“Should we go to your car? We could leave early.”
He closed his eyes briefly. What do you think? Yes. Of course. Right now. “No.”
“Huh?”
“Not tonight,” he whispered. “Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” Ralf looked at Naomi regretfully. “I can’t stay.”
“Hey, you guys! Naomi? Ralf? Do you want some chicken nuggets?” The shouting came from downstairs. Ralf heard Jackie giggling.
“I have to go soon,” he murmured.
“Go? I don’t understand you at all.” She sat up, stiffly rehooked her bra, and dropped her T-shirt back down over it.
When Ralf realized she was about to stand up, he held her back.
“Hey, hello-o?” came from the kitchen. Floris was babbling as if he’d had too much to drink.
“Come and be social, Naomi!” called Sara, before letting out a shriek. “Stop pinching me!”
They looked at each other in the dim light. “Do you remember about that dealer?” asked Ralf.
“Of course I remember. I’m not an idiot.”
“I’m meeting him tomorrow.”
She looked alarmed. “Why?”
He ran his hand through his hair and rested it on his neck. “I need to make sure I have enough money for him. That’s why I have to leave. I’m working on something.”
“Why don’t you go to the police?”
“You guys are no fun at all!” echoed from downstairs, accompanied by giggling.
She made him look at her. “Ralf, you’re having to pay a debt you don’t owe. It’s bullshit.”
Ralf was silent. Her indignation was as genuine as her anger before, in Sara’s parents’ room. He wondered how close she had been to Brian. Did she really understand whom she’d been dating?
Ralf stood up and helped Naomi to her feet.
“Seriously, why don’t you go to the police?” she insisted.
“Because I haven’t always played by the rules myself either,” he murmured.
17
Lex walked beside Helen through the narrow downtown streets, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. The closer they came to the dimly lit parking structure, the less either of them spoke.
Inside the structure, he waited while she paid before escorting her up the steps. Halfway between the staircase and her car, he stopped. “OK. I guess I’ll be on my way.”
Helen turned to face him. “I had fun tonight,” she said, but “fun” scarcely covered it. It was the best evening she’d had in years. She had felt loved, attractive, desired—feminine.
“So, you two are leaving for England early tomorrow?” He looked to one side and feigned nonchalance, but his eyes told a different story.
She nodded.
“Looking forward to it?”
Less than I was yesterday. “A lot.”
“Good.” He focused his eyes on a point at the other end of the parking lot. It was as if he still had something important he wanted to say or do, and was carefully considering how to go about it.
For a few seconds, they stood there in silence.
“Good,” he repeated. “So I’ll see you . . . ?”
“Wednesday at work.”
“Until then.” He leaned forward and quickly planted a kiss on her cheek, close to her ear. “Good night, Helen. Have fun over the next few days. Enjoy it.”
She hurried back to her car and drove toward the exit. When she looked in the rearview mirror, she saw him still standing there in the middle of the parking lot. A tall figure, broad shoulders, his eyes following her car.
She suppressed the impulse to hit the brakes and turn around. As she steered the Fiat through the darkened streets, her vision grew blurred. She dabbed tears from the corners of her eyes with her ring finger. Pointless. They kept coming.
18
His balaclava was itchy, and the gun felt heavy in his hand. Once this shit was behind him, he was going to sign those forms and take that course his mother had talked about. Whatever it was.
He was done with all this, at any rate. Playing the criminal was fun when everything was going well, but as soon as things went wrong, there was no end to the misery.
Jeffrey’s apartment was a wreck, just like Jeffrey’s life. His girlfriend had left him and taken the kids, and all he could think about was blow. Brian had expected to hit the jackpot at Werner Möhring’s house, and now Brian was dead. Even an absolute hero like Tupac lived to be only twenty-five.
Ralf didn’t want to die.
And he didn’t want to go to jail.
It was dark at this end of the parking lot. The fall leaves rustled around him. He looked across at the back of the restaurant. The lights in the dining area had been turned off an hour ago, but the kitchen was still brightly lit. Ralf heard the clink of glasses, the scrape of metal against metal. By the back door stood a few bikes and scooters, along with two small, older cars.
Strangely enough, Werner Möhring’s Mercedes was parked all the way over at this end, a good distance away from the rest of the vehicles. Ralf had no idea why.
He peered at the building. On the left was a wired-glass door with an illuminated plastic sign next to it: “The Horn of Plenty Ltd.—Office.” The lights behind the yellowish glass were still on. He was banking on Werner’s being inside, counting his money—maybe even bundling it up into convenient packages. Ralf couldn’t enter the building; there were cameras trained on every door. He had to wait until Werner came out to his car.
Ralf had come up with a rough plan, but a lot could go wrong. He needed to approach him from behind somehow; despite his balaclava, hoodie, and thick coat, he was a little worried that Werner would recognize him.
Behind the wired glass, the light went out. The door swung open, and a dark figure emerged. Immediately followed by another, like a thinner shadow.
Ralf’s grip tightened over the gun. He forgot to breathe—every fiber in his body was at maximum tension. He heard the quiet jingle of a key ring, footsteps, then nothing more.
The figures didn’t speak but moved quickly toward him. Nervously, almost. The smaller one kept its head down as it trotted after the other. There was something strangely surreptitious about the scene. As they came closer, he saw that the smaller figure was wearing heels. A pencil skirt. Shapely legs underneath it. Once out of range of the security cameras, the man threw his arm around the woman and drew her toward him. They were close now, lit by a small lantern. The man was Werner Möhring. He unlocked his car remotely and the lights flashed, illuminating the couple in front of the vehicle.
Ralf’s jaw fell open. The woman walking beside Werner, cooing under his kisses, was Brian’s mother.
Sunday
1
A black Anthropologie dress with tights and matching jewelry. Walking boots, a knitted sweater, and sports socks. Makeup bag, phone charger. A scarf. Helen went through the contents of her suitcase and ticked the items off her list. Then checked that the lids of her shampoo and conditioner were properly fastened before packing them in separate bags for safety’s sake. Hotel toiletries were all very well, but if she didn’t use her own shampoo, she would look like she’d been electrocuted or was wearing a party wig. In a drawer, she found a lace lingerie set that still had the price tag on it, snipped off the label, then laid the underwear in her case. On top of it, she laid an extra cardigan and a woolly hat. She probably wouldn’t need them, but it was fall and the English coast could get very windy.
Werner walked into the bedroom. He was already wearing his coat. “Hey, we’re only going for two nights!”
She smiled apologetically. “I know.”
“What do you think—should we get going?”
“Good idea.” She zipped up her case.
Werner picked it up and walked back down the hall. She watched him from where she was kneeling, her hands on her thighs. Last night, she had crept into the house and headed straight to the bedroom. Sara and her friends had still bee
n in the living room, laughing and chattering. Once in bed, she had sent her daughter a message saying she was back and that she didn’t want to disturb them. Luckily, she had fallen asleep before Werner got home. He hadn’t seen her tear-stained eyes, was oblivious to all her emotions.
What she had done last night was wrong. And unbelievably stupid. It had been a date, plain and simple, and it could so easily have gotten out of hand. Lex’s mother had been right in her assertion that there was no such thing as a platonic friendship between a man and a woman because one of the two always wanted more. In this case, it was even worse: both of them wanted more. That made everything a thousand times more complicated. She resolved to keep Lex at arm’s length from now on.
Helen entered Sara’s room. Jackie and Naomi were sprawled on the air mattress, fast asleep. She tiptoed around them and squatted down next to Sara. “Honey, your father and I are leaving now.”
Sara rolled over drowsily. “What about Grandma and Grandpa?”
“They’re coming this afternoon. Sophie’s father will bring Emma home soon, and Thom will be back as soon as he wakes up.”
Sara held out her arms toward her. “I’ll miss you.”
Helen gave her daughter a hug. “I’ll miss you too,” she whispered. “But we’ll be back on Tuesday night.”
When Werner saw her coming downstairs, he turned off the TV and grabbed his scarf from the kitchen island. “Let’s go!” he exclaimed playfully in his best English.
She put on her coat and stepped out into the cold, dark morning. Werner locked the back door.
The sun hadn’t risen yet, and not much could be seen in the garden other than the black silhouettes of the bushes and conifers and the sinister glow of the swimming pool. Leaves rustled quietly. “Aren’t you worried, Werner?”
He stopped. “What about?”
“I feel so terrible leaving the girls alone in the house. You never know if—”
He cut her off. “It’s over.”
“But it could happen again, couldn’t it? You’d already been worried for a long time, and with good reason. That’s why you bought a gun. Where did you get that from, anyway?”
“I work in the restaurant business, honey. You get all kinds of customers coming through the door. Including people who can help you out with that sort of thing.”
She stared past him into the garden. “Maybe it was naive of me, but I never thought something like that could happen to us. I mean, we never keep cash in the house.” She looked at him. “Do we?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. Not much, anyway.”
2
Ralf tossed and turned in bed. He was trying to unpack exactly what he had seen last night—and what it might mean. Sara’s father was sleeping with Brian’s mother. That explained why he had seen him at her house last week. Was she aware that her lover had shot and killed her son? He didn’t think so—they seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.
He rolled over and stared at the wall. Could it be Emily, not Sara, who had encouraged Brian to rob Werner? She worked in the office at the Horn of Plenty, so she would know how much money Werner took home with him, and when. Or had Brian’s mother inadvertently let it slip that Werner kept money at home, and had Brian then used Sara to find out the best time to strike? That sounded plausible. If Brian had gone about it the right way—and he was perfectly capable of that—then neither Sara nor Emily would have suspected a thing.
Ralf stretched and rubbed his face. Really, he shouldn’t be concerning himself with other people’s problems. He had more than enough of his own.
Mikey would be expecting his money in exactly five hours’ time. Of the sum that Ralf had set aside for the down payment, there were now only three hundred euros left after his purchase of the gun. There was no way he would be able to get hold of the remaining cash today without going to extreme lengths.
But what if he could borrow it from somebody? Ralf grabbed his phone and sat up in bed. It was Sunday, and early in the morning. With a bit of luck, his friends might still be awake.
3
“Not even four hours from home, and a whole other world.” Helen gripped the railing and drew a deep breath of sea air. Seagulls circled around the boat. The metal deck hummed with the pistons of the engines; she could feel the vibrations under her feet. Slowly, the dock disappeared from view; diesel fumes rose into the sky.
Werner stood beside her and looked out pensively over the Strait of Dover. The sea was gray green, with white foam capping the waves. “We could have taken the tunnel instead, and it would have been much quicker, but I think this is more fun. More of a view.”
“Good choice. Though the other passengers aren’t quite what I expected.”
He looked around. The early sailing from Calais to Dover seemed to be particularly popular with stocky men in leather jackets. Gruff-faced, smoking, most of them alone. The hold was full of vans and trucks with Eastern European license plates. “You’re right, I don’t remember it being like this last time either.”
“Well, that was twenty years ago now. Isn’t it strange that we haven’t been back in all that time? It’s so close.”
He shrugged. “Bad weather, no euro. All the fuss and expense of crossing the channel. Driving on the left.”
“Fuss? The kids would love this. They’ve never been on a boat before.”
“They’ve already been enough places with us—we need to leave them a few things to look forward to.”
“True.” She pulled her coat tighter. From the corner of her eye, she could see the men staring at her. “I think I might be the only woman on board.”
“Lucky me.” Werner moved behind her and threw his arms around her.
Helen expected him to let go at any moment. Her intimate moments with Werner had all been so brief over the last few months—or was it years? They lasted exactly as long as he thought necessary to placate her.
But he didn’t let go. Their fingers locked together, and she felt his cheek lightly brush against hers.
“Wonderful,” he sighed. “Nothing to do. No kids, no work.”
Helen looked out dreamily at a container ship in the distance. The fall sun sparkled over the waves. “Are you finally going to tell me what we’ll be doing?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
She turned her head slightly to look at him. “Not the same bed-and-breakfast as last time?”
He grinned. “No way. Remember that dining room? The three different kinds of carpet joined together with duct tape?”
“And the breakfast with the homemade black pudding? That woman watching from the doorway with her arms folded and asking us what we thought of it the whole time?”
“Yeah,” said Werner. “And she kept shooing that dog out of the dining room, even though we kept telling her, ‘No, don’t worry, he isn’t bothering us!’”
She burst into laughter, and Werner joined in. A warm glow flooded her body. It was glorious—the salty sea air and the wind, and Werner so close to her.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, she was seized by the feeling that she was doing something wrong—a deep sense of shame.
“Is something the matter?” asked Werner. “You got so stiff.”
“I was thinking about that boy. We’re here on vacation, and he—”
He turned her around and embraced her, holding her head against his chest. “No more of that now,” he whispered. “It’s over. OK?”
She nodded, but it didn’t feel over.
4
He had managed to drum up two hundred five euros—not even 10 percent of what he needed. The fruits of an entire morning of phone calls and text messages. Some friends he had. Laugh with many, but don’t trust any. A few of them hadn’t bothered to reply, and the rest were either unable or unwilling to help. Rick was the only one who had been honest with him, telling him to his face, “I don’t lend money to friends—all you get is grief.” Ralf had hung up angrily.
After that, he had shaved, go
tten dressed, and eaten breakfast, and he now found himself pacing back and forth in the kitchen. His parents were still in bed. He heard the muffled sound of their TV, and from time to time, his father’s voice carried through the wall.
Ralf looked at the clock on the microwave. Quarter past eleven. In forty-five minutes, he would have to report to Mikey. He caught his reflection in the shiny door of the appliance. His jaw muscles were taut, and his eyes seemed deeper in their sockets than usual. He had hardly slept. Time after time, his thoughts had led back to the same place: strangely enough, it wasn’t Mikey who scared him most. Ralf was more afraid of himself. Of what he might be capable of if things got out of hand. Jeffrey’s gun was in the drawer of his bedside table, stuffed behind a stack of car magazines. It was fully loaded. He didn’t have to take any more crap from Mikey.
His phone started to buzz. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. A message from Naomi. She’d slept at Sara’s last night. Looked like a photo was coming through. Maybe a cute selfie, or a picture of the girls having breakfast? Curious, he tapped at the screen to load it. A few moments passed before he fully understood what he was looking at. He felt the blood drain from his face.
5
They were driving through a lovely village filled with old houses. The streets were narrow, the sidewalks even narrower, and a lot of the shop fronts had small-paned bay windows and hand-painted signs. The whole place was like something from a fairy tale.
“It looks like a film set for Midsomer Murders,” said Helen. There was so much to take in.
Werner had pulled off the freeway barely an hour ago, and since then, the view had changed constantly. At first, the landscape had been flat, then increasingly hilly. Helen had seen white outcrops of chalk, as well as thick woodland and rolling fields dotted with sheep.
“This bit is more like Top Gear,” joked Werner as he drove out of the village. He stepped on the gas and took obvious pleasure in the curves and undulations of the road.
Mother Dear Page 20