‘Oh, please, don’t say that.’
‘A professional job. But his injuries were not sufficient, no other out-of-context DNA, nothing. Unfortunately, he was known in the bars for getting himself into brawls, a bit full of himself, mouthy. At the end of the day, the injuries were not what killed him, it was the pills. They closed the books.’
‘Why do you say a gun? Did they find one?’ I truly hope they did.
‘No. But someone has it somewhere. Toby’s father, David, visited the partner in prison. He said Gregg had mentioned a gun, but he’d no part in it. Or no idea of its whereabouts.’
What have I got myself involved in? ‘Billy, you said others were looking for me – who?’
‘I’m just getting to it. This partner also told David they’d all met at your home, the night Toby was beaten, then died. He reckoned Gregg recorded the “meeting” on his laptop. The idea was to pay Toby off, bribe him into carrying the can. He intended to record evidence of his fake admission, but also to suggest his father, David, had full knowledge, sanctioned the dirty dealings. Then, Gregg could have used the evidence to blackmail his father, or at least encourage the company to cover up the scandal, leaving his practising certificate intact. But it all went shit-faced. Toby refused to implicate his father.’
Suddenly so much makes sense. No wonder Gregg was so angry, when he couldn’t locate the flash-drive. I should have watched it beyond those few seconds. I’m so ashamed; I didn’t want to know the truth. The deception was so much easier to live with.
‘So the recording holds the truth?’
‘So it seems.’ Billy shuffles uneasily in his seat. ‘They believe you may have it, you or Gregg. The flash-drive.’ He’s searching my face for answers. What if this is a ploy, and Billy’s here on your behalf? Is this why he’s hunting me – for you? No, I believe him. He wants revenge; I see it in his eyes.
‘So David Jenkins is looking for me?’
‘No. I am. He sent me, well, not quite true. I offered – nothing would make me happier than to finally get my hands on the bastard.’
‘So it’s you who’s been following me all this time?’
‘For a couple of weeks, yes. I really didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘And the referral?’
‘All true and legit. Although, I think I’m beyond help. It was, though, a great method of getting close to you.’
‘Susie, the counsellor?’
He at least has the dignity to lower his head. ‘Again legit. I thought it may help me come to terms with things.’
‘But why call yourself Gregg Austin?’
‘Oops. Yeah, sorry about that. I made the call, and when I was asked for my name, I realised I couldn’t give mine because of you. I was put on the spot.’ He stretches his lip. ‘It was the first name that occurred to me. Stupid mistake.’ He nods his head at me.
‘Did you follow me home last week, a couple of times?’
‘Guilty, yep. As I say, I didn’t intend to panic you. I needed to find you.’
‘So all this time; when I’ve thought I was being hunted by my psychopath ex-husband, it’s mostly been you!’
I say mostly because it was you who delivered the envelope the other night; I could smell you. I need some air. I push back at my chair to stand up. I’m shocked, upset, angry and feel so incredibly guilty. ‘I need to leave,’ I tell Billy. I steam away from the table; he catches me up, grabbing my arm from behind.
‘No, Eve, please don’t leave. I want to help you.’ His touch is firm but gentle as I pull my arm away from him.
‘I have to go. I’ve appointments to attend to.’ I’ve still a couple of hours before I start, but I need time to rethink. ‘You want to help me? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Creeping around? Me and my son have been petrified, thinking our days were numbered, and all the time it’s been you.’ I know this isn’t completely true; it’s been both of you. I tap at my whizzing head. ‘Have you any idea at all what I’ve been thinking, preparing, running through in here?’
Billy steps ahead of me, blocking my way. ‘Look, I’ll give you some time, but I need to see you again.’
‘I’ve told you, I had no idea about what was going on back then. It’s the truth.’
‘I understand that – no one knows better than I how he operates,’ he says. ‘But I do have reason to believe you may have what they’re looking for.’ He raises his eyebrows at me. ‘I need to see you again.’ He pulls me aside from the eager passers-by. ‘Eve, it’s not just me. Gregg is following you. He’s been so close to you, many times, a mere whisper away. I’ve been trailing him, observing you both.’
I shiver. Is he lying to me? Deep down, I understand he’s telling the truth.
‘Have you been near Jack?’
‘No. Come on, give me some credit. I wouldn’t do that. But he would, and he has. You’re in danger, Eve, both of you. He’s a broken man; nothing to lose. I wanted to get to you before he did. You have to trust me on this.’
He removes a stumpy pencil from his back pocket, then scribbles his mobile number on the back of a pay-and-display ticket, thrusting it into my hand.
‘Please, for both your sakes. He’s close enough to touch you; it’s a matter of time. I’m telling you the truth.’
I turn away, running down the steps to the ground floor. I know you are. Each day I feel you getting closer. Bigger. More frustrated. I bounce off an assistant kneeling down opening boxes of Christmas cards; surely it’s not here again yet? So many discordant memories of Christmas bounce through my mind, causing an ache in my chest. As I rush out of the exit, falling onto the pavement like a crazy woman, appreciative of the cold air, a glass screen descends around me. People busying about their day – I’m no longer part of this world. It exists without me. Is this really happening all over again? But then, after all these years, the beginning of the end; a chance to finally be free. Isn’t this what I’ve been waiting for?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Before
I jumped at the metallic din as my car door thrashed metal against metal. I hadn’t meant to be so heavy handed. My feet stood frozen on cold grey concrete. I felt somewhat compassionate to it, worn, used and trodden on. I struggled to engage myself sufficiently, bright sparkling lights bouncing off glass shop fronts momentarily confusing me. What was with all the dazzle? Then I remembered: Christmas. A mere few days before the big day. The most wonderful time of the year. I loved Christmas, didn’t I?
I glanced over the lantern-lit street, everything happening around me. A crowd of cheery people pushed past, laden with brown paper bags; did they not notice me? Had someone forgotten to tell me I’m dead? I pinched the bare skin peeping between my tan mitten and fur-trimmed sleeve. I knew how it should feel, so maybe I imagined the pinching sensation, maybe I couldn’t really feel it. The blueish tinged skin turned a pale shade of pink; chances were, I was alive. It was only the blackness stopping me from noticing.
Jack? He should have been with me. All excited, in awe of the twinkling lights, of the most magical atmosphere I could see. Where was he? What was he doing? How could a mother not know where her son was at Christmas? I looked at my watch; 23 December, it told me. Could inanimate objects lie too?
All around me, everyone, happy faces and Christmas cheer.
It was all black, except for a few flickering stars and the trails of Christmas lights. Everywhere. Music. Loud intrusive melodies; carols of all things. Please, God, don’t let them sing ‘Silent Night’. I headed through the town, avoiding eye contact with passers-by, full of joyful merriment, as I fought back the tears, breathing in sharp, frosty air. It would be more bearable once I got inside. The tones of ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ circling me like voracious birds of prey, I quickly yanked at the glass door of Starbucks. The aromas of Christmas hit me: cinnamon, nutmeg, eggnog and all the memories of family Christmas past, then present. I hadn’t truly appreciated the numbness of the last few months was sent as a friend; I’d resente
d it. Pushed at it, allowing its nemesis – pain – to squeeze in, crushing its way through my body like a frightened beast. Numbness was sometimes the only way – only a general anaesthetic would serve better.
I unearthed a table tucked away by the toilets, where no one else wanted to be. A cold bolt of air shot over my shoulders as I unbuttoned my coat. I glanced at the ceiling – the only table beneath an overzealous air-conditioning unit, pumping away, regardless of the sub-zero temperatures outside. Patting my groaning stomach, I slunk over to the glass counter. Despite the sickly sensation, I needed to eat. I decided on a wrap containing a concoction I was not entirely sure about. Should it be eaten hot or cold? How could such a simple issue throw me?
‘Can I help you?’ the glummest-looking reindeer asked me. How could she, when I couldn’t even help myself?
‘No, but a large Americano will be fine, thank you.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Sorry, ignore me. I was thinking of something else.’ I tapped my head. ‘Must be the time of year. Christmas – head’s everywhere.’ The reindeer half smiled. ‘A large black Americano with an extra shot, please. Actually, could I have two extra shots, please?’
‘Your name?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your name. To put on your cup.’
‘Oh, sure, Eve. Thank you.’ As I handed over my loose change, a brash voice thundered from behind.
‘Eve?’
I knew who it was without turning. Another reason we needed to get away from Warwickshire. Too many people, thinking they understood. Blood-sucking leeches in the guise of sympathetic beings. The overbearing woman from your office. I’d forgotten she lived near here; you used to give her a lift, sometimes, what with being such a gentleman. The ultra-sleek dark-haired woman grabbed my arm from behind, spinning me, to commence her air-kissing routine. Emerging from the cloud of perfume, I decided she must have been mugged by the fragrance-squirting patrol at the department store across the road. But, for the life of me, what the hell was her name?
‘Eve, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you!’ Expensive-clad arms gestured. She never did need to work; it was her hobby. Office gossip. ‘We’ve all been so worried about you, you know, since… you know. Only the other day we were talking about you.’
I bet you were. Enjoy yourselves, did you?
She was on a roll. ‘Such dreadful stuff, all this. Messy, I heard, the divorce.’ She leant in close, keeping her voice unnecessarily loud. ‘How are you coping? I can’t imagine. Poor you, and Jack. And Gregg, what is he up to now? You still friends, you and him? I know it’s difficult, but it’s best for Jack isn’t it, in the long run? We were saying, such a lovely little family, how sad, none of us could imagine… you know.’
I bet you’ve had a good go, run through every conceivable scenario, with the limited information you managed to steal. Since when had gossip been redefined as conversation? Jack eventually rejoined a nursery, whilst I was at work. I avoided any cliques there too. I hated small talk, hated gossip; I tried to disappear as best as I could without it impacting on Jack. So many children had their friendships dictated by parental groupies and social networkers. There were limits to my invisibility cloak, but I still chose to stand on the wall of periphery and watch, dodge and avoid.
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘So, honestly, now. How are you?’
‘I’m good actually,’ I lied. A look of disappointment traversed her heavily made-up face, pencil-lined lips forcing a slight smile.
‘Really? Wonderful. Really. Quite remarkable, I’d say. Given you had such a ghastly time of it all.’
I didn’t answer her; what would she know? I reached behind me for my coffee, taking a sip.
‘As if a marriage break-up isn’t quite bad enough. To have all that… you know, with Gregg. Leaving the partnership, as he did, under a black cloud.’
I nodded.
‘We were saying, it wasn’t too clear, did he go on, you know, to pastures new?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said in honesty. I didn’t see him. The next day he collected Jack from nursery and dropped him back to nursery. A stipulation of the court. Apparently, it was only me Gregg was harmful to. ‘You’d have to ask him.’
‘Oh, you’re not on speaking terms, then.’
‘It was lovely to see you… but I really do have a lot of work to get on with.’
‘Oh, super, you returned to work.’ She tapped my arm. ‘I guess you had little choice, what with Gregg losing his practising certificate like that. Terrible business, authorities crawling all over the offices, for weeks.’
So she knew you hadn’t gone elsewhere. I tried not to look taken aback; I had no idea you’d lost your practising certificate. What the hell had you done?
‘As I said, I really have no idea. I’m really not interested in the lives of others… Gregg. Only me and Jack, right now. And we’re absolutely fine.’
‘Eve, come on.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You don’t need to be brave with me.’ She regarded her bling watch. ‘I’ve just time for coffee with you. You should know more than anyone, it’s much better to talk, not keep it all in. A problem shared…’ She tapped her nose. ‘You’ll end up with that thingy disorder if you don’t, you know, PSSD.’
I so wished I were PSSD.
‘You mean PTSD,’ I said. ‘But, really, I’m good. Nothing to report, nothing to be talked over. We’ve moved on fine, me and Jack. There’s really no point in going back over things…’ A frown struggled from her Botox brow before she bowed down in defeat. ‘If you don’t mind, I really ought to get on.’ She threw her head backwards as if I’d headbutted her, widening precision-black-lined eyes.
I returned to my seat, alone. A kind of strong Americano nestled in shaky hands. My mind attempted to go back over you, and whatever you’d done so bad to lose all you’d worked for. I pushed it away. Not being able to bear thinking about you. My first Christmas without Jack. He was with you. I could have coped, if I’d believed Jack was having a lovely time. But I knew he was somewhere feeling alone too, worse still, afraid. Being told untruths about Santa not being real, that Christmas was about the biggest, most expensive presents. Left to his own devices to build his memories of Christmas. Memories capable of haunting him for life. The family court, advised by Cafcass, insisted on alternate Christmases from here on. Despite the evidence finally submitted by my ruddy-faced solicitor, photographs of my bruising, written statements of life with you, despite Jack’s obvious fear of his father.
The courts left us exposed, in a position where Jack was so vulnerable. The only reason you kept your grip on Jack was to spite me. Your only remaining control; the last piece of the tattered and crumbled jigsaw. Last week, Jack asked Santa to please let him stay at home for Christmas with his mummy. Santa eyed me, over his head. We both knew, this year he’d stop believing no matter what. If only I could have bridged the gap. The gap between childhood and reality. But I couldn’t. It was beyond me. I failed.
I too struggled to believe.
I opened the files in front of me. I’d allowed everything to slip, already only a few months back at the hospital. Small globules splashed, smudging the words into irregular shapes, as silent oblivious tears rolled, long overdue. I discreetly swiped them away, lowering my head until the threat of more subsided.
‘It’s no big deal. You simply have your Christmas Day on another day. It’s only one day, after all!’ the opposing, hard-faced barrister had informed me. My appeal on Jack’s behalf had been futile. You and her, smug at the thought of another case won, another injustice served on a child with a huge fee tag. Hearts replaced by pound signs and ego. Since when had Christmas ever been about one day, to a child?
The image of Jack sitting on my knee as I’d explained to him he had to leave for Christmas swamped my mind. He hadn’t said a word, only nodded in acceptance. You would think this would have made it easier, but it didn’t; it made it all the harder. His silence was not normal; it hurt. I wrapped m
y arms around him, and we didn’t speak for some time.
How had I allowed this to be? Powerless as a mother.
Jack, would you ever be able to forgive me?
Because I was certain, I never would.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cornwall 2016
I half walk, half scamper back towards my car. Is it me, or have I become invisible? I’m like the ball in an old-fashioned pinball machine. Why is everyone bouncing off me? I steal a look over my shoulder. Am I being followed? I feel eyes on me. I subconsciously tuck my hair behind my ears, and increase my pace. Is it you I feel? You breathing down my neck? I quicken my step, as far as I can, without running. An overwhelming urge to get hold of Jack, keep him close, swamps me. But he’s safe at school. I hope. With a sense of foreboding chasing me, I weave myself between oncoming people. If I run, you’ll just run faster. Nothing to be gained.
You have nothing to lose, Billy said.
But I have everything to lose.
Entering the car park, I spot my car at the far end. Hearing the click of each step across the concrete, I scramble to locate my car keys in the depth of my bag, my brow becoming damp. I daren’t look back; it’s too soon. But I know you’re there. Coward. I feel you. You’ve timed your footsteps to match mine; you don’t fool me. My heart rate has alerted me to your proximity.
Pressing the button to release the centrally locked doors, I keep my finger on it for too long, and all four windows lower in perfect harmony. Jesus Christ, not now. Not now. Go back up, you bastards. You’re getting closer, but I’m not looking.
Fear then fury, terror then sheer resolve to protect engulf and seize me. Jack’s face plugs the wide gap.
I throw my mobile onto the passenger seat, with my chest hammering like an irritated woodpecker. I turn the ignition. I’m waiting for the passenger door to open. I see it opening in my mind’s eye as you nonchalantly slide in next to me. I raise the windows, before grinding the car into gear; accelerating towards the exit. My hands clammy on the steering wheel. I still don’t look, but out of the corner of my eye I see you. I see your obscure shadow calmly walking towards me. A smirk worn on a resolute face.
Her Greatest Mistake Page 27