Storm Child (Dangerous Friends Book 3)

by Jennifer Young

  ‘Marcus, that’s absolute crap, and you know it is.’

  ‘I’m not questioning your story.’ How could he, when it was his story, too? ‘But it’s a fair point. That’s the way minds work.’

  ‘That’s outrageous and unreasonable! How can they possibly say that? What about that poor boy? They must have found him. He must have had to go to hospital.’

  ‘We didn’t. You can recover from hypothermia pretty quickly, with a bit of common sense.’

  ‘But he was worse than you were. And you nearly—’

  ‘Yes.’

  Silence. ‘He can’t have survived.’

  ‘I’ll be astonished if he did.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ he said, with a helpless shrug. ‘I really wish I knew. He must be out there somewhere, and I hope he’s alive.’

  ‘But if he is alive, why didn’t they get someone to help us? Why didn’t they report it?’

  ‘I can’t answer any of those questions. But I don’t think I’d mind having a sniff around up there, even though I don’t think there will be anything to find.’

  She dwelt on that for a moment, then picked up the phone again, frowning as she reread the mail in the dim light of the bar. ‘We both know what we saw.’

  ‘We certainly know what we think we saw.’

  ‘I trust my eyes, even if you don’t. But then…’ She gave him a playful — or was it playful? — dig in the ribs. ‘You don’t believe anything, do you?’

  ‘Not without evidence.’

  ‘Then we’ll go back and look for some. I’m up for that. For heaven’s sake, Marcus. It isn’t like you to sit back and talk when there’s something to be done.’

  He laughed at her fiery intensity, though the laugh only hid an undercurrent of concern that bordered on suspicion. ‘I’m surprised you want to go near the place.’

  ‘I don’t, but if that’s what it takes to sort this out, then that’s what I’ll do. And if you won’t come with me, then I’ll have to do it alone. We’ll go on Sunday. I daresay I’ll need to get out of town after a barney with my mum.’

  Her phone rang. She looked down at her bag with a sigh. ‘I suppose I’d better…it might be her cancelling. I’d be relieved at one level, but then we’d be back to square one. Hello? Oh, hi Andy. No, I’m not doing anything much. Just out for a drink with a friend.’

  So, Marcus deduced, she hadn’t told her colleagues about him either. Maybe in the kind of atmosphere that he guessed might prevail at Planet People, that made more sense than trying to keep him from her family.

  ‘Sure. Oh, really?’

  Marcus shifted a little closer to her. Her breathing had increased, and her face creased into worry. Andy Watt’s voice spilled out of the phone, ripe with indignation. ‘Have you been on the Facebook page recently?’

  ‘Not in the last few minutes. I’m—’

  ‘No, of course. Friday night. I get that. But I need you to sort it out. Christ’s sake, someone’s on there claiming that we’re funded by Islamic State. I’ve hidden it, but I need you to make sure that there’s nothing else out there that shouldn’t be, certainly nothing as damaging as that. Keep an eye on it.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll do that now.’ She slid Marcus a sidelong look. ‘Bye, Andy. See you Monday.’

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow and check in. We need to kill this one off before it grows legs.’

  ‘Bye,’ she said again, and turned away from her drink. She tilted the phone away from Marcus, as if to remind him that he was excluded from this new part of her life, that this ruthless separation she practised for her self-protection meant that he wasn’t only the man she hid from others. She could hide things from him, too. ‘I won’t be a moment. I need to sort this out.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said with a sigh, and turned back to his pint.

  Chapter 14

  Pausing at the top of the Waverley Steps on my descent to the station, I took one last look at my phone to check whether Andy, who had been fretting away at me by text all morning, had finally calmed down. He had, and the mischief-maker of the previous evening hadn’t continued with their random, baseless posts on our social media pages. I’d expected that; the whole exercise was just a way of delaying the moment of meeting my mother. When I looked up, I caught Marcus shaking his head in what looked like disapproval.

  ‘What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,’ I reminded him, as we headed down the steps and across the concourse towards the platform for the Glasgow train. ‘You’re always checking your messages when you aren’t at work.’

  ‘True. But—’

  ‘Don’t say it’s different. It isn’t.’

  ‘I was going to say that when I do it, it’s usually urgent, but that’s probably not true. So, fair play. You have a job to do, just like I do. I appreciate that.’

  That was generous. If Marcus didn’t like what I was doing, if he didn’t trust my judgement or someone else’s motives, he was never shy of telling me, even if he knew I’d disagree. Though I knew his views on crusading organisations like Planet People, this time he remained heroically silent. Maybe he was learning to compromise, just as I was. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll leave you here.’ He stopped to glance up at the arrivals board, which showed almost ten past two. ‘Or your mum will get an even bigger surprise than you’re planning. Good luck.’

  ‘It’s my mother I’m meeting. Not some—’ I stopped myself. I’d been going to say some dangerous radical. Before my panic attack in the middle of Andy’s opening performance at Planet People, I might have done so and it would have been funny. Not now. ‘Someone else.’

  ‘Then there’s no need to be afraid of her.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Of course not. Then I’ll be away. Okay?’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Somehow unable to let one another go, we stood staring at one another for a moment in the middle of a milling crowd of red-scarfed football fans on their way to Tynecastle or Easter Road. Marcus’s eyes, piercingly blue, still captivated me as they had done since the moment I first looked into them.

  I reached up towards him and he, half a head taller, leaned down to me for a long, slow kiss, as if we were to be separated for years not just for a couple of hours. We’d spent all night in one another’s arms, but it was never enough.

  ‘Sure you don’t want me to stay?’ he asked, as we finally parted.

  ‘No. I’ve booked tea for two.’

  ‘And three’s a crowd. I get it.’

  ‘It’s not that. You’d steal my sandwiches.’ I reached up to touch his hair, pretending to rearrange it, although there was nothing in the regulation haircut that could ever be considered out of place.

  ‘Your cake would be at greater risk. Call me when you’ve finished, and I’ll come and meet you.’ He stroked my cheek, sending a final shiver through my soul.

  ‘I’ll bring you the leftovers.’ With a last touch of hands, we drew apart and I turned towards the platform. My mother, an expression of the greatest interest on her face, was standing two yards away, watching.

  My heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, ridiculously, I took a step forward and positioned myself between two people I loved, as if there was any benefit to be had from keeping them apart. ‘Mum!’

  ‘Bronte,’ she returned, deadpan. Her cool brown eyes gave nothing away, but her folded arms implied a mind made up.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Marcus said softly in my ear. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘This is Marcus,’ I said, wilting under her stare. She must have been watching us long enough to come up with a strategy, and it was clear what it was — to make me do the work. ‘Marcus, I don’t think you’ve met my mum.’

  ‘Delighted to meet you, Mrs. O’Hara.’ He dusted down his best manners and his most charming smile, and I thought — maybe just hoped — that she thawed just a little. ‘I was just leaving. I’m sorry I can’t stay.’ He shook her hand, gave the tiniest bow of respect, tu
rned on his heel, and disappeared.

  ‘I’m very much looking forward to afternoon tea,’ she observed, turning to watch him go, and not taking her eyes off him until the crowd had swallowed him up.

  My blood chilled. My family were wild and rarely controlled, least of all when they were surprised, but she was behaving as if she’d expected it. I had no idea how to deal with it. ‘You’re early.’

  ‘I got to the station in plenty of time and the one o’clock train was running late, so I caught that.’

  I led the way up the steps from the station, towards the Balmoral Hotel, and managed to avoid conversation until we got there. ‘All well at home?’ I asked, as we settled in the Palm Court Lounge.

  She folded her coat over the arm of a slouchy, chintzy sofa, and looked around her. ‘Nothing apart from Eilidh’s endless wedding plans, and it’s good to have a break from them, if I’m honest. This is very swish, Bronte, isn’t it? Any reason for it? Special occasion? Something you want to tell me?’

  Thank God, the waitress arrived with menus and distracted us with a choice of thirty loose leaf teas. ‘I’m so glad you could come through,’ I appeased, when we’d given our orders and the waitress had gone. ‘I’ve been so busy recently.’

  ‘Of course. The new job.’ A raised eyebrow telegraphed her scepticism. ‘How’s it going?’

  So, she wasn’t going to make it easy for me. I’d have to work for her confidence and a sympathetic hearing. ‘It’s going well. You know how it is. New jobs are always a bit overwhelming. But I’m loving it.’

  ‘I understand if you’re too tired to come through for lunch every Sunday.’ She turned a dazzling smile on the waitress as she brought us tea in elegant china teapots and placed a three-tiered cake stand on the table between us. ‘Oh, look at those cakes! Almost too beautiful to eat.’ And then she was back on the attack. ‘And of course, last weekend you were away with friends, you said.’

  ‘We went hillwalking. You know I like that.’

  ‘There’s no need to be so defensive. Who were you walking with?’

  My mother’s brown-eyed gaze was direct and unforgiving. Often, as a child, I’d failed to meet its disappointment, but now I was an adult, with a mind and a life of my own. I picked a crustless sandwich, set it on my china plate, and cut it neatly into three. ‘A friend.’

  ‘Anyone I’ve met?’

  I took a bite from the sandwich. Smooth egg mayonnaise settled on my tongue. I ate slowly, savouring it. A peppery aftertaste of cress followed. ‘Yes, Marcus.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s something you’d like to tell me?’ Her gaze demanded a confession.

  ‘Can’t you guess? Marcus is my boyfriend.’ Spurred on by my own reckless courage, I challenged her. I wasn’t ashamed of him. ‘Did you like him?’

  ‘He seemed very charming.’ More spirited, my mother also attacked the sandwiches with gusto. ‘These are delicious. Really delicious. You’d better give me that ham one, and you can have the egg.’ She effected the switch without waiting for my assent. ‘So, tell me all about him. Where did you meet him? When? And what does he do?’

  I was committed now. ‘He lives near me. I met him in July.

  For a moment she, too, seemed to lose her appetite, replacing the sandwich which had been halfway to her mouth, and opting instead for a sip of tea. ‘Bronte. That was last summer. You surely haven’t been dating him that long?’

  I nodded.

  ‘All those months? And you felt you couldn’t tell us?’

  The genuine hurt on her face was the last thing I needed when we hadn’t even reached the difficult bit. For distraction, I picked up my tea and drank it. It was too hot, and I hadn’t left it long enough to brew, so that the promised flavours of the Himalayan foothills, green and delicious, failed to materialise.

  There had been good reason for all the trouble I’d gone to, the stress I’d put myself through in keeping my relationship with Marcus a secret. Mum was hurt now, but God knew what she’d say when she found out the truth.

  ‘I would have told you about him before, but I didn’t think you’d approve.’ My next sandwich — a blend of melting brie and some fancy chutney — disappeared more quickly than it deserved, while I waited for her response.

  ‘Oh, and why did you think that?’

  ‘He’s a detective, and I met him during the G8 summit.’

  At last horrified, my mother, too familiar with my past romantic mistakes and their devastating effect, allowed herself some emotion. ‘Bronte!’ She crashed the teacup down into the saucer. A woman at the next table turned to look at us.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I pleaded. ‘It’s a perfectly respectable profession.’

  As her eyes narrowed. I could guess what was going through her mind. She’d be wondering how she could possibly break it to my father. ‘The police have never done anything to help you. Exactly how did you meet him? On one of those demos you go on?’

  I would love to have lied, but I’d avoided the path of honesty for as long as I could and for longer than I’d ever expected to get away with. Now I was committed to it, I wouldn’t step aside. ‘You’ll hate this. He worked with Eden during the G8.’

  His name dropped into the conversation like a ticking bomb. Eden, my then boyfriend. The man I’d thought was an anarchist but who turned out to be an undercover policeman. The man who’d been a close friend of Marcus’s and who, in an attempt to keep his secret, had tried to take my life and ended by losing his own.

  Mum picked up a macaron between fingers and thumb, inspecting the pale pink disc without seeming to see it. ‘Bella.’ That was her pet name for me. ‘Do I have to take you through this before you see how impossible it is?’

  I must keep her sweet. If I couldn't win her over, I had no hope at all with my dad. ‘Is it impossible? Really?’

  ‘When you say he worked with Eden. How closely?’

  ‘Quite closely.’

  She looked at the macaron again. I could almost see her mind ticking over, running through the chaotic story of the last year of my life, finally filling in the last, the most incriminating of the gaps. ‘Bronte. Surely you don’t mean—?’

  I could barely speak, but Marcus had earned my courage. ‘Yes. He was Eden’s cover officer. His handler.’

  The full scale of the situation dawned on her. ‘You’re telling me you’ve started going out with a man who was closely involved in a police operation in which you were the victim?’

  I nodded.

  ‘A man who was suspended from duty because of the way he behaved to a number of people, including you.’

  ‘He was completely cleared.’

  ‘Yes, by a highly questionable inquiry.’

  My family knew every last full stop of the report that had been made public on the G8 policing debacle, bar the name of the policeman who had been Eden’s controller. Marcus had come out of it with his reputation enhanced, his every action vindicated. And though they knew it, facts wouldn’t help him. Mud stuck, unjustly, and they’d prejudged him without knowing him, holding him responsible for someone else’s sins.

  ‘It wasn’t like that. You’ve seen what he’s like. He’s charming and he’s kind. I don’t always agree with him, but he’s well intentioned. That counts for something.’

  ‘You’re only twenty-six,’ she purred at me, as we fenced our way around the conversation. Both of us were pretending to be calm and controlled, both refusing to give in to passion or emotion. ‘That’s very young to think you’re in love.’

  I was born on the day after her twenty-sixth birthday and I was the third of her children, but I bit back the challenge. There was nothing to be gained from answering back. ‘He never used me the way Eden did. He saved my life in the riot after the G8.’

  ‘Because it was his job, I imagine. Or because he knew he’d be in even worse trouble if anything else happened to you.’

  ‘No, it was because he cared about me.’

  At last she got round to eating the macaron, fussing
around it before tasting it, dropping crumbs on the carpet. ‘This is rose and lemon. I thought it was strawberry. Really nice.’

  I reached for my own macaron, for something to do. She was right. An agreeable surprise — and so was this meeting. I’d thought she’d blow me away before I’d had a chance to explain, and when she spelled the litany of Marcus's sins and my misjudgements out to me so clearly, I’d already known she couldn’t approve. But we’d got so far along the road and she was still here. There must be a chance she would listen. ‘Mum, I didn’t get into a relationship with him out of spite. I couldn’t help it.’

  ‘Clearly, he’s a very brave man, and I understand that you feel you’re in his debt. You aren’t.’

  ‘This isn’t about obligation. This is about my happiness.’

  ‘I agree. And he’ll make you unhappy.’

  There was every chance that he would, but I’d tried holding him at a distance and that had made me even unhappier than I’d thought was possible. ‘I’m a big girl now, and I’m learning lessons all the time. I’ve had months to think about it.’

  ‘The evidence is in front of me.’ She fished in her bag for a mirror and held it out to me. ‘Look at yourself.’

  I waved it away. I knew exactly how rough I looked, and it wasn’t because of Marcus but because of Andy, and the panic attack in the mad excitement at Planet People, and the nightmares in which I’d abandoned Marcus and he’d died. It was only when I was with him that I was happy.

  ‘I really want you to like him. I really want you to give him a chance,’ I urged her.

  ‘He seemed very charming,’ she conceded, and smiled a little smile. Perhaps it was as well that she’d met him after all. ‘But you know your father—’

  ‘Can you talk to him?’

  She sighed. Sometimes Dad could be beyond reason. A protective, Victorian-style parent at the best of times, he never trusted any man with his daughters. My oldest sister had finally won him over by bringing home a respectable rich man, and my second sister by bringing home a charmer who reminded him of his younger self. Marcus fulfilled neither of those criteria, and I couldn’t see a way of presenting him in a positive light. Nor, it was clear, could Mum. ‘Bella. You know what he’s like.’