Tania Carver - Cage of Bones

‘Yeah,’ said Mickey. ‘Do we know who’s there? Balchunas? Anyone else?’

‘We don’t,’ said Fennell. ‘But we can expect him. And maybe Fenton, I don’t know. Anything else?’

Mickey again. ‘What the trucks are actually going to do once they’re inside the gates, do we know that?’

Clemens turned to him. Sneered.

Mickey ignored him.

‘Good question,’ said Fennell. ‘No, we don’t. If things go according to plan, we step in, catch them in the act. Simple.’

‘And if they don’t?’ someone else said.

‘We improvise,’ said Clemens. ‘We do whatever we have to do to get them.’

‘Right,’ said Mickey.

Fennell turned back, in conversation once more. Mickey looked at Clemens again. His finger was never far from his trigger.

Fennell closed off his earpiece, turned to the rest of them. ‘The trucks will be passing us at any moment.’

They watched. Several seconds later – although it felt like minutes – two trucks carrying metal containers passed them.

‘There we go,’ said Fennell.

They let a certain amount of counted time pass, then followed at a distance.

Donna walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, looked into the street. Satisfied there was no one watching her or the house, she let the curtain drop, returned to her seat.

‘It’s all right,’ said Don, ‘you’re safe here.’

She nodded. Wanting to believe him. Knowing it was going to take more than words to make her feel that. Especially after what she had been through these past few days.

They had eaten, Eileen making a huge bowl of pasta carbonara. Both Donna and Ben had had thirds. She thought Ben would have just kept going if it hadn’t run out. And it was good, too. Proper food, she thought. The kind she only ever saw on TV, or other people eating in a restaurant.

And wine with it. Not the cheap stuff from Ranjit’s on the corner that she glugged by the bottleful and that left her burning inside for days afterwards, but proper stuff. Good stuff.

She had wanted to drink all of that, too. But had stopped herself. Made do with just one and a half glasses. Didn’t want her hosts staring at her.

Don’s wife had been very kind to her. She didn’t seem to mind the fact that Don had invited her and Ben along both for dinner and to sleep the night.

‘It’s no trouble,’ she had said. ‘We’re always looking after Phil’s daughter. And we used to do this a lot. Take in children, especially. When we were fostering.’

Donna had nodded. ‘Right.’

She could remember what foster homes were like. Or the ones she had been in when her mother couldn’t cope. Nothing like this one.

She had given a small smile. ‘Don and Donna,’ she’d said. ‘I could be your daughter.’ Her voice had trailed away.

Eileen had made a fuss of Ben. Got him something to drink, asked him if he wanted a bath, what his favourite TV show was, all of that. He was wary at first, not wanting to answer in case it was a trick. But Eileen had spoken to him clearly and honestly, and he had responded. He was now curled up in a bed upstairs, fast asleep.

And now she was sitting with Don and Eileen, in their living room, sipping from another bottle of wine. The room felt lovely. Warm. Safe. The armchair nearly big enough to sleep in. Donna could have done.

She could get used to this, she thought. Just stay here. Always.

She felt herself tearing up. Didn’t want to cry. Struggled to hold it in.

She looked across at Don. He seemed friendly too. He had the feel of an ex-copper about him, but he didn’t shove it in your face the way some of them did. Like some of her clients did, even. But now he seemed on edge, distracted.

‘You heard from Phil?’ Donna asked.

Don looked up, startled, as if she had woken him from a dream. ‘No. No. I don’t… don’t expect to. Not tonight.’ He slumped back into his own thoughts.

Eileen leaned forward. ‘So, Donna… what about you? What are you going to do next?’

Donna had thought about that. She had followed Ben upstairs, had a bath after him. Lay there thinking. She couldn’t go back to the way things had been. Not any more. Not after what she had just been through. She didn’t want to go home, either. Not after everything that had happened there.

Maybe it was time to get herself sorted, she had thought. Get her head, her body straightened out. Maybe.

‘I don’t know, Eileen,’ she said. ‘I can’t… I don’t want to go home. Not after… you know.’

Eileen nodded.

‘And there’s Ben… ’ She sighed. ‘I suppose he’s… ’ She trailed off.

‘You’re all he’s got,’ said Eileen.

She was right. He was Donna’s now. Whether she liked it or not. Her responsibility. And she had to act responsible.

Donna smiled. ‘Maybe I’ll write about what’s happened,’ she said. ‘Get it turned into a film.’

Eileen smiled along with her. ‘That would be fun.’

‘Yeah,’ said Donna, nodding, ‘maybe I’ll do that.’

Don stood up, went to the kitchen. She heard the fridge door open and close. Heard him rummaging around in a drawer for a bottle opener. The glug of beer into a glass. He returned with a pint, took a large mouthful, set it on the table beside him.

‘Don’t get drunk,’ said Eileen.

‘I’m not going to get drunk,’ said Don, a trace of irritability in his words.

Eileen turned to Donna. Dropped her voice. ‘Don’s never left the police force. Not in his heart. It’s difficult when he knows there’s something big going on. Still wants to be there. In on the action.’

‘I can hear you, you know.’

Eileen turned to him. Smiled. ‘I know you can.’

Donna saw love in that smile. Silence fell.

‘Well I don’t know about you,’ she said, ‘but I’m glad I’m not there. Too much excitement. And not the right kind, you know what I mean?’

‘I quite agree,’ said Eileen.

Don sighed.

‘Let’s see what’s on the telly,’ said Eileen, searching for the remote.

They heard a cry from upstairs. Donna stood up, ready to run.

‘It’s all right,’ said Eileen. ‘It sounds like Josephina turning over in her sleep. Nothing to worry about.’

Donna sat down once more. Eileen was still looking for the remote. She found it, but before switching on the TV, she turned to Donna. ‘You responded like a mother,’ she said.

Donna stared at her. ‘What? What you on about?’ But she knew. She could feel her face reddening at the words.

Eileen smiled once more. ‘That’s what a mother would do. Her first thought. Protect her child, whatever.’

Donna took a mouthful of wine. Another. Until she had drained the glass.

She thought about Eileen’s words. Her own actions.

‘Yeah,’ she said, heart full of love, full of fear. ‘Maybe I’ve… maybe I’ve gained a son.’

She stopped speaking. Felt herself tearing up once more. Wouldn’t allow it to happen. Forced herself under control.

Eileen looked away. Fumbled with the remote, turned the TV on. Spooks . Impossibly beautiful spies saving the world in implausibly ridiculous ways.

‘Oh,’ she said, more to fill the silence than anything else, ‘I like this. Although I thought it was better when that handsome one was in it.’

‘Yeah,’ said Don, bitterness curling the edges of his words, ‘let’s watch someone else save the world, shall we?’

The three of them fell into silence once more.

Eileen looked over at Don. She felt for him. Donna could see why. It couldn’t be easy to feel redundant. Especially when he’d been in the bar with the rest of them earlier on. Especially when it was all he wanted to do.