Holding On To You Read online

  'It was my turn to do it, and I forgot. I'm sorry Maddy, it won't happen again', Jane says.

  'Fuck', someone on the other side of the room shouts, before moving their hands to their mouth too late to stop it.

  'My name is not Maddy', Maddy says through clenched teeth, with a calmness that troubles everyone in the room who has experienced her wrath. She reaches into her pocket for her stress ball, but quickly realises she's left it on her office desk. She makes do with balling her hands into fists in her pockets as she seethes at the girl in front of her who could have been a contemporary of hers, or even a friend, in a completely different world.

  'I'll do it now, don't worry Miss Parker. Jane's only been here for a couple of weeks. Really it's my responsibility', Ian says, hoping to placate her. 'No damage.'

  'Where is it?' Maddy says, losing her patience with the incompetence of her staff members.

  They all look at each other. Jane looks at Ian. Ian looks at Jessie. Javier looks at the floor. No-one looks at Maddy.

  'Where is it!?' Maddy says again, this time loud enough for almost the whole building to hear.

  Jane opens her drawer and without looking at her, hands Maddy a big cash bag, full to the brim with money. There must be almost a hundred thousand dollars stuffed inside. You could hear a pin drop in the office, until Maddy says,

  'You have got to be fucking kidding me.'

  Across town, a battered Ford Transit van carves through the traffic. Inside, Carlos grips the steering wheel tightly, focussing himself on the task ahead. River has the front seat alongside him, with his feet up on the dash, and trademark cigarette hanging from his lips. Alex has been relegated to the rear of the vehicle, and crouches there on the wheel arch opposite Peters, whose bulk makes it difficult for him to ride comfortably with the chairs taken out.

  'Slow the fuck down Carlos', Alex says, as he struggles to hold on, the road surface and the age of the vehicle knocking him about like a pebble in a tin can.

  Chapter 4

  Maddy decides to take the money to the bank herself, knowing it's the only way to make sure the job is done properly. She tells Jane that she'll see to her later on that afternoon, and as she storms out of the office, huge money bag stuffed into her own handbag, she's sure that someone, perhaps even Jane herself, says something behind her back. Maddy grits her teeth and continues, keen not to lose any more time. It isn't the first time she's heard her staff members say things about her, but everyone she's caught so far, has paid the ultimate price. She even sacked Alice Cartwright, who had been there for almost forty years, for telling her to her face she had a heart like a lump of coal, when she refused to give her annual leave on the few days of the year her son was back from his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Alice was reinstated briefly by Maddy's father, which made Maddy's blood boil, and then offered a generous redundancy package, which she happily took. If anyone else wanted to risk it, so be it. Maddy would find them eventually.

  The central bank is a short walk from Maddy's office across several busy streets of traffic, the lights of which never seem to work in her favour. It's an impressive building, and one of the oldest in the city, and if she gave herself time to appreciate it, she'd notice how ornate and beautifully carved the façade is, how marvellously the light flows through the domed, stained glass roof once inside, and how unique the twisted three tiered spiral staircase is, that she has to climb to get to the deposit desks. It is in fact one of only two other similar staircases in the whole of the country, hand made over a century ago, by a craftsman from the same city, who happened to be a drinking buddy of Maddy's grandfather, but Maddy doesn't know that, because she's never thought to ask. Maddy would notice these things if she gave herself time to be bothered by them, but instead, as she enters the bank, climbs the staircase, and lets the coloured light fall on her from above, she mutters to herself angrily, thinking about what punishment she can meter out to that dip-shit newbie Jane, who should have been here on Friday instead of her today.

  She's left the girl crying for real, having torn into her like a tiger might do a slice of prime steak, after several weeks without eating, and even for Maddy's standards it was a harsh telling off. It's the incompetence that Maddy just can't cope with though. For her, there's no excuse for not doing something that should have been done. Simply forgetting just doesn't cut it. She's the kind of person that doesn't believe in accidents, thinking that accidents only happen to those people who don't pay close enough attention to what's going on. That, and those people who don't seem to have any common sense. Maddy hates people who don't appear to have common sense, and that's why she likes cats, because for her, cats quite clearly don't suffer fools gladly.

  As she gets to the top of the stairs, she remembers again why the deposits have to be done on a Friday afternoon, not least to get them into the company's bank accounts before the weekend. It's because the bank is always absolutely chaotic on a Monday, and Maddy hates chaos with a fiery passion.

  She approaches the front desk to announce her arrival, and intention for being here, but there's nobody manning it. She rings the bell, waits for a moment, and then catches sight of a staff member crossing the floor. She expects him to come to the desk, but he walks straight past her without a glance.

  'Excuse me', Maddy says feistily, but the man ignores her, disappearing quickly into a back room before she can call him again. Once again, her hand forms a fist in her pocket, this time around the squeezable pig shaped stress ball she's thankful she's remembered to bring with her.

  'You have to queue up', a stout woman to her right tells her, nodding over at the desks where large queues have already formed.

  'I'm sorry what?' Maddy says when she realises the woman is talking to her.

  'That's right. You have to queue up like everyone else. The system's gone all haywire this morning, something to do with a bug on the computers. That's why it's so crazy in here', she says emphasising the word crazy by shaking her hands in the air.

  'I have a business account', Maddy says plainly.

  'Oh right a business account, gee why didn't you say earlier', the woman says, and whistles sarcastically through pursed lips that look like a cat's bum. 'You still have to queue up lady. But don't go and take my word for it. Ask the staff, if you can get hold of one of them.'

  Maddy does just that. It takes a while to barge to the front of the queue and push the waiting customers out of the way, but that's exactly what Maddy does, because it's exactly what she thinks she's allowed to do. Once there, she makes it clear that she's an important customer, has been for several years, shouldn't really be here anyway, as though it's their fault that she is, and furthermore, that she has a large amount of money to deposit that she will happily deposit in another bank if necessary.

  'Get back in the queue', come the shouts from behind her.

  'What makes you so special?' says somebody else.

  When Maddy refuses to budge, the bank teller loses his patience. He makes a call to a colleague, who comes out a minute later from a door behind him, and escorts Maddy off to a desk, secluded as best as he can find from his other clients, in order to deal with her promptly, efficiently and quietly.

  The stout woman watches and shakes her head. 'Some people', she says to herself.

  Madeleine Parker is well known as a massive pain in the ass to every staff member in the bank, but her custom has always been very important, and for that reason, whenever she comes in, which is frankly more often than any of them would like, she has to be dealt with cautiously, as though handling a venomous spider. Whoever deals with her has to bite their tongue, and bite it hard, and today that responsibility falls to Fergal Murphy, one of two senior managers, and a man moulded so well by the banking system, that biting his tongue has become muscle memory in the presence of some of his most affluent clients and investors. Some people would call that 'kissing ass', but Fergal calls it 'his job', and doing his job is something Fergal loves. Fergal has worked at the bank for several years
, dealing in that time with every member of the Parker family, working his way up, from the very bottom to the very top, to now be in such a position of importance that he has his own monogrammed stationery, which includes a special gold plated pen. He is also delighted to be one of only two key holders to the banks vast deposit vaults, but it's not as exciting to him as having a notepad with his name on the corner - a detail he likes to mention whenever he meets new people. The monogrammed stationery is almost as important to him as his ginger hair and moustache, the latter of which, Maddy is disgusted to see is stained at the edges by coffee.

  Fergal hopes his face, moustache and all, will instil confidence in a Madeleine Parker that appears to already be fuming with some kind of internal rage.

  'You have coffee on your moustache', Maddy says.

  Fergal moves quickly to wipe it off. It isn't the start he had hoped for, but attempts to recover.

  'I'm sorry for the delay in getting to you Miss Parker', he says. 'As you can see, we have been quite busy this morning. How are you today?'

  'I have a deposit that should have been made on Friday', Maddy says, ignoring his attempts at small talk. 'I'd like it dealt with immediately. You can do that, can't you?'

  'Of course', Fergal says. 'Do you have the money with you now?'

  Maddy rolls her eyes. The question is so stupid, it doesn't deserve a response. Instead she reaches inside her handbag and drops the heavy sack of cash on the table in front of him.

  'Right', Fergal says. 'Of course.'

  'I expect this won't take long', Maddy says.

  Fergal is already in the process of separating the notes from the coins to weigh them. With a desk full of cash, and a client to charm, he's in his element.

  'It's nice to see you here again', Fergal says, even though he doesn't mean it. 'It's been a while since you've come down to the bank in person. How are the family?'

  Maddy has been listening to him with a snarl slowly developing on her face.

  'Just count the money-'

  Maddy leans over a little to read his name tag.

  'Fergal', she says, and makes it sound like she's got a mouthful of something really distasteful. 'I haven't got time for idle chit-chit, I'm surprised you think you have.'

  'No, of course', Fergal says, smiling.

  The notes whirr through the machine and collect at the bottom. Fergal puts new ones in at the top and the process repeats itself. As a child, watching her father in his office do the exact same thing with the day's takings, always filled Maddy with glee and excitement. Those days are so long gone now, that when she looks at Fergal filling the machine, the child-like glee never once lifting from his face, from something so simple as paper filtering rapidly through a machine, ordering itself and collecting at the bottom, the memory, one of the warmest ones of her life, doesn’t even register with her. When she looks at the money counting machine, and the notes running through them, she thinks about only one thing, the time its taking to do its job. The time she believes would be better spent in her own office, doing something else entirely.

  Maddy taps her fingers on the table impatiently. Fergal knows it's taking longer to count the money than Maddy would like.

  'A good week', he says, trying to be jovial. It goes down like a lead balloon.

  'Just get it in the account so I can get out of here', Maddy says.

  Fergal smoothes his moustache and loads the very last bundle into the machine.

  'Eighty seven thousand, four hundred and fifty six dollars, fifty six cents. That's quite a coincidence', Fergal says, when he's finally finished totting up the figures.

  'What is?' Maddy asks, dryly.

  'To have fifty six dollars and fifty six cents, it's quite unusual. Quite a coincidence I'd say', Fergal says, in his cheesy, light-hearted, well-mannered way, lips never dropping from a smile and his chin all the while nodding as though he's physically unable to stop it.

  'How is that a coincidence?' Maddy asks. 'Do you even know what a coincidence is?'

  Maddy searches for the stress ball in her pocket, locates it and gives it a long hard squeeze. Sometimes the idiocy of some people gets her stomach acid going.

  'Well if two things happen at once that you don't expect, I suppose that's what I mean', Fergal says, sounding entirely unconvinced of his argument, and dropping off completely when he looks up to see Maddy snarl.

  'The account', Maddy reminds him.

  'Yes', Fergal says and shifts slightly to work on his computer. 'Now, we have to ask, do you have your account number and identification with you?'

  Maddy takes out her purse, locates her driving license and the company bank account card, and hands them both over.

  'I'm not sure why you can't just have an easier system. I mean you know who I am after all', Maddy says, the irritation in her voice so commonplace, it wouldn't sound like her if it wasn't there.

  'It's just for security', Fergal says, his chin nodding again. 'If anything ever happened, touch wood it doesn't of course', - at which point Fergal breaks off to touch the desk before he continues - 'you'd be secure.'

  Fergal looks at the photo on Maddy's driving license, back up at Maddy to compliment her on it, and quickly back to his computer when he realises it would fall on deaf ears if he did so.

  He brings up the relevant computer system programme and attempts to log in. When his log in fails, he tries again. When it fails for a third time he says, 'that's strange', and picks up the phone.

  While he's waiting for someone to answer, he covers the receiver and attempts to reassure Maddy.

  'I can't log in', he says. 'We've had a bit of trouble with the computer system this morning. Don't worry though, I'll-'

  Maddy definitely does not feel reassured. She's about to express that feeling when Fergal begins to talk again, holding up his hand impertinently to shush her. Maddy is so shocked by the rudeness of the gesture she can't quite compose herself quickly enough to tell him so.

  'Derek', Fergal says. 'Fergal here. I'm having trouble logging into the system. Are you having any issues back there?'

  Fergal nods and listens. He covers the receiver and addresses Maddy again.

  'He can't get in either', Fergal says, as though he's talking about something inconsequential, like a jar of honey with a tight lid.

  'What does that mean?' Maddy says, feeling her blood beginning to boil.

  'Ok, thanks Derek', Fergal says, and puts the phone down. 'The technicians have been called.'

  'What are you telling me?' Maddy says, about to explode.

  'We can't process any more deposits until the system is back online.'

  'The system?'

  'The system', Fergal confirms, without really adding anything useful.

  'You can't deposit the money today?'

  'I can't do it for you now, I'm afraid. I have to say, I was worried I wouldn't be able to. The computers have been playing up all morning, that's why we're so busy at the desks.' Fergal laughs nervously and smoothes his tie.

  'Well why the hell didn't you tell me before you sat me down?' Maddy screams at him, loud enough for the rest of the bank to fall silent for a moment to see where the noise has come from.

  'I was hoping it would work', Fergal says in an irritatingly cheery way that would make even the thickest skinned of his customers wince. 'We can do it as soon as the system comes back online. You don't have to come back. I'll just give you a receipt for what you've brought in, and call you when the money goes into the account, how does that sound?'

  'It sounds like you've wasted my time', Maddy says. 'If you'd told me that when I came in, I wouldn't be here looking at your pathetic, bogus, moustache-topped, well-practised, shit-eating grin.'

  'Well there's no need to get personal', Fergal says, a little offended his face has been unfairly brought into the conversation.

  He's on the way to apologising profusely, both for the computer system and his lack of professionalism, when something else takes his attention away instead. There's
a sound, a sharp metallic noise that reminds him of a car backfiring, and then a much louder sound almost immediately later - a huge roar of noise that can only be identified as the sound of a mass of people panicking.

  Maddy turns in her chair to see what's happening. Climbing the stairs, with a gun in his hand, a balaclava on his head, and a shirt undone almost to the bottom, wearing cowboy boots and smoking a perfectly rolled cigarette, that somehow stays stuck to his lips despite them being open in a large smile, is the one and only, self styled, gun toting, cigarette smoking, wild child, bad boy, River Woods. As he gets to the top of the stairs, he greets his audience with arms outstretched wide, and then does a bow.

  Maddy watches him with her mouth open. He is flanked by three other men, but it's him she looks at. There is chaos around her, but she doesn't notice it. It takes a while to tune into what they are saying.

  'Get down on the floor. Get down on the fucking floor!'

  Of the four men, he's the only one that moves around the room as though he's got all the time in the world, almost dancing as he goes, as though he's come here to deposit his money rather than steal everyone else's. He's not rushing like the other men, and it's his lack of care, and laid back attitude, that Maddy notices, in the split second it takes for him to get to her, that has her worried. This is a man that hasn't got anything to lose. This is a man unlike any other.