Stitched

by Taylor, Peter

  ‘Well, nice to see you again and to meet you, Liz.’ He pointed a finger at Alex. ‘Remember, old son, keep the faith. Don’t go burning any bridges, if you get my drift and pardon the pun. We’re always available for you in our business. Have a good day now.’

  With that he waddled off. Alex stared at his back, wondering at the ease with which a man like him had entered the school grounds. Of course the reason for his presence was clear enough; Bridge was reinforcing his point that he knew about the family, could get to them anytime, anywhere.

  Conscious that Liz was staring open-mouthed at the fat man’s back, he prepared himself for the onslaught of questions which was surely coming.

  ‘That,’ she said, ‘is a friend of yours?’

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘Acquaintance!’

  ‘An unsavoury acquaintance, I’d say. He dresses like a gangster in a Hollywood movie, either that or he has a penguin fetish. But that does penguins a great disservice. They’re fairly gentle and amusing creatures, aren’t they? How do you meet his type? In the gutter?’

  Alex blanched at the onslaught, said the first thing that came into his head that he felt would seem plausible.

  ‘He did some work on my house. He’s not too bad, really.’

  Liz looked him straight in the eyes, her own narrowing with suspicion. He saw that she knew he was lying and, like a guilty schoolboy, looked away first. The onslaught continued thick and fast.

  ‘How did he know our daughter? How did he know my name? What’s he doing here anyway?’

  He shrugged, tried to maintain his equilibrium under the bombardment, cool on the outside, he hoped, while inside he searched furiously for answers that would pass muster.

  ‘Can’t say. Maybe one of the teachers told him. Maybe he has a child here himself. Maybe I mentioned you both while he was doing my work.’

  Liz’s eyes sought his again, wouldn’t let him escape. They were like searchlights beaming in on his thoughts, penetrating secret places.

  ‘Are you in trouble with him, Alex? I could tell you couldn’t stand to be near him. It was written all over your face, in your voice even. You could barely speak to him. Besides, you’ve not been yourself since you arrived here.’

  Surprised at her perspicacity, he took a moment to recover, find his composure.

  ‘No trouble, Liz. He’s just one of those characters you meet and have to tolerate. Happens, doesn’t it? Coincidence he’s here, I guess. Maybe he spoke to me to ingratiate himself. Thinks I’ll have more work for him.’

  ‘Well, don’t give him any,’ Liz said vehemently. ‘He gives me the creeps with that slimy way of his.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Alex said, relieved she’d swallowed his excuse. ‘No problem.’

  Ann chose that moment to appear. She was beaming as she stood in front of them. Alex was glad to see her, thankful for her timing.

  ‘Ann, you did very well,’ he said.

  Liz touched her arm. She looked at her mother’s lips. ‘We’re both very proud of you, Ann.’

  Annie’s smile grew broader. She signed, ‘I’m happy to see you together today.’

  Liz and Alex’s eyes met for a second, dropped away. ‘We’ll always be together when it’s got to do with you,’ Alex told her. ‘We’re your family.’

  ‘Always,’ Liz added when her daughter turned to her.

  After the last race they walked to the gate together. Alex had a moment’s regret that his daughter’s deafness meant her speech was distorted and, though they could understand it with a little effort, she preferred to sign. That was the legacy of other children mimicking her speech when she was younger, the embarrassment it had caused her. But at least her anger had gone and her emotions were no longer in the turmoil that had led to those awful tantrums. If there was a God, Alex was eternally grateful to him that his daughter had peace in her life and he wanted to keep it that way.

  They said goodbye at the gate. Ann was going to get changed and go home on the school bus with some of her pals. Alex and Liz were left standing together.

  ‘Feeling better,’ Liz asked.

  ‘A bit,’ he answered. ‘Sorry if I’ve been a bit of a pain.’

  She looked at him with a concerned expression. ‘You’ve always been able to talk to me about anything, Alex. I hope that still goes. I still worry about you, you know. Remember that, won’t you?’

  He lowered his head, wished he could tell her it all, knew he couldn’t, that it wouldn’t help the situation or, more crucially, keep her or Ann safe.

  ‘Thanks, Liz,’ he mumbled, genuinely grateful for her support. ‘I know and I’ll remember.’

  They said their goodbyes. Alex went back to his car with a heavy heart, climbed in and sat staring straight ahead. The strain of keeping up an appearance of normality had affected him; his brain felt numb, his body enervated. It was as though his vital life force was being sucked out of him. Worse, his own conscience was chiding him for his own part in the sordid business. Why in the Devil’s name had he succumbed to that first blackmail? And now it was too late, wasn’t it? The business had gathered so much momentum it had surely gone beyond the point where he could apply the brakes with impunity. Today’s events were bringing that right home and behind it all he could see Bridge smiling his satisfaction.

  Chapter Twelve

  He drove out of Nunthorpe on to the Guisborough Road, set his course for home. As he drove he wondered whether there could be a way to fight back, of evading the trap they had constructed for him. In the army he’d been taught to keep cool when faced with a problem, look at all the angles because there was nearly always a way out. Maybe there would be a way out of this if he could only find it.

  The road ran parallel to the Cleveland Hills. Behind the hills the sun beamed down in all its glory, bathing the fields in a soft, golden light. Alex was too absorbed with his trouble to enjoy the spectacle. On the outskirts of Guisborough, still miles from home, his mobile phone rang. Irritated, but feeling he had to answer it, he pulled off the road.

  A voice he couldn’t place greeted him, ‘That you, Doc?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘A friend of a friend.’

  Alex sighed. Was it one of Bridge’s crew? If it was, he’d had a surfeit of their dissembling.

  ‘Look! Get to the point, will you? I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘Yes, time and tide, eh?’ the voice said, a sarcastic edge in the tone which set Alex’s hackles up. Deep in his brain warning bells sounded.

  ‘I’ve no time for your—’

  ‘Yes, you have, Doc. Time is what this is about. Doing time, time running out. Get my drift?’

  The warning bells boomed louder, hit crescendo. What more could they possibly throw at him today? Words strangled themselves in the dryness of his throat. The voice continued.

  ‘My friend is doing time as you know but that doesn’t bother you the way it should, does it? All that bothers you is getting home to Gloria.’

  ‘How do you—’

  ‘She’s waiting for you back at the homestead, Doc. Better hurry. Gloria’s time could be running out. You’d better hurry.’

  The phone cut off without giving him a chance to speak. In a panic, he started the engine and roared off. Overtaking cars where he shouldn’t, taking risks he wouldn’t normally take, he kept his foot down, hardly believing they would go so far as to hurt Gloria. But Bridge was a criminal. His mind wouldn’t work like other minds. He would be prepared to go to any lengths for his own ends, wouldn’t he?

  The miles went by in a blur. At last he was home, his car spinning and churning up gravel as he braked too hard in the yard. Gloria’s car was parked nearby but that was no relief. Heart pounding, he jumped out of the vehicle, ran for the back door, burst into the kitchen shouting her name.

  He stopped and listened! To his straining ears the water dripping from the tap into the sink was like a drum roll announcing an execution. His heart sank when she didn’t answer him. Then, as though there were spirit nois
es in the house, whispers from a far land, he heard faint voices. Then he got it. The television! She must be watching; that was the reason she couldn’t hear him shouting. He ran out of the kitchen, slipped in the passageway, regained his balance and charged into the living room.

  The television was on loud. A woman was screaming as she ran along a dark alleyway, dramatic music in the background to heighten the tension complementing his own increasing turmoil. But there was no sign of Gloria. The back of the sofa was facing him. It was empty and so were the two chairs at either side of the room. God, what had happened here? What had they done to her?

  ‘Gloria!’

  He howled her name, head lifting to the heavens in wild appeal, like a solitary wolf lost in a cold, forbidding landscape crying for its mate. In answer a white head with no face materialized over the back of the sofa. Shocked by the sudden, unearthly manifestation, he stepped back and froze.

  As the shape started to rotate, with a surge of relief he realized it was no macabre spectre, only Gloria’s head swathed in a towel. He inhaled, breathed out again, felt his adrenalin decelerating. She was alive. Thank God for that. She must have washed her hair, then lain down. That was all.

  Her chin was resting on the back of the sofa now so that she appeared strangely disembodied. Her eyes, wide with surprise, were staring at him as though he was a crazy man.

  ‘Why are you shouting like that? What’s the panic?’

  He didn’t answer her straight away; first he walked to an armchair, dropped into it and sank into the cushions, wishing they could absorb him entirely and he could disappear from her sight.

  ‘Alex?’ she said when he continued to stare ahead, mentally exorcising all the horrible imaginings of the last half-hour.

  He reached forward, picked up the remote control. The woman was screaming all over again. He switched her off, turned to Gloria. She was stretched out on the sofa, her dressing-gown pulled around her.

  ‘I couldn’t find you in the house. I was worried something had happened.’

  She gave him a quizzical, sideways glance. ‘It nearly did when you shouted my name like that. I nearly had a heart attack. But, as you can see, I am perfectly OK.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘It’s OK.’

  A moment’s silence. Then he just had to ask. ‘There’s been no visitor, no stranger here?’

  Again the sideways look. He knew she was thinking his behaviour was strange.

  ‘No visitor. No stranger. What is this, Alex? Who were you expecting?’

  He ignored her questions. ‘Nothing unusual happened?’

  ‘For God’s sake, no!’ She shook her head in a gesture of disbelief. ‘Are you paranoid all of a sudden or do you think I’ve an old boyfriend stalking me? Is that it?’

  He hung his head, didn’t answer. She must be thinking him a nervous idiot or a control freak but he didn’t want to explain himself, not yet.

  An uncomfortable atmosphere developed in the room, emanating from his failure to speak. At last, with a shrug of her shoulders, as though dismissing him, she reached for the remote control and switched on the television again. They both stared at the screen, Alex feeling uncomfortable but grateful that the noise filled the void between them.

  A minute passed and she suddenly said, ‘Actually, there was a phone call. Some guy from a company – Bridge Insurance Limited I think he called it. He said to tell you they’d been working hard on your portfolio and your long-term interests could be safeguarded. Make sense?’

  His heart sinking again, Alex nodded. ‘Yes. Thanks, Gloria.’

  He leaned back, tried to look relaxed. The analogy to an insurance company was apt as a final flourish to recent events, not least because Bridge must have had plenty of people working in his interests. They’d done a job for him, turning Alex’s day into another series of nightmares. Apparently they were so far into his life they even had his phone numbers. It was as though on all sides invisible forces were watching, waiting for the word to unleash themselves and destroy his life.

  ‘I’m going out tonight,’ Gloria said without any warmth, ‘Meeting my girlfriends. You’ll be OK, will you?’

  Another time he might have complained that he really wasn’t seeing much of her. Right at the moment, however, he was pleased because he wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s company and being alone suited him.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’m fine. It’s important you keep in touch with your friends. Don’t want you turning into a recluse living out here.’

  He rose, went to the drinks cabinet, poured himself a whisky, took a long swallow and, feeling the need to excuse his earlier behaviour, decided he’d better say something.

  ‘Gloria, look, I’m sorry. I’m not a control freak or anything. It’s just . . . bit of pressure at work. My nerves . . . probably a bit frayed.’

  She turned towards him, gave him a sweet smile. ‘Things will get better,’ she said. ‘I’ll be more of a companion. That will help. Right now I have to try and clinch this job and keep all my contacts. Bit of a strain for me too, you know.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ He took another sup of whisky. ‘We probably both need a bit of time.’

  As soon as he said the word ‘time’, that last call to his mobile phone reverberated in his brain. Time and tide wait for no man, the sinister voice had said. Gloria really had no idea just how much pressure he was under. Bridge had his life in a stranglehold, leaving him in no doubt that, if he didn’t cooperate, not only would he destroy his career but somewhere, somehow, he’d retaliate against those nearest to him. The threat to Gloria here in his own home, the phone call from the fictitious company, had been a part of it all. Today had been all about cranking up the pressure, letting him know he was cornered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Next day, at work, Senior Officer Webster from Houseblock Three rang to inform Alex that Charlie Bridge had complained of chest pains. They couldn’t tell if he was shamming so the prisoner was already on his way to see him, accompanied by an escorting officer. Webster hoped that was OK with him.

  Alex, his heart thumping, said, ‘Of course. You can’t take chances. I’ll be ready for him.’

  He put the phone down and drew in a deep breath. This was it, the moment he’d known would come and was dreading. He only hoped he could keep his composure when he faced the man who was eating away at his life.

  Minutes later an officer knocked on his office door, ushered Bridge inside and watched with an air of scepticism as the criminal shuffled across the floor and lowered himself into the chair opposite Alex’s. The officer raised his eyebrows in Alex’s direction, a gesture which conveyed that he thought Bridge was at it.

  ‘I’ll wait outside for him,’ he said. ‘But don’t expect me to give mouth-to-mouth if he turns blue.’

  Bridge glared at him. ‘Just remember you’re a public servant. That makes you my servant. That’s why I pay taxes.’

  Before he closed the door the officer said, ‘For a man with chest pains he’s got a lot to say, eh, Doctor?’

  As soon as the custodian was gone Bridge straightened in his chair and winked.

  ‘Who says the National Health Service is slow, Alex?’ He smiled slyly. ‘Got me here quick enough, didn’t he?’

  The man’s whole demeanour, the familiar use of his name, grated on Alex’s nerves. But as the last few days had clearly demonstrated, Bridge had a hold over him and knew it, was enjoying the sense of power it gave him. Alex, controlling a powerful desire to punch him and not stop until he wiped away the cocky smile, met the convict’s insolence with silence and waited for him to speak.

  The smile slid away. Bridge became serious. His eyes fixed on Alex’s, bored into him, challenging him with the secrets they both now shared. It was as though a devil was behind those eyes, probing the inner recesses of Alex’s soul, illuminating every corner so he couldn’t hide his secrets or his shame.

  ‘Get on with it,’ Alex muttered, giving way.

 
; Bridge leaned back, folded his arms. Alex felt himself teetering on the edge of a precipice, one step away from launching himself into an abyss from which there could be no return. Yet, instinct told him it would be better if he threw himself into the depths rather than allowing his family to suffer at the hands of this man.

  ‘By now Alex, you’ll know I’m a big cheese out there. People work hard for me. When we had our last conversation you showed reluctance to help me. That annoyed me. Now that you know just what I can do, the range of my . . . influence, I hope you’ve changed your mind and will come on board.’

  ‘You’ve left me no choice, you bastard.’ Alex said, hating himself. ‘Spit it out. What have I to do to get my family free of you and your kind?’

  ‘What I told you before,’ Bridge said. ‘Just a little thing, not much, really, to have me out of your life.’

  ‘Be exact. Make it clear.’

  Bridge rubbed the bristle on his chin. ‘Well then, in two days’ time I’ll have a proper heart attack. You’ll be called to the block and you’ll confirm it’s my heart and tell them I need an ambulance – correction, you’ll insist on an ambulance.’

  Alex listened carefully, trying to weigh how much harm, apart from letting Bridge loose on society, it could do if he complied.

  ‘And that’s it?’ he said, eventually. ‘My part over and done, no last minute surprises and my family free for good from you and your kind?’

  Bridge grinned. ‘That’s it, Doc. Of course, I’ll never reach hospital. Something will happen to prevent it, but that won’t be your concern.’

  ‘And that something could involve violence?’

  Bridge shrugged. ‘Doubt it, Doc. My people will want to avoid violence. Too much heat afterwards if anyone gets hurt.’

  Alex fell silent. Bridge was making it sound straightforward and he supposed a well-planned escape could be achieved without anyone being damaged. The trouble was, as he knew from his army career, no matter how carefully you planned, there was always the unpredictable to make a mockery of your calculations. But his family were at the forefront of his own considerations and he didn’t think he had a choice.