9
'Your granddad was a good bloke.'
'Was?'
Kev Newman shrugged, took a long drink from his pint of bitter and sat back in his chair. It seemed to have difficulty in containing him. 'Figure of speech.'
It was easy to see why he was known as Big Kev. He was massive. He'd looked tall in the photograph but in the years since then he'd bulked up in a big way. Now muscle was gradually turning to fat, but with hands like shovels, Kev still looked like the wrong man to pick an argument with.
The Victory Club was heaving, very different from Danny's first visit. The 'old and bold', the name given to ex-SAS men, had turned out in their droves to give their mate a good send-off. Ties were loosened, jackets were draped over the backs of chairs, the beer was flowing and the room was alive with animated conversation and laughter. The funeral was over and the wake was well and truly underway.
Getting into the Victory had been easier for Danny second time around. He'd arranged for Harry the barman to sign him in under the name of Carisbrook and it had been no problem, specially as he was more suitably dressed in jacket and tie.
He spotted Kev Newman as soon as he walked in with a bunch of his mates. Big Kev wasn't easy to miss. The group got in their first round of drinks, and as they made their way towards a corner table, Kev was waylaid by another veteran. Danny waited until Kev was alone and then moved in and introduced himself.
If the big man was surprised he didn't show it. He looked at Danny and nodded, as if seeing the similarities between grandson and grandfather. Then he shook hands, almost crushing Danny's fingers in his giant fist, and invited him to join the group at the table. When they pulled up their chairs Kev simply said to the others, 'This is Danny.' Nothing more.
Since then they'd been talking quietly, sitting slightly apart from the rest. But the conversation wasn't getting very far. Danny leaned in closer to Big Kev. 'Do you know where my granddad is?'
The answer came immediately. 'Haven't a clue.'
'But you were his friend.'
'Best mates. That photo you've got was taken before we even made it into the Regiment. We went all the way together, joined up at the same time and then—'
Whatever Kev was about to say went unspoken as he stood up, almost spilling his beer in the process. As Danny looked on, bewildered, the other veterans stood up too. Then he saw why.
'No need to stand, chaps. Not any more.'
Kev was almost standing to attention. 'Old habits, sir.'
'Sir' was tall, grey-haired and distinguished-looking, and he had such a presence that, without knowing why, Danny found himself standing as well.
'Just wanted to let you chaps know that my wife and I are leaving now – long drive back.'
'Good of you both to come, sir,' said Kev.
'Not at all, least we could do.' He noticed Danny. 'Hello, who's this? A new recruit?'
'Friend of a friend, sir,' answered Kev before Danny could speak.
Sir smiled at Danny. 'Don't let this lot of reprobates lead you astray. Goodbye to you all then.'
The veterans chorused their 'Bye, sir's and retook their seats.
Big Kev finished his pint and Danny took a swig of his Coke. 'Who was that?'
'Old CO. Colonel. A good bloke.'
Danny couldn't stop himself from replying, 'Like my granddad?'
Kev didn't answer. He was a man of few words, and most of those he seemed to want to keep to himself. But everyone else had plenty to say. The room was getting noisier by the minute; the old and bold were enjoying sharing stories and memories of their glory days.
Danny almost had to shout. 'I know what he did. In Colombia.'
'Do you?' said Kev, so softly that Danny struggled to hear. 'Well, maybe you do and maybe you don't.'
Kev was giving nothing away and Danny's temper was building. 'Look, I've got to find him.'
One of the men on the far side of the table heard Danny. 'Find who? Who's he on about, Kev?'
The noise in the bar was so loud now that Danny did have to shout. 'My granddad.'
An outburst of raucous laughter from the group at the next table gave the veteran no chance of hearing. He shouted back, 'Who?'
What happened next was one of those freak moments: it probably wouldn't have happened again if it had been rehearsed a hundred times. But just as Danny cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted there was a total drop in the level of chatter and laughter.
The two words boomed out: 'Fergus Watts!'
A great swathe of the room went completely silent and all eyes turned towards Danny. He turned to Kev. 'What? What did I do?'
The answer was softly spoken. 'Not a very popular name in the Regiment these days, son.'
Gradually the conversation and laughter resumed but two tables away one man kept his eyes firmly fixed on Danny. 'Fergus Watts,' he whispered. 'Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time.'
Maybe it was the intensity of his stare that made Danny turn and look, maybe it was just chance. Whatever the reason, their eyes met. The staring man gave Danny an exaggerated smile, raised his glass and silently mouthed, 'Cheers.'
It was unsettling, spooky, and Danny looked away as Big Kev stood up and called over to one of his friends, 'I need a gypsy's. Get a round in, will you, Tone, and one for the lad?' He glanced at Danny. 'Unless it's time for you to go?'
Danny wasn't going to be pushed out. 'I'm not in any rush.'
Kev shrugged and moved off and Tone collected the glasses and headed for the bar.
Danny sat back in his chair and gazed around at the old and bold. They were a tough-looking bunch, but in some ways they were as different as they were similar.
He had half expected them all to be like Kev Newman: big, brawny, muscular; but physically they came in a variety of shapes and sizes. They had one thing in common though, they all looked hard. More than that, they looked hardened, as though what they had seen and done had given them a different attitude to life from ordinary people.
Danny couldn't figure out what it was that made them want to join the SAS. The regular army was different; he still desperately wanted that for himself. The army meant a career, a lifestyle, worldwide travel. There was the possibility of danger, but not on an almost daily basis, and maybe never at the same level as in the SAS.
But the SAS was like saying, 'Put me in danger. I want to risk my life every time I go on an operation. I want to go into the most dangerous places and face up to guerrillas and terrorists and whatever they can throw at me.'
As the noise got louder and the booze flowed faster, Danny decided that maybe there wasn't any special quality that marked out an SAS man, just a special kind of madness.
His eyes rested on the door leading out to the lobby. Danny stared. Through the glass section at the top of the door he could see Big Kev. He hadn't gone to the toilets at all. He was talking on a mobile.
That was when Danny realized. Big Kev did know where his granddad was. And the phone call he was making – it was to Fergus Watts. Danny knew that for sure, but even as he thought of running out to the lobby to confront Kev, the big man came pushing his way through towards the table.
He slipped his mobile phone into a pocket of his jacket, which was hanging over the back of his chair, and glanced towards the crowded bar. 'What's wrong with that Tone? He hasn't even ordered the drinks yet.'
Tone was standing near to the bar, empty glasses in hands, talking to two other veterans.
'If you want something doing, do it yourself,' growled Big Kev and stomped off towards the bar.
It took no more than three seconds. A glance around to check that no one was watching and Kev's mobile was out of the jacket pocket and in Danny's hands. He didn't hang around but slid the mobile into one of his own pockets and headed off towards the toilets. He had to find the last number called on the mobile.
The toilets were empty but Danny went into a cubicle and locked the door. Finding the last number dialled was simple, even though Kev's mobile was ancient, a total brick.
But Danny had no way of keeping or storing the number. His own mobile had run out of credit and he hadn't bothered bringing it. He didn't even have a pen on him. 'Think, Danny,' he whispered. 'Think.'
At the bar, Big Kev had taken over the drinks order and was being served. The last pint was pulled and placed on a tray full of glasses. It was an expensive round and Kev handed over two twenty-pound notes. He had a lot on his mind and was deep in thought as he pocketed the change and picked up the tray.
As Danny emerged from the toilets he saw Kev turn from the bar and start to make his way back to the table. Danny had to get there first; he had to get the mobile back into Kev's jacket.
Kev was closer to the table but he also had a tray full of easily spilled drinks to manoeuvre. He reached his friend Tone, who was still with the two veterans.
'Please stop and talk to them,' whispered Danny, looking at Kev and trying to appear as normal as possible. He couldn't rush – someone would want to know why.
But Kev didn't stop, he obviously needed his pint. He moved steadily towards the table: he was going to get there first. Then he heard the shout: 'Kev? Kev?'
Kev turned back as Harry the barman approached. 'You gave me two twenties, didn't you?'
The big man nodded. 'Yeah.'
'Sorry, mate, I gave you change for thirty. We're so busy behind there I don't know my arse from my elbow.'
Kev grinned. 'Leave it on the tray, Harry.'
By the time Kev placed the tray on the table, the mobile was back in his jacket pocket and Danny was sitting in his chair trying to look a lot more relaxed than he felt. 'Think I will make a move after all.'
'What about your drink? Took me long enough to get it.'
'No, I'd better get off.' He stood up and was more prepared for the crushing effect of Kev's handshake this time, but he still winced as the big man gripped his hand.
'I'm sorry about your granddad, Danny. If you want my opinion the best thing you can do is forget all about him.'
Danny nodded. 'Yeah, maybe you're right. Thanks anyway.'
On the way out Danny stopped at the bar and borrowed a pencil from Harry. He went back to the toilets and into the cubicle he'd used before. The telephone number was still there, scrawled in soap on the cubicle wall. Danny copied the number onto a scrap of paper and wiped the wall clean.
He was feeling pleased with himself as he left the bar and headed for the lobby. He'd done it: he had the number and got one over on Big Kev. He'd got away with it. Then he felt the tap on his shoulder. 'Hang on.'
Big Kev wasn't so easily fooled after all. Danny had been rumbled. Slowly, he turned round. But it wasn't Big Kev; it was the staring man, smiling that same exaggerated smile. 'Name's Eddie Moyes. I thought we might have a little chat.'