They got to the entrance, and he made an attempt to stand without her assistance, but he almost fell over so she propped him up against the wall.
‘Take a few more deep breaths.’
‘What?’
He gasped and breathed heavily through his nose and then fumbled in his pocket for his cigarette pack. She had to help him take one out and put it in his mouth, then digging into his pocket he mumbled that he couldn’t find his lighter and asked her for one.
‘Sorry, I don’t smoke.’
‘’S’OK, got it.’
His hand wavered as he tried to light the cigarette so she took the silver flip-top Zippo lighter from him, which after a few seconds she mastered and was able to hold the lit flame to his cigarette. He took deep drags, his hand shaking from the alcohol.
‘God, the state of me… you go on in and I’ll make my own way… ’
He didn’t finish the sentence and she was afraid he was going to slide down the wall. She took his arm and again helped him to stand upright, the strong smell of sick making her turn her head away.
‘Sometimes, Tennison, it all gets to me… People think it’s just another dead junkie tart, so why give a shit what happened to her. Thing is she was just a kid who lost her way thanks to scum like O’Duncie and Big Daddy. Sometimes I think it’s only the likes of us who really care, do you know what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, quietly touched by his words.
‘Emotions never make sense – even her own father beat the shit out of her, yet he loved her. It’s caused by pain, terrible, gut-wrenching pain.’
She nodded, and he took a few more drags of his cigarette before he tossed it aside. He didn’t ask her to help him, she just slipped her arm around him as they headed into the section house. He was not as unsteady but she was afraid that if she didn’t hold on to him he might fall over.
Bradfield somehow managed to walk straight as they went through the reception area into the lifts and he told her he was on the second floor. As they got out of the lift he insisted that he was perfectly capable of finding his own room, thanked her for helping him and gave her a hug.
Jane heard the sound of someone deliberately clearing their throat behind her and turned to see the section house sergeant.
‘Dear God, Tennison, this is the men’s floor. You’ve only been here a few hours and already you’re breaking the rules.’
‘I was just helping…’ She turned to indicate and say DCI Bradfield, but he had disappeared and whether he’d gone into his room or to the toilets she couldn’t tell.
‘Un-bloody believable, you’re up to sexual antics and hopping into one of the men’s beds before you’ve even slept a night in your own!’
‘Excuse me, Sergeant, he had a severe stomach upset and-’
‘Listen, my dear, I have heard every excuse under the sun and this is your first and last warning. Now get your backside onto your own landing sharpish, you should be ashamed of yourself.’
Jane saw no point in arguing and trudged up the stairs, the sergeant following behind shaking his head like an old grizzly bear as he made sure she went to her room on the third floor. Whether or not Bradfield had made it back to his room safely was not an issue for Jane: she was just angry that after only one day she had already made a very bad impression and no doubt the sergeant would take delight in telling the other residents.
Clifford Bentley’s surprise homecoming party had been arranged by his wife and sons for the afternoon of his release from prison. John had invited all his dad’s old pals round to his mother’s flat and the day before Renee had been to the hairdresser’s for a set and perm. This was followed by a visit to the local butcher’s for sliced ham, chicken legs, sausage rolls and pork pies. Next she went to the fishmonger’s and got some jellied eels, whelks and cockles, while David went to the Co-op to buy bread, cheese slices and an assortment of spreads for the sandwiches, and chocolate finger biscuits.
The booze had been lugged home in the van by John – large tins of Watneys Party Seven Draught Bitter, a crate of Mackeson Stout, bottles of spirits, and mixers such as tonic water and orange juice. On seeing it all David said it must have cost a fortune. John laughed and said he’d got it at half-price, but David suspected it was nicked to order which is why his brother had got it so cheaply.
John took a suit and clean shirt for his dad to change into when he collected him from Pentonville. He picked him up in a Mercedes 280 Coupe, complete with chauffeur, supplied by one of his second-hand-car dealer friends, but neither of them spoke about the bank job. Arriving home late that afternoon Clifford was miffed to see that Renee had hung a big ‘Welcome Home Cliffey’ banner over the communal landing wall. David was by the front door to greet his dad.
‘Silly bitch, she knows I don’t want it publicized I’m out.’
‘She means well, Dad,’ David said.
‘Means well? She might as well have put “from prison” in the middle of the bloody banner.’
