by PETER DAVEY
“So how much money are we talking about?”
Ted thought about it. “I’m not sure exactly… I suppose altogether… over the whole four and a bit years and including what I gave the children… and what I paid the lawyers... and what I’ve still got, I suppose... just over a million.”
Anne was shaking her head in utter disbelief.
“But I hated the whole thing. I was coming to feel more and more like a cross between a charity case and a blackmailer. So in the end I tried to contact her. I wanted to tell her to stop sending me cash and start doing something about ‘Summers’. But she refused to see me.”
Anne's eyes narrowed. “I might have known. I might have bloody known. You just can’t help yourself, can you, Ted? You just can’t help lying. And to think that I went along with all that righteous indignation crap, to think that I supported you and found you Bill Peach and nearly went to court to… do you have even the faintest idea what could’ve happened if the truth had come out? You’d have been guilty of perjury and I could’ve been suspended for supporting you! I still could be. And you could go to prison!”
“To prison?” he grimaced, rather uneasily. “For what?”
“For tax evasion, of course. People have to pay tax on large chunks of income back here in the real world! HMRC doesn’t take too kindly to people burying it under their Brussels sprouts!”
“Of course I won’t go to prison!” he retaliated in a hoarse whisper. “Nicola will have paid tax on that money, it was sent to me in cash and hasn’t been within sight of a bank account. No one knows it exists!”
“Her accountant knows it exists. And accountants don’t like large sums of money going walkabout!”
“Rubbish! Nicola could easily have spent that money on clothes or fancy West End restaurants – you’ve no idea the cash these people get through! There’s no possible way it can be connected with me. And I haven’t exactly been driving around in a Porsche!”
“It’s just as well you never told the truth in that bloody interview! God, I just can’t believe you could be so stupid! And all just to get back at her for bruising your ego!”
He stared at her. “Bruising my ego?”
“Yes, bruising your ego! You were infatuated with her and when she left you behind you couldn’t handle it. You wanted the world to know you’d written that book because you resented all the adulation she was getting, in spite of your sordid little arrangement.”
“It wasn’t like that! I genuinely wanted to help her! And all I asked in return was that she keep her side of the bargain. I was desperate, Anne. You know what it was like!”
“Oh I know what it was like all right! I’ve heard nothing but you whine about it ever since we were at Oxford! How nobody appreciates your genius! How the whole publishing industry is conspiring against you! How all they care about is money! Well, I’ve got news for you Ted, that’s the world we all have to live in. Deal with it!”
“I thought I was…”
“And you slept with her, whatever you say. You’ve lied about everything else, so why shouldn’t you be lying about that too?”
“I didn’t sleep with her!” he protested, then glanced around and repeated, more quietly, “I didn’t sleep with her. It was just an arrangement.”
“You’re pathetic,” Anne snapped, suddenly on her feet, towering over him, trembling with fury. “Everything I said just now is off! Don’t ever try to contact me! I don’t ever want to see you again!”
She made to leave but Ted grabbed her arm and clung to it. “Anne, don’t go. Please don’t go!”
She murmured, through clenched teeth, “If you don’t let go of me I’ll scream.”
“Okay. But if you don’t sit down and let me say what I have to say, I’ll scream. If we’re never going to see each other again at least allow me to do that.”
The waitress was there again, armed with her pad above which her pencil was poised determinedly. “You ready order now?”
“No, we’re not ready to order,” said Ted. “It all looks so delicious – we’re having trouble deciding. Please just give us a moment longer.”
She sighed faintly and went away again. Anne glanced swiftly around at the other diners then, very reluctantly, resumed her seat. “You’ve got one minute.”
“Okay. I did sleep with her. Once. Technically. When I got to Richmond I knew she was somewhere in London homeless and penniless, but nonetheless I spent a whole day in mental turmoil, trying to decide whether to invite her there. I never imagined for a moment she’d… but I didn’t think of it like that. I just thought as I had all that space to myself and she had nowhere to go… But the first night she was there she became distraught, she was crying…”
“Oh please! You seriously expect me to sit here and listen to this garbage?”
“Yes I do. Because it’s the truth. And it’s important.”
She remained seated, simmering in silence.
“She was crying and I... I went to her bedroom to comfort her. I was sitting on her bed, holding her, and in time she calmed down and stopped crying. And then she told me she wanted me to sleep with her. But I told her I couldn’t, I just couldn’t because I loved my wife. And she was okay with it. She understood. So instead I proposed my plan to her, about the book, because I wanted to give her some hope, some encouragement. And afterwards she fell asleep in my arms and I stayed there the rest of the night, even though it was excruciatingly uncomfortable, because I didn’t want to risk waking her. So technically we slept together.”
Anne simply shook her head. “Like I said, don’t ever try to contact me again!” Then she got up and stormed out of the restaurant.
Ted glanced at the other diners, who were all scrupulously staring at their plates of food. He contained himself for a moment to give her a head start – he didn’t want to run into her again in the street. Then he looked up and found his exit barred by the waitress.
“You ready order now?”
4
“Nicola, there’s something I have to tell you. The guy you’ve been consorting with – Dominic. I know him. I’ve known him for months. And he’s not what he appears. He may give the impression of being your most loyal fan and unfailing support but when he came to visit you in hospital it was to destroy you.”
Nicola’s gaze travelled slowly from Ted to Dominic. Her face was a grimace of horror and incomprehension. Then she uttered the words, “I think you’ve just missed the turning.”
Dominic was snapped back to the here and now. “Shit,” he murmured, glancing around. “Never mind, there’s another one about five miles further on. We can take that and double back on the Maidstone road.”
“Dominic, are you all right? You seem to be on another planet today.”
“Sorry. It’s just the prospect of finally meeting this Haymer character. It’s giving me the willies.”
“I did offer to go alone.”
“I know, but I want to be with you.”
She reached out and placed her hand over his on the wheel. “That’s what I love about you. You’re always there for me.”
As they drove on along the motorway, Dominic sank back into his horrible reverie. How would Ted react to him after their last meeting? Would he play the game? Would he enter into the charade of never having met him or was his anger at being accused and humiliated still so raw that he would relish the opportunity to plunge the dagger of vengeance into his gut, whatever the consequences? Why had he been so sanctimonious towards him that day at the caravan? He was hardly in a position to be! And then to issue that ridiculous threat! After all, if Ted did blow his cover, would he really go through with telling Anne and the rest of the world what really happened? Of course he wouldn’t! What would be the point? If he had lost Nicola he would have lost everything. And there was the damage it would do to her since all her fans still clung to the belief that she was the true author of ‘Loss’ and had fallen fashionably off her trolley. The ace of hearts he’d believed he held firmly to his ch
est was actually – thanks to his love for Nicola – nothing more than a two of clubs. And Ted knew it.
“Nicola, there’s something I have to tell you,” he blurted out suddenly.
She turned to him in surprise.
“When I said I’d never been to Whitesands Marsh, I was lying... I have been there before.”
“Really? When?”
“When I... when we were children. We used to go there on holiday.”
“On holiday? To Whitesands Marsh? Jesus.”
“Well, not Whitesands Marsh. Whitesands Beach. My parents used to like it because it was never very busy. It’s because there’s no road to it – you have to walk from the car park...”
What the fuck was he talking about?
“Oh,” was her only response.
Even though he was driving a Mercedes instead of his old Golf, the journey to Wemborne was reminding him powerfully of the first time he had come to see Ted at The Queen’s Head. Once again the sky was obscured by a pall of grey cloud, promising rain, and once again the weather was reflecting his mood of heavy foreboding.
“How the hell do we find this caravan?” he mumbled as they entered the gloomy wasteland presaging the sea.
“We need to go to the Queen’s. Someone there’s bound to know where it is. Ted might even be there himself – he practically lives in that place.”
Dominic considered the prospect. If Ted were there his unmasking would be made public. And even if he were not, the landlord would recognise him instantly.
“You don’t want to go in there. You know what it’s like in these places – you’ll be recognised.”
“I’m used to that.”
“Okay, we’ll go there as a last resort, I promise. Just humour me.”
The Sat-nav was no help since Ted did not have a postcode. Dominic pulled into a lay-by and consulted the map.
“Look, Dominic, this is crazy! We could be driving round and round this place for hours! Let’s go to the Queen’s!”
“They definitely said in the papers that his caravan was on Whitesands Marsh,” he murmured, “and as far as I can see there’s only one lane – or track – going across it. And that track branches off this road about a mile ahead.”
She sighed with resignation. “Okay, Scott of the bloody Antarctic. Do your worst.”
They found the turning, took a left and advanced along the track, weaving slowly around the potholes, Dominic casting his eyes back and forth across the marsh like a radar scanner. When he got to the pumping station, he pulled into the gateway where he had parked his Golf.
“Why are we stopping?”
“I think I spotted something.”
They both got out and gazed around. “There it is, over there!” cried Dominic, pointing triumphantly. “In that sort of copse of trees. I recognise it from the photos in the press. Those are aspen trees, aren’t they?”
“I’ve no idea what sort of trees they are. The only tree I know is the palm tree because it grows in nice places.”
“I’m sure this is right.”
On Nicola’s insistence they had gone out and bought two pairs of wellies and some proper rainwear. The exercise had clearly amused her. “All we need now is a Range Rover and a Labrador to go with them,” she’d said. That day, however, as they got their new wellies out of the boot and put them on, she was not in such jocular mood. The ground was exceptionally boggy after recent rain and, as they crossed the field, he had to hold her hand to keep her from stumbling.
“Jesus,” she murmured when they finally arrived. “Ted can’t live here surely? Not after all the money I sent him.”
“Maybe he likes living like this. If he’s a bit of a recluse like everyone says.”
Dominic, his heart pounding, knocked on the door. There was no reply. He knocked again. Using his hands as blinkers, he peered through the window and his spirits soared at what greeted his eyes. Gone were the books, the papers, the dirty wine-glasses, the music stand and all Ted’s other squalid paraphernalia. The place was an empty shell.
“He’s gone,” he said, striving to keep the note of jubilation out of his voice.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Take a look for yourself. The place is deserted.”
She looked for herself. “Maybe this isn’t the right caravan.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is. It’s exactly like the one in the paper. They made a big deal of how it was standing on its own in the middle of nowhere, not even on a road – part of their character profile of Ted as the mad hermit.”
“Maybe it was the publicity that drove him away.”
“Whatever the reason, I think we should jack this in and head back to London.”
“No, Dominic, I haven’t come all this way to give up so easily. I want to go to the Queen’s. Ted’s been a regular there for decades. Someone’s bound to know where’s he’s gone.” This time her tone brooked no objection.
Once they were back on the main road, Dominic allowed her to direct him. As they entered the town centre, she glanced around at the picturesque but tatty buildings murmuring, “Fucking Wemborne.”
He pulled into the car park of the Queen’s Head and switched off the engine and they sat for a while in silence. “You were right,” she said. “I can’t face going in there. People will recognise me – especially Ian. And it’ll bring back all sorts of crap memories. You wouldn’t mind going in for me, would you? And don’t mention I’m here. Unless Ted’s there, of course.”
Once again his spirits soared – his spirits were on a roller-coaster that day. “No, of course not,” he replied gently. “You wait here. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Alone in the car, Nicola’s eyes wandered over the scene – the front, the fish and chip shop, the little café. Then they came to rest on the back door of the pub from which she and Ted had emerged the night she had first met him and she had lit a cigarette under the stars before setting off with him towards Snetsham. And she remembered how he had taken her in his arms when she burst into tears and how warm and safe it had suddenly made her feel. Large raindrops were splattering on the windscreen.
The car door opened and Dominic was back in the driver’s seat. “Nothing,” he said. “Total blank. Apparently Ted came in to say goodbye and when they asked him where he was going he just said ‘off travelling’.”
“When was this?”
“Just a few days ago.”
“So no one has the faintest idea where he is?”
“No. None.”
She considered the situation for a while then heaved a sigh. “Ah well, sorry Ted – I did try. Come on then, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
5
“Anne? It’s Frank. Frank Brewer.”
“Hello Frank,” said Anne, surprised.
“Yes, I just wondered if you'd care to pick up Ted’s books sometime, when you're passing. It's not that I mind having them here, they’re no trouble. But some of them old books are worth a few bob, aren’t they, and I’ve got no security here.”
“Frank, I’m not with you.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“About Ted going.”
She was perplexed. “Going where?”
“Dunno. Wouldn’t tell me. He just gave me the keys and headed off with a rucksack on his back like some sort of student. Daft git.”
Anne thought about his words for a moment. “Well, he’s a grown-up. He’s probably just decided to go travelling.”
“S’ppose so. Bit old for that sort of thing though, isn’t he?”
“So when was this?” she asked, after a pause.
“‘Bout a week ago. Maybe more.”
“And he didn't leave any clue in the caravan? A note or anything?”
“Nope, nothing. He left the place spotless, I’ll give him that.”
It was ten days since their trip to the Lemon Grass, ten days in which Anne had thought of almost nothing but that disastrous eveni
ng and of the months and years leading up to it. On her way to the farm she called at The Queen’s Head. Someone there would be bound to know Ted’s plans, but Ian shook his head. “You’re the second person who’s asked me that this week,” he said.
“Oh? Who was the first?”
“That tall lad. The one who came in here to see Ted. Now hooked up with Nicola, I believe.”
“Dominic? When was he in here?”
“Couple of days ago.”
“Did he leave a number or anything?”
“Nope. Just came in, asked for Ted and went straight out again.”
Anne, perplexed, drove on to the farm. As she pulled into the yard, she spotted Frank wandering out of one of the barns.
“Frank! Hang on a minute! What were Ted’s exact words when he left? Can you remember?”
Frank Brewer – a septuagenarian resplendent in cloth cap, raincoat and gumboots, his faithful spaniel at his side – turned to face her. “He just said you’d told him to move out so he thought he’d better do as he’s told.”
She wondered if she detected a hint of resentment in his voice, but then he added, “I’m glad. It wasn’t doing him any good living in that place. He wasn’t well.”
“I know. So where are all his books?”
“In the spare room. There’s a few boxes and some bags of rubbish in the barn. I’ll put them out on dustbin day but if I do it any sooner the foxes’ll have it everywhere.”
“Would you mind very much if I went through them? There might be something. I won’t make a mess, I promise.”
Frank shrugged. “Help yourself. And don’t worry about the mess. This place is a tip anyway.”
He took her into the shed and switched on the light, showed her the boxes and bin bags ranged neatly against the wall then shambled back to the house, leaving her to her work. She checked through the two boxes but they contained only copious drafts and redrafts of his work. Then, bracing herself, she took the first bag of rubbish, untied it and tipped its contents onto the concrete floor. It comprised mainly sheaves of paper covered either with typescript or handwritten notes, some irredeemably holey socks and a couple of torn shirts – one of which she remembered buying for him years before. She sifted through some of the papers but they seemed to consist only of yet more discarded drafts of his novels or jottings associated with them. She sighed. Ted had always distanced himself from his writing – he recorded his experiences and observations but seldom his thoughts, still less his plans. And he was so impulsive. It was possible he did not even know where he was going himself – as Frank had suggested – in which case it was unlikely she would ever find him. Unless he chose to contact her. But she had told him never to do that.