“You do know that CDs are pretty much redundant now, right?” I look crossly at Dad. I’ve been boxing his things away for five hours and am getting nowhere. Now we have cleared most of the clutter into boxes, it’s clear that the flat hasn’t had a good clean in years. “These DVDs need to go too. There must be hundreds here. Who do you think will actually buy these?”
“Nonsense, love.” He rubs his hands together. “These beauties still sell strong down the market. Easy.”
I roll my eyes. “Dad, the only way you’ll sell these is if you get a time machine and go back to the nineties.”
“Don’t you worry.” He gives me a knowing smile. “Your old dad knows a thing or two about business, love.”
Except he doesn’t.
I cringe and feel instantly guilty.
Thank God Jack didn’t come.
That thought makes me feel even guiltier.
I used to die of embarrassment at some of the things Dad would say to Max. The nights when Dad would have a few too many pints and decide to give privately educated Max advice on how to be a successful businessman while Max sat in uncomfortable silence until he had enough and abruptly cut Dad off.
I grew up with it drilled into me that you should never be ashamed of your roots.
But sometimes walking down the street with Dad when his trousers were shabby and hanging off him and he smelt a little squiffy, I hung my head in shame.
And hated myself for it.
It was one of my biggest worries about the wedding. That Dad would be too drunk and too embarrassing. Max’s too, as he kept drilling into me.
“You used to love coming to the Saturday market with me.” He smiles sadly at me, and I feel yet another pang of guilt. He seems to grow smaller every time I see him. And more fragile.
Every Saturday, Dad had a small stall in the local market. I helped him until I was about fifteen and it stopped being cool. Then Dad would go to the market alone after that.
Now he doesn’t go at all.
“I’ve been at this for hours and you won’t let me throw anything away. You do realise your new place isn’t the size of Buckingham Palace, right?”
I sigh, as I find more knick-knacks at the bottom of the CD box. Things that wouldn’t sell at a flea market. Dad has lived in the social housing flat since his house got repossessed ten years ago and has hoarded everything ever since.
I haven’t told him that I’ve started seeing Jack. I don’t want a drama. Is it weird that my boyfriend’s company is rehousing my dad?
“What’s this?” I ask, lifting up a sealed transparent packet.
He squints at it. “Nothing of value.”
He tries to take it off me but something about it makes me freeze.
Inside the pocket is a gold signet ring that looks like it’s designed to do damage to a face. It has a prominent, almost gaudy, crest on it.
A family crest that I’m familiar with.
“Where did you get this?” I ask curiously, turning it around. “You know this might actually be worth something.”
“Nah. Here, I’ll take it off you.”
Something about how he tries to snap it away from me makes me take a step back. I examine it closer, and my heart quickens.
“Dad.” I gawk at him. “Do you realise this is Jack Knight’s dad’s ring?”
His throat bobs. “Archie Knight? Nah,” he scoffs. “It’s not his.”
He looks like he has seen a ghost. Dad never had a good poker face.
“It’s got his name engraved on it.” Exactly like Jack’s chain. “I know it’s his. We have to give this to Jack.”
“No,” he snaps.
My brows shoot to my hairline. “Why on earth not?” I stare uncomprehendingly at Dad. “Is it about the money? Are you actually planning to sell this?”
“I’m not answerable to you, lass.” His voice takes on a hard edge that I’ve heard before, but never directed at me. “Give me the fucking thing, Bonnie.”
Dad never curses at me.
My hand tightens around the ring.
Dad’s hands clench into fists at his sides, and I think he’s considering physically overpowering me to get the ring.
“Can’t you just leave well alone?” he asks quietly.
“No,” I say in an unnaturally shrill voice. “If you don’t tell me the truth, I’m calling Jack and telling him. He’ll come and get it himself.”
I’ve never been scared of Dad. Even when he came home blind drunk and fell around the house, breaking things.
But I seemed to trigger something dark in him. His jaw clenches and unclenches and I feel the familiar tightness in my chest that I got the day I saw Olivia in the boardroom.
Finally, he exhales in an angry breath. “Call Jack Knight?” he barks. “You think he has time to answer the phone to you, lass?”
I don’t respond. I don’t want to lie to him.
When he speaks again, he is calm. “Look, the truth is I found it. The night his old man got stabbed. I thought he had just dropped it. At the time I didn’t realise he’d been stabbed.”
I swallow hard. “Where did you find it?”
He pauses. “Near the alleyway.”
Shit. This ring is evidence.
And if Jack finds out my dad has had it all this time, well, I don’t know how he’ll react.
“Dad, why the hell didn’t you hand it in to the police?”
Silence. His face says everything.
“Is this about money? This ring could have DNA on it that would have convicted Wicks! It still could!”
He lets out a hard laugh. “Love, sometimes you’re naive. You leave home, go off to that fancy college and lose your wits. You think I’m going to hand in something that would convict Donnie Wicks? Do you know how it works around here?”
“You could’ve handed it in anonymously,” I protest. “You still can.”
“Nothing happens anonymously in these estates. Wicks has got police all over his payroll.” His mouth twists into a grimace. “I’m not going against the Wicks family, love. They have people killed for less.”
“But he’s already doing life. It doesn’t make a difference to him.” But it does to Jack.
“Doesn’t matter.” He grunts. “It’s a respect thing. You grass on a Wicks, and you won’t live too long to talk about it.”
“Why did you keep it for so long?” I ask, confused. “Why didn’t you dump it?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to. It’s worth quite a few bob.”
My mouth twists into a thin line. None of this makes sense. “So, it’s about money. It’s always about money.”
“Don’t be so harsh to judge, love,” he snaps. “All my cash went on you growing up.”
I wish I’d never found this bloody ring.
“I need to give this to Jack,” I say quietly.
“Jack fucking Knight? Are you having a laugh, love? Are you trying to condemn your old dad to death?”
“What if it’s evidence?” I shake my head. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t hand this over.”
His eyes narrow as he calmly replies, “And could you live with yourself if your dad gets his head kicked in one night?”
He stares at me steadily, knowing he’s got me. I think he’s being overly dramatic but he’s right. I don’t live here anymore, and I don’t know what the Wicks family are capable off.
“Jack won’t let that happen,” I say faintly.
“Did Jack stop the sixteen other people from being murdered by the Wicks over these past ten years?”
“What about justice?” I ask in a small voice.
“Justice?” he echoes gruffly. “We have justice. Wicks is a lifer. He’s paying for his crime and now he’s dying. Don’t condemn me to an early death too, Bonnie.”
His face crumples. Dad looks afraid. And old.
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Are you going to crucify me for that?”
A wave of nausea rolls through me as I stare down at the signet ring, wishing it would disintegrate in my hand.
Would Donnie Wicks really kill Dad over handing in a ring that was at a murder scene over a decade ago?
But if I call Dad’s bluff and he’s right, I’ll never be able to live with myself.
I need time to think.
Jack is visiting Wicks in two weeks’ time. Wicks might confess and then everything will come out in the wash.
I nod. “Okay, Dad. I won’t say anything for now. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about this. Just make sure you keep it safe. For God’s sake, make sure it doesn’t go missing in the flat move.”
He breathes a deep sigh of relief and takes me in for a hug.
I smile back wondering how I’ll be able to look Jack in the eye ever again.
Then when he has turned his back on me, I put the ring in my pocket.
