by Jill McGown
The phone rang, making her jump.
‘Hello,’ Josh said.
‘Josh – it’s dangerous ringing me here. What if Paul had been here? I told you, he never closes the door. He’d know I was talking to you.’
‘Relax,’ said Josh. ‘I asked for him and got put through to you.’
‘Oh.’ She smiled. ‘I’m afraid Mr Esterbrook is away at a conference today, Mr Esterbrook, and won’t be back in the office until Monday. Would you like to leave a message?’
‘Monday would be a bit late. I rang to tell him that I’m going to have to be at the club school this weekend, so I won’t be taking the boat out after all. I’ll have to ring him at home.’
Sandie’s mouth fell open. ‘Paul will have six fits!’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘Does this mean you’re going to carry on depriving him of my services?’
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said Josh. ‘But it does mean that you get to go in your own car. You can smoke yourself silly all the way there and all the way back if you want.’
Her eyes grew wide, and her heart began to beat faster. She could feel her face grow hot. ‘Josh – is it this weekend?’
‘Yes. See you later.’ And he hung up.
She went to the ladies’ room, and splashed her face with water, trying to stay calm. Josh said she always showed it when she was excited. She had to think about something else. Anything else. Anything that didn’t excite her in the least.
Paul. She’d think about Paul.
SCENE III – BARTONSHIRE.
Friday, September 26th, 6.50 p.m.
Paul and Elizabeth’s House.
‘It’ll just be you and me and Sandie,’ said Angela. ‘She’ll be night-diving at the reservoir, so I thought it would be nice if she came up here for a bite to eat. I’m sure you and she will get on – she’s a nice girl, Elizabeth. And she’s very good for Josh.’
Elizabeth shook her head slightly. Angela and Paul were still trying to convince her that Sandie Townsend and Josh were getting it together. It was true that Sandie had been spending a lot of time at Little Elmley, but that was for Paul’s convenience, Elizabeth was sure. And Elizabeth was convinced now that Angela was in on it.
‘I don’t actually know when I’ll get back from London,’ she said. ‘It might be quite late.’
She could hear Paul arriving home from work, and was very thankful that this weekend at least she would be getting a day off from him, when she was in London. She wished Josh’s boat would get back from the menders, because then Sandie wouldn’t be in the safe and secure environment of a house with private grounds; she would be with Paul on Josh’s boat, and the surveillance could begin again. She might have to wait a long time for another break in Paul’s routine to throw him out of gear, but at least she wouldn’t have to suffer his presence all over her precious solitary weekends.
‘Well, Josh says Sandie will probably be quite late too, so we’ll make it a late dinner,’ said Angela. ‘Say nine-thirty for ten? Will you be back by then? I can do something that will keep, if you might be later than that.’
She might as well go to Angela’s hen-party as not, she thought; she had no objections to Sandie per se. Indeed, she was counting on Sandie to help her pay this bloody family out, albeit unwittingly.
‘Oh, yes, I think I’ll be back. That’ll be lovely. See you tomorrow night.’
She put down the phone, and went into the sitting room, where Paul was getting himself a drink from the refrigerated compartment of their drinks cabinet.
‘I’m going to London tomorrow, in case you’ve forgotten,’ she said. ‘And I’m invited to a girls-only dinner at Little Elmley tomorrow night. You’ll have to look after yourself.’
Paul picked up the remote control for the TV, and it flashed into life with the music that heralded the seven o’clock news. ‘Makes no difference to me,’ he said, looking at the screen. ‘I’ll be in Cornwall.’
Elizabeth frowned. If Paul was going diving again, then Josh’s boat must be back in business. But if Sandie Townsend was going to be at this dinner, she presumably wasn’t going on the weekend with them, and she wondered if Paul knew that. ‘Sandie won’t be in Cornwall,’ she said.
It was the tiniest of reactions. A fleeting pause as he opened the can. He carried on immediately, but she had seen it.
‘She’s doing a night-dive at Little Elmley, apparently,’ Elizabeth went on, ramming home her advantage. ‘And then coming to dinner with Angela and me. Didn’t she tell you?’
‘No,’ said Paul, sitting down. ‘I haven’t been in the office.’
Of course, thought Elizabeth, this whole thing could be an even more elaborate ploy to cover up Paul’s behaviour. She, after all, had to leave Barton before first light to get to London with at least a chance of getting a decent place in the queue; it was a two-and-a-half-hour drive, and it would take the best part of an hour to get where she was going once she was in London.
As she thought about it, it came on the news; a late silly-season story. The camera panned along the people who were settling in for the night, and she just had to hope that eight o’clock was early enough to join the queue. They were predicting record numbers, and the tickets were limited to two per person.
If she had had more courage, she would have gone up yesterday, and camped out overnight like these people; it would have been no hardship in this weather. But going at all was as much of a stand as she had had the nerve to take in the face of her husband’s mocking disparagement and her mother-in-law’s baffled indulgence. She just had to hope that she at least got there with a chance; some people, the news said, would arrive to find that they were being advised to go home.
But her early start meant that if Paul and Sandie left immediately after she did, Sandie could spend several hours with him on Josh’s boat and still be back by ten for dinner with Angela. The Esterbrook minds were quite devious enough to produce such a plan, and she wondered about this night-diving that Sandie Townsend was supposed to be doing. It might be worth checking into that.
When they had eaten, Paul rose from the table, announced that he was going out, and didn’t know how long he’d be. Perhaps she had imagined the momentary reaction she had believed she had seen; the Esterbrooks probably didn’t need to go to such elaborate lengths to pull the wool over her eyes. He was probably going to Sandie Townsend right now, with his mother’s blessing.
All the same, she thought, picking up the phone, if he was going to Penhallin tomorrow – with or without Sandie Townsend – so was her private detective.
SCENE IV – BARTONSHIRE.
Friday, September 26th, 9.00 p.m.
A Street in Barton.
Paul drove angrily and too fast until he was well away from Elizabeth. His desire to beat her senseless had grown to almost irresistible proportions over the last month, and now that she and his bloody mother seemed to be trying to block his escape route as soon as it had opened up again, it had taken all his strength not to wipe the triumphant smile off her face.
He had things to do tonight. It was after nine already, and now he was going to have to take time out to sort out what all this was about, he thought angrily, pulling into a lay-by and squealing to a halt. He dialled Josh’s mobile number and got a voice telling him that the phone was busy but that the subscriber knew he was waiting on the line. It didn’t make him answer the bloody call, though.
Who was he talking to? Was it Elizabeth? He could never be certain of Josh, and he had had a long time to think about things. Was he up to something? Was he deliberately keeping the boat out of commission? Or was it his mother’s doing? To keep Sandie from him? Was she still trying to pair Josh off with her? Paul watched the cars and lorries shooting past him, while he waited for Josh to get off the bloody phone. After this weekend, he wouldn’t need Josh and his bloody boat, so – Josh finally answered, interrupting his mental tirade. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he demanded.
‘Good evening, Paul,�
� said Josh smoothly. ‘I just tried to ring you, but Elizabeth said you’d gone out. You know how hard it is to get Elizabeth off the phone.’
Elizabeth. He had been talking to Elizabeth. ‘I said, what the—’
‘I heard you. What’s going on about what?’
‘My wife’s just informed me that Sandie is having dinner with my mother tomorrow evening,’ he said.
‘Oh, that. No – forget it. Angela obviously invited Elizabeth before she’d spoken to Sandie. Don’t worry, Sandie’ll tell her she can’t make it. I told her Sandie would be doing a night-dive at the reservoir, so she suddenly got it into her head to invite her to dinner.’
‘Why the hell did you tell her that?’
‘Angela said Elizabeth would start getting suspicious again, so I thought if they both believed Sandie wasn’t going to be in Cornwall, it might take some of the heat off, that’s all.’
Paul didn’t trust Josh when he did him unasked-for favours. He didn’t trust Josh at all.
‘The thing is, I won’t be taking the boat out this weekend after all. I’m at the diving school.’
There was a moment while Paul processed that, then he exploded. ‘Jesus Christ, Josh! What the fuck are you trying to do to me? I thought you were in Penhallin!’
‘There was a mix-up over the schedules at the club. Ade’s away for the weekend, so I’m having to do his people instead. I’ve been here all afternoon, I’ve got a full day tomorrow, and Howard and I have got a group doing night-diving tomorrow evening at the reservoir. So, no boat, I’m afraid.’
Paul tried to make sense of it all. If Josh wasn’t going to be in Penhallin, then Sandie might as well go to dinner with his mother, because she was no use to him if the boat wasn’t going out. He said as much to Josh, every noun and most verbs preceded by the same expletive.
‘Just relax, and listen,’ said Josh.
Paul listened. He did not relax.
‘The cottage will be free again. Sandie can go to Penhallin in her own car tomorrow morning. You go at your usual time, go down to the boat in case someone is following you, then just do what you did last time. If you leave the cottage first on Sunday, no one will be able to prove anything. You can tell Elizabeth you stayed overnight when you discovered the mix-up rather than do the journey twice in one day.’
‘For your information, little brother, the last time I took your advice I ended up being blackmailed. Some bugger got a video of me.’
For possibly the first time in his life, Paul had succeeded in rendering his laid-back brother speechless. For at least ten seconds. ‘Blackmailed?’ he said. ‘What do you mean, blackmailed?’
‘Blackmailed as in demanding money with menaces. Don’t worry, I’m dealing with it. So there won’t be anyone following me tomorrow, and I won’t need to fart about with the boat or anything else. But since you’re not going to be there, I don’t see how any of this is going to help.’
‘But no one knows I’m not taking the boat out,’ Josh said, when he’d finished.
‘Oh, no,’ said Paul. ‘Only a load of fucking divers.’
‘Who are all going to be in Egypt by tomorrow afternoon. Elizabeth and Angela will have no reason to think I’m not in Penhallin.’
‘But you’re not going to be in Penhallin! You’re going to be in Little sodding Elmley!’
‘But Elizabeth and Angela aren’t going to know that until late on Saturday, are they? I’ll say I forgot to tell you I wasn’t going. And there will be night-diving at the reservoir, if Elizabeth stops by to check. She’s not going to know whether one of the divers is Sandie or not. No proof of anything.’
When Sandie didn’t turn up for this dinner, she’d know. But then, Paul told himself as he calmed down a little, she didn’t have to believe it for it to work. It was proof that bitch needed, and Josh was right. There would be no proof that Sandie wasn’t diving. But he still didn’t understand why Josh had ever said that she was. There was a great big rat here; he could smell it, and he was going to find out exactly where it was.
Right,’ he said. ‘OK. But I’ll be picking Sandie up. I want her in my car – I’m not wasting any more bloody time. So if you’ve told her any different, untell her.’
‘You’re that certain no one’s going to be following you?’
‘I will be. I’ve got a bit of business to attend to first.’
SCENE V – BARTONSHIRE.
Friday, September 26th, 9.10 p.m.
On the Road from Little Elmley to Stansfield.
Josh put away his phone, and drove out of the diving club, still trying to make sense of it. They had been certain that Sandie must have misread the signs, that Paul wasn’t being blackmailed after all. But she had been right. Paul seemed pretty certain that no one would be following him tomorrow, but Josh didn’t see how he could be. What did he mean, he was dealing with it?
Oh, well. He couldn’t spend time worrying about that, he thought, as he drove out of Little Elmley and towards Stansfield. He had things to do, not least of which was to issue Sandie with her new orders, which wouldn’t please her, because smoking was probably the only thing she wouldn’t be doing on the adjectival journey down.
He wondered a little about his half-brother’s constant use of a word with sexual connotations as an expletive; he thought perhaps that Paul truly did think of nothing else, and during enforced periods of celibacy the word was almost as satisfying to him as the act itself, like a baby with a dummy as a substitute for a breast.
But his half-brother’s sexual psychology was not something he wished to dwell on. It was useful, but unpleasant. Like sewers.
SCENE VI – BARTONSHIRE.
Friday, September 26th, 9.30 p.m.
A Supermarket in Stansfield.
Kathy Cope pushed her husband round the supermarket while he picked things off the shelves he could reach, and told her what to get from the ones he couldn’t. It had always been like that, even before the wheelchair. Andy had decided what food they bought. They always came at this time on a Friday night; the aisles were clearer then, and she could hook him up to one of the special trolleys.
She hadn’t decided yet what she was going to do. Joe had told her it was all over, if it had ever really started. He wanted his wife back, apparently – and all the stuff he’d bought, unless she could buy it from him. He’d said she could hang on to it until she had decided what to do. She had hoped that jobs might have started coming in, but they hadn’t, so she supposed she would have to give up the agency. Whatever she did, she was going to have to talk to Lucy, try to persuade her to take her dad. It wasn’t going to be easy, but even if Lucy refused, Kathy wasn’t going to stay with Andy. She was going to leave him, get a job. Anything.
At last, they were heading up in the lift, back to their old, specially adapted car, which she couldn’t drive because she’d never learned how to use her hands rather than her feet. It stood alone in a line of disabled parking spaces, and that was another reason why they came late, the disabled spaces were quite often all taken at peak times, usually by people who had nothing wrong with them.
She got Andy into the driving seat, put the chair in the boot, then got in herself, and he drove home, going on at her about something, but she wasn’t listening.
SCENE VII – BARTONSHIRE.
Friday, September 26th, 9.55 p.m.
The Garage of the Copes’ House.
Kathy got out of the car and opened the garage door, her heart almost stopping as a figure appeared from the side passage and a gloved hand covered her mouth. She was pushed into the garage, where Andy could see her in the headlights, and she felt something hard and cold against the side of her head.
‘This is a gun,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Don’t make any noise, and you won’t get hurt.’ He motioned to Andy to bring the car in.
She couldn’t have made any noise even if his hand hadn’t been covering her mouth; she felt as if this was a dream, a nightmare, it wasn’t happening. Why was it happening? What did he
want? The car drove slowly past them, and she saw Andy’s horrified face as her assailant tapped on the window with the gun.
Andy wound it down.
‘Open the passenger door,’ the man said, then took her round to the other side of the car. ‘Now the back one.’
Andy complied, and Kathy watched as the gun was levelled at Andy’s head.
‘Close the garage door.’
She pushed the door shut, and the headlights glared into the brick wall, reflecting back into the car; he was in the back seat, the gun still trained on Andy.
‘Get in the front.’
She got in, the gun now touching the back of her head. ‘Kill the engine and the lights,’ he said to Andy. ‘Undo your seatbelt. Wind the window back up, and give me your keys.’
Andy did what he was told, and found his voice. ‘If it’s money you want,’ he said, ‘my wallet’s in—’
‘Hold hands,’ he said. ‘And count.’
‘What?’ said Andy.
‘Hold hands.’
Kathy felt Andy’s hand come into hers and hold it tightly.
‘Now count. One, two, three . . . count. Out loud. Both of you.’
They both began to count. Kathy felt self-conscious, of all things. It seemed such a foolish thing to be doing, and she wasn’t . . . wasn’t entirely . . . sure what came next. Seven. Eight? Had she done them already?
Andy wasn’t counting any more, and she felt very . . . very . . .
SCENE VIII – BARTONSHIRE.
The following day, Saturday, September 27th, 4.30 a.m.
Outside Paul and Elizabeth’s House.
Elizabeth drove away but she didn’t go far; she waited just round the corner, where she could see the house in her wing mirror. She wanted to see if Paul left immediately after her. If Paul’s time with Sandie was going to be curtailed, she presumed that he would want to get as early a start as possible; if he didn’t go now, then he would probably go at his usual time, and she felt that it was safe enough to leave him to Foster, who would arrive at six. She waited for twenty minutes, long enough, she would have thought, for the doubtless desperate Paul to get himself ready, but he didn’t appear. Perhaps he really was just going diving, she thought. But then again, perhaps he wasn’t. And if he was trying to be clever, perhaps this time he would slip up.