Gareth Dawson Series Box Set Page 7

  But I loved her, despite my shame. I didn’t realise how much until she’d thrown me out. The only thing I was holding on to was she’d not told me the relationship was over, although I’d had no contact from her at all. I was clinging to the faintest of hopes she was just making me suffer to prove a point. At the same time, I didn’t want to be like Robert and act like a petulant ex-boyfriend who wouldn't take no for an answer. I didn’t have a clue what to do.

  I was in Sainsbury’s exactly one month after I’d been thrown out on my ear as Tommy would have put it when I bumped into Jennifer’s brother. The basket I was carrying had essential provisions in it. A microwave lasagne, eight cans of strong Belgian lager, and a Pot Noodle. Chicken and Mushroom, my favourite.

  “Jacob, how you doing? I said.

  “Hey, Gareth,” he replied, beaming. “How are you, mate? Not seen you for a while.” Had Jennifer not told him what had happened?

  “Yeah, I’ve not been around much, to be honest,” I said. His smile faded before he hiked it back up again and glanced down at my basket. I moved it behind my legs so he couldn't see how sad the contents were.

  “Jen mentioned that you’d had words,” he said with a brief frown. “About you being a naughty boy.” I managed a wan smile.

  “You could say that,” I said. We stood in awkward silence for a few seconds before he shuffled his feet, keen to get away from his sister’s ex-boyfriend no doubt. Sod it, I thought.

  “Do you fancy a pint?” I asked. “When you’re done shopping?” Jacob tilted his head to one side, the same way that Jennifer used to when she was trying to decide something.

  “I don’t drink, Gareth,” he replied a few seconds later. Oh well, I thought. Worth a try. “But I’ll have a coffee and watch you have a pint?” I could have hugged him, but that would have been emotional. We arranged to meet in a pub just around the corner, and I had a spring in my step as I headed towards the till to pay for my evening’s entertainment.

  I sat in the pub waiting for Jacob for what seemed like ages, nursing a lager. After about twenty minutes, I figured that he wasn’t going to show. I’d been stood up before, but I’d never been stood up by an ex-girlfriend’s gay brother. You live, you learn, I guess. I’d just decided to stop nursing my pint and neck it when he walked in.

  “Sorry, Gareth,” he said, breathless. “I met a friend in the car park and couldn’t get rid of him.”

  “Hey, no problem,” I said, getting to my feet. “Any particular coffee?”

  “Do they do a flat white?” he asked. I had no idea what a flat white was, but fortunately for me, the barman knew and knocked one up for Jacob. I returned to our table and sat down. Jacob and I exchanged small talk for a few moments before I broached the subject I wanted to talk to him about.

  “How’s Jennifer?” I asked, trying to be nonchalant. He looked at me for a few seconds before replying.

  “I don’t want to get involved, Gareth,” he said. I didn’t understand why he was here if that was the case.

  “You don't have to get involved, Jacob,” I said, trying not to sound annoyed. “All I want to know is how she is. That’s all, mate.” He leaned in towards me, putting his forearms on the table. I instinctively leaned backwards before realising it. Jacob was quite an intimidating bloke, and I don’t intimidate that often.

  “Listen, mate,” he said, echoing my words. “Jen’s my little sister, and I would happily kill for her, but you’ve taken the piss out of her and I don’t like that one bit. You get me?” I realised that the only involvement he was interested in was protecting his little sister. I couldn’t fault him for that.

  My hands went up in a placatory gesture.

  “Woah, woah. Hang on Jacob.” I said. “I think we’re going down the wrong road here. How am I taking the piss out of her?” He stared at me, his forehead creased, but I carried on. “Yes, I was on the rob, but I stopped because of her. I never wanted her to find out. I did one job while we were together, and that was right in the first few weeks. Before I knew things were getting serious. Or at least, I thought they were getting serious.”

  “Have you told her that?” he asked.

  “She never gave me a chance,” I replied. “She threw me out of her flat and hasn’t answered the phone or replied to texts. Nothing. What else can I do?” Jacob’s frown eased.

  “What, you’re asking me for relationship advice? You sure about that?” he said, the beginnings of a wry smile appearing on his face.

  “No, Jacob. I’m asking you because you’re her bloody brother.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Jacob said, sighing and leaning back in his chair. “You’re both as bad as each other.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jen’s as stubborn as they come,” he said. “The last thing she’s going to do is come grovelling back to you, especially when you’re the one in the wrong.” I wasn’t sure what he meant. The last thing I would expect her to do is to come grovelling back. “And it sounds like you’re exactly the same.”

  “How come?” I said. “I’m not with you Jacob. Help me out.”

  He looked at me before replying. “So you’ve tried calling, and you’ve texted her?”

  “Yeah, lots of times.”

  “And she’s not responded at all?”

  “Not once.”

  “Have you been round there? Maybe, I don’t know, with some flowers and a lot of humility?”

  “No,” I replied. “I don’t want to be, well, like Robert.”

  “That idiot. You know he’s still hanging around like a bad smell?” he said. I couldn’t help but bristle at this news. Not for the first time, I considered tracking Robert down and having a word, or perhaps just giving him a smack. “Gareth, you’re nothing like that loser,” Jacob continued. “And Jen likes you. She’s been cut-up the last few weeks, and I mean really cut-up.” I could feel my heart beat slightly faster. “But a few calls and texts aren’t going to work. You’re going to have to be the bigger man here, tell her what an absolute idiot you’ve been and just park your sorry backside on her doorstep.”

  “Really?” I asked, not quite believing him.

  “Yes really, Gareth,” he said with a sigh. “At least then she might stop bloody going on about you. Like I said though, I’m not getting involved. You’re big enough and ugly enough to sort your own problems out.” He drained his coffee and placed the cup back on the table. “But I know she really likes lilies. Lots of lilies.” He turned to walk out of the pub before looking back over his shoulder. “See you soon, yeah?” I could have kissed him, but I figured that probably wouldn’t be what he wanted me to do.

  Half an hour later I was standing on her doorstep, a carrier bag with instant food and beer in one hand and a huge bunch of white lilies in the other, waiting for her to answer the door. It opened halfway, and she peeped out. God, she was beautiful. I stood there like a hopeful schoolboy, suddenly wishing I’d ditched the carrier bag.

  “What?” she said with a fierce frown.

  “I, er, well,” I replied, wishing that I’d at least thought about what I was going to say, “I brought you some flowers.” I held up the lilies, wishing I’d bought a larger bunch even though the ones I was holding up had cleaned me out. Jennifer looked at the flowers, and I thought her face softened ever so slightly. Silently thanking Jacob, I continued. “Please, Jennifer, hear me out. I’ve been an arse. I just didn’t realise how much of an arse I was until I met you. All of that,” I paused, unsure what to say, “all of that nonsense is in the past. I promise you.”

  “So what made you change your mind?” she said after a long and painful pause. “About your career aspirations?” One thing Jennifer did very well was cutting sarcasm.

  “Meeting you,” I replied. I didn’t have to think about that answer. “It was meeting you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at me. I looked at her, and for me at least, time stood still.

  “Well, you took your bloody time,” she said after what seemed like
hours. “I suppose you want to come in and grovel?” My heart thumped.

  “Can I?” I said. She opened the door fully and stood in front of me, a small smile on her face that was getting bigger all the time. I dropped the carrier bag and held my arms out for her to step into them, which she did. As we hugged on her doorstep, I could hear one of the cans of lager fizzing where it had burst as I’d dropped the bag.

  That was collateral damage I’d take any day of the week.

  10

  Five months after we’d got back together, almost to the day, Jennifer and I got married. I wouldn’t say we rushed into it, but in the aftermath of the few weeks we’d spent apart, I think we both realised that we were onto a good thing. Something we’d almost lost by both being as pig-headed as each other.

  We were sitting in a pub one night, having a few drinks after going to the cinema. I can’t remember what we went to see, only that it was a romantic comedy I’d not been that bothered about. The two main characters had got together, split up, then got back together and ended up getting married so they could live happily ever after. It would have been a shit romantic comedy if the last bit hadn’t happened, I suppose. Jennifer was going on about the lead male character in the film, and about what a romantic bloke he was. She wasn’t having a go at me for not being romantic; she was just talking about the film.

  “They were a bit like us, I guess,” Jennifer said, looking at me over the top of her glass of wine. I took a sip of my beer before replying.

  “I suppose so,” I said. “Next thing you know, we’ll be getting married.”

  Jennifer’s jaw dropped an inch, and she stared at me open-mouthed.

  “Gareth Dawson,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “Did you just propose to me?”

  “No, I did not,” I replied, laughing. “I definitely did not.”

  “I think you did.”

  “I don’t think I did,” I laughed again. “You’d know if I did because I’d be naked in the road outside your flat, singing a song with a red rose clutched in my butt cheeks, before taking a knee and asking you properly.” Jennifer started laughing.

  “So what song would you be singing, then?” she asked. I had to think for a few minutes before replying.

  “It would have to be something by Snow Patrol.” Jennifer wrinkled her nose at my reply. She wasn’t a massive fan of Snow Patrol, but it was something I was working on.

  “What song then? Is it one I know?”

  “Probably not,” I replied, pulling my phone from my pocket and flicking through my music. I found the song I was after and played it, putting the phone down on the pub table so that Jennifer could hear it. We both sat in silence, listening to the song for a moment. Jennifer leaned across the table and flipped the phone around so it was facing her. She prodded the screen to turn it on and read the title of the song. “Just Say Yes”.

  “You soppy old thing,” Jennifer smiled at me. “I was expecting something completely different.” She reached across the table and took my hand. “Of course I’ll say yes, but you will have to ask my Dad before the big day.” And that was that.

  A few weeks later, I was round at Andy’s house, supposedly to ask him for Jennifer’s hand in marriage. Jennifer and I had talked about the whole marriage thing, and the more we talked about it the more the idea grew on me. If nothing else, it would put to bed the feeling I still couldn’t shake that Jennifer wasn’t that serious about me. Looking back, I think she realised that at the time and knew if we got married, those feelings would go away. The problem was we’d only been going out together for about six months, so the whole thing was definitely in whirlwind romance territory, but it all felt right to me.

  The last time I’d been round to Andy’s house was a few weeks after Jennifer and I got back together. She’d insisted that I come clean to Andy about my background. It wasn’t something I’d wanted to do, far from it, but she would not let me get away with it. She’d already told him all the sordid details but wanted me to tell him myself. Andy had sat on the other side of his kitchen table, listening as I’d stumbled my way through a full and frank confession. Andy had sat there for a few minutes, looking at me until I started to wriggle on the chair.

  “Gareth, look me in the eyes for a second,” he’d said. I did as he asked. “Do you promise that you’ll keep her happy?” I nodded my head, keeping my eyes fixed on his.

  “Absolutely, Andy,” I said, trying to sound as sincere as I felt. “That’s all I want.”

  “Because if you get banged up for burglary, she won’t be happy at all.”

  “I know,” I’d replied, looking away and at my feet.

  “Gareth, I’ve been in business for many years,” Andy had said. “And I’ve done all right at it. But I’ve left a fair few casualties behind me, mark my words. We’re not that different, you and I. We see something, we want it, we take it.” I wasn’t convinced about the analogy, but Andy was giving me a way out of the whole sorry mess. “But you need to work out how to do that on the right side of the law, and I might be able to help you.” He stood, as did I, to mark the end of the conversation. As we shook hands, he asked me to promise him something else, something which with hindsight I failed miserably to do. “Just keep her happy, son,” he’d said. “Keep her happy and keep her safe. That’s all I ask of you.”

  So there I was, sitting again in Andy’s kitchen a few weeks later, sipping a cup of tea and yawning as I did so. I’d been working pretty much every evening as a bouncer on one club door or another for weeks, trying to make up the money now that my alternative income source had stopped. It was going well, and I was getting a lot of repeat bookings.

  “Jen mentioned that you might pop round, Gareth,” Andy said as he put a plate of biscuits on the table and sat opposite me. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.” I’d not been expecting him to say that and was stuck for something to say. It didn’t seem like the right time to launch into the whole ‘do you mind if I marry your daughter’ speech I’d got prepared in my head. “I have to say, I’m delighted that you’ve sorted things out with Jen, though. I’ve never seen her happier than she has been the last few weeks.” Andy laughed before continuing. “But my God, the look on her face when you popped that window out. That was an absolute picture, that was.” I was glad he found it funny as I certainly didn’t.

  “So what was it you wanted to talk about, Andy?” I asked, keen for him to get whatever he wanted to say out of the way so I could say my bit and be done with it.

  “I’ve got a proposal for you,” he said. “A business proposal.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Andy outlined his grand idea. It built on the theme of me proving to him how vulnerable his house was. He’d been playing golf with some friends a few weeks after it had happened, when me and Jennifer were not talking, and had told them about my impromptu demonstration. To cut a long story short, two of his friends had asked Andy if he would send me round to their houses to have a look at them. They’d also offered to pay me for the privilege.

  “So, there’s a market there for someone with your, er, your background, to set yourself up as a security consultant,” Andy explained. I laughed, remembering that was the phrase I’d used to describe myself when Jennifer and I had first met. It was just back then the context was a bit different. Andy outlined his proposal, which was for me to set up a company and advertise my particular skill set. As an ex-burglar who had gone straight, seen the light and was now committed to preventing crime.

  “I’m not convinced, Andy,” I said. “That just sounds like an invitation for the Old Bill to come and nick me, help with their stats.” Andy grinned at me.

  “Nope, not at all,” he replied. “I’ve got a good friend who works in the legal side of things. I’ve run it past him, and he thinks it’s doable. All you need is some creative marketing and you’ll be good to go.”

  We chatted through his proposal for a while, and the more he told me the more I thought it was a sound idea. He’d even
printed out a proper business plan for me. At least, I assumed it was a proper business plan. I’d never seen one before. I looked through the document, trying to understand it. There was one bit I did understand, which was a table marked ‘Startup Costs’. It listed a bunch of items, company registration fees, advertising, that sort of thing. There were even three months office rental at a place just outside the city in a business park close to where I lived. The one line that caught my attention the most was the total at the bottom of the table. Just under five grand. I put the paper back on the table.

  “That’s me out then, Andy,” I said, pointing at the bottom of the page. “I’ve not got five grand, and the rate I’m going it would take me years to put that together.” I felt stupid, coming round here to ask him if I could marry his daughter, and then having to admit that not only was I skint, but I was also likely to remain so for quite some time.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Gareth,” Andy said, his face serious. “I want in.”

  I shook my head from side to side, remembering Jennifer’s absolute refusal to accept any help from her family.

  “Sorry Andy, I can’t take your money,” I said. “Jennifer would—”

  “Gareth, leave Jennifer to me,” Andy interrupted. “Besides, I’m not giving you the money. It’s a loan, repayable with interest, in exchange for a small share in the company. Well, smallish share.” I still wasn’t convinced. I had an image in my mind’s eye of Jennifer with her arms crossed, red spots in her cheeks, asking me to tell her again how much her father had given me. “This isn’t charity, Gareth. It’s a business arrangement. You’ve got a marketable skill, believe it or not, and people will pay you for it. Look at these projections.” He pushed another sheet of paper toward me, which I studied for a moment. I was no maths whizz, although I had scraped a GCSE in the subject, but they looked good to me. “Those are conservative estimates,” Andy explained. “I think with the right marketing support, and I know just the man for that, the actuals could be twice that.”