Feliz Navidad!

Hope you all had a great Xmas. I'm posting this chapter from my hotel room on Tenerife. Flew out here on Xmas Day which was quite exciting. First time I've ever spent it away from home but I'm loving it.

So I'm afraid this isn't a particularly thrilling, interesting, sexy or romantic chapter, considering it's a special time of year but I'll be busy scribbling poolside during some of my holiday, I promise and hoping to be inspired in some way 😜

Chapter 11

"'ow much bloody longer?" Don complained. "'e's been on that bus a good forty minutes already!"

Gerald kept his eyes on the road and his hands firmly at ten to two. "What you moanin' about? You're just sittin' there watchin' the world go by, it's me what's doin' the tailin', mate."

"Not 'ard, is it?" Don asked caustically. "It's a big red double decker. Not gonna lose that in an 'urry."

"Yeah an' that hour keepin' track of 'im on the streets was an absolute doddle weren't it?"

"'ere we go, Ger," Don jabbed enthusiastically at the windscreen when the bus pulled into the next stop and they caught sight of Makepeace standing at the rear of the bus as he waited to get off.

They were in West Wimbledon. Not a part of London either of them was familiar with but the residential area was open and spacious with wide, tree-lined pavements and high, well manicured hedges separating the semi-detached 1930's properties and it was very easy now to follow Makepeace, in fact, maybe too easy, the car being to much too visible.

At one point, Makepeace seemed to be lost and and doubled back on himself, walking back up to the main road to take the next road up, Wentworth Gardens. At number 74, he stopped and looked at the house, appearing to take stock of the place for a second.

"Come on, mate, make yer mind up," Don grumbled, anxious for some sort of conclusion to this job. He was tired but knew it would still be a good while yet before he saw his bed – they had to report back to their employer and find out if he wanted anything more from them before payment would be issued. They'd already been given a pony each plus expenses with the promise of another ton a piece tonight. For some reason though, that made Don nervous. It was a lot of dosh for not that much effort. Wasn't like it was anything illegal, unlike the pasting they'd given the mark the night before but a spot of GBH, that was nothing really.

They watched him go up to the white painted front door screen and ring the bell, taking a step back and tracing a finger over the stained glass whilst he waited idley. He rang again, this time shoving his hands into his pockets and gazing about him, taking in the rhoddedendron bush behind him and the scattering of early fallen leaves on the path from next doors oak.

"No one 'ome," Gerry observed aloud.

"Great! That'll mean more trekking around London." Gerry slumped back with a sigh, his eyes still on Makepeace though. "'less 'e goes back to that bird's place."

"Don't know why 'e left in the first place, fine bit o' stuff like that," smirked Don.

"Well maybe 'e's got another one lined up at this gaff."

Don laughed loudly. "Tell you what, if you're right, I'm jackin' in me flat and takin' to the streets."

Makepeace was just about to give up when he spotted movement behind the leaded glasswork and a shape approached..

Michael Campbell opened the door, pleasantly surprised to find his friend, whom he hadn't seen for a good couple of months or so on his doorstep.

"Jonathan! How great to see you! Come in." He pulled him over the doorstep enthusiastically. "Believe it or not, I was only thinking about you the other day. How's it going, matey?"

The warm reception felt like a head start. Maybe things really were on the up now.

"He's gone."

Harry came back into the kitchen carrying the empty cup she'd found on the chest of drawers in the spare room.

"Like in vamoose?" Dempsey asked.

"Is there any other kind? He left a note."

She held up a small scrap of paper which appeared to have been torn out of a notebook. It simply read, 'Thank you, sweet Harriet'.

Dempsey shrugged. "You couldn't of done no more for the guy. Looks like he just didn't feel comfortable stayin' longer."

Harry bit down on her lower lip. "I supppose he just felt a bit awkward with you being here and..."

"Hey, I already said I was goin' back home!" he snapped. "I gave him the clothes off of my back! He was pissed I didn't give him my place in your bed maybe?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Harry looked at him aghast, more than a little surprised at his unpleasant attitude.

But Dempsey was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry..." His elbows rested on the table and he let his head drop forward into his hands. "I'm sorry, babe. That was a stupid thing to say an' I apologise, okay?" He looked up, dragging his fingers through his hair and offered her a weak smile. "What did I tell ya? Too much booze, not enough sleep – I ain't a nice person to be around."

"Hmmm." She gave him a half reproachful, half forgiving smile."

"Least I'd stuck around to say my goodbyes."

"So now you can leave with a clear conscience," she told him mildly.

"Couldn't I stick around a while – now you don't have no guest for me to chew out? I know for a fact you can take care of yourself if I should get a little too grouchy."

So he did actually want to stay. That was nice to know.

"Only if you promise to go back to bed for a while."

She dropped Jonathan's note beside the teapot and resumed her seat.

"Alone?" Dempsey asked with an uplifted eyebrow.

"Yes, Dempsey – alone."

He leaned his forearm on the table and bent his head towards her. They were only inches apart and the atmosphere was suddenly changed.

"Wouldn't that kinda be missing the point of my bein' here?"

"The point?" she asked. He'd practically declared himself incapable half an hour ago.

"Yeah. Me up there, you down here. What happened to togetherness?"

"I'm not the one with the hangover from hell."

She could smell the shampoo in his still-damp hair. She couldn't quite name the feeling it brought her; a sense of completeness maybe, like he was truly a part of her life, there to share all the small, mundane aspects with like brushing teeth and pointing out that they were down to the last couple of eggs at breakfast. She wanted to experience this kind of 'comfortable' with a man again.

"Now my couch has a vacancy, we could snuggle up and watch some TV. Maybe they'll be showin' White Christmas."

So he hadn't made a miraculous recovery now that Jonathan was gone and that made her feel that bit better about his earlier vindictive snipe at him.

Harry laughed. "Your couch?" And then playing along, pretended to suddenly see the light. "Ohhhhh, I see. You've claimed squatters rights!"

A grin spread across Dempsey's pale but now clean shaven face. "Yeah, you see, you got it."

"I'll make sure your cushions are plumped next time you stay over then," she teased.

Dempsey looked deep into her eyes, a loving mellowness holding her captivated.

"Is that an invitation?" he asked.

Harry leaned in even closer, her chin resting in the palm of her hand. "Sounds like it, doesn't it?"

"That's good. Guess the Grinch didn't ruin Christmas totally."

"And what is the Grinch, exactly?" Harry asked, suspecting she was being lead up the garden path.

"You tellin' me you ain't never heard o' the Grinch?"

His enthusiasm sang out in his voice but, Harry observed, that mellowness in his eyes didn't folow suit.

"I'm afraid not. Am I missing something important?"

"How 'bout Dr. Seuss? You heard of him, right?"

Harry sat up. That at least rang a bell. "Isn't he a child psychologist or something?" Her finger rose up as she remembered the connection. "The Cat In The Hat! He wrote the children's books!"

Dempsey laughed. "Right! An' he also wrote about The Grinch Who Stole Christmas; this character who tried to screw up Christmas for the townsfolk of Whoville."

"Whoville?"

"Whoville." He kissed her lightly on the mouth. "But that part isn't important, I'm just happy we're okay."

Harry stood up, his arms wrapping around her body automatically as she held his head to her chest.

"Why wouldn't we be?" She stroked his damp hair, loving the feel of it between her fingers.

"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley," he purred, his face resting heavily against her breast.

"To A Mouse – quoted correctly!" Harry smiled.

"Yeah. I had a thing for Steinbeck for a time back when I was in school. I learned the Burns poem kind of as an off-shoot."

Dempsey really was full of surprises and she loved him for it.

"Do you still remember it?"

"Some parts, I guess."

"You can think about it whilst I'm showering then and I might get you to recite it later" she laughed, patting the back of his head as she pulled out of his embrace.

"Hurry back, princess, that couch is callin' my name and it's soundin' kinda like a lullabye right now."

He gave her behind a part slap, part squeeze, part push as she turned away and Harry was amazed by how right that somewhat possessive gesture felt.

Gerry pushed his way through the door, the younger, leaner Don bringing up the rear.

They were met with a wall of noise; the general background hum of a crowd of people overlaid with the pop beat of current chart music playing on the jukebox.

Annoying, braying laughter rang out from a table in the middle of the room and the strident voice of a fifty something tart who had downed one Vodka and orange too many came from the huddle standing at the bar.

"You see 'im?" Don asked as they made their way to the bar.

The air was silvery grey with tobacco smoke but the question didn't strike with of the as ironic because The Night Watchman public house was no different to their own haunts in Hackney; same watered down spirits, same stale smell, same rough-edged clientele.

"Not yet," Gerry confirmed, turning with his back to the bar as he scanned the room, one foot up casually on the foot rail and elbows resting on the bar top.

Two pints of Fosters, darlin'" Don asked of the disinterested barmaid.

His eyes slowly travelled around, working the room as though it were a clock face when at five o'clock he flinched inwardly. A pair of slate grey eyes were fixed upon him and Gerry got the idea that they had been observed since the moment they'd arrived.

He turned back to the bar.

"'e's 'ere. To your left, next to the fireplace. Should we get 'im one in d'you reckon?"

"No chance," Don scoffed. "'e owes us, remember. Besides, don't know what 'e drinks, do we?"

Gerry picked up his pint as Don said, "I'd take a guess at Babysham, long streak o' piss that 'e is," he grinned.

His partner chuckled. "Now, now, Gerald, that's out employer you're bad-mouthing, keep a civil tongue in yer 'ead – least 'til we got paid."

Don pocketed his change and they wended their way to the table by the fireplace.

"Evenin', Mr Makepeace," said Gerry, cordially. "Can I get you another?"