Trestle

Chapter 31 - Closure

Chapter 31
Friday 29th November, 2024
The Ditch, Crockenhill, London

Surprisingly, Angel never even heard the second bullet leave the barrel; the cowardly, suicidal shot which struck Kim Chen's temple and ended the crippling heartache caused by his son's death in Dartmouth Hill Park on Halloween night. Though of course, Angel heard the first one loud and clear - the vengeful 'shoot-to-kill' shot which was meant for him but instead hit Zola, less than week before her sixty-eighth birthday. He can still hear it now ringing in his ears like a heavy handed orchestra.

He perches on the edge of her perfectly made bed wondering why he gets to survive the chaos when everything else that he touches wilts and dies. Visions of the people he's hurt flood his brain like a vicious montage of fallen soldiers - amongst them, Maura stares back in her white t-shirt dress.
But her soft pear scent fades into the pungent odor of iron. Angel spreads his fingers, examining his hands which were once covered in brick-red blood. To the naked eye, they're spotless, but he can still see it, pooling like crimson red veins into the cracks of his skin and underneath his nails. His hands are not clean, and they haven't been for years.
He rocks on the bed in desperate need of Zola's hot-chocolate and cuddling arms, something he fears he will never know again. There's no doubt in Angel's mind that Zola made heaven's guestlist - but he knows that when his time comes, that lift is going down, and he's only got himself to blame.
He turns his attention to fiddling with the corner of her stripy yellow scarf folded neatly at the base of the bed. At first the mohair feels soft, but it begins to tickle, and then starts to itch, until his hands burn like they're stroking the devil himself. He blows on them with long breaths in an attempt to cool them down. But cooling them down doesn't get shut of the exasperating throbbing sensation.
Zola's heartbeat thuds heavily under his fingertips, as though his trembling hands are still hopelessly trying to plug the hole in her chest. It's rhythm slows down, growing fainter by the second, and then...nothing. He's trapped, reliving the moment and, like clockwork, the pulsating starts again. He sets off downstairs in search of something that's sweet and tart and alcoholic enough to take the edge off - RedBull just wasn't going to cut it today.

The rum smells like vomit. It's less sweet and more sickly, it's less tart and more acid, but he chugs it from the bottle all the same. It bites back and stings his parotid glands, making him wince. He places the bottle back on the shelf and his hand finds a bottle of grey goose instead. 
His mind flashes back to Zola sewing him back-together and he shuts his eyes, engulfed in pain, to watch her swig from the bottle in the darkness behind his closed eyelids.

Until a familiar, musical knock at the door pulls him out of his memories.

Kit: Boss.
Both Otis and Kit stand in the doorway of The Ditch holding bunches of flowers. Kit is wearing slim black joggers and a tight-fitting black t-shirt. Angel looks him up and down in surprise, appreciating the smartness of his Sole et. Al Varsity Jacket. Kit feel's Angel's judging eyes and blushes, removing his cap.
Kit: They tip better, up North.
Angel stifles an empty laugh and stands back to allow them passage. Otis shakes Angel's hand.
Angel: The new gaffa won't like the fact that you're taking time off work this early into your employment.
Kit: Well he can't exactly give me the sack...I already handed my notice in.
Kit wiggles a full duffle bag.
Kit: I'll take this up to my room.
Angel nods appreciatively; seeing Kit about the place feels like he never left and yet somehow, everything is so different. But as much as Angel is glad to have Kit home, it only makes him miss Maura so much more.

Faye: It's family flowers, only.
Faye storms into the bar and snatches at a large bottle of Scotch. Her peep-toe heels are higher than her hemline but her spirits are low and in need of topping up. She scowls at Angel on the way to slamming the door behind her.
Otis frowns - its world's apart from Faye's usual reception and he isn't sure whether he prefers the flirt version or the hurt version.
Angel: She's mad at me, not you. The flowers are nice. And you are practically family now.
Otis rolls his eyes.
Otis: Yeah, I know. Lucky fucking me.

Angel: Give me some good news please, Ratt.
Otis: Chief Inspector Tomasso Pagano stepped down from his post earlier this year: word on the street is, he was caught accepting bribes.
Angel: From who?
Otis shakes his head.
Otis: Cash deposits, so they don't know that information yet. But analysts are cross-referencing his account transactions with other accounts on their databases. My best guess is that Italian officials didn't want anyone questioning their integrity so probably asked the dude to leave quietly.
Angel: How do they know it's linked to Rosa's case?
Otis: They don't know for definite. But I had a guy check the transactions and the deposits started coming in not long after she died.
Angel puts a Marlborough Red between his lips. His concentration is broken by the sound of Greta squealing and cheering at Kit's surprise arrival. Usually, it would make him smile, but there's very little room for happiness in Angel's heart at the moment.
Angel: Well, that's something. Thanks, Ratt. Are you staying for a drink?
Otis tells him that regrettably he's got half a team in today - the force needs him to work.
Angel fumbles in the pocket of his suit jacket - he flits between a lighter, his eulogy speech and eventually finds the wad of tightly rolled cash. He holds it towards Otis suggestively.
Otis holds his hand out in objection and shakes his head gently, looking down into the beautiful bouquet of soft white lilies surrounding one candy pink protea - South Africa's second most beautiful flower, after Zola.
Otis: This one's on me.
Otis pats Angel's shoulder and closes the door behind him.

Greta: Look, Uncle Angel! Kit's back from Gweece!
Angel fakes a smile as Greta bounds into the room, dragging Kit by his hand. The atmosphere is bleak and crushing and colourless but she's still a ray of sunshine, oblivious to the rain.
Greta: Kit did you see Zola? Mummy said Zola is on holiday now too!
Harriet stands overlooking, from the bottom of the stairs and her heart shatters - there are no words to express the amount of gratitude she holds for Kit in this moment; a man choosing to show up for her daughter unconditionally, and not for the first time.
Harriet: It's a different kind of protection Daddy, but I know you'd approve.
Kit crouches down gently and takes her tiny hands in his palms.
Kit: I did! She said she was having so much fun at the beach and she didn't want to come home just yet.
Greta: Was she building sandcastles with gwandad?
A tear rolls down Angel's cheek and he walks outside for privacy, followed by Otis.
Kit: Yeah, I saw them! Massive sandcastles, some as big as you! With lots of pretty shells.
Greta's eyes widen in excitement.
Kit: They asked me to give you a big cuddle, and to tell you how much they love you.
She jumps up and down on the spot, having fixated on the imagery of pretty shells - she isn't understanding that Kit is describing 'goodbye'.
Greta: I want to go to Gweece and get some shells!
Kit: Greece is closed today. But how about me and you go to the park and get some stones instead? And we can play the alphabet game on the way, deal? Go grab your coat.
Greta runs off through the living quarter's hallway in search of her coat and rucksack.
Stassi: Don't run please, Greta. People are carrying drinks.

Stassi enters the room and collapses, exhausted, into a booth. The clock ticking above her head says it's half-past-tipsy.
Stassi: I know you're off duty, Kit, but since you're here, pour me a white wine please.
Kit does as he's told, moving swiftly behind the bar, and ignores the fact it's still breakfast time.
Kit: What size?
Stassi glares at him blankly from underneath a black Karen Millen dobby mesh fascinator. He nods, understanding the words she isn't saying.
Kit: Large wine, coming up.

He escorts a large white wine to her table and leaves the bottle in an ice-bucket beside her.
Stassi: Where's your sister?
Kit: At home. One of us needed to say behind to watch my father. She really wanted to be here though. She sends her love.
Stassi: To who?
Kit doesn't reply, which is a reply in itself.
Stassi bites her lip and demands Kit's phone, before the funeral cars arrive.

Maura answers immediately, and asks how everyone is holding up.
Stassi: We're grand thankyou, just perfect.
Stassi barely lets her process her shock ambush.
Stassi: Kit's fine, he's kindly lending me his phone. Listen, Maura, I don't have the time or energy to argue with you today so I suggest you and your father both pack up your shit, and get back down here.
Stassi pauses as Maura reels off excuses.
Stassi: Well Gus can stay at The Pear Tree for now. I'll put locks on the bar cupboards, then he can't get to any of the good stuff. Fine, yes, Scooch too, aslong as he doesn't try to maul Floss.
She pauses again.
Stassi: I'm sure Dr Tate will gladly accept Gus back into the trials - Maura, didn't I just say I didn't have the energy for this?
There is a final pause and Stassi sighs.
Stassi: Well you'll stay with Angel, obviously. Strength in numbers. I'm not losing any more of this fucking family. Now pack your fucking car and I'll see you later. Don't make me drag you here myself.

Stassi hangs up the phone and chugs the large glass of wine. She slams the empty glass down onto the table and exhales.
Stassi: Scooch better be fucking house-trained.