Ship Ahoy! (A Cliffhanger Novel Book 3)

by T. J. Middleton

  ‘Didn’t you check what she was doing?’

  ‘Now there’s the thing. I would have obviously, but you never guess who was there at the same time. Tina fucking Newdick, that’s who, asking me questions, following me about like a love-sick collie. I could hardly draw attention as to why I was there, what I was doing, could I? She’s not your greatest fan you know. Blame her if you want. Blame Trudi. But not me.’

  She was onto it like a flash.

  ‘Who’s the hell’s Trudi?’

  ‘Did I say Trudi?’

  ‘She’s the shop assistant, isn’t she?’ She chucked the sweater at me. ‘Fuck me Al. You were too busy chatting up the shop assistant to see what she was doing. Jesus, you never change do you.’

  She picked up an armful of clobber, stormed off into the bedroom. Fifteen minutes later she was back in front of me, hand on hip. I tried to keep a straight face, but Torvill, she nearly fell off her perch.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It all fits Audrey you have to admit that. Fits like a glove. A red glove maybe, but still a glove.’

  ‘I look like I’ve just escaped from a fun-fair.’

  ‘Well perhaps you shouldn’t be wearing those rugger socks up over your tights. I mean that is a bit extreme Audrey. One or the other surely.’

  ‘Have you taken a good look at these tights?’

  ‘No. What’s wrong with them? ’

  ‘They’ve got Father Christmas running up and down the legs, that’s what wrong with them. I’ll stick out a mile dressed like this.’

  ‘Yes, but think about it Audrey. Anyone searching for you will be looking for someone trying not to be noticed. Audrey Incognito. Audrey Blending In. But Audrey looking like Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer? I don’t think so. It’s not your escaped felon’s natural choice of clothing is it? What with your spiky hair and more muscular physique, you and that gear could march up and down outside Dorchester nick for a month and no one would recognise you. I know, why don’t we test it out?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Test it out, Let’s walk to the cove and back. Have a spot of tea.’

  It had struck me that Audrey wearing bright red was no bad thing. I wasn’t going to turn her in, but if she got picked up, that wouldn’t be my fault. It would be fate. Fate dressed in red. The police would pull me in, try and get me for aiding and abetting, but I’d tell them I was acting under duress, that she‘d threatened to do for Emily if I didn’t do as I was told. Given Audrey’s previous form, they’d be bound to believe me. In fact I could claim that I’d bought the red clothes deliberate, so as to draw attention to her. I might even get a reward.

  She was looking at me hard. I’d seen that expression before.

  ‘You dress me up like an Oxford Street fairy light, and want me to walk down in broad daylight to one of Dorsetshire’s premier beauty spots? Anyone would think you’re trying to get me put back inside.’

  ‘Audrey! I said I’d help and that’s what I’m doing. But twenty-four hours and that’s it.’

  She brushed down the front of her dress. The static in the nylon flared it right up, like she’d been plugged in. She had to push it down again, just so she could see over the top.

  ‘I need you for longer than that. You’ve got to help me get out of the country. It can’t be that difficult. South Africa, that’s where I’m headed. Michaela’s waiting for me.’

  ‘I was wondering when she’d come into the picture. Why isn’t she here, helping you now?’

  ‘I could hardly ring her up and tell her I was going to do it could I? She knows I’ll get in touch when I can. It’s up to you for the moment, I’m afraid. You can do it. I know you can.’

  ‘There’s no use trying to sweet-talk me Audrey. My mind’s made up. After tonight, you got to leave. I can’t afford to get mixed up in this.’

  ‘You are mixed up. Besides, you don’t have a say in the matter.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Help me escape or I’ll send Adam Rump that letter you wrote.’

  ‘Letter? What letter?’

  Audrey re-arranged the frill on her blouse. She looked like she was on a dance floor, waiting to be turned upside down.

  ‘The letter you wrote to Emily, confessing everything; me, Robin, his poor mother. Surprised I found it so easily. Didn’t you think I’d go through this place the moment you left? Fancy pushing his mother off a cliff as well.’

  A coldness swept over me, like when mum had caught me once nicking change from her purse, like everything that I was trying to be was starting to unravel in front of my face. She couldn’t have found that letter, couldn’t. Emily had torn it up in front of my very eyes, torn it up into a thousand pieces out on the Beacon and throw it to the wind. It didn’t make any sense.

  I sat down. Audrey stood over me.

  ‘I thought that would take the wind out of your sails. Don’t worry Al. I’m not going to shop you, not if you behave yourself, do the right thing. I’m a very forgiving person under the right circumstances. You scuppering our only daughter’s route to happiness, well, who’s to say Robin would have been the right choice in the end? Who’s to say that Carol fleeing to Australia where we never see her and losing her leg into the bargain, wasn’t the better alternative? As for Robin’s mother, a blameless woman who by all accounts lived a blameless and pious life, and who had come to the place where he had spent so many happy hours, on the anniversary of his death, to scatter his ashes, or so it would appear, well it wasn’t me in that yellow oilskin was it, and that’s the main thing. I’m still here, alive and kicking—not to mention cycling. You killed those two and I have to answer for Miranda and your two fish, which I agree was an unnecessary act of retaliation. But hey, that was me. That was you. Now, we can either put our differences aside and work on this problem of mine together in a civilised fashion or we can drag each other down, the choice is yours. A few years ago, you’d have gone for the second option, just to see me squirm, but now, with little Miss Artistry in your life, I don’t think so. I want my new life and you want yours, it’s as simple as that. The letter, consider it our contract. So, what do you say?’

  I didn’t know what to say. First Mrs Durand-Deacon and now Audrey, both of them squeezing the life blood out of me. What is it with women, the way they treat me? I’d be better off being a Spanish donkey.

  ‘Where’s the letter now?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m going to tell you that right away, just before I lie down in front of the car. Though where I found it tells its own story.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’ She came up, patted me on the head.

  ‘I don’t know whether I should tell you that either, whether it’s fair. Such a violation might change your outlook on things, things you treasure. Before I tell you anything, I have to know. Do we have a deal?’

  ‘Audrey I…’

  The doorbell rang. Audrey twitched back the curtain, let it drop back quick, her face dark and brooding, like when thunder clouds sweep over.

  ‘You bastard!’ she spat. ‘Couldn’t wait could you? Shopped me while you were shopping. Yes, that would appeal to you wouldn’t it? Well you’ve really cooked your goose now, Al Greenwood. This time tomorrow we’ll both be back inside. And you know what? I’ll claim I broke out to bring you to justice.’ She laughed, hard and hollow. ‘Probably get my sentence reduced. And you, you’ll be there for the rest of your days.’

  ‘What you on about?’ I twitched the curtain myself. Detective Adam Rump was on his knees, peering through the letter box, one of them dinky little police-cars parked outside. The letter box banged up and down.

  ‘Hello? Anyone at home?’

  ‘After all you promised, Al. Well, it’s your funeral.’

  She moved towards the passageway. I grabbed her arm, pulled her back.

  ‘Audrey listen! I didn’t phone him, honest. I haven’t phoned anyone, nothing. What, I’d shop my own wife to the likes of Adam Rump? I could have done that last night couldn’t I, while you was as
leep? But I didn’t. I got you a curry, which by the way you haven’t eaten yet. I’ll get you another one if you want. We’ll sit together, talk about it all. I’ll go every night if you want, make plans, make arrangements, help you, feed you, do whatever it takes to get you out of here. He’s not here because of me Audrey. It’s because of you.’

  The bell rang again.

  ‘You think I want the police sniffing around me again? Course I don’t. Look. How about this? We get through this, we got a deal. I help you anywhere you want to go. We don’t, you can take me down with you. Is that fair?’

  She stared at me, searching my face.

  ‘Deal?’ She nodded.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Right. You better make a run for it. Leg it to the Beacon. I’ll meet you in the caravan when he’s gone.’

  She stood there, legs planted apart like days of old. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘In this get-up? If he doesn’t spot me, the bull will.’

  ‘Mr Greenwood,’ Rump called out. ‘You in there? We need to talk.’ There was impatience in his voice.

  ‘What then? This is a bungalow Audrey. There aren’t any hiding places. You could try copying the nymph I suppose, strip off and stand the other side of the pond, but you’re the wrong colour, least you were when I last saw you.’

  She raised her arm to wave the suggestion away, then stopped half way through.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said and ran into the conservatory. Em’s sketching pad and box of pencils lay on the chaise longue.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said and started pulling the red jersey over her head.

  ‘Audrey. What the devil?’

  ‘You’re an artist aren’t you? Well, I’m your model, right?’ Off came the red skirt and tights. ‘He might have come snooping around, but he won’t expect me standing in front of him, without a stitch on.’

  ‘He might not be expecting it, but he might notice it. You can’t possibly…’

  She could. She was standing before me, all pink and defiant.

  ‘Al, It’s Adam Rump remember? The Human Fish. Knowing him he won’t even dare look in my direction. Now, pull that easel out into the middle of the room, and go and answer the door. Make like you’ve just been interrupted.’

  I stood there looking hard at her. I’d seen her naked before, natch, but not like this. It wasn’t just that she looked fitter, it was more like her body finally knew who she was. She was different, more, more all of one, if you see what I mean. Even now, with Rump’s handcuffs at the ready, there was something strong lying inside her, that no one, me, Rump, not even Michaela, could touch. She’d learnt something.

  ‘What’s the matter Al?’ she said

  ‘Nothing, it’s just…’

  ‘The first time you’ve seen me, right? The real me.’

  The doorbell rang again, long this time. She stepped forward, kissed me on the lips, gave me a little push.

  ‘It’s all right. We’ll be fine.’

  She was tender, like a lover almost, like she was remembering when there was just the two of us, when we were young, starting out. Yes, we fought like cat and dogs most of the time, but there’d been moments when we’d both glimpsed what could have been, if I hadn’t been me and she hadn’t been her. I pulled Em’s easel into the middle of the room, grabbed a stick of charcoal and hurried out, tying Em’s smock round my waist. It was a bit on the skimpy side, but what the hell. We artist types, we don’t care do we? I opened the door. Rump was standing there in his horrible grey mac, trying to peer through the window. It was summer and he was dressed like February. No dress sense. policeman.

  ‘Well, Adam,’ I said. ‘This is a welcome surprise. Good job I’m working in the studio today.’

  He turned, looking dead guilty. He coughed.

  ‘May I come in, Mr Greenwood?’

  ‘Mr Greenwood is it? Christ what I have done now. If it’s about parking in the Lidl’s disabled bay again…’ I stood aside. Rump stepped in, took off his hat, twiddled it in his fingers.

  ‘How’s tricks?’ I said.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And Mother Teresa? Still giving you hell?’

  Mother Teresa was his prize koi. Had splodges in all the right places, but as toffee-nosed a slab of carp as you’re ever likely to meet. Judgemental wasn’t in it. Disapproved of loose living in all its forms, multi-coloured shorts, eating hamburgers, listening to the racing results. Drinking was the worst. Rump approached the pool with a whiff on alcohol on his breath and she was under her Japanese waterfall faster than that bullet train they got over there. I mean what’s the point of having a prize koi if you can’t appreciate her grace and majesty with a can of Lowenbrau in your hand? Rump’s face screwed up, like I’d just punched him on the nose.

  ‘She’s suffering from a nasty attack of goitres.’ I tried not to smile.

  ‘I am sorry. So unsightly, goitres.’

  ‘Thank you. Look, this isn’t a social call. You’ve probably heard. Your wife’s escaped from prison.’

  ‘I haven’t got a wife.’

  ‘Your ex-wife, Audrey.’ I stared at him, expressionless. ‘You must remember Audrey, Mr Greenwood.’

  ‘I remember her all right. And, yes I did hear about it. The thing is, I’m a little disappointed Adam, considering what you put me through. I thought you might have got on the blower, to warn me like.’

  I stalked off towards the lounge. Torvill glowered at him from the mantelpiece as he followed me into the room. She can do judgmental too when she wants to.

  ‘I suppose you want to have a look around.’ I said, turning round on him. ‘That’s why you’ve come isn’t it? You think she might be here, that I might be helping her. Jesus Christ, Adam, helping that woman after all the harm she’s done me?’ He shuffled his feet.

  ‘We had a tip off this lunchtime. Woman’s voice. My superiors were all for a full blown raid until I stepped in. “Come off it,” I told them. “Al Greenwood, protecting the woman who murdered his Asagis?’

  ‘And Miranda,’ I reminded him. He waved her memory away.

  ‘Her too obviously. So we reached a compromise. I would come unannounced and give the premises a professional going over but without the usual fanfare of dogs and search warrants and other paraphernalia. That way the powers-that-be would be satisfied and we would have acted with sensitivity as regards to your past history.’

  He looked quite pleased with himself.

  ‘Did you think that up all on your own, Adam?’

  ‘Well, rather me than anybody else, wouldn’t you say.’ I clapped him on the back.

  ‘Much appreciated. Us fish fanciers you know, it’s like a code isn’t it, the law of the pond or something, best fin forward. Look around. Help yourself. It won’t take you long. I’ll be in the conservatory working when you’ve finished. I’m using the old lead pencil a lot these days did you know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes. Two dimensional art. It’s got a lot going for it. Depth with no depth if you get my drift.’

  I strolled back. Audrey was standing with her face to the wall, the terra cotta plant pot stuck on her head, like she was some bird from the olden days fetching water from the well. Well, she had the shoulders for it. One hand she had on her hip, the other held the pot steady.

  ‘Bloody hell Audrey, that’s a bit extreme isn’t. And where’s Em’s plant?’

  ‘In the stove,’ she whispered. ‘Have you started drawing yet?’

  I drew down a fresh sheet of paper and started squiggling. We could hear Rump walking about, first the master bedroom, then the spare and the spare en suite.

  ‘I have to say Audrey, I’m impressed. The last time I saw you strip off that fast was when your Dad nipped out for a packet of fags and we had an eight and a half minute window in which to indulge in a bout of undetectable carnal ecstasy.’

  ‘Undetectable until he found your underwear draped over the television afterwards.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’
>
  ‘Well think straight now. And stop calling me Audrey.’

  Footsteps came marching down the corridor. Rump sprang in, all cheerful, rubbing his hands like it was winter.

  ‘That seems to be all in…’ he stopped, like someone had pulled the plug on him.

  ‘Ah, yes. Should have warned you, Adam. This is…’ that was a point. Who the bloody hell was she? I said the first name that popped into my head.

  ‘This is Mrs Durand-Deacon, Inspector. Mrs Durand-Deacon hails from Frinton. She’s a sculpturer like me.’

  ‘Not one of those hole-in-the-body fanatics I hope?’ he laughed.

  Audrey waved her hand away. The vase wobbled dangerously.

  ‘Me neither,’ he said. ‘Can’t see the point of them myself. I might not be an expert on so-called modern art, but let me tell you, I know what makes sense and what doesn’t. Holes in things just doesn’t make any sense in my opinion. I mean how often do you see women lying around with holes in them?’

  There was no answer to that.

  ‘Or men for that matter,’ he added.

  ‘Trees,’ I offered. ‘Trees have holes in them. For the owls.’ Conversation came to a temporary halt after that.

  ‘So, what do you sculpt?’ He was all politeness, Adam Rump. I stepped in.

  ‘Well at the moment, she sculpts me and I sculpt her. What we call cross-fertilisation vis-à-vis the artist’s interpretation of the human form. A dab hand at the hammer and chisel is Mrs Durand-Deacon, that is when she’s not being ogled at by yours truly. I mean, it’s quite a view, I think you’ll agree.’

  He nodded. The last time he’d seen Audrey she was two stone overweight.

  ‘This is what you call a classic pose Adam, like what the Greeks went in for. Hence the vase. If I had some grapes I could stick some between her toes, like she was making Retsina. They did that you know, the Greeks, made wine in the nuddie.’

  ‘Did they?’ Rump was fingering his collar. He seemed to have difficulty with his breathing.

  ‘Yes. When I’m finished I’m thinking of putting her up by the pond, get rid of the Nymph. Her bandy knee you know, it’s getting worse.’