d regret it-’

‘Was not Gregov did this,’ she interrupted. ‘If Gregov get you, he cut you. Maybe even kill you. But this? This not his style.’

It seemed a weird idea to think a thug would have a particular style, but I thought I understood what she was getting at and that definitely made me stop and think. I mean if it wasn’t the guy who had actually threatened me, then who could have done it? And did this mean I could expect another good hiding anytime soon?

‘Oh. That’s not very reassuring,’ I said uneasily. ‘But I don’t recall anyone else threatening me recently. So what are you saying? It was a coincidence I got the crap beaten out of me?’

‘You think Gregov need help beat you? You brave man, but you are fool if you think Gregov need help beat shit out you. I don’t think, do you? Three men beating crap from you. It word you said – coincidence.’

She made it clear there was no point in arguing. Suddenly the penny dropped.

‘Hang on. How do you know it was three men? Were you watching?’

‘You nice man.’ she said. ‘No one else give me chance escape. I watch outside pub. I want make sure you home safe, so I wait, I watch. If Gregov come, I warn. But he not come. He not there. Other men wait for you in dark. I not see them until too late. But I see run off. I know Gregov not there, and these men nothing do with him.’

‘So who were they? Did you get a good look?’

‘I worry for you. So come help you. You were, how you say, the crap beat out, so I go through pockets, find phone, call help. I wait, I hear siren, then I go.’

‘So it was you who made the phone call. Why didn’t you wait?’

‘And answer awkward police question? You must be make joke, yes?’

‘Why? What are you hiding from?’

For a moment I thought she was going to tell me, but she just shook her head.

‘Believe me, much better not know. Better not involved.’

‘Involved in what? I don’t even know your name so you can hardly say I’m involved.’

‘Is better not know name.’

She bowed her head again and I found myself staring at the top of her head again. Not sure what to say, I decided to change tack.

‘You’re right. It’s none of my business. But I still owe you a big thank-you for calling that ambulance. I suppose it could have been much worse.’

She continued to look down at the floor and there was an awkward silence.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘If you’re in some sort of trouble I’d like to help you.’

More silence.

Then the unmistakable sound of high heels could be heard click-clacking along the corridor outside, getting louder. I froze. I knew that walk. Or was it my imagination? It couldn’t be, could it? Oh please, no. Don’t let it be her. How could she know where I was?

 As I sat there frozen in my own private nightmare, the girl seemed to come to a decision. She reached out and gently took my hand. ‘I think better I go,’ she said. ‘You are good man. Thank you.’

The click, clack, click, clack stopped. Right outside my cubicle. Oh, bollocks!

Chapter Four

The curtain parted and a head appeared. My heart sank. As I expected from the click-clacking, it was my ex-wife Gloria. There was a brief freeze-frame moment, me with my mouth open, the girl holding my hand. I remember wondering why I felt guilty.

The newly-arrived Gloria took in the scene and I could see from her face that she had immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion.

‘Oh. Interrupting something, am I?’

Now, it would be fair to say Gloria is not my favourite person. As ex-wives go, she’s one of the more bitter and twisted type. We were married for twenty years but eventually her philandering became too much for me. But, of course, in her eyes, like so many other people caught with their knickers down, it wasn’t her fault. In Gloria’s world, everything was my fault.

Although her looks had faded a bit, even in her mid-forties Gloria could still look good when she made the effort and, as always, she was smartly dressed. Today it was designer jeans and jacket, low-cut blouse displaying acres of cleavage, all finished off with a pair of bright red shoes with four-inch killer heels, which explained the click-clacking.

There’s a certain type of man who would say she was sexy. I would describe her as ‘all tits and no knickers’ but to be fair, I am a little biased. Whichever side of that particular fence you were on, you would have to agree she was dressed to kill, and it looked as though she felt she had just found a victim judging from the way she was looking down her nose at the younger girl’s tired face, rumpled jeans, and sweater.

‘Hello, Gloria’, I said, wearily. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Oh nice greeting.’ She sneered as she spoke. ‘Whatever happened to hello, Gloria, how are you? It’s good to see you. So nice of you to drive all the way here to pick me up and take me home.’

When she adopted that tone, her voice reminded me of fingernails being scraped across an old blackboard.

To be honest, she did have a point about the greeting, but quite frankly I was just being honest. I didn’t think it was good to see her. I had left Gloria more than two years ago, and she was the last person I wanted to see right now, no matter how much I needed help.

Anyway, I was more concerned with how she had known I was here. And what did she mean ‘pick me up and take me home’? That wasn’t what I had arranged.

‘Well? Who’s your friend, Alfie?’ she said, nodding at our hands. ‘Or perhaps you’re a bit more than friends? Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

She smiled at me and then at the girl. At least, it could have been a smile. Or it could possibly have been a grimace. With Gloria I often found it difficult to tell. It was the sort of expression a crocodile might offer its victim just before dinner. A random thought popped into my head, and I wondered if maybe she had wind.

Her gaze had the desired effect, making the younger girl shift uncomfortably. With a start, she let go of my hand as if it was a hot coal.

Whoops. This was awkward. I didn’t know her name.

‘Err, this is, err...’

‘Jelena. My name Jelena,’ she said, coming to my rescue. She stood up to face Gloria, making it quite clear she wasn’t going to be intimidated.

‘Oh nice,’ said Gloria, pausing just long enough to load up with poison. ‘If you like that sort of thing.’ She allowed a second or two for the barb to strike. ‘My name’s Gloria. I’m Alfie’s wife’.

‘Ex-wife,’ I snapped. ‘You’re my ex-wife.’

‘Mmm,’ sniffed Gloria, turning to the girl. ‘He tells all his girlfriends that.’

She was doing her best to wind me up, but I wasn’t going to bite.

‘That’s because you are my ex. And Jelena is not my girlfriend.’

‘Oh blimey,’ said Gloria, giving the girl another withering appraisal. ‘You’re not paying for it now, are you? I can come back later if I’m interrupting…’

I had thought that maybe this was going over Jelena’s head, but I guess the language of the cat fight was universal. Whatever, she wasn’t going to be phased by someone like Gloria.

‘I just leave,’ she said.

‘You don’t have to go,’ I pleaded, as she got to her feet. ‘Don’t take any notice of her.’

‘No. I think better I go.’ She gave Gloria a look of utter disdain before she added a parting shot. ‘If you really marry this person, I sorry for you. Now must go.’

She brushed past a now-bristling Gloria and disappeared through the curtain. Much as I was annoyed with Gloria, I couldn’t help but smile at the way Jelena had dealt with her. Gloria didn’t seem to see the funny side though.

‘Well!’ she snapped, looking daggers at the departing girl’s back. ‘Cheeky little tart! What does she mean she feels sorry for you?’

‘Trust me, you just wouldn’t understand, love...’

 Surprisingly, Gloria ignored the opportunity to make the situation worse and instead turned back to me. She had this really annoying habit of trying to organise my life and tell me what to do. Despite our separation, I could see nothing had changed on that front.

‘Well, are you ready to go? I was told you’d be ready and waiting. I haven’t got all day you know.’

‘You’re here to take me home? How did that happen? I didn’t ask anyone to call you.’

‘I got a call from the hospital here. Some nurse I think. Said you needed picking up, and as I’m your wife she thought I should be the person to do it.’

‘But you’re not my wife! You’re the last person I would call.’

‘That’s what you say,’ said Gloria, smiling victoriously. ‘But, technically, I think you’ll find we’re still married. And you didn’t do the calling, did you?’

I wasn’t happy about this at all, but I didn’t want to make a big scene. All I really wanted to do was go home, but Gloria didn’t know exactly where I was living, and I had no intention of letting her find out if I could help it. I didn’t want her turning up, making my life a misery, every time she felt like it.

Then again, they wouldn’t let me leave the hospital if they thought I was going to be on my own. So I had to figure out how I was going to do this.

‘Well come on then,’ she nagged. ‘Let’s get you dressed and get you out of here. Where are your clothes?’

‘Alright, alright,’ I said.

And just then, like a gift from heaven, a plan popped into my head. I didn’t like to deceive Gloria, and I knew she’d make my life hell when she caught up with me, but I just couldn’t face dealing with her for the rest of the day... 

It was raining as we reached the back entrance to the hospital where the car park was.

‘I’m parked over the back there.’ Gloria pointed towards the distant, far end of the car park. ‘Can you walk, or do you want to wait here for me?’

I had planned on sending her back in on a fool’s errand, but this was even better.

‘I can’t walk very quickly,’ I said. ‘Would you mind if I wait here in the dry?’

‘Oh.’ Gloria sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

Head down against the rain, she click-clacked her way across the car park. Unable to run in the high heels, she would be soaked by the time she got to her car.

I let her get a few yards away, then turned and made my way back into the hospital. The bruises stopped me from moving fast, and I had to be careful, but I was a man on a mission.

It took a few minutes, but eventually I reached the front entrance of the hospital. I was in luck. There was a small taxi rank just a few yards from the entrance, with an empty taxi obligingly ready to take me home. I hobbled across to it, opened the back door, and gingerly slipped inside.

‘Where to, mate?’ said the driver over his shoulder.

I gave him the address, and off we went. As we drove away, I saw a parking warden strolling towards the far end of the car park.

Chapter Five

My mobile phone had been buzzing like an angry wasp every couple of minutes. It was Gloria. I understood why she was annoyed, but how many angry text messages could one person send? I wondered if maybe I should contact the Guinness Book of Records. I certainly wasn’t going to speak to her again until she had calmed down.

I had made the mistake of answering her first call. Wow, did she go off on one. But listening to her ranting had proved I was right – what she was most annoyed about was not being able to find out where my flat was.

Admittedly, wasting her time ranked pretty high on her agenda too. Oh, and the fact she had got a parking ticket for leaving her car in front of the hospital while she went in to shout at the staff about my disappearan1ce. It’s probably best I don’t tell you what words she used to describe the poor old parking guy. And, of course, she was only too happy to tell me it was all my fault, but, for once she was right – on this occasion it was my fault.

It would be fair to say her opinion of me was none too high right now. So, nothing new there then. I’ll admit I did feel a bit guilty, but it was her own fault. If she found out where I lived, she’d be all over me like a rash.

In an attempt to appease her, I did offer to pay the parking fine, and I made a mental note to send some flowers to say sorry, although I had reservations about doing that. The last time I sent flowers, she assumed it meant I wanted to get back together with her, and that was definitely not on my agenda.

I deleted the latest tranche of text messages and decided to switch the mobile off – I would get no peace otherwise.

I shuffled across to the window. Outside, the light was beginning to fade. There was a definite chill in the air outside, but it was warm and cosy in my flat. Being right handed and having my right arm in a sling, I had to do everything with my left hand, which was proving to be a bit of a challenge.

I closed the curtains and turned on a couple of lamps. I was beginning to feel hungry, but I didn’t fancy trying to cook. In the fridge was a vegetable casserole. Maybe I could eat that. Then I had a great idea – why not heat the casserole and put it through the blender? Homemade soup – awesome idea!

At last I had creaked and groaned my stiff-as-a-board body around the kitchen and got everything together. It had taken so long, I was feeling exhausted, but I was also really hungry now. It was just a case of pouring the warmed-up casserole into the blender and then zapping the whole thing. The problem was, I couldn’t lift the damned casserole with one hand...

Carefully, I ladled the final scoop of casserole into the blender. I was so looking forward to this. It was just at this point, because I had only the one hand to use, I made a stupid mistake. I carefully placed the lid on the blender and switched it on.

Did you spot the mistake? No? Well here’s a little tip – always keep one hand on the blender lid...

I watched in fascination as the contents of the blender seemed to double in size before my very eyes when I switched it on. Sadly, the container didn’t double in size as well. Just like in a cartoon, the lid seemed to swell slightly then shoot into the air. Propelled in a clockwise spiral, the now uncontained contents painted a foot-wide stripe around the kitchen at head height.

 Fortunately, it had taken so long to get the contents into the blender they had cooled down quite a bit, so the faceful I got didn’t scald me, and my glasses stopped the stuff from going in my eyes, but for a moment I couldn’t see a thing...

I stood, dripping vegetable soup onto the kitchen floor. Carefully, I ran my glasses under the tap, dried them, and slipped them back on. But that didn’t really help much, and now I could see how much mess I had actually made.

You won’t believe just how far one blender jug, half-filled with soup, can go; it might look like half a pint when it’s inside the blender, but trust me, that’s an optical illusion. By the time it’s dripping down the walls, that half pint has become a gallon.

And as a form of decor – well, I’m no designer, but I don’t think it’s a look that will ever catch on. I wondered how the hell I was going to clean this lot up. I mean, I could hardly move. It would take all night...

Then the doorbell rang.

My first thought was that Gloria must have found me. Who else could it be?

It rang again. Bugger. Maybe if I ignored it she would go away.

But no, it wasn’t going to happen. It rang again – much longer, and more insistent this time.

Gingerly, I made my way to the front door and peered through the spy-hole but it appeared there was no one there.

The bell rang again. This time I crouched down and carefully opened the letterbox and peered through. I was sure I recognised that padded jacket from somewhere. But from where? Hang on a minute. Could it be? I took another peep. Now this was a surprise, and the really good news (definitely worth a big sigh of relief) was that it wasn’t Gloria.

I opened the door. ‘Jelena! What are you doing here?’

She looked up at me. ‘I sorry if disturb. I can go if busy.’

‘Not at all. Come in.’ I stepped back and opened the door wider. She came in then turned to face me as I closed the door.

‘Sure not bad time?’ she asked, with a smirk.

I looked in the mirror. What a state I was! I had vegetable soup in my hair and my face, all over the bandage around my head, and dripping down the front of me.

‘Ah! Yes. I’ve had a bit of an accident.’

‘You seem have lot accident.’

‘I can understand it probably looks that way.’ I made to wipe my face with my right hand but a sharp pain stopped me.

‘Your arm – is not good, yes?’

‘Yes. I mean no. It’s not good. Cracked, just below the elbow. It’s ok if I keep it still.’

‘Kitchen as mess as you?’

‘Err, well, no. It’s fine.’

‘I think you say “porky pie”, yes? I plenty time, you look need help’.

For a moment I was lost for words.

‘Is ok,’ she said. ‘Lead to mess. I clean.’

‘But I couldn’t possibly let you do that. For a start, I hardly know you.’

‘You know even less last night, but still help me. Now I help you. Is right.’ She smiled defiantly at me. Decision made then. But she wasn’t finished. ‘But first need clean you.’ She pointed to my bandage. ‘Need change. Where bathroom?’

I hadn’t seen her smile before. She had the most gorgeous dimples. And there was something about that accent. And the way her English wasn’t quite right; it really was very attractive to listen to. So while we cleaned up (well, okay, she did most of the work) I happily listened as she told me her story...

It turned out that she was here to find her aunt. She had been born in the early eighties when there had been a lot of trouble between the Serbs and Albanians in Kosovo. She had been just a few months old when her Serbian mother had been killed.

For her own protection she had been taken to Serbia, where she had been raised in an orphanage. She knew little about her family, most of whom had been murdered, but rumour had it she had a surviving aunt who was living in England. She had got this far but, for the moment at least, the trail had gone cold.

‘But what about the big guy? Gregov? Where does he fit into all this?’

‘I not much money, need get here. Gregov people smuggler, yes? I pay him bring me. I supposed work prostitute, but escape make way here. He must follow me.’

‘So what happens now? If the trail’s gone cold on your aunt what are you going to do?’

‘Not know.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Cannot give up. No money get home...’

Jelena had finished cleaning now, and we sat drinking coffee. She looked pale and tired, as though a good night’s sleep was something she hadn’t had in a while.

‘Where are you staying?’

She looked away, embarrassed. ‘I find somewhere.’

‘Where are your things? Your luggage? You must have brought some stuff with you.’

‘Bag in railway station locker. Is ok.’

‘But you don’t actually have anywhere to stay do you?’

‘Is ok.’

‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but is most definitely not ok! You can stay here tonight.’

She looked at me suspiciously. I went to raise my hands in surrender, winced at the pain and settled for raising just the left hand.

‘No catch,’ I said. ‘You can have the spare room.’

She continued to study my face.

‘Of course, if you’d prefer to try and find somewhere else at this time on a Saturday night...’

‘Why you do this?’

‘How about: a) because you look as though you haven’t slept in days, b) you could probably do with a hot bath, and c) because I like you.’

‘But how you know trust me? And how I know trust you?’

‘I know enough about you to want to help you, and I’m prepared to take the risk that I can trust you. As for trusting me – well, only you can decide that. But I would point out that not all men are like your friend Gregov. Some of us actually believe in truth, and honour, and old fashioned stuff like that.’

Finally, she made her mind up. ‘I stay one night only.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’ I grinned. ‘Hungry?’

She nodded.

‘Okay. While you have a soak in the bath, I’m going to order a takeaway...’

Chapter Six

Have you ever tried to get undressed with your right arm in a sling? It was a nightmare. My arm might not have been broken, but moving it even the slightest amount was bloody agony.

Getting dressed next morning was as bad. It took me an age to get a shirt on, and as for doing the buttons up left handed... Well, it was frustrating to say the least, but I finally felt I was presentable enough not to put Jelena off her breakfast.  

Not that I needed to worry. When I emerged from my bedroom, she was nowhere to be seen. I figured she was probably still sleeping so I tried to keep as quiet as possible to keep it that way, closing the kitchen door behind me.

I carefully made myself some coffee and sat at the table. The last couple of days had been pretty eventful and I wondered what today would bring. There was a click as the door opened and my guest wandered in behind a huge yawn.

The sight of this tiny girl, all five feet of her, wrapped up in my dressing gown made me smile. It was on the big side for me, so it was way too big for her. Even with the sleeves rolled up, you could only just see the tips of her fingers, and it dragged along the floor as she walked.

‘Morning. Sleep ok?’

‘Mmmyessssffffffannkkyou,’ she yawned. ‘Sleep very well.’

‘Here. Sit down, I’ll get you some coffee.’

She slumped in her chair, but after a few sips of coffee she began to wake up. Finally, she looked me up and down and started to laugh.

‘What?’ I said. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘You have trouble dress?’ She giggled.

I looked down at my front. With the sling around my neck, I hadn’t realised my shirt wasn’t hanging right. I had all the buttons in the wrong holes.

‘Ah. Right. Yes, well, I’m not left handed you see.’

‘Stand up,’ she said. ‘I help.’

She started to re-arrange my buttons. Then my sling. Then she sat me down and set about changing the bandage around my head. This close to her I could smell clean, and warm...

I’ll say this – I’ve had worse starts to a Sunday.

As I sat there, enjoying being pampered, the doorbell rang. Who was out and about this early on a Sunday? I was still in anti-Gloria mode, so I checked carefully before I dared risk opening the door. No worries. It was a gaunt-looking sixty-year-old in jogging gear. It was Positive Pete.

He was a bit like an older brother, and I suppose, technically, Pete and I were actually related by marriage. He had been married to Gloria’s older sister, Marie. Marie was ten years older than Gloria and if she had been Gloria’s role model, it certainly explained her propensity for extra-marital affairs. Marie had been at it throughout her marriage to Pete and in the end, she had broken the poor guy’s spirit.

It wasn’t so much the affairs that broke him as the realisation that everyone had known except him. Deeply embarrassed by what he saw as his own stupidity, convinced everyone must have been laughing at him, and angered by the fact that no one thought he should be told, he had withdrawn from his old life and friends and become a virtual recluse.

 But then he had discovered positive thinking and his whole life had changed. He now saw it as his responsibility to help me get over the break-up of my own marriage without falling apart. It was a bit like having my own personal life coach except, in reality, I think I was keeping him together as much as he was keeping me together.

 I swung the door open. ‘Hi, Pete. What you doing here at this time on a Sunday?’

His mouth dropped open when he saw me. ‘What happened to you? You go away for a few days and look at you!’

‘It’s a long story, mate. You’d better come in.’

I led the way through to the kitchen. If Pete’s face had been a picture when I opened the door you should have seen it when he saw my guest. It was pure disbelief. He had obviously jumped to the same conclusion as Gloria. You could almost hear his mouth drop open and he turned to me with a big question in his eyes.

‘No, it’s not what you think,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Jelena, this is my good friend Pete. Pete, meet Jelena.’

‘Hello, Pete. Very please meet.’

She gave Pete the benefit of her beautiful smile, dimples and all. Embarrassed and awkward with women, Pete clearly wasn’t sure if he should shake hands, kiss her or what. So he just stood there with his mouth open.

‘Very nice.’ He said it as if he was passing judgement, then added hastily, ‘To meet you.’

‘Sit down.’ She pointed to the seat she had just vacated. ‘I get coffee.’

‘That would be good,’ he said, his mouth still agape. I gave him a nudge and signed to close his mouth.

Jelena bustled around for a minute and then placed a cup of coffee on the table. ‘You talk. I take shower, get dressed.’ Because the dressing gown reached the floor, hiding her legs and feet, she seemed to glide across the floor, almost as if she was on wheels.

Pete’s eyes followed her all the way to the door. As it closed, he turned to stare at me.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Don’t give me that innocent expression. I find you looking as if you’ve done ten rounds in a boxing ring. Then there’s a beautiful young woman in your kitchen, wearing your dressing gown, and you say “what”? You’ll have to do better than that.’

And so I told him everything that had happened since I returned on Friday evening.

‘So this big ugly guy isn’t the one who beat you up then?’ asked Pete.

‘Jelena says he definitely wasn’t there, and they weren’t his friends. And she seems to know who his friends are.’

‘What about the police? When are they coming back? Did you tell them what the attacker said to you?’ Pete was on a roll with the questions.

‘No, I didn’t tell them because I didn’t remember it when I spoke to them. As for when they’re coming back – who knows? I expect they’ve got plenty of better things to worry about.’

‘What? In Tinton? You really think so?’

Pete had a point. This wasn’t exactly the crime capital of Europe.

‘Well, there are some positives from all this.’ He wasn’t called Positive Pete for nothing.

‘Like what?’ I couldn’t wait to hear his positive spin on this.

‘You’ve met some new people-’

‘-who beat the crap out of me,’ I finished.

‘Now, you’re just being negative. What about the nurse?’

‘The one who treated me, or the one who called Gloria?’

‘Ah. Yes. Now I’ll admit it’s difficult to put a positive spin on that. But, what about your guest? What’s her name? Jelena? Now that has to be a positive.’

I had to admit, he had me there. Even if I had got battered after meeting her, she had certainly brightened up today.

‘Oh crap,’ said Pete. ‘Look at the time. I’ve got to go.’

I followed him to the front door.

‘I’ll put my thinking head on. Someone must have had a reason for doing this. You never know I might even come up with something. Speak soon.’ With that he was gone.

I closed the door and turned towards the kitchen. Jelena had just come from her bedroom. Squeaky clean as she now was, her clothes were definitely letting her down.

‘Your clothes need washing.’

‘No more clothes wear.’

‘Let’s get your bag from the station then you can use my washing machine.’

She started to protest. ‘But-’

‘No arguing. You said you had nowhere to rush off to, and I’m in no hurry, so let’s get you sorted out.’

She looked crestfallen. ‘But how repay?’

‘We have a saying in England: never look a gift horse in the mouth. Right now, I’m your gift horse.’ Then I had a thought. ‘Can you cook?’

‘Of course,’ she said, proudly. ‘I good cook.’

‘Ok. You want to pay me back? How about while we’re out we get some shopping and you cook dinner?’

There was that smile again. ‘Only if I get choose food.’

The smell of cooking permeated the flat. I had been banished to the living room while she prepared dinner. All she would tell me was that it was some sort of Serbian stew, similar to ratatouille. If it was half as good as it smelled...

Meanwhile I pondered what to do about her clothes. I mean, when I travel I take a suitcase. And I just sort of assumed that’s what everyone did. That’s what we all do, isn’t it? But then most of us don’t travel by people smuggler, do we?

This girl was proving to be a real eye-opener for me. Jelena had, as she had said, just one bag. It turned out to be a very small bag. To put it bluntly, the bag she had would have been too small for most people to even consider as a carry-on. The clothes she had on were just about all she had.

We were just going to have to go shopping for clothes for her. But I knew this was going to hurt her pride. She was already struggling to deal with my hospitality; buying her clothes may be a step too far...

Dinner was everything the aroma had promised. I hadn’t realised just how hungry I was, and I burped quietly and happily. From the kitchen, I could hear the sounds of washing up. Jelena had insisted and I didn’t want to argue. We had already had a long and uncomfortable discussion about buying new clothes that I had just about won, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

Evening had arrived outside and I went through my ritual of closing out the night with curtains and replacing the gloom with my own lighting. We still had half a bottle of red wine to finish and I was already feeling a little mellow. I hadn’t shared my living space with another person since my split with Gloria, and I have to say I was enjoying the experience.

I eased myself onto the sofa. I found that propping myself in the corner was the most comfortable position. Jelena came in and sat at the other end. We had found her a pair of slippers in the supermarket and now she slipped them off, swivelled in her seat, and curled up facing me. She leaned forward and looked over the top of her wine glass at me. She obviously wanted to tell me something.

‘Go on,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘You obviously have something on your mind, so come on, out with it.’

She sighed, undecided. ‘I not know.’

‘What don’t you know?’

‘I not know what you want.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I not know what you want. Always men want something, it usually same thing every time.’

I felt a bit vacant for a moment, then I realised what she meant. ‘Oh, I see. You’re wondering when I’m going to try it on.’

Now it was her turn to look vacant.

‘Try it on,’ I repeated. ‘Try to get you into bed. Is that what you mean?’

She nodded. ‘Where I come from-’

‘Is not where you are now,’ I finished. ‘I’m not about to try and talk my way inside your knickers. That’s not what I do, and I would never presume to think you’d want me to.’

This was a theme I could warm to very easily. It always amazes me that women don’t want men to stereotype them, but they are more than happy to put us guys all in one boat. I mean, come on, girls, you can’t have it both ways!

‘Believe it or not, I like you, and I would like to try and help you if I can. Quite frankly, having you here is like a breath of fresh air. You said yourself you have nowhere to go, so why not stay here for a few days and let me see if I can find out anything to help you?’

‘You mean? You think can help me?’

‘I’ll make no promises, but I do have a friend who is a retired journalist. He knows a lot of stuff about a lot of things, especially in this area. If your aunt is here, he just might know something. I’ll go and talk to him tomorrow. After we’ve been shopping.’

She studied me for a moment, then placed her glass carefully on the small table next to her. On all fours she crawled across to my side of the sofa. ‘Yesterday think you nice man. Today think you more.’ She leaned across and kissed me gently on the cheek. ‘Today think special friend.’

Then she lost her balance and reached for my arm to steady herself. I tried hard not to scream as she clutched my cracked arm, but sometimes you just have to.

Chapter Seven

Monday morning, I awoke to hear a faint, very rare sound. There was a woman singing in my flat. It totally threw me for a few seconds, then I rolled onto my right side. The jolt of pain that shot up my arm served as a painful reminder.

It was Jelena. I couldn’t quite make out the song, but there was no doubting the happiness in the voice. I struggled into a sitting position and decided to wait for my arm to stop throbbing before I got up.

The singing stopped, and a couple of seconds later, the door opened a crack. A happy, smiley face looked enquiringly at me. She gave me her full strength smile. ‘Coffee for you,’ she said, lifting the mug for me to see.

‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ I said, wincing painfully.

‘No, you stay. I bring.’ She floated across the room, dressing gown still dragging along the floor. She looked down, then grinned at me. ‘Sweep floor, yes?’

I gave her a cross between a smile and a wince in return.

‘Arm still hurt? I sorry. So clumsy.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I just need a couple of tablets.’

She placed the coffee on the bedside table. ‘I know where. I get.’ She came back carrying her own coffee too. I wondered what was going to happen next. ‘Ha!’ She laughed. ‘Now you think, how you say, I try get in your knickers.’

I should be so lucky I thought. But I managed to keep my face deadpan.

‘Can I sit with?’ she asked.

‘Of course, you can.’

I expected her to sit at the foot of the bed, but no, she marched around to the other side and climbed up next to me. On top of the covers.

‘Now,’ she said, handing me the painkillers. ‘Take tablet. Then tell what is plan for today?’

Spending a morning taking Jelena shopping was rather like taking a kid to a toy store. Except kids don’t understand the concept of how much things cost. She was constantly delighted by the things she saw, then horrified by the price, continually telling me this was too expensive and that was too expensive.

It was shopping by negotiation, but eventually we agreed on a selection of t-shirts, two sweaters (it was autumn, after all), a pair of jeans and a couple of nice tops.

She insisted on having my approval of everything she chose or, tried on, before she would allow me to buy it. I drew the line at helping when it came to underwear and sent her off to choose for herself.

She chose trainers instead of shoes. ‘Better practical’ she assured me. But she refused point blank to have a new dressing gown. Apparently my big baggy dressing gown was now hers and there was no way she was going to part with it. ‘Happy sweep floor,’ she said, laughing.

Having exhausted the idea of modelling her new clothes on our return to the flat, (it wasn’t exactly an extensive range), Jelena had decided she would devote the rest of her afternoon to exploring my books, DVDs, and my old CD collection.

She had taken it upon herself to act as my cook, cleaner, and nurse. I didn’t really want her to feel she had to do these things but it obviously made her feel happier about accepting my charity, so I had only put up token resistance.

She helped me into my coat. ‘I do button for you.’

‘It’s no good,’ I said. ‘They won’t do up with my arm in a sling. Don’t worry – he only lives ten minutes away.’

‘Get cold,’ she said, brushing imaginary dust from my coat.

‘Stop fussing – it’s like being five again with my mum fussing over me.’

I could see a smart-arse retort forming, but before she could say it my mobile started chirping. Of course, it was in my right hand coat pocket so I couldn’t reach it.

‘Here.’ She laughed triumphantly, reaching into my pocket. ‘Mum get for you.’

She left me to my phone call, poking her tongue out at me as she went.

It was Pete. ‘I went for a drink with Freddie last night. You know, Freddie from the old crowd?’

‘Lucky you,’ I said derisively. ‘None of that lot even acknowledge I exist anymore.’

Back in the day, when I was married to Gloria, we used to have quite a circle of friends, but as so often happens the marriage break-up had polarised those friends. Just about every single one, bar Pete, had stuck with Gloria. I was an outcast.

‘Ah. Yes. Well.’ Pete sounded uncomfortable. ‘I think I might know why that is.’

There was an awkward silence. ‘Well, go on, mate. You can tell me. What have I done?’

‘Err, well, it’s bit. It’s difficult. You’re not going to like it.’

‘What? What am I not going to like?’

‘Well, apparently, the word is you’re not a very nice person. It seems you used to beat up Gloria. She put up with it for years, but eventually she couldn’t take it anymore and she left you.’

A cold, sick feeling spread through my guts.

‘Alfie? You still there?’

‘But that’s not true! It’s a load of bollocks. I never touched her, ever. And she didn’t leave me, I bloody left her. That’s why she still has the house. And she wanted me to go back – you know that.’

‘I know, mate, I know. You don’t have to tell me. But it’s what they all believe. That’s why no one ever gets in touch or anything.’

‘And they all believe her?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid they do,’ said Pete.

And then I had thought. This all started to make sense now. I remembered when I got beaten up the other night one of the blokes had said to me ‘now you know how it feels’. Was that my punishment for being a wife-beater? If so, who the hell had decided it was necessary?

They say ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’. Well, I’ve got news for them. The thing was, I hadn’t scorned Gloria. She was the one doing the shagging, behind my back. That’s why I’d left her.

I was so disappointed but, sadly, I wasn’t really surprised. Gloria was an accomplished liar. Just like her older sister, Marie, she was skilled in the art of deception. Only this time she had deceived not just me but all of our friends, just so she could play the victim.

Oh Gloria. What have you done? Did I really deserve this?

Despite Pete’s insistence that he should rush over and console me, I eventually managed to convince him that I was ok and he would be wasting his time anyway because I was just going out.

‘Well. Call me if you need me, right?’ were his parting words.

I thought I probably would, but I had to think about what to do first. I mean, how was I going to put this right? Being held accountable for something you’ve done is one thing, but when it’s a complete fabrication...

I was just going to have ask Gloria to tell everyone the truth. Yeah, like that was going to happen…

Dry Biro is not your everyday name, but then he’s not your everyday kind of guy. He was in his eighties now and long retired, but in his heyday he had been a renowned, and feared (by many), investigative journalist.

He had a few well-known scalps to his name, but unfortunately somewhere along the line he had ruffled a few too many feathers, and he’d been quietly put out to grass on the local newspaper.

The name Dry Biro had been given to him by a group of his old ‘colleagues’ as a reminder that, while he might have been feared in his heyday, he was now a spent force. He had never stopped researching, though, and he had a house full of information that he periodically released into the world anonymously. He regarded it as his hobby. 

His house was only ten minutes’ walk from my flat. I knocked on the door. A deep baying could be heard from within the house. It was Betty, his basset hound. The sound suddenly got louder as a door opened somewhere inside. ‘Coming, coming,’ called a voice.

The door swung open to reveal a frail-looking old man with silver hair and a neatly trimmed silver beard. He was wearing tatty trousers, a grubby shirt, and a sweater that had definitely seen better days. The whole ensemble was topped off rather incongruously with a beret, yet somehow it all came together and looked right.

‘Alfie! Good heavens,’ he said looking me up and down. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Hello DB. Make us a cup of tea and I’ll tell you.’ Recognising my voice, the basset began to howl with delight, forcing her way past the old man to say hello. ‘Hello, Betty.’ I bent down and fussed her as best I could with the one hand, causing her tail to draw massive circles of joy, beating Dry Biro’s legs in the process.

‘Come on in,’ he said, laughing, ‘before this stupid dog breaks my legs.’

His house had the slightly musty smell of old books, but there was much more to this intriguing old man than his book collection.

We had become friends a few years ago when we used to meet walking our dogs. I found him a fascinating character with lots of tales to tell. I had always wanted to write, and when my life went pear-shaped he had encouraged me to use this chance to start again as a writer. So here I was, with a mentor willing to teach me anything I wanted to know about writing.

But he wasn’t just a mentor. He had an extensive personal library of books on a range of subjects, and he still had a very enquiring mind. It hadn’t taken him long to understand the huge resources available to him via the internet. Even when he’d been put into exile on a local newspaper, when many people might have given up, he had merely diverted his attention to more local matters and built up an encyclopaedic knowledge of local affairs.

He helped me out of my coat and ushered me into his huge kitchen. He pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down, my boy, sit down, while I make some tea.’

Having welcomed me in like a long lost friend, Betty obviously considered her job done and eased her long body into a dog bed that was obviously designed for a smaller dog. She settled happily, one long ear flopping over the side.

‘You really should get that dog a bigger bed, you know.’

‘Tell her that.’ Dry Biro smiled. ‘When I bought one for her she wouldn’t use it. Maybe she just prefers a snug fit.’ He set two mugs of tea on the table and pulled up a chair. ‘Now then, what have you been up to?’

And so, once again, I went through the events of the past weekend.

When I had finished he sat back and studied me. ‘I’ve told you before you should keep away from that “friend” of yours and his pub.’

‘What, Dave? It wasn’t his fault.’

‘Maybe not this time, but trust me, he’s bad news.’

‘He’s okay. You just don’t like him that’s all.’

He shook his head. He never had liked Dave, although he’d never explained exactly why. I assumed it was just one of those cases where someone took a dislike to someone else for no particular reason.

‘Hmm. So this young woman thinks her aunt is here somewhere but the trail has gone cold. What if it’s gone cold because her aunt doesn’t want to be found? Have you thought about that?’

‘Well, I hadn’t really given much thought to anything in particular. I just want to try and help her if I can.’

A smile crept across DB’s face, and his eyes twinkled. ‘Aha! So you have a soft spot for her.’

Well, I couldn’t deny that – he certainly had me there. ‘Ha! If I was twenty years younger, maybe.’

‘So you do like her then. Okay, what do you want me to do?’

‘You know this area and the people here. I just wondered if you knew anyone who might fit the bill. Maybe she was living here and has moved away?’

‘I can certainly do some digging for you. It will take a little time, but then what else does an old man have to do? Come back tomorrow and perhaps I will have something for you.’

Having been helpless to reach my phone last time it rang, I had taken the precaution of slipping it back into the left side of my coat. Walking back to my flat, I used it to call Positive Pete. ‘I can’t drive so I need a lift,’ I told him when he answered.

‘No problem – where to?’

‘Gloria’s.’

‘Are you for real? You really want to go over there? But you know she hates me.’

He had a point there. Where Gloria was concerned, he was the red rag to her bull. Seeing him would create a shit storm before we even started.

‘I’ll face her on my own. You can wait in the car.’

‘When?’

‘We’ll have to give her time to get home from work, so how about six o’clock?’

‘I’ll be there.’

‘Fine. That’ll give me to time to polish my armour.’

Any sort of confrontation with Gloria was always likely to turn nasty, and I usually preferred to avoid her, but I wasn’t backing down over this. She’d gone too far this time.

Chapter Eight

Just as he promised, Positive Pete knocked on my door at six. Jelena was helping me into my coat as I opened the door. She hadn’t forgotten my comment about my mum helping me get dressed earlier, and for a moment I thought she was going to pat me on the head or something. But, instead of embarrassing me, she turned her attention to Pete.

‘Hi, Peter,’ she said, with a sultry sigh. ‘How you today?’

He might have just about coped with the sexy sigh, but then she gave him the full volume smile with dimples, and he turned into a blubbering wreck. ‘H-h-hi Jelena. I’m fine, how are you?’

I laughed. ‘Hey. Stop flirting with my driver. I need him to concentrate on the road.’ Then I turned to the red-faced Pete. ‘Come on, you. You’re far too old for all this excitement. Close your mouth and put your tongue away before you trip over it.’

He humphed and grumbled his way to the car, mumbling something about ‘not that bloody old’.

Gloria’s house was down towards the end of a cul-de-sac. There was a short drive up to the house, just enough to park two vehicles. I asked Pete to turn the car around and park across the end of the drive. I wasn’t really expecting to have to make a quick getaway, but you can never be too careful.

I rang the doorbell. It was a grey, overcast evening; not quite dark but heading that way. There were lights on, so she must be home. I waited a few seconds then rang again. A light blossomed upstairs and I heard footsteps plodding reluctantly down the stairs, accompanied by quiet swearing.

That was when it dawned on me that there were two cars parked on the drive. Perhaps this might not have been the best time to call. It looked as though I’d caught her in the act – and not for the first time. Oh dear.

‘Who is it?’ Gloria’s unmistakable voice.

‘It’s me, Alfie.’

The door was flung open to reveal Gloria, hastily clad in a short dressing gown that she was holding closed. She was obviously naked underneath.

‘You pick your times, don’t you? I was in the shower.’

This was one of her more obvious lies. She was bone dry. It was quite obvious what she had been doing. Her hair stuck up all over the place, looking as though it had been styled by Worzel Gummidge on a bad day.

‘That’ll be one of those new dry showers then,’ I said.

‘What?’ she said, as my clever remark flew harmlessly over her head.

‘I always thought my comic talents were wasted on you.’

‘What are you on about, Alfie? Have you come over here to take the piss?’

‘Funny you should mention taking the piss. That’s exactly what I’ve come over here to talk to you about.’ As we faced each other across her doorway, I could almost touch the waves of malice heading my way.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘I haven’t got time for your games, I’m busy. Now bugger off!’

She made to shut the door, but I got my foot in the way. She slammed it anyway. ‘Ahh! Bloody hell Gloria, you’ll break my foot!’

‘Well, go away,’ she said. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you. Take your foot away or I’ll do it again.’

‘No. I’m not going anywhere until you’ve explained something to me.’

She took a quick look over her shoulder towards the stairs. ‘What? What have I got to explain?’

‘How about you tell me how I come to have a broken arm, broken head and enough bruises to make me look like a bloody chess board.’

‘It’s not my fault if you got into a pub fight.’

‘Oh, but I’m beginning to think it is your fault. This wasn’t the result of a pub fight. It was a punishment beating.’

‘What?’ She actually did look confused now. She sneaked another look towards the stairs.

‘He’ll wait,’ I said, nodding upstairs. ‘He can’t go anywhere anyway. I’ve blocked the drive.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ But the guilt gave her away so easily.

‘No love, of course you don’t. But if there’s no one upstairs, you can spare me five minutes can’t you.’

She struggled for an excuse.

‘Look at the state of me, Gloria. This isn’t a joke. I was lucky. I could have been in a bloody coma when you came to the hospital on Saturday.’

She quickly seized the opportunity to try to turn the tables on me. ‘You don’t want to get me started about Saturday. You made me look a right fool. And you cost me a bleedin’ fortune.’

‘Stop right there!’ I’d had enough of this. ‘Don’t you dare start giving me grief over that. If it wasn’t for you and your damned lies I wouldn’t have been in the bloody hospital in the first place.’ My voice was getting louder as my patience began to wear thin.

‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said, huffily. ‘But you’d better come in. I don’t want the neighbours to hear you shouting your head off.’

She led the way into her lounge. As we passed the foot of the stairs, I heard a footstep at the top. I looked up and nodded. ‘It’s alright, mate, she’ll be back in a minute. She’s just got to explain something to her husband.’

I couldn’t really see his face, but I swear he went a deathly shade of white. I heard a thump as he sat heavily on the stairs.

Gloria was ready for battle, arms folded across her ample bosom. ‘Right,’ she snarled. ‘What’s this all about? How’s it my fault?’

‘In all the time we were together, Gloria, did I ever hit you?’

Now that confused her. ‘What? No. Of course you didn’t. We wouldn’t have lasted five minutes if you were like that.’

‘But apparently I’ve been beating you up, over a number of years. Or at least that’s what all my old friends have been told.’

Suddenly she became a lot less aggressive and a lot more evasive. ‘I don’t know anything about that, honest.’

‘See, the problem is, you wouldn’t know honest if it slapped you in the face.’

‘How dare you?’

‘Oh come on, Gloria. Our whole bloody marriage was based on lies. What have you told people about our separation? From what I hear, you left me because you couldn’t take any more beatings.’

‘I never said anything of the sort,’ she said, uncertainly.

I was pacing around now, definitely in my stride, as it were. ‘Oh but you have, haven’t you? Why tell the truth when a good lie will get you off the hook and lay all the blame at my feet? That’s always been your policy, and it always will be. It’s about time you learned to take some responsibility for your own actions.’

I was in full flow now, and there was no way she could get a word in. ‘So, how many of our “friends” have you told. I mean that, in itself, would be bad enough, but best of all, somewhere along the line, you asked someone to come and beat the crap out of me. How could you?’

She had gone pale now and sank into an armchair. ‘Oh no! I’m so sorry. But it’s not like you think. I haven’t told anyone honest. But my sister…’

‘Your sister? What? You told her?’

‘Well, no, not exactly. She sort of hinted that you might have been hitting me.’

‘And?’

‘And, well, I didn’t exactly deny it. But I didn’t admit it either. And I haven’t told anyone else, honest.’

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. ‘You know, the problem I have, Gloria, is that you’ve told me so many lies in the past, I don’t know what’s truth and what’s fiction anymore.’

‘But, Alfie, I wanted you back – I wouldn’t have asked anyone to beat you up.’

‘So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that your sister has been going around telling everyone that I used to beat you up.’

‘Yes. It wasn’t me. Honestly, I wouldn’t.’

‘But you knew she was doing it?’

‘Well, I suppose so yes, but-’

‘You knew she was doing it, but you didn’t try to stop her, or mention to anyone that it wasn’t actually true?’ My tone made my disgust quite clear as I went on. ‘How convenient is this for you? Now all those people see you as an innocent victim and me as a real nasty piece of work.’

‘I’m so sorry-’

I headed for the door. ‘I don’t think there’s anything left to say, do you, Gloria?’

‘There’s one more thing you should know.’

I was in the hall now. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

‘Yes, you do.’ She was following me. ‘Marie’s hooked up with a new man. His name’s Nugent. He’ll be the one who had you beaten up.’

It was dark at the top of the stairs, but I could just make out a shadowy figure. I stopped and turned to him. ‘Did you get that, mate? What do you think she might falsely accuse you of? Is it really worth risking your marriage for a woman like this?’ I let myself out. 

Chapter Nine

I was still angry about Gloria and her lies next morning as I walked over to Dry Biro’s, but I’d managed to move on a bit. Yesterday, I was thinking it was no wonder no one ever contacted me. I could imagine how highly I must now rank in their eyes if they all believed I had been beating her up. Today, though, I had a different perspective. Today I was wondering how well had those people known me if they really thought I had been doing that? Perhaps they all had a pretty low opinion of me in the first place.

Then there was still the problem of what I could do about it. I’d never heard of this Nugent guy, and would talking to him really make any difference anyway? I asked myself if I was really bothered about it. The answer was a resounding ‘yes I was’. This was my reputation being booted around by all and sundry and all because of something I hadn’t done. It just wasn’t right.

I was given the usual noisy Betty the basset greeting when I got to DB’s house, and I had to stop and scratch her ears before she poured herself back into her bed, tail and ears spilling over the edges as usual.

Dry Biro looked rather thoughtful this morning as he made the tea, but I was impatient to see if he had any news.

‘So, did you find anything to help Jelena?’

He carried two mugs over and settled at the table. ‘I think I have some news for you.’

‘What? You found her aunt? Has she moved away? Is it far?’

‘Wait, wait, wait. Just one question at a time. Or, better still, no questions. Just sit and listen for a few minutes. This isn’t quite as straightforward as you think. I’ve had to think about whether I should tell you or not.’

‘How do you mean?’

He took a sip of his tea, then gave me a long, hard look. ‘Remember I told you I used to travel the world covering stories?’

I nodded.

‘Well, back in the late eighties and early nineties I spent a lot of time in what was then Yugoslavia, especially in the region known as Kosovo. There was some nasty stuff happening there at that time...’

Well, you learn something new every day. Old Dry Biro had been right in the thick of the action back then. This was serious stuff and as he recounted his story, I could see he still vividly remembered the things he had seen back then.

I listened, fascinated, as he told me his tale. I lost all track of time. It was easy to see why he had been so successful as a journalist. I found myself wishing I had his ability to tell a story. And what a story emerged.

It turns out that Dave, my pub landlord mate, had been in Kosovo too, but not in the capacity I had thought. I mean, I just assumed he was there as part of a peacekeeping force, but it turns out he was actually undercover. I’m not sure I really understood the part he was playing, but that’s not important to this story.

What is relevant is that there was a young Serbian woman working as some kind of freedom fighter in the same region. It wasn’t a good thing to be Serbian in Kosovo at that time. The woman made many enemies during that time, and it was to cost her dearly. In reprisal, her family were wiped out, including her sister who had just had a baby. This much is known because all the bodies were accounted for, but the baby, a girl, was never found.

No one knew if she had been killed, kidnapped, or if she had been smuggled away to safety before the family was murdered.

Dry Biro had finished his story. I sat for a moment, a hundred questions seemingly fighting for my attention. I thought I understood what he was telling me, but it seemed a bit far-fetched. I mean, this is the real world, not some movie.

‘So, let me get this straight. You’re saying Dave was a sort of secret agent, or something like that.’

The old man nodded. ‘Uh, huh. Something like that.’ He obviously wasn’t going to get too specific.

‘But, what about this Serbian woman? What was her name? What happened to her? You do know, don’t you?’

‘Her name was Senka Ilic. She became a legend among her own people. I don’t know all the background, but I do know she ended up working for us, the British, after her family was wiped out. I also know that eventually, after all the troubles, for her own protection, she was given a new identity. She now lives quietly in England.’

I thought I saw where this was going, but surely it couldn’t be. ‘So what’s her name now?’

‘Sophia Ingliss.’

Even though I had already guessed, it still seemed incredible. ‘You’re joking! My landlady? The lady who lives in the flat above mine, and runs a quiet little tea shop?’

‘The very same. The tea shop is just a cover,’ explained Dry Biro. ‘Haven’t you ever wondered how she can make a living with a shop that has hardly any customers and is often closed?’

‘Well. Now you come to mention it, yes, that does explain why she comes and goes without ever worrying about the shop being closed.’

‘It’s the same with your “friend” and his pub. He’s taken on the pub in his own right now, but he was originally installed there to keep an eye on her and keep her safe.’

This was getting more fantastic by the minute. ‘You promise me this isn’t some kind of wind-up and you’re not making this all up?’ I asked him. Then I had another thought. ‘Are you supposed to be telling me all this?’

‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘So it’s probably not a good idea to spread it around. I just thought you ought to know. It’s also a little concerning to think your young friend managed to track down her aunt, don’t you think?’

‘Maybe it just means no one else is looking.’

‘Let’s hope you’re right.’

Now there was a thing. The last thing we want is some sort of vendetta going down in Tinton. But, right now, what was I going to tell Jelena?

‘Blimey, I never expected this to be so complicated. What do I do now? Should I tell Jelena her aunt’s living right next door? What d’you reckon?’

‘I think you first need to speak to Sophia. Maybe she doesn’t want to see her long lost niece.’

‘You really think so?’

‘Not really, no. If I’m any judge, and I think I am, Sophia will be overjoyed, but I still think you should speak to her first.’

He was right, of course. I would have to let Sophia know, and soon. In fact, she had been away for a few days but was due back tonight.

‘I could listen to you telling me stories all day long, but I’m going to have to love you and leave you.’

‘You’re always welcome here, you know that.’ He led the way back out to the door.

Then I had a thought about something else he might be able to help me with. ‘You know everyone around here, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know about everyone, but I know a few, yes.’

‘Ever heard of a bloke called Nugent? Bit of a heavy apparently.’

He frowned. ‘What do you want with him?’

‘Apparently he was the nice man who gave me all my bruises.’

‘You don’t want to get involved with Nugent, Alfie. He really is bad news. A psycho. He’s known as Nugent the Nutter. He’s a very dangerous and unpredictable man with a team of knuckleheads working for him. He likes to think of himself as the local godfather. Thinks he’s the mafia, you know?’

‘That sounds like the guy. Know where I can find him?’

‘You don’t want to find him, believe me.’

‘Oh, but I do. Me and him need to have a little chat about re-establishing my reputation.’

He really didn’t want to tell me, but eventually he gave me the name of Nugent’s snooker club. Apparently he’s there most of the time, so I figured he shouldn’t be too hard to find.

Chapter Ten

‘But you’re supposed to be the guy who’s positive about everything,’ I said.

‘Yes, that’s right, and I’m positive this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.’

I’d just told Positive Pete he was taking me to see Nugent, but he wasn’t keen. Apparently he had heard of Nugent’s reputation and wasn’t happy about putting it to the test.

‘It’ll be fine. We’ll just go in, have a pint and a chat, then we come home again.’

‘People like Nugent don’t “have a chat”. They batter you with baseball bats. I thought you’d learned that lesson. It’s their way of making sure you understand what they’re telling you. It’s how they get what they want.’

The discussion had gone on like this for about half an hour, but in the end Pete gave in and agreed to be my driver, again. I knew he would, and he knew if it was the other way around, I’d be there for him. It’s what best mates do.

I’d never met Nugent before but it was easy to spot him. He was about my age, perhaps a couple of years older, but he was a bit on the podgy side. I suppose that’s what comes of getting other people to do all your dirty work for you. The suit had been nicely tailored. He obviously liked to spend money on himself.

He was stood to one side of the bar, surrounded by half a dozen cronies. There were about a dozen other people in the club, all men. Two were playing darts and a couple more were clattering balls around a pool table.

Nugent spotted us straight away, but then we did look somewhat out of place. As if on some hidden cue, everyone in the place went quiet and, to a man, they turned to stare. We were obviously as welcome as a pair of turds in a hot tub.

You know what it’s like when you see someone for the first time, and something about them reminds you of someone else. It could be the way they dress, their mannerisms. Whatever, there’s just something familiar about them.

Well, I had that feeling when I saw Nugent. It was as if I knew him, even though I’d never met him, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. Until he spoke. Then I knew exactly where I knew him from.

He appeared to have modelled himself on Boycie from ‘Only Fools and Horses’. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a close enough approximation for me to picture Boycie when he spoke. I half expected Marlene to appear at any moment.

‘Well, well, well’, said Nugent for the benefit of his audience. ‘Look what we have here. If it isn’t the Tinton wife-beater. And he’s brought his dad along.’ He looked at me hard before continuing his monologue. ‘Oh dear! You seem to have had some sort of accident. Did you upset someone?’

I tried to ignore his sarcasm and carried on walking towards the bar. His tone changed from annoying to menacing. ‘You’ve got some balls coming here, Bowman. Especially in the state you’re in.’

Now, it’s not that I don’t get scared in these situations. That’s not the case at all. I get plenty scared, but there’s something inside me that sort of short circuits. I mean the sensible thing to do would be for my legs to start working and carry me out of there, right? But instead of doing the sensible thing my brain bypasses my legs and engages my mouth. That’s exactly what was about to happen.

‘Am I supposed to be scared?’ I said. ‘Because it’s not working.’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pete wince as I spoke, and I’m sure I heard a faint whimper. He was beginning to twitch as his nerves started to get the better of him.

‘Come on, Pete, let’s get a drink.’ I took another step towards the bar and two heavies moved to block my way. As I made to go between them, the one on my right stuck his arm out, just enough to catch my cracked elbow. I couldn’t help but wince – it was still oh so tender. I looked at Nugent.

‘Can’t a guy get a drink in here?’

Nugent looked to be studying the situation as he considered my question. Finally, he spoke. ‘Careful, Tosser, we don’t want to damage our guests now, do we? Let the two nice gentlemen get to the bar and buy a drink.’

The heavies stepped aside and let us through. Every pair of eyes followed our progress. I could feel them boring into my back as I stood at the bar. Pete was crapping himself, but he was there right beside me, every step of the way.

‘Is this a good idea?’ he whispered. ‘I’m really not thirsty.’

We waited and waited. Another of the heavies was serving. Well, actually he wasn’t serving, he was just ignoring us. He continued to ignore us for a couple of minutes then looked across at Nugent. He must have got the nod to serve us.

‘Yes?’

‘Two pints. Bitter. Please,’ I said, as clearly as I could. I wasn’t going to let these arseholes intimidate me.

Now, Positive Pete is a bit OCD. As a result, he likes everything to be in its place and is always re-arranging things to make them nice and tidy. The more nervous and agitated he gets, the worse this compulsion gets.

There were about a dozen half-empty pint glasses on the bar, obviously awaiting the return of their owners. Or, at least, to anyone else it would have looked as if they were waiting for their owners. To Positive Pete, in his current, agitated state, they were just waiting to be tidied and put into some sort of order.

Without even realising he was doing it, he had arranged them all in a nice, orderly, straight line, with the glass containing the most beer on the left and the least full on the right. The first I knew about it was when I heard a loud aggressive voice.

‘Who’s been messing around here? Which is my fuckin’ pint?’

Alerted to the problem, everyone was advancing towards the bar…and us. Uh, oh, what do I do now? Nothing else for it.

‘Could I get everyone a fresh pint?’

Despite the moaning and groaning, my gesture seemed to defuse the situation. It was a damned expensive round of drinks, though. It seemed everyone was having a pint and a chaser.

Pete was having great difficulty keeping it all together, but having a pint to focus on seemed to help. Even so, he nearly dropped his beer when a noise that sounded not unlike a braying donkey suddenly filled the room. It was Nugent laughing. His cronies turned our way again. He had obviously made some joke at our expense.

I turned to face him. ‘I’d like a word.’

Nugent looked suitably horrified. ‘Are you addressing me?’

He was an antagonistic git, obviously looking to score points in front of his mates. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Well then, it’s Mr Nugent to you.’

‘Look, I know you think bullying and intimidating people is the only way to get what you want, but...’ I stopped talking as Nugent sauntered arrogantly across the room.

‘I don’t think it’s the only way to get what I want, you idiot,’ he said. ‘I know it’s the only way to get what I want. Any other way could take ages. My way is much quicker.’ He brayed like a donkey again and his cronies laughed obediently.

‘Well this hasn’t got you what you want, has it?’ I indicated my bruises.

‘Of course it has, you moron. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. And I have.’ He leaned right into my face before adding, ‘I don’t approve of blokes who beat up women.’

I stood my ground and leaned towards him. ‘Nor do I.’

This seemed to confuse him for just a moment. ‘It’s what cowards do,’ he said.

‘Do I look like a coward?’

‘You look like a bloody idiot, coming in here trying to throw your weight around. I’ve a good mind to finish the job myself.’

‘That’s what you do, is it?’ said Pete. ‘Make sure the odds are well in your favour first. That doesn’t exactly sound like a hero talking.’ He looked as surprised as the rest of us that he’d spoken out like that.

Nugent turned his attention on him. ‘And who the bloody hell asked you, granddad?’ He looked Pete up and down before deciding he wasn’t worth the trouble. ‘You’d better go outside before you crap yourself.’ He turned back to me. ‘Talking of cowards, you’d better take your dad home. He looks terrified.’ That braying laugh filled the room again.

I wasn’t having that. ‘D’you know, I read somewhere that the worst bullies are the biggest cowards? What do you think?’

Nugent’s face was a picture. I thought I might just have touched a nerve. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I’d probably already gone too far, so I thought I might just as well make sure he got the message.

‘You shouldn’t be mocking him,’ I said, putting my good hand on Pete’s shoulder. ‘You should be showing him the respect he deserves for just being here. Of course he’s scared. Look around you, there’s two of us and over a dozen of you lot.’ I looked around at the faces staring in our direction. ‘I wonder how many of you would be prepared to face odds like that to support your best mate?’

I left room for an answer, but of course there wasn’t one. The only response was some shuffling of feet and an awkward silence. One point to me, then.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I thought as much. Even a bunch of tits like you lot can understand how much courage it’s taken for him to be here. D’you still want to call him a coward?’

You could have heard a pin drop. Apparently you weren’t supposed to stand up to Nugent – it wasn’t the done thing, especially in his own club.

‘Now listen,’ he growled. ‘You’re really pushing your luck. You’ve already had a warning. Next time it will be a lot worse. You’re the one who needs to show some respect. I think it would probably be best for all of us if you bugger off home before I lose my temper.’

Pete breathed a sigh of relief, put his glass down and turned to go.

‘No chance, mate,’ I said, riding the wave of my bravado for all it was worth. ‘I’ve come here to talk to you, and I’m not going until I have.’

‘Oh shit!’ Pete said it quietly, but I heard it quite clearly as he sighed his disappointment, and turned back to his pint.

Nugent looked me up and down as if I was something smelly someone had walked in on their shoe. ‘Mate?’ he said, affecting a disgusted tone to his voice. ‘Mate? I’m not your mate.’

Here we go, me and my big mouth. I knew it would get me into real trouble one day.

Then to my great surprise he shook his head. ‘You really aren’t a coward, are you?’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully, then sighed impatiently. ‘Right. I can see you’re really determined to piss me off and ruin my night, so I’ll give you five minutes.’ He pointed to a corner table. ‘Over there.’

Three of his heavies made towards the corner. ‘Alright, alright.’ He sighed impatiently, glaring at the heavies. ‘Do I look like I need help to handle these two?’ They retreated respectfully out of the way and the three of us walked across to the corner table and sat down.

Now Nugent’s not exactly the mafia, but he was certainly the local equivalent of a gangster, and, according to Dry Biro, he was famously unpredictable. He hadn’t been given the nickname ‘Nugent the Nutter’ for nothing. So it was a bit like sitting down with a ticking bomb and not knowing if it could be defused.

He looked at me expectantly. ‘Well, gone on then. Don’t be a pillock. Say what you’ve got to say. I haven’t got all night!’

‘You beat up the wrong guy.’

‘Oh yeah? You’ll be surprised how many times I’ve heard that one. That’s what they all say. Anyway, what makes you think I beat you up?’

‘Well, apart from the fact you already told me yourself, a little bird told me,’ I explained. ‘The same little bird that told you I was a wife-beater. I’m here to tell you I’m not a wife-beater.’

‘I’ve only got your word for that.’

‘You admit you beat me up then?’

Nugent bristled. ‘I’ll admit no such thing.’

‘It was your thugs though, wasn’t it? You sent them after me because Gloria told you I beat her up.’

‘Gloria? I don’t know any Gloria.’

‘No, but you know her sister Marie, don’t you?’

‘Don’t you bring my girlfriend into this.’

Pete nearly choked on his beer. I’d forgotten to mention that his ex-wife was now the local gangster’s bit on the side. ‘Girlfriend?’ he spluttered.

‘Is there a problem?’ asked Nugent menacingly.

‘Not for me,’ said Pete innocently, the implication way too subtle for someone like Nugent.

‘So let me get this straight,’ I interrupted, before things got out of hand. ‘What you’re saying is you had me beaten up because Marie told you I had been beating up Gloria.’

‘Let’s put it this way,’ said Nugent. ‘Hypothetically, if Marie had told me such a thing, then yes, it’s probable that I would have had you beaten up.’

‘Hypothetical? Probable?’

‘It’s a service I offer,’ said Nugent, as if he was talking about a normal everyday business. ‘It’s a bit like pest control. I can even have persistent pests exterminated if I really want to.’ He gave me an evil grin.

‘But you don’t actually know Gloria?’

‘Never had the pleasure, no.’

‘So you’re not aware she’s a pathological liar.’

‘Not my concern, old son. Business is business.’

I was having trouble getting my head around this. So I spelled it out. ‘So, you’re saying Gloria told Marie I had been beating her up, and Marie told you, so you then had me beaten up.’

‘I didn’t say anything of the sort,’ said Nugent indignantly. ‘You brought Gloria and Marie into this, not me.’

I was confused, and I obviously looked it.

‘Look,’ he said, sighing. ‘It’s really quite simple. People pay a price, and I get the job done.’

‘Pay?’ I couldn’t believe this. I knew she had it in for me, but this was taking things to a whole new level. ‘Gloria paid to have me beaten up?’

‘Now you do want to beat her up, don’t you?’ said Nugent, grinning. ‘And I have to say, I wouldn’t blame you if she had paid to get you beaten up.’ He sat back, looking immensely pleased with himself. Then almost theatrically he added, ‘But she didn’t.’

‘What? She didn’t? So who did then?’

‘Now you know I’m not going to tell you that. Like I said, business is business.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Client confidentiality and all that.’

‘But you lot beat me up for something I didn’t do!’

‘Yes, sorry about that,’ he said, but obviously wasn’t. ‘But I can only work with the information I’m given, and as long as the price is right, well...’ He spread his hands in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. ‘You were codded.’ He grinned again.

‘I was what?’

‘That’s what we call it,’ he explained. ‘Like in the modern day fish and chip shop.’

I obviously looked totally baffled, which isn’t surprising because I was.

‘In the old days,’ – he said it slowly, as if he was explaining something really difficult to an idiot – ‘they used to batter all the cod and then cook it as fast as they could. Nowadays they keep the cod back until it’s needed. Then it’s battered-’ He was laughing so much at his own joke he could hardly speak. ‘Battered to order. Just like you were!’ 

He did his braying donkey impression again, stopping briefly to splutter ‘codded’ to himself before he once again burst into laughter.

I made a determined effort to keep a straight face, and eventually he stopped braying long enough to make a big show of looking at his, obviously expensive, watch.

‘Oh dear! What a shame. I have enjoyed your riveting company, but it looks as though your time’s up. So sorry I don’t have time to chat any longer.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sure you can see yourselves out.’ Then the smile disappeared. ‘Or I could ask Tosser to throw you out.’ He smiled again. ‘But I’m sure that won’t be necessary.’

He stood up. The meeting was over. That was all we were going to get.

As I soon as opened the front door, the smell of cooking hit me and my mouth started to water.  And there was that beautiful smiley face as well. I wondered absently if perhaps I could get used to this.

But the fact was there were at least twenty, and possibly even thirty, years between us, and beautiful as she was, I was confused about my feelings for this girl. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me.

The tiredness I had seen when I first met her was leaving her face now; there was a shine to her long dark hair and those lovely dark eyes shone brightly too.

‘Is Peter join for dinner?’

‘He had to get home.’

‘I like him. Nice man. But I think he very sad.’ She was perceptive too.

‘Yes, you’re right there. He is a nice guy, and he is very sad. His ex-wife broke his heart, and I’m not sure he’ll ever trust another woman enough to let her in, you know?’

‘Is bad,’ she said sadly. Then she smiled. ‘But not to be sad. I cook nice dinner for you.’

The casserole was a triumph, every bit as tasty as it smelled. Her comment ‘cook nice dinner’ really hadn’t done it justice. Nice? I think amazing or wonderful would have been much closer to the mark.

Afterwards I retreated to my corner of the sofa. Jelena followed me into the room.  She pointed to the empty end of the sofa. ‘Think better you sit other side.’ I looked puzzled. ‘Keep arm from me. Not want hurt again.’

‘Are you planning on attacking me again?’

‘You never know luck, huh?’ She laughed. ‘Is safer is all.’

I remembered how much it had hurt last time so I did as I was told.

‘Am I, what you say, bossy?’

‘Oh yes,’ I teased. ‘Terribly. I told you, just like my mum.’

‘Perhaps you need mum keep you in place, huh?’ Happy that I was now in a safer place she sat down. There was a brief lull, then she looked expectantly at me. ‘So, you have news for me?’

Ah, yes. This was the awkward bit. I still hadn’t really figured out what to tell her.

‘I think I may have some good news, but I won’t know for sure until I’ve checked something out in the morning.’

‘You not make joke, yes? You really have news?’ The excitement sparkled in her eyes.

‘No joking. But let’s not get your hopes too high. It might be a false alarm.’

‘I knew you would help, I just knew. Thank you, thank you.’

She leaned across and kissed my cheek. Somehow she had managed to shuffle across and she was right next to me. I slipped my arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. It felt just right, and she relaxed against me.

And that’s when I realised what I felt for this beautiful young woman. No, it wasn’t lust at all. It was something completely different, like I was her big brother or maybe even her father. No wonder I had been confused about my feelings. I’d never had them before.

Isn’t life strange sometimes?

Chapter Eleven

They say you should never judge a book by its cover. How true that was, I thought, as I considered what Dry Biro had told me about Sophia.

I had only met her a month ago when I moved into my flat, and in that time I had formed the impression that she was a bit standoffish, a bit aloof. To be honest, there was an air of mystery about her that I found both intriguing and a little intimidating.

Now don’t get me wrong; I didn’t have a problem with her, but I couldn’t see us ever being bosom buddies, you know? I put it down to the fact that she was obviously classy whereas I can be a bit rough and ready.

I mean, I’m clean and house-trained, but I tend to be a jeans and t-shirt sort of guy. I can scrub up alright, when the need arises, and I even look okay in a suit, but if I’m honest I prefer comfortable casual.

Sophia, on the other hand, was one of those women who looked fabulous whatever she was wearing. You know the sort. She could have worn a sack and made it look a million dollars. She had those ageless good looks that meant she could be anywhere from thirty-five to fifty-five, and for the life of me I would never have been able to guess right.

Now, with my new knowledge, I saw her in a completely different way. Of course she was going to be careful with people she didn’t know. I’d be exactly the same in her shoes.

I knew Sophia had arrived home last night and I didn’t want to be too early, so I waited until ten o’clock before I knocked on her door. I hadn’t told Jelena I was only going next door.

There was the sound of a chain rattling on the other side of the door, then it swung open. Her smile lit up an otherwise dull morning. Maybe, because of Jelena’s smile, I had dimples on the brain, but I couldn’t help but notice Sophia’s. So, matching dimples – it was a start.

‘Alfie, how nice to see you. How are you?’ Then she noticed my bruises and my arm. ‘Oh my goodness, what happened?’ There was just a trace of an accent, but it was there. Another match? Looking good so far, I thought.

‘Hi, Sophia. I’m fine thanks, really. How are you? Did you have a good trip?’

She frowned. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look fine. I’ve just made some tea. Won’t you come in?’ She stepped back and ushered me into her lounge. ‘Sit down. Make yourself comfortable while I fetch the tea.’

Human behaviour’s a strange thing isn’t it? I’ve just said how she was a bit aloof, and now here I was being offered tea. Could it be that her attitude to me had changed because my attitude to her had changed?

Her flat was exactly the same as mine. Well, let’s clarify that. It was the same layout as mine, but where mine was decorated in neutral colours, hers was beautifully decorated in what was obviously very elegant taste. If I had been transported here with no idea where I was, I could easily have guessed whose flat it was. It matched her perfectly.

She came in carrying a tea tray. She stood about 5ft 2inches tall, looking fit and healthy in blue jeans and a white top. From what I had learned about her yesterday, I knew she had to be around fifty years old, but she still could have passed for a woman much younger.

‘I’m so glad you called,’ she said. ‘I’ve been meaning to get to know you, but I’ve been so busy since you moved in. But I’m back for a while now, so maybe we can make up for lost time. As neighbours we should be friends too.’

I gave her my best smile. This certainly sounded like an excellent plan to me. ‘I’d like that very much Sophia, thank you.’

I asked her about her holiday, and she asked me about my flat – was I settled in now? Was there anything I needed? I was enjoying her company. There was nothing aloof about this woman at all. How wrong can you be?

But you can only do so much small talk, and pretty soon it became obvious to her that I had something on my mind. ‘If you don’t want to tell me what happened, that’s your business,’ she said. ‘But you obviously want to ask me something.’

I really hadn’t thought this through. I mean, what should I say? ‘Oh by the way I’ve got your long lost niece staying in my flat?’

‘Well,’ I began, ‘I’m not really sure where to start.’

‘Perhaps you should start at the beginning.’

She was right, of course. It made perfect sense. So I did, starting from last Friday night in the pub.

When I finished she sat very still, looking out of the window without actually seeming to focus on anything in particular. I didn’t know what to say, so I waited.

Finally, she turned to me. Her eyes glistened with tears, and one escaped and made its way slowly down her cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

I should point out I’m hopelessly sentimental and totally useless in this sort of situation. I was almost in tears myself. ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘This must have come as a shock.’

‘They were terrible days,’ she said, sadly. ‘There was so much hatred. No one knew who they could trust or who would betray them. I was away fighting when all my family were murdered. No one knew what happened to the baby. I had never even seen her.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I always wanted to believe she was alive, but I never thought I would ever see her.’

I smiled encouragingly. ‘I think maybe it would be best if I bring her round,’ I said, ‘and leave the two of you to get to know each other. There’s only so much emotion I can deal with in one day and I wouldn’t want to embarrass you with my crying.’

‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

‘You don’t have to thank me,’ I said. ‘She’s a very resourceful young lady. She found you through her own efforts. It’s a pleasure to help.’

She didn’t look too sure.

‘Really, I mean it. She’s wonderful. If I’ve helped reunite the two of you then it was worth getting a battering.’

Now she was smiling. ‘That was very brave of you to get involved. I’m sorry you ended up in hospital.’

I climbed to my feet. ‘But that’s the thing,’ I said. ‘Getting beaten up was nothing to do with Jelena and that Gregov guy. It would have happened anyway. I’d better go. She’ll be wondering where I’ve got to. Should I bring her round straight away?’

‘Oh goodness.’ she said, ‘I don’t know. What do you think?’

‘Sophia, I think you should do it as soon as you are ready, and I think you are ready now.’ I winked at her. ‘There’s no time like the present.’

‘Yes, you’re right. Please bring her round now.’

‘Jelena,’ I called as I let myself in. ‘Where are you?’

‘In here,’ she called from the lounge.

I looked around the door. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Shoes on. We have to go out.’

‘Where? Where we going?’ She had obviously caught on to my excitement straight away.

‘It’s not far. Come on.’ I pulled the door closed behind us and took her hand.

She started towards the street.

‘This way.’ I pulled her in the other direction.

‘What?’ she looked at me, puzzled. Sophia’s door was just around the corner. ‘What this?’

‘I told you I had some news,’ I said, knocking on Sophia’s door. ‘Well, I think this is as good as it gets.’

The door opened and the two women stared at each other, mouths open.

‘Jelena, this is your Aunt Sophia. Sophia, this is your niece, Jelena.’

I don’t think either of them could quite believe it at first, and I was beginning to think they had turned to statues.

It was Sophia who spoke first. ‘Jelena,’ she said. ‘I thought I would never see you. Look at you. So beautiful.’

And then they were in each other’s arms and the tears began to flow.

Feeling like an intruder, I figured this was probably a good time to make a quiet retreat. They didn’t need me here, and besides, if the lump in my throat got any bigger, I was going to choke on it.

It’s a sad fact that the world can be a seriously shitty place, and it’s often the people you love most who provide you with the biggest pile of it. But, every now and then, you might be lucky enough to do something good like that and help bring people together, and you know what? Somehow, just for a while, all that shitty stuff just doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

Chapter Twelve

The insistent trilling dragged me from my slumber. What time was it? And what was that noise? Then I was awake enough to realise it was my phone.

‘Is that you, Bowman?’

Well, that certainly woke me up. Nugent the Nutter, calling me. What on earth could he want?

‘Of course it’s me. You called my number. Who were you expecting, the Pope?’

‘Alright, alright. No need for sarcasm. It’s Nugent here.’

‘I know it’s you Nugent. I don’t know any other Boycie impersonators.’

‘What? What do you mean?’

Honestly, my wit is absolutely wasted on some people!

‘What do you want, Nugent? I assume this isn’t a social call as it’s the middle of the night.’

‘Well, I don’t know what planet you’re on Bowman, but for those of us in England on planet earth it’s eight o’clock in the evening.’

‘Is it?’ I was on the sofa – I must have fallen asleep. ‘Oh yes. So it is. Well, anyway, what do you want?’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘and how did you get my number?’

‘Never mind that.’ He actually sounded uncomfortable. ‘Listen, we have to meet. I need to talk to you.’

‘Oh right. Why’s that then? Do you want another go at fracturing my skull? Is one broken arm not enough?’

‘Look, don’t give me a hard time, right? I told you it was a mistake.’

‘Oh, that’s alright then. I’ll just pretend it never happened, shall I?’

‘You don’t forgive easy do you?’

I had to concede he sounded pretty desperate, but I wasn’t about to make it easy for him.

‘No, I don’t. Especially when I get duffed up for something I haven’t bloody done. Now, tell me what you want, or sod off and leave me alone.’

‘I need your advice. And I need you to bring that weird bloke with you.’

‘What weird bloke?’

‘That strange geezer with you the other night – the bloke who likes tidying up.’

‘There’s nothing strange about him, Nugent. He just has difficulty understanding people who lie and cheat and think violence is the answer to everything.’

‘Yeah, that’s him, the weird bloke.’

I sighed heavily. It’s like talking to a brick wall with some people.

‘So why should we come and talk to you?’

‘I already said. I need your advice.’

I couldn’t help laughing out loud. ‘You’re kidding me. How could we possibly advise you? You don’t even live in the same world as us.’

I could almost hear him squirming on the other end of the phone. Go on you bugger, I thought. You wriggle and squirm. It’s the least he deserved after what he’d done to me.

‘Look,’ he said finally. ‘If I wanted to give you a beating, d’you really think I’d invite you? Of course I wouldn’t, I’d just jump you when you least expected it.’

I said nothing. I could almost hear his frustration on the other end of the line. Finally, he decided to offer something that might just interest me.

‘We can help each other out here. Aren’t you wondering why the police haven’t been around to interview you again?’

Now there’s a thing. I’d forgotten all about the police. My curiosity was aroused now and I wondered how Nugent knew they hadn’t been around. There was also the question of who organised my meeting with the baseball bats...

‘So, what do you know about the police enquiry?’

‘Perhaps you’ll find out. Now, are you gonna come or not?’

Against my better judgement, I agreed to meet him early the next evening at his club. I just hoped I wasn’t going to regret it.

A huge yawn tried hard to split my head in two. I was really stiff. I suppose that’s what you get for falling asleep on the sofa. I finally got myself together enough to struggle to my feet and then shuffled round doing my curtain and light routine.

I heard the front door open and close. It must be Jelena. I wondered if should I go to her, or if should I wait and see. Nothing seemed to be happening. Then finally I heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing.

I found her in her room. The small collection of clothes we had bought just the other day were in a neat little pile on one side of the bed. She sat on the other side sobbing gently, her back to me.

My head filled with ominous thoughts. What if Sophia was not her long lost aunt? Had they fallen out? What could the problem be? I settled next to her and put my good arm around her shoulders.

‘Hey,’ I soothed, ‘come on now.’ She leaned into me as I gently stroked her hair. We sat like that for what seemed like an age, and then gradually the sobbing subsided and she began to settle. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I asked.

Wow! It was like a dam had burst. The words just poured out. I needn’t have worried – the tears were not sad tears at all. She was overcome with the emotion of it all, but she was also very, very happy. Her search had ended. Sophia was her aunt.

Then she told me what she was upset about. ‘I really like be here with you. I am feel safe here. You have done much for me but cannot repay you. Is not fair on you. Aunt Sophia say I live with her and she right. Better this way.’

Then she squirmed around so she was looking straight into my face and gave me a big, beaming smile. ‘But only round corner. Still come see.’ Then as an afterthought she added, ‘If you want see me.’

It had only been what, three or four days, but I was really going to miss her. I tried hard not to show it.

‘I’d love to see you, anytime you want to come and see me.’

Now she threw her arms around me and gave me a big hug. ‘Must go,’ she said, ‘Aunt Sophia make dinner.’

‘Here,’ I said. ‘Let me help you.’

‘Is alright.’ She laughed. ‘Only handful things.’ She scooped up her clothes and stood. Then she bent down and kissed me full on the lips. ‘Is not goodbye,’ she said. ‘I promise.’ And then she was gone.

I sat there in sad silence for a few moments. I knew this was the best thing that could happen for her, but I was going to miss having her around. It was like someone had just turned out the lights.

Chapter Thirteen

Thursday morning was strangely quiet after the last few days. Fortunately, my arm seemed to be getting better and although it was still quite painful, I was starting to get a little movement back. Even so, by the time I’d showered, dressed and had breakfast it was past 11 o’clock.

I had hours to kill until I was due to meet Nugent and I wondered idly what he wanted, and what had he meant about the police not following up with me? And then I remembered something else that had happened. How was it that Gloria had come to the hospital to pick me up? And how could I find out?

Then I began to think how it might be quite pleasant to buy a nurse a coffee during her break. I had an excuse for being there. After all, I still had stitches in my head that needed removing. With any luck, as long as they hadn’t changed shifts, Gillian should be on duty when I get there.

I was in luck. This particular Thursday was obviously a quiet one for the A&E staff. The waiting area wasn’t exactly empty, but there were only a couple of people there. I walked over to reception and asked for Gillian.

The receptionist was obviously practised in the art of putting people down and did her best to make me feel as inferior as possible, but she finally realised I had a legitimate excuse for being there – I think it was the stitched head wounds that did it – and that I wasn’t going to go away. Eventually she instructed me to sit down and wait.

There are only so many health awareness posters you can read before boredom sets in. I had just reached that point when I became aware of a hushed conversation taking place at the reception desk. When I turned to look, the receptionist and the nurse Gillian hastily looked away, but it was obvious I was the source of interest.

I pretended I wasn’t really looking at them and carried on browsing my way through the posters. I half expected to be left here until boredom forced me to give up and go away, but then to my great surprise Gillian came over.

‘Mr Bowman,’ she said. ‘Are you alone?’

I nodded. ‘Yes. Why?’

‘In that case, come with me and I’ll have a look at your stitches.’

She led me over to a cubicle and directed me to sit on the bed. She prodded and poked around, first at my eye, then the back of my head. As she worked, she explained why she had asked if I was on my own. Apparently, Gloria had made such an impression on Saturday that the general feeling among all the staff was that she would only be allowed back onto the premises if she came as a patient.

‘Ah, yes,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry about that. But as you raised the subject, I wanted to ask you about that.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, do you remember, on Saturday you made a phone call for me?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I called the man you asked me to call. He said he would come and collect you.’ She pulled a face. ‘Then that nasty woman arrived.’

‘And you didn’t call her?’

‘No, I called the number you showed me. I didn’t know her number.’

Curiouser and curiouser. If she had phoned Dave, that meant it must have been Dave who called Gloria. But why would he do that?

Gillian poked the back of my head a couple of times then, satisfied with the progress my wounds were making, she made her decision. ‘You lie on the bed, and I’ll take out your stitches.’

It wasn’t quite what I’d had in mind when I’d come up with the idea of buying her a coffee, but at least if she took them out now I wouldn’t have to come back again.

When I called Positive Pete, he told me he was sorry, but he was otherwise engaged tonight. He was being distinctly cagey about what he was doing. If I had to guess, I’d have said he had a date, but I didn’t press him too much. I know for a fact he hadn’t had a date for couple of years and I didn’t want to embarrass him.

He’d be much better off on a date anyway, no matter how nerve-wracking he found it. The last time we met Nugent he had become so nervous I had been worried he was going to have a heart attack. Going alone meant I only had myself to worry about.

Nugent had asked me to meet him at six o’clock. I thought it was a bit of a weird time to meet, but I had nothing else to do so it didn’t really matter. Then, when I walked in, I understood why. Apart from the guy behind the bar, there was no one else around.

Nugent was sat at the same table as last time. He had a pint and a huge cigar which he seemed to be using to create some sort of smokescreen to hide behind. There was another pint on the table which I assumed must be for me.

‘No good trying to hide,’ I said. ‘You stick out like a sore thumb.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Very droll. Don’t give up your day job for comedy.’

As I sat down he looked expectantly at me and then at the door. Then he did it again just to be sure.

‘Well?’ He looked to the door again. ‘Where is he?’

‘Who?’

‘Your mate. The weird bloke.’

‘He can’t make it. He’s washing his hair. He sends his apologies.’

‘But it was him I wanted to talk to,’ he wailed, then he realised what I had said. ‘But he’s got no bloody hair to wash.’

‘Well, perhaps if you’d been a bit more affable last time we met, he might have been prepared to come along.’

He looked hurt. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You know exactly what I mean. All that intimidation bollocks. He doesn’t like it. Come to think of it, I don’t like it either.’

‘Call that intimidation? That was nothing.’

‘In your Neanderthal world I’m sure that’s true, but in the world we prefer to inhabit it’s unwelcome and unnecessary.’

There was an awkward silence. I took a sip of my pint. The beer was good. So that’s one thing Nugent did have going for him. He glared at me, but I wasn’t going to be upset by that, so I took my time enjoying my beer.

Eventually he spoke. ‘Look. We seem to have got off on the wrong foot.’

‘You really think so?’

He held his hands up. ‘I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to tell me it’s all my fault for having you duffed up, and I will concede that probably wasn’t the best way to make your acquaintance, but it is what it is, and I’m not going to keep on apologising.’

‘Well, I suppose it’s something that you actually know what an apology is. It would be too much to hope that you might actually be able to make one.’

I let that one linger for a minute, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to take the hint so I carried on. ‘Right, ‘I said. ‘I’m here now, as you requested, so what’s this all about?’

He coughed apologetically. ‘Ah, well. It appears I may have arranged one or two beatings for people who didn’t actually deserve it.’

‘Well, fancy that!’ I said. ‘Since when have you cared about something like that?’

‘I’ll have you know I have a reputation to protect.’

‘Ha! Yes, I’ve heard, but I shouldn’t worry. Beating up anyone, anytime, seems to fit perfectly with your reputation.’

‘I’ll have you know I’m hard, but fair,’ he said. ‘Hard, but fair.’

‘Not what I’ve heard, Nugent. The word is you’re some sort of nutter.’

Ooh! I’d obviously found a sore point. His eyes blazed at the mention of the word ‘nutter’.

‘Will you help me or not?’ His irritation was definitely getting the better of him.

‘Give me one good reason why I should?’

‘Because you know Marie. And your weird mate must know her best of all. He used to be married to her.’

‘Oh! Getting to you, is she? Pete can certainly tell you all about that. She nearly destroyed him you know.’

‘I’m not bloody surprised. The woman’s a psycho. Been telling me all these people who need sorting out, turns out most of them haven’t done anything at all, except get on the wrong side of her.’

‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘How do I stop her?’

‘Just dump her. It’s not rocket science is it? Don’t tell me you’ve never dumped anyone before.’

‘It’s not that easy. She’s threatened to tell my missus.’

‘Ah! Hell hath no fury, huh?’

Nugent looked distinctly uncomfortable so I thought I’d take advantage of the opportunity to make him feel even worse.

‘What a pity you didn’t meet me and Pete before you met Marie. We could have warned you in advance and saved you a whole lot of trouble. It always amazes me that people get into these relationships based upon deceit and are then surprised when it goes wrong, turns around and bites them. I mean, what did you expect?’

He looked even more uncomfortable.

‘It serves you right,’ I told him.

‘Look. I didn’t invite you here to give me a lecture about my bloody morals. I just want to know what can I do?’ he pleaded.

‘Just dump her,’ I said. ‘She won’t tell your wife. She hasn’t got the guts.’ I let him wallow in his misery while I returned to my pint, but I made sure he could see how happy I was at his discomfort. ‘So that’s your problem solved.’ I said, ‘So what have you got for me?’

He looked puzzled. ‘Eh?’

‘You were going to tell me why the police hadn’t been to see me to follow up.’

‘Oh. Right. Yes. Are you sure it’s going to be that easy to get rid of Marie?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘What else can you do? Anyway, the police...’

He didn’t look convinced about my solution, but eventually he turned his attention back to me. ‘So tell me,’ he said. ‘Have the local plod been to see you yet?’

‘I thought you already knew the answer to that. But then I guess you have a certain amount of influence on what does and doesn’t get investigated.’

He smiled and winked at me. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, disappearing behind another huge cloud of smoke. When he emerged, he carried on. ‘Well, I won’t admit to having any influence, but let’s just say I have an insurance policy. This insurance policy means I do usually know what’s happening. But right now there’s something funny going on.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, usually when something like this happens the plod go through the motions, interview the victim a couple of times and then decide there’s not enough evidence to go on, and it would be a waste of resources. You know the kind of thing. It gets swept under the carpet and forgotten about.’

‘I don’t know the sort of thing, but somehow I’m not surprised. So what’s different this time.’

‘Well, the thing is, it appears someone else has taken out a similar insurance policy. Only they must have a better one than mine ‘coz they’ve made it disappear even quicker than usual.’

I was beginning to feel just a little uncomfortable. Somehow, knowing Nugent was responsible for what happened made it seem as though it wasn’t really a big deal, but this was bit creepy. This meant there was someone out there somewhere pulling strings.

‘It has to be whoever paid to have me beaten up, surely?’

‘Well done, Sherlock,’ said Nugent, this time without sarcasm. ‘You’re almost certainly correct. The problem is I don’t know who that was.’

I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘I think I must have heard that wrong. Are you telling me you beat the shit out of me and you don’t even know who you did it for? You could have killed me.’

‘Oh no,’ he assured me. ‘If you were supposed to be dead, you would be. We are professionals you know.’

‘Professionals? You’re bloody animals. How can you do something like that without even knowing who you’re doing it for?’

‘Because it doesn’t matter who it’s for, does it? As long as we hit the right person.’

‘But I was the wrong person.’

‘Sorry, but you were the right person, and the fact you were a wife-beater just made it that much easier to justify.’

‘But I’m not a bloody wife-beater!’

‘Oh I know that now,’ he said, as if that made everything alright. ‘But I didn’t know before, did I?’

‘Don’t you ever think it might be an idea to check first?’

‘I don’t get paid enough to start doing that sort of thing.’

‘What about the fact you don’t know who you’re working for?’

‘Well, I tend to look at it like a sort of anonymous donation. It’s all cash and it’s not as if it goes through the books, is it?’

‘So let me get this straight,’ I said. ‘Someone is out to get me, the police are helping them, you’re helping them, and no one knows who it is. Is that right?’

‘No. I’m not helping them. That was a mistake. I want to know who it is just as much as you do. I don’t like someone else in my territory. It’s bad for business.’

He looked me up and down and took another huge drag on his cigar. ‘I think it’s rather ironic,’ he said. ‘Now we’re on the same side.’

‘Whoa,’ I said. ‘Just a minute. I’m on my own side. Sorry, but somehow I don’t see you and me on the same side. In fact, I think I’ve heard enough now so I’m going to call a taxi and go home.’

‘I understand where you’re coming from,’ said Nugent. ‘But watch your back. Right now you don’t know who you can trust and who you can’t trust. It may just be a case of better the devil you know.’ He tapped his nose and smiled. ‘Know what I mean?’

Chapter Fourteen

It was Friday night. Just a week ago I was in this same pub, but this time I was in the back bar. It was much quieter in here – the jukebox in the front bar just a dim background noise.

Not that it was particularly quiet in here. Sophia and Jelena had invited Dry Biro, Positive Pete, and me to have a drink to celebrate being reunited, and even though there were only a handful of us, we were having a good time.

The room was done out like someone’s lounge, with sofas, armchairs, and side tables rather than the more conventional tables and chairs of the front bar. At this time of the year, the furniture was arranged loosely around the fireplace where a log fire burned cosily.

Dry Biro sat in an armchair to the right of the fireplace, his pint of Guinness resting on the table alongside him. Betty the basset was stretched out at his feet, gently roasting in the heat of the fire.

Next in line was Positive Pete in another armchair. They were having an animated conversation about the importance of attitude. Or at least I thought that’s what it was about.

I had claimed the end spot on the sofa, long enough to accommodate three people. Jelena had squeezed in next to me with Sophia next to her. They were chattering excitedly about what they were going to do next. For a moment, I was left out of the conversation so I took a look around.

A young couple were getting up close and personal on a smaller sofa in the far corner of the room, eyes only for each other and completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

The only other person in the room was Daphne, a smartly dressed sixty-something lady who appeared every now and then, always on her own. We always said hello, but quite honestly I’d never really taken much notice of her before. She sat in a small armchair away from everyone else, gazing sadly into the flickering flames.

There was a loud pop as Dave opened a bottle of champagne. A moment later he came over carrying a tray.

‘Champagne for my guests,’ he announced. ‘We can’t have a celebration without champagne.’

It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him since that night last Friday. Funny that. I mean I had got beaten up after a fracas in his pub. You’d have thought he might have come to see me.

But then I suppose it can get pretty busy running a pub. Even so, surely he could have made time to come over and have a drink with us, or just say hello. I mean I know Friday night is a busy night, but even so...

I’m the sort of guy who enjoys a few pints now and then, but unfortunately I also seem to be blessed with a bladder the size of a five-year-old’s. Right now it was time for me to go and make some room for more beer.

I had to pass close by the bar on the way. Dave was stood with his back to the bar, so I stopped. ‘Hi, mate, how are you?’ I said above the noise. As he turned to face me, I could see he didn’t look pleased. ‘You ok?’ I asked.

He stared at me for a second, then he seemed to snap out of it and flashed a smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Got a lot on my mind. Friday night’s not a good time to try and think.’

I thought it was a bit strange that he hadn’t passed comment on my rather battered appearance. Normally he would have shown his concern before mercilessly mocking me, but today he didn’t say a thing.

‘Did the hospital call you on Saturday?’ I asked. ‘About coming to pick me up?’

‘No, mate.’

‘That’s weird. The nurse assured me she called your number.’

‘Well, she might have told you that,’ he said. ‘But she’s mistaken. No one called me.’

Before I could say anything else he made an excuse about being rushed off their feet in the other bar and was gone.

Now, I couldn’t ever claim to be an expert on spotting a liar, having lived with Gloria for years before I saw through her lies, but I was pretty convinced the nurse had been telling the truth. I mean, why would she lie?

I couldn’t put my finger on why this was bothering me quite so much, but it occurred to me this wasn’t the only thing. There seemed to be a lot of loose ends. Why was Dave being so evasive? What had happened to the thug, Gregov? Who had paid to get me battered?

I don’t like loose ends – they make me feel uneasy. I just hoped they weren’t going to come back and haunt me.

On the way back from the loo, I had to pass Daphne. On impulse I stopped. She looked up from her flame-gazing in surprise. ‘You look so lonely,’ I said. ‘We’re having a little celebration. Why don’t you join us?’

She gave me a sad little smile.  ‘That’s very kind of you to offer, and I don’t want to appear rude, but I’m not really in a party mood.’

‘Well, if you change your mind...’

But she was already lost in the fire again.

When I got back there had been some moving around. Jelena was now in Pete’s seat and he was in mine. Both he and Dry Biro were hanging onto every word she said, their delight in such young, vivacious company blatantly obvious.

As I approached, Sophia patted the vacant seat between her and Pete so I squeezed in between them. ‘She seems to have a captive audience,’ I said, nodding towards Jelena. ‘I hope they don’t start drooling.’

She smiled happily. ‘She’s enjoying herself and she deserves it. She’s had a tough life so far. Now I’m going to see if I can make it better for her.’

‘You have plans?’

‘Jelena has plans,’ she said, laughing. ‘It seems she loves the idea of settling right here and running a tea shop. Can you imagine?’

I thought about it for a moment. ‘Yes. Actually I can understand that. I should think after all she’s been through the idea of settling down for a while in a pleasant little English town is very appealing. I would certainly like to see her around for a while. She’s a remarkable young woman.’

She looked across at the laughing Jelena, and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re right. She is quite remarkable.’ She leaned towards me. ‘She’s told me a lot about you. About how you helped her and how kind you’ve been. She thinks you’re pretty remarkable too. You’re her hero!’

Now that made me blush! I didn’t know what to say. ‘Well, I couldn’t just walk on by, now I could I? But a hero? No, I don’t think so.’

‘A lot of people would have walked by.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘How about we settle for “reluctant hero”. Will that be ok?’

‘Alfie Bowman, reluctant hero. Yes.’ I laughed. ‘That sounds about right.’

She reached out and placed her hand on mine. ‘Seriously, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for all the help you gave her.’

This was all getting a little embarrassing. Flustered, and without thinking, I gave her a knowing wink. ‘If I think of anything I’ll let you know.’

Now she looked slightly embarrassed. She patted my arm and gave it a little squeeze, then excused herself and set off towards the ladies.

Oh, you idiot. You’ve blown it now. Why had I given her the suggestive wink? I’ve probably put her right off. What will she think of me now?’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daphne totter unsteadily to the bar for another sherry. She looked half-cut. Not that it was unusual. In fact, now I thought about it, I couldn’t remember ever seeing her sober.

The evening wore on and I announced I was going to write about the events of the last week. I figured it make a great first story for this series I was planning. The girls though it was a wonderful idea. Positive Pete offered to be my editor, and Dry Biro gave me the nod of approval. Yes, of course he would mentor me, I didn’t need to ask.

I wandered up to the bar to get some more drinks. They were rushed off their feet in the other bar but I was suitably mellow by now so I didn’t mind waiting. I leaned on the bar, staring absently at the large clock on the wall. It was 10 o’clock. I felt someone bump into me.

It was Daphne. Her earlier totter had developed into a definite stagger now and she had just been unable to miss me. ‘Sorry dear,’ she mumbled, staggering backwards.

I caught her arm and steadied her. ‘Are you ok?’

She peered at me for a moment, struggling to focus. ‘Oooh,’ she cooed. ‘You’re the writer chappie, aren’t you?’

My surprise must have shown. Much as I like to think of myself as a writer, no one’s ever actually addressed me as such before.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said slowly. ‘I overheard you talking. I didn’t mean to be nosey.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m just not used to being called a writer. I haven’t really started yet.’

‘Ssshhh!’ She looked around. ‘Mum’s the word. I shan’t tell a soul.’ She hiccupped loudly, followed by a little burp. I let go of her arm. She swayed dangerously back and forward. Then another idea came to her. ‘Are you going to use a psuedonium?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘A psuedonium. You know.’

No, I don’t know…

She struggled for a few moments, frowning in concentrated effort as she tried to find an alternative in her befuddled brain. Then a triumphant smile swept across her face.

‘A nume de plom!’

I must have looked totally lost. I certainly felt it.

‘Oh dear,’ slurred Daphne. ‘You’re going to have to improve your vocabulary.’

Me? If only you’d speak in English...

She held a finger up. ‘One moment.’ She closed her eyes to focus her concentration, swaying gently from side to side. For a moment I thought she was about to pass out, but then she opened one eye. ‘Got the little bugger!’ she said, leaning dangerously to her left. ‘I knew it was in there somewhere.’

I was losing the thread here. I wondered, were we still on the same subject?

‘Pen name!’ She said it as though it should have been completely obvious all along.

Just then I was rescued by the arrival of her taxi driver. ‘Come on then, luv,’ he said, putting an arm around her.

She gave me a sly wink. ‘Isn’t he wonderful? Come to take me home,’ she said. Then, very slowly, and gracefully, she collapsed against him. Carefully he gathered her up in his arms.

‘Poor old thing,’ he said, sighing and looking at me. ‘Look at her. Pissed as a fart every night. Just shows what a broken heart can do, eh?’ Tenderly he put his lips to her ear, ‘Come on, darlin’,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s get you home.’ Then he carried her gently out through the door.

When I got back to my seat, I asked DB what he knew about Daphne and how come she was always three sheets to the wind.

‘Ah. Sad story that one,’ he said. ‘She lost her son 30 years ago. He just disappeared. Her husband kept her together for years, but then when he died...’

‘How long’s she been drinking like that.’

‘Ever since her husband died. That must have been four or five years ago now. I think she just wants to know what happened. Being numb keeps the pain away.’

‘Wow. That’s such as a sad story.’ I really couldn’t think what else to say.

‘You want to help her?’

‘It’s a bit late now isn’t it?’

‘It’s never too late to help someone and right a wrong, is it?’

‘What do you mean? Right a wrong?’

‘It was a big story back then, but I always got the feeling something was wrong with the way it was handled. Why don’t you come and see what I have on it? Maybe you can find out what I missed.’

‘You’re on,’ I said. ‘Just as soon as my arm’s mended.’

***

Thank you for taking the time to read this book. I hope you have enjoyed it, and if you can spare the time I would be very grateful if you could leave a review.

Other Books by P.F. Ford

Dave Slater Mystery Novels

Death of a Temptress

Just a Coincidence

Florence

The Wrong Man

The Red Telephone Box

The Secret of Wild Boar Woods

A Skeleton in The Closet

The Kidney Donor

Learn more with these P.F. Ford links:

P.F. Ford website

P.F. Ford’s Author Central page

P.F. Ford on Goodreads

About The Author

Having spent most of his life trying to be the person everyone else wanted him to be, P.F. (Peter) Ford was a late starter when it came to writing. Having tried many years ago (before the advent of self-published ebooks) and been turned down by every publisher he approached, it was a case of being told ‘now will you accept you can’t write and get back to work’.

But then a few years ago, having been miserable for over 50 years of his life, Peter decided he had no intention of carrying on that way. Fast forward a few years and you find a man transformed. Having found a partner (now wife) who believes dreamers should be encouraged and not denied, he first wrote (under the name Peter Ford) and published some short reports and a couple of books about the life changing benefits of positive thinking.

Now, happily settled in Wales and no longer constrained by the idea of having to keep everyone else happy, Peter is blissfully happy being himself, sharing his life with wife Mary and their three dogs, and living his dream writing fiction.

Peter has plans to write several more Dave Slater novels, as well as having many other story ideas he would like to develop further.

As well as writing the DS Dave Slater novels, he also writes the ongoing, ‘digital fiction marmite’, that is the Alfie Bowman novella series.

P.F. Ford website

P.F. Ford’s Author Central page

P.F. Ford on Goodreads