Page 133 of Fighting Mr. Knight

“Others?” I whisper.

“I’ve got a private detective looking into all Gleeson’s contacts during that time. It’s only a matter of time before I find them.”

“What did they take?”

“Wallet. Cash. Jewellery. Whatever he had on him.” His tongue drags through his lips. “Which was a lot for a guy in that area.”

“Maybe you should leave it, Jack,” I say in a shaky voice. “This can’t be good for you. You know what happened. The guy who did it is dead.”

“You’ve never had anyone close to you die, have you sweetheart? I don’t think I can explain . . .” He shakes his head. “I can’t leave it.”

“But you’ve got the guy who did it,” I squeak.

“Let’s just say I hope the others are dead. Because they’re going to wish they were when I’m finished with them.”

My mouth is too dry to speak.

I look at the anger etched in my beautiful boyfriend’s face and start to feel very, very uneasy.

***

Ten missed calls from Jack. If I’m trying to not arouse suspicion, I’m royally fucking it up. Jack will wonder why I left the bar without telling him, go to my flat and find I’m not there.

Instead, it’s eleven on a Friday night, and I’m banging on Dad’s door after the most claustrophobic underground ride of my life. Not only because it’s sweltering heat and there’s no ventilation, but because my nerves are so bad, I nearly puked every time the train lurched forward.

Dad will be on his own because that’s his life. No one visits except me and Uncle Pat. A thought that I try to push to the back of my mind because knowing you are the sole child of a lonely parent is daunting.

I see the silhouette of his frame move towards the front door and my heart pounds so hard I think I’m having an anxiety attack. I can still run away because I know after he opens that doorsomethingwill change.

These past few weeks, I’ve been so fixated on Wicks confessing that there was no room for alternative scenarios.

Because that’s why Dad was afraid of me telling Jack, right?

On the Central line, I told myself it was going to be okay. I concocted a plan. I would tell Dad I’m dropping in on him on my way home and casually bring the conversation around to what Wicks revealed to Jack. We would discuss it rationally, work through it together. Dad wasn’t involved. He just happened to do something stupid after the event.

Jack would come around eventually. He would understand.

Everything would be out in the open instead of buried deep inside me, gnawing away at my stomach.

My rehearsed speech goes out the window the moment Dad opens the door.

“Wicks didn’t kill Jack’s dad,” I blurt out.

Silence.

Fear looks back at me.

He recovers quickly but I see it.

The dread resting in my stomach bubbles to the surface.

“Not this again, love.”Loveis said with no love. His mouth twists into an angry line.

“Wicks admitted it was a guy named Stanley Gleeson,” explodes out of me.

He eyes me guardedly. “Where did you hear this rubbish?”

“Jack hired a private detective.”

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