“Just think, you might be working here soon,” she indulged him.
“Shh,” Joe whispered. “Don’t jinx it.”
Thinking about her words, though, he found himself wandering from aisle to aisle, paying extra attention to the layout as they filled their trolley with groceries. Joe grabbed a bottle of red. At least he could make a contribution to the shopping now, a thought that slapped another smile on his face. Actively on the hunt for employment, he was finally entitled to a Job Seekers allowance.
“What else do we need?” her voice broke into his reverie. “I was going to cook pasta tonight, unless you prefer pie.”
“No, no, pasta sounds good,” Joe replied. “We can have the pie tomorrow if you like. I’ll do the veggies and some mash. I was just gonna grab a paper.”
Rolling their trolley towards the newspaper rack, he quickly scanned the headlines. His eyes were drifting towards his preferred ‘Mirror’ nestled among the tabloids when something jolted him; a face shimmering on the edge of his vision, a face he could barely bring himself to acknowledge, only it was impossible to look away.
Thomas Parker-Smythe Ascends To The House of Lords.
Joe froze.
He knew where he’d seen that man before, and an icy chill swept over him.
“So what’s with the ‘Daily Mail’ then?”
It was no use. He could no longer silence the alarm bells in his head, having hastily snatched up the paper. Following Maisie back to the car park, the clouds seemed to thicken, adding an ominous dark layer to the sky.
Yet they had no clue of what was to come.
“There’s something in it, I could tell by your expression.”
“You haven’t noticed the face on the cover?” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “It’s someone you might recognise...”
Sure enough, the photo rendered her spellbound.
“It’s that bloke who used to visit the care home. We were only talking about him the other day, the one who turned up for meetings with Mortimer.”
Her eyes narrowed as they flitted over the newsprint. “Thomas Parker-Smythe. Nominated for the House of Lords and celebrating his success...” She cleared her throat. “So he is a politician.”
“Yes,” Joe stated factually.
She turned very still but he could guess where her thoughts were drifting.
A politician.
What was his connection with Orchard Grange? Those covert meetings?
As Maisie studied the photo, he felt an unpleasant roll in his stomach; there was an air of superiority about the man smirking below the headline, a pair of intense blue eyes boring into him.
“Arrogant looking git, isn’t he?” he announced coldly.
Maisie gripped the pages harder. “What did you say you overheard them talking about?” she murmured.
“Something about government funding. I can’t remember the conversation word for word, only that Mortimer was looking for investment...”
He experienced a giddy sensation as he read the article. For listed among Parker-Smythe’s accomplishments was his role as Minister for Education in the 1990s; a period during which he had proposed and implemented a policy that provided ‘additional funding for residential children’s care homes if improved standards of welfare and schooling were to be met.’
Maisie turned to him with a gasp.
“What?”
“He was Minister for Education the year we were at Orchard Grange! I wonder if he knew anything about those parties.”
Joe let out a resigned sigh. “Dunno. I always thought he looked a bit smarmy, though, the way he used to hang around afterwards, ogling the kids, chatting ‘em up... He seemed a bit ‘too friendly’ if you know what I mean.”
So Thomas Parker-Smythe had ascended to the House of Lords, a man of power.
It felt as if the dark tentacles of the past were reaching out again, luring him towards his demons.
Worse was to come. As daytime dipped into evening, Maisie drifted around the kitchen, mumbling something about dinner. All day long the rain had turned ever more persistent, trapping them inside her flat. Not that Joe was bothered. It gave him an excuse to spend more time exploring social media.
Nothing more was said about the politician whose face had materialised in the paper; but tapping away on his mobile, he couldn’t resist checking to see if anything was trending in politics.
Discovering nothing of interest, he was about to put it down when he flinched to the bleep of a media notification.
“What now?” Maisie called. “Sounds like you’re getting popular.”
Joe blinked as the screen lit up, seeing a surprising number of Twitter icons lined along the top. He zoomed in close, thumb hovering to begin scrolling, but what he saw punched the breath out of him.
“Shit,” he spluttered. “What the fuck is this?”
@the_watchman
Why are you still here @JosephofWinterfell? I’d like to ram a length of steel hose up your arse. Filthy trouble-making scum bag. Get out of Bognor NOW!!!
Maisie flew into the lounge, and even though he tried to twist the screen away from her, he was too late to shield her from the abuse he had seen.
“Oh my God!”
“Matt warned me about Twitter trolls,” he said.
“But I can’t understand why you’ve been targeted.”
A surge of fear rose from deep within his belly. He’d done everything right, he thought. He had even taken Jess’s advice with regard to his Twitter name, downloading a seemingly harmless wolf avatar.
“JosephofWinterfell,” she recited. “So who do you suppose could have posted it?”
“Mortimer,” he shivered. “Or someone linked to him. I didn’t wanna tell you this yesterday but I found a nasty note on your doormat...”
“I knew something was up,” she snapped. “Oh, Joe! What did it say?”
A grubby contaminated feeling coated his insides. “That scum like me don’t belong here and to crawl back to the gutter where I belong.”
“So someone’s trying to scare you off,” she gasped.
“There’s something else I haven’t told you,” he said. Tossing the mobile into the sofa cushions, he looked at her in dismay. “D’you wanna open the wine?”
“I guess so,” she answered.
He was about to lever himself up but she beat him to it, vanishing in the direction of the kitchen again. An erratic clink of glass followed before she made her way unsteadily back to the lounge.
“What else have you got to report, then?”
A lump of guilt rose in his chest.
Maybe he should have been straight with her.
He told her what he’d heard from Paula, the mention of a black car loitering.
“Oh shit, Joe.” Horror widened her eyes, and she seemed to be struggling with her words. “I-I haven’t totally been straight with you either, but do you remember when we left the house in my car one morning? I saw a black car pull out behind me. I thought nothing of it but a couple of minutes later it was hanging about near the Job Centre.”
“So it was following us,” Joe mumbled.
“Yes.” She picked up her wine and took a sip. “The question is, how long have we been under surveillance?”
His head drooped low as he clamped his hands over his knees. Ever since moving in, he had felt uneasy, a matter he put down to their traumatic past. It had started with Maisie’s flashbacks, a topic that forced him to recall his own memories. Now everything he feared was spinning through his mind like a vortex.
His enemies had recognised him, they knew where he lived, and now they’d aggressively broken into his social network.
Chapter Twenty-Three
For the latter half of the evening, I felt numb. Not long after dinner I switched the TV on to catch the headlines, though to be honest, I wasn’t really listening to the news. The stuff happening with Joe had shaken me to the core. Here he was trying to forge a decent life for himself, someone who had mor
e than proven his virtue ever since moving in; not just doing odd jobs around my flat and his voluntary work, but doggedly determined to secure a paid job.
To think, he was so close to turning his life around.
Not surprisingly, he had sunk into an even deeper gloom. Braced in an armchair, his eyes rarely left the TV screen yet the edges of his face seemed sharper. From the corner of my eye I saw him check his mobile from time to time, unable to resist checking whether there were more messages.
I could no longer stay silent. “What are you going to do, Joe?”
He glanced up. “Maybe it’s best if I move out.”
“Don’t say that,” I whimpered.
“No, hear me out. I could be putting you in danger just being here! So as soon as I’ve earned some dough, I’ll rent a room somewhere.”
“No, Joe,” I insisted. “I like having you here, we get on well... in fact I feel a lot safer with you around.”
With flickers of candlelight dancing in his soulful eyes, his expression did not change. “So what about now? There’s some creep following us about in a black car, messages shoved through the door and now this...” Grasping his mobile he shook it in front of my eyes. “We don’t know how long they’ve been onto us, and did you see the Twitter name they chose? The_watchman. That’s taking the piss!”
For a second I could not answer. Could not bear to imagine what was unfolding in our lives, nor the invisible enemies stalking us.
But did we dare inform the police?
The idea surged like wildfire through my mind. With our memories combined, surely we knew enough about Mortimer and his ‘homes’ to blow the whistle by now, especially if a prominent MP was involved? If only we could untangle the lies, it would bring justice for dozens of victims.
Our eyes locked, my heart thumping, but I could not utter the words aloud.
“Don’t go,” I simply whispered. “You always said there was danger, and you were right, but you leaving isn’t going to solve anything. We’re in this together.”
As the night drew in, Joe rose to his feet, and I remembered the chaos in the kitchen. We hadn’t yet done the washing up.
“Here, let me help,” I offered, hauling myself off the sofa.
It seemed to lift him out of his melancholy.
Rivulets of water ran down the window pane but my eyes drifted further. Staring through the darkness with a shiver, I wondered if we’d ever be safe, the night of my hallucination hurtling back to me...
But where did Sam go? Could he still be out there, calling to us?
Drifting over to the sink, Joe filled a bowl with hot soapy water while I tidied up. I couldn’t help cherishing his presence, my eyes drawn to his hands as they swirled around in the water. Every movement seemed gentle and unhurried. He washed the glasses and rinsed them. The crockery and pans came next. The task took no more than ten minutes and still I sensed the night wasn’t quite over.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked me.
Turning away from the window, I felt the warmth of his hands on my shoulders. Time seemed to stand still, before he slowly spun me around to face him.
“Did you mean it when you said you liked having me here?”
A sigh of amusement escaped my lips. “Of course I meant it...”
My words withered as his face loomed close, the intensity of his gaze making me falter. He was staring at me in a searching way, and I realised we had never stood this close. But as his warm eyes melted into mine, some undefined emotion flared, lids heavy, the shadow of his eyelashes casting soft spikes.
Unsure how to respond, I battled to find the right words but...
Too late.
His lips lowered onto mine, velvety soft and caressing.
“Joe...” I tried to murmur.
I so much wanted to surrender to his kiss, the scratch of stubble rough against my face, but suddenly we were in the hallway. Unsure how we had got there so fast, the momentum between us grew, until his hands slid around my back and he was pulling me in the direction of my bedroom. The warmth of his mouth felt exquisite, the strength of his embrace sending shivers through me...
Yet something inside me snapped. Deep in my subconscious, a distant warning light started blinking and I caved in, all this fear and sadness running through me, a landslide of crumbling emotions. There was no question Joe was aroused now, the bulge of his erection like a rock pressing against my hip.
“No! No! Stop!”
His eyes widened as he registered the shock on my face, and he backed off immediately.
“I-I’m sorry,” I started trembling, “b-but this is all happening too fast...”
“And just when I thought I’d got lucky,” he muttered.
I heard laughter in his tone, but it was a hollow sound. The hurt in his expression told me far more.
“Please,” I tried to pacify him, “just give me a bit more time.”
“Okay,” he said, hands raised in mock surrender.
I could see he wasn’t buying it though. Poor Joe. In all this time, I was so buoyed up by our friendship, never once did I consider his feelings might change. He was a man, and I should have accepted that - the possibility that he might be feeling more than just friendship.
“Don’t rush me, Joe,” I begged, “there is too much going on in my head right now to commit to anything.”
At last a smile softened his features but a wan smile. “Goodnight, Maisie,” he sighed, “and for what it’s worth, I never meant to offend you.”
The night dragged on. Occasionally I drifted off for an hour, only to awaken immersed in the same weighty darkness. Wrestling with my conscience, I could not stop thinking about Joe. The way he kissed me left my head spinning in circles, the pain evident from my rejection stirring ripples of guilt...
Until finally morning came.
The shape of my wardrobe and dressing table were first to morph out of the gloom as the early light crept through the curtains. Finally the darkness lifted, giving substance to the world, and reaching for my dressing gown, I peered out of the window. A spectacular blue sky stretched above, the rolling motion of the clouds inspiring me to grab some fresh air.
Imagining Joe asleep, I slipped on a pair of leggings, threw a slate-grey hooded top over my head and was out of the door within minutes.
I loved having Joe here, the joy of rediscovering my childhood friend.
But as time elapsed, the dynamics were bound to change. We were no longer children and the sooner I accepted this, the better.
Parking on the seafront, I spent several minutes gazing out to sea. Tears welled in my eyes but I didn’t want to think about past relationships any more. Deep in my heart, I trusted Joe. I had confessed this much to Hannah; and the problem wasn’t him, it was me.
Stepping out of my car, I was mentally piecing together what I wanted to say to him, though in the current loop of time, there seemed no point over-analysing things. Not when we had a quest to complete, a reason to stick together.
As I strolled along the beach, my eyes following the pattern of foam decorating the sand, I saw a woman in the distance. Golden head bobbing, she pounded along the shoreline with a dog in tow.
I did a double take. That mane of curls reminded me of Sarah.
Sarah would relate exactly to how I was feeling. Sarah, my dearest friend, who I had been yearning to contact before today.
Strands of hair blew across my face but I flicked them away brusquely. For if ever there was a time to contact her, it was now.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Hi, I need a favour. I hope you don’t mind me dumping this on you at short notice but some incredible things have happened since I saw you last...”
“I know,” Sarah broke in smugly. “Mandy told me. You bumped into your old friend, didn’t you? Joe, from the children’s home.”
A sigh of relief trickled through me. Thank God my foster mum had filled her in... It would save a lot of explaining.
“So how’s it
working out?”
“Fine,” I said, “it’s great having Joe here and we’ve been talking about the children’s home but it’s brought back more memories. Not just mine but his...”
Gazing out to sea, I felt a shiver as the breeze in the air sliced through me.
How much of Joe’s backstory did I dare reveal?
“I know why he ran away. Like I said all along, he knew secrets about that place but he was threatened... I don’t feel safe telling you this on the phone though, is it possible we could meet up again?”
“Of course,” Sarah’s voice echoed. “But what about you? Are you sure you’re alright, Maisie? You sound scared.”
“I-I am scared...” I gulped in the sea air, stealing rapid glances in every direction. “I think we’re being watched and there’s worse. Joe’s being bullied online. There was a horrible message on his twitter feed... but that’s not the reason I’m calling.”
“Go on,” she kept pressing.
“Do you remember the other boy I mentioned? My hallucination? Mortimer said he was adopted but Joe’s not convinced. I know it’s a tall order but is there any way we can find out?”
“Ah, Maisie,” Sarah sighed. “I’d love to help. All I need is a name.”
A grip of anxiety squeezed my chest as I considered the path I was about to take.
On the other hand, what did I have to lose?
“Sam,” I spluttered into my phone. “His name was Sam Ellis.”
Ending the call, I felt sufficiently buoyed to approach Joe now. The thought of locating Sam inspired hope. But even as I made my way back to the road, a dark shape seized my attention, and there it was again: a black car lingering by the sea wall approximately ten metres away.
I hastened my step. An eerie tranquillity prevailed but with the road nearly empty, this was my best chance of taking a closer look at it.
If I could just get its number plate.
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