Behind some books was a bottle of vodka, half full. He sipped some straight from the bottle and kicked the words around in his mind. What was the proper way to word this letter? What was it that he really wanted to say? He sat down to write, but after a few hours, the wording was still not correct, and by now he was getting a little tipsy.
He lined the empty bottle of vodka up with the other empties, then made one last attempt to write the letter. When that didn’t work, he got a tape recorder out of his case and started talking, telling Sonia – through his tears – that he loved her very much. He said that he felt she could do better than him, and then over and over John repeated the same phrase: "I love you."
When he was done, he turned off the tape recorder and dried his tears. He told himself that he needed to be focused if he was going to go through with this, so he placed his personal belongings in a pile and said a quiet prayer. Another five or ten seconds, and that would have been it if it hadn’t been for his landlady pounding on his door, demanding payment.
This was no doubt the lowest point in his life, but eventually, after what felt like forever, he began to feel truly well for the first time in a long time – stronger and more able to see what should be done to lead a better life. After a long think, he decided to go to a hypnotherapist for help; knowing that his problem was inside his mind, he wanted to find someone who could change the way he thought. He hurriedly rifled through the yellow pages and found one quite close to where he lived. Once he'd plucked up the courage to make an appointment, he started questioning himself and debated just leaving it, but he quickly got irritated with himself for being so indecisive.
The next day he rushed out early, attempting unsuccessfully to wipe a coffee splatter off his tie. When he arrived at the nondescript suburban house and knocked on the door, a young woman answered and invited him in.
"You must be John," she said, smiling at him and only briefly looking at his scruffy tie.
“Yes,” he replied, shaking her hand and entering into the hall.
They took over a small office room in the back of the house and got started. It felt good to be able to unburden all his fears and feelings onto her, to be able to talk freely about the things that he had to keep hidden from everyone else. After his first session with her, he felt pretty good.
John realized that he felt so food, in fact, that he kept going back to her. At each session they tried various exercises, some of which involved hypnotism that made him feel very relaxed and able to explore his own imagination. He started to gain more confidence, and the anxiety attacks and paranoia grew less intense.
After a few more sessions, he was starting to feel like a new man.
Chapter 16
The alarm went off at 7.30 a.m. and Sonia reached out to turn it off before sitting up on the edge of the bed and stretching. She grudgingly went downstairs, and she’d just started a pot of coffee when the phone started to ring. It was John.
Sonia's heart jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t heard from him since his phone call from the airport and had assumed he was still in the States. John had told her that he was flying back to London the following day and asked whether they could get together.
She broke down in tears. "What are you thinking? Why did you go and now you want to come back?" The hurt still stung, and Sonia knew it always would. She could pretend everything was alright, she could lie to her friends and tuck the hurt aside during the day, but at night her dreams were filled with what might have been: John's smile, his touch. Everything about him.
They had met three years earlier when she worked on the Terminal Four information desk at Heathrow Airport, and at the time she thought their relationship was solid – they’d even be planning to move in together – but one day he didn’t turn up for their lunch date and then he simply disappeared. The next time she heard from him again was when he phoned her from Miami Airport.
"Hey, are you okay?" His voice was wobbly and something inside him hurt; he wished that she knew how much he cared about her.
"I’m fine," she insisted. "I'm not sure what to do. I'm scared…" She trailed off and after a moment she mumbled, “I don't know what you want me to say." She paused. "It's totally – I just don't know what to think."
"Okay, I understand, don't worry. It will all be fine. Let’s just meet tomorrow."
Sonia thought for a moment before answering, and when she did, her voice was quiet and uncertain. “Okay.”
A couple of hours later, John jolted like an invalid woken from an afternoon nap by sounds of movement in the bedsit above. He heard someone urinating, then flushing the toilet. A door closed, before whoever it was moved back across the creaky old timber floor. Then peace descended once more.
He lay still and tried to go back to sleep, but it was still too noisy upstairs. Getting up, he started to slowly get ready, pressing his shirt and shining his shoes. While shaving, he turned his cheek carefully to the mirror to ensure he hadn't missed a single whisker. He wanted to look as good as possible.
Later that day, from a distance Sonia saw his blue eyes flash as he gazed at her from where he was waiting outside the tube station. She took a deep breath, hoping to steady her nerves that were already fluttering to life in the pit of her stomach.
When he broke free of the crowd and headed straight for her, Sonia knew she was in big trouble. She should be running away from him, but all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms. Then he was there, standing right in front of her, staring down at her. He opened his arms to her and raked his fingers through her dark curly hair. She seemed different, he thought, in her pretty dress and high heels. She was still beautiful, and one look into her eyes said that she was the same woman who had captivated him before. But damned if he didn’t miss how she looked in tight jeans.
They went into a restaurant, just like those old days, and the waiter poured the wine, left the bottle on the table, and moved away. She took a sip of the wine. It was cold and crisp and eased the tightness in her throat. She gave that stare, just the way she used to.
"I didn’t start out intending to hurt you, Sonia. It wasn’t some kind of plan."
After a long moment’s silence, he leaned forward and kissed her. A curl of warmth wound around the pit of her stomach, but she mentally stamped it out. Could she trust him? she thought. He’d hurt her and lied before. Why wouldn’t he do it again?
She shook her head a little and blinked away the burn of tears stinging her eyes. Hoping to steady herself, she kept her eyes fixed on the scene in the restaurant. The waiter approached with plates of food, and he was quick, efficient and gone in moments. Sonia only picked at her food, she wasn't hungry.
“At least eat something,” John said, stopping the waiter and ordering her favorite dessert. “And please try and talk to me.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, staring at her wine glass.
“I know it’s not going to be like it was before,” he said, “but I miss you. Will you come back to my place? We can talk more privately there.”
Sonia was about to say no – no way was she going anywhere with him – when she looked up at him, up at those blue eyes she used to love so much. After a few more moments of hesitation, she nodded.
After sharing a zabaglione, they grabbed the unfinished half-full bottle of wine and went back to his new bedsit, where he fumbled in his pocket for the keys before opening the door. The room was about eight foot wide and twelve foot long, and it had just enough space for a single bed and a built-in desk and chair. He had rented a small television and put it on top of the refrigerator, and there was a sink under a large mirror in the corner behind the door.
He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his shirt, and she watched silently. They then moved close to each other and held each other. It was such a comfort to feel her after all this time.
They whispered for a while – about the room, about how long it had been – and then she pulled his face towards her and kissed hi
m. It felt just like it had before, and she climbed onto his lap, straddling him, her cotton dress slipping up around her knees, one of her shoes falling to the floor.
In that moment, all of her doubts just melted away.
They woke up early the next day and went for a coffee. Once they were seated at a corner table, he ordered a small espresso, while she just had a filter coffee. It felt good to be back, doing these normal couple things again.
"Listen,” he said, sighing. "I was sort of hoping this would be our big reunion, the rebirth of our long-term relationship."
"Wait, John,” said Sonia, frowning at her coffee. “Before you get all preachy on me, why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? By your own admission, you’ve been back for several weeks now and you’ve hardly told me anything about what you done."
John took a breath and held it. The guilt about lying was smallish. Nobody needed to know anything, and he definitely couldn’t tell her what happened in America – it all still felt too raw. So instead, he smiled and took a sip of coffee before giving her just enough information to satisfy her curiosity.
The Sunday papers were on the coffee table but he moved them into a pile then poured her another coffee. They sipped in affable silence, broken only by the soft munch of little pastries.
"Work," she said suddenly, as if she’d only just realized she was on duty that morning. She stood up and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I’ll see you later."
Time went on, and they slowly put the past behind them. It soon became apparent that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, and in a whirlwind they got married and honeymooned in a hotel in Covent Garden for two nights. The hotel manager led them through the hall himself, pressed the elevator bell and unlocked the door of their room. Placing a bottle of Champagne onto the table, he smiled and pulled the door close.
“I can’t believe we’re married!” said Sonia happily as her husband handed her a glass.
“Tell me about it,” replied John, who clinked the glasses together and smiled at his wife. His life had really turned around, and his dark days after America seemed like years ago.
The next morning, Sonia woke up as the early morning light spilled through the windows. She pulled the duvet over them and turned to face John, who was debating with himself whether this was a good time for honesty. Sonia didn't know about the other stuff, his double life, the death – would it just ruin everything if he told her now? The truth was malleable. She could handle it, he thought. He just needed to pick the right moment and now was not it.
Sonia suddenly scratched her nail gently down his back. He thought about how much he wanted someone to do that, just a quick scratch, and he let out a gasp, one quick teary moan.
It was afternoon when they finally surfaced. She was dressed in a sensible black skirt and a white-striped blouse, with barrettes clipping either side of her hair. As much as they didn’t want to, he had to drag her away back to Twickenham. They’d decided to open a new restaurant, the next phase in their new married lives.
The building had a tiny corner bar with a haphazard patchwork aesthetic, its best feature an oriental screen – an extravagant work in wood. The room was, in fact, shitty, a showcase of the shabbiest design offerings of an earlier decade, but the ultimate effect was strangely homey – it looked less like a restaurant and more like someone's benignly neglected fixer-upper – and jovial.
They named the restaurant Scott’s, after his surname. Yes, they thought they were being clever, but most people thought it was a Scottish restaurant. They pictured the locals wrinkling their noses: Why did you name it after yourself? But their first customer, a red-haired woman, said she liked the name. They felt superior after that, which was a good thing.
Everything was starting to look up.
Chapter 17
1993
Life had only just got back to normal when they visited Sonia’s mother one evening, and as the night wore on, everyone drank more and more, enjoying themselves.
Suddenly, the telephone rang. Sonia’s mother answered and told John there was an American who wanted to talk to him.
John’s stomach dropped and a sick feeling washed over him as he made his way to the phone.
"Hi there John, this is Pedro," came the voice on the other end. There was no mistaking the voice on the other end. It was Pedro, alright.
John went silent for a moment. "You know this isn't a secure line," he finally said, not able to completely mask the annoyance in his voice.
There was a frustrating sigh on the other end, then he said, "Listen carefully." Pedro’s voice had a hard, I-mean-business-edge to it, which did nothing to soothe John’s nerves.
"What is that supposed to mean?" John asked.
"You're smart, figure it out."
Confused, John froze. "I'm not in the mood for your games," he eventually said in an attempt to assert control.
John paused for another moment, asking himself, What does he want after all this time? before realizing that he had to see Pedro in the flesh. There were too many unanswered questions to do this over the phone.
"Okay, where are you? And what do you want?"
"I'm coming to London next week and I will contact you, we can talk then. Have a nice day."
Suddenly filled with anger, John flung the phone onto the couch, his fury enveloping him like a cloak. He stood there, jaw clenched tight, unable to speak, and after a while he sat down on the couch, resting his head in his hands.
Sonia was looking at him, wondering what was wrong. He'd forgotten that she wanted to tell her mum she was pregnant.
Reluctantly, he nodded at her and tried his best smile. She went and sat next to him, entwining his hand with hers.
"We have an announcement to make," she said, before bursting into tears and shouting out, "I'm pregnant!"
Having blurted it out, it seemed like she was happy – that it was a relief to tell everyone – and that was all that mattered. The far side of the room went silent for a moment, then there was a whoosh of collective breaths being taken.
Her dad aimed his unblinking eyes at John, then smiled, waiting for him to nod. Her mum just beamed at both of them. He took exactly two seconds to think before saying, "No more working as a waitress for you, darling," and kissing her gently on the cheek.
At home, the next few days were very stressful, and John worried constantly. His happy new life was turning into a nightmare. His mind was wrestling with all of the implications of what seemed to be the truth. How did Pedro know where to find him? What did he want, and why now? John sat on the bed for several minutes looking around the room, thinking of only one thing: that he'd liked the idea of being a father – in fact, he felt proud. But an uneasy feeling was starting to spread through his guts, and he didn’t intend to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. He was thinking, thinking, thinking. And coming up totally blank.
Walking into the living room, he eased his way onto the couch. Do I tell Sonia everything that’s happened to me or do I go to the police and tell them? He looked around him, his eyes resting on the watercolor of a country house. He thought it best to try to act as normal as possible, at least until he had time to think this through properly. He didn’t want to worry his wife.
Even performing simple chores was difficult at first, but after a couple of days it began to get easier. One morning, he took a deep breath and finally relaxed a little, once more looking at the painting. Sonia gave him that look again, and he tried hard as he stared at her – no anger, no arguments, the constant kowtowing, the capitulation, the sitcom husband version: Yes, dear. Of course, sweetheart. She was clever, he had to exert himself just to keep pace with her. She always thought ahead, and he got smarter being with her, and more considerate.
But John's mind was racing. He didn't know what Pedro wanted from him, but one thing he knew for sure was that he had to be strong and somehow hide his feelings, which was really difficult: he wasn’t looking forward to meeting Pedro
again, not one little bit.
He took a sip of his coffee, remembering what Pedro had told him in the States: “One day I will come to Great Britain to see you." In hindsight, it was as if this whole nightmare had been planned from the very start, and now John knew Pedro was serious.
He shook his head. He knew Pedro was up to something, but what? Why was he coming to London? He had to know!
In truth, John was losing it, and this was becoming an increasingly exhausting way to live. He was pretending – the way he often did – that everything was okay. He couldn't help it.
Finally, it got to the point when reality itself was confusing him – it was like this wasn’t real. But life went on, and he had to work. On his way to the restaurant, his eyes roamed up and down the street, the panic clearly showing on his face – pretending he was calm and under control now was nearly impossible. Nothing could put him at ease, and even the thought of Pedro’s name made him panic. He wanted to cry out with the pressure, but there was no one to cry out too.
Taking a deep breath, he carried on walking. Either way, it would be over soon.
Chapter 18
Pedro arrived on a Sunday afternoon and checked into the Master Robert Hotel in west London.
He crossed the hotel's small lobby before speaking to the man behind the desk, asking if his room was ready.
“I’m afraid you’re a little early for check-in, Sir,” was the response from the polite, smiling desk clerk, “but I expect it to be free within the next hour. If I could just get some ID from you now, you can go straight up once it’s ready.”
The Assassin's Keeper Page 15