Call to Witness

by Coleman, Spencer;

  Then the fear crept in. Kara would go about her daily business and nod complacently to those friends who smiled back, and preferred to listen to the wise words of Marcus instead. She was too exhausted to argue, and a gentle nod here and there saved so much explaining, so much bother. Who was listening anyway?

  Inwardly, the utter heartbreak that she endured, and endured alone, in spite of Marcus being the rock on which she stood, was known to her by another name. Her suffering was abiding grief and it pained her that he could not enter into this world that she inhabited. This grief, the loss of innocence, was embedded within her very soul, to the exclusion of all others. Sometimes it took her to the edge of madness.

  But gradually, over the ensuing months, something had changed. From the womb of grief came a tidal wave of anger. It consumed her brain with terrifying intensity and would not abate. She was becoming angry with everyone.

  ***

  Marcus was exhausted by Kara’s submergence into despair and depression. He felt wholly pathetic in dealing with her continued vulnerability, but he always reminded himself that he had made her a promise: a solemn promise to keep her safe, and provide a home and stability for the family. In his own dark moments, he reinforced this pledge to help her overcome the remorse she so painfully experienced. He tried to share everything with her but he could never quite reach beyond his own limited capabilities, given their grim history. And this was the difficulty.

  There could never be a normal existence while the secret remained buried and unspoken to others, for them to carry to eternity. Perhaps even worse, they always needed to look over their shoulders, for fear of Maggie creeping up on them. In his head, it was never Lauren creeping up on them.

  When Maggie escaped the inferno, evil escaped that day too.

  Eventually, Marcus looked up from washing the pots in the sink and asked, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘I’m too exhausted…actually, too scared,’ Kara said.

  So they avoided the topic, again. He hugged her, and then put his jacket on. This signalled the start of the day for him. Finally, he was off to work, burdened by the price they had to pay for the sins of others.

  ***

  Marcus hoped for a busy day at the gallery. The rent was due on the premises and money was needed urgently through the till. It had been a difficult time recently, with the credit crunch taking hold. The City was particularly affected, and widespread redundancies were predicted within the banking corporations. These were his customers, so things were looking bleak.

  London had that effect, always on the edge, forever teetering between boom and bust. As the world’s leading financial centre, this was where mega fortunes and unwarranted reputations could be made. Or lost.

  On this day, Marcus was caught somewhere in the middle of such vanity. As a budding businessman, he lacked the necessary experience and guile to weather the slowdown in trade, preferring to bury his head beneath the parapet, for fear of getting shot at. On top of the impending rent demand, business rates for the month were also due, plus the quarterly electricity bill. This was no fun, he acknowledged privately to himself. Making money was bloody hard. Still, he had to look on the brighter side, the bankers were still pulling in the bonuses, in spite of continued failure. This screwed with his brain: How could they sleep at night?

  Then he remembered: they didn’t sleep. They partied the nights away on Champagne and cocaine. Screw the world was their motto. On the one hand Marcus envied their mantra of work hard, live hard. But he wanted above all else to sleep at peace with himself. And Kara swore he slept for England. He did, actually, despite his worries. But here was the thing. On reflection, above all else, he wanted money in the bank, that degree of financial clout which meant he was not answerable to anyone who came knocking on his door. In other words: he sought financial freedom by any means. Marcus decided there and then he would fight dirty to get it. He had a plan…and pondered on the killer deal he secretly had lined up.

  Marcus opened up at 11.30 am, after a short stroll along the boardwalk of St. Katharine Docks. It was a fresh morning, the still waters reflecting the gleaming hulls of the yachts tied to their moorings. A swan glided effortlessly in the blinding sun. Passing the array of shops, Marcus grabbed a salt beef sandwich, a latte to go and the Daily Mirror and settled in behind the desk, ready to charm the ladies who shop. He switched on the lights and desktop Apple, placed the A-boards outside and waited for the rush. It never came.

  ***

  Kara cleaned up the apartment from the night before, filled the washing machine, and wrote a scribbled list to herself itemising the week’s food requirements. The trip to the supermarket and back would take her to lunchtime, and in the afternoon she normally joined Marcus in the gallery. This morning Kara changed her schedule.

  ***

  It took nearly two hours before the first customer of the day purchased a hand-painted glass vase. Marcus was pleased, as the piece sold for £150. Perhaps things were looking up. Twenty minutes later, he was on a roll, selling a bronze ballerina and a ceramic dish for a combined £650. Marcus punched the air. Kara would be delighted. He checked his watch, knowing she usually came over by two. Plenty of time for a hat trick of sales…trade remained unpredictable but at least he was selling at last.

  By 2.30 there was still no sign of Kara. He tried phoning the apartment, then her mobile. No response. He pushed through another sale, his mind momentarily taken away from his concern for her. He kept himself busy, redressing the main window, making coffee and phoning again: still no answer. This was odd. Usually reliable, he figured that other things had got in the way of her routine. He shrugged. No big deal. But still, something was eating away at him: Should he be worried?

  ***

  Kara was shocked that she made the call. What possessed her, for fuck’s sake? Maybe it was an overwhelming need for plain comfort and reassurance from an old acquaintance at work. Surely Ronald, dependable Ronald, would be approachable, wouldn’t he? Or perhaps her need to meet up again was a pathetic desire to meddle in the affairs of others…Michael, Toby and Adele. She missed the gallery so much. No matter what her motive was, Kara just needed to know…well, anything.

  Marcus would be worried by her absence, but she avoided phoning in, choosing to turn her mobile off. Sitting in a café, her hands trembled as she brought a coffee cup to her lips. Christ, how bizarre was this, a secret meeting between former colleagues, one which she elected to hide from Marcus. Why the need for secrecy? It was only Ronald, for God’s sake. He wasn’t going to bite her. He was an old softie, a relic from the past. A dinosaur still roaming, as she’d once ungallantly described him.

  Then she saw him, and nearly dropped her cup. Why was she so nervous? Her eyes were riveted to the street as he crossed the road with a swagger. Her initial response was to notice how much older he looked, thinner too. His complexion and receding hair matched his pinstripe grey suit, which hung loosely on him. Oh dear, she thought, even just a few months had not been kind to him. Perhaps he would think the same of her. Suddenly, Kara felt uncomfortable as well as apprehensive.

  ***

  Ronald entered the café and spotted Kara at the table by the window.

  Even from a distance, she looked ghastly. He was momentarily shocked but tried to hide it. In his memories of her, Kara was always radiant, with jewel-like eyes and a welcoming happy smile for everyone who crossed her path. This picture was different. After all, he had to acknowledge that she had come close to death and now looked like she carried the ills of the world on her shoulders. In the circumstances, who was he to pass judgment? They had all been through the mill.

  Ronald was surprised to get her call. He hadn’t heard from Kara since she left the gallery on Cork Street. He hated to admit it, but they had gone their separate ways. Perhaps the past had embarrassed them or they had become plain obstinate in avoiding each other: they had unresolved issues, that was for sure. The trust had gone.

  They had worked togethe
r at Churchill Fine Art for over four years, and for the most part they were fantastic colleagues. It was only at the end –bloody hell – when things went horribly wrong. This left a nasty taste in the mouth. After the incident at the barn, Kara quickly resigned from the gallery for health reasons as he recalled. That was the official line. Off the record, he knew that Kara and Adele were at loggerheads, and for some reason (he didn’t know why) the working relationship between them broke down. Something had to give, and Adele wasn’t known for backing down. Kara was out. He, fortunately, didn’t have a problem with Adele (Hey, he knew how to sit on the fence!) and was kept in his job by Michael’s son, Toby, who joined the gallery immediately when his father’s fight for life became apparent. It was a case of all hands to the deck after the ‘terrible thing’ at the barn and Michael’s subsequent lengthy stay in the hospital. Toby was vital to the cause and he needed strong support while he got his feet under the table. Ronald was happy to oblige, and admittedly he needed the financial support himself, so remaining at the gallery was just as vital to him.

  At his advanced age, this enabled him to keep a steady income and hold onto the self-esteem of still being useful to someone, anyone, in fact! Who else in the city would employ an ancient, gay and burnt-out salesman, well past his sell-by date. This was his last chance, and he wasn’t going to let it pass him by. The young guns on the block would eventually line up to replace him…but not yet, if he had anything to do with it.

  Perhaps that’s why Kara distanced herself from him, in the knowledge that he somehow kept his allegiance to Adele, Kara’s sworn enemy. Why they became enemies he again did not truly know…there was so many secrets, so much aggravation in those last days. It was like a battlefield. He was mystified as to what really happened, finding out most of the juice from local gossip and the newspaper coverage. And just occasionally, the odd stilted conversation with Michael who was reluctant to really talk about it. But Kara was entitled, perhaps, to know the bitter truth of the matter as to where he stood amid the debris. Hence this meeting, he surmised. He didn’t want to hurt her, or show mistrust, it was simply a matter of…well, absolute survival in a brutal world. Dog eat dog. He wanted to keep his job, first and foremost, and she made him nervous.

  His maxim in life was simple: “Keep your bloody head down and get on with it, without fuss”. Surely Kara, of all people, would see that in reality he was never truly comfortable with the scenario at the gallery? This was largely forced on them all by horrendous circumstances that no one could have predicted or fathomed. He was still unsure of the true facts, or how intelligent people could so easily cock-up their lives. Ultimately, it was a power game between Adele and Michael. He, as an employee, was just a puppet, a sideshow. However, at the end of the day, he went with what was on offer: Needs must.

  Just like now. Kara had called, and he responded. But he was uncomfortable all the same. Ronald was perplexed, a little angry, first with himself and now Kara for requesting this impromptu get together. Why couldn’t she let it go?

  The call came out of the blue: would he meet her for lunch, today, at Carlo’s on Duke Street? That quick…Why the urgency? He could hardly say no, although his stomach churned at the prospect. What the hell could he say to help her now? He approached with trepidation.

  ‘Hello, Kara.’

  She stood nervously and they hugged.

  ‘Coffee?’ she asked, catching the eye of a passing waiter.

  Roland ordered a double espresso and then sat down, his hands fidgeting out of sight. A pretty red-checked gingham tablecloth spread between them, giving enough space for both of them to breathe in and out and take stock of each other: there were boundaries to cross, after all. Atop the table, a little glass vase holding an array of yellow pansies took centre stage, surrounded by silver salt and pepper shakers and a sugar bowl.

  ‘I’m thrilled with the news of your baby,’ Ronald said, trying to break the ice. ‘You look great,’ he lied.

  ‘Hardly.’ She patted her bump. ‘It’s a struggle, this motherhood lark, perhaps I’m just not cut out for it.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’ll be a great mum, and Marcus, is he well?’

  ‘Excited by the arrival…’

  ‘When is the baby due?’

  Kara used her fingers to count on. ‘Six days overdue.’

  The coffee arrived and Ronald downed it in one gulp. A silence dropped between them.

  ‘Another,’ Ronald said to the passing waiter.

  ‘And for you, madam?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  The waiter scuttled off. Alone again, they grinned and sat awkwardly.

  ‘So. How is the job going?’ Kara asked.

  ‘Fine,’ he shrugged. He declined to mention the broken window which happened just a few days before. Something spooked him about the incident but he couldn’t put a finger on it. Michael seemed to be on guard, apprehensive, hiding something. He decided to keep conversation with Kara on an even keel. ‘Not the same as before, of course.’

  Kara jumped in too quickly. ‘I miss the old days and I miss working with…’

  ‘Michael.’

  ‘Everything was spoiled.’ Her shoulders dropped. ‘Why was everything so fucked in the end?’

  ‘Everything was spoiled,’ he echoed, lowering his gaze.

  His refill arrived and they remained stiff with each other, drinking quietly.

  ‘And Toby, is he finding his feet?’ Kara asked.

  Ronald smiled thinly. ‘Let’s say he has his own methods…’

  ‘…A clash of personalities?’ she suggested.

  ‘Something like that, but he is good and gets the job done efficiently, if a little less flamboyantly than his father.’

  ‘And Michael, how is Michael?’

  Ronald popped a sugar cube into his mouth and loosened his tie. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Michael’s absolutely fine, if a little traumatised by his slow recovery and, dare I say it, costly divorce. I’m not sure which is the most painful – the skin grafts or Adele’s financial demands.’

  Neither of them saw fit to smile this time. Kara said, ‘I haven’t seen him since I told him I was pregnant. So much has happened in the meantime, and so fast…it’s been difficult to keep in touch.’

  ‘You mean Marcus has kept you both apart.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Is this the reason for our little meeting?’

  Kara bit her lip. ‘I feel out of the loop, somehow.’

  ‘Better that way, my dear.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘From how I see it, your health is the only issue to worry about.’ Ronald shuffled on his seat. ‘And, I’m sorry to say, you don’t appear to be doing a very good job of it…usually someone in your position positively blooms. What’s the matter, Kara?’

  ‘Everything, and nothing. Are you happy, Ronald?’

  He laughed for the first time. ‘We certainly didn’t come here to find out if I was a happy bunny, now did we? I see anguish on your face and bones sticking out from your body, in spite of your bump. Frankly, you look terrible. Marcus must be beside himself with worry, at a time when you should both be rejoicing.’

  Tears welled in her eyes. ‘We are rejoicing, and I was so happy when I first realised I was pregnant. It was the best thing that could possibly have happened. But the police haven’t been successful in apprehending Maggie, and the fact that she overshadows all our lives is having a damaging effect on my health…and attitude. If I’m brutally honest, I want her caught and arrested or…found dead. It’s that blunt. Until then, she haunts us to the point of hysteria.’

  ‘Strong words…does Marcus share that view?’

  Kara slumped in her chair. ‘Not exactly, no. He sees the danger, but refuses to bow to it.’

  Ronald checked his watch. ‘Can I bow to an alcoholic drink?’

  Kara grinned. ‘A coke and lime for me, but you kill whatever it is you need to kill.’

  He summoned the waiter agai
n, who cleared the table as Ronald repeated her request and added: ‘A large gin and tonic with lime, plenty of ice, thank you.’

  ‘Hmm, how I would have loved to join you.’ Kara said, patting her stomach. ‘Give me a few months…’

  ‘And you’d finish the bottle, no doubt,’ Ronald interrupted. ‘You could always drink any of us under the table.’ Laughter at last rebounded between them.

  ‘The good old days,’ she said wistfully.

  Relaxed, Ronald continued: ‘Call Michael, it’s so easy to lose touch. He’s not the rock we all think he is, though. He’s back on his feet and, thankfully, regaining his old swagger. But things are still tough. Toby has his own ideas at the gallery and is trying to impose his way of doing things and, naturally, treading on toes in the process…’

  Kara frowned, and proclaimed: ‘Namely on your toes and those of his father.’ Then she insisted, ‘the Boss.’

  ‘Partner, actually.’

  ‘Ouch. I’d heard a rumour. Does that sit well with Michael?’

  ‘He had little choice in the matter,’ Ronald said. ‘Toby invested heavily to save the gallery from going under. Therefore, it stands to reason that he wanted to protect his capital investment by taking control of the day-to-day running of the business. He works most days. I do three mornings. Michael comes in two days a week, between hospital visits and physiotherapy sessions. It works well, until tensions rise and egos clash. Then I keep a low profile.’

  ‘Is Adele involved?’

  ‘The She-Devil? No. As part of the deal, Toby asked her to leave and retire gracefully, which she did with great reluctance. Of course, the money he offered as a sweetener would have been most persuasive in her reaching the correct decision. This enabled Toby and Michael to clear the tax debt and form a partnership without interference. They’re winning through, gradually. When Michael is fully recovered, both physically and mentally, they will make a formidable team…’