Page 132 of A Dark Fall
“Eighteen months in a young offenders, and then ten in Wandsworth after I hit eighteen. They let me out early for good behavior.”
As I process this information, I think what I feel is relief. It’s not a nice story, but it’s also not unmanageable.
“Why didn’t you talk? Give up the others?”
Another empty smile. “Four years is nothing compared to what would have happened had I grassed. It’s not how it’s done. You learn that shit pretty young where I’m from, Alex. I got caught. I paid the price.”
“You were a child, Jake. And under the influence of older people. They should have taken that into account.” I feel bloody angry now.
“They did.” He nods. “I’d been in and out of Feltham since I was thirteen. I was a repeat offender. Judge said I needed to grow up. He thought a longer sentence would sort me out. He was right. Certainly helped me mature.”
I picture a thirteen-year-old Jake, lost and lonely with no one who cared about him, and I feel my heart break some more. He must have been so afraid and so angry at everyone. He’s still lost and lonely. He thinks I don’t see it, but I do.I try to remember what I was doing at thirteen. Having piano lessons and vacationing in the south of France surrounded by a happy, loving family. I feel sick.
“It must have been awful,” I say, tears welling behind my eyes again. I glance down, focusing hard on the wood of my dining table.
“It wasn’t so bad. It got me off the street. And keeping my mouth shut and taking the fall for it got me respect. It was how I met the guy who pretty much changed my life.” He says it in a way that makes it impossible to know if this man changed his life for good or bad. Though, looking at the person he is today, I suppose it can’t have been all bad.
Maybe he’s talking about Freddie Ward. The guy Mark was so interested in.
“Which guy?” I ask.
He’s silent for a moment, his gaze inscrutable. “You really didn’t read that file, did you?”
I shake my head.
“He isn’t someone you need to know about, Alex. It’s best you don’t. It’s best you’re not involved when it comes to him.”
We’re both silent for a long time as Jake draws circles on the table with his finger, and I watch him. My stomach twists with dread and fear, but it’s not over yet. I need to be brave now.
Sliding my chair back, I cross the kitchen to the fridge and inspect the wine chilling inside. I fill my glass far beyond halfway and take a long, welcome sip, then another, all the while feeling the weight of his stare on me. Lifting the glass and the bottle, I carry them back to the table and sit back down. My body needs wine for whatever might happen now. For whatever he might tell me now. He watches me intently as I take another sip of the cool, sweet white.
“How do you make a living?” I ask as I lower the glass from my mouth.
“What do you mean?” His eyes are suspicious, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m keeping from him, or what else I know. Which is still exactly nothing since I didn’t read what was in the envelope.
“I mean, is your nightclub your only source of income, or do you have other less legitimate streams?” My voice is steady, but my body feels as if it’s about to shatter into pieces at any moment. I’m surprised my hands don’t shake when I lift my glass again.
His mouth twitches slightly—so slightly I almost miss it. “There are a couple of others, but the club is my main concern now.”
To be honest, I’m surprised at the speed and clarity of his reply, and so I don’t have my next question ready. “Because it’s where you launder money for your less legitimate streams?” I stare him down.
His nostrils flare. “No. The club is completely legitimate, and I plan on keeping it that way.”
“But you do have other streams. What are they?” I press on, feeling oddly exhilarated—in control even.
“Alex ... be careful,” he warns.
“Is that a threat?” I narrow my eyes.
He blinks. “Of course not. I just mean, be careful about how much you think you need to know. Do you really need to—?”
I thump my glass down on the table with such force I’m surprised it doesn’t break. “How much IthinkI need to know? Are you serious? I think Ineedto know the truth, don’t you? Who the hell are you?Whatthe hell are you?” My voice is loud, echoing around the quiet kitchen.
He says nothing, just watches me. Then, “You know exactly who I am, Alex. You’ve always known.” His tone is so calm and soft it magnifies and intensifies the rage swirling inside me.
Well, I have to hand it to him: he has always managed to be the calm in the eye of my emotional storm.
“Excuse me?”
