I thought back to the open door next to my own room. Even Derek had mentioned it. Had Jenny’s colleague been taking a crafty fag in there? That would make sense. If he was a young lad, he might have been tempted to take flight if he’d set off the fire alarms. These millennials, they have no grit. When I was that age I’d have covered up my tracks and made it look as if someone else had done it. No need to give the game away by doing a runner.
But why all the police officers? If he’d gone missing, I suppose they’d have to account for him. If he’d done a runner, gone to a friend’s house or something like that, the authorities would be duty-bound to account for him, especially after a fire drill. It seemed to be a lot of fuss about nothing, a daft teenager who’d got caught out having a crafty fag.
I needed to ask Jenny about Meg. That was my main concern.
‘Jenny, the woman who was looking for me last night, what did she look like?’
‘She had brown hair, was in her thirties, attractive. She came very late, she looked tired. She said she’d had a long drive.’
‘Did she give you a name? Did she say she was my wife?’
Jenny looked as if she’d had enough of questions. It didn’t stop me though. I was certain it was Meg who’d been in the building. I had to know what she’d seen. Was it over for us? Had she seen me with Ellie? Even worse, had she heard me and Ellie at the door? I began to sweat, I could feel that my face was red.
‘You alright mate?’
It was Jem, back from the conference rooms, heading back to his room. Ready for the evening drinking session, no doubt. There would be no repeat of the preceding night for me, I had to speak to Meg. I’d drive back home to find her if I had to, I needed to find out what was going on.
‘Yes, just sorting out something to do with my room … That’s one big scratch on your neck – I hadn’t noticed how bad it was.’
‘Yes, what an oaf eh? Everybody’s asking about it. It was just a random thing, it’ll heal soon. It looks much worse than it is.’
‘I’m going to finish off here, I’ll catch you in the bar later.’
I wanted rid of Jem. I was desperate to continue my interrogation of Jenny, but new guests had arrived and I’d have to let her go through her full check-in routine.
Jem took the hint and moved on. While Jenny was preoccupied, I sat down in one of the comfy chairs in the lobby and checked my phone. The battery was dying again, God forbid I should expect it to last a full day without keeling over.
Chapter Eight
Alex Kennedy had had a meteoric rise in her media career. I’d always been more cautious, I was probably too down on my own broadcasting abilities really. But Alex was a natural, she had a lot in common with Ellie in that respect.
Both women were fabulous on screen. They looked relaxed on camera, people were comfortable in their company, they were intelligent – and this never hurt in TV land, they were attractive. They were both the kind of women that everybody would have agreed were sensuous. Even other women would have acknowledged that they were sexy. That’s why they did so well on the telly.
Alex and I had always intended to stay in radio. That was our plan at the beginning. After that night in the restaurant, we’d committed to staying together in our hunt for radio jobs. I’d already got a reporter contract at a Manchester radio station, and we couldn’t believe our luck when Alex got a similar job at another station in the same city.
It meant that we were able to move in together and, even though we were often like the proverbial passing ships in the night, what with breakfast shifts, day shifts, overnight production shifts and all the other flexible working patterns that journalism throws your way, it worked great.
We’d see each other at various news events, each sporting a microphone emblazoned with the branding of our respective radio stations. For us, a traffic incident was an opportunity for a quick catch-up. We’d get our eyewitness reports safely onto our recording devices, then have a quick chat about domestic issues.
Alex was singled out for attention very early. She moved from routine reporting duties to breakfast show presentation. That’s the crown jewels in broadcasting terms. To the listener, there’s very little difference between a breakfast show and a drive-time show, except that one is early in the day and the other is around teatime. But to broadcasters, breakfast is the top gig, it’s where the biggest audiences are. Until they’re killed off by live streaming in cars that is.
Alex was an instant hit on CityNewsFM. She was bright, funny and engaging. I was so proud of her. I was a hack, I loved the news stories and the reporting, but Alex was showbiz on legs, she was a complete natural.
She was offered a lot of money to work for the local constabulary as their chief press officer. She agonised for days over that one.
‘I don’t want to move out of broadcasting really, but have you seen the money that the chief constable is proposing? I guess I can always move back, I’ll get some brilliant experience there if I stay for a year or two.’
It turned out to be the best career decision of Alex’s life. She was there for barely a year. Her performance on the TV cameras, dealing with all manner of topics from police corruption to sexual impropriety among senior officers, was exemplary. She was poised, composed, and her radio training had made her adept at dealing with the tricky questions that journalists threw at her.
Before we knew it, she was being courted for an amazing job in London. They wanted her to co-present Crime Beaters, a national TV show where they screened reconstructions of serious crimes in an attempt to gather new evidence and seek out witnesses.
Once again, there was doubt and uncertainty in our relationship.
‘I can get the train up here at weekends, Pete. We’ll still be able to keep things going.’
I think we both knew that wouldn’t happen. And there was no way I was going to say anything that put Alex off that career move. In broadcasting terms, we were both relative newcomers, but her career trajectory had been astonishing. I wasn’t jealous or even resentful, I wanted only what was best for her.
Needless to say, the weekend visits didn’t happen. She was quickly overcome by the demands of fame and recognition. It went with the territory. Alex was an instant hit on Crime Beaters; it was a tired but established format and her combination of personality and professionalism had given the show a shot in the arm. The audiences grew, the suits at the top loved her, and before we knew it, she was everywhere. Alex got the Famous Family Trees treatment, she nabbed a guest slot on Quick Action Throttle, leaving the all-male presentation team gasping for breath, and she’d even been in the celebrity edition of Glorious Garden Sheds, almost beating some soap star to the top accolade.
Week by week we saw less of each other until our relationship became reduced to a daily series of texts and, later, social media messages. We never broke up, our relationship just stopped happening. We weren’t married, we’d never discussed it, we just drifted apart. We hadn’t even bought a house together, we’d found a rental, we were happy there, we didn’t feel the need to get on the housing ladder. I think, at the back of our minds, we’d always known that our careers might force us apart.
I admired Alex tremendously. Her track was not the path that I would have chosen for myself, but I was so proud of what she’d achieved. I accepted that it was over, but because there had never been any great moment of break-up, it became how things were. It had happened so gradually – we just grew away from each other.
Romantically, nothing serious came my way for a few years after Alex. Not until Meg arrived, smashing through my life like a bulldozer. I’d never known a love like it. After Alex, I was ready for the whirlwind that Meg brought into my world.
I’d had casual relationships and several one-night stands in between. I’d had the occasional fling with younger reporters in the office, but nothing which ever caught my attention like those two women had. Alex was effectively back where she’d started. Out of bounds. She belonged in a box marked T
his is over now. When Meg arrived on the scene, the lid on that box was securely nailed down.
I didn’t know what Alex got up to in her glamorous life in London, we never talked about the romantic side of it. Every now and then she’d be photographed alongside some perfectly groomed, beautifully manicured and coiffured celebrity. But nothing stuck. She never married, never had kids, never seemed to stick with one of those supposed boyfriends.
After meeting Meg, I didn’t think that much about it. I was in love again, Meg was my life, Alex was like an old school pal. We shared history, we texted, chatted occasionally on social media. But mainly our relationship was in the past.
Alex was a handy contact to have. Being a regular fixture on Crime Beaters meant that she had access to the cream of policing and the very best in the legal profession. She’d often advise me on police procedures or give me snippets about the law. On more than one occasion, she’d helped me to land an exclusive interview on the radio.
I never spoke to anybody about our relationship. It was private, not just from an emotional point of view, but also in terms of preserving Alex’s reputation. Jem was a bastard like that. If a reporter ever came on the TV and he’d slept with her, he’d announce it to everybody in the newsroom. Once he had naked pictures on his phone. I think even Jem sensed the gasp of horror when he began handing round his smartphone to anybody who wanted a look. If Sally had known only half of what he openly shared in the office, I wouldn’t blame her for throwing him out. I think I’d have made his life a misery too.
Nobody knew about my relationship with Alex. I’d moved radio station and city since then. I kept it quiet. Occasionally people would slag her off as ‘that tart on Crime Beaters’ or ‘the sexy bint on Quick Action Throttle’ but I’d maintain my silence. They knew that I had some kind of past with Alex, but they didn’t know quite how close we’d been.
I’d told Meg, of course, though I had glossed over some of the details. I needed to acknowledge the relationship, but I never actually told her that we’d lived together. She knew we’d had a sexual relationship, her feminine radar knew immediately that Alex was a potential threat to her, which was why I was grateful that I hadn’t told her the whole story. She knew enough to explain Alex’s texts on my phone and our connections on social media. But I think if she’d known the full truth, I probably would have had to end it forever with Alex.
It wasn’t romantic anymore, it had long since been that. As much as I loved Meg, though, I wasn’t prepared to cut off Alex completely just because of a bit of jealousy. So I kept Meg in the dark about the full nature of our relationship and continued to get daft texts and snippets of celebrity gossip from Alex. Our relationship was like a weak heart, a gentle beat just managing to keep the rest of the body alive.
So, as I opened up my text messages on my phone, I didn’t have high expectations of there being any news. Perhaps it would be more gossip about the seventy-year-old gardening show presenter they had to sack because he kept farting on live television. The official reason was that he was retiring to care for his elderly wife. Or the other story that was creating lots of entertainment was the one about the TV show host who had to have a small microphone surgically removed from his arse. The gossip magazines hadn’t caught onto that one, Alex had sworn me to secrecy before she revealed it to me.
So I was completely taken aback when I opened up her text. It jarred immediately, it was curt and straight to the point: Shit Pete, have you seen Meg’s Facebook feed? Is she alright? Call me.
Damn it, I hadn’t checked Meg’s feed. I hadn’t even thought to.
I moved my fingers over the screen of my phone, searching for the Facebook icon. I clicked on it and waited for the app to open up. Bollocks! My battery died, holding out for a day had proven too much for it and it had keeled over on me once again.
At last Jenny managed to clear the reception area of guests and their stupid questions: ‘I’ve forgotten my toothbrush, do you have one of those vending machines?’… ‘Does the restaurant cater for vegans with nut and broccoli allergies?’ … ‘If I wake up because my husband is snoring loudly, does that entitle me to claim under your snug-at-night guarantee?’
Jenny liked me, I think. I was someone she could confide in. Certainly what she said next caught me off guard.
‘Can I tell you something private? I’m really worried.’ She had tears in her eyes.
She looked around, making sure that the reception area was still clear.
‘What’s up, Jenny? Has our mate Bob Hays been getting to you?’
If that middle-aged bully boy had been leaning on this poor girl, I’d have a word on her behalf. I’d seen him shaking his finger at her in the car park.
‘It’s not Bob, but he is being a bit tough on me. He’s under pressure, the police are asking him a lot of questions.’
The police. I’d forgotten about them. They’d moved from the reception area, and it was out of sight, out of mind, as far as I was concerned.
‘So what’s up, Jenny? How can I help?’
She wiped a tear from her eye and took a moment, trying to stay composed, aware that a new guest might appear at any time with the latest in a long line of daft queries.
‘I need to tell someone, but I can’t speak to Bob or the police. Not yet.’
My mind immediately stopped churning over Alex’s text message. Jenny had my full attention.
‘Go on. Whatever it is, it’s safe with me.’
‘You know Jackson, the chap who’s missing, the one the police are getting excited about?’
‘Yes, you mentioned him. This is the young guy who probably went home from his shift early, yes?’
Jenny nodded.
‘Only, he didn’t go home early ...’ Jenny looked around again. She didn’t want anybody else to hear this. ‘We were sleeping together ...’
It was finally out. She let it hang there, searching my face for a reaction. She wanted to know if I would judge her. How could I? I’d been doing the same thing the night before. Only I wasn’t some twenty-something singleton. I was a middle-aged man cheating on his wife.
‘That’s not so bad – it’s not as if someone’s died.’
Jenny continued, her serious expression unchanged.
‘We were using the room next to yours. We weren’t supposed to. Bob would sack us if he knew. I always keep the block of rooms by the fire exit clear when I’m placing guests because it’s quiet down there.’
I got the feeling I was about to find out why that door had been open in the room next to mine.
‘After the bar closes and most of the guests are in their rooms, I put the sign up in reception.’
I’d seen it the night before. Only, according to Jenny, what it should have said was ‘Nipped off for a shag. Back soon!’
I suspected that Jenny’s misdemeanour would be the kind of thing we all get up to when young. But I was wrong.
‘We’d got it worked out between us. Derek always takes a newspaper and goes to the toilet on the top floor at about 2am. That’s our cue. He’s in there for ages. Every night. God knows what he does in there.’
I couldn’t help smiling at that one. Derek’s toilet habits facilitating the sexual recreation habits of two youngsters. It sounded so romantic. He must have got cut off in his prime the night before. That’s all you need, a fire alarm going off right in the middle of a night-time dump.
‘So why the worried look, Jenny? Are you concerned that Derek might have constipation?’
‘I need you to take this seriously, it’s important!’ she snapped.
‘I’m sorry. Carry on. I didn’t mean to make light of it. I don’t understand the problem though.’
‘Whenever Jackson and I were on shift together, I created a key card to open up whichever of the rooms hadn’t been taken by a guest. It doesn’t track on the system, it just shows that a staff member had to enter a room. It could be a cleaner, Derek with his toolkit, or one of us delivering an iron. It’s easily hidden.�
��
‘Go on.’
‘Jackson opened the door early last night – it’s easier to hide on the computer system if we vary the times. It was opened a bit before you arrived actually, that’s why I put you down there. We’re busy this weekend, I couldn’t keep it completely clear. I thought you were nice, you’d be quiet, probably stay in your room all evening.’
If only she knew.
‘Jackson left the door slightly ajar. The minute Derek disappeared with the newspaper, I’d put the sign up in reception, text Jackson and we’d meet in the room. So long as we didn’t mess up the room, nobody was any the wiser. And whatever it is with Derek, he’s always gone for at least half an hour.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘I was supposed to meet Jackson. He sent me a text saying he’d gone in there early, he was waiting for me since he’d done all his checks for the night. Only we never got that far. The fire alarm went off. Derek checked the upper levels as he was up there anyway. I did a sweep of the ground floor, then made sure I called by the room to pick up Jackson. Only he wasn’t there.’
Jenny’s eyes began to tear up again, I was struggling to see what the problem was. I knew all this, it sounded as if Jackson had taken the opportunity to stop work a bit early. The only difference being that, if Derek needed to finish off his shit after the fire brigade had given the all clear, he was still on a promise from Jenny. At his age, with a beautiful young woman like Jenny wanting to sleep with me, I’d have hung on in there until the bitter end.
‘I still don’t get why this is a problem, Jenny. Has Bob caught you out? Is that why he was so cross with you?’
‘No, he doesn’t know yet, but it can’t be long with the police here now. Jackson would have texted me, he wouldn’t have just disappeared like that. He said he’d wait for me in the room, reckoned he’d got a surprise for me. The door was still ajar when I looked in to pick him up. Either he would have been in there or he’d have been making sure guests were heading to the fire exits. He wasn’t there, though.’
Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set Page 10