Arise From The Ashes - Chapter 1

                                Arise From The Ashes


‘I really think it’s time you called your brother and sisters, Roger,’ said Anne Harrison, in a nurturing manner. ‘It won’t be long now.’
  Roger Bailey looked up at the white ceiling before meeting Anne’s gaze. He knew this day was coming. He had watched his mother wither away for months. Now she was just a shell; her brittle bones showing through her shrunken, mottled skin. The machines and oxygen tank were the only things keeping her alive now.
  Roger had not slept properly for weeks, catching only a couple of hours a night if he was lucky. He hated looking at himself in the mirror these days. When he did he saw only the shell of his former self. Since being signed off with post-traumatic stress from his job at the Met Police, his life had fallen apart. But he had been through a lot this past year: his father committing suicide, the break up of his marriage, being signed off work and now his mother dying. Even the strongest people had their breaking point, he knew. And he considered himself a strong person.
  ‘Or would you like me to call them for you? We have their contact details,’ pushed Anne, sensing his reluctance. Since Gillian Bailey had been admitted to Cherry Trees Hospice with lung cancer, Anne had grown fond of Roger. It seemed he was the closest to Gillian; his brother and sisters rarely visited.
  ‘Level with me, Anne. How long do you think she has? Hours, days, weeks?’
  ‘It’s hard to say, but in my experience, seeing your mother the way she is, I’d say a matter of days. Possibly a week. That’s why I think you should call your family, let them know it’s time to say their goodbyes.’
  Being told out loud made it hit home. His mum was going to die very soon. At 54 he thought he would handle it better. He had seen people die through his job on the Force, but watching his own mum die was something entirely different. Was he regressing? Instead of growing older, was he mentally growing younger? He really wanted to speak to his wife, or rather ex wife.
  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said after a long pause.
  He stood up and walked over to the window overlooking the immaculate lawn with pond and water feature. A woman in her mid twenties was sat on a bench opposite the pond with an elderly man, both wearing overcoats protecting them from the freezing January wind. The staff at Cherry Trees had been very good to his mum, so comforting and professional. When his mum passed on, he would donate a couple of thousand to the hospice.
  He felt a hand on his shoulder.
  ‘Very well,’ said Anne softly.
  Roger turned to meet her. ‘I just want to say thank you for everything you and the rest of the staff have done for mum.’
  Tears welled up, but he wiped them away with the back of his thumb. He really didn’t want to break down in front of her.
  ‘You’re very welcome, Roger,’ she replied. ‘And if there’s anything else you need, you know where to come.’
  He watched as she walked to the door.
  She turned back as she reached it. ‘You know, it’s not just your brother and sisters. You need this time to really say good bye to her too. You didn’t get the chance to with your father. It will bring you peace.’
  Anne left him alone in the recreation room. It was eight thirty in the morning and normally the recreation room had a few people in it, but it was deserted. It was just as well; he wanted to be alone.
  He sat down on the sofa again. The television in front of him was on with the volume barely audible. For some reason the staff always had the TV switched to BBC News 24. The bottom of the screen read Breaking News: Explosions in Istanbul. 54 killed and hundreds injured. A man was talking animatedly into his microphone, plumes of black smoke visible behind him.
  Roger wasn’t interested in world affairs. He had far more pressing matters to attend to. He sighed when he thought of calling Christian, (Chris) his younger brother. At 46 years old, eight years younger than him, what a huge disappointment he’d turned out to be. Christian lived in Manchester, a warehouse operative. He wasn’t married, had no children and not even a girlfriend to his knowledge. He might as well not exist for all the good he did. So why then, did their parents dote on him so much?
  There he was out there catching scumbags and putting them behind bars, and yet his mum, whenever Chris dug himself into a hole, seemed more than willing to put her hand in her purse. It drove him crazy. When Chris had gone to university, they’d paid for tuition, accommodation and spending money. It went even further than that, his mum had given him thousands to set up his own carpet cleaning business, too. And that, of course, had failed and Chris still hadn’t paid her back.
  It made him angry just thinking about it. And it wasn’t that Chris wasn’t clever; he was probably the smartest of all of them. He was the only one of them to go to university and he’d finished with a First in physics, which was no mean feat. He’d then gone on to do a doctorate. He was the first and only Bailey to have letters before his name. Doctor Christian Bailey. It had such a great sound to it. He’d actually been proud of his little brother, but not now. He was a waster. Now he was working in a factory, driving forklift trucks. It made him want to spit.
  It made Maria just as mad. She was the elder sister and his sounding board. Maria was married to Paul Shaw, a doctor, and she herself was a hospital nurse down in Devon. They had a huge five-bedroom place in Bideford, even though they only had one son, 27 year old Ryan, who had left home. They were both rattling around in a mansion, just the two of them. It was a lovely place.
  Of his brother and two sisters, he had far more in common with Maria than Christian or Debbie. He loved them all deep down, or in Chris’ case, very deep down. They were all so different in about every way imaginable. He guessed his parents loved Chris for his cavalier attitude and his care free and fun personality. Chris did make him laugh, occasionally, when he wasn’t going out of his way to piss him off.
  And then there was Debbie. She was 48 going on 18 and got on extremely well with Chris. She even married a Chris. Christopher Collins. Family gatherings were a riot with the Two Chrises there, he thought bitterly. Debbie was a receptionist at a doctor’s surgery in London, so she was in the same town as him but they rarely saw one another. She thought life was one big joke. She had no ambition, other than to annoy the crap out of him, it seemed. Their parents had bailed Debbie out a couple of times, too. It didn’t seem fair that he and Maria, the more ambitious and serious of the four of them, had to watch while the other two got handouts for being fuck ups.
  And who had paid for their dad’s funeral and wake? He had. Maria had contributed as well, but he had paid most of it. Chris had arrived three minutes late to his own dad’s funeral, while Debbie and Chris had arrived half-cut. And that had really pissed him off. Maria had refused to talk to the pair of them during the wake.           
  Roger was making himself angry and decided he would call Maria first. She would calm him down before he made the next two calls. He would leave Chris until last. He would do it in birth order: Maria, Debbie, Chris.   


‘So, this is where he lives, huh?’
  Harry Cox nodded in the direction of the vast acres of land owned by Gordon Russell, an investment banker and hugely wealthy philanthropist. He looked through the wrought iron gates, along the wide driveway to the stone mansion set between two green lawns. It had seven bedrooms, a library, two studies for Russell and his wife, Melanie, and a games room for their daughter, Philippa. 
  ‘Yep. This is it,’ he replied. ‘Inside there is our meal ticket, mate.’
  Lee Reynolds smiled. ‘Let’s see the pictures, Harry.’
  Without pausing, Cox reached behind him and grabbed a brown A4 envelope from the back seat. He pulled out a wad of surveillance style photos. He had been staking out Russell’s home for two months. This was going to be their ‘Big One’, the robbery of a lifetime. He’d waited his entire life for a score this big.
  Reynolds thumbed through the photos one by one. There were pictures of Gordon Russell leaving his house, seemingly at the same time every day, Melanie leaving the house and their daughter, too. There were pictures of them arriving at their places of work. Russell entering the HSBC Head Quarters, Melanie entering her own beauty salon and Philippa being met at the door by her boss. There were other photos of the three of them around London. There was a full frontal shot of Philippa. Reynolds whistled out loud. ‘She’s a hell of a looker.’
  Cox took a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and sparked up with his Zippo lighter. ‘I know. Wouldn’t mind having a go at her myself.’
  Thumbing through more photos, Reynolds stopped again at a picture of the wife. ‘And she’d get it, too. But I can’t stand birds who go with darkies.’
  Cox laughed. ‘Could be worse, Russell could be a raghead.’
  ‘Yeah, suppose you’re right. He dresses like a white boy.’
  ‘And he speaks like one, too. Posh as fuck, mate.’
  Reynolds stopped looking at the photos and placed them back in the envelope, then reached behind him and placed the envelope on the back seat. ‘So, the date’s fixed?’
  Blowing a stream of smoke, Cox replied, ‘day after tomorrow.’
  Putting his Range Rover into first gear, Cox drove away from the kerb.
  He was genuinely excited about this job. Three months ago Cox had bumped into an old friend in a bar in Soho. That friend happened to be engaged to Russell’s cleaner. The pair had spoken at length about the fortune Russell had. He now knew that Russell's wife’s jewellery collection alone was worth well over half a million. She owned items from the likes of Vivienne Westwood, Carat, Valentino and Swarovski, to name but a few. But it wasn’t the wife’s jewellery he was interested, or Russell’s art collection. It was money he was after. Like many wealthy people, Russell kept his fortune safely tucked away in an off-shore bank account in Jersey. Russell was a citizen there and owned two houses, which he rented out to his wealthy colleagues. Cox knew it wasn’t going to be easy getting Russell to part with his millions, however he had taken out an insurance policy which would prove to be very persuasive. He was now in possession of something more valuable to Russell than money and he intended to exploit the fact. And he was the only person who knew where it was. He was in control of this situation; he loved being in control.
  After a month of casing out Russell and his family, Cox had contacted Reynolds and the pair had met at the same bar in Soho to discuss the details. He had no qualms telling Reynolds of his plans; they’d been friends since primary school and had done at least a dozen jobs together. They’d been 12 years old when they did their first burglary, and high on weed. Unfortunately for them, they’d left trace evidence all over the house and ended up in front of a magistrate. Now aged 37, Cox had been sent down three times, the last time only six years ago when he was sentenced for aggravated burglary. He’d only been released a year ago.
  ‘Do me a favour, mate, and contact the rest of the lads,’ he said, stopping at a red light. ‘We need to go over a few last details.’
  The rest of the lads were Lloyd Harper and the Brooks Boys, as they were known. Dave and Richard Brooks. The five of them had met twice to go through the details, but Cox wanted to make sure everyone knew their roles. Lloyd Harper was their alarm guy; he knew loads about electronics and in particular alarms. In addition, he also knew locks. There wasn’t a lock in existence he couldn’t break. The Brooks Boys, although only 28 and 25, had a huge amount of contacts in London, Liverpool and Manchester. They could get hold of anything they wanted: guns, drugs, women, you name it. It just so happened that Cox needed them to get hold of the shooters. With what he had taken from Russell, they didn’t really need guns, but he never did a job without one. It was the unforeseen that made him carry one. Better to have one and not need it than not have one and need it; he loved that saying.
  ‘No problem. I’ll give ‘em all a buzz. Usual place?’
  ‘Yeah, the Ship pub, tomorrow at three,’ replied Cox, as the traffic light turned green. ‘I’ve got a few bits and pieces to do tomorrow morning.’
  Cox continued driving, a smile on his face at the thought of his share to come.


Annette Benson was excited. Tomorrow she would be meeting her new boyfriend in Bristol, the fourth largest city in England, she now knew after visiting for the first time only two weeks ago. It was the first time she’d met him and they’d had a great time. He’d booked a stay at the Celtic Manor Resort and they’d gone sightseeing and wining and dining. It had been perfect.
  She’d met Barry Payne on a dating site six months ago. It was a site devoted to mature people. And she certainly considered herself mature at the age of 42. She had butterflies in her stomach at the thought of meeting him. They were due to meet at Temple Mead train station in just over thirty hours. 17:36, to be precise. She had to travel through London to get there, which she wasn’t looking forward to, but it didn’t matter too much. Barry was worth it. 
  Barry couldn’t have been more different from her ex husband. He was kind, thoughtful and actually listened to her when she spoke, unlike her ex, who was arrogant and controlling. When she looked back at her old life, it made her shudder. True, they’d raised two great kids, Sophie, who was 22 and Matthew, 20, but together they were a disaster zone. Her ex had always been a workaholic, but over the years had also become an alcoholic. A few months before she’d asked for a divorce she’d found empty bottles of whiskey in weird places; he’d taken to hiding his drinking from her. That had been the final straw in a long, long list of straws.
  She stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel and wiped the condensation from the mirror. She had to admit she looked pretty good for her age. She’d kept the weight off, in the main, a few pounds to lose, but nothing she couldn’t manage. Her long, blonde hair was thick and full of life and her teeth were still white and straight. She had more lines on her face than she’d like at 42, but there was nothing she could do about it; she couldn’t abide people who tried to cheat ageing, all these celebrities with their nips and tucks. She was going to age with dignity and it wasn’t because she couldn’t afford the cosmetic surgery, either. But if there were one part of her body she would tamper with, it would be her boobs. They were too small and too far apart.
  She sighed when she let the towel drop to the floor.
  Part of her morning ritual was to check for lumps. She gently prodded each breast firmly in several places, underneath, to either side, from above. Satisfied, she started to get ready for her day ahead. Only one more day at work and she had Wednesday to Sunday off with Barry. She caught herself smiling in the mirror. She also had to admit she had a nice smile, too. It was what her ex used to say, back in the early years when things had been more intimate.
  She heard her alarm clock in the bedroom next door. That meant it was half ten. She had an hour and a half until she was due at the shop. The twelve until nine shift was going to drag, but she would spend it daydreaming anyway.
  Annette dressed and started applying her makeup. 
  ‘Mum, I’m off to uni now,’ said Sophie, leaning in the doorway. ‘Don’t forget I’m staying over at Matt’s tonight, so I won’t see you ‘til you get back.’
  ‘Come on, give your mother a kiss,’ replied Annette, sticking her cheek out.
  Sophie sighed and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Have a great time, won’t you.’
  ‘Don’t worry about that. We’re gonna have a blast.’
  As her daughter went to leave, Annette said, ‘be good while I’m away. No wild parties, ok? A few friends is fine.’ She heard Sophie mumble something.   
  After Sophie had gone, Annette finished applying her mascara and walked through to the kitchen. Her breakfast consisted of cereal, toast and a cup of strong coffee.
  Annette loved living in Brighton, the most vibrant city in the country. Or at least she thought it was. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the intensity of London. She’d grown up in West Ham, met her ex there and had lived in or around London her entire life. Moving to Brighton was a dream of hers and the kids had reacted well to the news; it seems they’d tired of London, too. And it’s not like they were a million miles away. Sophie had transferred to Sussex University and met Matt, while her Matthew had found a job in an IT company. Being gay, Matthew had jumped at the chance of living in the ‘gay capital of Europe.’ They were all happy, happier now than at any point before, she thought.
  The only thing she really needed to do now was find a proper job. She had time to choose something she really wanted to do; the money from the divorce kept them in their three bedroom terraced house. But the money wouldn’t last for any great length of time. She estimated she had nine months, possibly ten if pushed. Until then she would work at the convenience store full time.
  Her mobile phone rang. She answered in a cheerful manner, having seen who was calling. Barry’s name came up on her iphone screen.
  ‘Hey, gorgeous, guess who?’
  She loved his slight Scottish accent. ‘Mmm, I’m gonna hazard a guess, Martin?’
  ‘Who’s Martin? Hmm?’ His voice was playful. ‘I’m just ringing to make sure you’re still coming tomorrow?’
  He actually sounded unsure, as though he believed she would suddenly change her mind. It was adorable. ‘Of course I’m still coming, silly. I’ve got the train times and route all mapped out in my head. I’ve just got one more day at work and I’m all yours for five whole days.’
  ‘Great! I’m so relieved,’ said Barry.
  Annette knew how badly he’d been treated in the past. She only hoped he wasn’t permanently damaged. There was no point in getting rid of one useless guy, only to replace him with another. Nope, she was pretty sure he just needed reassurance and to be treated well. ‘Don’t worry, baby, I’m not gonna stand you up at the altar or anything. I’m really looking forward to our time together. But next time, you’re coming to Brighton. Deal?’
  ‘You’re on, honey,’ he replied.
  She could feel his smile through his words. Her eyes gazed up at the clock on the kitchen wall. ‘Holy shit!’
  ‘What? What’s wrong?’
  ‘I’ve just seen the time,’ she replied, instantly getting up and carrying her plate to the kitchen sink. ‘I’m so sorry, Barry, I have to leave for work in, like, five minutes.’
  ‘That’s fine, Annie, I’m at work and shouldn’t be calling you anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re getting in at 17:36, right?’
  Annette nodded, as though he could see her. ‘Yep, 17:36 at Temple Mead station. Don’t be late!’ She said it with mock authority.
  ‘Hey, I’ll be there five minutes early, just to make sure.’
  She could imagine him saying it with both hands in the air in mock surrender. ‘I’m so sorry, I’d love to chat some more, but…’
  ‘Hey, don’t apologise! I’ll leave you to get a move on.’
  ‘You’re so understanding,’ she replied with a smile.
  ‘Go on, get a move on.’
  She took another minute saying good bye before he clicked off. She even had butterflies just talking to him over the phone. She felt sixteen again, all giggly and dizzy. At least she thought that was how sixteen-year olds felt, it was so long ago.
  ‘Oh shit!’ Another five minutes had passed.
  She put on her warm winter coat, boots, gloves and woolly hat and left the house.


‘Oh my god! Oh my god!’
  Jane Titmore’s excited voice made James’ rhythm faster until he felt her warmth flow around him. Four thrusts later he let himself go.
  He flopped on top of her and laughed into her neck, his breath coming in rasps. His stomach stuck to hers, warm and moist. He tried to get his breath back before awkwardly and carefully pulling out of her, trying to keep hold of the condom. The last thing he needed was an unwanted pregnancy on his hands.
  James rolled on to his back beside her.
  Her heart still racing, Jane rested her head between his shoulder and neck. She loved sex, but enjoyed the snuggling up after more.
  ‘This sure beats class, eh!’ James laughed.
  ‘Sure does,’ she replied, rubbing his stomach.
  James Archer was 21 years old and in his final year at the University of Portsmouth. He was studying architecture and on course for a first with honours. He had only skipped one seminar before and was an exemplary student. He wanted so desperately to be an architect; he loved sightseeing and always checked out the local buildings. Portsmouth had its fair share of interesting buildings. For its ugliness, he loved the old Tricorn Centre. He loved the fact that in the 70s it’d won an award for its design and how in the 90s it was voted the ugliest building in Europe. How time and taste changed.
  Having recovered, James stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom.
  He stroked Jane’s hair. He loved the way she looked. Jane was in her second year at the university studying drama and performance. She wanted to be an actor as badly as he wanted to be an architect. She certainly had the looks of an actor, with her long, dark hair and big brown eyes. Her smile would captivate any audience; it had certainly stunned him when they’d met in Wetherspoons on Guildhall Square last year. He’d been out with mates having a beer and a bite to eat when Will, his housemate, had seen her and some drama friends at the bar. Will had been too pussy to talk to them, so he’d gone over to them and started chatting. Will’s loss had been his gain. He’d been with her since.
  ‘Can’t wait for London tomorrow, baby,’ she said, musing.
  ‘Me too. You still haven’t said where you wanna go?’
  ‘I’m still thinking about it,’ she replied.
  He snorted, ‘we’ve been planning this since before Christmas.’ 
  There was one thing that bugged him about her: her indecisiveness. She could never make her mind up about anything. It was frustrating, especially when eating out at restaurants. On one occasion it had taken her a full forty-five minutes to decide. They’d arrived at the Italian restaurant in Gunwharf Quays at half seven and they hadn’t ordered until gone quarter past eight. He’d been on his second beer by that point. It was irritating, but he was used to it. Now he just teased her about it.
  ‘How about the London Dungeons? Madame Tussauds? Ooh, Trafalgar Square, Houses of Parliament? There’s too much to choose from.’
  James groaned to himself. ‘Well, we can visit more than one place, you know.” He said it jovially, as she tended to get defensive about her annoying quirk.
  ‘I know!’ Jane pretended to be defensive. ‘I haven’t been to London since I was twelve. Mum and dad took us to see Oliver. I think that was when I knew I wanted to act. Nancy’s character was awesome, and those dresses she wore.’
  Without warning, Jane got out of bed. He watched with a smile as she walked quickly to the en suite bathroom. She had such a great body. Her arse was to die for, taut, just the way he liked them. She also had a great stomach, which she kept in shape by doing sit-ups and planks every morning. Her tits were smaller than he liked, but altogether she was a fantastic package.
  The toilet flushed and he watched her come out of the bathroom. Like clockwork, instead of getting back into bed, she laid down on her back and started doing her sit-ups. He could almost set his watch to her habits. She would do seventy in reps of ten, then do ten planks of two minutes. She did this every morning, without fail.
  He liked the fact she was in to Thai boxing, too. Twice a week she would go to her Muay Thai class, where she would practise Muay Boran and, her favourite part, Ram Muay, the Thai dancing. And she was good, too. He certainly wouldn’t mess with her. It made him feel good that he didn’t need to protect her when they were out. In fact, just before they broke up for Christmas, a local Portsmouth guy had tried to persuade her to go home with him, so she’d kneed him in the groin; they’d watched as he’d gone down like a sack of spuds. Leaving before they’d been asked to, they’d laughed.
  James sat up and watched her.
  ‘What time’s your next lecture?’ She asked mid sit-up.
  ‘One o’clock, then a seminar after. I should be done by half four.’
  ‘And then you’ve got work to do on your dissertation, right?’
  It made him feel so unfit how she could carry on a conversation while working out. He went to the gym sporadically, possibly once a week, occasionally twice if he was in the mood, but he didn’t take exercise as seriously as she did. ‘I’ve got a bit of research to do, but I’m having tonight off. Can’t be bothered. You’re coming over tonight, right? Then we’ll go early from here.’
  Jane took one of her breaks between reps. ‘My course has only just started, so I haven’t got any deadlines or anything. What did you have in mind tonight?’
  He hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied, getting up. ‘Let me think about it while I take a piss.’ He got up, then looked down at her. ‘I’ll only take a minute to make my mind up.’
  As he walked to the bathroom, he heard her sarcastic ‘ha ha’ reply.
  After relieving himself, he stopped in front of the mirror above the sink and looked at his reflection. He wasn’t a bad looking bloke; his brown-ginger hair was messily trendy and short. He had a pleasant face, made cheeky-chappy by a wide and bulbous nose, which he hated and inherited from his dad. Cheeky-Chappy was what Jane called him. And he’d proved that in the way they’d met. And looking at his body, he wasn’t in bad shape. He had clearly defined biceps, triceps and pectorals. He’d lost some tone around his abdomen, but nothing to worry about. He would go to the gym for the first time next week; he had a year’s membership from September to August.
  By the time he climbed back in bed, Jane was on to her planks.
  ‘How about a quiet one tonight? DVD and pizza night?’
  Despite her health craze, at least Jane didn’t stop eating. So many girls he knew at university were into dieting, no carbs, no fats and all that. Not Jane, though, she would happily eat half a pizza while drinking a bottle of white wine. It was what made her cool, in his eyes anyway.
  Jane was kneeling on her forearms in the plank position, with her bum in the air. ‘Sounds good to me, but you choose the film.’
  ‘No problem,’ he replied as he lay back down in bed. He felt hard again. ‘Come back to bed when you’re done, baby, I’ve got a surprise for you.’