Page 86 of Thick as Thieves
London Docklands
We landin London to a grey sky, but the temperature is warm. Valentina and Maria have settled into the apartments at the docklands, and we’re all acclimatising to the new normal. They’re gabbling away in Spanish to the boys, who are riveted. Almost as much as Valentina is by the river traffic. There are many more boats at this time of year—the weather has the pleasure cruises out in full force—and they spend a lot of time outside with the boys, watching the world float by.
I’m desperate for Marshall to come home, and even though I’m torturing Jonno, I want him home as well. We intend to stay in London for a brief time, then we’ll all go home to Devon, with Jude riding shotgun.
I still feel numb. I definitely haven’t really fully processed what’s happened. I miss them—their noise, scent, their physical presence. But the hurt, pain, and betrayal they’ve subjected me to is offsetting all of that. The pain blocks out any good. I need Marshall.
A few days later, we’re all standing at the arrivals area at the airport, waiting for Marshall and my delightful little brother to return from Ireland. I’ve been torturing him for days. He should have told me. He knew what they’d done; may have even advised it. I know his methods. He’ll have known about the vasectomy as well, but not one word to me. I’m his sister. His loyalty is to me, not them. My frustration with him is at an all time high. He thinks he’s like some emperor, making life and death decisions for the greater good. Well he may have overestimated his powers this time.
I spot them and wave pointedly at Marshall. I’m grinning like an idiot. I cannot wait to embrace him, my hands itchy to hold him. But as he gets closer, my heart rate spikes up. His demeanour stops me in my tracks. He looks grey, and pasty, not good at all.
Jonno turns to him, a look of concern crossing his normally impassive face. I panic and start to run for them, shouting for a doctor as I do.
Marshall’s knees buckle and he’s headed for the floor. Tommy rushes forwards to grab him, laying him on the floor in recovery position as I start to scream. Shouting for a doctor, I fall to my knees next to Marshall, kissing his face, touching him.
Tears stream down my face as I jabber out, “Don’t leave me Marshall, don’t Dad, please don’t leave me.” Tears roll down my cheeks and onto Marshall as he passes out in my arms. And if I thought leaving Kell and Xander was sucking out my soul, this is infinitely worse.
I jump into the ambulance with Jonno while Tommy takes Valentina and the twins home. On the way to the hospital, I’m watching the monitors like a hawk. Trying to decipher if things look good or not. His heartbeat is all over the place, and the more bleeping the machines do the more hysterical I get.
I wish I could say I’m cool, calm, and collected, but I’m not. I’m a mass of crying and sobbing hysteria, and by the time we arrive at the hospital, I’m no use to man nor beast. It’s a good thing Marshall had passed out. He would have told me off for my histrionics.
Jonno and I are on tenterhooks whilst we wait to find out what the state of play is with Marshall’s health.
We hang around for hours, finally catching a doctor much later in the evening. He informs us that Marshall was dehydrated, may have diabetes, they want to check his heart, and his blood pressure was a bit low. It sounds like they don’t know what’s wrong with him and are covering lots of bases.
Jonno and I sit in a corridor, on the most uncomfortable plastic chairs ever created, waiting to see Marshall. We’ve sorted out his medical insurance, and we’re biding our time to see if and where he’ll be admitted. It’s the first time I’ve had Jonno alone to question him about anything.
“What happened in Ireland? Has he been working too hard or what? I thought he was just helping out?” I quiz Jonno.
“He was helping, but he does a lot on the ingredients side of the business, new product lines. Apparently he’s a master blender, and he’s never officially told us. But no wonder he was always pushing whiskey onto us—we were his unofficial taste testers. All those barrels he has at home, and how he collects them, well,” he shrugs, “he’s one of the best in the world. O’Clerys, couldn’t function without him at present.”
“Well they’ll have to, because he’s going nowhere ‘til I know what’s wrong with him.” I face Jonno head-on, squaring my shoulders and preparing for any fight to remove Marshall from my sight.
“Finally going to come out of the closet, as it were? I think you’ll have to, if the O’Clery’s come.”
“I’ll talk to Marshall when he’s fit enough, and not a minute sooner. You better hold off those O'Clery's. They’re not taking him to Ireland.”
He nods. “Shouldn’t be an issue. They have enough on at the minute, but I know if they can get him home there, they will. They were really laying it on thick when we were there, any chance they got. I think if you weren’t here, he would go home.”
“Well I am here, so he isn’t. I’ll tell them myself if they come. Let’s wait a bit before we tell them, Jonno. I don’t think they’ll come, they hardly have before.” I say this with hope rather than certainty.
He looks at me sceptically. “That was before one of the other brothers got sick. They’re down to Marshall and Dermot, so they might want him back,” he states logically.
“Well, they can’t have him. You better help me, Jonno. I am his next of kin on all documents, and we havethedocument that makes it official. So he’s going nowhere.” I’m getting hysterical again at the thought of losing Marshall.
“Ah, the pot and kettle document,” he tells me, his brown eyes alight with mischief.
Clearly I haven’t tortured him enough if he’s got this much spirit left. I choose to ignore him. I knew this would come up, but what can I do? I’ll face it when I speak to Marshall.
Evie age15
Eastwood Village Yorkshire
“Jonno,he’s still not come back. Can I come over?” It's a cold November night, my dad’s gone away for work—again—and left me no money, no food, nothing. I’ve savings, I can manage, and he normally sends me money from time to time. But this time I’ve heard nothing for two whole weeks. Probably drank it all away, wherever he’s working. I’m used to fending for myself since my mum died. I have friends and family, the Greystones and Marshall, they’ll help me.
“No, don’t come,” Jonno advises me over the phone. “Dad’s got some men round playing cards, two from the cop shop. Stay put. Or go to Marshall’s and I’ll come there.”
I look out the window. It’s only 6:30 p.m., but it’s pitch black and there’s a wind blowing down the hillside that is pushing the rain into sheets. I grab on a fleece acquired from Kellen. He seems to want to give me all his clothing at present. I pull it on and breathe him in. God, he smells so good. I close my eyes and picture him laughing up at the sun. The scent of pepper, cornfields, and Kellen underneath, total heaven.
