“No,” he muttered.
So finally the conversation was getting interesting.
“She attracts the wrong men, and I’m talking about the desperate ones.” Caught in the glow of a table lamp, her eyes glittered. “I know it sounds bitchy but I keep telling her to set her sights higher. She’s so beautiful.”
Yes, beautiful.
“More wine?” he murmured and emptied the last of the bottle into her glass.
“The only men she does fancy, though, aren’t interested in her. The alpha males of this world, the dick heads, the ones who mess you around. I know I shouldn’t tell tales but if a man tries to get her into bed too soon, she runs a mile!”
“Is that so?” Joe sighed, the night he tried to kiss her still haunting him. “Yeah well, women like Maisie deserve a bit more respect. She’s not a slag.”
A sudden shrewdness narrowed Jess’s stare. “No. Maisie needs careful handling. Makes me sad to think of all the problems she’s had.”
Glancing up, he drank in the ambience of her flat, the pastel colours, the warmth of her table lamps cloaking the walls in a golden glow. It encapsulated everything about her; a mesmerising woman whose fragility he had detected from day one...
Yet there resting on her best friend’s sofa, Jess lingered with a smile, and it seemed wrong to be sat here talking about her.
Nursing his empty glass, he released another sigh. “We’re out of wine but I don’t mind walking you back to the seafront if you want. Do you fancy stopping for a drink at the Waverley?”
A look of merriment brightened her face.
“Okay, Joe, you’re on!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It had never really crossed my mind what Joe might get up to while I was away, but arriving in Rosebrook before nightfall, I spent a good hour unwinding in Sarah’s house.
Our blissful day at Champneys seemed a lifetime ago, the things we had discussed. Joe had been the blink of a memory back then, Sam an even greater enigma.
This was the first time I’d visited Rosebrook, but what a charming town.
A long country road drew me towards the centre, a high street lined with elegant, half-timber buildings. It didn’t seem long before I found myself in the neighbourhood where my friend lived - and just as my Sat Nav announced that in 100 yards your destination will be on the left, I could not resist grabbing my phone. For there, nestling behind a low stone wall, appeared the prettiest of cottages. Just enough daylight to capture its charm, from the pastel pink walls sliced with beams to a rambling explosion of roses around the porch.
Now that was definitely worth an Instagram post.
#English getaway. Check out this cute cottage in Rosebrook #town near #London.
Captured in the fantasy Joe might see it, I clicked the share button, and only then did I think about his safety. He didn’t post much on Instagram, and the few posts he did had attracted a couple of likes. He also had a new follower, I noticed, the name ‘Silver-Fox’ kindling a spark in my mind. Now was not the time to speculate, I would ask him later, but with Sarah’s house beckoning, I caught a movement in her window, and couldn’t wait to be reacquainted with her.
“Do you know how long it took me to locate Peter’s sister?” she levelled at me. “Four years, and even that took some divine intervention!”
Stretching out my legs in front of the fireplace, I absorbed my new environment. The house, whilst not immaculate, had an enchanting interior; mismatched furniture, natural pine shelves sagging under rows of books. Even with a tower of old newspapers accumulating by the hearth, it had a cosy feel, the colour scheme warm with an abundance of cushions and woolly throws.
“Four years?” I echoed.
“That’s right,” Sarah said, “it’s a complex process. We could start by getting a copy of Sam’s birth certificate, examine his life, right up to the year his mother died, and you say she was murdered? There must be police records...”
Regrettably, however, we didn’t have the luxury of time on our side.
Sam had been missing for twenty years and although it was a joy to share my story - of finding Joe and helping him back on his feet - I dreaded imparting the rest.
“Sam’s care would be assigned to a social worker, which can be our next line of enquiry. Find out who took his case on and if possible, make contact. They would have raised the alarm if he went missing.”
“You’d think so,” I pondered, “unless he was adopted, which is the story Mortimer spun to Joe... but he was also very threatening, like he was hiding something.”
“In that case, I should talk to the police sooner rather than later and voice your suspicions. What have you got to lose?”
I exhaled a sigh. “I’m not sure we can, not without anything concrete...”
The room seemed to darken around us as I described the more sinister aspects of my story; things I dared not mention out in the open when I had phoned her on the beach. Not just the cyber-bullying or the discovery of a black car tailing us, but the depravities we suspected were hidden in the deep tangled roots of those parties.
Relating it now, I glanced up, wary of Sarah’s eyes fixed on me.
“God, Maisie, this is serious,” she gasped. “Why an isolated mansion in the countryside? Why not a community centre or somewhere more public?”
“That’s what I thought,” I said, “but the clues coming out of my therapy sessions are even more disturbing.”
Her lips tightened as she took this in. “I’d say you’ve got plenty to report to the police. I mean how many kids do you reckon must have passed through those homes? Hundreds! Surely some of them will remember the same parties, and what if more victims were to come forward?”
Buckling under the deluge of questions, I was chilled by the path this was leading me down. Did we dare push our suspicions to the next level?
“You’re right, but first I need to consult Joe. He’s the one being threatened.”
“Why though?” she persisted. “Does he really pose such a threat? And as for your missing friend, Sam, I would insist look they into it. All you want is the truth.”
“So are you able to help us?” I dared ask.
“Of course,” she said, “but like I say, it will take time.”
I held my breath, conscious there was another reason she couldn’t dedicate herself one hundred percent to our cause; that since our last encounter, she had reduced her working hours to part time, given her extra responsibilities.
How could I have forgotten?
Sarah and her husband had someone else in their lives to consider now and that person was their teenage foster son, Connor.
Wandering into the garden to call Joe, I was unwittingly sidetracked by the silent, hooded silhouette hunched in a deck chair, engrossed in a games console. Caught in the glow of moonlight, this boy could be none other than Connor. I jammed to a halt, unsure what to say. Though it seemed polite to offer the newcomer some form of greeting.
“Hello, there,” I piped up.
The figure didn’t respond, a profile so sharp, so still, he could have been hewn from marble.
“Ssh,” Sarah whispered warily. “Let him finish his level...”
Only his fingers moved, light on the controls as he manipulated his character around the 3D interface. The depth of graphics seemed unbelievably real and I could see how easily one could become addicted. We didn’t have to wait long, though. No sooner had he reached some pivotal point in the game than he switched off his Nintendo DS, lowered it to his lap and stood up.
“Hi.” He spoke in a monotone, his voice soft.
Catching my breath, I found myself gazing at a face almost as flawless as the character he had been playing. Despite his blank expression, he portrayed an unearthly calmness, his eyes two glowing orbs in the dusk.
“You must be Connor,” I said, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you at last. Sarah’s told me lots about you.”
“Yeah, I’m not like other kids, am I?” he put to me. “
I’m into more serious stuff like science and all that. Prefer to be on my own.”
Given the way Sarah had depicted his behaviour, I would have expected a lot more attitude. This strange, ethereal boy, however, touched a place in my heart I could not define; as if we shared an affinity beneath the stars.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I said, finding my voice at last. “Some people enjoy being on their own and are more introverted than others.”
“Where do you live?”
“A town called Bognor Regis. Have you heard of it? It’s by the sea.”
As he tilted his head to study me, I caught a flicker of interest.
“Do you like the sea?”
“Yeah, beaches are cool. It’s like you’re sitting on the edge of the world, watching the universe. I think of the moon controlling the tide, you know, a magnetic force that pulls the sea up and lets it go. I read that in a book.”
He lowered his eyes, as if bashful to show such passion.
“Connor, why don’t you tell her about the trip you had?” Sarah prompted.
“Oh yeah, I got into trouble...” he began, and it was as if a valve had been turned.
Connor talked on, a relentless outpouring. A day the adults in charge had taken the kids on a day trip. How he hated the crowds. Felt uncomfortable with the constant shifting around from place to place, a confusion that triggered panic.
On reaching the beach, however, everything changed.
I listened without interrupting, gripped by his narrative. His love of the seaside was infectious, something I could relate to. An area so vast, it absorbed the chaos all around him, the boisterous shouts of the other kids fading into oblivion. Focussing on the sea, he went on to describe the waves, the salty tang of seaweed that smelt of nature itself...
“I ran,” he continued reminiscing, his face motionless. “No one wanted to hang around with me anyway, so I kept running...”
The more he talked, the more I felt a stirring of empathy; that for all his life, children and adults hadn’t warmed to him; to them he was nothing but an irritant, a boy people only tolerated.
Rushing along the seashore had given him that much needed breath of freedom, but if he hadn’t detached himself so far from the group, he wouldn’t have lost them.
“What could I do other than hide?”
Reaching a wall of rocks joining the coastal path, he had crept over the other side. There he discovered a quiet place where he could close his eyes, absorb the tranquillity and simply lose himself...
“The sun was setting,” he finished. “I glanced at my watch, it was half past five and we were told to be back at the coach by six. But I didn’t wanna go back, so I just sat there. Watched the sky and the colours changing.”
“I know!” I blurted before I could stop myself, “I love the way the sea changes too. Would you like to see my photos on Instagram?”
It momentarily broke his flow. And all the while his mesmerising eyes clung to mine, I felt an invisible affinity looming again.
“What did you think of him?” Sarah asked me a little later.
She had waited until he retired to his room.
“He’s a really interesting kid,” I said in earnest, “and didn’t you say he had Asperger’s? I guess he thinks a little differently.”
“I’m glad you understand. I got the impression he liked you too, especially when you were talking about the beach.”
“You can always come and visit me you know,” I suggested. “It’ll be a treat for him to spend some time by the sea. Gives us an excuse to have another catch up.”
Conscious it was time to contact Joe, I dialled my land line.
No answer.
Maybe he had popped out for a cigarette... although it wasn’t impossible he might have been tempted in the direction of the Waverley.
Chapter Thirty
Jess’s heart soared. She had guessed Joe would be on his own tonight, and with Maisie away, what a golden opportunity to get to know him better. Joe was an enigma, a man wrapped in secrecy, and ever since meeting him, how she longed to prise the barriers away and peer deep into his soul.
It was still not quite dark as they advanced down the road towards the sea. Streaks of muted silver-blue light shimmered down from the clouds, casting a gleam across the water.
“Would you like to sit outside?” she asked him casually.
Joe gripped the lapels of his jacket and shivered. “I’d rather sit inside if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.”
As he stared out to sea, his profile painted a jagged silhouette in the dusk. He wasn’t flawless. His misshapen nose suggested it might have been broken at some point, but the space between the hollow of his throat and jaw gave him an irresistible masculine beauty.
She averted her eyes, following the path of his stare. “Okay, whatever.”
He wasn’t wrong about the temperature. An icy breeze coiled under the canopy of the seating area, and further out to sea, she saw ripples of foam pulsate against the shoreline. Only when he turned to the door, though, did she catch the frown in his expression, the way his eyes skipped up and down the road.
“Is something wrong?”
Her words melted into a rumble of adult voices as they stepped into the pub.
“No,” he snapped. “What makes you say that?”
She surveyed him beadily. “Have you ever heard the expression forever looking over your shoulder? It springs to mind every time I see you.”
“Yeah, well that’s what being homeless does to you. You’re an easy target. Did you know one of the guys in the beach shelter got battered?”
She paused with shock, her eyes widening.
“Fast asleep and some prat belted him across the head with a plank of wood, in a totally unprovoked attack. Stuff like that makes you a bit wary.”
“So what about now?” Jess challenged as they shuffled up to the bar. “I thought you said Maisie turned your life around.”
The woeful expression on his face didn’t change. “Maisie’s been my saviour but I’m not without enemies. Now, what can I get you to drink?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to another glass of wine,” she smiled coyly.
No one took much notice of them as they crept around to the other side of the bar; a secluded snug room that separated them from the main lounge.
“So come on,” she said, resuming their earlier thread of conversation. “How do you really feel about Maisie?”
“What, other than gratitude?” Sipping his pint, he seemed cagey. “Like I say, she dug me out of a very dark place.”
“So you said.”
He gave a pensive sigh. “You wanna know how I really feel? Same as I felt when I was a boy. All I ever wanted to do was protect her...”
Jess raised her eyebrows.
“If you’re asking if we’ve slept together, then no,” he said, “but the friendship we’ve got is priceless. You obviously know about the care home.”
“That’s right,” Jess pondered and lowering her glass, she found her voice at last. “What happened there, Joe?”
He took another swallow of beer. “Same as happens in all them places. It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Some kids are violent, others get picked on and bullied. Just ‘cos Maisie was grieving, it didn’t stop the little shits giving her a hard time.”
“And you jumped to the rescue?” she finished for him.
“Couldn’t help myself,” he shrugged. “She looked so innocent. I came from a tough background, I was harder, more streetwise. We just bonded.”
Jess nodded. “That figures, you being the tough one. You must be hard as nails to survive sleeping rough. I know couldn’t handle it, I’d rather die.”
She could not resist studying every characteristic; his rugged looks, the swigs of beer he took between sentences. He might appear tough on the outside yet she detected a palpable tension in him.
The next time he raised his head, his eyes gripped hers for a little longer.
&n
bsp; “So what’s your life story?” she asked him.
Draining his beer, he wiped the froth from his lip, belched softly, then lowered his glass to the table. “I can’t talk about it,” he murmured, “not here.”
Time to hook him in.
“If it’s that secret, we can always go back to my place. Carry on the conversation over a coffee?”
******
“My life went pear-shaped when I was roped into an armed robbery.”
Jess had been right. He saw no point in refusing her hospitality, and with darkness cloaking the pavements, the prospect of walking home lurked cheerlessly.
Repeating parts of the story he had told Maisie, he drank in his surroundings. Where Maisie’s flat possessed a lived-in cosiness, Jess’s apartment blew him away. A velvet suite in shades of violet and blue occupied the floorspace. She had filled it with sparkly chintz cushions, but apart from that, she kept it tidy and minimalist. The white walls hung with a single abstract painting; an expanse of solid oak floorboards with nothing but a striped rug to cover them.
“You were banged up,” Jess echoed. She squirmed in discomfort. “So this is where the slippery slide began, is it, from prison to being homeless?”
Sipping his coffee, he wondered how much he dared tell her. She was clearly rooting for gossip, but he didn’t want to talk about prison, or the drug addiction that had tainted him in its aftermath. For someone immersed in the glamourous world of PR, Jess didn’t need to know about the real foulness that stung society.
“Yet somehow you made enemies along the way.”
“Yeah,” Joe muttered, “but I didn’t make ‘em in prison. Our enemies go way back...” With an unsteady hand he lowered his cup, careful not to spill a drop on her immaculate glass-topped coffee table.
She touched his hand. “Our enemies. This is something between you and Maisie, isn’t it, the reason you’re scared? Does this go back to the children’s home?”
Lethal Ties Page 16