Part 29 (1/2)

'Then send him back to your mother's tomorrow, or ...' She brightened at the thought. 'Give him a fat cheque and tell him to get lost. That's the only thing he understands.' She plucked three tissues from their box and wiped the cleanser from her face.

'How much?' asked Jesse.

'Five hundred,' a.s.serted Greer.

The wad of notes was waiting in a plump envelope on the kitchen table at the breakfast place laid for Grant. 'What's this then?' he asked, picking the envelope up and shaking it.

Neither Jesse nor Greer answered.

''Twouldn't be a little ”p.i.s.s off Grant and don't come back”, would it?'

Jesse cleared his throat. 'It's something to tide you over while you find your feet. It should pay for a nice lodging and some food.'

Grant narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. 'I see.' He tapped the envelope on the table, sucking air through his teeth. 'No room at the inn. Is that it?'

They could hear Freddie coming down the stairs.

'Don't say anything to Freddie,' warned Jesse.

'Morning,' said Freddie brightly.

'Morning, boy.' Grant stashed the envelope inside his pullover, much to the relief of Jesse and Greer. 'What you up to today? No school?'

'Another week till we go back.' Freddie stretched across the table and picked up the box of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes. 'Big year this year. GCSEs.'

'GCSEs? There's posh. My education was the university of life, and I'm still learning.' He patted the wad under his jumper and looked slyly at Grant. 'In fact, starting today, your dad's going to teach me all about the family business. I've got a lot of catching up to do.'

'This ain't too shabby,' said Grant, as they headed up in the lift towards the top floor. He pulled at the cuffs of his borrowed s.h.i.+rt. ''Ow do I look?'

Jesse, who'd done his best to dissuade Grant from coming to the office with him, said, 'Cleaner.'

'Yeah, well,' said Grant, patting at the fresh jumper Jesse had found for him, 'the life of a gentlemen of the road don't stretch to hot baths and razor blades.'

Jesse looked appalled. 'You were sleeping rough?'

'Yeah. On and off over the last few years. And, after the confines of chokey, I tell 'ee, to sleep under the roof of the heavens was better'n a bed at the Starfish ... I managed all right, a little bit of this, a little bit of that ...'

Who knows what he had been up to in the intervening years, if his ravaged features were anything to go by, thought Jesse grimly. Prison, alcohol and those years on the street had all taken their toll.

The lift doors slid open and the scent of opulence surrounded them.

Grant took it all in, a smile of ent.i.tlement creeping across his face. He clapped Jesse on the shoulder. 'So, this is what you've been up to. I'll have a slice of this.'

Jesse couldn't bear to look at his brother and strode off towards Lauren and his office, Grant bowling insouciantly beside him.

'Two coffees, Mr Behenna?' asked Lauren, looking at Grant with a questioning arch of one eyebrow.

''Ow do?' said Grant, proffering his hand. 'I'm Grant Behenna. Jesse's older brother. I've been away for a while, but I'm here now, ready to give my all to the family firm.'

Lauren took his hand and felt the calloused, slightly greasy, palm. Grant hung on a little too long and she was afraid he was going to kiss it, but Jesse called him off. 'Grant, if I see you bothering Lauren you'll be out on your ear. Same goes for any woman employed here.'

Grant let go of Lauren's hand and grinned. ''E's jealous. No sugar in me coffee, darlin'.'

Jesse opened his office door and Grant squeezed past him. 'Very nice.' He walked to Jesse's desk and got himself settled behind it. He spun the chair round to take in the view across the estuary. 'When I see Trevay like this, it makes me wonder why I ever left.'

'Get out of my chair,' Jesse ordered. 'And you left Trevay because you went into the Marines, disgraced yourself, and got banged up for eight years for hurting an innocent old man.'

Grant, looking miffed, lifted himself out of the ergonomic chair and grudgingly settled himself in a comfy leather one by the coffee table. 'Just details, old boy. Details. Now, where are you going to place me and what's the starting salary?'

Jesse had picked up the phone. 'Hi, Johnny? Mr Behenna here. You know that job you've got downstairs? Can I bring a potential candidate down?'

Grant looked down at the white overall and white rubber boots he was wearing. 'Here you are.' Johnny, the foreman of the fish market, handed him a white hairnet. 'Put that on and follow me.'

'Of course, I'm just here to learn the business from the bottom. Then I'll be moved around the rest of company to get a taste of all the departments before taking my place on the board,' blagged Grant.

'Sure,' said Johnny. 'That's what they all say.'

Grant caught Johnny's arm and spun him round, pus.h.i.+ng him against the brick wall and winding him. 'Listen, you little f.u.c.ker. I am a Behenna and you will treat me with respect ... if you want to keep your job.'

'Let go of him immediately.' Edward Behenna, who had been up early, was glad he'd decided to drop in and see how his elder son was doing. Grant let go of Johnny.

'Just playing, Dad. Fooling around. Weren't we, Johnny?'

'Something like that,' said Johnny.

Edward was no fool. 'You have a lot to prove, Grant.'

Grant stood to attention and mock-saluted his father. 'Yessir.' He didn't like playing the lackey one little bit, but to be honest he'd had enough of roaming and he wouldn't mind a bit of what Jesse had managed to secure. Yes indeed, that would do nicely.

Edward ignored his son's sarcasm. 'The tide's running in and there are a lot of boats coming in to unload. I want to see you earning your money.'

Edward hadn't been wrong. Several boats chugged in together and tied up on the fish quay, each eager to unload its catch and get the best prices before the next boats came in.

Crates and crates of plastic boxes, full of ice and fish, were unloaded from the bellies of the vessels.

Monkfish, spider crab, mackerel, ba.s.s, sole, turbot you name it, it was there.

Buyers materialised as soon as they heard the catch was in, and it wasn't long before large amounts of money was changing hands. The London chefs had got their orders in already and their boxes were being loaded onto the refrigerated vans immediately.

It was heavy work and Grant, once so fit, had lost his strength. His muscles had turned to fat and his lungs were clogged with nicotine. In a short lull, he sat at the back of the market on a pile of empty boxes, underneath a No Smoking sign. He was desperate for a nicotine hit, but he wanted this job more. Despite all his bl.u.s.tering, even he knew this was last orders in the last-chance saloon.

On the quayside, boats were leaving and more boats were arriving. Johnny spotted Grant. 'Grant, get over here and unload this next boat.' Grant reluctantly did as he was told, as Johnny hailed the skipper of the approaching vessel. 'All right, Mickey boy?'

Mickey threw a rope to Johnny, who tied it onto one of the ancient bollards.