Was Harry Rawlins Jack’s dad?

Chapter 25

Jack’s detour to the library meant that he didn’t get back to Maggie until well after lunch. As he pulled into the driveway, he could see that boxes were now stacked higher than the living room windowsill. In the kitchen, most of the pastries had gone. Jack didn’t know what he felt more strongly—guilt or hunger. He was nibbling on a cinnamon swirl when Maggie came into the kitchen carrying a box labeled “Penny’s knick-knacks.”

“Everywhere’s done apart from the stuff we’re still using in here. I’ve taken the bed and wardrobe apart in their room and the bed in your room. I can’t see how your wardrobe comes apart. Did you put it together? I think it’s glued. I’ve still got to box up the bathroom cabinets and I’ve left the shed for you ’cos there’ll be stuff in there that’s too heavy for me. Put the kettle on and I’ll finish the bathroom.”

Maggie put the box down, picked up a smaller empty box and disappeared toward the bathroom. She sounded like nothing was wrong, but Jack knew that this was worse than if she’d been shouting at him.

The drive home was excruciating. Queen were playing again, just loud enough to stifle conversation. Jack knew that staying quiet was making things worse but he didn’t know what to say—certainly not, “My dad’s not Jimmy Nunn after all, Mags. In fact it might turn out to be Harry Rawlins. You know, that notorious old-school gangster?”

He had to have absolute proof before he shared his news with Maggie.

Maggie dropped him off outside the police station, not bothering even to pause the music for a loving “goodbye.” As he got out, Jack turned back to say how sorry he was for leaving her alone all morning with no explanation and no car, but before he could open his mouth, she’d driven off.

Meet me outside the garages.

When Laura got Jack’s text message her heart did an involuntary little flutter and her face flushed. Once she’d actually had a second to think, she realized it was probably work-related, probably something Jack wanted kept from Ridley. She was right.

The bus seats had now all been smuggled back inside the bus, and no one would ever know that the value of this second-hand vehicle had just increased from £3,700 to around £25,003,700.

Angela was very proud of all the wine-fueled hard work they’d put in.

“I can feel it,” Ester complained as she bounced up and down on her seat.

“No one’s going to be bouncing that violently,” Angela pointed out. She was having none of it. “Perhaps the lumps you can feel is the cellulite in your arse.”

“Talking of cellulite,” Ester continued, “I hear Connie’s put on a pound or two. Where is the old slapper?”

“Connie’s sorting out her B&B. She’ll be back the day after tomorrow.” Angela changed the subject. “Where are you staying, Ester? You’ve not used your own name, have you?”