Inside the bank she looked around confused. Blast, she thought, she should have asked him where she was to go. The manager, however, had anticipated her dilemma and even as she looked around a young man approached and said her name quietly.
Her breath came on a gasp of relief. ‘Yes, I’m Kelly Johnson!’
The young man indicated a door in the far corner of the bank and she nodded and walked swiftly across the tiled floor conscious of the many curious eyes that followed her. She hesitated at the door and then grasped the door handle and pushed the door open.
The manager rose as the door opened having been immediately alerted by the teller staff of Kelly’s arrival. He greeted her with a handshake and an all encompassing look. He was no rocket scientist, as he later told the gardai, but he was looking at a woman in deep trouble. He had no doubt in his mind.
The money, packed into a cardboard box, sat on the desk in front of him making his ‘There it is,’ redundant.
He indicated a chair for her to sit and sat himself. He hesitated a moment and then, with a shake of his head, he opened the file in front of him. Pulling out a number of sheets he handed them to her, ‘You’ll just need to sign these, please, Mrs Johnson.’
She signed the forms, where he had indicated, without reading them. ‘You really should read them, Mrs Johnson,’ he protested.
She smiled. ‘I trust you, Mister...’ she read his name badge. ‘Bridgeport. Thank you.’ She stood, held out her hand again and prepared to depart. The clock on the wall behind his desk caught her eye, she had to get on, time was moving too fast.
The sudden look of fear on her face shocked Sean Bridgeport. He held her hand a moment, delaying her. ‘Is there anything I can do for you,’ he asked quickly, ‘we can still call the police, Mrs Johnson, you are safe in here, you know.’
Kelly held his gaze for a moment, seeing kindness and concern reflected there. She hesitated, maybe...if the gardai came here and took her to a safe place, maybe she would be ok. She remembered the man’s voice, heard again the coldness when he spoke about Simon. What if the gardai told her to go home, told her they would keep an eye on the house. What then? How long would they keep an eye on the house before they gave up? And when they did...he could come and make her suffer.
She pulled her hand away gently.
‘Thank you, Mr Bridgeport. It is better this way. You have been very kind, I won’t forget it,’ she said with feeling. ‘Thank you again.’
She picked up her parcel, surprised at the weight, and left.
It sat on the rack directly above her head as the train rattled through lush green countryside. Smiling to herself she wondered what the bank manager had thought she needed the money for. Whatever tale he is thinking probably isn’t as fantastic as the truth; she thought ruefully and rested her head against the cold window. He probably thinks the rumours were true, that I did kill Simon and am being blackmailed. Far too simple a story. Maybe someday, if things work out she’ll go back and tell him the truth. If things worked out...
The overweight man beside her began to snore and she gazed at her watch estimating how much longer she would be trapped by his girth; how long before she would get to meet the man who murdered her husband. She was trapped every way. Thirty minutes she whispered to her reflection, seeing it frown in reply. Thirty, thirty, thirty, the train parroted mercilessly, carrying her relentlessly closer.
Listening to the mocking sound, she wondered, not for the first time since that early morning phone call, if she should have contacted Sergeant West. He would know she had left by now she guessed, perhaps he’ll think I’ve gone back to Cornwall. She hoped, with a soft chuckle, he wouldn’t drive all that way again. Maybe, when she had delivered the money, when it was all over, she would be able to tell him. She sighed feeling the oppressive bulk of the man in the seat beside her. She had so much explaining to do to so many people.
Sergeant West, he seemed like a nice guy, he’d driven back to Cornwall when she had asked, rescued her from that awful place. She hadn’t really thought about it at the time but, she supposed, he could have asked the local police to go to her and not travelled all that way himself. Suddenly, she realised she had never thanked him. Never really acknowledged his help. She had assumed he would help her and he had. And he had been kind, she remembered; he had held her as she cried, had been gentle. An unexpected and unwanted frisson ran through her at the memory, jolting her, eyes meeting startled eyes in the window. Refusing to acknowledge the feeling she hid it away, stuck it with all the other emotions she couldn’t cope with, the rollercoaster ride she kept avoiding.
She would keep it simple. When she had the chance she would thank him; she would explain and she would thank him.
The train chugged on. It was the first time she had travelled by train since Simon had disappeared. Simon, she mused sadly, who had never really been there in the first place. Her sorrow at his loss was overlaid with double edged anger; with him for his lies and deception, with herself for being so gullible. She stared out the window seeing her reflection, watching a tear glint in the glass as it made it’s slow decent down her cheek. She closed her eyes against the cascade of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her again, leaning her head back against the cold window, feeling some comfort in the cold solidity of it. In a world as shaky as hers, solid suddenly was a major advantage. God, she thought trembling, it was all just too much.
By the time the train rattled into the station in Cork she had regained her composure and, retrieving her parcel from the rack, she stepped off the train. She had been told by her mysterious, nameless caller to stay on the platform and wait. She glanced around nervously. The platform was bustling with people arriving and departing, everyone busy with their own lives and unaware of the other lives crashing around them. She waited, her apprehension increasing as the minutes passed going over the instructions she had been given over and over again. She had followed them properly, hadn’t she?
She had got a taxi from her house to Heuston train station, telling the driver to take the most circuitous route he could, checking at every turn there were no gardai following her, no car she recognised. She had gone into the station and waited for twenty minutes before she approached the ticket counter, checking there was nobody following her. She sat there wondering if one of the many men who passed was the man who murdered her husband. Wouldn’t be marked in some way, shouldn’t he be?
She waited twenty minutes exactly and then got up and purchased a ticket for a train that would be leaving within fifteen minutes. That was three hours ago. She had done everything correctly and now here she was, waiting for...she didn’t know, she wanted to scream.
Holding the parcel in one arm she ran a hand over her eyes and then glanced at her watch, fifteen minutes had passed. She was considering what to do when she saw a man on the other side of the track watching her. Suddenly alert she watched him closer. Aware he had her attention he pointed to the screen showing the trains due. He held two fingers up and then walked to the far end of the platform.
She stood for a moment unsure of what to do. Was he being deliberately ambiguous to put her more on edge? Or was she making it more difficult than it was? He had pointed to the screen and held up two fingers. Ok, so does that mean he wants me to get the second train from that platform or from this platform or to wait two minutes and get a train? Don’t panic, she told herself, feeling its jaws snapping around the edges of her sanity. She decided to check the screen on the platform she was on before crossing to check out the far platform.
Two trains were scheduled to stop from the platform she was on. The first was to Dublin in five minutes and the second train was to Midleton in ten minutes. Hurrying across the bridge she looked up at the screen there. The first train was to Mallow in thirty and the only other train was to Dublin in an hour. She glanced down the busy platform trying to get a glimpse of the man who had signalled. Which train was she supposed to take? Suddenly her mobile beeped and she quickly read the message. ‘Midleton,’ it
said shortly.
Five minutes later the Midleton train pulled into the station and came to a grating halt, the small crowd surged forward towards the doors and clambered on taking her with them and she was suddenly on board. She was lucky to get an outside seat this time and kept her parcel on her lap as she waited for further contact from the mysterious man.
She didn’t have long to wait. The train was about two minutes from Cork when the man she had seen on the platform approached. He was a big man, stocky rather than fat; well-dressed, unassuming. Shouldn’t he look rough, and menacing not sophisticated and elegant. Shouldn’t he look like a murderer? The man stopped as he passed her and bent down. Straightening, he held out a piece of paper, ‘you must have dropped this,’ he said, handing it to her, his voice soft. She took it, her hand trembling and he passed on.
Kelly waited a moment and opened the piece of paper. ‘Get off at Glounthaune,’ it said. She turned the paper over, nothing else. She closed her eyes wearily. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out without falling apart. She liked her life calm and quiet and ordered. The way it used to be, before Simon. Not this. Not this constant turbulence, the skulduggery, the deceit, the fear.
She had no idea where Glounthaune was, if it was one mile or ten. She rested her head back against the plush of the seat and closed her eyes. The train chugged on regardless, bringing her nearer to, what she hoped was, the end of this ghastly saga.
She could feel the tiredness beginning to slow her down, could feel herself drift. She awoke with a startled cry when the intercom announced the next stop to be the one she wanted. Glounthaune. Had she fallen asleep, how far away from Cork was she? Checking her watch she was relieved to see she hadn’t come far. It was only about ten minutes since she left Cork.
She left the train, watched it go nervously and stood uneasily on the platform. Now what, she wondered resignedly as she looked about and waited. The few people who had got off at the same time quickly left and within minutes she was alone.
The beep of her mobile announced a message. Fumbling with the package she was afraid to put on the ground she opened her mobile and read the message.
‘Take the next train back to Cork and wait,’ it said bluntly.
Kelly felt tears burn and fall. She didn’t think she would be able to hang around and wait for that breakdown, she thought she was going to have it now. She stood with her eyes closed on the hot tears, ignoring them as they trickled and fell, dotting the brown cardboard with dark splodges.
From the other side of the track she heard voices and looking across she saw a crown gathering. The next train to Cork, she realised, must be from the other side. Looking up and down the track she saw an overhead bridge and made her way up and over and joined the group waiting for the train.
It arrived within minutes and ten minutes later she was once again standing on the platform in Cork. This time she waited twenty minutes, twenty minutes of nerve-wracking, nail-biting anxiety that had her jumping at every passer-by passing by.
Finally, just as she thought something had gone wrong, the same man she had seen on the train approached with a casual gait and stopped in front of her. ‘Sorry for all the cloak and dagger stuff,’ he said, with a smile that stayed firmly put on very narrow lips, ‘I had to make sure you weren’t being followed, you understand?’
‘I’m not sure I understand anything anymore, mister...?’
His smile became an unpleasant smirk. ‘You can call me John. I think, Mrs Johnson, the less you know about me the better it will be for your health.’
His gaze drifted over her, cold eyes took in her trim figure and classic good looks, lingered on the curve of her breast. His smile widened in appreciation, broadened onto a leer of lust. ‘Your husband may have been one of the most stupid people I have had the misfortune to meet but I see he had good taste in women.’ He measured up the parcel she had put down by her feet. ‘Not a stupid woman either, I see. It’s all there?’
‘Almost three hundred thousand,’ she stopped, seeing his eye brows rise at the ‘almost’. ‘There’s two hundred and ninety one thousand. The bank charged me nine thousand for arranging everything at short notice. Please,’ she finished, ‘it was all I had.’
‘So I’m out of pocket by two hundred and nine grand,’ John said, his voice taking on the menacing tone she had heard earlier. He looked her over again. ‘Perhaps,’ he continued moving closer, ‘we could come to some arrangement to pay the balance.’ He lifted a finger and ran in along her jaw.
She felt her insides contract with fear and revulsion. ‘You s...said,’ she stammered, ‘you said you’d settle for the three hundred thousand.’
‘Yes, but you didn’t bring me three hundred, did you. Nine thousand pounds can buy a lot.’ Again he raised a hand. This time he parted her jacket and ran a hand over her breast. ‘Oh, yes,’ he murmured, ‘I think we can work that nine thousand off very quickly.’ He squeezed her breast painfully and reached around to pull her to him, opening his jacket, pulling her inside.
Panic froze her into immobility as she felt his body hot against hers. She felt the heat from his mouth before he closed his thin lips roughly down on hers, forcing his tongue deep into her mouth. His hand dropped and cupped her bottom pulling her hard against him. Releasing her slightly he pulled her hand down and rubbed it over the hardening bulge in his trousers with a groan.
This can’t be happening, she thought, as she watched people move past them unconcernedly, unaware or perhaps uncaring, intent on their own lives. She saw one woman cast them a look of disgust. Would she come if I screamed for help? Kelly knew she wouldn’t.
‘You are one hot woman,’ John whispered thickly against her ear and then ran his tongue down her neck to where the soft triangle of skin met her shoulder and he bit down hard, his teeth bruising as she squirmed and tried to pull away, the pain intense. But his grip was tight, and he held her effortlessly as his mouth moved back to cover hers and his tongue once more plundered her mouth, almost choking her with its gross insistence.
His hands were all over her, under her t-shirt, squeezing and pinching. Her squeals of pain he stopped by the simple method of keeping his gross tongue firmly lodged in her mouth. She wanted to bite down on it, wanted to bite it off and spit it at him but knew she was too afraid to do anything. He tried to insert his hands down the waistband of her jeans but was stopped by the tightly cinched leather belt.
She didn’t know how long the assault went on. It felt like hours. She didn’t know how long it would have lasted if not for the crowd of schoolchildren who arrived on the platform like a swarm of locusts, invading whatever space was available, filling it with noise and laughter, elbows and knees and overlarge backpacks that they swung to and fro.
The man glanced behind him with a hiss of frustrated annoyance as a backpack knocked his shoulder and, for a moment, he relaxed his hold. Without thinking, Kelly kicked the parcel of money toward the edge of the platform and, as his eyes followed in alarm, she pulled away and ran for the exit weaving in and out of the schoolchildren with a speed she didn’t know she possessed.
The man quickly retrieved the parcel and held it as he watched her run up the stairs to the exit. He smiled unpleasantly and taking out his mobile quickly made a call. ‘I’ll call that an appetiser, my dear,’ he snarled quietly, ‘I’ll have my main course when I have built up a bigger appetite.’ He waited a beat before continuing, ‘and I can get very hungry, Kelly.’ He snapped his phone closed and pocketed it and, with a quick glance around, strolled nonchalantly to the exit with his parcel under his arm.
TWENTY-TWO
Kelly heard her mobile ring as she ran out the station door. She ignored it and climbed into a waiting taxi, collapsing onto the seat in disarray.
‘Just drive!’ she snapped at the startled driver. As it pulled out of the station car park she looked back through the rear window and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t appear. She was shaking, she realised, wrapping her arms aroun
d her body as if to hold herself together. She could taste him, she thought in disgust, could still feel where his hands had touched, shivered as she felt the cooling slug trail of saliva on her neck, felt a throb of pain where his teeth had gnawed, smaller pains where he had pinched and squeezed. She wanted to wash her mouth out, scrub herself until she bled. Degraded beyond belief, she felt a spark of hatred for Simon who was responsible for all of it - for leaving her with this mess to cope with, for being the cause of such grief. Her eyes welled, one tear escaping to trickle slowly down her unnaturally pale cheek. She reached one shaky hand up to brush it away knowing she couldn’t afford to cry just yet.
What to do? Panic bubbled just below the surface and she desperately held it at bay. She remembered her mobile ringing and reached for it, knowing before she listened, who it would be. She listened to his message, heard the threat. He probably knew where she lived, she guessed with a sinking feeling. So she couldn’t go home.
Where to go? She needed a place to think, to hide but she didn’t know Cork at all, didn’t know where to go. A passing van made a mirror of the taxi window and she looked to her reflection for inspiration. Not very inspiring, she thought, noticing the deepening frown lines the darkness couldn’t hide.
‘I can’t just keep driving around, Missy,’ the taxi driver called back interrupting her thoughts.
‘Yes, I’m sorry, of course’ she managed to get out with difficulty. She took a deep breath, tried to clear her head and think. ‘I need somewhere to stay,’ she asked in a voice that trembled only a little.
‘A hotel?’
Lack of choice made the decision easy. ‘Yes, a hotel. Can you recommend one, please?’
He hesitated a moment. ‘Well, there’s the Cork International. It’s not far from here but it’s a bit pricy. Do you want something cheaper?’
All she wanted just then, she thought, was to hide somewhere safe. ‘No, that will be fine.’
The taxi dropped her at the imposing doorway of the Cork International and she quickly paid the fare and entered looking nervously around her. The foyer was busy, a large party having just arrived before her. She waited anxiously, constantly glancing toward the entrance as if John had caught her scent of fear and followed. Finally, it was her turn and she was soon in possession of a keycard and room number.
That One May Smile Page 21