Brenda walked into the front room of their modest two-bed terraced house. She removed her lipstick and her hair was in rollers to give it some body in the morning.
‘I enjoyed the service tonight,’ she said, sitting in a floral-patterned armchair and picking up a magazine. ‘I thought Reverend Moore was on good form.’
Kieran agreed. ‘Let he who cannot forgive remember that we are all sinners who shall one day need forgiveness.’
‘How true,’ Brenda agreed. ‘I found the whole evening extremely uplifting.’
Kieran glanced at his wife. Fifteen years older than him, she was a primary school teacher. A damned good one at that, and a fantastic mother to their two-year-old daughter, Kirsty. The little girl was staying over at Brenda’s parents for the weekend. They offered their services once a month, and although they both missed her when she was away, it gave them a chance to have a bit of time to themselves and recharge their batteries. Kirsty was due to start nursery when the school holidays finished. It would take a huge chunk out of their budget, but things would ease off financially when the little girl started primary school.
Kieran sometimes had to pinch himself to make sure his near-perfect life was real. The drugs and the gambling were well and truly behind him now. He felt no urge to go back to that ragged existence. He would never forget the incident in the boxing ring. How he could go to places that no man would ever wish to go. But he’d learned to live with it. To control it. Put it away in a separate box in his head and allow himself to move on.
Unlike events in Feelham which would always haunt his dreams. A permanent reminder that he was always just one step away from despair.
Brenda finished reading her magazine and laid it on the coffee table. She leaned back in the armchair. ‘Do you fancy going for a walk along the seafront tonight?’
‘Sounds good. I think I’ll grab a shower first.’
Brenda grinned and pinched her nose. ‘Good idea.’
‘You saying I stink?’
‘Like a wet fish.’
Kieran stood up. He was about to playfully smack his wife’s leg when the doorbell rang. He thought it might be Brenda’s mother. Perhaps something had happened with Kirsty and she’d had to bring her home.
‘Who can that be at this time of night?’ Brenda asked, as he walked past her into the hall.
Kieran could see a large shape the other side of the glass-panelled door. Way too big for either of Brenda’s parents. He opened the door, but kept the chain on.
‘Mr Clarke?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name’s Stephen Chambers. I’m a private investigator. I have a letter for you.’
Kieran’s mind raced. Who the hell would hire a PI to deliver a letter? ‘Who from?’
‘Daniel Sheppard.’
Kieran’s world tipped upside down. He leaned against the wall, heart pounding.
‘Mr Clarke?’
‘What… does… he… want?’
‘I’ve no idea. He just paid me to find you and deliver the letter.’
This was it. The moment he’d been dreading every single day of his life for the last nine years. He’d been a fool to believe he could be happy. That he could have the good things in life when the past was only a private investigator’s knock away.
‘Do you want to open the door, Mr Clarke?’
‘Just pass it through the gap,’ Kieran told him in a voice he didn’t recognise as his own.
The white envelope fell onto the doormat. Innocent looking. Harmless. But Kieran knew better if it had come from Danny Sheppard.
‘Good luck, Mr Clarke.’
Kieran closed the door. Almost laughed at the irony of those words. An old gambling buddy of his had once told him he preferred being miserable because it made death more appealing. At that moment, he wished he’d never met Brenda. Never set up home with her and had a beautiful daughter. Because surely it was better to never know happiness than to have it snatched away again.
Brenda poked her head around the doorway. ‘Who was it?’
He stepped in front of the doormat, shielding the envelope. ‘Just someone from work.’
‘What did he want?’
‘Nothing exciting. Could you run me a bath?’
‘Do you still want to go for a walk after?’
Yes, Kieran thought. Along the pier and straight over the edge. ‘Would you mind if we give it a miss? I feel a bit worn out.’
Brenda smiled and walked upstairs. Kieran waited for her to go into the bathroom before snatching the envelope off the mat. He folded it in half and stuffed it in his back pocket. He decided not to read it. He would take it to work and shred it. Forget it. Maybe this would be a good time to move. Get a bigger house with a decent garden for Kirsty. Stay one step ahead of the game. One step ahead of Daniel Sheppard. Tonight he would pray as he’d never prayed before.
For all the good it would do.
Chapter Six
Danny Sheppard tried to stay calm. It wasn’t easy when his mother was in one of her awkward moods. No, ‘awkward’ wasn’t right. Too much of a blanket term. It deserved something much more specific. Like a fully-fledged pain in the arse who seemed to take pleasure out of making his life hell.
He’d known trouble was brewing when he’d returned home from work to find sausages doing what sausages do best when they’re left under the grill for too long: turn to inedible charred lumps.
Rose Sheppard sat at the kitchen table, a cigarette in one hand, the other plucking at her top lip. Her red puffy eyes stared blankly at the grill.
Danny rushed to the cooker and turned off the grill. He left the sausages to spit and sizzle. ‘Do you want to burn the house down?’
Rose didn’t look at him. She puckered her lips and sucked on the cigarette. Ash spilled onto the table.
Danny noticed that she didn’t even have an ashtray. He grabbed one off the windowsill and plonked it in front of her. ‘Have you taken your medication?’
Rose stopped plucking her lip and used her free hand to forage in her hair.
‘Mum?’
The cigarette burned down to the filter. Rose dropped it onto the table. Looked at Danny with insolvent eyes. ‘It’s Calum’s birthday today.’
Danny put the cigarette butt in the ashtray. He ignored the reference to his brother. ‘I’ve got a friend coming soon. I’d appreciate it if you could stay in the front room.’
‘Who?’
‘Just a friend.’
‘You don’t have any friends.’
‘Do you want me to cook you something else?’
‘What’s wrong with the sausages?’
Progress. At least she knew she’d been trying to cook the damn things. ‘They’re burnt to a crisp.’
‘So?’
‘You hate burnt sausages.’
‘Calum likes them like that.’
‘Well, Calum’s not here, is he?’
‘He should be. It’s his birthday. I might make him a cake later.’
‘Would he like that burnt as well?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. No one likes burnt cake.’
Danny went to the cupboard near the back door. He opened it and took out his mother’s packet of buspirone. Held them up to her. ‘Have you taken these today?’