The Actuary

by K T Bowes

  Chapter 11

  “Ro, who’s that man across the street?”

  Rohan whipped his reading glasses off his nose and stood up, instantly alert. The sofa cushions rose up like inflatables in his wake. “What man?”

  Emma baulked in the dining room doorway, her brown eyes widening in fear at his reaction. “Just a man. He’s been sitting across the street next to the Georgian looking house. He gets out occasionally and goes for a walk but he always comes back.”

  “What made you notice him?” Rohan walked to the window and peered into the street, careful not to disturb the voile drapes which offered the room privacy.

  “Er...” Emma hesitated, not wanting admit she’d spent the last hour crying, sitting in the bay window in her bedroom with her backside on the built in dressing table. “I was just looking out the window.”

  Rohan looked at her again, noticing her puffy eyes and the sad slump of her shoulders. “Come here,” he said softly, opening his arms out to her.

  Emma sniffed and ran round the dining table to him, burying her face in his armpit and resuming her miserable crying. “Sshhh,” Rohan soothed. “Let’s not dwell on what we can’t change, hey? It’s all in the past now.”

  Emma muttered something into his armpit and Rohan lifted her chin so he could look at her. His blue eyes were kind. “Say that again, devotchka?”

  Emma couldn’t repeat the soft denial again, grief at Anton’s death gripping her throat in a vice. So she hesitated, before changing the subject. “It’s that white transit you were talking about last night on the motorway. I didn’t see it when you asked me to look but after that, I saw it in the side mirror a few times. I’ve been watching it for the last hour. The driver’s the same man.” Emma sniffed and wiped her nose on her tatty sweater sleeve.

  “Shit!” Rohan exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

  Emma nodded. “Who is he? What does he want?”

  Rohan kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know. Get cleaned up and we’ll take the dog for a walk. I wanna show you the town. We’ll see if he follows.” He pointed at her stained sweater with the big pulls in the shoulder and her jeans which were frayed at the bottom. “And you’re going clothes shopping.”

  Emma cleaned her face up yet again and donned one of Rohan’s spare jackets for the walk into town. It was too big for her but the scent of his aftershave and his unique musky smell provided much needed comfort. Rohan strode next to her with the dog on a leash, Farrell trotting happily next to his leg. Neither of them mentioned Anton, or the birth certificate bearing his name. When they came to road crossings, the dog sat down at the curb without being told. “He’s a good boy, isn’t he?” Emma commented.

  Rohan smiled and clicked his tongue so the dog knew to stand up and walk. “Should be. I trained him for Anton. He was useless with anything involving discipline. He got you as a pup, didn’t he?” Rohan spoke to the dog and Farrell looked up at him and opened his mouth in a doggy smile, his flowing black tail giving a little wave of pleasure. “Treated him like a baby instead of a dog. I don’t think he realised what he’d got.”

  “What kind of dog is he?” Emma kept pace with Rohan, finding it hard not to drop into old habits and hold his hand, not that public displays of affection played much part in their history; his mother might have found out.

  “He’s a working cocker spaniel,” Rohan said. “They make excellent search and sniffer dogs. Customs use them heaps in airports. My brother would have been better off with a poodle he could keep in his man bag.”

  Emma snorted. “That’s so true. I can’t believe I’ll never see him again. It’s like this hole where I think he should be.”

  Rohan looked down at her and nodded. “I know, devotchka. It’s left an ache in my soul. Nothing takes the pain away. He was my only brat, my brother and I loved him.”

  “Did he live in this town?” Emma asked and Rohan stared at her with a curious look on his face.

  “I actually don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Emma repeated the odd sentence and bit her lip. “So where did you train the dog?”

  “He brought him to me. He said it was easier. I never questioned it. I get really busy with work so I accepted him always travelling to see me. Does that make me a bad person? I didn’t know where my own brother lived?”

  Emma shook her head. “I didn’t know either.” She let shame blush her soft cheeks. “He always came to see us, too.” She saw too late how desperate Rohan was to ask about Anton’s relationship with Nicky. The idea of a man so openly gay with a son by his stepsister seemed so utterly incongruous, he struggled with the words and then thought better of it.

  “Let’s not talk about him now, hey?” Rohan smiled sadly and changed the subject. “Is that man still following?”

  Emma made a show of dropping something onto the pavement while Rohan walked ahead. She sank to her haunches and picked up the conker Nicky gave her that morning for safekeeping. Rohan halted the dog to wait for her and Emma gave a worried nod, too slight for the man behind to see. “Yes. He’s keeping his distance but he’s still there. Why would he be following us?”

  “Me, devotchka. He’s following me. I don’t know. I mess with some dodgy people in my line of work sometimes and when I crunch the numbers, someone has to lose out.”

  “What are you going to do?” Emma sounded panicked and Rohan grabbed hold of her hand, wincing at the electrical current of familiarity and attraction which passed between them. “Is he going to hurt you?”

  Rohan snorted as though the idea was stupid and gave a tight smile as they crossed a car park and entered the back of a bustling market hall, filled with stalls selling everything from sausages to cheese under the one roof. Shoe sellers mixed with craft stands and knitting patterns in the front half of the building, alongside vegetable stalls, sewing accessories and ribbons. Farrell kept so close to Rohan’s left leg it was as though he was grafted on, clearly not comfortable around the throngs of bodies and feet. Nobody yelled at them to take the dog away and they passed through unseen.

  In a particularly busy crush near the front doors, Rohan pressed Emma’s hand and smoothed her fingers with his. It was comforting and she squeezed back, navigating a dose of pensioner road rage as two elderly people in disability scooters got their handles locked together by accident in the overcrowded aisle. Rohan cut a clear path through, his imposing height making it easy for him and Emma forged through behind, using his wake to cut through the crowds. They popped out of the front doors in a rush and Rohan dragged Emma to the left and round the corner.

  “Take the dog!” he hissed at her, shoving Farrell’s leash into her hands. Stunned, Emma looked down at the animal’s enormous brown eyes, rimmed by half-moons of white. “Guard!” Rohan told the dog and Farrell sat down firmly on Emma’s foot. Rohan blocked her view of the road and he waited for a moment, his body tense and poised. In a split second he was gone.

  Emma peeked around the corner to the front of the market hall in time to see the small man emerge and look around him in confusion. Rohan pounced, fixing his hands firmly on the man’s shoulders. “Hi my vriend!” he announced with feigned conviviality, accentuating his Russian accent for effect. “Long time, no see!” He steered the surprised pursuer round the corner to Emma and thumped him up against the wall with his forearm underneath the man’s chin. “Long time, too much see, actually!” Rohan’s eyes flashed with danger and Emma saw the soldier in him rise to the surface in an ecstasy of glee, his purpose as a killing machine revived and renewed. She opened her mouth to stop him and then swallowed instead, trusting him.

  Emma’s eyes widened as Rohan produced a flick knife and released the blade in an ease of motion, holding it up to the man’s skinny throat. “Come on,” he said in a deceptively friendly voice, “you’re crap at tracking so you may as well tell me what you’re up to.”

  “Just making a few quid guvnor,” the man hissed as the blade pressed against his skin. He was wiry, neatly dressed with
an unfortunate comb over which had the unenviable job of spreading twelve frail looking dark hairs across his receding hairline.

  Rohan’s eyes flicked all around him, ensuring the little scene went unwitnessed by anyone passing. He pressed the man harder against the wall, shielded by the huge sign advising the pay and display car park. Emma watched as Rohan glanced towards the dog. “Warn!” he told Farrell.

  The dog jumped to life, standing square with the man. His top lip peeled back in a dreadful snarl displaying sharp, pointed teeth. A low growl emitted from his throat and Emma kept hold of the leash, fascinated by the dog’s still waving tail. It was a game to him. She gulped and felt sick.

  The man feigned ignorance and complained and griped he didn’t know who paid him to follow the big Russian. His voice held an irritating whinge, not helped by the dog’s enjoyment of the game. Farrell edged closer and closer to the man’s hand as it hung limply by his side. “Please mate, just lemme go!” the man begged. “I ain’t done nuffin!”

  As the knife blade drew a pebble of blood, the dog took a few slavering snaps at the man’s hand and Emma lost patience. “For goodness sake!” she exclaimed and dropped Farrell’s leash. She pulled a crumpled face of sheer distaste as she reached between the man’s legs and seized hold of his crown jewels. She wasn’t sure who was more surprised, the man, Rohan or the dog. “Just tell him!” she hissed and squeezed. The little man squeaked out a sound which would have delighted St Di’s Church choir master and tried to bat Emma’s hand away with grappling hands. Rohan increased his pressure with the knife and the arms returned to their raised position, although the hands clenched in fear.

  “I’m a private investigator,” he trilled in alarm. “My client’s a woman. She emails me and transfers expenses into my account when I invoice her. I’m paid to follow him and take photos!” He jerked his head towards Rohan but spoke to Emma. “Please let go of my nads now? If I can’t get my missus pregnant she’ll dump me!”

  Emma winced at the greasy hair, the acne pocked middle-aged face and pitied the poor woman who was prepared to breed from this type of low grade stock. “No!” She pouted and took a step closer to the man, gripping harder and trying not to look at Rohan’s amused expression. “Why are you following him?”

  “I have to email her where he’s been and what he’s done. Like, he went to a meeting in Falkirk on Friday and arrived in Leeds late on Saturday at some kind of wedding. He went to Lincoln on Sunday and arrived home Monday. I have to tell her who he saw as well.” The man let out a wail of pain as Emma squeezed harder and yanked painfully upwards at an unnatural angle for testicles.

  “How do you know it’s a woman?” she asked him. Bored, the dog licked the man’s hand and he felt tongue and teeth and screeched.

  “Shut up!” Emma said in disgust. “Or I’ll make sure you never have children.”

  “The phone! The phone! She rang me the first time and it was a woman’s voice.”

  “Is she local?” Rohan interjected, stepping back from the man and flicking the blade away with his thumb in a fluid motion.”

  “I don’t know!” The man sweated as Emma maintained her death grip on his private parts. His thin hair stuck to his head and he looked sick.

  “If you ever follow this man again,” Emma pointed with her free hand towards Rohan, “I’ll tear them off! Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” the man agreed emphatically. “I’ve seen where you live. I know you mean it.”

  With a final yank of devilment, Emma let go and the man clasped both hands over his nether regions and rubbed, as though checking it was all still intact. Emma pulled a disgusted face and wiped her hand on her jeans. “Sod off and leave us alone. Forever!” she threatened and the man nodded.

  “Fine. It was getting too long distance anyway, although the expenses were good. It must have been costin’ her a fortune in petrol alone.” He stood up straight and brushed himself down, out of date jeans with a slight flare to their bottoms and a pale flasher-type mac, tidy but stuck in a previous century. His disguise was about as subtle as a fart in an astronaut suit. His final comment was aimed at Rohan with an air of victory. “You’ve got rid of me but you won’t be able to ditch the other one so easily. He’s been tailin’ you on and off for the last month, ever since I started and you didn’t even notice!” The wiry man strode quickly away, blending seamlessly into a crowd of elderly shoppers heading south on the Northampton Road. Emma looked at Rohan and bit her lip as he watched the man walk away. He looked at her in total bemusement and then caught the obedient dog’s leash up into his hand.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” he asked her.

  Emma shrugged. “I have no idea, Ro, but please can we go somewhere so I can wash my hands?”