“It’s fine. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. Now. How does that sound?”
“It sounds—it sounds like a fucking miracle.”
A literal Christmas miracle.
He laughs with delight. “I’m so glad I can do this much at least, so you get to see your daughter. Besides, borrowing my van’s a far sight cheaper than a rental car. All you need to do is pay for the petrol. We replaced the brakes and tires not long ago, so you’ll be set for winter driving.”
“This is fucking incredible. You’re incredible. I can’t believe it. I mean, I can believe you’re incredible. God, I’m going on again, aren’t I?” I dare smile.
“Panicked Charlie is just as fab as non-panicked Charlie.” His voice is reassuring, like he hasn’t spent the last few minutes talking me out of a breakneck spiral. “If I was there, I’d make you tea. Instead, go find some. I’ll ring Molly and let you know when she’ll have the keys for you. Then you can head out first thing tomorrow and arrive in time for the Christmas celebrations.”
“Holy shit, I could kiss you.”
“Hold that thought for our date,” says Ben solemnly. “I’ll collect then.”
Now I’m standing in the concourse grinning widely, gripping the handle of my wheelie suitcase. “You might be my hero. In fact, I know you are.”
“Ach. This is something I can do. Now go find that tea.”
And I go find that tea, before the café closes in the concourse, grounding myself.
True to his word, Ben texts ten minutes later with instructions to pick up the keys and van. By the time I go to bed that night in my house, I’m full of anticipation for my trip to Wales—and for seeing Ben again on New Year’s.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It’s well before dawn by the time I reach Ben’s house, delivered via taxi. I give the driver a good tip for his troubles, which I can do because Michael’s given me a generous cash gift for Christmas. It’s more than enough to cover the petrol for the trip and to give the rest to Emily for Carys. Lawyering clearly is working out.
Standing in the slush, I carefully lift my suitcases over to the steps by the front door. Despite the unholy hour of 6:00 a.m., I text Molly to let her know I’ve arrived. It’s quite the way to make introductions, pre-sun-up. I already owe her and we haven’t met yet.
Without the distraction of Ben, I can take this all in better, even with the dark. I’m standing on a cobbled street in front of a mews house in Marylebone. Snow’s pushed up in piles along the edges of the lane. We’re not far from Soho. Not far from Chinatown too.
What I am noticing, however, is the distinct lack of a van.
Lights switch on at the top of the stairs, flanking the door, and a dark-haired woman pokes her head out. She brightens when she sees me, like I’m some find she’s discovered after searching for some time, and trots down in her parka, which she’s thrown on over floral pajamas and boots.
“I’m so sorry,” I begin, but Molly shakes her head to stop me. “I just… I’m not sure where the van is or the keys? I didn’t mean to bother you—”
“Not at all,” says Molly in a Scottish accent like Ben’s.
Is Ben running a safe house for Scots in London? There’s so much I don’t know about him. It could be entirely possible. I mean, we’re two for two in this house of Scots. Before I can fret about not knowing about this, she laughs.
“Don’t look so worried. I’ve not been to bed yet, so don’t feel bad about getting me up. Or keeping me up, either. Ben’s warned me about your apologies,” she teases.
We walk over to dark wooden doors beside the stairs. She uses a key to open the double doors, swinging them wide. When she switches the light on, a shiny black Mercedes van is parked inside the compact garage. The van fills the space.
“Voila.” Molly grins. “This is where we hide the van.”
“Holy shit.”
I’m dead impressed. Not only does Ben have a van and parking in central London, but it’s a great van too. A reliable-looking van. A svelte van. A van that other, lesser vans would aspire to be when they become fully grown vans one day. Seriously, though, it’s mint. Even from here, I can see the gloss of the paint, premium van detailing, excellent tires. And it’s big enough for a band with kit, never mind me with a single suitcase and a guitar.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Hesitant, I give Molly a sidelong glance. There must be some mistake. Ben says he works as a barman when he’s not playing gigs. Halfpenny Rise may literally be on the rise in London and the UK, but I didn’t think he was pulling in dosh like the Arctic Monkeys. Far from it. Very far. Perhaps he’s leading a Scottish crime ring. Shit. What if he’s a king pin? Or running drugs? Or…God knows what. What if this garage is where he hides the bodies?
Before my brain takes off at a hundred miles per hour, I nip that in the bud. Instead, I focus on Molly.
“This is absolutely okay,” Molly assures me. “Billy—my partner—is off in Boston. And Ben’s away in Scotland. I’m only a short taxi ride away to my parents’ later before I’m off to join Billy tomorrow. No one will be using the van in the meantime, so you may as well take advantage. The tank’s full and it’s been serviced not long ago. You should be fine. The lads have toured with this van, and it hasn’t let them down. It has a computer that’s smarter than I am, and your phone should sort out the rest. There’s an emergency kit in the back, plus a spare tire and jack. Here’s the keys. This one’s for the van, this one’s for the garage doors. And this is for the house. Feel free to make yourself at home if you’re back early. Ben’s backin a few days.”
My head spins.
