In reality, it never happened.
He’d survived Afghanistan.
He’d returned to the UK.
Met first one girl. Then another.
And the insecurities which had surrounded him around Maggie at school, had once again kept him from finding or calling her.
Tonight though, he had promised himself that he’d tell her the truth.
How he’d felt about her.
He knew that the reality would be that she’d be married, with children, but he was still going to find a moment, and tell her just how he’d felt.
And to thank her personally for helping him survive Afghanistan.
Without the memory of her, he would not have made it, of that he was sure.
Discovering as he had just done, that she was dead… several years ago, without him knowing, rocked him to the core.
Whatever had killed her, she had died without knowing just how important she’d been to him.
He cursed himself for not having done anything about it sooner.
And now… it was too late.
Maggie Sutherland was gone.
-------------------------
Saturday
23.45
Fiona McKenzie rested a hand upon her husband’s shoulder, and as he turned she planted a huge kiss on his lips.
For most of the evening, their conversations had only been short and sweet as their two ships had passed on the dance floor, or in the bar.
McKenzie had done his best to keep her hydrated and her glass topped up with water, but she understood that he was on duty tonight and although she missed him, she was not mad.
She was a policeman’s wife and she had long ago learned to accept it.
Along with all the inconveniences that came with the job.
The past few years had been difficult, but they had come through them together, and now they were stronger than ever.
Of that she was sure.
In less than six weeks, they would be having a baby together, and Fiona McKenzie could not be happier.
She was enjoying every single second of her pregnancy.
A couple of times this evening she had cast a glance over to her husband as he’d been talking to others, and she loved the feeling of pride that surged within her.
He was a good-looking man, commanded respected from all those around him, and was doing an important job.
“Did you see the year photos?” Fiona whispered in his ear so he could hear her above the last few songs from RunRig.
“Nope… you want me to guess which one is you?” McKenzie laughed, nodding at Anderson and breaking away from him, their conversation now over.
Fiona took his hand, and guided him towards the last of the boards nearest the stage, right under one of the stacks of speakers which was blasting away at full volume.
“That one, top right, in the middle. That’s our year photograph from 1996. We were in 6th year then. The final prom. That was the last time we all saw each other before we left school. It was taken a few days after the school had officially finished. Guess which one I am!”
McKenzie edged along a little more and peered closely at the photograph.
There were three rows of pupils, almost all about 18 years old, dressed to the nines, and looking the most glamorous they ever had, at that age.
McKenzie whistled a few times, playfully, and Fiona punched his arm.
“What? What’s the matter? I’m whistling at you… ”
“Which one is me?”
“That one?” McKenzie asserted, only the tone in his voice giving away the uncertainty. The other girl in the photograph he’d been looking at was quite similar.
“No… ” he corrected himself quickly. “THAT ONE!”
Fiona smiled.
“Correct.”
“Wow… you’re so much thinner. You look just like a school-girl… ”
“I WAS a school-girl, idiot. Although technically, when that photo was taken, I’d finished with school, and I was eighteen!”
“Legal jail-bait, then.”
“Is that appropriate? DCI McKenzie?”
“Legal is the key word there, darling.”
Fiona was standing in the front row, on the right, wearing a bright red ball gown. Perhaps a little over-the-top for today’s standards, but nevertheless very nice.
“How come I’ve never seen this photo before? You look lovely in it!” McKenzie asked, genuinely surprised.
“I think I’ve got it somewhere, probably buried in one of my many tins in the attic.”
“Shame you haven’t got it on the wall somewhere… ”
McKenzie’s phone buzzed.
“Sorry… ” he apologised, looking at the screen and seeing it was Dean returning his call They were playing phone ping-pong.
He kissed Fiona, stroked Little Bump, and excused himself out into the foyer where he could hear what DI might want to tell him.
“We found the van.”
“Brilliant! Well done… ”
“Not so well done, Guv. It’s a burning wreck down in Seafield. An anonymous phone call. By the time we got there it was already too far gone. I reckon it’s been burning for an hour or two. Only the bottom rear back-end and part of the rear tyre seems to have survived in any way, but even that’s pretty much melted. We’re just waiting for it to cool down now, so we can load it onto the back of a van and take it away for forensics.”
“Blast!” McKenzie swore and absorbed what he’d just learnt.
His mind was racing.
“Are you there now?” McKenzie asked.
“Yes, Guv.”
“Make sure you pay due diligence to checking out for possible footprints or anything else that forensics might find at the scene. Don’t let the pick-up people trample over the scene until forensics have had their moment.”
“I’m all over it, Guv.” Dean replied. “I mean, I’m not all over it, and I’ll stop anyone else too. I get what you mean.”
McKenzie smiled.
“So, what does this tell us then?” he asked Dean.
“I’m trying to get a trace on the caller, but my guess is that it won’t tell us anything. The question is, was it a passer-by or the killer, rubbing our nose in it?”
“Exactly. Is that part of the game he’s playing with us. And did he know we’d identified the van, or is he just clever and not taking any chances?”
“I’m guessing he probably cleaned the van before he burnt it. I wouldn’t hold out much hope that it’ll tell us much.”
“Okay. You’re probably right, but just go through the process properly, okay? And then as soon as you’ve got it sorted and handed over, go home and get some sleep.”
-------------------------
Sunday
00.05
Iain Small was drunk. He’d had an amazing evening, spent mostly at the bar. His wife had been on the dance-floor, but both were content, chatting with their friends, and occasionally bumping into and catching up with some they’d not seen since the last school prom.
Iain had been looking forward to the evening, and he was loving it. It made him feel even more warm and fuzzy about his old school days than before, if that were at all possible.
Thanks to the amazing wisdom of his wife Debbie, he’d not turned up in a Corvette, and had just come to the renunion as he was: plain old Iain Small.
He was happy with who he was. Loved life.
What was there not to love?
Iain didn’t need the world. He just needed his mates, Debbie, and a good social life, and he had them all.
He was sorted.
However, when just past the stroke of midnight, a space cleared at the bar and from afar he saw Marie McDonald, he drunkenly almost fell off his chair.
Wow!
Marie had been one of the girls he’d always fancied at school, and seeing her now… she was even more gorgeous than he’d remembered.
She seemed to be alone, at least for the moment, and remembering tha
t the last time opportunity had knocked like this was almost a life-time ago at the last school prom, he stood up, excused himself from his mates, and wandered over towards her.
She saw him coming, and incredibly, she smiled.
“Iain Small!”
“Marie!”
They stood in front of each other for a few moments, not saying anything, then Iain went first.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
She laughed.
It was a very direct, honest, and probably alcohol-inspired question, but it deserved an answer.
“Yes, I am. And you?”
“Actually, yes I am Marie. Very!”
Just then a tall handsome man appeared by Marie’s side.
“Blast… !” Iain said under his breath.
He shook his drunken head, and then stood tall, his mind made up. He was going to go for it.
“Listen mate, sorry to disturb you, but would you mind giving me ten seconds alone with Marie. There’s something I need to tell her, privately. Then I’ve got to go back to my rugby team, over there… ” he said pointing, “and get on with the rest of my life. My happy life.”
Stuart Nisbet looked at Marie, who smiled back, and passed him both the drinks she’d just ordered for them.
“I’ll be a few minutes, and I’ll come find you.” She reassured him.
“Handsome man,” Iain said, watching Stuart wander away. “Anyway, Marie, the thing is… you see. I’m drunk. And there’s something I want to tell you now that I wanted to tell you twenty years ago, but didn’t. Because I was a spotty coward, with no self-confidence.”
Marie said nothing but continued smiling, in spite of the smell of alcohol drifting over from Iain.
“The thing is Marie, I think you’re gorgeous. I always did. And at school I always wanted to ask you out. And I dreamt of one day kissing you.”
Iain Small blinked and smiled to himself.
He looked deeply into her eyes, and for a moment lost track of what he was going to say next.
“Anyway,” he continued. “Now I’ve done it. I’ve told you. So there.”
Marie hadn’t looked away yet. She was still smiling.
“Anyway, that’s it. I’m going now. I’m happily married to my wife Debbie, and I only told you that just now, because I wanted you to know that at school, we all thought you were lovely. And sometimes, in life, people should just be a bit more honest and tell people what they think. I’m sorry for disturbing you, Marie. And now I’ll let you get back to your husband.”
Iain nodded, and was just about to turn and go back to his mates and his drink, mission accomplished, when Marie put out a hand, touched him gently on the cheek, lent forward and kissed him softly on the lips. Quite quickly. And only once.
“Thank you Iain Small. I really appreciate that.”
It took a few seconds for Iain to recover, but when he did, he just smiled and said, “This has been a BRILLIANT night! The best ever!”
Then he turned and went back to his drinks and his friends.
The happiest man in the world!
Chapter 21
Somewhere
Sunday
00.07
Mark had resigned himself to his fate. Previously primed, ready to act, and anticipating the moment he would be able to finally act and do something that could act towards his own salvation, his spirit had finally been smashed when his captor had informed him, “Good, we’re almost there.”
Mark could hear the slight easing of tension in the Indian’s voice. Whatever risk his captor had been worried about, was now gone.
Once more his captor was back on a solid footing, and was in total control.
“Wait here. Do not move.”
His captor stepped past him.
Mark could hear him fumbling with something just ahead of him, followed by a slight scraping sound, and a draft of fresh air being sucked down the passageway they’d just negotiated.
Mark felt the captor reach out and pull on both of his hands. Urging him on.
“Forward. Step up and over. Don’t fall.”
For a second Mark hesitated.
Where were they?
Why had his captor gone to all this trouble to get him here, wherever here was?
If they were close to the final destination, how final was it?
Was the Indian going to set him free? At long last?
Or was it more final than that?
“Hurry up!” The Indian commanded. Not in a raised voice. But more quietly than normal.
Mark sensed that perhaps all opportunity had not passed altogether.
If the Indian was speaking quietly, perhaps if Mark could just scream for one final time, just loud enough to be heard by whoever the Indian might be worried about.
Surprised by his own resilience, Mark struggled to summon up the courage and the strength to scream for just one more time, hoping that enough sound may escape past the rag gagging his mouth.
Perhaps the last opportunity he may have to save his life.
“MOVE!” the Indian commanded, this time louder.
Mark hesitated.
And then screamed.
As loud as he could.
Only to discover that his swollen, dry throat no longer had the power to make any form of sound.
Instead, he felt a muscle tear in his throat, and he started to gag.
“MOVE!” the Indian commanded again, this time pushing the cattle prod into his side, with the power turned on.
Pain surged through Mark’s torso, and he dropped to his knees, a white searing light exploding at the front of his skull, blinding him momentarily, in spite of the blindfold.
“That was the lowest setting. Stand up and move, or the next one will be half power, in your testicles.”
Mark began to cry, but no tears emerged.
Slowly, he struggled to his feet, and one by one he moved them forwards towards his final destination.
-------------------------
Sunday
00.08
Sofia Waterson, head of the organising committee for the Reunion once again took to the stage, now quite merry but thankfully still understandable.
“Wow! Please, join me in a final massive, MASSIVE, round of applause for Runrig. I still can’t quite believe that we managed to book them for this evening. Perhaps you would also like to thank the evening’s sponsor, Ben Venue Capital Assets - and it’s generous if not slightly mysterious owner- for everything: the entertainment, the FREE alcohol and drinks, and the surprise gift each and every attendee will receive before they leave this evening!”
There was a loud and drunken roar of approval and applause, that needed quelling by Sofia before she could carry on.
“Okay, so, that’s it with the live music, but we still have another hour to go before ‘Carriages’ at 1 a.m., so I’m going to hand over to the DJ now, who I believe is going to play a fantastic selection of music from our schooldays. Including, I am assured, a few slow dances. So find your partners, cuddle up, go wild… but most importantly, have fun!”
The lights then dimmed, the DJ started playing hits from the nineties, and the energy in the hall went up another level.
Everyone was having the time of their life.
Except for Willy Thomson.
He stood at the back of the hall, looking on, watching everyone else, surprisingly sober, but very edgy.
Willy Thomson was confused.
He knew that this evening his life stood at a cross-roads, and that he had been given an opportunity that he could ill afford to turn down.
No one had ever given him an opportunity before.
Ever.
And there was a certain irony in that the opportunity had been given to him in the school.
Not to take the opportunity would be madness.
But taking it would set him on a new path that he’d never ventured down before.
It would also mean abandoning his plans for killing one of the teachers.
Willy knew that if he wanted to, he was ready to commit that ultimate act.
He’d selected Jason McIntosh to die, and he was worried that if he didn’t go through with it, he’d leave the school this evening feeling even more of a failure than he did now.
Willy didn’t like this feeling.
The packet of cocaine in his pocket was burning holes in his trousers, and he kept fingering it to assure himself that if he needed it, instant relief would be there.
So far, he’d managed to prevent himself disappearing into a toilet cubicle and sniffing the lot, and he was actually quite surprised by his ability to resist the temptation.
Willy knew though, that if he did take the coke too soon before killing the maths teacher, then it might wear off. If he was going to kill the bastard, and take the coke, he had to time it right.
On the other hand, if he was going to ‘renounce’ his bad ways, and embark on a new path, taking the coke would not help.
As soon as he took it, he’d lose his self-resolve, and next thing he knew he’d be doing something he might regret later on.
Faced with what was probably the first really important choice that Willy had to make in his life, he discovered that making choices was proving far more difficult than he would have expected.
Willy tried to weigh it up…
Getting a trade, a real education, would be difficult. It would be a struggle. The rewards would be there…but only after a long time.
Killing someone and carrying on his life of violence would be easy.
There was no challenge, and the self-gratification would be immediate.
But… perhaps easy wasn’t right?
Willy was really struggling.
Knowing what to do, and summing up the resolve and the courage to decide, was difficult.
Then he remembered his conversation with DCI McKenzie and the warning, and he made his choice.
Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he was grateful for the helping hand of the law.
Decision made.
Remember Me 1 Page 17
