by NC Marshall
“I asked you to go and meet Megan at the office, take the key back, and accept her gratitude – that was it!”
“Yeah, which I did.”
“Then you accidentally bumped into her again, somehow, and ended up back at her cottage?”
Elliott lowered his head again.
“What if anyone had seen you, Elliott?”
“Well, they didn’t! I did what you asked of me Will, I pretended to be you!”
“And what part of ‘pretending to be me’ involved kissing her?”
Elliott was clearly taken aback. “You saw?”
“Yes, Elliott, I saw.”
“How?”
“I was on my way home and thought I’d peek in at the cottage window to check she was OK. I didn’t expect to see you slobbering all over her!”
“It wasn’t like that,” Elliott muttered, reaching for his bottle and taking a hefty swig before slamming it back down on the table.
“It wasn’t like what?” asked Will.
“I did what you asked and pretended to be you at the office. I didn’t know I was going to bump into her at the museum, and I certainly didn’t plan it that way. I had just popped in for a coffee, on the way back from the apartment, so I couldn’t exactly ignore her, could I?”
“Yes, yes, Elliott you could.”
Elliott took another long swig and shook his head angrily at his friend.
“Does she know about me?” asked Will.
“No! I pretended to be you all night.”
“Oh great, this just gets better.”
“Megan is amazing, Will. Really amazing.”
Will looked down at his feet, his temper subsiding a little. “Yes, I don’t doubt that.”
“I’m sorry! There was just something about her…I really like her Will.”
“You can’t see her again!” Will’s tone was lowered again and he now felt a little guilty for confronting Elliott the way he had.
“Yes, I’m aware of that, but you’re going to have to come clean with her at some point you know. It’s not fair to string her along.”
Aggravated, Will ignored Elliott and got up from his seat. Pulling his wallet from his pocket, he turned to get another drink.
“She deserves to know the truth Will.”
Will stopped dead in his tracks, his back to Elliott who continued. “You have to tell Megan that it was you who rescued her that night, and she needs to know who you really are.”
Chapter 20
“Are you alright, pet?” My dad takes away my plate – still filled with a barely touched roast dinner.
“Yes, thanks Dad, I’m fine.”
“But you’ve barely touched your dinner.” My dad looks concerned.
“I know, I’m just not hungry. Think I might be coming down with a bug or something.”
My dad nods, seeming to accept my lies, and he continues to clear the table. I rise to help him, but he orders me to sit back down and take it easy.
“You back at work tomorrow?” asks Luke, who has already plonked himself on the sofa and is lying stretched out in front of the TV.
“Yeah.”
“You sure you’re ready?” he asks and, taking his eyes off the TV he looks behind to where I’m still sitting at the table.
“It’s as good a time as any I suppose,” I reply.
In all honesty, up until yesterday, I was ready to put my suit back on and return to work. However, after the visit from DCI Morgan and DI Taylor, and the news they had relayed, I’m now not sure I’m in the right frame of mind. The image of Rick Donovan keeps dominating my thoughts and, after a terrible, sleepless night, still nothing makes sense. At least I know Donovan is in police custody, and I trust that Morgan and Taylor will do their job and find out what is going on.
I pick up the bowls from the table and head into the kitchen where my dad is busy washing up. I pull a clean tea towel from the warm radiator and begin to dry.
“I told you to sit down, Meg. I can manage.”
“Don’t be daft, Dad – a few dishes aren’t going to kill me!” My dad smiles and shakes his head, knowing that there’s no point in arguing. Although he and Luke would like to believe otherwise, ever since mum died I have been the boss in this family and they know when to admit defeat.
“So, you enjoyed your weekend away with Eva then?” asks my dad, as he hands me a glass and starts on the pans. An image of Will pops into my head and I instinctively put my hand to my lips.
“Yeah, it was pretty good.”
“Where did you say you went?” he asks.
“I’m not sure if I did, but we went to a little fishing village that Eva and Johnny used to visit with their mum and dad, when they were kids. It’s called Morteford.
Without looking up from the sinkful of soapy water in front of him, my dad replies,
“Oh, Morteford, yes, I know it well.”
“Really? You’ve been there before?”
“Oh yes. I worked just along the coast from there, back in the day, at a shipbuilders. It was when I moved back to the North East, just before your mother and I met.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.” I’m not really surprised that my dad had worked near Morteford as he’d been in the shipbuilding trade for years and had been based on the Tyne for the vast majority of the time he and mum were married. Before then, his job had taken him all over the country.
“Yep, worked there for a couple of years, then got a contract closer to home so I moved back here permanently. Thank God I did because that’s when I met your Mam.”
Dad looks out of the kitchen window at the weak autumn sun filtering through, clearly reminiscing his younger days.
“It’s a beautiful place,” he adds, his attention returned. “Although it might have changed now; I haven’t been back since I worked there and that would have been, hmm, 35 years ago now.”
“Yes,” I nod, “it’s still a very pretty place.
My dad continues to reminisce.
“I had a little flat, which overlooked the water.”
“Very nice – I could think of worse places to work.”
“Aye love, it was canny. Shared it with my mate, Bob Simmonds, who I worked with at the time. You remember old Bobby Simmonds, don’t you?”
“Yes, Dad, I remember him well. He was a lovely man.”
“Aye, he was, you don’t get many like him anymore. Salt of the earth. I met a lovely girl there too, Jenny May she was called.”
“Ooh, get you Casanova.” I slap my dad playfully with the end of the damp tea towel, and smile. It’s not very often that he talks about his life before mum. I assume it’s because she had been such a massive part of his life since. They would have been married almost 31 years had she still been alive, and she was, and always will be, the love of his life. It was the sort of love I envied as a child, pure and unconditional, and I hoped one day to find that.
Finishing the dishes, we join Luke in the living room. Dad falls asleep on his recliner like he does every week, while Luke and I sit in front of the TV, muttering the occasional word to each other. Today though Luke is a lot chattier than he usually is, which is a pleasant surprise. He asks me all about my trip to Morteford and I tell him how pretty the place is and what a great time Eva and I had. Just as I have done with Dad, I sugarcoat everything and don’t mention my real reason for being there because, like Dad, I don’t want Luke to worry. They’ve both been through too much to add any more worries.
Half an hour later, I’m standing in the kitchen, tucking into a packet of digestives while waiting for the kettle to boil, when something suddenly hits me. Rushing through to the living room, I tell Luke that I have to go – making a work-related excuse – and I step out of dad’s house, into the cold autumn air, to make my way home.
Chapter 21
The following day I don’t have time to contemplate my nervousness about driving. My brain is too occupied by other matters as I think I’ve discovered the truth, and now I have to get to M
orteford as soon as I can. I have no idea why it’s taken me so long to figure it out.
There are no flights until later this evening, and the train will end up taking longer than it would to drive, so I’ve hired a car and left, early morning, without telling anyone where I was going. I’ve called my boss and told him I need another few days off sick. As always, he totally understands and tells me that he needs me fighting fit when I do return, as we have a massive contract coming our way. Normally, this type of news would be at the forefront of my mind and I’d be playing with ideas in my head; already planning my pitch. Today, I have more important things to think about.
The fury has fuelled me to get there, and because my mind has been kept so busy, the trip passes pretty quickly. It’s only now, as I approach the bend that leads me into the neighbouring town, that I’m starting to have doubts again.
I’d spent the best part of last night searching the internet for a ‘William Travers’, located in Morteford. It seems that he must be one of a small minority who doesn’t dabble in the delights of social media and, although I managed to find some written information about his business, through the A.W.E. company homepage, other than his date of birth, and the fact that he has won quite a few awards in the field, it told me little more than I already knew. In the end, I found no hard evidence to back my suspicion of who Will Travers really is, but my gut feeling is proof enough for me.
I continue the drive towards Morteford, my brain bursting with questions. Again, when I see the road sign which reads ‘Morteford – 2 miles’, I feel more doubts creeping in.
Could I be jumping to conclusions? I am the first to acknowledge my downfalls, and admit that, diving in, head first, without thinking things through, has always been one of them. I think of the conversations I had with Will while I was in Morteford, how he behaved at our first meeting, and also that I somehow knew he was lying when he said he was ‘just passing’ on the night of the accident. Had he been following me? Did he not come to the hospital because he feared he would be found out, or was all this just a crazy coincidence?
I pull up outside the apartment at the top of the hill leading into Morteford. It’s gone lunchtime now and, as Will had mentioned he normally came here first thing in the morning before heading to the office, I really hoped he would still be here. I don’t relish the thought of getting the ferry over to Fadstow on such a cold day.
I ring the bell five times before the same woman who Eva and I had spoken to when we were here last, opens it. She eyes me just as suspiciously as she had 5 days ago.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Will Travers!” I say, without pleasantries. I was too nice to her last time and this woman is clearly just a nasty cow. Well, two can play that game.
“You were here the other night looking for him. Who are you?” the woman asks rudely.
“None of your business! Is he here?”
The woman steps to one side, allowing me to push past her.
“Apartment three,” she shouts, defeated, as I make my way along a lengthy corridor.
The door to apartment three is partially open when I reach it, and it creaks on its hinges as I swing it open to reveal an empty room.
“Hello?”
No response apart from my own voice echoing around the massive space. Dust cloths cover the wooden floors; ladders are set up in the corner, and electric wires hang from the walls and ceiling. A huge old fireplace is covered over with plastic sheeting; the beautiful decorative tiles underneath clearly visible, and halfway through being painstakingly restored to their former glory. Dust particles dance in the weak light, highlighted by two huge arched windows looking out over the golden shore of the estuary, a clear view to Fadstow in the near distance. Although a mess now, there is no denying that the place has immeasurable potential.
The door bangs shut behind me as an icy draught floods the musty air of the apartment, causing me to shiver.
“Hi, is anybody here?” I ask, nervously.
I make my way to the opposite side of the room, my trainers squeaking on the unprotected parts of old parquet flooring.
“Hello?” I repeat.
I reach another door and call out again, but there’s no answer; this place is empty. I’m just about to leave, planning my trip over to Will’s office in Fadstow, when a deep recognizable voice answers.
“Hi, I’m sorry, I was just—” Will stops dead in his tracks when he sees me, his mouth visibly dropping open as he comes through the main door of the apartment.
“Megan, hi… erm, what are you doing here?”
Rage erupts as I race across the room and shove him as hard as I can in the chest. I don’t know where the strength comes from, but it seems that all of my pent-up emotions since finding out what I am now 99% sure is the truth, have come out in one fell swoop. Caught off guard, Will loses his balance and falls backwards into a pile of cardboard boxes.
“You bastard!”
Will struggles to get up from the boxes.
“What the hell?”
“You told me that your dad’s old fishing boat in the harbour was named ‘Jenny May’, after your mum. The boat he used before he got sick.”
Will looks at me blankly, so I continue.
“Jennifer May is the name of the woman my dad had a relationship with, and she lived in the same village. You were born almost 8 months after he left Morteford and returned to Newcastle, just before he and my mother met!”
Will remains silent.
“Then, you show up on a deserted country bridge that hardly anyone uses, at just the right time to save me. You don’t come to the hospital, and you don’t give a name because you didn’t want anyone finding out who you really are. Now, tell me Will, is all this just a huge coincidence?”
Will eventually manages to free himself from the boxes and stands to look at me.
“It’s not what you think, Megan.”
“And what am I thinking?” I shove him again, but this time he’s prepared and doesn’t budge an inch.
“You’re my half-brother, aren’t you? You were watching me that night. It’s the only possible way you would have seen the car at the bottom of the ravine and that’s why you were so funny with me the day I came to see you at the office. You were worried you’d been rumbled!”
Will stays silent – he doesn’t need words. The look on his face says it all; he’s my brother!
“Tell me the bloody truth Will, it’s the least I deserve.” My voice sounds calm, but I feel anything but. I’ve always hated liars; I find men who lie are the weakest of their kind. My husband was no exception.
I think of Will kissing me back in the cottage, and of the thoughts I’ve had about him since I left Morteford. I clench my stomach and bend forward, feeling physically sick.
When I stand up straight again, Will has moved so that he is directly in front of me, but his focus is set on something over my shoulder at the other side of the room.
“No, I’m not your brother,” answers Will quietly, running his hands through his hair, which is full of white dust.
I step back from him; my trainers once again squeaking on the flooring. It’s then that I hear another voice behind me.
“He’s not your brother, Megan, but I am!”
Chapter 22
Charlotte reached forward and paused the recorder on the table. Standing up slowly, she made sure that she kept her glare fixed on Donovan and, although his grey eyes bore into hers, his expression remained vacant. She forcibly tore away her stare. She really needed to take a break, and Joe Emery nodded at her silently as she made to leave. No words were even needed – it was abundantly clear that she had to get out of this room and away from Donovan, before she did something she would undoubtedly later regret.
Emery joined her in the corridor, “Go and get yourself a coffee and take a break Taylor, you look like you need it,” he said softly.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, gratefully.
In the short
time that Charlotte had been in Newcastle she had grown fond of Detective Superintendent Emery, not just because of all the positive things she’d heard about him from Tony, but because he was clearly a decent bloke and excellent at his job. Even though he refused to admit it, Charlotte was sure he could see how similar she was to him.
Unfortunately Donovan was clever! He knew exactly how to press her buttons and had successfully riled her within the first few minutes of the interview, just as he had done with Tony when Emery called them in last night.
After years with no visual contact, Donovan had been face to face with the man who put him behind bars – DCI Tony Morgan. Normally refusing to show any weakness, Donovan’s expression had visibly dropped when he saw Tony enter the interview room, although seconds later a fake smile appeared before his first words to him in almost a decade.
“Oh hello−again−DCI Morgan, long time no see eh? Tell me, how is your lovely wife, Olivia, doing, and the kids?”
To anybody who didn’t know Donovan’s capabilities, this would have been nothing more than a friendly greeting. However, in this case it was a personal message to Tony. Donovan had clearly kept tabs on him over the years, and used their reunion to pose an indirect threat.
Charlotte could have sworn that Tony was going to put Donovan in an early grave as he lunged across the table that separated the two men, and she watched, with interest, as Emery calmly stepped in and dismissed Tony from the interview.
Never before had she seen so much fury and hatred in Tony’s eyes. His untypically emotional reaction to Donovan’s successful attempt to rile him had given her a small glimpse into a side of Tony Morgan she had not previously witnessed. She was actually quite impressed! It only confirmed to her what she had known from the first moment she met him; how genuine a man Tony was, and how much he cared for his family.
Charlotte quickly left the interview room, heading along the corridor and up a single flight of steps, her small heels clicking on the polished linoleum floor. Stopping at the end of the corridor, she smoothed her hair over her shoulders and composed herself. She wanted to appear calm when she saw Tony, even though Donovan made her feel the exact opposite.