by Daniel Hurst
I’m physically fine, and no harm was done in the end, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t need to be investigated by my colleagues. I feel bad for creating paperwork for them and also for the fact that what happened has to be logged as a “near-miss,” which is not something that is generally well-received in health and safety circles. Managers will have to meet and discuss what happened and why in order to ensure that something like that can’t happen again. Blame will also have to be attributed somewhere, but there is no one to blame for what happened but me.
It’s my fault I was walking across a busy building site in a daydream, and it’s my fault that I almost got killed by a reversing excavator.
I owned up to my mistake as soon as it happened and made sure that nobody else could face punishment for the incident. But still, it’s not a good look for me, my career and the career of anybody who is in charge of maintaining safety on the site.
There was a large number scribbled on the whiteboard in the site canteen which everybody who worked there got to see on a daily basis. It was the number to show how many accidents or near-misses had occurred since construction began. Ever since the project started six months ago, that number has been zero. But now it has changed.
Now it is a number one, and I am responsible for that.
I’m a bloody statistic.
Site managers will lose recommendations and bonuses because that number didn’t stay at zero for the entirety of the project.
All because of me and my silly behaviour.
All because I was too distracted thinking about that woman at the door.
Now I’m at home lying on the bed even though it’s barely six, and I never go horizontal this early. On a normal day, I’d either be in the kitchen preparing something for dinner or I’d be at the gym working up a sweat after a busy day on site. I’d be active. I’d be useful. I’d be normal. Yet here I am, being of no use to anybody. All because some stranger told me something that may or may not be true on Saturday night.
I hear the sound of keys in the front door downstairs. Sam’s home. That means it’s only a few seconds until he sees that I’m home too. He won’t be shocked about that, but he will be shocked to see me lying on the bed. He’ll want to know why. He’ll want to know if I’m okay.
So what am I going to tell him?
I hear the front door close, and his car keys drop onto the small table in the hallway, and then I hear him call out to me. I’m tempted to jump off the bed quickly and pretend that everything is okay. Maybe I don’t have to tell him about the near-miss at work. Maybe he never has to know that his wife was very nearly squashed today. But it’s not fair to lie. Not for him or for me. Honesty is the most important element in any successful marriage, so I have to be honest. There is no other choice.
Just like Sam is being honest with me?
I have to hope so.
‘Hi, love. I’m up here!’ I call out to him, and I hear his footsteps climbing the staircase a few seconds later.
I bet he’s starving, and I wonder if he’s disappointed that I haven’t started cooking anything. Possibly but he would never say anything if so. He doesn’t expect me to have dinner on the table for him every night when he gets home.
Unlike Steve.
His poor wife must live in their kitchen.
Having decided to be upfront and honest with Sam, I stay on the bed until he has entered the room, not making any attempt to pretend like I haven’t had a bad day at work.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks as soon as he spots me.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. But there was almost an accident on site.’
‘What?’ Sam cries, rushing towards me and sitting on the bed beside me. ‘What happened?’
‘It was stupid. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and almost walked into the path of an excavator.’
‘You did what?’
‘I’m fine. But it had to go down as a near miss, and they sent me home for the day.’
‘Are you in trouble?’
‘No, nothing like that. It’s just to make sure I’m okay and not in shock or anything like that.’
‘Jesus, was it that bad?’
‘I had to be dragged out of the way.’
‘Oh my God, Rebecca. Are you serious?’
I shrug and nod my head.
‘How did this happen? Why weren’t you paying attention to where you were going?’
‘I don’t know. I guess with what happened this weekend, I’ve been finding it hard to concentrate on other things.’
Sam goes quiet at that, and I wonder what he is thinking.
‘But there’s no harm done, and it won’t happen again,’ I add, hoping that will stop him worrying about me.
‘This is ridiculous. I’m going to call the police.’
I watch as Sam takes out his mobile phone.
‘What are you talking about? What have the police got to do with anything?’
‘You almost died today because you were reeling from what that lying woman said to you. I can’t have this. We have to find out who she was and why she did it.’
‘Sam, it’s fine, really. I’m okay.’
I’m surprised at how wound up my husband has got, and he really does look like he wants to call the police. But that is silly and not at all what I want. What would he say to them when they arrived? “Hi, officers. Sorry to bother you, but my wife almost died today because she was being stupid and not paying attention. But it’s not her fault. It’s the fault of a stranger who knocked on our door a couple of nights ago and said I was cheating on her.”
I can’t imagine the police officers will be too thrilled about having their time wasted on a silly thing like that. That’s why I take the phone from my husband’s hand and toss it across the bed so he can’t call 999 with it.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks me, clearly still riled up after the shock of what I have just told him happened to me today.
‘I don’t want you to call the police. And I don’t want to think about that woman anymore. I just want things to go back to normal. I trust you, and I promise I won’t let any of my paranoid thoughts put me in danger again.’
Sam listens to everything I am telling him, but I’m not sure he is really taking it on board. That’s because he looks back at his phone again as if anxious to still make that call.
‘I mean it,’ I say, taking his hand and pulling it towards me. ‘I’m okay. Saturday night was a shock, and it’s taken me a few days to get my head around it, but I’m going to be fine. We’re going to be fine. That’s because she was lying, wasn’t she? The woman at the door. She was lying, right?’
‘Of course she was lying.’
I nod my head because that’s the last thing I needed to hear on the matter.
‘Good. Now, how about some dinner? Shall we be naughty and have a takeaway on a Monday?’
Sam gives me a wry smile, and it’s clear that he is keen too. That’s why I allow him to pick up his mobile phone again and make a call, only this time it is to the local Chinese restaurant and not the local police station. I’m happy for him to answer the door to a man clutching a bag of prawn crackers in an hour’s time. I’m just glad he won’t be answering it to a couple of police officers.
And let’s hope we never have to answer it to that woman again either.
14
SAM
It’s a pleasant surprise to be eating a Chinese takeaway on a Monday night. There are certainly worse ways to start the week. But it was not a pleasant surprise to come home and find out that Rebecca was almost involved in a fatal accident at work today. It was even more galling to learn that it happened because of what went down with that woman on Saturday night.
If I was determined to find out who she was before, I am even more dedicated now.
I still have some of my food left, but I stop eating, not because I’m full but because I’m too distracted to concentrate and enjoy it.
‘Have you had enough?’ Rebecca asks me when
she notices that I have put down my knife and fork.
‘Yeah. I might save the rest for lunch tomorrow,’ I say. ‘Gives me something to look forward to during the morning.’
Rebecca laughs and decides that she will do the same with hers, and two minutes later, the leftover food is back in its containers and chilling in the fridge where it will stay overnight.
‘Do you want to watch something?’ Rebecca asks me, but I tell her about that work email I need to read, and she doesn’t mind, saying that she fancied an early night anyway and heading for the stairs.
I tell her that I will be up shortly before giving her a kiss and heading into the kitchen, where I sit down at the table with my laptop and open it up. But even though I do need to read that email from Maria, it’s not work that I’m concerning myself with now.
Instead, I’m going to look for ways to track someone down.
I know it’s not going to be easy. For a start, I’m going to have to ask Steve if I can have a recording of that CCTV footage that he got on Saturday night so that I can give it to whoever I hire to try and find out who that woman is. But I have to do something. I had already decided to try and find out, but after what happened to Rebecca today, I’m not going to give up until I do.
But it’s not just about my wife’s paranoia surrounding this woman and what it might mean for our marriage. It’s about my paranoia too. I’m worried that this person might come back again, and she could say anything to Rebecca. She is clearly capable of lying, so who knows what else she is capable of telling her? What if this woman comes back and tells Rebecca that she is seeing me again or that I am planning on leaving her? Of course, it will all be lies, but Rebecca doesn’t know that for sure. She’ll worry, and she’ll be distracted. That could lead to another incident like today, only this time, she might not be so lucky.
As for me, how can I feel settled in my relationship knowing that there is a threat out there in the world who could come back at any minute and drop another bombshell? That woman had no right to make up a lie about me and risk everything that I have worked hard to build for myself. This home. This marriage. This life. She could have ruined everything, and for what? What could she have possibly hoped to achieve by spreading a lie into my home? I bet she never thought that someone might die, but that’s what has almost happened, and now it’s gone too far.
That’s why I have to do this.
I have to find this woman.
And I have to do it now.
Without any expertise in this area, I am taking to opening up a search engine on my computer screen and typing in the words ‘private investigator’. I don’t know if a PI is really what I need, but I’ll do some reading and find out. What I do need is somebody who has the means of doing a little digging and uncovering the truth. It might not be cheap, and it might not end up being entirely legal, but right now, I don’t care about cheap and legal. I just care about my wife, and I care about finding the woman who put my wife into such a spin that she almost ended up being run over by a machine.
The search results bring up a few websites, and I do a little exploring, clicking on a few of the links and seeing where they take me. I see numerous sites set up for PI’s, all of whom are offering their services on all manner of things.
Monitor a cheating spouse. Track down a long-lost relative. Verify information.
There’s no mention of identifying a stranger, but all these types of services essentially aim to do the same thing, which is uncover the truth, and that is all I’m looking to do.
I just want the truth.
The truth is a concept that the woman at the door clearly has no regard for. But the truth means a lot to me, and I know it means a lot to my wife too. That is why I am going to do everything I can to reveal it.
After ten minutes of browsing various sites belonging to various private investigators, I realise that I’m just going to have to pick one and go with it. There is very little to help me make that choice because this isn’t like shopping for a product. There aren’t any reviews, and there aren’t any prices. It’s all very secretive and murky.
In the end, I pick one website and scroll down to the bottom where I click on the button that says “Contact me for a quote today.”
It opens up a small box in which I have to input my email address and mobile number as well as a short message about what it is that I am hoping to achieve with the help of a PI. I add my contact information in the boxes before typing out the job that I require. I’m not really sure what to put, so I just write from the heart.
Hi. My wife and I were visited by a female stranger a couple of nights ago, and she told a very damaging lie. I would like to find out who this woman was and why she did that. I have camera footage of the woman that I can send, but that’s all I have to go on. Can you help find this person? Regards. Sam.
I re-read the message quickly to check for typos before clicking the send button. The confirmation message on screen tells me that my submission was successful and that I will be contacted shortly. I guess all I can do now is wait.
I’m just about to close down the laptop when I remember about that work email that I was supposed to look at tonight. It’s still relatively early in the evening, so I log onto my company intranet and access my emails. Finding the one from Maria, I open it up and start reading, feeling the life drain out of me as I do. Maria was right. There is a problem with one of the terms, and it’s going to take another long meeting to sort it out.
Tomorrow is going to be fun. Not.
I hit ‘Reply’ on the email and type out a quick message to my colleague telling her that she is right and that she has done well to spot the problem. Then I conclude with a sarcastic joke, saying that I can’t wait for tomorrow and that it promises to be one of the most exciting days in our careers. But just before I send it, I have a moment of doubt. What if Maria doesn’t get the sarcasm and thinks I’m being serious. Or worse, what if she doesn’t find it funny and thinks I’m weird? I know she speaks English, but she might not get the English humour over email, so that’s why I decide to delete it and just keep it simple. Then I press send, and the message whizzes away into the ether.
But as I close my laptop down, I’m struck by a thought. Why did I care so much if Maria got my joke or not? It hardly matters. Yet I did care. I cared enough to change my entire message. I’m not sure why I did that. It’s not as if I’m trying to impress her. Not like all the other guys in the office. But maybe I am. I must be if I was worried about what she would think of me.
Never mind. It’s not important. What is important is finding that mystery woman. But that won’t happen until the private investigator messages me back, so all I can do until then is go upstairs and be with my wife.
It’s been a long day.
And it’s only Monday.
Give me strength.
15
THE WOMAN
I’m one of those lucky people who enjoy what they do for a living, so I don’t need to concern myself with what day of the week it is and how long is left until the weekend. I can’t wait to go to work every day.
The only problem I have is that there just isn’t enough work around.
What I do is quite specialist. I’m not sure how many other people around the world have the same business as I do. I certainly don’t have any colleagues. I do this very much on my own, and that is vital because what I do is dangerous.
I play with people’s lives.
Of course, I don’t do that for the fun of it. I command a hefty fee, a figure that my prospective clients are often shocked at when I first give it to them. But I don’t charge a lot out of greed.
I charge a lot because I risk a lot.
Take Rebecca and Sam, for example. I’ve had to sneak into their home, and I could have been caught at any moment. That would have resulted in a prison sentence and a criminal record. That’s why I charge a lot. I need to be well compensated in case something goes wrong. But so far, nothing has ever gone wrong.
My assignments have always gone well, my clients have always been happy, and most importantly, I have avoided prison. I can’t complain. But I’m only human, so I can always find something to complain about, and that is why I’m complaining about not having enough business.
I can sometimes go days without work, and while that doesn’t matter financially because I have plenty of money from my previous jobs, it matters when it comes to keeping myself busy. It’s like I have the best job in the world, but I just can’t do it all the time. It’s very frustrating, but I guess that is perhaps the price to pay for being ahead of my time. As I said, I don’t know anyone else who does what I do. It’s not that there isn’t a market for it. It’s just that it’s very niche, and most importantly, it’s very hard to advertise. I can’t just put up a billboard or run a commercial. My success in keeping my business away from the prying eyes of the police is down to discretion. All my clients have to sign an agreement that says they will never disclose what I do in the event of it being uncovered. That keeps me safe, but it also keeps them safe too. They are just as guilty as I am.
The only difference between us is I get rich while they get the chance to snare the man or woman of their dreams.
Here’s how it works. A prospective client will contact me and tell me their story. It’s nearly always the same story, and the only things that change are the names. Here’s an example. Say there’s a woman called Sarah and she is in love with a man called Simon. Now Sarah could just tell Simon that she likes him and ask him out for a drink, but there is just one problem. Simon is married to Stella, and he’s a good guy, so he’s not going to cheat or leave his wife. So what can Sarah do? Give up on her heart’s desire and find somebody else to fall in love with or get serious about what she really wants?
If she gives up, she has no one to blame but herself.
But if she gets serious, that’s when she gives me a call.
It’s at that point that Sarah will give me Simon and Stella’s names, as well as their address, and that’s when I go to work learning everything that I can about them.
