Seizure by Nick Oldham

on.’ Henry shook his head.
    â€˜We can at least listen to him.’
    Henry nodded.
    â€˜What’s your connection with Deakin?’ Naomi asked. ‘You can cut the tension between you two with a chainsaw.’
    â€˜Water under the bridge.’
    She regarded him suspiciously. ‘Don’t let it cloud your judgement, whatever it is.’ She touched Henry’s arm.
    His lips tightened. ‘He threatened my family once,’ Henry admitted. ‘It’s the way he operates.’ He shrugged. ‘Threats and more threats.’
    â€˜Do you feel you can go on with this?’
    â€˜As I said, water under the bridge.’
    Henry nodded to the prison officer and they were allowed back into the interview room where Henry saw Deakin pass a yellow Post-it note to Baron. He didn’t give it much thought: client–solicitor privilege.
    Everyone had backed off and Steve Flynn was feeling a lot better. The publicity machine so quickly assembled by Gill Hartland had retreated and Flynn hoped he would now be allowed to get back on with his life.
    It was a great sensation, simply to stroll along the quayside in the steaming hot sunshine wearing the Keith Richards T-shirt and ragged shorts after a swift cola in a nearby hostelry, knowing that all the crap was over with. Awaiting him a hundred metres away was the spick-and-span vision that was Lady Faye . Maybe she wasn’t his boat, but she was as near as dammit.
    She looked wonderful, back to – nay, surpassing – her previous glory, having been worked on and cleaned remorselessly by himself and the crew.
    â€˜Nice, nice,’ he whispered on his lips.
    He looked diagonally back across the quay towards the built-up area he’d just left. Sitting on a stool outside a bar was the aforementioned Gill Hartland who, having discovered her latest celebrity, had decided to stay on an extra few days just to calm down the poor chap. Her presence was much appreciated by Flynn, though she’d done little to calm him down in the ardour stakes – but their frenetic lovemaking did have the effect of keeping him sane in his brief flurry of fame.
    He sighed contentedly and gave Gill a quick wave before stepping on to the boat to take charge for a half-day charter of a group of Irish guys who didn’t want to leave port too early. They hadn’t turned up yet, but they’d paid upfront so Flynn wasn’t worried by the no-show. He guessed the charter would be a short one anyway, as it was obvious the group had booked on a whim in a week of otherwise being drunk and chasing skirt. They’d be seasick and pining for dry land before they got an hour out, Flynn guessed. But at least he’d be at sea, instead of being all at sea as he had been for the past few days.
    His mobile phone hung in a waterproof pouch at his waist. It vibrated and he answered it. As he drew it to his ear, he glanced across the harbour at Gill who had her phone to her ear.
    A smile cracked on his tanned face as he flipped open the phone, not even glancing at the caller display. My God, he thought, his male ego taking over, she really can’t do without me, can’t bear to let me go.
    â€˜Hiya babe,’ he crooned into the phone.
    â€˜Dad, is that you?’
    An eerie sensation coursed through his veins as these few words registered with him. Even so, he did then automatically check the display, and saw that although the number was not shown, it told him it was an international call. He pressed the phone to his ear.
    â€˜Dad?’
    Flynn’s knees suddenly went weak. He steadied himself on the fighting chair, then swivelled round to sit on it, otherwise he would have toppled over.
    â€˜Craig?’ he asked breathlessly.
    â€˜Dad, Dad?’ It was an urgent whisper.
    â€˜Yeah, Craig, it’s me – your dad.’ He licked his lips and wiped the sudden sweat off his brow.
    Jose, who had been working in the cockpit, emerged