by Mark Eklid
He smiled. No nonsense Beth. He craved that all the while Helena was trying – but failing miserably – to stop herself from becoming a totally frenzied emotional wreck through the night. He had badly wanted to text to let her know he was thinking about her and that he was going to be fine, but it would have been too risky.
‘I’m going to be all right, I think, babe, but there’s something I need to know.’
There was something wrong. She could tell.
‘Sure. What is it?’
‘Your husband. Does he know? About us, I mean. Does he know?’
The suggestion quietened her. She had no reason to think so, but why would Darrell make a suggestion like that, out of the blue?
‘I don’t… I can’t see how. Why are you asking?’
‘The man who shot me, he was a short guy – about five foot tall. Your husband’s a short guy too, isn’t he?’
‘He is, but I still don’t see…’
‘The thing is, I can’t think of anybody I know of who might even own a gun, let alone anybody who might use one. I’ve been thinking about this. I don’t know of anybody who has reason to come to my house at night and threaten me with a gun and then threaten me again today. Somebody sent a funeral wreath to my home, Beth. No way of tracing who it came from, just some message about I should know what it means. I think I do know what it means. I think it means they know where I live and that they’re coming for me and they aren’t afraid to kill me. I think it’s your husband. You told me yourself he’s got it in him to do anything if somebody is trying to take away what’s his. I think he’s found out about us. I think this is a final warning to me.’
Beth listened intently, digesting the possibility Darrell could have worked it out correctly and that he was in danger. Moreover, if Wesley knew, they were both in danger. He was no killer. He was the one who followed in the trail of killers and fed off their carrion, but he didn’t pull the trigger himself. Had he cause to, however, she had no doubt that he was capable.
‘I think we’ll have to cool it, babe,’ Darrell added. ‘We won’t have much of a choice for a while because I’ll be stuck here with my foot up, but we might have to lay off seeing each other for some time beyond that – at least until we know it’s not him. You have to find that out. Be careful but you’ll have to see if he knows.’
She was calm but knew this was serious enough for her to be concerned. She would have to tread carefully but she had to find out.
‘Yeah, I will. Stay safe.’
Darrell heard the back door opening. Helena was coming back.
‘Gotta go, babe. Stay in touch, yeah?’
He hung up and put his phone on the floor just as Helena walked back into the front room with a painted smile and two mugs of cold tea.
12
Evelyn sat up in the hospital bed, propped up by pillows that absorbed her frail body as if it was a delicate ornament being prepared to be packed and posted. On her head was a pair of large black headphones, making her look like the world’s least likely DJ, and she stared, wide-eyed, through old-fashioned plastic-rimmed spectacles at the screen of a phone.
It was Martin’s phone. They were also his headphones. He had brought them with him to show her the regional news report of the shooting two days earlier which had left local residents shocked and frightened, though not so shocked and frightened that they were unable to share how they felt with a TV audience.
Martin was still nervous about the whole business and felt exceptionally wary about giving anyone any reason at all to believe that he was connected with the shooting. He had read that the man’s injuries were not considered serious, which was a relief, though the high-ranking police officer they rolled out to face the cameras stressed that the authorities were treating the incident extremely seriously, which was worrying.
He hadn’t wanted to worry Mrs Dawes, but he thought she would be interested to see the report for herself. He also hoped it would underline to her the importance of not sharing information, inadvertently or otherwise, which might lead to others suspecting they were involved. It had to stay their dark little secret. He hoped he could rely on Mrs Dawes’ discretion but was not completely sure. They still did not know each other that well.
The short recording ended with a grave-faced reporter handing back to the studio and Mrs Dawes kept looking at the screen, as if wondering what would happen next.
‘Would you like to watch it again?’ Martin asked.
She saw him gesture to attract her attention and saw his lips move but that was it.
‘What?’ she called back to him, far louder than was necessary.
‘Would you…’
She screwed up her face. ‘I can’t hear you,’ she yelled and the nurse seeing to the lady in the bed opposite turned to give Martin an amused glance.
He smiled back, apologetically, and stood to ease the headphones off Mrs Dawes’ ears.
‘I wondered if you would like to watch it again.’
She stared back at him, quizzically, still holding the phone in front of her with two hands.
‘Don’t we have to wait until the next time the news is on?’
Martin found the suggestion sort of charming but did not want to show it and risk embarrassing Mrs Dawes with his reaction.
‘No, it’s all there on demand, through the website.’
‘Really?’ She gripped the phone and looked at it in wonder. ‘What else can you watch on this?’
‘Anything really,’ replied Martin, not expecting to be the standard-bearer of modern technological achievement with someone who, it seemed, was stuck in a bygone era. ‘TV shows, films, documentaries – anything. You can access lots of other stuff through YouTube or listen to music as well, if you like.’
‘What type of music?’
‘Any type. Anything you like. It’s all available.’
Evelyn was open-mouthed. She had observed people constantly paying attention to their mobile telephones but had been too wrapped up in disdain for them to really question why everyone seemed to find them so fascinating. This was a revelation.
‘All on this little thing? Well, I’ll be...’
Martin leaned forward to reclaim the phone from her bony fingers.
‘Anyway, what did you think?’
‘About what?’
‘About the news. The report.’
She waved dismissively at him. ‘It’ll all blow over.’
He exhaled and looked to the skies. ‘I wish I had your confidence. The police officer said they were taking it extremely seriously.’
‘You see it on the news all the time,’ she added. ‘Things happen and everybody makes a big fuss for a few days but unless they catch somebody straight away, that’s the last you hear about it. Everybody forgets about it and they move on to something else.’
Martin was not prepared to accept that the situation was quite so straightforward but had to admit to himself that she might have a point. He knew from his involvement with the environmental group how important it was to constantly press their issues when they were supporting a major campaign, or the attention span of the general public soon wavered. Commitment was in short supply these days. Maybe that might work in his favour this time.
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Of course I am,’ she said with certainty. ‘Have they said anything about the man’s injuries yet?’
He winced. The screams of that poor man still echoed around his brain like a trapped bird struggling to escape a small room.
‘All I’ve seen is that he’s not seriously hurt. The report in the paper said he’s expected to make a full recovery. I just wish there were something I could do.’
Evelyn shook her head. ‘There is nothing you can do. Not without giving yourself away and I don’t think that’s what either of us want, is it?’
‘No, you’re right,’ he conceded. ‘I did send him flowers the next day, like I told you. I was careful to make sure there was nothing that could lead them to
working out where the money had come from. I even wore gloves to make sure there were no fingerprints. I felt so low, like a criminal, but at least the flowers might make him understand that I didn’t mean to hurt him. I hope so.’
‘That’s a lovely thing to do, but leave it there,’ said Evelyn, sternly. ‘Don’t get involved anymore and the trail will go cold. You keep your head down, the man will get better and the police will go back to looking for proper criminals, just you see.’
Evelyn crossed her arms and appeared pleased with herself for quickly putting their situation back into perspective. Martin was less convinced, his lingering concern betrayed by his silence.
‘When are you going to find my Tanya for me? That’s what I really need to know,’ she asked, suddenly vulnerable again.
He looked up and saw the sorrow in her eyes.
‘I promise I will track her down soon,’ he said, reaching out to take Mrs Dawes’ hand. ‘I just need to take care of a few things from the other night first.’
He knew that she knew the priority was now to make sure neither of them could be implicated in the shooting, but he recognised the pain that caused.
‘I tried looking for her on the internet the other day, but it was only when I started searching that I realised I knew nothing about her. Tell me about Tanya. What is she like?’
As he put the question, Martin realised it was a gamble. He had risked sending Mrs Dawes into a deeper melancholy, but he saw the twinkle in her eyes and the edges of her mouth curl up in fond recollection and he knew it was the right thing to ask.
‘She was such a lovely little girl,’ she said, her thoughts drifting back to a lost time.
‘Tanya was our only child and we loved her so much. She was perfect – a joy – from the day she was born. People always warned me – you know what people are like, always looking to drag you down with gloom and doom – they warned me that when she grew up from being the most adorable little girl into a teenager that she would change and that me and her would clash like nobody’s business, but it never happened. She grew up into a gorgeous, loving, considerate young woman and we were so close. We were like sisters.
‘Oh, and she was so hard-working. When all her friends were getting distracted by boys and all that, Tanya made up her mind that she was going to put everything into her school work so that she could get top grades and go to university to learn to be a solicitor. It upset her that there was so much unfairness in the world and she decided to study law so that she could go on to do something about that in her working life. That was my Tanya in a nutshell. Always putting others first.
‘She worked her way up to become one of the partners of a firm in Manchester – only a small firm, but they took on a lot of work for practically nothing to help people and, you know, charities and stuff who couldn’t afford to pay big legal fees, but that was what she wanted to do. Then she started seeing one of the other partners at the firm, a nice lad called Ryan, and I’ve never seen her as happy as she was the time she brought Ryan over to Sheffield to meet us. They were talking about getting married and they had plans to take off and have such adventures. You know what young people are like these days. The world is their playground. Anyway, that time she brought Ryan to meet us was the last time I saw her.’
Martin watched the light in her eyes die. She seemed to melt into her pillows before him.
‘I still don’t know what Frank told her to turn her against me and I have no idea why he would do such a thing. She just cut me off, like I was a disease. She never answered my calls on the phone, nothing. No explanation. I even caught the train to Manchester to go to the last address I had for her, but the house was empty and there was a ‘For Sale’ sign in the garden. She and Ryan must have moved in together. Perhaps they’re married now as well. They never invited me.’
She stared desperately at Martin, pleading her case. ‘I did nothing wrong. I was so happy for her – for both of them – so why did she believe whatever her father told her I did without even asking for my side of the story? Why did he have to tell her whatever terrible things he said? If he thought our marriage was over, fine. It hurt me and it wasn’t what I wanted, but I would have given him his divorce. He didn’t have to do the rest. He didn’t have to break my heart as well by taking my Tanya from me. I don’t understand. How could they all be so cruel? If only I could find her and talk to her, I know we could make it right again.’
All through her agonised tale, Martin had squeezed Evelyn’s hand but now he had to release it so that he could wipe away his tears.
‘I promise you I will do everything I can to help you find Tanya,’ he said, with as much assertiveness as he could muster.
‘I know you will,’ she smiled at him. ‘You’re a good man, Martin.’
They sat, each reflecting on the emotional drain of the moment they had just shared. A few days ago, before the accident with the tree branch, they did not know each other at all. Now they shared a bond – and not only one of mutual complicity in the shooting of an innocent man. It was much more than that. They had tapped into each other’s souls.
‘Anyway,’ Evelyn suddenly declared, breaking the spell. ‘That’s my story – what about yours? I know about your café and your friends in the group, but I’ve never heard you mention about your home life. Is there a Mrs Bestwick?’
He grinned, amusing himself with the thought.
‘No, there isn’t,’ he said, dismissively.
She was not about to let it drop. There was so much she had given up about herself that she felt it gave her the right to push back the boundaries of his privacy. Caring less about the niceties was one of the privileges of being old.
‘Is there anyone special then?’
Martin hesitated.
‘I was in a relationship. A serious relationship, but we split up. About a year and a half ago – just over a year and a half ago.’
It hurt to say the words. He never talked about it.
‘I see,’ she said. She could tell the feelings were still raw, but she wanted to show she cared.
‘What was her name?’
‘Jody,’ he replied. ‘His name was Jody.’
‘His?’ She was startled. She hadn’t expected that.
‘So you’re…’
He nodded confirmation. She fell quiet.
‘Oh!’
Martin allowed the silence to gather. He had to let her come to terms with the knowledge in her own way. Different people reacted in different ways. Older people sometimes found it harder to accept. They saw things through another perspective in their day.
‘I see,’ Evelyn said at last. ‘Well that’s…’
She offered no further indication as to exactly what she thought it was for a few more seconds, but then smiled and reached with her left hand to where he still cupped her right hand on the bed and tapped him reassuringly.
‘That’s perfectly fine. I had no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever known a… you know. But that’s… fine.’
Her awkwardness was endearing, but Martin believed that she had negotiated what was, for some, the difficult first step of understanding.
‘Good,’ he replied.
‘I wouldn’t have been able to tell,’ she confessed, as if she perhaps should.
‘I’ve never felt the need to wear my sexuality like a badge,’ he said. ‘It’s just who I am.’
‘Right.’ She nodded, pleased with herself for how well she had accepted this. It was the first time she had experienced such a conversation first hand. People were far less up front about it in her day. There was an invisible barrier of persecution and misunderstanding which discouraged such honesty and that was the way it was.
‘Good for you,’ she said. ‘It’s who you are. That’s all that matters. If anybody has a problem with that, well they can just… fuck off!’
Her unexpected burst of candour stunned Martin momentarily. It felt strange to hear that word coming from her mouth. But then he laughed out loud and they giggled
together, feeding off each other’s inability to stop like a couple of teenagers on the back row of a bus. They were helpless.
They laughed until it hurt. Evelyn took off her glasses to dab at her damp eyes. She hadn’t laughed like that in so many years.
Martin, when he could muster the control to make his body do as he wanted it to again, stood and planted a soft kiss in the middle of her forehead. He looked at her with real affection.
‘Mrs Dawes,’ he said, ‘you are priceless.’
13
It was not the Environment Agency’s fault. Their report was no drier or more tedious than most of the other reports that ended up on his desk. It was not as if he did not appreciate their perspective on the issue of groundwater protection. Its findings were truly relevant to the report he was due to present to the council in a matter of days. He had to stay on top of the latest official guidance if he were to provide a compelling argument for why the Swarbrook Hill project should be allowed to progress smoothly through the planning processes, but the words of the report simply could not complete the journey from the eye to the brain.
Yuvraj Patel stood up from his armchair and meandered slowly to the French doors. He pulled open one of the heavy full-length curtains to gaze out into the dim half-light that had settled over his back garden and sent a startled fox scurrying away in retreat.
He barely noticed the fox’s flight. He stood for minutes, not moving at all, looking but not seeing. His mind was elsewhere. It was certainly not on the Environment Agency report.
The phone call with Helena that afternoon had been long and difficult. It would have been better if they had been able to meet face to face, so that he would have been able to physically comfort her and attempt to calm her with his presence, but she had not wanted to leave Darrell alone. She said she feared that the gunman would come back.
Helena sounded like her nerves had gone through the shredder. At times, she was barely making sense, going round in circles about how ‘they’ were on to their plan and about how ‘they’ would clearly stop at nothing to prevent them from allowing Swarbrook Hill to proceed. Not only was she unmoved in her opinion that they ought to go to Cranford Hardstaff straight away and demand that he immediately end their arrangement with the developers and damn the money, she was now talking in terms of fleeing the country until it was safe to return.
