After He Died

by Michael Malone

  Kevin mouthed something. The woman nodded. The door closed and Cara was left wondering what she should do. Stay or go?

  18

  When Paula drove into Port Bannatyne, instead of taking the right turn that would lead to the ferry at Rothesay, she took the left and drove down the stretch of road that would bring her to what the locals called the ‘wee ferry’ at Rhubodach.

  The ferry was indeed ‘wee’ and the journey across to Colintraive was very short, little more than a stone’s throw. Thomas, in a short-lived attempt to learn the Gaelic told her that Caol an t-Snaim – meant ‘swimming narrows’. A name, Thomas told her, that came from a time when cattle were swum over from the Isle of Bute to Colintraive on their way to the cattle markets of lowland Scotland.

  She heard his voice in her ear, repeating this history. He loved all that kind of thing and would tell her every time they took this route home. Depending on her mood Paula would listen, pat the back of his hand and say, ‘Sure, babe.’ Or if she was cold, tired and desperate to get home, she’d groan, say, ‘Heard it already,’ and turn up the car radio.

  What she would give to say ‘Heard it already’ one more time.

  The rest of the trip to Glasgow took on the aura of a pilgrimage. As she drove off the ferry and out of the village of Colintraive, she looked to her left, across the water and up towards the hillside road that led down into the village of Tighnabruaich. She remembered standing up there, looking down over the Kyles of Bute and hearing Thomas’s laugh as he recalled reading about Magnus Barelegs, a Viking king who was given the nickname after adopting the short kilt of the Celts. Apparently Magnus bargained with the Scottish King Malcolm that he could have rule over the islands around which he could sail.

  Paula could almost feel Thomas’s arm over her shoulder as he pulled her close. She recalled the smile in his voice as he had told her that Magnus had a hankering for the land of the Cowal peninsula, so he duly had his crew carry his boat overland across the isthmus at Tarbert, with him sitting at the helm as if he was still a-sail.

  ‘That’s the ingenuity you need to get on in business, sweetheart,’ he said.

  His voice was still thrumming in her ear when an hour later she noticed the turn-off to Lochgoilhead. It was near here that Thomas proposed all those years ago, standing over The Tinker’s Heart. That was the first time she’d ever heard of the place. It was a sacred site to travellers – where the old Strachar road met the road to Hell’s Glen. For centuries, as far back as the 1700s, they’d come for miles and miles, Thomas told her, to get married, christen their children or bless their dead.

  X didn’t mark the spot. Instead it was a heart shape formed by ancient, white quartz crystals embedded in the old track. That part of the route containing the heart was now in the middle of a field.

  Thomas had parked the car, drawn her out and ignored her protests as he climbed across a fence, cajoled her over it with and into the field where that part of the old road now lay.

  ‘See,’ he said and pointed down. She was too busy worrying about the large Highland cow and its calf to be caught up in the romance of it all. Until Thomas got down on one knee.

  What happened to that young man? Where did he go? His eyes were bright, his face eager, his hair flattened by the constant drizzle. At least she’d had the good sense to wear a jacket with a hood.

  ‘Get up off your knee, you daftie,’ she remembered saying, thinking his jeans would be muddy. But he refused to move until she gave him an answer. How could it be anything but a yes? She’d known they were going to be together from the moment he approached her the night they first met.

  At her answer, he’d whooped, pulled her off her feet and covered her face in kisses. They’d gone from that, over the years, to a state of indifference. They said the opposite of love was hate, thought Paula. It wasn’t. It was irrelevance. Feeling that the person you love actually didn’t care much whether or not you were there. At least that was how it had often felt over their last few years together.

  But then, the cottage … A physical demonstration that he wasn’t indifferent to her. More that they were lost in a maze of miscommunication and had forgotten their way back to each other and to their love.

  Paula spotted a sign that warned of a layby. She drove there and parked with that long-ago moment filling her mind. She sagged under the thought that the two most important people ever to feature in her life were now fragments of bone and memory.

  And in Thomas’s case, lies.

  Thomas had the cottage renovated while they were barely talking to one another. Did he really think they could rebuild their relationship like that?

  She looked out of the window into the distance. The light was failing and the far-off hills were a dark smudge against a weak sky. The light from a vehicle approaching from behind lit up the interior of her car. She slumped down in her seat as if hiding. It rushed past. And Paula was alone again.

  She told herself to get a grip and sat upright in her seat. People have worse, a lot worse to deal with.

  The cottage.

  The notebook.

  She pulled it out of her bag, turned on the interior light and had another read.

  Did that symbol at the end of each chain of numbers and letters really mean a million? Pounds, dollars, euros? Her head spun with possibilities and explanations.

  She opened it at the one page that had been written on. Studied each line. Again she saw that the first six numbers on each were clumped together. Then eight numbers, starting with a double zero each time. Then it became random, with letters and numbers and then it ended with the 1M.

  Her chequebook was at home in the study. Fewer people accepted cheques these days, so they rarely used it. An image came to her – from the last time she’d opened it. The pattern of numbers along the bottom of each cheque were similar to a section of the numbers on each line on the page of the notebook. Could these numbers be bank accounts?

  Thomas, what on earth were you up to?

  Bill at the funeral asking about the will.

  Kevin Farrell searching through her office.

  One was afraid, the other fairly confident, but they both wore an expression where hope and expectation sat.

  Bill, Kevin and Thomas were an unlikely grouping. She couldn’t see that working. But she couldn’t un-see the faces on each of those men since the funeral. Thomas always told her she should trust her gut. Perhaps on this occasion she really should listen.

  Why the secrecy?

  Would she still be blithely unaware if Thomas were still alive? If this was about money, what the hell was he doing with it? All ten lines of it. That was a crazy amount of cash. If it was secret, did that mean it was illegal?

  She thought of the two sides of Anton. The death stare she’d first thought he had given her on the ferry, and the familiar and affectionate tone he’d used in the cottage. Was he involved? Should she be worried about him?

  Another car passed in a blur of light and sound. Instinctively she ducked down in her seat.

  And sat back up again once it passed.

  What was she doing? She was acting like a crazy person.

  But still. This whole situation was strange. With all of the bizarre things that were happening to her recently it was no surprise she was being just that little bit more careful.

  She looked at the numbers once more. Read them again. And again. It was time she put her memory – famous among those her knew her – to the test. She sat there for the next half an hour until she could recite each line correctly and completely.

  Then she tested it ten times for each line. If this was cash she couldn’t get it wrong. Equally if it was cash she couldn’t go around with a notebook on her person that held this much of a secret. Then, when she was at last satisfied, she tore out the page, being careful to leave a jagged edge, making it obvious that a page was missing.

  She tore the numbered page into as small pieces as she could manage, opened the window and released them into the bree
ze, like a brief display of confetti. Then swallowed down her concerns as she put the notebook back in her handbag.

  If somebody demanded to know what she found, she had something to show them. An empty notebook with a torn-out page. In the meantime she would resist making for the first computer she could find and keying one of the lines in. If someone was watching her movements, that would be a dead giveaway.

  She had a flash of self-awareness and cringed at her behaviour. She was continuing to behave and think in a very strange manner.

  But if she was right, there was a huge amount of money involved.

  An amount of money that people might kill for.

  19

  Back in the environs of Glasgow, off the Erskine Bridge and coasting along the M8, wanting nothing but the oblivion of sleep, Paula spotted a road sign for the business campus where Gadd Enterprises was based.

  She looked at the clock on her dashboard. There was a chance Kevin would still be at work, and he might have some answers for her. She was tired of feeling like she was the little woman being kept in the dark. It was time she got in front of this and found out what exactly was going on.

  Minutes later, she had parked, and, feeling certain in her need for answers, she walked up to the office, pulled open the door and stepped inside. She ran up the stairs, but on the second floor she paused for a moment – it wouldn’t do her any favours if she confronted the man while out of breath.

  She reached the door, turned the handle and opened it.

  Elaine Teenan was in her usual place behind the desk at reception.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Gadd.’ She looked up from her computer terminal with some surprise. ‘What can we do for you?’

  Paula gazed past her. A plain, light-brown door led to Thomas’s office. She remembered the wide desk, the photos of Christopher on the corner beside his phone, and sagged at the thought that he wouldn’t be in there. At some point she’d have to go in and sort out his personal effects.

  ‘Hi Elaine. Nice to see you.’

  As if suddenly remembering that she hadn’t seen Paula since the funeral, Elaine pinked slightly and asked her, ‘How have you…?’ Then, as if that was a stupid question, she stopped. ‘I haven’t had a chance to look through Mr Gadd’s personal things,’ she said as if she had just read Paula’s thoughts. ‘Will I box everything up and have them couriered over to the house?’

  Paula closed her eyes against the emotion that the woman’s kindness aroused in her, and feeling sorry to have caused her any awkwardness, Paula gave her a little smile. ‘Thank you, Elaine. That would be very kind of you … Just whenever you have the time. I’m eh … looking for…’

  At the sound of her voice, Kevin appeared at his office door. ‘Paula? Thank Christ.’

  First, she noted that, if anything, he was even more harassed than when she’d seen him the other day, his tie askew, his eyes just as wild. Then she noticed that his left arm was in plaster.

  She decided to set aside his rudeness for the moment. ‘What on earth happened to you?’ Without waiting for his answer, she walked into his office and stood by his desk.

  ‘Great,’ Kevin said as he brushed past her to close the door with his good hand. ‘You’ve come to tell me where it is.’ Not an assumption. A demand. His face sharp with the need to know, he stepped back as if aware that he was standing too close.

  ‘Tell you where what is? I’ve nothing to tell you, Kevin. I’m here for answers,’ she said. ‘What were you and Thomas up to before he died?’

  ‘What?’ Kevin asked, his face a stew of confusion.

  ‘You and my husband. What was going on? I need to know, Kevin.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, you silly cow.’ Kevin spat, turned and ran his good hand through his hair.

  ‘What on earth has got into you, Kevin Farrell?’ He would never have dreamed of talking to her like that if Thomas had been alive.

  He moved back into her space.

  She held her ground, but felt a stir of fear as she noted the cold light in his eyes.

  ‘Thomas had something a lot of people are looking for. Don’t try to tell me you know nothing. I’m not falling for that shite.’ He moved closer, his eyes wild, face red, specks of saliva firing from his mouth as he spoke.

  ‘Kevin, I have no idea…’

  Before she could finish, he had her pressed against the wall, using his elbow and plastered forearm.

  ‘Kevin, get off me.’ Her fright spiked now – she couldn’t move.

  ‘Where is it?’ he shouted.

  Looking into his eyes, Paula could see that he had lost all reason. She was no longer Thomas Gadd’s wife; she was in his way and he would do whatever it took to get what he needed.

  ‘Kevin…’ she managed to gasp out, ‘…you’re choking me.’ She didn’t know what to do. Finding some strength she tried to squirm, but he held her with terrifying firmness.

  ‘Where is it?’ he repeated. His breath smelt stale. Paula turned her face away from his. But he gripped her chin with his good hand, forcing her face round.

  ‘I will fucking kill you if I have to, you bitch.’

  ‘Kevin … please. You’re hurting me,’ she whispered, her air cut off now, her panic escalating.

  ‘That’s just for starters.’ His breath was hot on her face, and the smell was so foul she fought to turn from it, but he held her too close. ‘I will mess you up if you don’t tell me where it is.’

  She fought down the feeling of revulsion that this man was all but molesting her. She always thought he was a bit of a fool, but a harmless one. Now she was seeing a whole other, frightening, side of him.

  Trying to dampen down her fear, she ignored the arm at her throat and went for the one now aimed at her breast, aiming to grab a finger and twist it, hopefully break it. He was quick to read her attempts though and shaped his hand into a fist. He pressed it under her breast into her ribs.

  Her heart was fluttering in her throat. He could hurt her. Really hurt her, and she could do nothing to stop him. He was too close, his body pressing against hers. She needed to get away.

  ‘Kevin, please,’ she cried, hearing the fear in her voice. ‘Stop it.’

  A movement to her right. There was someone else in the office.

  She tried to turn to see who it was and saw a dark flash. There was a grunt from Kevin and next thing she knew, there was cool relief at her throat and Kevin was on the floor.

  He tried to get back on to his feet and was pushed back down again.

  ‘Cara…?’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Cara replied with a tight smile, shooting Paula a look while keeping her focus on Farrell.

  Once more he tried to get to his feet, placing his good hand on the floor and heaving upwards. But Cara was there, kicking his hand away, and down he fell again with a pained cry – by instinct he had used his broken limb to support himself.

  ‘Cara,’ croaked Paula, ‘what are you doing here?’ She turned back to her, pushing her hair from her face with a shaking hand and feeling a tremble in her thighs.

  ‘I saw you coming in…’ Cara began, but seeing that Farrell was trying to get up again she pushed him back down, having none of it. He scrabbled with his legs until his back was against the opposite wall, and looked up at Cara as if worried about what she was going to do to him next. ‘As I was saying,’ said Cara, ‘I don’t know why, but I followed you.’ She reached out to Paula’s face. ‘That’s going to be a nasty bruise in the morning. You should get some ice on it.’

  Paula shrank away. She didn’t want anyone touching her.

  Farrell was sat on the floor now, staring at Cara, clearly daunted for the moment by this confidently aggressive woman and how easily she had forced him onto the floor.

  ‘What was that?’ Paula asked quietly, as if she didn’t quite want Farrell to hear. ‘Kung Fu?’

  Cara groaned, looking as if she was going to give a stupid answer. ‘Something like that.’

  There was more movement at the door. A voice. Paula a
nd Cara turned as one to see Elaine Teenan. She challenged Cara with a glare.

  ‘Mr Farrell, Mrs Gadd, what on earth is going on? Should I call the police?’

  ‘Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Elaine, thanks,’ Paula answered, trying to sound calm. ‘Why don’t you get yourself off home? Have an early night.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Gadd,’ she replied, standing just beyond the doorway, ‘but Mr Farrell came back from an appointment in a lot of pain and wearing a plaster cast.’ She pointed. ‘He needs me to drive him home.’ She looked down at him. ‘What are you doing on the floor, Mr Farrell?’

  ‘He’s just leaving, aren’t you, Kevin?’ said Paula trying to inject confidence into her tone, but still feeling shaken.

  As the man got to his feet, Elaine stayed by the door, unsure about her place.

  ‘I’m prepared to … to put this down to whatever accident you’ve had,’ said Paula, keen now to get him out of her sight.

  ‘But, Paula,’ he said, taking a step towards her.

  ‘But, Paula, nothing,’ said Cara stepping in between them.

  ‘That’s enough. Both of you. Please,’ Paula tried to raise her voice, but her throat felt bruised. She was still trembling.

  ‘He’s harmless now,’ Paula said, giving Kevin a measured look. ‘Aren’t you, Kevin?’

  ‘Paula,’ he said, ‘there are some very—’

  ‘Cara. Elaine,’ Paula interrupted. She could see he wasn’t going to leave without speaking to her. ‘Would you two give us a second, please?’ Feeling certain that they were on secure ground now, she pulled at Kevin’s good arm and drew him further into his office, ignoring Elaine’s increasingly puzzled expression and Cara’s loud protests. ‘And close the door, please.’ She said to Elaine.

  Once the door was shut, Paula led Farrell to a two-seater sofa under the window and without speaking pointed at it. He sat down. She stood over him, aware that he was cowed for now and hoping that her stance signalled she wouldn’t accept any more violence from him. She hoped Cara was still just outside.