Page 182 of The Last Love Song
‘But you’ve had the past two days. We have to give an answer by tomorrow,’ urged Derek.
‘If they want us tomorrow, they’ll want us the day after, Derek.’
‘Con’s right. Let’s take another forty-eight hours to think about it. With that kind of money, Metropolitan will be wanting one-hundred-per-cent commitment. I want you all to be sure.’
‘Okay. We’ll reconvene in a couple of days.’ Todd put hiscup down. ‘Are you coming, Con? I have an appointment at five.’
‘Sure. See you, chaps.’
Todd went out for the night. Con paced around his old partner’s house, pondering the situation.
The past had been resolved now. It was time at last to look to the future.
Ian went home and discussed the situation with Virginia. They’d miss each other, but with that kind of money, they could buy their organic farm somewhere in the Kent countryside, live a blissful life and never have to think of finances again.
Derek went home and sat up all night. If the rest of the boys didn’t agree, there was no doubt he was up shit creek without a paddle. He’d be destitute within six months.
On the other hand, had he not been lucky? He was still a free man. Every day since the concert he’d waited for the police to turn up on his doorstep. If they started reinvestigating...Derek broke out in a mucksweat. That night, he had totally lost control. He’d fuelled himself on booze and powder, and...The memory of his actions made his stomach churn and bile rise.
If the boys agreed to the tour and he collected his share of the twenty million, then he might move abroad, just to be on the safe side.
That night he prayed for one last chance.
Freddy put down the telephone from Con and punched the air. All four had agreed. Twenty per cent of twenty million was...Jesus, an awful lot of money.
The Fishermen were back.
Helen sat on the Aer Lingus Fokker 50 and watched as it banked over the lush green fields of County Cork.
The sight sent a tingle up her spine. It was odd that while she had lain incarcerated night after night, her thoughts had flown not to her London house, or her comfortable office at Metropolitan, but to the clean, clear, wind-drenched beaches and crisp, bracing air of the country in which she had been born.
As the aircraft touched down on the runway of Cork airport, Helen experienced a sense of elation.
She knew she’d made the right decision.
She was coming home.
Epilogue
June 1987
The doorbell rang. Helen wiped her hands on a tea towel, left the kitchen and headed for the front door. It took quite a while. Dust sheets and builders’ equipment lay scattered in the hall.
She opened the door.
‘Con! My God! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Ah, well, maybe I just had an urge to come back and see the place I used to call home and visit my old friend Helen.’ He opened his arms and embraced her awkwardly over the paint pots on the floor by the door.
‘Come in if you can,’ she smiled.
‘Major renovations, eh?’
‘Er, that’s the plan. The builders started six months ago, promising to be out by the summer. So far I think they’ve managed to dry-line one damp wall, but then, this is Ireland. I’m beginning to suspect they just use my house to store their equipment until they need it elsewhere. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Moneywise, the longer they take, the better. Come through to the kitchen. It’s antique but there is room to sit down.’
Helen brewed some tea and Con sat at the table.
‘You look good, Helen. You’ve lost an awful lot of weight.’
