by NC Marshall
Tony laughed and nodded in agreement.
“If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bit light on the floor here, if you ever fancied coming back? You know I’d always keep the door open for you.” Joe winked.
“You know me Joe, never say never.”
“That’s good to know, Tony.” Joe pointed through the glass panels of the office door behind him. “That DI of yours is a lot to handle, isn’t she?”
“Charlotte? Nah, she’s alright once you get to know her, Joe – I promise.”
Joe nodded and took another quick glance at Charlotte, who had finished her briefing and was now talking to one of the department’s new detective constables; a tall woman with short, cropped ginger hair. Tony briefly wondered if the poor girl knew what she was letting herself in for.
“I’ll take your word for it,” replied Joe, clearly unconvinced that Charlotte wasn’t as bad as she appeared. “Fancy getting together for a pint later? It would be good to catch up.”
“Yeah, sounds good, mate. I’ll give you a bell when I finish up here.”
Joe gave a thumbs up and stepped back out into the corridor, letting the office door close. Before it did, Tony caught sight of Charlotte again who was now pacing back and forth with her hands on her hips, something she did a lot when she was pondering. He observed a couple of young PCSOs sauntering past, clearly checking her out, and he chuckled when she stopped pacing and mouthed a jokey “piss off” in their direction.
His attention now back to the task at hand, Tony sat forward and continued to skim through all of the old case files bearing Rick Donovan’s name, which were scattered out on the desk in front of him; many included reports from past years, with his own handwriting.
He sighed, knowing that he didn’t need to read any further and that no more research was required; Donovan’s history was as visible in Tony’s mind as his own. Putting his hands behind his head, Tony leaned back in his seat, eyes fixing on a dark water stain on the ceiling. His instincts around Donovan had never been wrong before, and he didn’t know if it was just the amount of time that had passed without him encountering Donovan, or just the fact that he was beginning to ever-so-slightly lose his touch, but he couldn’t help thinking that something wasn’t quite right; it felt different.
Tony had an overwhelming feeling that this time he was missing something, but for now, he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Chapter 13
I step out of the cottage and draw in a lung full of fresh sea air. Even though numerous times since arriving in Morteford, I had questioned us coming here, I am now really pleased that we did. It feels good to be away from home for a short time and, after only a few hours, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders; it’s clear to me how much I really needed this break.
“I’ll catch you up,” shouts Eva from inside the cottage. I click open the front door and glance back at her in the living room, where she holds her mobile in the air. “I’m just going to call Maisie.”
“Tell her Auntie Megan says ‘hi’,” I shout back, before I step out into the dimly lit street.
I smile to myself as I start a slow stroll towards the promenade, thinking of my gorgeous niece back at home. Maisie is the apple of Eva’s eye, and although her parents are no longer together, Eva and Steve dote on the 6-year-old; as do I. So did Johnny.
My thoughts turn to my late husband as I continue walking, just as they have every day in the year since he died. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that he enjoyed holidays here so much when he was younger; he must have loved it. Although he had mentioned Morteford a few times in passing, on seeing it for the first time, I am shocked that in the 9 years we were together he had never brought me here. On first impressions, it’s clear to see the village is a special place and already, I find myself liking it.
I continue along the street towards the promenade at the end and pass dog walkers, smiling courteously as they make their way to the water’s edge. It's freezing cold and starting to get dark, even though it's just gone teatime and it’s a brutal reminder that the winter months will soon be upon us.
I dig out a pair of gloves from the depths of my coat pocket and slip my hands into the warm wool, then stop at Eva’s car to wait for her to catch up. She thinks that the address we want is on the way back out of the village, so we have decided to walk there. Even though it's cold, taking the car may be a waste of time due to the number of narrow traffic-free streets. We could have waited until morning to find the address, but curiosity is playing havoc and I can’t wait. I want to find the man who saved my life!
I wait a few more minutes before Eva finally comes into view at the bottom of the street and makes her way over to me in the car park.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “Steve wanted a quick chat with me.”
“How’s Maisie doing?” I ask, as we continue walking.
“She’s great,” replies Eva. She zips up her pink bomber jacket, pulls the fur-trimmed hood up over her long blonde hair, and digs her hands deep into her pockets. “It’ll do them both good to spend some time together.”
I nod. Eva and Steve aren’t on what you would call ‘friendly terms’ anymore. They simply tolerate one another for Maisie’s sake. However, Eva would be the first to admit that the one thing she can’t knock her ex on is his parenting skills. He’s been a brilliant dad to Maisie since the day she was born, and probably a much better aunt than I have been recently. I haven’t seen Maisie for a few weeks, mainly due to the amount of time I have been spending at work, and then the accident.
We continue to walk in silence and have made it to the end of the promenade in less than 15 minutes. I’ve counted only a handful of shops, pubs and cafes by the time we round the corner and we luckily encounter a sign bearing the street name printed on the keyring.
“It must be along this road somewhere,” says Eva, squinting against a rush of icy cold air towards a long uphill street in front of us. She looks down at her high-heeled boots uncertainly.
“Told you that you should have brought flats!” I say, as I begin the steep climb. “I’ve brought a couple of pairs – you could have borrowed them if your feet weren’t double the size of mine.”
“Just going to have to brave it,” replies Eva, beginning the climb.
We are both out of breath and struggling by the time we reach the top of the hill, clearly not as fit as we would like to believe. Soon the road ends so we can't go any further and I stop when we reach a large building, which looks as if it could have been a stately home in its former years.
“This is it!” I announce, as Eva joins me at the gates.
“It couldn’t have been at the bottom of the flippin’ hill, could it?”, she says breathlessly
“Oh, stop moaning.”
“What number did you say it was?” asks Eva. She opens the black, iron gate, which creaks on its rusted hinges, and we make our way to the main entrance of the building, where steps lead up to a large wooden porch. There’s only one light on, which seems to be coming from the back of the property. The grounds are probably beautiful in the daylight, filled with trees, and beyond them, the calm water of the estuary is lit by moonlight.
“Apartment three,” I reply.
A nervous sensation hits the pit of my stomach as I join Eva on the steps. She presses the number three buzzer, but there’s no reply.
“Come on Eva, there’s nobody at home,” I say, as she waits a few seconds, then presses the buzzer impatiently.
“Come on!” I repeat, “we’ll try again tomorrow.” I grab her arm to pull her away, but as we reach the bottom step, the door behind us opens and I turn to see a middle-aged woman in the doorway.
“Can I help you?” she asks, clearly angry.
“Yes!” says Eva, assertively. I hang back as she makes her way back up the steps closer to the woman.
“We’re looking for the man who lives in apartment number three,” she says.
The woman looks puzzled.
“Apartment three hasn’t had any
one in it for a while,” she replies, giving Eva an unsure glance, followed by a full inspection.
“Oh,” says Eva, “It’s just that we found a key to the apartment and wanted to return it.”
The woman tuts and shakes her head. “What’s he like?” she announces, more to herself than to us. “He’s forever losing that sodding key.”
“I thought you said the apartment was empty?” I say, joining Eva in front of the woman. Her patchouli-scented perfume hits me – the smell is almost overpowering.
“Yes, it is, but there’s a man busy renovating it,” she replies in a credulous tone, implying that we are stupid. “He’s here every day, checking the workmen who are carrying out the renovations.” She holds out her hand to me. “He’ll be needing that key back so I'll pass it onto him if you want.”
I reach to take the key out of my pocket, but Eva puts up her hand to stop me.
“We’d rather pass it on to him ourselves,” she says, “he helped my friend out recently and she would like to meet him to say thank you.”
The woman visibly scowls at me, clearly understanding that she is going to have to provide more than she already has if Eva and I are to leave her in peace.
“His name’s Will Travers! He and another bloke run a property company based over the other side of the estuary, in Fadstow.”
“Fadstow? How do we get over there?” asks Eva.
“There’s a ferry that runs every half an hour from Morteford Docks. That’s the fastest way to get there.” The woman glances at her watch. “Hmm, the last one was at 6 o’clock so you’ve missed it.”
“Oh, OK, thanks,” replies Eva, cynically.
“It’s Friday night though,” adds the woman, as Eva and I turn away from her.
“Pardon?”
“Will drinks in the Anchor. It’s down on the waterfront and you’ll probably find him in there tonight.”
“Oh, great thank you for letting us know,” I reply.
The woman half smiles and slams the door.
Chapter 14
The Anchor Tavern’s was what my neck of the woods would refer to as ‘a total dive’. With heavy, wooden, old-fashioned furniture and a bar full of cask ales, it seems to appeal to a predominantly male crowd.
Eva glowers as we enter.
“Nice place,” she says, sarcastically. If there was ever an opportunity for Eva to drop the snobbery in her, now would be it, but tonight, I don’t hold out much hope.
She puts her hands on her hips and plants her feet, eyeing the crowds of men in front of her incredulously.
“Come on Eva,” I plead. “We only have to stay for a few drinks – I just want to see if Will Travers shows up,” I shout to her over the live band playing loud folk music.
Eva rolls her eyes in my direction.
“OK, but we’re not staying here all night!” she replies, turning her back on me and winding her way through the crowds in the direction of the bar. I follow, sticking closely behind her and pushing past the punters, 80% of them male. I can feel eyes studying us, the testosterone almost palpable as I continue through to the back of the pub where a large, open fire begins to work its magic and thaw me out following the walk back from the apartments. Although it had been freezing, it had been a damn sight easier trekking back down the hill.
“What can I get you?” asks the guy behind the bar, sporting a thick grey beard and dark features.
“White wine, please,” I mouth to Eva, over the rowdy punters. Eva nods and shouts “Can I have a white wine and a Mojito please?”
The barman smirks at Eva and stifles a laugh in my direction – I smile back apologetically.
“I don’t think this is a ‘Mojito’ type of place, do you Eva?” I whisper in her ear.
For an intelligent woman, who finished at the top of her class at university and went on to be a successful businesswoman, Eva certainly has the dumb-blonde charade off to a tee.
“Oh, OK then, what do you recommend?” she asks the barman, appearing only mildly embarrassed.
“We do some nice local ciders,” he replies, kindly.
“OK, I’ll try one of them thanks,” answers Eva. She catches the eye of a good-looking blonde man of around our age who’s sitting on a bar stool next to her and, giving him a flirtatious smile, she straightens her sequin-studded jumper over her ample cleavage, handing over the money for our drinks.
“I don’t suppose you know a man called Will Travers?” I ask the barman, steadying myself as a woman pushes roughly past me.
“Will? Yes, he’s a regular, love.”
“Is he here tonight?
The barman has a quick glance around before replying. “No, he’s not, although he’s usually in every Friday night at some point with his mate, Elliott.” The barman looks down at his watch. “They’re normally in by now, so I presume they’re not coming tonight, but if they show up later, I’ll let you know.” He gives me a warm smile.
“Thank you,” I answer, before taking my drink from Eva and moving her away from the guy at the bar towards two strangely empty seats at the back of the pub, near the fire.
***
Will Travers didn’t show up last night – we stayed at the Anchor until closing time, but he and his friend never arrived. I’m now heading over to Fadstow because Mike – the owner of the pub – assured me that Will would be working in the office this morning.
“You sure you’re alright getting the ferry over there on your own?” asks Eva. She pulls her fluffy dressing gown around her and shivers, reaching up to fiddle with the thermostat on the living-room wall of the cottage before finally admitting defeat and heading over to start the open fire.
“I’ll be fine!” I answer, “I’ll just pop over there to return his key and say thank you, then I’ll come back and we can go for lunch together, somewhere nice.”
“Yeah, I think I could do with something to soak up the alcohol from last night,” replies Eva. Stretching out on the large, comfy sofa in the living room, she rubs her head. “I’m dying.”
“That’s what happens when you get carried away with the local brew,” I joke, playing along with what we both know is nothing more than a poor excuse. Eva’s hangover isn’t the main reason she isn’t accompanying me today; it’s because I have to get a ferry over the water to Fadstow and deep water is something she has been terrified of since Johnny died.
“See you later then,” I say. Eva nods and gives a wry smile, as if silently thanking me for not pushing her to join me.
“See you later, Meg,” she replies quietly.
***
The walk to the ferry landing takes 10 minutes and I only have to wait a further five for the small boat to dock near the narrow wooden jetty where a few people, beside myself, are waiting in a short queue to board.
A man helps me onto the small boat and I take a seat at the back with the other passengers; another crew member runs through a few safety instructions, before the skipper fires up the boat’s engine and we begin the ride over to Fadstow.
The sun is rising above the estuary as we continue the short trip across the water. Looking back towards Morteford, I can’t quite believe how beautiful it looks this morning, with its deserted streets and warm orange glow of the rising sun, contrasted against the washed-out colours of the old fishermen’s cottages. The water shimmers against the low light and, as I sit back to relax and enjoy the journey, I can’t help thinking about Eva and how much she would have loved this, before the accident and her phobia of water developed. The day that Johnny died.
Johnny and Eva had been staying with their parents at their villa in the South of Spain when it happened; the day all of our lives were ripped apart and changed forever. Eva had just been through a bad break-up with Steve, and had decided to take Maisie over to Spain to escape for a long weekend and get away from it all. Johnny went with them, and I was going out to meet them the following day because I had an important last-minute business conference that I couldn’t miss.
The
day of my arrival, Eva and Johnny had taken Maisie to the beach, and Johnny was due to pick me up from the airport later that afternoon. Not many people knew about the quiet cove near to the holiday home. I’d been there numerous times with Johnny in the 9 years that we had been together, and it’s the spot where he proposed to me. It was deserted then too.
Eva and Maisie were playing in the sea when they got into trouble. Johnny succeeded to pull Maisie to safety, and he then swam back out to rescue Eva. He managed to get her to shallower water where she was able to regain control, away from the current that had taken hold. Johnny wasn’t so lucky and was swept out with it. I was on the plane bound for Spain, 35,000 feet in the air, when it all happened. I was later greeted at the airport by Eva and Johnny’s distraught parents, telling me that their son was missing. After 2 days of relentless searching by the Spanish authorities, Johnny was certified dead and my world crumbled beneath me.
“Are you ready, Miss?” My thoughts are interrupted as the ferry’s skipper taps me on the shoulder. I glance around and realize that the boat has now come to a halt on the opposite side of the estuary, and the other passengers have already disembarked.
“Oh, yes, sorry!” I reply, quickly rising from my seat. The man helps me across the small gap between the bobbing boat and the jetty. I smile and thank him, politely.
“Could you tell me where A.W.E. renovations is based please?” I ask the man, before he jumps back down onto the deck of the boat. Mike, from the pub, had told me the name of Will Travers’ company. Apparently it's named after Will, his business partner, and Will’s father, who once ran the company, before handing it over to him after discovering he was ill a couple of years ago. Mike had told me that Will renamed the company following the takeover, to ensure his father's name was incorporated; a gesture I thought very touching. Even though I’m yet to meet Will Travers, I find I’m already growing fond of him.