Beyond the Dark Waters Trilogy

by Graham West

“Mum stayed up there with her friend from work, and they started dancing like a real couple. I could see Dad looking. Then mum kissed this bloke, and not just a peck, a real long kiss. You should have seen the look on Dad’s face! He told me she was just fooling around, and I believed it. But the atmosphere wasn’t good. Dad looked shell-shocked.”

  Jenny was hooked. This was all new. “Did they sort it?”

  “Not really. It got worse. Dad wasn’t going to let it go, and Mum confessed that she enjoyed the kiss. She’d said they’d kind of flirted at the office but that was all. She promised that she’d never fancied the guy, but the damage was done. Dad tried—he really did. But he felt threatened. He couldn’t cope with worrying about blokes looking at Mum. It was too hard for him.”

  Jenny recalled the day her father told her about Josie and Lou. Everyone thought they were solid too—no one suspected that Lou was gay and the marriage was one of convenience rather than love. “So what happened?” she asked.

  “The truth? I think he just gave up. Dad was convinced he was going to lose her anyway, that the odds were really stacked against him. He threw himself into the business—spent more and more time at work—and that’s how the arguments started in earnest. Mum went to live with her sister, and for a time, things got better between them, and it looked like they might get back together. Then Mum met this young fella.

  “Really? A toy boy?”

  Jake nodded “He was only seventeen!”

  Jenny gasped. “No! Oh my god!”

  “It only lasted a couple of months, but that kind of put the cap on things. Mum’s with someone else, now. It’s weird, really, because Mum and Dad get on pretty well. They’re really good friends. It’s a shame. Dad says he could have coped with Mum’s flirting now. He’s older and wiser.”

  Jenny gave Jake’s hand a squeeze. “Look, maybe you should learn from your parents—from your dad. Don’t make the same mistakes. Nothing outside our relationship is going to kill what we’ve got.”

  Jake frowned. “So what is?”

  “You!” Jenny shot back. “You and your insecurities! Your dad gave up on your mum.”

  Jake averted his gaze, guessing what was coming next. Tears welled in Jenny’s eyes. “No matter what’s going on in that head of yours, how screwed up you feel or how down on yourself you get, just promise me you’ll never give up! Never give up on what we’ve got, Jake. Never give up on us!”

  Chapter Nine

  Sebastian sat in the corner of the Farmers Arms trying to clear his head. He wasn’t ready to drive just yet. In fact, he wondered if he’d ever get home.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Tint?”

  The old man looked up. Lauren, a stick-thin woman with blonde hair and brown eyes, looked concerned. Her eyes were almost bigger than her face, giving her the appearance of a life-sized doll.

  “Just a juice, thank you.”

  “Orange? Strawberry? Mango with—”

  Sebastian held up his hand to stop her. “Surprise me,” he said wearily. “I like anything that pretends to have fresh fruit in it.”

  Lauren giggled and disappeared, returning a minute later with an orange drink in a tall glass with ice and a straw. Sebastian thanked the woman and, after removing the straw, he took a sip and leaned back, closing his eyes. Maybe he should call Robert. Maybe. But then it might be better to return tomorrow and clean up the grave when he felt stronger. But what then? Perhaps, on this occasion, it would be better to say nothing. Jenny had not had a dream for two years. But now he wondered if the restless spirit of Amelia Root had returned. Had Jenny done this?

  He knew Mosswood Adventure Park would not open until the following spring or even later. Builders would be tramping all over the site in their hobnail boots, yellow hats and Day-Glo jackets. Had they moved Amelia’s grave? Sebastian sighed to himself. Did the spirits of the dead really kick up a fuss when someone disturbed their resting place? It was hardly an injustice. But only Amelia had ever referred to Elizabeth as a whore, and even an old guy in his dotage knew it wasn’t a word kids used much these days.

  Lauren was just a kid too, and she was looking directly at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, holding aloft two plates of fries and a burger. Sebastian nodded, knowing that he must look as though he might pass out. The poor woman was probably worried in case she had a dead body on her hands before the shift finished. She smiled sweetly. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  A coffin, maybe? he thought. That might be a blessing right now.

  ***

  Sebastian’s legs still felt heavy but he knew he’d never have slept while that word remained scrawled across Elizabeth and Hanna’s grave. Besides, a little fresh air wouldn’t do him any harm. He had a couple of rags in the boot of the old car, just in case. There were several taps around the cemetery, and it would only take a minute.

  He breathed deeply, looking at his watch. It was later than he thought. The sun had dipped below the trees and the sky had clouded. Take your time, he told himself. There’s no rush. He would wash the blood off the grave, ditch the rags in the nearest bin and rinse his hands. Simple. Nothing to worry about. No reason for the old ticker to crank itself up a few more beats per minute. But it had. In fact, his heart was racing.

  The water felt like ice on his hands as he leaned over, holding on to the corner of the stone with one hand as he gently washed away the blood with the other. It took less than a minute. He took several deeper breaths, concentrating hard. Those heartbeats were a little erratic. One, two, three, four. Sebastian counted. A few more deep breaths. It’s okay, all done. He just had to get home now. Home to his dog, and maybe he’d have a brandy or two. There was probably a wildlife documentary on one of the Freeview channels. That would be good. Relax.

  He threw the rags into the bin and rinsed the blood from his hands before making his way back to the entrance. Maybe he’d been at the grave longer than he’d imagined because the light was fading fast. His steps were slow and laboured, but the gate was in sight, standing like a portal to paradise. Maybe he’d sleep tonight. The grave was clean, and there was nothing to worry about. But then he heard footsteps behind him. Sebastian quickened his pace, afraid to look back. Someone had been watching—waiting. And now they were closing in.

  Chapter Ten

  “And the other thing,” Josie called from the kitchen, “is that you’ll be getting free passes to Mosswood for the rest of your life. So if Jenny has a couple of kids—”

  “Big deal,” Rob growled, trying his damnedest to find something worth watching on early morning TV. “I get to live in Flash Gordon’s super-duper cabin and go bike riding through a forest, probably in the pissing rain!”

  Jo laughed. “Stop being such a grump. It’s a holiday.”

  “I’d rather be in the sun, to be honest! The kids—if there are any—can play on the beach.”

  “We can do the Mediterranean thing too,” she countered.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Josie poked her head around the doorframe. “What’s up? Is this still about Jenny?”

  Rob flicked off the TV. “No. I just don’t like Mondays.”

  Josie appeared at the door in her dressing gown. “Me neither. Listen, I’m gonna shoot off soon. We’ve got a new chef at The Keys, and Lou and I want to go over the menu with him. He’s got a few ideas, apparently.”

  Rob didn’t look up. “No probs. That’s fine.”

  Josie sighed, looking as though she felt like giving him a good slap. “Okay, Mr. Moody. If you fancy popping over for some lunch, that would be good. Just turn that frown upside down, if that’s possible!”

  Rob shrugged. “I’ll try. Catch you later.”

  ***

  The Keys did well on Mondays. The cheap meals for pensioners—with a glass of free house wine—seemed to pull them in.

  Rob sat in the corner with a newspaper for company. He fancied the curried chicken with hand-cut fries but wondered if maybe he should be watching his waistline. Damn i
t! He looked gloomily at his pint of lime and soda. He wasn’t drinking, after all; he deserved a treat. A brisk afternoon walk would burn off the calories.

  That’s when his phone rang and the screen flashed up an unknown caller. Probably a sales pitch for an upgrade. He took it just the same. “Hello. Robert Adams.”

  The woman on the line was quietly spoken. “Mr. Adams? This is the Northern General Hospital, here. We’re calling you regarding a Mr. Tint—Sebastian Tint—”

  Rob froze. “What? Is he okay?”

  “He’s stable, Mr. Adams. He was asking for you. He doesn’t appear to have a next of kin, and I was wondering—”

  “Yes! Yes, I can come down. But what happened?”

  The woman paused. “It might be better if we spoke with you when you arrived. He’s on Ward 32, on the second floor. Just let the nurses know when you get here.”

  “I will, and thank you.”

  “No problem, Mr. Adams.”

  Josie came to stand next to the table as Rob slipped the phone back in his pocket. “It’s Sebastian,” he said. “He’s in hospital.”

  “Sebastian?” Josie gasped. “How? Why? What’s happened?”

  Rob wished he knew. “Dunno. Apparently he’s stable, but I don’t like the sound of this. I don’t like the sound of this at all.”

  Every light was on red, or at least that was what it felt like. Rob wished the hospital would have at least told him something. What did stable mean? How stable? Had the old guy had a heart attack? A stroke? The odds were stacked on it being his heart. Rob had always known that one day he might find Sebastian’s lifeless frame propped up in the chair, and when that happened he would have to deal with it. The old guy was like a wise old prophet who spoke like a poet reciting verse. He’d miss him like hell.

  But he knew that the doctors and nurses had looked after his daughter well, and they would do their best for Seb, too. It had been over two years since Jenny had lain in a coma, surrounded by professionals who knew nothing about the reasons behind her condition.

  Rob swung the car into the first available space and fished in his pocket for loose change. He resented paying to park at these places. It was immoral. Didn’t people have enough on their plates without trying to find money to feed these little metal bandits?

  He stopped at reception. “Ward 32?” he asked as the portly man with a bad comb-over looked up.

  “Straight down the corridor. Take the lift to the second floor then turn right. You’ll see the signs.”

  Rob nodded and set off. He decided it would be quicker to take the stairs three at a time and crashed through the door on the second floor at a run, turning right. Ward 32 was at the very end of a long corridor. His breathing was laboured and he slowed, trying to regain some form of composure before introducing himself at the nurses’ station.

  The doors were closed. He pressed the bell, checking the sign. Yep, this was the right ward. After a minute or so a nurse approached, opening the door. “Hi,” he said, still breathing hard. “I got a call from you—about Mr. Tint—I’m Robert Adams.”

  The nurse, a rosy-cheeked woman in her thirties, smiled warmly. “Oh, yes. Come through, please.”

  Rob dispensed some sanitiser and rubbed the liquid into his hands, following the nurse through to a small reception area.

  “Mr. Adams?” A young woman with a broad Irish accent greeted him at the desk. She turned towards an older, rather austere looking, woman at her side. “Will you take Mr. Adams through, please, Doreen?”

  Doreen smiled weakly. It looked as if she’d already had enough and was dreaming of a night in front of the TV with her feet up. He followed her into a small room a couple of yards down the corridor where she invited Rob to take a seat and closed the door behind her. This isn’t good.

  “You’re a friend of Mr. Tint?” she asked.

  He nodded as his stomach ran through a short gymnastic routine. “What’s happened? Is he okay?”

  “He’s stable, but he’s very weak. They found him in Thornfield Cemetery last night. It looks very much like he’s been assaulted.”

  Rob froze. “Attacked?”

  Doreen smiled solemnly. “A young girl walking her dog found him. Lucky she did. If he’d been left any longer…” She didn’t need to finish the sentence. “The thing is, the police are involved. They’ve spoken briefly to Mr. Tint, but obviously he’s very tired and in shock.”

  Rob knew what was coming next. He’d watched enough TV dramas.

  “They would like to speak to you, to get some background. Is that okay?”

  Rob nodded. “When can I see Mr. Tint?”

  Doreen patted his hand. “He’s sleeping at the moment. How about I get you a cup of tea? I’ll let the officers know you’re here.”

  ***

  The tea arrived at the same time as the police. A tall thin man with a rather gaunt, haunted look towered above his older colleague. “Mr. Adams? I’m Sergeant Morris, and this is Officer Gerson.” The older man nodded. “We would just like to ask a few questions, if that’s okay?”

  Rob shrugged. “Sure. Anything I can do to help.”

  “We’ve spoken to Mr. Tint, he’s drifting in and out of sleep and seems—well—a little confused. Apparently he was visiting his wife’s grave. We think the attack must have taken place between seven and eight yesterday evening. Whoever it was assaulted him from behind, so he never got a look at their face, but his assailant gave him quite a kicking.”

  “Bastard!” Rob hissed, his hand clenched into a fist. “He’s just an old guy! Who’d do a thing like this?”

  “There’s a lot of them about, Mr. Adams,” Officer Gerson replied. “But we’re trying to work out why he was there so late. It seems an odd time to visit his wife’s grave.”

  Morris scribbled something in his book and looked up. “We know he was in The Farmers Arms for a couple of hours and left at about 6:45 p.m. Mr. Tint told us he had already visited his wife’s grave and only drank an orange juice. Then he discovered he’d left his keys on a bench in the graveyard and had gone back to get them. That’s why he was there so late.”

  Rob nodded. He could tell there was more to come.

  “The thing is,” Morris continued, “one of the bar staff saw Mr. Tint getting something out of the boot of his car, so he obviously had the keys in his possession.”

  “So why did he go back?” Rob muttered, thinking aloud.

  “That’s what we wondered. And why did he lie about the keys?”

  Rob shook his head. “I don’t understand. He’s such a creature of habit. I mean, he starts every day with two cups of coffee and a round of toast, walks the dog, reads a newspaper, potters around the house and finishes the day with a brandy. I’ve never known him to visit his wife’s grave that late.”

  Morris shrugged. “Seems odd to me, too. The other thing is Mr. Tint wasn’t robbed. He still had his watch and his wallet with over fifty pounds in it. This wasn’t just some kid after drug money.”

  Up until that moment, it had never occurred to Rob that this could have been anything else. “Who would target an old man and beat him up for fun?” he asked, shaking his head.

  “I’ve still got to ask the question, Mr. Adams. Do you have any idea—any idea at all—who could have done this? I mean, Mr. Tint…does he have any…well, enemies? Anyone he might have crossed at some time?”

  Rob shook his head. “He’s just a sweet old man. He’s like a father to me. I can’t imagine him upsetting anyone. He’s a bit of a loner, to be honest. He keeps himself to himself.”

  The younger officer smiled. “We guessed that.”

  Rob sipped his tea, answering the usual questions. How long had he known Mr. Tint? Where was he on the night of the attack? Where had his daughter been? Was her partner with her? It was standard practice, he knew, but it still grated. As if he could have had anything to do with this.

  Morris smiled and thanked him. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more information.” The officers nodde
d to him and left, leaving Rob alone in the room staring at a blank wall with an empty plastic cup in his hand.

  ***

  Jenny flung open the door of St. Catherine’s College and raced through reception. She was late. It had been one of those nights—pizza and Game of Thrones. Shit! How many episodes had they watched? She slapped hands with Sophie Traynor as they crossed paths. “Yo, bitch. Whatcha been up to?”

  “Game of Thrones—till three,” she called back as she hurried past.

  Four minutes—she only had four minutes. Her phone vibrated, and Jenny paused briefly. It was Dad. Why? She tapped the screen, continuing at a brisk walk.

  “Hi. Where are you?” Her father sounded troubled.

  “What’s up, Dad?”

  There was silence.

  “Dad?”

  “It’s Sebastian,” her father replied, his voice cracking. “Some lowlife beat the shit out of him last night.”

  Jenny went cold. “What? Where? Is he okay?”

  “He’s stable. He got jumped at the cemetery. For some reason, he was there after seven last night. Don’t know why. He told the cops he was going back because he’d left his keys on the bench, but we know that’s not true. Someone saw him getting something out of the boot of his car, so he obviously had the keys with him.”

  “Shit!” Jenny whispered. “What the hell was he up to?”

  “I can’t think,” Rob replied. “But he was asking for me, so I’m hanging around here till he wakes up. Gonna see if I can find out what’s gone on.”

  Her dad sounded as if he were on the verge of tears, and Jenny felt bad cutting him short. “Okay. Call me at lunch time, between twelve and one. Let me know how he is.”

  She slipped the phone back in her pocket. Two minutes! Jenny broke into a run, reached the stairs and raced up them, taking two steps at a time.

  ***

  Sebastian opened his eyes and smiled. At least his face is intact.

  “Thanks for coming,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry about all this.”

  Rob pulled up a chair and sat down. “If it’s not a stupid question, how are you feeling?”