No Going Back

by Mick Moran

  Martin shook his head. “I don’t know.”

 

  “Don’t worry about it.” Teresa was concerned about the effect that even raising the subject would have on Martin. “It’s probably an unnecessary precaution. I just think it’s best to be on the safe side.”

 

  Martin nodded his head, but made no reply. He closed his eyes, thinking, or just tired. Teresa couldn’t tell.

  “Maybe we should leave now,” she said. “Let you rest.”

 

  Martin opened his eyes. “Sorry,” he apologised. But, then he startled her with what he revealed. “A name keeps going round in my head,” he said. “Dave Campbell. I must have dreamt it. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

 

  Teresa didn’t know what to say. Should she tell him what she knew about Dave Campbell? She thought not.

  “Maybe Brendan mentioned the name,” she suggested.

 

  Martin shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

 

  “Have you told the police?”

 

  “No. Sure they wouldn’t care about what I’m dreaming.”

 

  “They say you should tell them everything. They’ll decide if it’s relevant.”

  ***

 

 

 

  “That’s interesting,” said Teresa, trying to sound as matter of fact as possible, as she walked towards the hospital car park with Andy, “Martin mentioning that name Dave Campbell.”

 

  “Yes?”

 

  “When I say interesting, I mean worrying, frightening.”

 

  “You know him?”

 

  “I know of him, if it’s the same Dave Campbell, and I fear it is, he’s not a nice man. He has a reputation for violence. He has been in prison for it. Although he has apparently been going straight for a number of years, running his own business, I gather he’s far from a reformed character. My brother Joe worked for him. According to Joe he’s still involved in some dodgy activities.”

 

  “You think it’s this Dave Campbell that attacked Martin?”

 

  “It could well be, if Martin upset him. He’s certainly capable of it by all accounts.”

 

  “It’s hard to think that Martin would upset anyone that much.”

 

  Andy was clearly not convinced. Teresa thought it best to leave it that way. Putting her concerns on to Andy would do no good. She’d already said too much.

 

  “Don’t worry about it Andy,” she said. “We’ve probably got it all wrong anyway.” Teresa was trying to sound calm, but the uneasy feeling brought on by the warning note that morning, but which she’d managed to banish all day, had returned on hearing the name Dave Campbell.

 

  It was about to get worse. They were approaching the car, which was on the end of a row. At first she dismissed what she saw as a trick of the light, or her imagination running riot. As she got closer, however, it was still there, only clearer. In panic she rushed to the car and felt the mark with her finger. That confirmed it: a deep score mark running the length of the passenger door.

 

  “Has this just been done?” asked Andy before realizing what a stupid question it was. Of course it had just happened. Why else would Teresa be in such a state?

 

  Not taking her eyes off the damage, she just shook her head. “Come on. Let’s go.”

 

  “Shouldn’t we tell the police?”

 

  “What good would that do?” Angry and frightened she was lashing out. “Let’s go,” she repeated, making her way round the car.

 

  Saying no more Andy entered the car immediately Teresa unlocked the door. At least the door opened and closed OK.

 

  When they were both sat in the car Teresa turned to Andy. “Sorry Andy,” she apologised. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. “None of this is your fault.”

 

  “It’s O K. You’re upset: your new car.”

 

  Teresa was upset. It wasn’t just the damage to the car although that was bad enough. She was already in trouble with Tom. How would she explain this? What was really worrying was the reason for the damage. It was not vandalism, as no doubt Andy was thinking. It was another warning. It had to be: no other car was damaged. She must have been followed all the way to the hospital. What might happen next? She shuddered.

 

 

  The drive back was mostly in silence. Although Teresa pulled herself together, somewhat, she was in no mood for conversation. Her situation was dangerous and messy. She could see no clear way out of it. Was she being warned off visiting Martin? It certainly seemed so. What could she do? She couldn’t abandon him; or could she. Would the best option be to go to the police and tell them everything and then leave it to them? Would that be the best for everyone, including Martin? Maybe putting herself in danger was not helping him either.

 

  Would the police do anything, though, on such little evidence? All she had was suspicions.

  Would going to them only make matters worse and put her, and maybe Martin, in even more danger. Her brother Joe certainly seemed to think so.

 

  Then there was her husband Tom. She hadn’t been straight with him. He said they must have a long talk. In the light of the damage to the car that talk was unavoidable: the sooner the better. She wasn’t looking forward to it, nevertheless she felt she needed to get back as quickly as possible and face the music.

 

  Andy could have been reading her mind. “Don’t take me all the way back,” he said. Just drop me where I can catch a bus. You need to get home.”

  ***

 

 

 

  When Teresa got home Tom was sat on the settee watching television. “Have you had dinner?” she asked, postponing briefly what was really on her mind.

 

  “Yes. I’ve left you some. It’s in the oven: still warm. Take your coat off. I’ll dish it up.” Tom was a good cook. He was clearly in a much better mood than when she left him. Promising, she thought, but how long would it last?

 

  “Thank you, but leave it a while. We need to talk”. She removed her coat. She didn’t hang it up. Instead she just threw it over a chair. Let’s get this over with, she thought.

 

  “This sounds ominous.” He’d got up to get her dinner. Instead, he turned the television off before sitting down again.

 

  “Sit down.”

 

  Teresa sat on the settee next to him. “You’re going to be annoyed. The car is damaged.”

 

  “You’re not hurt?”

 

  “No. I wasn’t in it. It was done in the hospital car park. I don’t know what to do. I’m sure it’s connected with that note I got this morning: another warning. Tom, I’m really frightened. Someone’s been following me around. What’s going to happen next?”

 

  Tom put his strong arm around her and pulled her towards him. “Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly.

 

  Teresa rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. Could he make it all go away?

 

  He could. “What am I going to do with you? You’ve got it all wrong. It’s not as bad as you think.”

 

  “What does he know?” she thought. Nevertheless his comforting words soothed her.

 

  “The damage to the car,” Tom continued. “It’s on the passenger door, huh?”

 

  “Yes.” How did
he know? Then it dawned on her. “You rotter.” Pulling herself away from him she sat upright. “It happened while you had it. Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

  “You didn’t give me the chance.” Tom was amused.

 

  “Of course I did. It’s not funny. You let me go on thinking all sorts of horrible things.

 

  “Come here.” Tom tried to get hold of her, but she pulled herself away.

 

  “I’m not friends with you.” But, she was, really, and discovering that the reason for the damage was not what she’d feared was like a weight lifted off her. “So, what happened?”

 

  “Oh, driving out of the school yard, I got distracted. I did it on the gate”.

 

  “So, that’s why you were in such a bad mood this afternoon.”

 

  “Was I?”

 

  “You know you were. Teresa was suddenly hungry. The long talk, which still must be had, could wait. “Where’s my dinner.”

 

  “Supper you mean.”

 

 

  Chapter 17. Alan’s decision

 

  It was only six o’clock Friday evening when Joe and Alan returned to the flat. It was earlier than usual. They normally worked much later. That evening, however, after completing a house, Joe decided to call it a day.

 

  The job was going well. He was happy with the progress. They were a good team. That day work went particularly well, which fell in well with Joe’s plans for the evening: a meeting was arranged for later about another contract for which he had high hopes.

 

  On the journey home, as usual, conversation had been minimal. After a day’s work neither of then had the inclination to raise his voice above the noise from the rattling rear doors, which Joe had, still done nothing about. Eventually better transport would be acquired, but it wasn’t yet a priority. Joe had other things on his mind. Driving home that evening he was deep in thought.

 

  Running a business, even at his level, he discovered took much planning and decision-making. There was weeks of work left on their present contract, but Joe had to plan ahead, hence the meeting that evening about a new contract. While he was confident of securing the contract, (It was the second meeting with that site manager. At the first meeting he was, more or less, assured that the contract was his.) the meting was about details and that was where Joe visualised problems. He felt that the site manager wouldn’t wait for them to complete the contract they were on before starting on the new one. In order to secure the new contract he would have to promise to start it some time before the present one was complete.

 

  Having two contracts going simultaneously would require taking on extra staff: something he was reluctant to do so early in his business career. He toyed with the idea of leaving Alan to complete the present Job while he started on the new one. However, that way progress on both jobs would be too slow, damaging his reputation.

 

  Pondering those decisions Joe had totally ignored Alan. It didn’t matter; he was deep in thought himself.

 

  “I can’t carry on like this,” said Alan as they entered the flat.

 

  Assuming Alan was referring to their cramped conditions, Joe was pleased that the subject was raised. He had been giving some thought to it himself and had a plan that he felt Alan would agree to.

 

  Clearly the flat was too small for the two of them. The arrangement was only bearable because Joe spent so little time there. On most evenings Alan had the flat to himself: Joe found reasons for not being there, mostly to be with his girlfriend. He was then getting on well with his girlfriend. However there was a major problem. She lived with her parents. Only in the van could they be alone and that was far from ideal.

 

  He was then in a position where he could afford somewhere larger. Also his business required it. Storage space was becoming essential. He thought about renting a garage. However he would like nicer living accommodation: somewhere that he would feel happy to invite his girlfriend to, preferably with a garage attached. Joe’s plan was to move out, and leave that flat to Alan.

 

  But, Alan was not referring to the flat. “I saw Brian King today,” he said, as they both removed their coats. He sounded worried.

 

  “Oh!” Joe was taken aback, but tried not to show it. He threw his coat on the chair and sat on the settee “When was that?” he asked.

 

  “Not long before we left.” Alan took both coats and hung them on hooks on the back of the door, before sitting on the chair.

 

  “He didn’t see you?” asked Joe, trying not to sound over concerned.

 

  “No, I was upstairs. I just saw him talking to the foreman.”

 

  “No worries then.” But Joe was more worried than he tried to sound.

  “You didn’t say anything.”

 

  “We were both busy; you downstairs and me upstairs. But, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

 

  Joe saw how worried Alan was. This could set him back again he feared, and just when Alan seemed to be back to his old self. In the weeks they’d worked together, Alan had worked so hard that Joe thought him almost irreplaceable. He couldn’t lose him now he thought. But what could he do.

 

  “I know,” said Joe. “That bastard, Brian King. I hate him too. I don’t know what his Job is. I just know that he travels around to different sites.

  I thought he covered an area the other side of Birmingham. I didn’t think he came this far. Maybe it was a one off. We’ll probably never see him again.” Joe was trying to sound more confident than he felt.

 

  Alan shook his head. “Sooner or later someone will recognise me and tell Dave,” he said. “I have to be prepared for that. It’s only a matter of time.”

 

  Joe wished he could reassure Alan, but what could he say. “Yes,” he agreed. “There’s always that possibility. But, that’s life. We take chances every day. Look at this realistically though. The likelihood of any of Dave’s cronies coming on the site is very small and if one of them did come it would be very unlikely that he’d see you because mostly you’re inside a house. So cheer up; it won’t happen.”

 

  Alan nodded, but not cheerfully.

 

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Joe. “Forget cooking this evening. I’ll go to the chip-shop. If you want to have a wash while I’m out--. I’ll be having a bath after, before I go out.” Although they had washed their hands and maybe splashed a little water on their faces before leaving work, they always had a proper wash when they got home.

 

  Walking to the chip-shop, Joe thought about Alan. Seeing Brian King had certainly affected him, reminding Joe of what he was like when he first moved into Joe’s flat. This time he must snap out of it. He mustn’t relapse into that state again.

 

  Was there something Joe could do? If he could get Alan to go out it would help. Apart from going to work, Alan hardly ever left the flat: just the odd trip to the corner shop. Staying in the flat alone, probably brooding about his situation, Joe felt was a big part of his problem. But Alan showed no inclination to go out. Was he still worried about who saw him?

 

  It was getting dark. Night was approaching. On his journey Joe passed a pub: a pub he’d never been in although it was just around the corner from his flat. Was he slipping? Brightly lit, contrasting with the dull surroundings it was an inviting place. Already there appeared to be quite a few people inside. It gave Joe an idea. He would invite Alan for a dri
nk there. Surely he wouldn’t fear being recognised in there.

 

  Joe returned with two portions of fish and chips to find Alan sat on the settee. On seeing Joe he jumped up. “I’ll make tea,” he said.

 

  Joe noticed that he was still in his working clothes. He hadn’t even had a wash. Not good, thought Joe; so unlike Alan of late.

 

  “Not changed?” asked Joe

 

  “No. I’ll wait until after you’ve gone. Then I’ll have a wash and get changed. Would you like a plate?”

 

  “No thanks.” Joe liked to eat his chips straight from the paper with his fingers, in front of the television. “What’s on telly?”

 

  Alan shrugged. Joe switched it on and sat down. He needed to talk to Alan, but not while they were eating their chips. Instead they watched a quiz programme on the television. There was no more conversation until Joe was ready for leaving.

 

  “Right Alan, I’m off,” he said

 

  “O K. Good luck”

 

  “Thanks. I’m confident of getting the contract; just some details to trash out. I’ll need to discuss them with you too. We could do it in the pub,” he suggested watching for Alan’s reaction. It was noncommittal, which was as good as Joe expected.

 

  “There’s a nice looking pub around the corner,” he continued. “We could celebrate getting the contract with a drink.”

 

  “I don’t know.”

 

  Come on,” urged Joe. “Just for an hour. You haven’t been out for ages. It will do you good.

 

  “O K,” agreed Alan, reluctantly. “But, I won’t be much company.”

 

  “You never are,” laughed Joe. “I should be back soon after nine. Be ready.”

  ***

 

 

 

  The meeting went well. When Joe returned to the flat he was feeling elated. He wished to share his joy with Alan, although apprehensive about how he would find him.

 

  Alan was washed and changed: a good start.

 

  Ready then. Come on. Get your coat on. Let’s celebrate. We’ve only got an hour.

 

  “O K,” agreed Alan, although, clearly not sharing Joe’s enthusiasm.

 

  “You got the contract then?” he asked, seemingly making an effort to show an interest.

 

  “Yes. Yes. Of course; come on. I’ll tell you all about it in the pub.

 

  Thanks to Joe’s insistence no time was wasted until they reached the pub.

 

  “A pint of bitter,” asked Joe as the entered the pub. He remembered what Alan liked.