Thick as Thieves (The Greystone Family: Stolen Hearts #3)

Chapter 40

40

Evie

London Docklands

We land in London to a grey sky, but the temperature is warm. Valentina and Maria have settled into the apartments at the docklands, and we’re all acclimatising to the new normal. They’re gabbling away in Spanish to the boys, who are riveted. Almost as much as Valentina is by the river traffic. There are many more boats at this time of year—the weather has the pleasure cruises out in full force—and they spend a lot of time outside with the boys, watching the world float by.

I’m desperate for Marshall to come home, and even though I’m torturing Jonno, I want him home as well. We intend to stay in London for a brief time, then we’ll all go home to Devon, with Jude riding shotgun.

I still feel numb. I definitely haven’t really fully processed what’s happened. I miss them—their noise, scent, their physical presence. But the hurt, pain, and betrayal they’ve subjected me to is offsetting all of that. The pain blocks out any good. I need Marshall.

A few days later, we’re all standing at the arrivals area at the airport, waiting for Marshall and my delightful little brother to return from Ireland. I’ve been torturing him for days. He should have told me. He knew what they’d done; may have even advised it. I know his methods. He’ll have known about the vasectomy as well, but not one word to me. I’m his sister. His loyalty is to me, not them. My frustration with him is at an all time high. He thinks he’s like some emperor, making life and death decisions for the greater good. Well he may have overestimated his powers this time.

I spot them and wave pointedly at Marshall. I’m grinning like an idiot. I cannot wait to embrace him, my hands itchy to hold him. But as he gets closer, my heart rate spikes up. His demeanour stops me in my tracks. He looks grey, and pasty, not good at all.

Jonno turns to him, a look of concern crossing his normally impassive face. I panic and start to run for them, shouting for a doctor as I do.

Marshall’s knees buckle and he’s headed for the floor. Tommy rushes forwards to grab him, laying him on the floor in recovery position as I start to scream. Shouting for a doctor, I fall to my knees next to Marshall, kissing his face, touching him.

Tears stream down my face as I jabber out, “Don’t leave me Marshall, don’t Dad, please don’t leave me.” Tears roll down my cheeks and onto Marshall as he passes out in my arms. And if I thought leaving Kell and Xander was sucking out my soul, this is infinitely worse.

I jump into the ambulance with Jonno while Tommy takes Valentina and the twins home. On the way to the hospital, I’m watching the monitors like a hawk. Trying to decipher if things look good or not. His heartbeat is all over the place, and the more bleeping the machines do the more hysterical I get.

I wish I could say I’m cool, calm, and collected, but I’m not. I’m a mass of crying and sobbing hysteria, and by the time we arrive at the hospital, I’m no use to man nor beast. It’s a good thing Marshall had passed out. He would have told me off for my histrionics.

Jonno and I are on tenterhooks whilst we wait to find out what the state of play is with Marshall’s health.

We hang around for hours, finally catching a doctor much later in the evening. He informs us that Marshall was dehydrated, may have diabetes, they want to check his heart, and his blood pressure was a bit low. It sounds like they don’t know what’s wrong with him and are covering lots of bases.

Jonno and I sit in a corridor, on the most uncomfortable plastic chairs ever created, waiting to see Marshall. We’ve sorted out his medical insurance, and we’re biding our time to see if and where he’ll be admitted. It’s the first time I’ve had Jonno alone to question him about anything.

“What happened in Ireland? Has he been working too hard or what? I thought he was just helping out?” I quiz Jonno.

“He was helping, but he does a lot on the ingredients side of the business, new product lines. Apparently he’s a master blender, and he’s never officially told us. But no wonder he was always pushing whiskey onto us—we were his unofficial taste testers. All those barrels he has at home, and how he collects them, well,” he shrugs, “he’s one of the best in the world. O’Clerys, couldn’t function without him at present.”

“Well they’ll have to, because he’s going nowhere ‘til I know what’s wrong with him.” I face Jonno head-on, squaring my shoulders and preparing for any fight to remove Marshall from my sight.

“Finally going to come out of the closet, as it were? I think you’ll have to, if the O’Clery’s come.”

“I’ll talk to Marshall when he’s fit enough, and not a minute sooner. You better hold off those O'Clery's. They’re not taking him to Ireland.”

He nods. “Shouldn’t be an issue. They have enough on at the minute, but I know if they can get him home there, they will. They were really laying it on thick when we were there, any chance they got. I think if you weren’t here, he would go home.”

“Well I am here, so he isn’t. I’ll tell them myself if they come. Let’s wait a bit before we tell them, Jonno. I don’t think they’ll come, they hardly have before.” I say this with hope rather than certainty.

He looks at me sceptically. “That was before one of the other brothers got sick. They’re down to Marshall and Dermot, so they might want him back,” he states logically.

“Well, they can’t have him. You better help me, Jonno. I am his next of kin on all documents, and we have the document that makes it official. So he’s going nowhere.” I’m getting hysterical again at the thought of losing Marshall.

“Ah, the pot and kettle document,” he tells me, his brown eyes alight with mischief.

Clearly I haven’t tortured him enough if he’s got this much spirit left. I choose to ignore him. I knew this would come up, but what can I do? I’ll face it when I speak to Marshall.

Evie age 15

Eastwood Village Yorkshire

“Jonno, he’s still not come back. Can I come over?” It's a cold November night, my dad’s gone away for work—again—and left me no money, no food, nothing. I’ve savings, I can manage, and he normally sends me money from time to time. But this time I’ve heard nothing for two whole weeks. Probably drank it all away, wherever he’s working. I’m used to fending for myself since my mum died. I have friends and family, the Greystones and Marshall, they’ll help me.

“No, don’t come,” Jonno advises me over the phone. “Dad’s got some men round playing cards, two from the cop shop. Stay put. Or go to Marshall’s and I’ll come there.”

I look out the window. It’s only 6:30 p.m., but it’s pitch black and there’s a wind blowing down the hillside that is pushing the rain into sheets. I grab on a fleece acquired from Kellen. He seems to want to give me all his clothing at present. I pull it on and breathe him in. God, he smells so good. I close my eyes and picture him laughing up at the sun. The scent of pepper, cornfields, and Kellen underneath, total heaven.

I grab my coat, a baseball cap of Xan’s, shove on my boots—a pair of Blundstone cast offs from Kell—and set off for Marshall’s. It’s literally just at the end of the road. I could go the back way. But with all this rain, I’d end up a muddy mess, so I go for the road.

I sprint down the lane, trying to dodge the sheets of water coming at me, and get there in record quick time. Soaked and out of breath, I knock and go straight in, shedding my wet coat in the entrance hall. “Marshall, you home?” I call out. I hear him banging about upstairs and he comes down combing his hair. “It needs a cut,” I tell him.

“Well, next time, bring them scissors and you can do it for me.” He grants me his biggest smile, his eyes lighting up at seeing me.

“I made a mess last time,” I remind him. I don’t want to have that responsibility.

“No, you learnt how not to cut my hair,” he says grinning.

I roll my eyes at him. “On your head, literally,” I say and grin. “Short back and sides coming up. Just buy some horse clippers and I can do it easy.”

“I don’t want to be bald,” he counters, looking into the mirror on the wall.

I notice he has his nice shirt on and a clean pair of jeans. “You got a date?” I ask him cheekily.

He frowns at me. “No chance. There’s only room for one female in my life, and I’m looking at her,” he says. “I’m going to Greystones’ to play cards, midarlin’. Are you coming with me?”

“No. Jonno said there are a couple of coppers in the party. So I’ll give it a miss. Don’t want to draw attention to my abandoned status, even if I’m happy about it.”

Since my mum's death, my dad seems to be unable to stand the house we all lived in. And me. So he leaves, and I’m happy when he’s not here. But it makes life hard. Mainly because of the busybodies in the village.

“Well, I’ve got us some tea.” He points to the oven. “I’ve had mine, was just about to ring you to come over. Drop me a text if you’re staying here. If not, I'll see you after school tomorrow. Go to Pat’s. It’s Friday and she’s cooking.”

He watches my food intake like a hawk, they both do. Pat Greystone and him. They know I skip meals if I can’t be bothered. But who wants to cook for themselves every night? Certainly not me.

I grin at him as the door opens, and in comes Jonno.

“They’re waiting for you, Marsh. Ian Sawyer is useless. His tell is he touches his right ear. Can you take some cash off him? Please! That tip should be worth at least ￡100,” he predicts.

“If I win big, I’ll be sharing with you both.” He smiles and walks out, leaving me to sort my tea from the oven.

I am so full, my stomach is bursting. “I love lasagne. Italian food is the best.” I tap my tummy. “A nice pud would just finish me off.” I get up and rummage in the fridge. “Trifle, yum.” I sit down and spoon a small portion into a bowl,

“Thought you were full?” says Jonno, eyeing my straining skirt.

“I am, but I have to have pudding. It’s the law,” I say, and hoover it up.

I sit opposite Jonno and regard him. “Did you find anything else? If I don’t get to sixteen, they’ll make me leave. Mrs. Jenkins is watching me. I know she means well, but I can’t, Jonno. We have to do something.”

He regards me. His chocolate eyes look black in anger as he contemplates my leaving. His head dips ever so slightly. Oh God, that’s his stress tell.

“What? What is it? I’ve seen that look before. You know something. Are they coming? Did they say something at the cards table?”

He shakes his head and stands up, walking over to the big dresser in the corner of the room. Marshall leaves everything in the world on that dresser, and if you want to find something, that is the first place we all go.

Jonno pulls open a drawer and takes out a small book. I look at him, puzzled. Laying the book down, I can see it’s a photo album. He opens the book at a photo, tapping it as I stare down at myself in the image. But that’s not right. I have on older fashioned clothing, and I’m in a place I’ve never been to before. An old stately home is in the background, and I don't recognise it. I don’t recognise it because it is not me. It’s someone who looks like me. Very much like me.

I pull my eyes up to Jonno. “Who?” I ask.

“Marshall's mother,” he states, and I frown. I sit back in the chair, my mind whirring around, finally settling to the only logical conclusion.

Marshall O’Clery is my father, not that clown Frank Parker. Thank God.

“When did you know?” My eyes are unable to tear away from the face of the woman in the photo, my heart rate picking up in panic, exhilaration, relief.

“Well, I didn’t know ‘til I found this, and we still don’t know for certain. We’ll have to do a DNA test. I’ve researched it and ordered a kit.” He leans down and takes a kit out of his rucksack. Oh my god. He’s already got the bloody kit. “I didn’t think we’d get a swab, or saliva, so I took an executive decision and went with hair.” He finally looks up at me with the kit in his hands. Ignoring my face, which is horrified, he carries on. “You cut his hair. We need a follicle as well, or a few.”

I stand as if on automatic pilot, going over to the comb he was just using. He usually cleans it straight away, but tonight, as Jonno had come in and he was rushing, he didn’t. We inspect the comb, choose some hairs, and fill the bags to send off.

Finally Jonno acknowledges my feelings, taking my hand and giving me a squeeze, then pulling me into a hug. I half sob, half laugh. I’m getting hysterical. Jonno makes a noise in his throat, pulling me harder into his body. He hates to see me upset.

“It’ll be fine, baby sis. You’ll see.” His voice is calm, but I can feel his heart banging at an amazing rate of knots under his shirt.

“Do you think we should tell him first? It feels a bit underhand, this,” I finally push out. “Can’t I just say I saw the photo, and ask him?” I’m trying to think things through. Be considerate of Marshall. Put him first as he always does me.

“You could, but what if we need to act quickly? There’s a lab in York, where this came from. I’m planning on going tomorrow, so cover for me at school. It’s computers and Mr. Latimer lets me do anything I want. I’m so far ahead of him, he knows I could get a degree at this point.” He looks smug at that.

“Jonno, this is serious. I feel like I’m violating him. He loves me, and I him. I don’t want him to hate me. What if he finds out he’s my Dad and decides he’s not bothered about the job either?” I don’t think I could bear it. I feel completely sick, and it’s not just from my overfull stomach and lasagne. My mind’s spinning, and panic is setting in.

“Evie,” Jonno snaps at me to break my spiralling. “That man is your dad in every way your other one is not. He looks after you, looks out for you, he would do anything for you.” He stops and then confidently states, “I think he knows, especially if you think about his behaviour over the past twelve years. Why would he have stayed all this time? His family are in Ireland. I heard Mum once say that Marshall went home and came back for a woman. What if that was your mum? And besides, if it’s true, he’s probably as worried about it as you are. You’re like two peas in a pod.”

“Yeah but?—”

He shakes his head at me. “If they come for you, Evie, to take you away, we can pull this rabbit out of the hat. State Marshall is your dad, therefore your legal guardian. He will not make you leave, no way.”

On that note we’re agreed. I am not leaving. My resolve hardens. It needs to be done to protect me and Marshall, as I don’t think he’d survive anyone taking me from him.

“Do it. Let’s find out. It makes a lot of sense. I cannot believe this photo. She’s like me, or I’m like her. Dervla O’Clery. Marshall says she was the boss.” I grin. “Bit like me then.”