A Good Catch Part 30

28.

August 2009 Grant moved out of Tide House with the five hundred pounds in his pocket and the promise of wages, into one of the letting rooms above the Golden Hind. Living in the pub suited him and Jesse perfectly.

Grant had settled into his job on the fish market too. He did it well enough, even with a hangover, and over the next few weeks he stopped mithering Jesse about a bigger, better position in the company. At the moment he couldn't really face the extra responsibilities a higher position would entail; he was sure he would take his rightful place at the top of the tree in due course. 'I'm in clover,' he said to himself. 'Living in a pub, all the beer I can drink and a job that I can't be sacked from. Grant, lad, you landed on your a.r.s.e in b.u.t.ter all right.'

For his part, Jesse was relieved that Grant had apparently settled for his lot. Yes, he drank too much and was sometimes late for work or didn't turn up at all but, all in all, it was the best of a bad situation.

Greer had been very upset by Grant's reappearance, and Jesse's weakness in dealing with him. She had sanitised the house from top to bottom. 'This room needs fumigating,' she said, stomping around the beautiful lit bateau bed in the spare room that Grant had slept in.

'He's only been here a night,' said Jesse testily.

'But where was he the previous nights? Eh?' she'd demanded, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves and stripping the duvet and mattress protector off.

'He was in hospital.'

'Yes, and we all know how filthy hospitals are nowadays, don't we?' She handed Jesse a black bin liner. 'Open that and hold it while I put this bedding in.' Jesse did as he was told. He watched Greer as she moved around the room picking up the towels that Grant had left in a damp heap on the beautiful suede chair by the window; finding three empty tins of Skinner's Wink behind the curtains, and curling her lips as she saw a pair of very dirty, rather stiff socks spread out on the radiator. Greer had been a good wife to him and a great mother to Freddie. When they had lost Louisa, he had made a promise to himself that he would be the best husband and father Greer and Freddie could hope for. And he'd held to that promise.

If there had been any vestige of longing for Loveday, he made sure he'd killed it. Smothering the thoughts till there was no breath left in them. He loved Greer in his own way and he knew she loved him.

'I do love you, Greer,' he said suddenly.

She stopped fussing with the clean sheets and looked at him. 'Don't try to get round me.'

'I'm not.' He put the stuffed bin liner down and came towards her. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her into him. 'I'm sorry about Grant. He won't come back here again.'

She tried to wriggle out of his embrace, saying, 'Too right he won't be coming back here again,' but he held her tighter. He kissed her neck the way she used to like it and he felt her relax just a little.

'What are you doing?' she asked quietly.

'What do you think?' He nibbled her ear.

'I haven't got time for this,' she said after a pause. 'I've got to get this room sorted, then I'm meeting a client over in Liskeard after lunch.'

He persisted with the nibbling. 'We've got plenty of time.'

Greer weighed up all she had to do, versus having s.e.x with her husband. 'OK. But we'll have to be quick.'

The summer turned slowly into autumn and Jesse was feeling confident that life was back under his control. Grant was behaving himself. Greer had secured a very lucrative job doing up a huge country house just outside Liskeard. Freddie was back at school and on track to do well in his GCSEs. And the business had just had its best summer profits for three years.

So nothing could have prepared him for the entrance, one afternoon, of Loveday into his office. Her face was blotched and her make-up dislodged by tears.

'What's happened?' he asked, getting up and closing the office door behind her. He glimpsed Lauren looking curiously at him. 'It's OK, Lauren.' He smiled.

'Would you like a tea? Coffee?' Lauren asked, desperate to know what was going on.

'I'll let you know.' He smiled again and closed the door firmly.

He turned to Loveday, his smile replaced with concern. 'What's happened? Is it Mickey? The kids?'

'It's Grant.' She was shaking.

Jesse sat Loveday on one of the comfy chairs by the coffee table. 'What's he done?'

'Nothing ... n-not yet ... It's what he's been saying.'

'Tell me.' Jesse was feeling the old dread in his stomach.

'He was overheard in the Hind last night, saying ...' Loveday's voice broke and she wiped at her tears angrily, '... saying that Hal's not Mickey's son. He said that he had a good idea who the father is.'

'Did he give a name?'

Loveday looked at Jesse coldly, 'Of course not. There's no other b.l.o.o.d.y name but Mickey's.'

Jesse bit his lip. 'Loveday, I don't want to get you cross but ... are you sure you know that Hal is Mickey's?'

She jumped up, looking as if he'd slapped her. 'I've told you. You are nothing to do with Hal.' She was shouting now. 'Get that into your thick bleddy head, will you?'

'All right. All right. Come and sit back down.' He spoke calmly and she returned to her seat. 'So why have you come to tell me this?' he asked gently.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. 'Because Grant's your brother and you need to shut him up before Mickey hears anything.'

'OK,' he said slowly. 'Who was he talking to in the pub?'

'Peter the landlord. A few of the boat crews and some of the lads who work downstairs. I heard it from Johnny. He said no one believed a word of it and it was all a load of s.h.i.t, but he thought I should know.'

'Oh s.h.i.t,' said Jesse.

'Yeah,' replied a crumpled Loveday.

On the upstairs landing of the Hind, Jesse peered at the nameplates on each of the four letting rooms. He walked past Francis Drake, The Armada Room and The Good Queen Bess Suite. When he got to The Pelican he stopped, took a deep breath and knocked with what he hoped was authority.

He heard a shuffling and the creak of a bedspring. He knocked again.

'p.i.s.s off,' came Grant's voice.

'It's me. Jesse. Let me in.'

'If it's about me not coming in to work today, I've got the flu. See you tomorrow.'

'It's not that. Let me in.'

Jesse heard a few muttered curses then the sound of approaching feet. The bolt was drawn back and the door opened. Grant looked terrible and smelt as ripe as a whisky distillery.

'I told you. I've got the flu. If I were you I wouldn't come near me.'

Jesse ignored this and pushed his way into the room.

'Good G.o.d, Grant. Look at the state of your room. Does no one come in and clean for you?'

Grant looked sheepish. 'I don't like to put the girls to any bother.'

Jesse, with years of the training that Greer had instilled in him, crossed the room and opened the sagging curtains. He pushed at the sash window to let the cool October night air in. It wouldn't budge. Giving up, he picked his way across the floor and its patchwork of beer cans and improvised ashtrays. 'You and I need a little talk.'

'I don't feel very well.'

'Beer and f.a.gs tend to make people feel like s.h.i.t,' glowered Jesse. 'Get downstairs in five minutes.'

Jesse must have looked more threatening than he felt because Grant did appear downstairs without keeping him waiting more than a couple of minutes.

'I'll have a pint, please,' Grant said, walking towards the bar.

'Oh, no.' Jesse pulled his brother towards the door. 'You and I are having a little chat where flapping ears can't hear us.'

There was a keen wind whistling over the water as Jesse dragged a reluctant Grant past the public toilets and towards a covered shelter with benches for weary tourists. 'Sit down,' Jesse ordered Grant.

Grant sat and whimpered, 'I ain't done nothing wrong.'

'You shouted your mouth off in the bar last night about Hal Chandler not being Mickey's son.'

Grant looked sly and licked his lips. 'Well, maybe I did and maybe I didn't, and maybe he is and maybe he isn't.'

'You are going to go into the Hind tonight and you'll put the record straight,' said Jesse with impressive menace. 'You will tell them that you are a hopeless p.i.s.shead and that you talk all sorts of s.h.i.t when you've had a drink. What you said was not only untrue, it was hurtful to people who have been good friends to you.'

Grant pulled a wry smile. 'Well, I would say that if it were a lie.'

Jesse looked at his brother coldly. 'It was a lie.'

'I don't think so. The night before you got married to the oh-so-wealthy Greer, I saw you with Loveday. Lying on your old parka on the floor of Dad's old office up at the sheds.'

Jesse pushed his face close to Grant's unshaven, alcohol-ravaged face. 'No you didn't.'

Grant pushed his face into Jesse's and laughed. 'Oh, yes I did. You were giving her a h.e.l.l of a going-over.'

Jesse could feel something building inside him. Hatred, resentment, anger.

'How dare you? All I've ever done is the right thing, while you ... you're just a dirty little disappointment who has thrown his life away and broken Mum and Dad's hearts in the process.'

Grant sneered. 'You think you're so much better than me, Daddy's Number One son, but one day we'll be the same. You won't be able to keep me from my rightful inheritance. We'll see who's the "Number One" then.'

Now it was Jesse's turn to laugh. 'You'll never get a penny, Grant. Dad's cut you out and I'll get the business all of it. We made sure.'

The sneer faded from Grant's face. 'You f.u.c.ker. I was right about you. Dad would never do this, but you would. You shafted Loveday, you shafted your best friend and now you're going to shaft me.' He pushed his face close to Jesse's and Jesse could smell the sour stench of alcohol, cigarettes and decay on his breath. 'You might fool other people all respectable with your la-di-dah wife and house but I know it's just a front. Underneath you're a lying little s.h.i.t bag just like me.'

Neither Grant nor Jesse himself, imprisoned in a red mist expected the punch that smashed into Grant's jaw, sending teeth and a fine mist of blood in an arc to his left. Jesse, once he'd let loose the first fist, couldn't stop himself. He pummelled his brother until Grant's body slid to the floor, and then didn't stop, kicking him until exhaustion halted him and he stood, dazed and panting, over Grant's p.r.o.ne body.

It was Mickey, on his way for a quick pint, who found them.

'What's happened, Jesse?' he shouted urgently. 'What's happened to Grant?'

Jesse turned his eyes to Mickey and looked at him as if he'd never seen him before.

'Jesse,' said Mickey, reaching out to touch his arm. 'It's me, Mick.'

'Mickey?' Jesse breathed. 'Grant's hurt.'

'Just stay there, Jesse. Don't do anything.' Mickey held his hands out in a pacifying gesture. He pulled his mobile from his pocket. He pressed the 9 b.u.t.ton three times. When he'd finished, he put the phone back in his pocket and walked over to Grant, who was lying awkwardly on the cold concrete floor. His breathing didn't sound good. There was a clear greyish-looking liquid coming from his left ear. Mickey took his coat off and rolled it up. He put it under Grant's head.

'Jesse. I want you to take your coat off too and put it over Grant like a blanket. It's got Grant's blood on it anyway.'

Jesse, meek as a child, did as he was told.

'And now, Jesse, you're going to go to the public toilets and wash your face and hands.' Jesse looked at his hands and saw they were stained with blood. 'OK?'

Jesse nodded.

'Good. Be quick because the police and ambulance will be here very soon.'

An efficient constable a.s.sessed the situation and, taking his notebook from his top pocket, started to question Jesse and Mickey. 'Do either of you know the injured man?'

'Yes,' said Jesse. 'He's my brother.'

'And can you tell me what happened to him, sir?'

'I ...' The horror and realisation of what he'd done stole across him. His breathing became shallow and ragged, 'He ... I ... we ...'

Mickey took charge. 'This is Jesse Behenna. My name is Mickey Chandler and he,' he motioned towards Grant who was being loaded onto a stretcher and moaning, 'is Grant Behenna. Jesse's brother.'

Jesse looked helplessly into Mickey's eyes and said, 'It was me, I ...'

Mickey once more took over. 'That's right, Jesse. You found him.' He turned to the policeman. 'Jesse must have heard something in the shelter. I was walking past, just on my way to the pub and saw him. I saw a man come running out of the shelter as Jesse got there. Must've been the bloke who did it. I called after him but he didn't stop, then I heard Jesse saying Grant's name and I came to see what I could do. I saw Jesse kneeling over Grant and putting his coat over him.'

Jesse grasped Mickey's arm and began to cry with fear and grat.i.tude.