Assassins

  Stepping through the dining room door into the dimly lit hallway Gavin’s heart leapt into his mouth when he encountered a tall stranger dressed all in black. The visitor could have stepped out of the pages of a Charles Dickens novel. Hidden behind him and stretching her neck to see past his angular frame his wife said.

  ‘This is Mister Cruet Gav.’

  ‘Jeezus,’ Gavin said to the stranger, clutching at his chest, ‘you nearly gave me a heart attack. Who the hell are you, and how’d you get in my house?’

  ‘I let him in Gavin,’ Fiona said. ‘He said it was vital that he spoke to you. He can’t be a salesman because he knows both our names.’

  Having cleared her own plate, and then tucked away the best bits from Gavin and Fiona’s plates, Iris decided there was no point in trying to keep their dinners warm. Now they no longer had a dog, after Rusty died, the rest will go in the bin.

  Iris imagined whatever this business was with the stranger, most likely it was going to take up the rest of the evening, so she may as well clear away the dishes and get the washing up done. Carrying the stack of dishes out to the kitchen, Iris muttered, ‘you can’t eat cold lamb for goodness sake.’ Shaking her head and placing the pile of crockery on the kitchen worktop, Iris Muttered, ‘I dunno, in this house, hardly a thing ever goes right.’

  This was patently untrue. Gavin ran the household like a railway timetable.

  If she wasn’t mistaken the man had a Scottish accent. Iris stopped rattling the plates to listen. His accent reminded her of Gavin’s father–the rat– who within days of her giving birth to his son had taken off. ‘What was Fiona thinking letting a complete stranger into their house, ‘next thing, we’ll all have been murdered.’ Iris muttered. Opening a kitchen drawer Iris took out the marble rolling pin and then hefting it like a club she went out to the hall and lined up behind her son in the narrow hallway that with four people in it was quite crowded. Eyeing the man up and down, it crossed Iris’s mind this tall man dressed in black had to be from the spirit world. Iris has this thing about spirits and ghosts. Any chance she got she would go on Ghost Hunts. She had even joined “Ghost Hunters,” a group that regularly visited supposedly haunted houses, always at night, where the rule was, you were supposed to wander around these places with the lights off.

  As a born-again atheist Gavin didn’t approve of his Mother’s involvement with these people, calling them: “freaky, twits.”

  ‘Mr Cruet says he is a Minister.’ Fiona said to Iris, as if that might spark her interest and stop her from attacking the visitor with the rolling pin.

  ‘Let’s get one thing straightened out Mr Cruet,’ Gavin said giving Fiona a look of disapproval. ‘My wife should not have allowed you into my house. And I don’t hold with religion, so, if you wouldn’t mind, the door is right behind you?’

  ‘The name is Cruid, Mr Brewson,’ The Scottish Minister said with his hand extended. ‘I am the Scottish Minister For Internal Affairs.’

  Cruid wasn’t going to conduct his business in this cramped passageway, so shuffling his feet inches at a time, he began pushing the blockage of people back towards a splash of yellow light coming through an open doorway on his right. He could hear the muted sound of a TV in there. In which case that had to be the lounge. The floor covering in the hallway was a poor quality imitation wood veneer. The doglegged stairs were carpeted in a sage green. The wallpaper in the hall and all the way up the staircase that led up to an unlit landing was predominantly green with ridiculously large yellow Peonies.

  ‘I do apologise for this sudden interruption to your evening; Cruid said. ‘Could we go perhaps go into the lounge?’ Cruid nodded to the doorway. ‘In there I shall be happy to explain the importance of my visit.’

  ‘As long as this isn’t some ploy to try and trick your way into my home.’ Gavin warned.

  The stranger’s handshake in the lounge, while Fiona turned the telly off, was business like. Gavin liked that. He considered that people with a firm handshake were of the trustworthy type.

  ‘When my wife said that you were a minister I was thinking religion,’ Gavin gave a little laugh. ‘Anyway, I am glad that you are not. You say you just came down from Edinburgh? I went to Scotland once and we stayed in Aberdeen–it was June and it rained the whole time. Please take a seat.’

  Cruid looked about him and chose to sit in an armchair. The material of the three piece suite was in a shade of green with yellow patches that at one time, had they not become faded from wear, may have been flowers

  ‘May I call you Gavin?’ Cruid manufactured a smile. Cruid noted the wallpaper wasn’t quite the same green and cream as that out in the hallway, that at least showed some discretion in taste, although, not a lot. The floor in here was carpeted in green. The curtains, pulled across patio doors, were a different hue, but green just the same.

  ‘I should warn you Mr Cruid,’ Gavin said, ‘if you have tricked your way into my house with the intention of trying to sell me something I shan’t hesitate to use proportional force to evict you. I have a black belt in karate.’

  ‘You’re never a black belt in karate,’ Fiona laughed. ‘You only went twice.’

  ‘I went four times,’ Gavin blustered, ‘and, if you recall I only stopped because I broke my wrist. Anyway, if you had been listening, you’d have heard me say that I have a black belt… I never said I was a black belt.’

  ‘You didn’t break it,’ Fiona reminded him ‘you bruised your wrist flirting with Nancy Tuttle, who used to live next door, showing her how you could break a twig with your bare hand. You went to the A&E and they sent you home again.’

  ‘A twig!’ Gavin protested. ‘It was a piece of oak… the hardest wood known to man. And it wasn’t a bruise. I broke a bone in two places…. anyway, I never fancied Nancy Tuttle… it was her who had a thing for me.’

  Fiona laughed out loud. ‘Gavin,’ She said. ‘Nancy Tuttle never had a thing for you. She thought you was a nerd.’

  Red-faced, Gavin changed the subject, ‘that’s beside the point. I was merely pointing out to Mr Cruid here that should I need to resort to force, I am ex- Royal Marines and I may not be able to show restraint if forced to use my martial arts skills.’

  ‘You was never in the Royal Marines Gavin,’ Fiona chided him. ‘It was the Army cadets, you were in.’ A little embarrassed at times by Gavin’s occasional flights of fancy Fiona, felt obliged to bring her husband back down to earth.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind not keep interrupting me Fi, I was merely making a point to Mr Cruid here that…’

  Cruid, anxious to get down to business, interrupted Brewson. ‘Pardon my interruption Gavin, but I must speak to you about my reason for arriving at your door this late.

  Gavin turned to his wife and said, ‘Fi, can you make us all a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Iris said pointing the rolling pin at her daughter-in-law who always leaves a mess in her kitchen and throws the spent teabags in the sink leaving it with brown stains.

  Cruid hooked one long leg over the other and then popped his fedora on the top of his bony knee. ‘If I may impose further on your hospitality, would one of you pop your head out the front door and ask my driver, John Brooks, who is waiting by my car to come in and perhaps make use of your facilities? He has been driving quite a few hours non-stop.’

  ‘You mean use the bathroom?’ Fiona said. ‘Well yes of course he can, can’t he Gav?’

  Fiona called out to her mother through the serving hatch. ‘Ma, make that another tea and put some biscuits on a plate will you?’

  The other side of the serving hatch Iris tutted. ‘I wish she wouldn’t call me Ma. It sounds so American.’

  While Fiona Brewson went out to fetch the driver, Cruid cast a critical eye over the décor. A gas fire, orange and black, with fake coal sat in the opening of the chimneybreast that had been wallpapered to make it look as if it was made of York stone.

  In the blank screen of the wall-mounted 50-inch TV Cruid could se
e his own ghostly reflection.

  Cruid waited for Mrs Brewson to return with Brooks who hurried up to use the bathroom. After Fiona settled on the sofa alongside her husband and took hold of his hand, Cruid finally got to explain the purpose of his visit.

  ‘Firstly, I must apologise for the lateness of the hour,’ Cruid said conversationally. ‘The traffic on the M1 was horrendous. How do you people live with the traffic down here?’

  ‘Ah, Mr Cruid,’ Brewson said about to go off on one. ‘You are in the company of an expert on traffic management.’

  Cruid had already worked out that Brewson was one of those insidious individuals who loved talking about his job and was literally capable of boring a man to death. Mercifully his wife stepped in.

  ‘Gavin,’ Fiona scowled at her husband. ‘Mr Cruid didn’t come all this way to hear you going on about your job. (She almost said bloody job). There were times, like now, when Fiona could cheerfully strangle her husband… bless him.

  The tea, when Iris brought it in and placed it on the chrome and black glass coffee table was in bone china cups with matching saucers. Kept in the sideboard, these only ever saw the light of day on special occasions. There was also a plate with a six bourbon biscuits that Cruid had no intention of eating.

  In the dining room, John Brooks, glad to be out of the chill night air, having taken advantage of the plumbing facilities was content with a cup of tea, a plate of biscuits and an English newspaper.

  Cruid began: ‘Mr Brewson, I take it you are fully aware of the existing ill feeling between the governments of Scotland and the UK, brought about by Brexit and the Scottish Independence referendum.’

  ‘I don’t take much interest in politics Mr Cruid.’ Ignoring the fact his visitor was a politician Gavin said. ‘All of them are out to line their own pockets, a bunch of crooks most of them… present company excluded of course.’

  Cruid wasn’t offended. Although there was some truth in that public perception, most politicians actually came into the job with, however misguided their views, a sense of public duty. You would expect to find a few rotten apples in the barrel.

  ‘With respect, Mr Cruid, and I can tell that you are an honest man, I don’t understand how can some of them MP’s justify their vast expenses claims? If I were in charge there’d be a few changes I can tell you. I would shake em up. Oh yes.’

  ‘Gavin, please,’ Fiona stepped in, ‘I would really like to hear what Mr Cruid has to say?’

  Gavin looked around at his wife and said.’I was just about to say…’

  ‘Yes Gav, we know what you was about to say,’ Fiona said nudging him in the ribs with her elbow, ‘can you please be quiet for just a minute so that we can hear what Mr Cruid has to say?’

  Cruid was starting to worry that although Brewson had the DNA credentials to be Scotland’s king maybe the man doesn’t have the right temperament? He sensed the man could be trouble. Had this not been so urgent he may have backed off, but having come all this way and after promising Mary Dewar that he’d come back with a king, he had better get on with it. He can worry about knocking him into shape later.

  Gavin said, ‘Do I have to call you Mr Cruid? Bit of a mouthful, we’re all friends here. Duncan… isn’t it?’

  ‘It is Duncan, but people call me Cruid, and I’d much prefer that.’

  ‘Ok. Cruid it is… so what’s this about? Cruid? No more chitchat. You hear me. We need to get to the point.’

  Cruid was happy to. ‘Mr Brewson, politicians are quite normal people who have an extraordinary job, quite important jobs, some of them, and whilst it is true some might abuse their position…’ Brewson interrupted him.

  ‘You don’t need to lecture me on responsibility Cruid… I am head of parking enforcement with a team of…’ What?’ He said when he heard Fiona groan. ‘Ok… I’ll shut up.’

  ‘Yes please do.’ Fiona insisted.

  Gavin had already worked out that Cruid’s visit was connected in some way to the Brexit outcome and the Scottish UDI. Although he had no interest in which way Brexit went Gavin had voted to leave the EU. After telling Fiona that she should do likewise, he stood at her shoulder in the voting booth to make sure that she didn’t tick the wrong box.

  Gavin had grown heartily bored hearing about Brexit and UDI. He had had enough of listening to the complainers that used to be “Remainers,” especially that buffoon Prime Minister, Sir Roger Bottomley. As far as he was concerned, if the Scots have voted to leave the UK, then he didn’t see why they shouldn’t be allowed to. So, what had all this to do with him? Gavin was now thinking that this was all a mistake, that Cruid had got hold of the wrong Gavin Brewson? There was quite a number of them around, if you Googled the name.

  ‘Mr Cruid,’ Gavin said. ‘Are you sure you got the right Gavin Brewson?’

  ‘Let me see,’ Cruid said. ‘You are Gavin Brewson– Head of Parking Enforcement at Marbury borough council, yes? – You are married to Fiona– and your father left your mother, Iris, when you were a baby – and then six years ago, while on holiday in Aberdeen, following an altercation between you and a Sainsbury’s parking attendant, you were subsequently arrested and taken to the local police station where your fingerprints were taken and you provided a DNA sample … does that sound like you?’

  ‘Hey, just a minute,’ Gavin said shocked to learn that this stranger had known about his arrest. ‘How did you find out that I had been arrested? I was innocent, and I was never charged?’ Gavin protested. ‘I never assaulted that parking warden, it was him that assaulted me.’

  ‘Please, Mr Brewson, ‘Cruid said. ‘The circumstances of your arrest is of no consequence. You were released without charge because you had done nothing wrong. I am truly sorry that your holiday was spoiled by the indignity of being wrongfully arrested.’

  Gavin calmed down but it left him wondering how the hell Cruid could have found out about the arrest? Weren’t these things supposed to be subject to confidentiality laws? Perhaps it was different in Scotland? Fi caught his eye. The look she gave him was as if to say, be careful Gav.

  ‘For now,’ Gavin said picking over his words, ‘let’s assume that I am the person that you think I am, will you please explain what this has to do with the Scottish UDI business?’

  ‘Mr Brewson…’

  ‘Please call me Gavin.’

  ‘Ok, Gavin,’ Cruid said and carefully placed the cup and saucer down on the glass coffee table. He had only taken a sip. The tea was insipid and tasted of soapsuds.

  ‘When Scotland voted to leave the UK,’ Cruid started to explain, ‘the event triggered off a series of complex legal difficulties that are connected to you, and to your father.’

  That caught Gavin off-guard.Frowning he said.

  ‘Hang on, you lost me there Cruid. What has Scotland’s independence got to do with my father who I have never seen, and have never spoken to, and not likely to… ever?’

  ‘Because I would be having this conversation with your father and not you had he not died ten years ago?’ Cruid said.

  ‘He died!’

  Cruid’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know? ‘I am so sorry Gavin. I just assumed…’

  ‘Yeah, well, you shouldn’t just assume. In any case I don’t care. He never wanted to know me.’ Gavin’s chest heaved. A long time ago he stopped wondering about the father he never knew… Jeez he’s dead? When Fiona reached across the arm of his chair and took hold of his hand he almost cried. He found it difficult getting the next words past the painful lump in his throat.

  ‘Cruid, you were saying,’ he sounded subdued, ‘something about complex legal difficulties?’

  Cruid said. ‘I am truly sorry Gavin. Do you need a moment?’ Cruid took Gavin’s shrug as a sign to carry on.

  ‘I was about to say,’ Cruid remembered where he had left off, ‘essentially, once Parliament has passed a bill, it then requires Royal Assent in order to become an Act Of Parliament. This is one of the functions that Her Majesty, as part of her official duties h
as to perform. Normally, this is merely a formality. The last time a monarch refused to sign off a bill was in 1707. Now, Scotland’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence has placed her Majesty in a difficult position. The Independent Scotland is seeking to pass a raft of new laws but under the existing constitutional set-up, it cannot enact a single one without Royal Assent…’

  ‘And her Majesty is refusing to give that?’ Gavin interrupted.

  ‘She can’t, is more to the point Gavin. Imagine the public uproar in the rest of the UK is she was to do something to help the Scots break away from the UK. It could conceivable bring down the monarchy.’

  Gavin’s face looked blank while he struggled to take this in.

  Cruid’s face remained impassive.

  ‘More Tea?’ Iris said holding a tray of steaming mugs in the doorway.

  ‘No thank you.’ said Cruid. He couldn’t face another one so weak you could almost see the bottom of the cup!

  Gavin shook his head. Fiona grabbed a mug of tea and another wagonwheel biscuit.

  ‘And your solution is what? The Scottish government plans to employ its own monarch. Get the job done in-house, so to speak? Yeah?’ Cruid nodded. ‘So, explain to me then, the next bit. How do I fit into this?’

  Cruid said. ‘A while ago, you got upset when I spoke about the time that you were arrested in Aberdeen and I mentioned you provided the police with a DNA sample.’

  ‘Provided! I never had a choice.’ Gavin protested.

  Cruid held up one hand, ‘If I may finish Gavin? I managed to track down a DNA sample of one of Scotland’s greatest kings and when I ran this through the police database, quite remarkably your own DNA matched the sample that I had. Gavin, the reason I am here tonight is because you are a direct descendent of Robert The Bruce and we, Scotland that is, would like you to become our king.’

  Fiona’s eyes widened. For a change Gavin was lost for words. The cups and saucers on Iris’s tray began to rattle.

  Cruid smiled. ‘Of course, your good lady wife would be your queen?’

  Even on the green carpet, you could have heard a pin drop. Gavin and Fiona, struck dumb could only stare at each other.

  Gavin only began to emerge from his catatonic state when Cruid said.