by Clare Revell
Patrick’s broad grin and blue eyes sparkled up at the camera. His arms wrapped securely around a much younger her. A weeping willow hung over their heads, the lake behind them with a family of swans gliding across its calm surface. Her fingers ran over it.
I wish I could change the past and tell you the truth as to why I left, but I can’t. And now I’m in too deep. I’m sorry.
3
Patrick sat in the office, the blinking cursor on the computer screen in front of him slowly driving him to insanity. He had typed up the report of the nightclub visit on Friday—not that it took long. Nothing had happened. The bloke had been a no show. The recording was useless. Mind you, that turned out to be a blessing in disguise as all it would have consisted of was him chatting up a nightclub singer.
And that would have gone down as well as a dose of the proverbial salts. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Nothing had gone right so far today. And that on top of the dead ends he kept running into, only served to darken his already foul mood.
Having spent the entire morning on a wild goose chase, Shay had gone to pick up lunch from the deli on the corner, leaving him sitting here. He pulled up Shay’s half-written notes from the morning’s escapade.
Received tip off from Tiny re FT seen at mall. Ten minutes later received call re shots fired and CO19 responding. Arrived to assist or apprehend FT. Mall open as normal. No FT. No CO19.
The phone in his pocket chirped. He pulled it free. “So help me, Shay, if this is you wanting to know if I want chips again—” He didn’t recognize the number and immediately hit a button on his phone to secure the line. “Page.”
“I need to see you.”
“The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown.” He waited. The response would tell him who it was.
“There I met an old man who wouldn’t say his prayers.”
Skinhead? He knew not to ring direct, and it wasn’t contact day. He thought quickly. “Ten minutes. Mitre Square.”
Patrick hung up and stood, pulling his coat on as he left the desk. Half way across the office, he met Shay coming the other way.
She held up the twin cardboard drinks carrier and paper bag. “I got you a cappuccino and chicken mayo on brown bread.”
“No time.”
She frowned. “Now what? You promised me you’d eat something.”
“Meeting a snout in ten. If you’re that bothered about the food, you eat it, and I’ll go alone.” He accelerated down the hall.
Running footsteps followed him. “Patrick, wait. I’ll eat on the way. What’s the rush?”
“Skinhead wants a face to face.” He kept walking. “It has to be important for him to skip protocol.”
“Maybe he just wants to see your happy smiling features,” Shay commented. “In which case he’s going to be disappointed. You have your grumpy head on.”
“Oh, give it a rest, Shay.”
“You need a caffeine fix.”
“What I need is for things to stop hitting the fan and people to follow simple instructions.” He unlocked the car.
She set the bag and coffees on the roof while she opened the door. “Chill.”
Patrick scowled and got in the car, slamming the door. He started the engine as she got in beside him. “Don’t have time to chill,” he growled.
“Hey…” Shay grabbed the dash as he pulled quickly out of the space. “Watch it. I have hot coffee on my lap. You’ll spill it.”
“Chill,” he tossed back at her. “Your skirt is coffee colored anyway. It won’t show.”
“It’s dry clean only.”
Patrick ignored her, instead focusing on the road ahead. He could come up with a dozen different reasons for this meet and none of them good. Hopefully Elle wouldn’t be working today, as it was a Saturday. As much as he wanted to see her, he didn’t want to have to explain he wasn’t stalking her.
He parked and pulled the library book from the glove box. He hadn’t read it, but he could borrow Liam’s copy. “Watch the front.”
There wasn’t a queue inside, and he quickly made his way to the history section, the heels of his shoes tapping in the quiet building. They really should carpet libraries. It would do wonders for the noise level.
He studied the guide on the history shelving unit, and then slowly meandered down the aisle, hoping the book hadn’t been checked out. A tall, skinny man in his twenties stood further down the aisle. His jeans had seen better days. Close cropped hair, leather jacket, chewing gum and plaid bovver boots completed the ensemble.
Patrick paused by the books on Jack the Ripper. Mitre Square was the place where Catherine Eddowes met her death on thirtieth September 1888. He pulled out the relevant book and started to flick through it.
The man moved closer, running his finger along the books until he pulled out the one on Catherine Eddowes. He glanced sideways at Patrick. “Post grad.”
“Research for a script,” Patrick responded. The name Skinhead fitted. He kept his gaze on the book. “Have you read this one?”
“Yes, there’s a lot on Mitre Square in chapter seven.”
Patrick nodded. “You were told no contact.”
“This can’t wait. There’s something happening tonight at the club. Something big.”
“What time tonight?”
“Late. You need to be there. Just keep my name out of it.” He replaced the book and left.
Patrick stood still, continuing to flick through the book until he reached chapter seven. He slid the folded piece of paper into his sleeve. His mind whirled. Something big. But that could be anything. Another shipment in or out. Was it really connected to the Scottish case? He’d found no evidence to support that, despite DI Nemec’s insistence.
Either way, it was going to be a long night.
****
Eleanor squeezed through the gap in the tables and made her way over to the bar. She looked at Zeke. “It’s busy tonight.”
“Yes. Don’t leave after your set. There’s someone important coming to meet you. He should be here in the next half hour.”
“Who?” Immediately all her nerves went on edge. The last time Zeke had introduced her to ‘someone important’ it hadn’t gone so well.
“The owner of the club.”
“I thought Jake—”
Zeke shook his head. “This is the Big Boss. Owns every club you’ve sung in up and down the country. How do you think I find you work so easily? He’s followed your career with interest and wants to help you.”
She looked at him.
He leaned in and whispered. “You be nice to him, you hear me?”
Elle nodded, a knot of fear building in her stomach. She began her set, keeping an eye on the crowd. She spotted Patrick at the bar. Her heart began its familiar rhythm at the mere sight of him, but she ignored it. It was safer for both of them, if he stayed in her past.
Midway through Ballad of Misty River, a cold shudder ran through her. She was being watched. She knew there were dozens doing that in the audience, but this was different. She glanced to her left.
A tall man, dark curly hair, intense blue eyes leaned against the door marked private, his arms folded against his chest. White shirt glowed neon in the light, dark jacket undone, tie perfectly straight. A long jagged scar zigzagged down his cheek. Did she know him? His gaze indicated familiarity, but…
She finished the set and Zeke beckoned. She made her way over to the two men. Hopefully this wouldn’t take long. She was tired, and just wanted to go home and sleep.
Zeke, unusually for him, was on edge, his fingers trembling as they gripped her arm. “Eleanor, this is PJ. PJ, meet Eleanor Harrison or Lisa Bellamy.”
PJ’s hand was cold and the handshake too long. His frosty gaze ran over her. “Well, well. You really have grown into a beautiful woman, Eleanor.”
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” She tried to pull her hand away, but he didn’t let go.
“You were very young, but I remember you. Come through to the office
and we can talk about your new album, your career and how I can help you more than I have been already.”
What? Alarm bells rang in the far recesses of her mind. “I’d rather talk here.”
“I said in the office.” Ice glinted in his eyes. “Jake said you’d object and said to remind you just who pays your wages.”
“The office it is.” She glanced at the clock. “I have thirty minutes before I need to be home.”
“A little old for a curfew, aren’t you?”
“It’s something that can’t wait.”
“Thirty minutes is more than enough time.” He held out a hand, a tattoo of some kind peeking out from his shirt sleeve.
She walked with him, feeling Patrick’s eyes on her as they headed through the door into the back of the club.
****
Patrick glanced down at the image on his phone. Similar but not the same, the hair color was different for a start. He shook his head as the phone rang. He left now and he might miss this chap leaving or something might happen to Elle. On the other hand, it was DI Nemec so he couldn’t just ignore it. As much as he hated people who reacted like this when he rang them, he only had one choice. He took the call. “Page. I can’t talk right now. I’ll call back later if that’s OK.”
He kept an eye on the doorway and waved over the bartender. “Another lime twist with ice, please.” He slid a tenner over the counter. “And one for yourself. So who’s the good looking dude that just went out back with Lisa?”
The bartender looked at him. “Someone from high up, out of town. He’s just come down to check up on a few things. He’ll be here for a while, then off again. Has a finger in many pies, if you get my drift. But he can’t keep away from this place. He seems to be the center of things.”
Patrick added a twenty to the ten already on the counter. “How so?”
The barman pocketed the money. “Looks can be deceiving. Helps he knows when the police are coming so the joint is clean if you get my drift.”
That turn of phrase was getting annoying. He slid another ten over. “I thought those things were meant to be unannounced.”
“The boss has contacts.”
“How often is he here?”
“The boss is always here. Jake never leaves.”
“No, this guy.”
“Depends how often Lisa sings, but he’s here a lot. At least once a week. He’s a law unto himself. Has more money than I’d make in a lifetime.” He leaned over as he pushed the drink across, picking up the money. “Rumor has it, he’s more than slightly interested in Lisa. I reckon that’s the last we’ve seen of her tonight.”
“Does this boss have a name?”
“Mr. F is all I know.”
Patrick took the drink. “Thank you.”
He sat nursing his drink until the club closed, but Elle didn’t come back out. Nor did Mr. F. He yawned. It was too late now to call DI Nemec, but he’d do so first thing in the morning. Time to go home and hit the hay, before the sun came up. He might just make it—once he’d written up his report.
****
“Come on, Eleanor, we’ll be late. Especially if you’re driving.” Her mother’s voice echoed up the stairs.
Eleanor finished brushing her hair and rose, pulling it into a tight ponytail. “I’m coming.” She grabbed her bag and keys and left the sanctity of her bedroom. Going to church had to be one of her least favorite activities. This was funny considering how much she used to love going. At one point, the weekend couldn’t come quick enough. Even at university. She and Patrick would go twice every week.
She shook her head. There was nothing in church for her now, despite her automatic prayers. Her mother insisted she attend for two reasons. Firstly, ‘if you live under my roof you abide by my rules’. Secondly, to ram home what she was no longer entitled to. Forgiveness. Salvation. Love.
Abbie smiled at her as she reached the hallway. “Mum says I can sit in the front with you today.”
Eleanor took in Abbie’s newly cut hair in dismay. It looked so much better longer. Why couldn’t her mother just leave things alone for once? “So long as you do up your seatbelt.”
“Of course.” She skipped outside and stood by the car.
Eleanor looked at her mother, taking in the scowl at her black trousers and close fitting shirt. “I don’t have time to change. Unless you want to be late.”
The scowl deepened and her mother sighed before heading to the car. Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment, then followed them, locking the door. If only she hadn’t fallen from grace, but then she’d be without Abbie.
****
Patrick slid into his normal pew just as the service started. He hadn’t expected to get here at all, as he hadn’t even left the office until four in the morning. He’d gone straight there from the club to write up his notes. He’d say he was conscientious, rather than anything else. His family on the other hand, would tell him to go get a life.
DI Nemec’s phone had gone straight to voicemail. So deciding the bloke must be in church, Patrick decided to do the same thing.
His soon to be sister-in-law, Jacqui, shot him a sly grin and moved slightly before he sat on her coat.
“You’re late,” she whispered.
“You’re lucky I’m here at all.” He grinned as he whispered a reply, kissing her cheek. He reached over her to shake his brother’s firm hand. “Hey, Liam.”
Liam smiled and grabbed his hymn book as the first song was announced. Patrick followed suit, then decided to follow on the overhead screen instead. He stood as the music started, and slid his hands into his pockets. He started singing, then his eyes spun right, his soul captivated by a very familiar voice.
Elle stood in the pew in front, three people along. Having not seen her in fourteen years, he was suddenly finding her all over the place. Why haven’t I noticed her here before?
Because I’m never here. He answered his own question and kept singing, forcing his eyes back to the screen, half wishing now he’d picked up the hymn book so he didn’t have her in his field of vision.
As the children left, he caught her eye and shot her a smile. A stab of disappointment filled him as a weak smile met him in return. He looked away and reached for his Bible to follow the reading. There’s your answer, Patrick. She wants nothing to do with you. So ignore her and concentrate on the Lord. That is why you’re here.
His mind refused to co-operate. It rehashed that last weekend over and over. Patrick took a deep breath. Fine, he told himself firmly. Then pray for her. That way you’re not leaving God out of this. And Satan is not winning this battle. He’s putting thoughts of Elle in my head to distract me from the service and my reason for being here, so I’ll turn them back to the Lord in prayer.
After the service finished, he sat for a moment. What did he do? Leave or say hello? Deciding it’d be rude just to ignore her, he slid into the pew next to them. “Hello again,” he said, holding out a hand.
Elle looked at him and took his hand. Her skin was cold against his and she shook his hand lightly. Her smile was forced and she looked uncomfortable. “Hello. How are you?”
Patrick smiled, hoping the warmth of his greeting would help ease her. “I’m good. How are you?”
“Fine.” Elle shifted slightly at the ragged cough from the severe, grey-haired lady. “This is my mother, Jeanette Harrison. This is Patrick Page. We were at university together for a while.”
Patrick extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Harrison.” He took in the hostile stare and the limp grip which was dropped as soon as possible.
“Were you in the same year?” Mrs. Harrison’s voice was just as cold.
“No, I was two years ahead, doing my post graduate course. I was Elle’s mentor.”
“Ellie, look what I got. Charlotte gave it to me for my birthday.”
Patrick turned to see a girl, possibly in her early teens run over, holding out a book. A beaming smile lit her face, making her blue eyes sparkle. This must be the
little sister.
Elle took the book. “Wow, very nice. How’d you swing that one, squirt? It’s not your birthday for a while yet.”
The child grinned, tossing her short blonde curls from her face. “Did I say birthday? I meant my unbirthday.”
Elle laughed. “You are terrible. Patrick, this is my sister, Abbie. Abbie, this is Patrick.”
“Hello. I’ve seen you here before.” Abbie, unlike the other two women in her family, gave him a wide grin.
Patrick smiled. “I’m here most weeks when I don’t have to work.”
“Ellie works a lot too. Mum, Charlotte’s asked me to her house for dinner. Can I go?”
Mrs. Harrison nodded. “As long as it’s all right with her parents.”
“Cool. Bye, love you.” Abbie ran off, beaming.
Elle watched her go and shot her mother a look that Patrick couldn’t make sense of. Before he could say anything more, Jeanette stood.
“Eleanor, we should go.” She nodded to Patrick. “Goodbye, Mr. Page.”
Elle nodded and stood. “Bye.”
“Goodbye.” Patrick stood to let them pass. He sat down again, suddenly bereft. He didn’t understand what just happened. The conversation had been as icy as it was brief. He glanced up as a hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey, bro.”
Liam was staring him down. “Mum says to come for lunch. Don’t think it’s an option.”
“Lunch sounds good, Li.” He got to his feet.
“Who was that woman? She looks familiar.”
“She works in the library.” He wasn’t about to give away her other identity.
Liam held his gaze. “Are you sure you’re OK? You seem really distracted. You have been ever since you got here.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar. And in church, too. Sit down and talk to me. We’ve got a couple of minutes.”
Patrick took a deep breath, sitting heavily. “Her name’s Elle. She’s someone from my past. From way back in my uni days, that’s all.”
Liam sat next to him. “Sounds intriguing. Old girlfriend?”