Verbatim

by Andrew Hill

  Our newly-rejuvenated author met Grant on a Thursday and again one week later and she couldn’t keep her mind off him. Today was the third Thursday and Carol presumed it would also be a day off for the handsome man in a park.

  This was a drizzly day and the forecast wasn’t good so a walk in the Duke of Gloucester’s Gardens hoping to bump into him was out and she didn’t want to spend too much time in the café. Grant had said that he had seen a picture of her in a library book. So that became her plan; she would go first to the library, if he’s there she’ll play it off the cuff, if not, it will be time to make her usual trip to the supermarket then return to the library in the afternoon and if necessary go to the café. Her day was planned.

  Grant’s day was planned also, he had written off the park for the same reason as Carol. He also went to the supermarket on Thursdays so his plan was to go there, then the library and then the café.

  It was now 10am and Grant checked himself in the mirror as he always did. Grant, like Carol, was seeing life differently, his only regret at the moment was that he couldn’t just pick up his phone and ring to arrange a date. He knows her phone number, the landline at any rate, but would have a devil of a job explaining how he came by it.

  The last thing Grant wanted to do was blow it with his new-found friend.

  What am I saying here? ‘New-found friend’. For God’s sake he murdered her husband out of spite, he burgled her flat and made obscene phone calls and now I’m calling them friends.

  Grant owns a perfectly good small sports car but being employed as a driver he drives his own vehicle only once in a while, in any event his apartment was quite central unlike Carol’s house. Grant put on his jacket, raincoat and flat cap and stepped out into the drizzle, shopping bag in hand, he walked the comparatively short distance to the supermarket keeping his eyes open for the ‘Genevieve’ author.

  Grant was no cook and soon filled his basket with pre-cooked meals, bread, milk and cereals. He wandered around looking for Carol but it seems as though their supermarket visits were not to coincide today.

  Grant left the supermarket and walked through the car park still keeping an eye out for Carol but this was to no avail, so he carries on walking the short distance home. A few minutes later he could be seen leaving his flat and heading, once again on foot, towards the library hoping for better luck.

  Carol had beaten Grant to it and was already there. Neither of them were going there for a book. Carol hung around the fiction section taking the occasional novel and glancing at it while keeping a sharp lookout for the one who could become the new man in her life. One of her own books caught her eye, she took it from the shelf and looked at it with some degree of pride. There was part of her that still couldn’t quite believe she really did write it. It was of course, Dead Letter Perfect, and some would say she didn’t.

  Carol, who was a little put out because no one seems to have borrowed it for over two years, pondered, “That doesn’t necessarily mean that no one has read it. They may have read it in stages on visits to the library.” There was no photograph of her on the inside cover the fact went unnoticed by her until she was about to replace it on the shelf. “So this wasn’t the copy he saw.” Carol wondered which one it was. There were five other novels of hers on the same shelf, she took them one by one and examined the inside cover and sure enough one did have her photograph but, to her great disappointment, and somewhat upsetting, it had been vandalised with lines scribbled across her face. “Who would do a thing like that, someone I upset in the past maybe.” It never occurred to her that it may have been Grant. To be honest, I don’t know myself. But Grant didn’t say that the photograph he saw had been vandalised but Carol knew there were other copies which did have photographs of her. “Perhaps they’re all out.” passed through her mind: “Perhaps he’s taken them out.”

  Another thought crossed her mind and that is that all the photos of her would be copies of the same fifteen-year-old one and she’s changed since then no doubt about it, her hair is much greyer, in fact there was no grey at all on the picture and our author, now wears glasses not just for reading, something else she’s had to get accustomed to in those fifteen years. But it is still clearly her. Carol put it to the back of her mind and thought no more of it.

  It didn’t seem as though Grant was coming in, “Maybe he’s not as interested in me as I thought, never mind. He’s just a lonely man who wanted to engage in conversation and now maybe he has found someone else to talk to.” Let’s be honest, Grant couldn’t have come at a worse time when Carol was just coming out of a period of depression and not being very communicative.

  Carol soon made her mind up to go and made her way to the nearest staircase and started down as Grant was starting up another one. As she was stepping off the bottom step he began looking for her in the fiction section.

  As she casually strides back to her car she begins to be aware of what is missing from her life; a relationship of quality with a person of the opposite sex. Grant, or Gordon as she thought of him, may not be that person but there must surely be someone out there in Oxford: a good looking, intelligent man, maybe a professional, a lawyer, an accountant or perhaps a businessman. Not a civil servant that might bring back painful memories. Could she find someone through a dating website? Who knows? But her mind would not forsake Grant.

  After lunch Carol made her scheduled second visit to the library but as you will have guessed failed to encounter Grant. If she really does want to pursue him the obvious place to go is the café. Her watch reads 3.15pm, but something was holding her back. It had been a long time since Carol had a relationship of any significance, although she felt as though Grant could be the next one despite a very disarming manner which left her feeling a little vulnerable. Also there was this nagging suspicion that he’s a journalist, though why he would be professionally interested in her she couldn’t figure out. She simply had to find out the truth of it before next contacting him.

  “There would be more reason to contact him and discover what is so important about me if he isn’t a van driver,” she thought. It can’t be hard to find out that.

  Carol heads for the café, walking at her usual pace, but the closer she gets to it the slower her pace, perhaps at a subconscious level she’s not wanting to get there. She turns into the street where the café is located as her walk became ever slower and when reaching the front window where anyone inside could see her she stops in her tracks saying, “No,” to herself and completes a 180 degree turnaround and briskly walks away back towards her car hoping that Grant wouldn’t suddenly appear and see her. Her watch was now reading 3.25pm exactly the same time as the time being registered by Grant’s watch as he glanced down on his way to the same place of refreshment.

  This was Grant’s second approach, he didn’t want to sit there all afternoon so he would walk by the window and look in, if she wasn’t there he’d walk past and around the block. Carol had turned the corner only moments before Grant would have seen her. Who knows how many times Grant passed the café and who knows if anyone in the café thought it suspicious.

  Without thinking Carol took her usual diversion, a slightly longer way back to her car avoiding the walk past the very car park where the blue Kia that had killed Rob was stolen; if only she knew what we know. Carol always tried to avoid it.

  She sat behind the wheel of her car and thought quietly about things for a few moments then started it up and drove home, driving right past the very café on her way. She did not glance in but wouldn’t have seen Grant there even if she had.

  Grant turned the corner from his latest walk around the block and saw Carol’s car vanishing in the distance. This was a disappointment but he couldn’t be absolutely certain that it was Carol’s. Grant was too much of a realist to fool himself that it wasn’t but just about enough of a romantic to hope it didn’t mean what it does mean.

  If Carol’s sudden change of heart t
owards Grant has little basis in what she actually knows about him it is certainly fortuitous. Surely Grant is up to no good and even if he isn’t it wouldn’t seem right for Carol to be romantically involved, albeit unwittingly, with the man who’d cold bloodedly murdered her husband and Josh’s father. Carol is well out of it though some good has blown in her direction; she’s getting on with her latest novel and seems to have been shaken from her malaise.

  To what extent Grant is a changed man we may discover later but he deserves the severest of punishments for what he has done already and there must be no place for him in Carol’s life but I doubt that will stop him.

  Behind all of this is the truth that Grant did write Dead Letter Perfect from his own idea and from his own imagination, it is his work and the only explanation open to Grant is that she stole it. But how? Another puzzling question for Grant is that all those years ago Phil Johnson sent him, albeit accidently, the copy Carol had submitted and vice versa. It is inconceivable that Carol doesn’t know that someone called Grant Webster also submitted the novel but it seems to Grant as though she is not and never has been concerned about it. Is this conceivably true? Perhaps one day we shall have the answer.

  * * *

  Carol made no attempt to make contact with Grant but equally did not try to avoid him and one morning around ten days after their last encounter Carol had a thought, “it’s not Thursday”. Which meant Grant would be at work or driving around Oxford, at least if he does really work where he says. Later that morning Carol took off in her car to Oxford city centre and parked herself in a side street close to Grant’s place of employment. From there she had walked completely around the block until she came to the rear entrance and found an open yard containing no vans and concluded they must all be out on deliveries. With nowhere to hide and the possibility of Grant appearing from the streets of Oxford any moment and likely to spot her, she looked up and down the street for a possible hideout; a small pub on the corner where she could observe passing vehicles might be it but Carol felt uneasy about sitting in a bar on her own and in any event she wouldn’t be able to see a van returning to the store from the far end of the street. Carol had not driven down the street but walked and hadn’t noticed that it was a one way affair and she needs to be at the other end.

  The only thing she can do is search for the most likely looking approach to the rear of the store, park there and wait. What Carol doesn’t realise is that Grant knows her car and may see it which would seem a little suspicious to him being parked so close to the store and Carol just sitting in it. But what you don’t know you don’t worry about so Carol finds a spot, drives there and waits.

  Carol has no recollection of ever spying on someone and fears it looks too obvious and might arouse the suspicion of a police officer. To allay any fears she slid over to the passenger seat, took a book from her handbag and began to read, looking up only when hearing and approaching vehicle.

  She reads from twelve forty-five to one thirty with no sign of any vans. “May be they have lunch on the road,” she thought. Resolving not to stay there all afternoon but come back at four o’clock to wait again Carol turned on her engine and is about to pull away when a van from the store appears in her rear-view mirror. As it drove by Carol could clearly see the driver was not Grant on the simple basis that it was a woman. A mistake which has been made before.

  A disappointed Carol drove off home. Just before reaching Didcot Road, a van appeared parked on the side of the road with its rear door open. As she passed it, Grant could be seen leaving a house where, presumably, he had just made a delivery. The ever observant Grant spotted Carol as she spotted him but neither gave any indication.

  Carol’s concerns that this man is a journalist are proved unfounded, even so, she wasn’t sure about him and whether he could be the right man to fulfil her future. The same was not true of Grant he wanted to pursue Carol to whatever destiny he has planned for her. He is now a little hampered with the commitment of a fulltime job. You wouldn’t think that Grant was as interested in such a commitment as Carol would be but he doesn’t want to do anything that might put him in a bad light with her. So he’s left with the evenings or Thursdays or Sundays. He would just have to visit her regular haunts until they ‘accidentally’ meet.

  It was now around six on a Thursday evening, Carol had not been pursuing Grant though he still intrudes on her mind. Tonight Carol had a ticket for the theatre, a tour of Lionel Bart’s famous musical Oliver! was hitting Oxford; Carol was on her way to see it. She didn’t like leaving her car in the car park at night because she didn’t fancy returning to it alone in the dark. With a male escort it would be different. That was the only downer of the evening; she would be alone in a full theatre. Very often Josh would go with her but even that has fallen by the wayside as he now lives in London with his partner. Carol had stopped going to the theatre because of the loneliness but, surprisingly, under the influence of Grant, she has started again and tonight is her first venture in over a year.

  As 6.30 approached the doorbell rang, “that will be the taxi,” she thought. She quickly donned her coat and grabbed her handbag, a few moments later the taxi was on its way to the theatre. The time was 6.50 when the taxi arrived and at precisely that time Grant looked over at the clock on his mantelpiece and decided it was time to go; he too was on his way to see Oliver!

  By the time Grant arrives Carol is already sitting in the stalls, row D, seat 14. Grant didn’t take his seat straight away; he didn’t want to be sitting down too long so off he went to the bar. Grant was sensible about alcoholic intake, too much liquid before the show might have an unwanted effect which is why he chose an aisle seat. The final bell rang as Grant was just finishing his non-alcoholic beer. He made his way to the stalls and soon found row F, seat 1. Standing by the wall for a few minutes was preferable to having to keep standing to let others go by him so he stood there and gazed around at the auditorium not thinking for a moment that Carol would be there. By now the theatre was around three-quarters full and the seats by D 14 were all occupied when Grant saw a familiar woman from behind. He couldn’t approach now but he knew the opportunity would arise at the interval or at the end. The show was about to start and Grant contentedly took his seat.

  Grant had not been expecting Carol to be there and found it hard to sit back and watch the show. He kept looking over in her direction as if to check that she was still there! Carol, on the other hand, knew nothing of Grant’s presence just a few rows behind and was enjoying the show very much. Down came the house curtain to more than just polite applause from the whole audience, bar one, who gently put his hands together not really meaning it. It’s not that he didn’t like the show rather his mind had not been on the show.

  Many of the audience rose from their seats and set about the interval activities from the bar to ice cream or to other things and there was the usual chaos for the first few minutes. Grant stood just to stretch his legs while Carol remained firmly in her seat for a couple of minutes and then stood to help the blood circulate. She gazed around the auditorium admiring the architecture. When she looked over in Grant’s direction, he had gone. By the time he returned Carol was back in her seat enjoying an ice cream.

  Grant resumed his seat as the lights dimmed to start the second act with Carol still unaware of him being there.

  The end came and once the applause died down and Carol slowly made her way to the aisle being carried along with the crowd. Grant remained in his seat. Carol reached the aisle and started following the crowd towards the exit at the rear. Grant was, of course, watching all of this and just as she was approaching row F he stood and the two made contact as Grant stood there with a broad smile on his face.

  “Hello, I saw you at the interval but it was too late to go over and speak.” He couldn’t even be honest about that but it was not the worst lie he’d ever told.

  “I didn’t know you liked musicals,” said Carol.


  “I don’t think I’ve mentioned them one way or the other. Do you want to go for a drink. There’s a nice little pub around the corner.” There was part of Carol that wanted to say yes, but just enough saying no to cause hesitation.

  “Oh, come on, one drink will do no harm.” Never had Carol been the object of such charming insistence.

  “All right,” she said and no more than a few minutes later they were clear of the throng and in the King Edward Arms, which King Edward it was named after I don’t know, presumably not the eighth. Considering it was so near the theatre you’d expect it be quite full, but there were just a handful of extra customers which now included Carol and Grant.

  Carol with a dry white wine and Grant with a pint had found a seat in a corner of the lounge called the ‘Prompt Corner’.

  “What did you think of the show?” Enquired Grant.

  “Actually, I prefer musicals to straight plays. I find the musical so far removed from real life that it’s a greater relief from the drudgery than a straight play. No one goes around singing and dancing do they?”

  “Don’t you think that Oliver portrays Fagin rather too much like a loveable rogue rather than an abuser of children?”

  “Abuser?”

  “I don’t mean in the sexual sense but he’s really a very nasty man in Dickens’ novel.”

  The conversation about Oliver! didn’t last long and Grant soon changed the subject, “I don’t live far away. We could walk it in fifteen minutes. It will be nicer than the pub, what do you say?” Carol felt the same dilemma pulling her and pushing her. If I were you, Carol, I’d stay well clear. But she isn’t me and she doesn’t know what we know.

  Soon after Grant’s suggestion he and Carol departed the King Edward and in a very short time Grant was inserting the key to his flat in the front door and pushing it open. Grant was a lone figure; he removed his coat while Carol’s taxi was just pulling up outside her house.