by Amanda James
It’s coming up to midday and I’m gazing out of the window at St Michael’s Mount again when I hear my phone ring. I had a real panic earlier when the charger I borrowed from Pat didn’t work, but I managed to get another from a phone shop in Penzance. Now I can’t find the sodding mobile! Bathroom? Yes, thank God.
‘Mark?’ I say, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
‘Hello, Bryony. Well, I found out part of your answer. There was a man involved in an incident yesterday. His name was Andrew Williams.’
‘Past tense? So …’
‘Yep, he’s dead. He had a gunshot wound to his right shoulder, but just a scratch really. When officers got to him he fell to his knees and died. A massive heart attack apparently. Only forty-five. Life in the fast lane must have got him in the end.’
Relief and guilt fight for dominance. Relief that he won’t be coming after me, guilt because I’m relieved that a man’s dead. ‘Ri-ght. What did you mean about life in the fast lane, Mark?’
‘He was a known criminal, Newcastle mostly, but he has been known to operate in Yorkshire from time to time. Ransom was an acquaintance, he’s been linked to him, but as usual we could never pin him down until you nailed him, of course.’
Guilt abates a little. Then I ask the question that’s been on my tongue for almost twenty-four hours. ‘What about the other man?’
‘That’s what I meant about only having part of your answer. There was no news of another man.’
His reply kicks me in the gut. What? But that’s impossible. There would be no way Nathan could have walked away from that. He must be having medical care somewhere. Mark sighs and I realise I have to say something. ‘Are you sure? I heard that the other man was quite badly injured.’
‘I’m positive. The reports are only of Williams. If there had been someone else involved I would have found it.’
My brain won’t produce another explanation … what Mark’s saying is illogical. I shove my hand through my hair, stand up, begin to pace the room. Mark’s waiting for a reply but I don’t have one.
‘So if that’s it, I need to get back to work, Bryony.’
‘Yes. Thanks so much once again, Mark. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Take care, Bryony.’
‘You t—’ I begin, but he’s ended the call. Great. He’s pissed off because I won’t tell him why I asked about Williams and ‘the other man’, and I would be too if I were him.
My pacing increases and there’s a ball of energy in my stomach needing release. I feel like a caged animal and need to get outside, go for a walk. Think. Outside I find the beach, kick off my shoes and pick up a brisk pace. Think. Nathan must have got away somehow before the police came. An image presents itself of him face down on the path again, a crimson pool spreading from under his chest. No. No way. Could they have taken him to hospital and he somehow discharged himself? Did he have any criminal connections down here? It’s possible. Could they be hiding him? I stop walking and look at the horizon. No. No, of course not, because even if it were true that he’d discharged himself, there would still have been a police report about him being involved with the Williams shooting. If there had been a report, Mark would have found it.
The idea that I need to do something fast grabs hold and won’t let go. There’s no need to be here now, is there? I should take a bus, go back to the rented cottage, get my clothes, my car. I can’t stay there though because as soon as Ransom finds out about Williams he’ll send someone else. Then I’ll track Nathan down and find out exactly what the hell’s going on. I’ll ring the main hospitals in the area. If there’s no joy, I’ll call him. I have to. This not knowing is killing me.
In my car outside Trevella Cottage I push away thoughts of arriving here just a few days ago with Nate. We were so full of excitement and optimism. Now things couldn’t be more different. The cottage is locked up and the key back with the owner. She was surprised that I’d terminated the agreement, but as she had her rent in advance, she didn’t look too worried. My case and Nathan’s holdall are in the back. I hope to God I’ll be able to give it to him very soon. The two main hospitals said they couldn’t tell me anything as I wasn’t a relative. I could have said I was next of kin, but they might have had his mum listed. Then they asked for his address and date of birth. I can’t believe we hadn’t talked about when our birthdays are. The address … no idea either. I had to end the call. Now I’m so desperate, I’m going to pull one last trick.
‘Yes, Detective Inspector Bryony Masters, here. Can you tell me which ward Nathan Walker is on please?’
‘When did he come in?’
‘Um … Sunday.’
‘Which department?’
‘A&E I think.’
‘Can I take the address and date of birth?’
‘Sorry, don’t have those.’
‘Right … okay, just a moment. Can’t see anyone with that name. I’m afraid you’d have to come in, show your ID for me to look any further.’
I end the call and make another to the other hospital – same response. It’s not as if I expected anything else really because of hospital security, though it’s just one more setback. Chances are he’s not at either hospital though. There would have been something on the screen, surely. Just one thing left then. Nathan’s number. Suddenly I’m hot, can’t get enough oxygen, so I wind the window down and take in a gulp of country air. Honeysuckle is sweet on the breeze and I take a few deep breaths to calm my jittery nerves.
Here goes. I press call and lift the phone to my ear. It connects to an annoying beep: ‘I’m sorry, the number you have dialled has been disconnected.’ Eh? But that’s ridiculous. I hang up and try again. Same. Damn it! What’s going on? I’m about to put the phone away when I’m startled by it ringing in my hand. Nathan? No – unknown number.
‘B-Bryony … it’s me.’
‘Immi?’ I can hardly make her out. There’s a buzz of traffic in the background and she’s sobbing. Heartbreaking, racking sobs.
‘I’m in a phone box … I haven’t got long. Ch-change is running out. I’m heading to Spain. I’ll call you when I’m settled … I shot someone last night, Bryony.’ My hand grips the phone harder and I’m biting my lip to stop myself crying out. ‘Shot his ear half off. Blood went up my wall … across my mirror. He was one of Dad’s – Jason – the one that had Nathan’s mum. Dad sent … he … he sent him to k-kill me.’
‘Oh my God. Immi, I—’
‘He’s not dead. He ran off. But I can’t stay now. I’m not safe. Be careful, you and Nathan. Love to you.’
‘Immi? Immi, are you okay?’ Disconnect drones in my ear and I throw the phone on the passenger seat, leaning my head on the steering wheel. Oh God. Poor, poor Immi. Nathan had described Jason: dumb hired muscle. How could a father actually consider killing his child, no matter what she’d done? I thought he might want to punish her … but this?
I look through the windscreen at the cottage but just see chaos. I see chaos and misery and loss. Nathan is gone. He’s either in hiding with someone from his past, or the police have him somewhere … but where? Why? It’s obvious I won’t find out any time soon, so it’s pointless looking. If he wants to contact me he will. He has my number … or did. What if the worst has happened? There was a lot of blood. I shut that thought down. Fast. My stomach churns and I know I have to get away. I don’t know where, but I have to go. Now. I turn the key in the ignition and drive.
34
For three days I have been in a hotel in Dover. Three days of indecision and anxiety. Every day I tell myself that if Nathan hasn’t got in touch I’ll buy a ticket and go on the ferry crossing to Calais. From there I’ll just drive. I’ve often fancied the south of France, but under the circumstances I couldn’t give a shit where I end up. I’m currently in a backstreet café with a cup of cold coffee in front of me. It tastes like marmite and wood shavings, but again, I don’t give a shit. In fact, as each day passes I’m finding it harder to give a shit about anyth
ing apart from Nate, and that isn’t where I want to be.
The clock on the grease-coated café wall says it’s 10.15am, and all of a sudden I make a decision – and this one’s final. If he’s not phoned by this afternoon I’m leaving tomorrow. There is absolutely no point whatsoever hanging about here any longer. I can’t find out if he’s alive or dead. Last night I was so desperate I nearly phoned Mark again, but he wouldn’t have helped me … and I don’t really blame him. And how could he help anyway? In order for him to phone the morgues I’d have to give him Nathan’s name and then we would be back to square one.
Kenny Ransom has so much to answer for and if he were here right now I swear I’d kill him. I imagine my hands around his throat squeezing the life out of him, but then I shake my head. That would make me just as bad as him. With any luck, one day he’ll push his luck a bit too much, and some other delightful prisoner will take that job off my hands. I wonder how Immi is and where she is. I wish I could speak to her, try and help somehow. She must be going through hell. Once she’s settled she’ll get in touch. I hope. My mobile rings in my bag and I grab it, frantically thumbing the screen. Please God let it be him. No. It’s Immi.
‘Hello, Bryony Masters?’
I’m tempted to end the call. Why is a strange man ringing from Immi’s phone? Curiosity won’t let me though. ‘Yes?’
‘Dr Jonathan Blake here. You don’t know me, but I’m a good friend of Imogen Ransom.’
‘Ah, right. Yes, you work together don’t you?’
‘We do … but, well, we’re also in a relationship … or we were. That’s why I’m phoning. She’s disappeared off the face of the planet since Monday and, well, I’m going through her phone trying to find anyone who knows where she is.’
Poor Immi. Finally finds a man and her dad ruins it again. ‘She left her phone behind?’
‘Not on purpose. It was under the passenger seat of my car. She must have dropped it when she was at mine last weekend. I only found it when I rang her before I drove to work.’
So that’s why she never answered when I was frantically trying to warn her about her dad. Now what to do? I can’t tell him I’ve heard from her and what’s happened, because if she’d wanted him to know she would have called, wouldn’t she?
‘Bryony, are you still there?’
‘Yes … it’s just a bit of a shock to hear she left without saying anything to anyone. What about work?’
‘She just didn’t turn up on Monday. I’ve been round to her house a few times, but she’s not there. Car’s gone too.’
My heart goes out to him. He’s obviously in a state, but I can’t betray Immi. ‘Oh dear. That’s worrying. Have you tried the police?’
‘Yes, but they’ve drawn a blank so far. Will you call me if you hear anything?’
‘Yes, of course. What’s your number?’
I end the call and leave the greasy spoon, hurry back to the hotel to pack. I know I told myself I’d wait until this afternoon, but I’ve had just about as much as I can take. If I’m lucky I could get a ferry ticket for late afternoon. It will cost me, but once again, I don’t give a shit. The sooner I get away from all this chaos and misery the better. As soon as I set foot over the threshold of my room I hear a text beep through. Probably Jonathan texting his number. I check anyway. Unknown. When I read the first line, my legs give way and I slump onto the bed.
Bryony, I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to get in touch. I bet you’ve been worried. I’m okay, lost a bit of blood, but they patched me up and I’m out of hospital now. The thing is the whole situation brought me up with a bit of a start. Even though the man that shot me died of a heart attack I won’t be safe … we won’t be safe as long as we’re together.
My heart comes up into my throat and I can’t bear to read the rest. I look at the well-worn beige carpet and the stain on the sink; try to think of nothing while I gather my wits. When I think I’m ready, I look back at the screen.
We might not be safe if we’re apart, but we’ll stand a better chance. I will miss you of course … it hurts me to write this, but I’m ending it. It’s best we go our separate ways. Let’s face it, we were never going to work with our history. I do care about you, you saved my life … but not enough to get myself killed. I’m a selfish bastard at heart. Take care, Bryony. Best wishes, Nathan.
Best wishes? Best fucking wishes? No kisses? No love? This isn’t Nathan. This isn’t my Nate. Before I can think, I call the number and it’s answered immediately. ‘Nathan, is that you?’
‘Yes.’
‘What the hell are you thinking? I know you don’t mean any of that.’
‘I do. I’m sorry … I’m going to hang up now because no matter how long we talk we’ll never work out a solution.’
I can tell he’s on the brink of tears. ‘But Nate … Please, you can’t!’ I hate the whiney tone of my voice but I can’t help it.
‘I’m blocking your number. Goodbye, Bryony. Be happy.’
No. No. No! I’m on my knees rocking to and fro, the phone pressed against my heart. How could he do this? How? After everything he said about never being able to repay me for saving him from that rip current. That he’d spend his life trying to do right by me? All that was a heap of bullshit? Was it? Was it really? I wipe my tears and my nose on my sleeve. He has to talk to me, has to listen. Pride is something I have always been big on, but now I don’t care. I dial the number again and it rings once and goes to voicemail. I ring again and it does the same. He’s blocked me. He really has.
Four hours later I’m watching the white cliffs grow smaller from the deck of the ferry as the wind whips my hair into my eyes. It’s far too long … really must get it trimmed, it’s making my eyes water. How could I be so wrong about a person? How could I let myself become so fond of him? Never again. That’s me and men finished. My heart won’t take it. I turn my face towards France and my hair streams out behind. Now I only care about me. I’ll rent a gîte or something, chill out for a while, treat myself to some me time, whatever the fuck that is. Then when my head is clear I’ll think about the future … figure out a way to come home. Right now, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.
35
Inverness used to be just a place on the map to Nathan. Now he looks out of the cottage window at the stunning Scottish countryside and it begins to sink in that he lives there. Well, about five miles away over the bridge in a little place called North Kessock, right on the banks of the Beauly Firth. Under normal circumstances he would be over the moon to live amongst such beauty, but his circumstances are far from normal. The last six months have been tough. Really tough. A new name, new history, new job. Those things took a little getting used to, to say the least, but compared to the pain of losing Bryony … thinking about it, nothing could compare to that.
That last phone call they’d had sometimes wakes him up at night. The things he said, wrote, the cold way he brushed her off. His voice had almost betrayed him, but he thinks he held it together until he ended the call. She must hate him. The way she’d pleaded with him. He’d hate him if he was her. Bryony had saved him from that rip current, saved his life and he had repaid her by breaking her heart. He supposed he had; she might not have felt the same way about him as he had about her. Nathan hoped that she hadn’t really, because it would have been easier on her.
Mist is rolling in from the damp fields over the Firth. November is grim in the city, but here it has a lighter feel, even though it’s dark for much of the time. Nathan wonders where Bryony is. He guesses she won’t be in Cornwall, with Ransom still hell-bent on finding her. He knows he hasn’t given up – he has a few colourful contacts on the inside and out too. Nathan wishes he didn’t have to speak with them, but part of his new life is dependent on it.
Nathan makes a cheese sandwich and coffee, takes it over to the window and stares out over the Firth. Weekends are the worst. He’s been invited out plenty of times by his work colleagues, but so far he’s preferred his own company. He’s w
orried about letting something slip about his past too. Still, he’ll have to get used to it eventually. Sometimes he wonders if he made the right decision, to forgo everything he ever knew including Bryony, but overall he knows he did.
During those days he spent in hospital it became obvious to him what he should do. Kelsey and Mansell agreed with his plan; they’d organise a new ID, get him away from Sheffield, get him a CV – something he’d never have otherwise – and a chance to make a new life. A real life. In return, he would inform on Dawson and Ransom and one or two others he knew of. Tell them every dirty deal they ever did, try to find out anything they were still up to, until they had enough to put Dawson away, and maybe pin something else on Ransom. This made him happy. Whatever it took to make that bastard pay for what he’d done. Nathan would see his father avenged. Having a CV made him happy too, and a legitimate work history was something he thought would never be his, but the main reason he did any of it was to keep Bryony safe.
If only she knew what he’d given up to protect her. Family, his identity … her. But then it was only what he owed her for saving his life. As long as he was with her she’d never be safe. As long as Ransom lived, she’d never be safe. Ransom hated both of them, but Nathan guessed he’d be top of the list because of the way he’d turned on him, gone over to the other side – the straight and narrow. And that he’d got into bed, quite literally, with a copper. Or an ex-copper. He’d swooped in and taken his mother from under Jason’s nose too. That must have really made Ransom furious. Bryony would be second on the hate list now, because he’d found out that it was Imogen who had made the call that got him banged up and not her. Ransom still wanted her hurt though … he had become even more bitter and twisted since his only child vanished.