David Belbin - Bone & Cane

‘Are you going to show us the entrance?’ he asked. ‘Or do we have to tear this place apart?’

‘Who told you?’ Nick asked, in reply.

Moustache tapped his nose.

Nick nearly said a name. Only Joe and one other person knew about what he grew beneath the flat. His brother and his oldest friend. No, it must be someone or something else, something he’d done to give himself away. He’d been so careful. But if he was really careful, he wouldn’t be snorting coke so early in the evening, celebrating an election victory that was by no means certain. Please God they didn’t find the rest of the coke.

‘I’m losing patience,’ Moustache said.

Nick unfurled the carpet and showed them the ladder to the caves.

‘I read about there being all these caves under houses in the Park,’ the clean-shaven one said. ‘First time I’ve been in one.’

‘Reminds me of Mortimer’s Hole over at the Castle,’ Moustache said. He clambered down behind Nick. ‘We’ll have to give tours.’

The drugs squad officers were impressed by the bushy plants, the elaborate lighting, the hygiene and the watering system. They made him explain everything. By the time they’d finished examining the growing operation, Nick’s head had begun to clear. He no longer had any false hope. Back upstairs, the two officers formally arrested Nick, then took him to the central police station.

Later, they found the coke as well. That doubled his sentence.

Sarah muttered words of bland sympathy then poured him another drink. How else to react to a story like that?

‘Those caves sound fascinating,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see them.’

‘I expect the oleander bush is still there. I could show you the place. I don’t know what the police did to the cave system – bricked it up, I expect.’

‘What about getting in through your flat?’

‘Had to sell it. Legal fees.’

‘And you’ve no idea how you got caught?’

‘Bad luck, most likely. Someone smelt something, or the police were doing surveillance on hydroponics suppliers. Question is, now that you’ve heard the worst, are you still interested?’

‘What do you think?’ Sarah said, leaning forward again.

This time, he kissed her. The phone rang. They ignored it and the machine kicked in. Sarah heard a familiar Scots voice mumble his greetings. The Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer. He was hesitant, but his purpose was clear.

‘In the event that you don’t, but we . . . I would like you to come and work for me.’

‘I have to pick this up,’ she told Nick before grabbing the phone. She tried to sound breathless.

‘Sorry, Gordon, I was in the shower.’ Let him imagine her naked. Gordon was easy to flirt with, but Sarah was very conscious that Nick was standing behind her. ‘Were you saying something about a job? You know I’m not an economist.’

‘I’ll have my own policy unit. You could have a crucial part to play.’

Sarah liked Gordon. She liked him to think that she was with him all the way. It was important to stay on the right side of him without getting on the wrong side of Tony. You couldn’t flirt with Tony but Gordon was single, and liked to play the field. Sarah suspected that they were on each other’s list of possibles, even though she fancied him less than she fancied Jasper March. There had been one time at a party conference when something nearly happened between them, only she’d drunk a little too much and he was too sober for the night to get naughty.

‘I’d love to work with you, Gordon, but I should tell you I’m also considering an offer from the Association of Police Officers.’

‘You’d make an excellent representative.’ He knew about it already. ‘But accepting their offer wouldn’t preclude your working with me, too.’

‘I’m sure that, one way or another, we’ll work together,’ Sarah said.

They had a long chat about how the election seemed to be going.

‘Was that who it sounded like?’ Nick asked when she hung up. ‘You two sounded very friendly. He’s single, isn’t he?’

‘There’s nothing going on there.’

‘You two haven’t ever . . .?’

Sarah decided not to mention the conference. ‘We’ve had dinner together a couple of times. Not a date, though, just a working dinner.’

‘Suppose you win?’ he asked over dinner. ‘You wouldn’t be able to go out with me.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Sarah told him, the insult also an old endeament.

She wasn’t going to win. In the unlikely event that she did, she could still see Nick. He had served his time. While he remained on probation, she might need to keep the relationship low profile. That was manageable.

‘The tabloids would love it – the MP and the ex-con. Look how they did you over with Jasper what’s-his-name . . .’

‘There was nothing to that,’ Sarah insisted. ‘Look, I’m on record as supporting the legalisation of dope. You and I are old friends and I have a strong reputation on penal reform. Nobody can get at me for seeing an ex-con if I choose to.’

Nick looked troubled. ‘I’m not so sure. Ed Clark. Then me.’

‘Ed Clark’s a different story. Let’s not get into that,’ Sarah said. The last thing she wanted was to discuss the mistake she’d made in helping with Ed’s appeal. She poured Nick a second brandy, resisting the urge to say ‘Let’s go to bed’. His self esteem was low – it was important to let him make the move. And when he did, sod her earlier decision: she wouldn’t turn him down.

Nick sipped at his brandy, not wanting to get drunk. He didn’t like the way Sarah avoided talking about Ed. What was so uncomfortable about helping a man get out of prison? Unless, as Ed claimed, she had slept with him. Perhaps Sarah was more drawn to Nick because he had been in prison. It felt wrong, the way she was rushing into this. She would go to bed with him tonight, that was clear. But Nick wasn’t desperate for sex. He was desperate for the kind of relationship they had before. Sleeping with her too soon might spoil any chance of that.

‘I ought to go,’ he said at midnight. ‘I know how busy you are, how tired you must be.’

‘Don’t.’ Sarah said. ‘Canvassing never starts before half ten on Sundays.’

‘If I stay we might do something we’d both regret.’

At the door they shared a long, wet kiss good night. Nick almost changed his mind.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘No need to rush things. We’ve got all the time in the world.’

25

Sarah finished canvassing at one and told the team she only had time for a quick half in the pub afterwards.

‘Family stuff?’ Tony Bax asked.

‘Constituency business.’

‘It mightn’t be your constituency after Thursday,’ Tony reminded her. He had fought this seat ten years before, got slaughtered at the polls. ‘Why not leave it for the other bugger?’

‘I don’t like loose ends,’ Sarah told him. ‘And the other bugger wouldn’t touch this one with a bargepole.’

‘Then why are you sticking your oar in?’ Tony wanted to know.

‘I don’t want my main legacy as an MP to be that I helped a guilty man go free.’

‘You’ve changed your mind about Ed Clark?’

‘I’ve said enough,’ Sarah told her constituency chairman.

She drove to Bestwood Village, on the far side of Bestwood Park. The park was partially surrounded by one of the city’s most notorious housing estates, one that, thankfully, was not in her constituency. The village itself was contrastingly smart, occupied by a combination of old money and aspirational professionals, including the ex-police officer she was here to see.

‘Jack Slater?’

‘You’d better come in.’ It had taken three phone calls to old mates for Sarah to find Slater, the one officer who had been involved in both cases against Ed Clark. He had risen to be an inspector in Traffic three years ago. Then he packed in the force and moved into home security.