Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set

by Robert Enright

  'Sorry?' Bermuda asked, flicking his cigarette and immediately searching for Tic Tacs.

  'You saved the world. Well done.' Ottoway offered a warm smile as he addressed Argyle. 'Argyle, bring him back to HQ for treatment.'

  'I'm okay,' Bermuda interjected, trying and failing to stand unsupported.

  'You look like hell,' Ottoway commented. 'You need rest and to recover.'

  Bermuda nodded, his boss gently patting his arm with gratitude.

  'Sir, about Hugo.'

  Ottoway cut him off abruptly.

  'What happened to Hugo was unfortunate. But Marco has explained what happened and it was not your fault at all. So don't carry it.'

  With a reluctant nod of the head, Bermuda accepted Ottoway's words. Ottoway gave them both one final look before he turned and disappeared as easily as he arrived, the police ignoring his presence under strict orders. Bermuda sat for a moment, the pain trying to bear-hug him to submission.

  'Bermuda?'

  Her voice cut through the rain and he turned, her beauty twinkling in the raindrops. Sophie approached him as he slid off the bonnet of the car.

  'Hey.'

  'They are going to drive me and Jess home now. I just thought I'd come and say goodbye.'

  'Goodbye?' Bermuda winced, not knowing if it was through his crushed ribs or heartbreak.

  'I like you, Bermuda. I think I really like you.' She was struggling, her voice cracking and tears forming. 'But I can't fall for you. To see the world the way you do, to know what you know. It's too dangerous.'

  'Don't say that,' he said, refusing to stay alone in the world.

  'I can't stay with you.'

  'Then I'll leave. I'll walk away from it.'

  'No you won’t.' She smiled, gently pressing her palm against his bruised cheek. 'The world needs you, Bermuda.'

  He closed his eyes, gently pressing his face against her hand. He knew she was right, a begrudging acceptance spreading through him.

  Just another reason to detest his curse.

  Finally, he had found a wonderful woman who wanted to be with him, who felt the same as he did. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and when they kissed he had felt more than he ever had before.

  She was perfect for him.

  But she could never be with him.

  A single tear rolled down his cheek before he opened his eyes. Hers were red, a few tears leaping to their death.

  'Goodbye, Sophie.'

  She stepped in and hugged him, carefully wrapping her arms around his broken body.

  'Goodbye, Bermuda.' She shook gently in the cold.

  He gently rubbed her back before releasing her, watching her walk between the police cars, the rain around her bursting with sudden shots of blue. She entered the car, her friend Jess beside her, and they slowly rolled towards the main road, the tyres crunching over the gravel.

  They rounded the corner.

  Sophie was gone.

  Crestfallen, he slumped back against the car, the rain crashing against him as the world returned to normal. Next to him Argyle stood, arms folded and patiently waiting to follow his orders.

  'Well, Argyle. At least I will always have you.'

  EPILOGUE

  It had been five days before Bermuda eventually made his way home.

  Vincent had led the medical staff in treating Bermuda, applying their advanced medical knowledge and experience to treat his back, their concoction of drugs and expertise numbing the pain and setting Bermuda on a fast road to recovery.

  He slept for two whole days, safe in the knowledge that Argyle never left his side. His partner healed within a day, his chest reattaching, summoning his otherworldly ability for recuperation.

  In private, Vincent had warned Bermuda that he believed his attachment to the Otherside had only worsened his link, the wound on his back healing at an inhuman pace.

  Promising to keep it between the two of them, Vincent agreed to look into a way of severing the link.

  A way to keep Bermuda from converging.

  After four days he was up and walking around, annoying Ottoway with his continued insistence of smoking within the confines of the BTCO HQ.

  The fifth day he was brought a black suit and tie and attended the procession for Hugo's funeral, standing quietly whilst a list of obituaries were read and his body was sentenced to an ashy eternity in an urn.

  After a week of being cooped up several floors below ground, Bermuda, with a replacement coat, was allowed to return home.

  The BTCO even paid his parking ticket.

  'Well, it's good that you are on the mend.'

  Brett held up his pint, Bermuda gratefully accepting the cheers. They clinked their glasses together before taking a large gulp of Doombar.

  'God, that tastes good,' Bermuda stated, wiping his lips. The swelling had gone from his face, as had the bruising. His back was healing well and his ribs were slowly making their way back together.

  The Royal Oak was fairly empty for a Sunday afternoon. A family were discussing holidays over a Sunday lunch whilst a young couple spoke in hushed whispers over their bottle of wine.

  Paul, the always-accommodating landlord, had given them a pint on the house on account of Bermuda's injuries.

  Life was continuing as normal.

  No one had any idea of what had happened. The credit for saving the world would never come.

  Bermuda was happy to drink to no one ever needing to know.

  'So, what now?' Brett asked, shiftily looking towards the door.

  'What on earth are you doing?'

  'I'm, err...'

  'If you are looking for Argyle, he is right here.' He pointed to the empty chair next to him. Obviously, for Bermuda, he could see his hulking partner, who silently nodded.

  'Is he?' Brett said excitedly. 'Can I touch him?'

  Bermuda looked up, Argyle slowly shaking his head.

  'I wouldn't.'

  'Fair enough.' Brett shrugged, his fingers quickly rolling a cigarette. 'Smoke?'

  Bermuda shook his head, happy with his five-day-old decision to quit. Reflecting upon that night in Big Ben, Argyle found it astonishing that Bermuda's biggest revelation was he struggled to race up the stairs.

  They sat in silence as Brett walked to the outside, the spring sun bringing with it a blanket of warmth.

  He sipped his drink and thought of Sophie, the beautiful dimple in her cheek when she smiled. The flicker of her eyelash when he said something she wouldn't comprehend.

  He missed her.

  He wanted to stop falling for her.

  Suddenly, the door to the pub opened and Brett burst in, his face highly animated.

  'Hey, BJ.'

  Bermuda rolled his eyes.

  'Come and give us a hand, will ya?'

  'A hand with what?'

  'Some woman's car has broken down.' Brett exited again, much to Bermuda's anger. He tutted loudly, taking a large swig to finish his pint before following, leaving Argyle to guard the table.

  He pushed open the door, already working on his excuses.

  'I'm sorry, I don't know what my friend has told you but I'm really not the right perso—'

  Bermuda stopped mid-sentence.

  It was Angela.

  His ex-wife stood ten feet from him, her car parked on the small ring road that framed the quaint green that the Royal Oak sat on. She smiled at him.

  'Hi, thanks for helping. Your friend said you would be able to have a look.'

  Bermuda looked at them both in confusion.

  Brett nodded towards the vehicle. 'You check the backseat, yeah? I'll check the engine.'

  Suddenly it dropped and Bermuda suddenly began to shake. A lump swelled in his throat that he battled to swallow as Brett and Angela walked to the front of the car, pretending to examine the damage.

  The backseat.

  He took a step forward and felt his heart slamming against his chest, doing its utmost to re-shatter his ribcage.

  He opened
the door.

  'Hello.'

  Chloe's voice was angelic, her large, doughy blue eyes looking up at him and wrenching at every heartstring. He smiled, a few tears rolling down his cheek as he squatted down beside her, hidden from both worlds.

  Just him and his daughter.

  His Chloe.

  After a few moments and failed attempts, he spoke, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

  'How are you?'

  'I'm fine.' She spoke with such youthful exuberance, a wonderful innocence to her words. She smiled at him.

  'Hey.' He pointed. 'Where have your teeth gone?'

  'They fell out!' she exclaimed, the two gaps reappearing as she smiled.

  Bermuda felt himself choking; the love he felt for this child was overbearing.

  'Are you sad?' she asked, every word genuine.

  He shook his head, wiping away tears that he knew would be endless.

  'I'm actually really happy.'

  'Me too.' She showed him the gaps again.

  'Yeah? Why's that?'

  The next sentence stopped him dead.

  The words shook him—he thought his heart would burst.

  'Because Mummy says that you are my daddy.'

  Words escaped him. More tears burst forward as he looked at her, lost in the splendour of her beauty.

  'Are you?'

  He nodded. She reached out and dabbed his tears. He reached in and hugged her, feeling her delicate arms wrap around his neck, her golden locks cascading over his shoulder.

  'I love you, kitten,' he whispered, nuzzling into the side of her head.

  'I love you too, Daddy.'

  He held her close for a few more seconds; the fear of the Otherside witnessing this moment was growing as they ticked by. Eventually he let go, straightening her jacket and checking her seatbelt.

  'Now you be good for Mummy and Ian, okay?'

  She nodded. 'Bye, Daddy.'

  He smiled one more time before stepping away, closing the door and wiping his eyes. He exhaled powerfully, regretting his decision to quit smoking almost instantly.

  The bonnet slammed shut and Angela walked towards the driver’s side of the car. She glanced over the roof at her ex-husband.

  He mouthed 'thank you'.

  With her lip quivering and eyes watering she nodded, hurrying into the car and pulling away, a curious five-year-old looking backwards through the back window at her father.

  Bermuda cried as they slowly rounded the end of the green before disappearing back to their lives.

  'I'll give you a minute,' Brett offered, walking back towards the pub.

  'Thank you,' Bermuda called out after him, knowing full well what his friend had done for him.

  After a few moments, Bermuda strode back into the pub, his eyes red but now tear free, the magnitude of the meeting bearing heavy on him.

  Every night and every morning, he had looked at the photo of his Chloe, wishing for a world where he was more than just a myth to her. A broken fragment of memory gone before she even knew him.

  Every day he would dream of seeing her again, holding her close to him and letting her know that he would never let anything hurt her.

  When he stood in that doorway, refusing to let Barnaby steal Sophie and destroy the world, it was her face that kept him holding on.

  His Chloe.

  He approached the bar, ordering three pints of Doombar which Paul gratefully poured. He even commented on how Bermuda was smiling as if he 'had slept with a coat hanger in his mouth'.

  Clasping three pint glasses in his hand with complete control, Bermuda re-joined the table, sliding one of the pints across to his grateful friend.

  Argyle raised an eyebrow. 'You know I can't drink that, right?'

  'Who said it was for you?

  Smiling, Bermuda lifted the two glasses, clinking them together.

  'Cheers.'

  The End

  THE ABSENT MAN

  Bermuda Jones Casefile 2

  THE ABSENT MAN

  ROBERT ENRIGHT

  For Sophie,

  Everything else is.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  The keys jingled playfully in her hands as she tried to navigate them into the front door. Silently cursing herself, Nicole Miller took a few deep breaths before gently slotting the key between the jagged gap. A brisk chill danced across the wind; the cold November was beginning to settle over the city of Glasgow. She stopped before turning it, leaving the lock in place as she contemplated her decision one more time.

  It had been a long time since she had invited a man ‘up for coffee’. At thirty-one years old, she mentally belittled herself for having nerves when it came to sex.

  It was just sex, right?

  Her marriage to Duncan had ended over a year before and it had been at least a year prior to that since the last time she had felt the touch of a man.

  Had felt wanted.

  Behind her was a man almost too good to be true. He had been charming and attentive, a good listener encased in a muscular shell, decorated with dimples, and almost-jet-black eyes.

  Her fingers flickered, the decision almost made when she realised she didn’t know much about him. His name was Kevin Parker, and he worked in a bank. That was it. The lack of knowledge began to worry her, and she felt her grip tightening, the urge to call it a night with a quick kiss on the cheek and a rushed goodbye growing in stature.

  No, Nic! she told herself. It’s time to get back on the horse.

  She sighed, turning the key, and the door to the modest flat opened, the streetlamp sending a warm glow slithering across the wooden floor. She dropped her keys into the bowl that sat neatly on the quaint table that took shelter under a large mirror, the flick of the light switch illuminating the minimalistic ground floor flat.

  ‘This is it,’ she offered warmly, slowly taking off her jacket to reveal the dark dress that clung to her slightly chubby physique. She had hated it the moment her best friend, Leanne, had offered it to her, knowing full well she was a size too big.

  ‘Black is slimming,’ Leanne had said. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Nicole decided she was going to stuff the dress down her best friend’s throat upon return.

  Kevin slowly followed her in, his steps teetering on hesitant as he moved with an eloquence that Nicole found almost intimidating. He had looked out of place at the bar, his embarrassment at attending a speed-dating event matching her own.

  It was what had drawn her to him: the fact that he didn’t look comfortable in his own skin. His visit to her table was unmemorable, to the point that she couldn’t recall how they had spent their five minutes of conversation. When he offered to buy her a drink at the bar, she apologised for not remembering his name.

  It was Kevin.

  Wasn’t it?

  ‘It’s not much,’ she said, walking to the small cupboard in the hallway, relieving her feet from the torturous heels she had promised to destroy once alo
ne. ‘But I think it’s homey enough.’

  She entered the front room and turned to her guest, a warm smile across her pretty face, her auburn hair tied back under a flowery clip. He turned, his chiselled face slowly exposing one of his own. She stopped, taking in what she could only describe as his ‘traditional’ features. He had short, brown hair, neatly brushed into a side parting. His eyebrows were thin and dark and his face was borderline perfect, sat atop a strong body that was wrapped up in a suit which was a tad on the baggy side.

  He wouldn’t have looked out of place when Wall Street crashed nearly a hundred years ago.

  ‘Coffee?’ she remembered, taking his nod as a sign to go and prepare a cafetiѐre, her nerves causing her to tremble as she made her way into the immaculate kitchen. It had been so long, and the thought of this handsome stranger undressing her was sending her into a slight panic.

  She flicked the kettle on and dropped the coffee granules into the glass container, carefully selecting what her mother called ‘the posh coffee’.

  She wanted to impress.

  As the water bubbled away and a small cloud of steam began to waft throughout the room, she stared at the metallic door of the fridge. It was littered with crayon drawings, the four-year-olds she taught for a living trying to capture her in their crudely drawn pictures. She loved her job; the young kids at the local school had taken a shine to her.

  As had the new year six teacher, however, she decided she needed to, as Leanne so eloquently put it, ‘get back on the horse’ before she looked for anything more substantial.

  The water turned a thick brown as it collided with the coffee beans, the thick liquid rising up the glass jug as if it were being timed. She had no real plan other than to hold his attention for the duration of the drink, and then hopefully he would make the move.

  Did she want him to?

  Clearing her mind, she marched back into the front room, a smile on her face and a tray of piping-hot coffee in her hands. As she entered, Kevin turned from the mantelpiece that ran along the top of the fireplace with a look of intrigue as he held a photo.