‘Let me guess,’ he offered, with a sigh. ‘No evidence?’
Nerissa shook her head, in unspoken frustration. ‘They don’t have a report that you and Bronte were out there.’
‘We knew that.’
‘It needn’t be significant, of course. There’s always a bit of me wonders, in cases like this, if that isn’t just a wee white lie to mark some breakdown in internal communication. It wouldn’t be the first time. But in this case, I think you might be right, because they were able to tell me that no-one has been reported missing, and that no-one turned up at any of the hospitals locally suffering from hypothermia.’ She tapped her pen on the desk, deep in thought. ‘So, there’s no-one for them to talk to, and nothing to support your story.’
‘There’s my word. And Bronte’s.’
‘It isn’t that I doubt you. Far from it. I have complete faith in your judgement. But in their position, I’d be saying the same thing. Can you describe the car?’
‘I didn’t see it. Bronte may have done, but I doubt if she’d have noticed much. It was blowing a blizzard and she had other things on her mind.’
‘Okay. So, we have no description of the car. What about the men?’
He shook his head again. ‘I only saw one of them. He had a pale woolly hat on. And again, it was snowing heavily. I didn’t get a good look at him. I could barely hear his voice above the wind, but I’d say he was a Scot, though I wouldn’t swear to it. I’d know him if I saw him again.’
‘So, we have no description of the men, either.’ She sighed.
‘I was looking at the kid who was hurt. I can describe him. Late teens, maybe. Jeans. Thin denim jacket. Shoulder-length fair hair.’
‘Okay. That’s something.’ She sighed again. ‘But that’s the problem. We have no evidence at all, other than a half-story that you’ve come up with when you must have been suffering from shock and were on the verge of exposure.’
‘My jacket. I don’t have that. I gave it to the poor kid. He was wearing it when they drove off.’
‘You could have taken it off in the blizzard. People do that when they’re hypothermic. It could still be up on the hill somewhere.’
Resenting the way she was picking his story apart, Marcus understood why she did it. ‘Bronte will confirm what I’ve said.’
‘I suggested that. But my colleague in Perth made the valid point that you could be hallucinating.’
‘Both of us?’
‘So he suggests. And until we trace those men, or that car, or your jacket, you can’t prove anything. That’s his point. And to be honest, I didn’t have any argument to put to him. There is no evidence, Marcus, and until we have some, there’s nothing more we can do.’
Chapter 11
The offices of my new employer, Planet People — slogan: Whatever our creed, colour, race or religion, we are the people of Scotland and of the world — occupied a paradoxically imposing building in one of the second-tier streets around Edinburgh’s West End. A rich benefactor — a migrant made good — paid for the building and made a generous contribution to the running costs. The rest came from a whole array of different places, from the pockets of the wealthy or the impecunious to grant aid from whichever government department had any to throw about. The staff were a bewildering rainbow of colours, and races, and clothes. I was the only straight white woman in the building. And it hadn’t taken me a week — indeed, it had barely taken me a few minutes — to realise that I’d finally found my tribe.
‘Sit down. I’ll make you a coffee.’ Mariam, who shared my desk and dealt with the press, was in before me, already fizzing with enthusiasm, flicking the fringe of her headscarf. I wasn’t late, but the place was well into the swing of things, as though no-one could wait until nine o’clock to start work. ‘That sounds like a real adventure you had at the weekend. What happened?’
‘We got stranded in the snow.’ I slid into my seat, switched on my computer, and a wave of notifications flipped up on the screen, every one of them offering me the chance to change the world. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll catch up. I know there’s a lot going on.’
‘No problems.’ She smiled at me. ‘Where were you?’
‘Up in Perthshire, walking. Friends of my boyfriend have a cottage up there.’
‘There’s a pastime with a serious image problem.’ Someone else, whose name had escaped me, chipped in. There were no private conversations at Planet People. ‘Hillwalking. A great white, middle-class, leisure pursuit.’
‘It’s a brilliant leisure pursuit.’ I tried not to seem annoyed at the perceived criticism.
‘I’m not saying it isn’t. Only that a disproportionate number of white middle-class people do it.’
‘We should put it forward as a project for the next funding round,’ put in someone else, as Mariam delivered my coffee. ‘Scotland’s hills belong to us all. We have a right to roam, but people don’t use it. What can we do to improve psychological access? There are too many people thinking it’s not for me.’
That was what my new workplace was like — a bewildering whirl of good intentions and trying too hard, of genius ideas and frankly ridiculous ones, of never believing there was anyone who was unequal or a soul who could be lost. We welcomed everyone, and we wanted the whole of Scotland to do the same. There was no idea that we didn’t deem worthy, as long as it advanced a common cause, and we mourned the projects we had to pass over with genuine grief for a moment or two, until we moved on to the next good idea.
In only a few days with the charity, I’d seen that happen, and it was happening again. The project to improve access would be proposed, bounced around a meeting, commended, added to the wish list, and prioritised off it. Like so many others, it was a brilliant but flawed plan. We’d miss it, but another would spring up to take its place.
Sometimes, almost drunk on the excitement of the place, I wondered how I remembered to breathe.
Mariam checked her watch. ‘The new chief exec’s coming in to speak to us all this morning. I’m excited about it. Everyone who’s met him says he’s inspirational.’
I’d missed a lot in the two days I’d been wrestling with the dangerously mundane, rather than the world-changingly idealistic. ‘I thought he was starting on Monday.’
‘He did, but he was down in London, so today’s the day. It’s almost time for the staff meeting. Come on. I can’t wait.’
I followed her to the boardroom, the first time I’d been in it. The trappings of the corporate world were there — the huge, polished table; the tall windows with swagged curtains; the view down onto the streets of the capital — but there was nothing corporate about it. The people who took their places around the boardroom table made it different. No suits. No briefcases. No serious faces. Laughter dominated the buzz of our many voices and accents as we waited, excited and alive, ready to embrace and encourage change. And eventually, the door opened and our new chief executive came in.
He drew the eye, yet there was nothing extraordinary about his looks. Of medium height and build, he sported medium brown hair, a little too long for his age and showing the first signs of a receding hairline as he approached what I guessed was his mid-forties. He wore casual jeans, and a navy blue jumper that looked as if it had lost a series of hard-fought bouts with the washing machine, stretched over a waistline just beginning to run out of his control. Yet it was immediately apparent that he was different. Coming in late on the first day of a new job, he showed no signs of nerves or uncertainty. Instead, he stepped inside the door, closed it behind him, and paused.
He was a performer. We were his audience. The entire room fell into an awed silence.
The show was about to begin.
‘Folks.’ A theatrical pause in which his eyes swept the elegance of the room, and a wry smile settled on his lips. ‘Maybe I should call you ladies and gentlemen? No. We don’t need to cling to out-of-date courtesies. I’ll call you what you are. Colleagues. Friends.’
Another pause. He strolled away fr
om the door and stood behind the empty chair left for him at the end of the table. ‘I’m Andy. Andy Watt. That’s all you need to know about me, unless it matters to you that I have a background in charitable work and a belief in freedom and justice. And equality. Most of all, equality.’
His gaze made eye contact with every single member of his two dozen staff in turn. ‘I know you’re looking at me, and I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking we’re a charity dedicated to diversity and equality, and here we are with a chief executive who’s one of the most privileged, advantaged people on the planet — a white, affluent, middle-class man.’
Silence. The air of expectation around the table suggested I wasn’t the only one who’d been thinking just that.
‘But I’m privileged in another way. I’m privileged to be able to serve you. I’m humbled that the trustees of Planet People have asked me to come in and work for them. I’ll promise you now — I’ll prove to you that the reason I’m here isn't because I’ve been lucky. I’m not here because of those unfair advantages, but despite them. I’m going to show you that I’m the right choice for the job, the best person to work in your interests, towards your goals.’
The room was uncomfortably hot. A bead of sweat trickled down my neck. Next to me, Mariam leaned forward, her elbow on the table, chin on her hand, and stared at him with rapt attention.
‘I’m not your boss in anything other than a technical sense. I’m your representative. Any one of you can approach me with anything you think needs to be said. Criticise me, if you think I’m wrong. I welcome criticism. And praise me, but only if I’ve earned it. Because that’s how I’ll deal with you — fairly.’
Everyone round me sat forward, compelled by his every breath. I sat back, my arms wrapped around me as if gripped by an invisible straitjacket.
‘See behind me?’ He gestured to a large cork board. ‘I’ll be away a lot, representing you and your views. I won’t always be here when you need to talk to me. But that’s a way you can always get hold of me. Leave me a note. Leave me an idea. I’ll read everything. Think about everything. Respond to everything.’
We could just have emailed him. It was a gimmick, but it was a good one, so convincing that someone couldn’t stop themselves clapping.
‘What a guy!’ someone else whispered, loud enough for the room to hear.
‘Encouraging access to the hills,’ Mariam said, turning to me with shining eyes. ‘Just what we were saying. Pin that up on the board.’
‘And Sol had that idea about—’
Andy held his hand up, stilling the mounting excitement like Jesus calming the storm. Again, the room feel silent. ‘I don’t need to remind you why we’re here. We’re here to put right some of the things that corporate greed and individual selfishness have got wrong in this world. There’s a word I’m going to use. I’m going to use it often and I want you to use it, too. It’s justice. We’re here to win justice for the people.’
I pushed my chair back. My breath caught in my lungs, wouldn’t flow. Panic, unprompted, welled up inside me. I snatched a look around, but no-one noticed. Everyone was looking at Andy.
‘We may look like a strange assortment. Some of us may not look that young or that handsome.’ A half-gesture towards himself brought laughter from all his listeners, except me. ‘But never forget who we are. We’re seekers after justice. Together we will change things, and to do that I’m asking for your commitment. I’m asking for sacrifice. I want you to give up your time. Your selfish wishes. For others. For the greater good.’
It was too much. Thank God, I was sitting near the door. I lunged to get away.
‘Never forget. We’re Planet People—’
I plunged down the stairs, out through the reception area, and onto the street. Fresh air. Thank God. I gulped it in by the lungful. Precious, precious breath. Precious air. Precious life.
I’d never before had a flashback to the moment the previous year when I’d nearly died, and Marcus had saved my life —but neither, since then, had I come across anyone as intense as Andy Watt. Just when I thought I’d got over my previous life, subdued all the memories of the people I used to know — the ones who were fanatics and who turned their passion to evil not good — someone reared up in front of me and reminded me.
Placing a hand on the railings outside the office, I struggled to focus on the real world instead of the one of my nightmares. Ten yards away, an elderly motorist remonstrated with a traffic warden. A young woman, sharp-suited, lifted her wrist to look at her watch. The bad things are over. This is the present. This is real.
I didn’t doubt Andy. No-one who heard him speak could possibly do that. And I wouldn’t let others with twisted ideals turn me away from the right thing to do. All I wanted in life was what all those people around me wanted — to do good things for other people — and I wouldn’t let any ghosts prevent me. I paused a moment longer to check that I really could breathe, that there were no menacing fingers around my throat, no thick smoke seeping into my lungs, and all I felt was the caress of a spring breeze and the acrid tickle of exhaust fumes.
I’d been ridiculous. Subdued, I slipped back into the office and toyed with the idea of rejoining the meeting, only to reject it as laughter and applause from the boardroom brought back the memory of another, dangerously incorruptible, passion. I went to the kitchen instead, ran a glass of cold water from the tap, took it back to my desk, and worked my way through the first of that backlog of emails as I waited for the meeting to be over.
‘Oh, my!’ Mariam burst in ahead of the rest, her face split by an enormous smile. ‘Wasn’t that amazing? Isn’t he an inspiration?’
‘Incredible.’ I took a long sip of water. Yes, he was. But there was something about him I couldn’t handle.
Instantly aware of the slip, I pulled myself together. It was something that had caught me out, not something I couldn’t handle. I could handle the past, once I’d had time to work out how not to let it beat me.
‘I’m inspired,’ she babbled on. ‘Where did you get to? Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. I just felt a bit ill. I thought I was better getting a bit of fresh air rather than passing out in the meeting.’
‘Oh, that would have stolen his thunder.’ She laughed and turned to her computer.
Something told me Andy wouldn’t have been too pleased about that. I, too, turned back to my work. As the grandly-titled Social Media, Awareness and Campaigns Manager, I would be working closely with Andy on just about every one of the projects that we developed, so I’d have to learn to cope. And I would, because I wanted to. He’d demanded commitment and, along with everyone else in the organisation, I was ready to give it.
It might cost me. I thought, briefly, of Marcus and his own dedication to his job. I didn’t trust him to put me ahead of his work, so why should I do the same for him? He kept putting himself in danger, and I wanted to have something left for when his duty took him away from me, one way or another, as I was so sure it would.
Love was all very well. Admitting to myself that I loved him was liberating, even though I couldn’t admit it to him. But love, commitment-free, was surely the best of all.
Chapter 12
‘Well,’ Dougie said, leaning in far too close, so close that Cas could feel his breath, so hot that it almost scalded him, ‘you fucked that up, didn’t you?’
Cas winced. Always courteous, never-foul-mouthed, he couldn’t help taking the language that Dougie used as a targeted affront, even though he was used to it. The man wasn’t liked locally, and seemed to take pride in getting on the wrong side of everyone. ‘I did everything I could.’
He looked around him, nervous of being overheard, but no-one in the café seemed to take any notice of the two of them — the opposite, in fact. He sensed a studious intention not to get involved among those of his customers who were local enough to be aware of his partner’s reputation. Turning his back on the main part of the café, he sidled towards an empty table
near the back of the room, if only so that no-one who respected him should hear him being so roundly abused.
‘You reckon? That’s fucking shite, Cas. You know it. I’ve got ears and eyes. You didn’t even try.’
‘Coffee?’ Torn between doing the only thing he could think of to neutralise the situation and trying to freeze his partner out of the building as soon as possible, Cas went for the coward’s way out. ‘I was going to have one. I’ll get Lidia to get you one as well.’ He waved his hand across the room, flashed finger and thumb at the waitress, and followed it up with a smile.
At least that had the desired effect of keeping Dougie quiet until the waitress, prioritising them above the other customers, had delivered their coffees. ‘Anything else, Cas? Cake or something?’
‘We’re fine just now. Aren’t you due a break? Better take that now.’ At least if she was out of the way, that would be one less person around to overhear.
‘You treat your staff too kindly, and you pay them too much.’ At least the coffee seemed to have some positive impact, because Dougie’s tone was a shade softer. Not soft — he never weakened that much — but softer. ‘Think yourself lucky I’m not a partner in this business. You’d be running it differently. And they’d all be showing a damn sight more respect.’
Treat them well and they work well, Cas reminded himself. He never doubted it, but it would have been folly to say so out loud. Dougie was only his partner in the farm, but the shadow of the debt that bound them together was deep and dark enough to keep Cas firmly in check. It was a shame he hadn’t been able to carve up the assets in such a way that Gilly shared his suffering, but she’d been smarter than he’d thought. She’d settled for less, and ended up without anything that was high risk — another thing he found it hard to forgive her for. He lifted his coffee mug in silence, sipped and waited for the attack.
Storm Child (Dangerous Friends Book 3) Page 7
