Whispers in the Rigging

by steve higgs

  ‘I pieced it together.’ I said while shrugging. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because he was there when they took me. I spotted the guards coming out of a tiny brick building that couldn’t possibly have housed them all late last night. I picked the lock and went in after everyone else had gone home and found them making cigarettes down there. Oh, did you get the film I sent you?’ His brain was jumping from one thought to the next.

  ‘I did. I used it to fool Alex Jordan into playing his hand and to get CI Quinn to come here with reinforcements.’

  ‘Oh. Good. Good.’

  I could see he was going to launch into a long-winded account of what had happened to him, but I was getting cold and I was most definitely feeling battered. I wanted to get clean and warm and sit on the sofa with a dog on each leg while I drank a cup of tea.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I asked. ‘Did they hurt you?’

  ‘Not really.’ He replied. ‘They duffed me up a bit until I stopped resisting, then put me in a room with two blokes called Dave. We tried to break out but there was an armed guard outside.’

  ‘Are the Daves okay?’

  ‘Same as me. They were worried though, convinced they planned to kill us. I did my best to assure them they would never be bold enough to kill a copper, but they didn’t believe me.’

  Neither did I. Joseph’s naivety was a wonder to behold. I said, ‘You will have a cool story to tell now at least.’ I wasn’t wrong in that assessment either. He had broken into a criminal gang’s underground lair, confronted the big boss and escaped with the assistance of a special forces raid. Okay, some of that was embellishing the truth, but he could make it work.

  ‘I really have to go.’ I pointed out. I wanted to talk to my father and to Alan Page, neither of whom I could contact as my phone was gone. I needed to get home, but then, as Joseph shook my hand and started back toward the Dockyard entrance building, I saw Big Ben coming out of it.

  He waved that he had seen me and was on his way over. I waited for him.

  ‘You look like crap, mate.’ He said as he drew near. ‘Your ear looks like it’s coming off.’

  I felt my ears, the right one was crusted with blood. I must have cut it when I fell off the car and hit the gravel. It didn’t feel torn though. I sagged against the front of my car.

  Big Ben gave me a concerned look. ’Are you okay?’

  I laughed. Looking down at my ruined shoes, the holes in the knees of my trousers where I could see my skinned and bleeding knees, the burn holes in my shirt which didn’t stop at my shirt – the skin beneath would require some soothing salve, my ragged ear, the cuts to my knuckles and all the bruising I had suffered from fighting in the last few days, I had to laugh at myself. At my life.

  ‘What is it?’ He asked.

  ’In all these wounds you can see, the thing that hurts me most is the bruise to the back of my neck where my sister grabbed me while delivering her baby.’

  He joined in laughing.

  Later that evening, with a snuggly dog on each thigh and a cooling cup of tea in my hand I fell asleep. I woke only briefly when the sound of the dogs finishing my tea reached my ears.

  I had called my dad at his house but as expected had got my mother. She answered the phone with a demand, ‘Do you know where your father has been?’

  ‘Where did he tell you he had been?’ I asked in return, idly swishing the water and bubbles around my bath as it filled. I wanted to deny all knowledge, but that would mean lying directly to my mother. Instead I was going to dance around the truth and see if I could avoid dropping him in it.

  ‘He says he joined a clandestine force in order to storm an underground lair and free hostages held by a criminal gang.’

  ‘Then I guess that is where he was. I was one of the hostages.’

  ‘Okay, don’t tell me.’ She snapped. ‘I shall expect to see you for Sunday lunch. Two o’clock, don’t be late.’

  ‘Okay, Mother.’ I was answering on autopilot, wondering how dad and I had got away so easily from her wrath. Maybe she was just glad to have him home and in one piece. Maybe she was plotting revenge. I would find out soon enough.

  ‘Will you be bringing a date?’ She asked.

  I though of Natasha and groaned internally. I was going to have to deal with that soon. What I said was, ‘Not unless you count Bull and Dozer.’ She muttered something about never getting grandchildren and was gone.

  Coomer Castle. Friday, November 25th 1000hrs

  The blend of Sihk and Christian wedding traditions resulted in a ceremony at the palatial Coomer Castle just outside Rochester, on a day when the sun decided to shine, and the world felt like a perfect place to be.

  I had arrived at the venue at 1000hrs to make sure that everything was being set up according to the happy couple’s desires. They had a few very specific requests, but I needn’t have worried as it was all being taken care of. The plush interior was matched by the perfectly landscaped acres of garden and long, winding driveway that would wow the guests as they arrived.

  I kept Bull and Dozer on their leads both inside and outside the great house though no one insisted upon it. There was all too much chance one of them would poop somewhere if I let them off. I had taken the option of staying overnight in the castle when it had first been offered three weeks ago upon booking the event because it meant I could keep the dogs close by instead of leaving them at home with Mrs Comerforth yet again. After my repeated absences this week I was glad I had. They would sleep happily enough during the ceremony and come out to mingle and charm people during the reception. If I am honest, it also occurred to me that they would attract the attention of the young women at the wedding. They always brought the ladies running wherever they went, a feature I was thankful for, but rarely managed to convert into anything worthwhile.

  I poked around in the main hall the reception was to be held in and asked some pertinent questions about timings though I soon came to accept that I was just getting in the way. As I wandered off, thinking that I still had an hour before I would need to drive back to Finchampstead to collect the groom, I remembered Natasha.

  We hadn’t started dating when I booked the room at the castle but I had raised the subject of the wedding on our third date. At the time we had been in a restaurant and had kissed as we contemplated the romantic opportunity it presented. Her eyes had twinkled thinking about dressing up and then getting undressed and I had played along, continually asking myself why I wasn’t more excited about the prospect.

  With the wedding looming and my body feeling like it had been run over by a truck, I had staggered home yesterday afternoon and fallen into a hot bath. None of my injuries were life threatening nor would any of them still be hurting me a week from now, but right then I could barely find the bits that didn’t hurt. That was just another excuse though. I had given thought to calling Natasha to tell her about my week and my current state because I could use it to postpone seeing her and dissuade her from attending the wedding with me. I saw how weak and stupid it sounded though.

  I had to break up with her. I felt awful at the prospect. I had always hated break ups. Not that I had ever broken off many relationships with girls. I was always the one that got dumped, not the other way around. This time though I needed to grow a set and be the man instead of stringing the poor girl along any further.

  Making the decision to call her though didn’t solve the problem as I had lost my phone in the tunnels. Andriy had confiscated it when the bag went over my head. It might still be down there but if found by the police it would be labelled as evidence and placed into a little evidence bag, catalogued and placed on a shelf in a box somewhere and never be seen again. I could suppose there existed a slim chance I might be able to get it back, but I did not consider it worth pursuing. Either way, I had no phone to call Natasha with right now.

  As it turned out, I didn’t need to. I had been cooling down after the heat of the bath, sitting quietly on my bed and thinking about what I should eat a
s my stomach was now rumbling when the dogs started barking. Someone was at the door.

  With a towel wrapped firmly around my waist and steam rising from my skin, I opened the door a crack to find Natasha smiling at me.

  ‘I heard you needed some TLC.’ She said. Big Ben would be to blame no doubt. I could hardly complain though, he would have called her believing that she would come to my house, take off her clothes and make me forget the bits that hurt.

  She wasn’t wrong about the desire for TLC either. Mr. Wriggly certainly wanted some. It was cold out, so I invited her in, resolving to do what was right and end our relationship before she could kiss me or confuse me and get my towel off. The very thought was already making Mr. Wriggly stir.

  As she passed me, and I closed the door she started speaking, ‘Tempest I wondered how you would react to seeing me and hoped that I had it wrong, but I can see that my instincts were right. I’ll make this easy for both of us. It’s time to break up.’

  I didn’t say anything. I was terrible at dealing with negative emotions from women. It was a major flaw in my personality that had never done me any favours, but here I was, getting exactly what I wanted, and I had to keep my mouth shut because my natural reaction was to argue with her.

  ‘I saw it in your eyes the moment you opened the door.’ Her voice cracked just a little as she shook her head and shut her eyes. When she reopened them, she said, ‘I want to thank you for not sleeping with me. I guess you were never in to me.’ I opened my mouth to protest, but she silenced me by pressing on. ‘It’s okay, Tempest, no explanation is needed. Sometimes things just don’t work out. Sometimes there is no spark even when we want there to be.’

  She took a step toward me, entering my personal space where I could smell her perfume and feel the warmth of her body radiating outward. Mr. Wriggly was getting agitated three feet below my mouth which was still trying to find something intelligent and appropriate to say.

  She took my hand, looked me in the eyes and kissed my cheek. ‘You’re one of the good guys, Tempest. Don’t forget that.’

  Then she was gone. Out of the door and out of my life and all I felt was relief. Relief combined with a sense of confusion because I had just allowed a gorgeous woman to slip through my fingers in favour of… what?

  The question was still bouncing around inside my pitifully empty skull nearly eighteen hours later as I walked the dogs through the picturesque gardens of the castle. It was done though, and this was kind of our second break up. There would be no third attempt.

  At 1100hrs I was changed into my usual smart casual clothing, a combination of shirt, jeans and shoes with a jumper on to keep the cold at bay. The temperature outside demanded a coat but the bucket seats on my Porsche were too snug to allow the extra layer. I pulled out of the car park begging the heated seats to get on with warming me up as I set off to collect Jagjit. As best man it was my responsibility to get him to the venue. What I really wanted to do was sink enough gin to dull the aches I felt. This was Jagjit’s big day though so I was refusing to shirk my responsibilities or even mention my soreness and fatigue to the groom. Thankfully there were very few bruises to my face. My stomach was a mosaic of interesting colours where it had been punched repeatedly, the same effect appeared on my back, though I struggled to see it even in the mirror and in a few places on my arms, legs and shoulder. I had some scratch marks on the right-hand side of my face where I had fallen off the car but the cut to my ear was superficial and no longer visible. Other than a split lip I would be presentable enough for photographs if I got one of the ladies to apply some foundation to even out the marks I did have. I could relax and recover over the weekend; Jagjit didn’t need to know how broken I felt.

  It was going to be a great day.

  The Wedding of Jagjit Singh and Alice Windecote. Friday, November 25th 1630hrs

  After five hours of dashing about performing my best man duties, the wedding itself was done. It would be hard to find sufficient superlatives to adequately describe it, so let’s just say it was perfect.

  Alice had been radiant, her loveliness only surpassed by the width of Jagjit’s smile as he took her hand. Parents had cried, friends had cheered and many, many, many photographs had been taken.

  We were now in the brief lull between ceremony and reception where guests got to chat properly for the first time, catching up with old relatives as they got a drink together at the bar. I had slumped into a chair in a corner of the room at a table by myself. I just needed a few minutes to rest before I got started again. Jagjit and Alice had a toastmaster for the evening reception which was due to start at 1800hrs. The gap between ceremony and reception planned deliberately to give time for the additional one hundred or so guests to arrive. Thankfully my role was about done, and my next task was to fetch my dogs. They would want to stretch their legs, empty their bladders and have some dinner.

  ‘Hey, slack pants. How’re you feeling?’ Asked Big Ben. He had seen me sitting by myself and was delivering what looked very suspiciously like a large gin and tonic. My first of the day. He didn’t wait for me to answer though. He asked, ‘Have you seen Basic’s guest?’

  ‘No.’ I looked about the room, curious now about who he had with him. ‘Who is it?’

  Big Ben didn’t answer though, he waited for me to spot our friend where he was lounging against the bar. The view to him was blocked by other people getting drinks. As they moved away, I saw who Big Ben had been referring to.

  It was the cute, but diminutive Japanese lady from the bar in Rochester. The one that had liked his air-guitar play.

  ‘Are they dating?’ I asked, then heard the surprise in my voice.

  ‘Apparently so. Hilary and Anthea were chatting with them earlier. Her name is Maisy. She’s an engineer in the aerospace industry and has a thing for large, dopey men it would seem.

  ‘Well done, Basic.’ I watched with awe and a little bit of jealousy as he stood with his arm around her, they were chatting about something and looked like a couple already. He had what I wanted.

  Big Ben had another question. ‘Did you enjoy seeing Natasha yesterday?’

  He placed my drink down which freed his hand up to make suggestive gestures.

  A little tired and a little melancholy, I looked up at my big friend, ‘We broke up, mate.’

  ‘Really? Is that before or after you shagged her?’

  ‘Before.’ I picked up my glass of gin saying, ‘Thanks.’ As I took a gulp. ‘I guess you noticed that she is not here.’

  ‘I did. I could call you weak, but you already know that you are so instead I will point out the person that just walked in.’

  Confused, I followed Big Ben’s outstretched finger to see Amanda entering the hall. She was looking around, trying to spot someone she recognised. As I watched, she spotted Hilary, smiled and waved and made her way to him at the bar. He was stood with his wife, Anthea. I watched as he introduced her to Amanda. The scene played out without dialogue as their voices were lost in the general din of conversation and background music.

  Amanda looked beautiful. She always did.

  ‘You’re panting.’ Big Ben pointed out, derision in his timbre.

  He was right. My heart was beating faster, and my mouth was hanging open.

  I had it bad.

  Big Ben, who was sitting next to me, leaned in closer so I would hear every one of the next words he said. ‘She broke up with her boyfriend.’

  It felt like a jolt of electricity passing through my body.

  ‘Wh, how… How do you even know that?’ Amanda was a private person. She didn’t tell me anything about herself. How was it that Big Ben kept track of her relationships?

  ‘I know people that know her.’ He replied.

  Patience. Patience would have tipped him off. And she would have done so, so that he could tell me.

  I slowly got to my feet. They felt leaden. I was going to have to talk to Amanda. It was something I did every day without thinking about it because we worked
together, now though I was beginning to sweat at the prospect.

  ‘Go get her.’ Big Ben cheered from behind me as I started to cross the room.

  She saw me coming and waved with a happy smile. At the gesture my heart stopped for a second before restarting.

  All I had to do was talk to a girl. That was what I told myself as the distance between us continued to diminish. Why was it that I felt wrestling a shark was an easier option? I checked to make sure she wasn’t looking, turned away slightly and gave myself a few face slaps. I was actually standing in the middle of the reception hall slapping my face in a bid to jolt myself into a better frame of mind.

  I gave myself one last instruction to get a grip, smoothed down my jacket and went to her.

  With a broad smile I said, ‘Good evening, Amanda. It’s so good to see you. I didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘I wasn’t. Big Ben called, said he didn’t have a date and promised he wouldn’t hit on me.’ As she spoke, she dodged my hand shake, looped an arm around my neck and lightly kissed my face.

  Another lightning bolt surged through me. She was full of energy and life and was clearly very happy. ‘How about you buy me a drink, boss?’ She asked, her voice a playful laugh as she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bar. Hilary and Anthea exchanged glances as we both waved them a brief goodbye.

  At the bar, I said, ‘How about you never call me boss again?’

  ‘You pay my wages.’ She pointed out.

  I inclined my head to acknowledge her correctness, ‘Nevertheless, it makes me uncomfortable.’

  Amanda took a pace away from me. She had a serious expression now. One that suggested she was about to say something vital or important.

  ‘What’ll it be folks?’ Asked a barman peering under the glasses hanging from the bar.

  Neither of us spoke for a moment until Amanda broke the silence, ‘Why is that, Tempest? Why is it that me calling you boss makes you uncomfortable?’