Past Imperfect

by Michael Parker

  Paul knew why Moxey was warning him. If he did make an attempt to finger Isaacs, he would probably wind up with a knife in the back. He felt bitter and it showed.

  ‘You’ve got to let it go, Paul,’ Moxey warned him. ‘I know Maisy was your mate, but he was a poof and it’s no use you getting all soft on him. It won’t look good for you: you could end up like him.’ He sat back, point made.

  ‘You’re right, Moxey,’ Paul agreed. ‘But I’m going to make that Isaacs’s life a fucking misery, one way or the other.’

  Moxey stood up, ready to go. ‘I don’t think so, Paul, but good luck anyway.’

  The following week Paul learned that Maisy’s body had been released by the police. All the forensic evidence had been collated, filed and locked away. There was nothing that could lead them to the killer. The funeral would be at Ventnor on the island, which was Maisy’s home town. Paul applied for permission to attend, which was granted, much to his relief.

  Because Paul was a category ‘A’ prisoner, he had to be escorted to the funeral and would be cuffed at all times. He wasn’t allowed to attend the wake after the service, but for Paul that wasn’t important: he just wanted to pay his last respects to a man who he liked very much.

  The weather wasn’t good. The rain added to the natural gloom. There were only a few mourners in attendance. Paul was accompanied by two prison officers. The prison chaplain was there to conduct the ceremony. Maisy’s brother stood alongside a couple of family friends to complete the small gathering. Paul listened to the eulogy, carefully worded to cast Maisy in the best light. And on the headstone were the few words that summed up Maisy’s life:

  Max Reilly

  April 1928 – September 1985

  In Loving Memory

  SEVENTEEN

  Emma and Max, 2011

  Max was coming to the end of his book tour and there had been no news from Laura about Emma. It is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder. In Max’s case, this was perfectly true although his feelings were more of hopelessness than love. Max was also afraid that the longer he was out of Emma’s life, the less she would think of him until he was no more than a memory: a fond one perhaps, but a memory nonetheless. He couldn’t expect Emma to still have feelings for him, but more worrying was the fact that Laura had not contacted him. It probably meant that Emma had stopped Laura from getting in touch. Max knew he had to let go; there would be no more Emma in his life and the sooner he got used to the idea, the sooner he could move on and stop carrying a torch for a woman who was no longer interested in him.

  The phone buzzed in Max’s pocket. He was in the middle of a book-signing session in a bookstore in Wellington, New Zealand. He nearly fell out of his chair in his haste to get the phone out of his pocket. Disappointment filled him as he saw a text message from Jack Rivers. He muttered something unpronounceable beneath his breath, fixed a smile on his face and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  Max phoned Rivers late that evening. The gravel voice came on the line.

  ‘Hi, Max, how are you doing?’

  Max was in his hotel room, propped up in his bed watching TV. ‘Hello, Jack. How am I doing?’ he repeated. ‘Well, to some people I appear to be doing well.’ He muted the TV.

  ‘But you’re not, are you?’

  Max nodded. ‘You could say that. Do you have anything for me?’ he asked.

  ‘I have news but not good news.’

  Max wondered if anything could be worse than sitting in a hotel room halfway round the world, pining for a woman who didn’t want anything to do with him. ‘Spit it out, Jack.’

  ‘It looks like the sale of Clanford Hall will be going through some time this year. The talk is that Isaacs is the main player.’

  ‘No auction?’

  ‘It looks that way,’ Rivers told him.

  Max swore. ‘But it’s not a done-and-dusted deal yet.’

  ‘No, it could take a month or two. But when it happens, it will attract a lot of local TV and media. If Isaacs is the buyer—’

  ‘Fucking creep!’ Max spat out. ‘And we still can’t find anything on him?’

  ‘Not a thing, Max: he’s as clean as a whistle.’

  ‘It wouldn’t matter anyway if we did have something on him; his wife owns Coney Enterprises, right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Rivers agreed. ‘But if we could nail Isaacs, the Gambling Commission wouldn’t dare grant a licence to Coney Enterprises. The only reason they are dancing to Isaacs’s tune is because he has dirt on one of their members. Little boys, remember?’

  Max nodded. ‘But Isaacs is in pole position.’

  ‘Not unless you can come up with something fatal on him. And to be honest, Max, I think you’ve lost this one.’

  Max agreed that there was nothing he could do. ‘OK, Jack, thanks for your efforts. I’ll square up with you when I get back.’ He dropped the phone back into its cradle. Everything was going wrong: Emma, Clanford, his happiness. He had no answer to any of that; he simply had to get on with life and hope that something would turn up.

  The following morning, Max got up with a sense of loss and made the decision that he would forget about Emma and Clanford Hall. He could see no future other than one of pain and longing if he continued to chase his real dreams. It was time to let go. He picked up his mobile phone and opened up the contacts folder. He scrolled down until he reached Emma’s number and highlighted the options. He tabbed down to the word ‘delete’ and kept his thumb hovering over it for a few moments. He had to let her go, he kept telling himself. It was brutal but it had to be done. He pressed the key and Emma was gone. Then he scrolled down to Laura’s number and did the same. He tossed the phone on the bed and wondered just what Emma would be doing right now, wherever she was.

  Emma dog-eared the page she was reading and closed the book. She put it on the small table next to her sunbed and picked up her soft drink. She looked out over the Mediterranean as she sipped the cocktail. Behind her, the hotel provided an expansive backdrop cradling the swimming pool and the terraces in its curved frontage. Beside her the man she had got to know on her holiday was breathing heavily as he slept in the sun. Emma studied the slow rise and fall of his chest and wondered what it would be like to see the whole of his physique.

  She had met Colin shortly after arriving at La Zenia on the Costa Blanca. Like her, he was alone, and the ease with which she was able to connect with him had surprised and delighted her. Over the last few months, Emma had blossomed, both in confidence and looks. She was no longer being scrutinized or controlled, and her decisions about what she should do, where she should go and with whom were hers to make and hers alone.

  Colin hadn’t pushed himself on Emma, and they hadn’t reached the stage where they were sleeping together. But Emma guessed that it wouldn’t be too long. She liked him, felt happy in his company and was aware of the sexual urges surfacing in her own body. She knew what Colin’s were like every time she danced with him in the evenings. She smiled wickedly and wondered if it would happen that night. But as she was beginning to fantasize about a mad coupling with Colin, a waiter appeared at her side.

  ‘Ms Johnson?’

  Emma looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘Yes.’

  ‘A lady to see you.’ He pointed back towards the hotel. ‘She is waiting in the lounge.’

  Emma’s curiosity was etched all over her face as she got up and followed the man into the hotel bar area. But the curiosity disappeared and changed to one of total surprise when she saw her sister sitting in one of the lounge chairs.

  Emma stopped. ‘Laura?’ Disbelief was written all over her face.

  Laura stood up and came over to Emma. She put her arms around her and hugged her tightly. ‘Oh, Emma, why did you run away?’

  Emma disengaged herself from Laura’s clutches. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Laura shook her head quickly. ‘You haven’t answered my question: why did you run away?’

  For a few moments, Emma wan
ted this not to be true: she wanted her sister not to be there. But it was a fait accompli and what was done, was done. She had no choice but to accept the fact and get on with it. She pointed to the chairs.

  ‘Let’s sit down.’

  So they sat and both started talking at the same time. Emma put her hands up. ‘Laura, just tell me why you are here. I hope you haven’t come to drag me back.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘You’re a big girl now, Emma; you can do as you please. But I had to find you; I was worried sick. No calls, no messages. What on earth were you thinking?’

  Emma told her what it was like being married to a violent control freak, having a sister who was always bullying her, and falling in love with a liar and a cheat.

  ‘You mean Max.’

  Emma nodded. ‘Who else would I be talking about?’

  Laura sighed deeply, knowing she would have an uphill task trying to convince her sister. ‘You’re wrong, you know; about Max.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Emma snapped, rejecting the statement. ‘I saw it with my own eyes: he’s a cheat and a liar.’ Laura was about to say something when Emma stopped her. ‘Anyway, how did you find me?’

  Laura smiled. ‘I didn’t: Colin did.’

  This wiped the scowl off Emma’s face. Her stunned expression glowered at Laura across the table. She swivelled in her seat and looked back towards the huge windows overlooking the pool terrace. Then she looked back at Laura and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. ‘You mean Colin out there?’

  Laura affected a look over Emma’s shoulder. ‘If that’s who you’re sleeping with, I suppose it must be.’

  ‘I’m not sleeping with him,’ Emma said sharply. ‘I’m not sleeping with anybody.’

  Laura closed her eyes. ‘Thank goodness for that.’

  ‘Did you send Colin after me? Is he a friend of yours?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘I’ve never met the man. Spoke to him on the phone a few times, though; seems a nice enough chap.’

  ‘Is he a private investigator?’ Laura nodded. ‘So how could you afford one of those?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘I can’t. Max paid for him.’

  Emma slumped in the armchair and sank back into the soft, leather upholstery. ‘Max?’

  Laura sat forward. ‘Max came to see me.’ She told Emma of his visit. ‘He asked me to let him find you. He said it wasn’t right that I should lose a sister because of his actions. He promised me he would not use the investigator for his own purposes.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Emma, he told me that he accepted it was all over between the two of you, but it didn’t stop him being concerned for your welfare. I said it would be impossible to find you if you didn’t want to be found, but he had different ideas. He said he knew a man in London who could dig up anything and find anyone. All I had to do was wait for a phone call from a man called Jack Rivers and he would start the ball rolling. Next thing I knew I got a call from Colin.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Emma whispered softly. ‘And I thought . . .’ She stopped, unable to admit what was on her mind about her growing feelings towards the man who Max had paid to find her. Suddenly she felt as though she had been betraying Max. Then she remembered that he had been betrayed by his wife and how that had affected him. And she was about to do it to him; to betray him. But she didn’t love him, did she? Did she? Her head dropped and she clutched her hands together in her lap. She began to feel dirty, almost like a slut, willing to sleep with a man she met on holiday. She had met Max on holiday too, but she hadn’t felt inclined to jump into bed with him. And even now, wherever he was, Max’s concern was affecting her. She lifted her head and looked at her sister. Her eyes were filling with tears.

  ‘Oh, Laura, I don’t know what to think.’

  Laura turned and picked up her large handbag. She reached into it and pulled out a parcel. She handed it to Emma. ‘Read this, Emma. Then you’ll know.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Clanford Hall, 1990

  Investment in overseas companies was not a new direction for Michael. He had tried earlier in South America, but the Falklands War with Argentina had resulted in a complete loss for him. He realized that he needed professional advice to increase the estate’s income and find profitability, and to that end had set the wheels in motion by employing a promotion and marketing company to build on the notoriety that Paul’s imprisonment had created.

  The estate had seen a modest growth in quarterly earnings, but the graph was only climbing at a pedestrian rate. There was sufficient income to cover the estate’s overheads, but very little to cover investment in Clanford. Michael had begun his own investment portfolio after the birth of his daughter, Pauline, in 1982, about six months after Paul’s imprisonment. Since then, Michael had been advised to invest in an American company known as Fannie Mae. It was a little-known option outside America for small investors, but it augured well for the future. Michael was certainly impressed by the figures returned to him by his brokers and was happy to follow their advice and invest money in the sub-prime mortgage market in America. He made the decision then to move the larger part of his investments into the Fannie Mae stock. Within a year, the yields were promising enough for Michael to consider the future of Clanford Estate to be secure.

  Despite putting Clanford on a firm footing, Michael still lamented the fact that his family could not stay together. It was as though the Kennetts were cursed with separation. First it was his mother’s tragic death at birth. Then his father, Jeremy, who died shortly after his sister, Victoria, had been born. Now Victoria, who was twenty-five, had moved to Australia. Paul had let the family down and been forced by his own, tragic circumstances to break the family link, and his daughter, Pauline, was at private school which meant he only saw her during school holidays. He saw very little of his wife too. He spoke of this to Kate one day.

  ‘Do you think she’s having an affair?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Don’t ask me that, Michael. You’re her husband: you should know how she feels about you.’

  Michael nodded. ‘I know, but what do you think?’

  ‘I just think she’s bored. You’re rarely here; always running around the estate or going to meetings. You never include her in anything.’ She looked at him with a cold expression. ‘She could accuse you of the same thing.’

  That rattled him. ‘Nonsense, I’m always here.’

  Kate shook her head slowly. ‘No, Michael, you’re not. So unless you wish to force Topper into someone else’s bed, it’s best you start thinking more of her and less of yourself.’

  ‘Well,’ he huffed, ‘that’s brutal.’

  ‘Serves you right; I never asked for this conversation: you did.’

  Michael sat there for a while in silence. Kate was right, as she always was. Whenever he had gone to her, for as long as he could remember, she usually came up with the answers he was looking for. On this occasion, however, she hadn’t come up with the answers he wanted to hear, but had come up with the truth.

  ‘Point taken,’ he conceded sullenly.

  Kate could see she had wounded his pride, but it was something he needed. ‘When I see you like that, I can’t help thinking of Paul,’ she told him. She got up and walked over to the window. She stood looking out but not seeing anything. ‘It’s been nine years now.’ She spun round. ‘I do miss him, you know.’

  ‘Me too, Kate.’

  Kate realized then just how close Michael was to his brother. Being identical twins meant a bond that no one else could understand. She wondered if Michael’s position at Clanford, where he was bound by the demands placed upon him as estate owner, was akin to a kind of imprisonment. Although it was nothing like that which Paul was enduring, it was a kind of bondage: one that in truth had been thrust upon him.

  ‘We should go and see him.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘He won’t see any of us, not now, not ever.’

  ‘Have you tried?’ Michael asked.

  ‘A couple of times,’ she told him. �
�But he was adamant that he wanted nothing more to do with the family. He sent me a letter saying that he was at fault and he could never make up for what he did. He said it was right that he should keep out of our lives.’

  ‘Poor Paul.’

  ‘I don’t think he would say that,’ Kate said. ‘He got what he deserved.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ he said, opening his desk drawer. ‘This managed to get in with my mail.’ He held a letter up. ‘It’s addressed to you, Kate. Anyone we know?’

  Kate took the letter from him and studied the writing on the envelope. She smiled. ‘No one you know, Michael.’

  ‘I thought it might have been from Paul,’ he said. ‘I don’t think either of us will ever stop thinking about him.’

  Kate walked out with her letter and left Michael to his own kind of imprisonment on Clanford Estate.

  NINETEEN

  Paul, 2000

  Ten years after Kate and Michael had spoken of Paul and his determination to remain cut off from the family, Paul was now looking forward to his early release. It was the year of the millennium, the year 2000, and the world was going crazy with celebrations of all kinds, ringing in the hope of good things to come for everybody. Paul wondered about his eventual repatriation into civilian life. He had less than two years to complete; two years in which to dwell on the uncertainty of his kind of future.

  Since Maisy’s death, Paul had kept away from conflict. Billy Isaacs had kept his distance too, although Paul was no threat to Isaacs because he only had a sketchy recall of what had happened that day outside the tin shop. That last piece of the jigsaw was still missing and Paul realized that it was unlikely now that Isaacs would ever be brought to justice for Maisy’s murder.

  In the years following Maisy’s death, Paul had spent a great deal of his time enjoying sport, reading and writing. He had been given an old diary of Maisy’s by the man’s brother. There was a lot of Maisy’s life in there, right up to the month before he was murdered. Paul continued with it, recording most things he thought were worth writing down. He had no idea what he would do with the diary, but it was something to occupy his mind and it helped with the book he was writing.