As they headed up the stairs, their radios crackled into life. Police radios aren’t usually the best source of high fidelity sound, but I managed to catch the basics of this message.
‘Any units in the Fairview area?’
That’s where I lived. My ears pricked up. As they stepped into the spare room upstairs, I heard the male officer respond that they were in Fairview.
‘We need you to make a call at number eleven Ashbourne Drive ...’
I’d heard enough. That was my house. It would take them a moment to figure it out, then they’d come for me. Dressed in only my underwear and dressing gown, I grabbed Meg’s keys from the shelf in the hall and slipped out of the front door. They were onto me. I had nothing to hide, I’d get a rap over the knuckles, but they weren’t taking me into the station until I’d found Meg. There was no way I was going to let Meg down again.
It’s extremely difficult to drive in bare feet. For some reason, the pedals feel much harder to push when you have no shoes on. I’m not sure why that is, you’d think it would take the same leg strength to do the pushing. I drove up the road from my house like a ninety-year-old, kangarooing and stalling as I got used to the feel of barefoot driving.
I hadn’t got a clue where I was heading, all I knew was that I had to get away from the police and as close to Meg as I could. What a pillock! My great escape kit comprised a set of underwear, a dressing gown and Jem’s mobile phone. Not quite Steve McQueen.
I was driving a car which would take no time at all to trace. If I left the car, it would be a piece of cake to apprehend a man running about town in his boxers and nightwear. It wasn’t looking good.
As I was driving up the road towards the town centre, I passed a charity shop with two large bin bags deposited outside. Clothes. Probably quite horrible clothes, but better than what I was wearing.
I pulled over into a narrow alleyway further along the row of shops, and I drove Meg’s car right to the end. It was a great hiding place, the car should be fine there until the shops opened in the morning. That’s if they even opened at all, it being a Sunday.
I walked to the end of the alleyway, back towards the shop. I peered up and down the road. It must have been around 3am, maybe later. The late night revellers had gone to bed, the early shift workers hadn’t started to emerge from their front doors. It was the perfect time to be running around town in my nightgown, although I’d bet that Wee Willie Winkie wasn’t on the run from the police.
When I was sure that the coast was clear, I ran up to the charity shop entrance, grabbed the two bin bags, and like a rat returned to the dark alleyway that had become my temporary sanctuary. I just missed being seen by a police car that was on the prowl. They seemed to be checking for flashing alarms and broken shop windows rather than a fugitive.
I retreated to the blackness of the alleyway. It was too dark, I couldn’t see a thing. I was surrounded by industrial bins and flattened cardboard boxes awaiting recycling. I felt in my dressing gown pocket for Jem’s phone. Did it have a torch?
I fumbled around with the controls, the screen lit up. It was a standard smartphone, nothing complicated, it didn’t take long to find the torch function. I shone the light at the first bin bag. Bollocks! It was full of summer dresses, wide-brimmed hats and old handbags. I was better off with the nightwear.
The second bag was a different colour. Hopefully, that meant it had been dropped off by somebody else. Eureka! It was packed with old plain work shirts, work trousers and a couple of belts. Someone had left a pair of Y-fronts in one of the trouser legs. Disgusting! I didn’t know anybody still wore underwear in that style. I threw them to the side of the pavement. At least they’d frighten any rats away.
The trousers were a size too big for me, but they’d stay up with a belt. The shirts had been worn by somebody with a bit of a beer gut. There was plenty of excess material in them, but at least I looked half normal.
I emptied the contents of the bag onto the ground. There were a few goodies in there. Three black sports caps for starters. I took the one that looked cleanest in the dim light and put it on my head. I’d read countless radio news bulletins giving descriptions of people that the police wanted to question. They usually had no useful detail in them. I’d gone from a bare-footed man wearing boxer shorts and a dressing gown to a normal guy wearing regular clothes. Granted, I looked like I’d just completed a successful diet, but nobody would notice the ill-fitting clothes. The cap would help too, it would disguise my facial features and hair colour. It was a good start.
I emptied the bag of dresses onto the ground too. There was a pair of plain plimsolls in there, smaller than I would have liked, but it was better than nothing. At least I could now walk about without looking completely obvious. I wouldn’t be winning any fashion awards, but I didn’t care. I had to find Meg.
I bundled up all of the clothing and threw it into one of the large waste bins. I was no master of disguise, but if the police located my car they’d still think that they were looking for a man dressed in night-time wear.
So how was I going to find Meg? I’d left my phone in the spare room, the cops were looking for me, I’d done a runner. And there was the small matter of two dead bodies in my house. It wouldn’t take long to find them, the house would not bear any level of scrutiny. I’d be caught with my pants down. Maybe I’d been too hasty, it might have been better to come clean with the police. No, they’d have taken me to the station, I’d have been out of circulation for who knows how long. Meg was somewhere in the city. She hadn’t taken her car. I hadn’t thought about that. If her car was still at the house, where was she? That suggested she was on foot. Or, maybe she was with someone else.
I sat on the pavement in complete darkness, turning over Jem’s phone in my hand, wondering what to do next. I’d come to a dead end. The irony of being at the end of the alleyway wasn’t lost on me.
Then events moved again. Jem’s phone vibrated. It was a message. I hadn’t even thought to look at his messages, I’d just used the phone. It was ridiculous, I’d been trying to preserve his privacy. The bastard had just whacked me with a lamp stand. I looked at the screen of his smartphone. There was a strong phone signal and data too. His battery life was good, well over 50 percent. He’d been receiving a lot of messages. The fool hadn’t put a PIN number on his phone.
I navigated around his screen. It was a bit of a mess, but at least all the basics were there. He hadn’t got Skype, but if I could download it over his mobile data, I’d be able to get in touch with Alex. I began the download and let it chug away in the background while I took a look at his text messages.
There were several texts from Sally. Some opened and read, others had come in more recently. Unusual that they should be texting each other in the middle of the night. I decided not to intrude there at first, scanning for other names. One caught my eye immediately. Martin Travis.
What was Martin Travis doing messaging Jem? Martin had been texting throughout the evening. I worked my way through the messages, starting at the first message.
We need to speak in private Jeremy. Can you make it 10am on Monday? I’ll clear a slot for you. Martin.
At least Martin’s constant use of Peter, rather than Pete, wasn’t reserved for me alone. Nobody referred to Jem as Jeremy. Probably his mum. And Martin Travis.
Was Jeremy in relationship counselling with Martin? He’d never mentioned it. Then why would he? I moved along the messages.
Just heard from Sally. We need to talk. Could you make it tonight? I think it should be sooner rather than later.
Interesting. There were a couple more, increasingly urgent.
Jeremy, call or text me. Worried about Sally. Martin.
Then, the first time I’d seen Martin ruffled.
Jem. Call me now. Urgent.
By that stage, I didn’t give a shit about Jem’s marital privacy. I had to understand how he knew Martin Travis and what was so urgent that Martin had to speak with him straight away.
Get stuffed you shithead.
Nice. I’d never heard Sally use language like that in my few encounters with her.
Why do they all like your dick so much? It never satisfied me you prick.
This was horrible stuff. The mood of the texts changed soon afterwards.
Who was the bitch? I know you love her. Tell me the name of the slut. You’ll never see the kids again.
Meg and I had had a few arguments in our time, but never anything like this. The messages became increasingly obsessed with one person.
I know who it is you bastard. I finally figured it out. How could you do it with her, of all people? Does he know? I’ll tell him. You shit!
Just for a moment, it occurred to me that Meg might have had her affair with Jem. No, there’s no way she’d do that to me. It had to be someone else. A family friend, probably. Whoever it was, it had hurt Sally badly. The tirade of hostile messages was disturbing.
But it was Sally’s last message which finally jolted me into action. It made much more sense, in the context of what I’d just seen and read. The message had come in while Jem had been lying on the floor of my spare room, supposedly unconscious. No wonder he’d leapt up and fought so fiercely with me to make his escape.
Come to Martin’s office now. I’ve got your slut with me. It’s time we settled this.
Chapter Sixteen
So there it was. Martin’s text to me. Jem’s suspicious behaviour. Was it Jem who’d had the affair with Meg? I’d thought I’d known him. I’d thought I could trust him. How had it happened? He must have exploited our shift system, he knew exactly when I was on earlies and when I was on lates. Unless one of us was on a day shift, some days we’d barely see each other.
Martin’s office was not that far away. That text had come in some time ago. I was constantly running to keep up. I was certain that I’d find Meg there. It must have been Jem she’d had her fling with. Why else would Sally be so irate?
Skype had finished downloading. I didn’t have time to mess around logging in and trying to connect to Alex. I put the phone in my pocket and started running towards the counselling offices. My head was pounding and my broken nose was making it hard for me to breathe. I cursed my lack of fitness. I was out of breath after a few minutes, and the ill-fitting plimsolls didn’t help.
There was very little activity on the streets, but when I saw pedestrians walking towards me, I put my head down and tried to cross the street before we passed each other. Eventually I arrived at the offices, breathless and in need of a rest. Adrenalin kept me going. I was so close to Meg now, I’d see her in the next few minutes, I’d be able to make everything alright again.
The building was almost in complete darkness. There was just one light on. I tried to figure out where Martin’s office was, mentally retracing my steps through the building from my previous visits. It was his light which was on. The blinds were shut – I couldn’t see what was going on. It was on the second floor, it wasn’t as if I could tap on the window.
Having recovered my breath, I headed for the front door. It was locked. The interior door of the entrance had been propped open, suggesting that somebody was inside, but the front door was locked, or at least on the catch. Damn!
I walked around the building, wondering if there were any other doors. There was a fire door at the side, but it was closed.
I had Jem’s phone. If I called Sally, would she answer? Would she let me in? I assumed that Jem was in there with her already. Jesus, if Sally, Meg, Jem and I were left in a room with Martin Travis, it would have all the makings of the world’s worst ever counselling session. Jeremy Kyle would pay a fortune to get us all together with the cameras rolling.
It tried calling Sally on the phone. There was no answer, it just went dead. I typed a message.
It’s Pete Bailey using Jem’s phone. I’m outside. Let me in. We all need to talk. I pressed send on the text, I couldn’t think what else to do. I moved around the side of the building, scouring the ground for small stones. I threw some up at the office window. I didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention by making a noise; the cops were after me, and to be arrested for causing a disturbance was all I needed. No response. No movement. I began to feel a sense of dread. I thought about the bodies back at my house. Had it all turned to shit up there? I panicked, thinking once again about Meg’s safety. Was Sally with Meg, is this what it was all about?
I could see from Jem’s phone display that the message had been received, but there was no reply. Damn it, I was breaking in.
How do you break into a modern building? They’re airtight. Double glazing on the windows, reinforced locks on the doors, alarms all over and usually wired with CCTV. At least there was no CCTV at these offices, I suppose security wasn’t a huge issue. All there was to steal was lost dreams and broken relationships.
I walked around the building once again, closely examining each window. They were all closed. I did another circuit, looking upwards. As I came to the pipework which ran up and down the walls, marking the location of the toilets, I took out Jem’s phone and switched on the torch function again. There were cigarette ends on the floor. My guess was that some member of staff had been smoking with their head stuck out of the toilet windows, probably when it had been raining and they didn’t fancy being banished to the pavements outside.
I shone the torch upwards into the darkness. The window was slightly open. If I could climb up the plastic piping, I’d be able to reach it. With any luck, I’d be able to prise it open from there and climb in. It was a very long time since I’d climbed anything. I wasn’t even sure if the plastic pipe would take my weight. Only one way to find out. I had to get into that office.
I must have looked like the most cack-handed burglar ever. It took me several tries to get started, there was nothing to grab onto. I reached up, I tried to jump, I attempted to lift my leg up as far as it would go. Useless. Then I figured it out. The plimsolls worked great. They helped me shimmy up the pipe because they didn’t slip against the plastic. After a few tries, I’d reached the diagonal pipes that were connected to the back of the toilet units inside the building. Once I’d made it that far, I was able to hoist myself up, grip the windowsill of the adjacent toilet, and work my fingers around the open frame. There wasn’t much of a gap to play with, and I cursed when I felt that there was no window stay that I could flip up. I moved my hand around to the right-hand edge of the frame. There it was – there would be two of them. As my fingers explored blindly, I felt a loosely closed latch. Whoever the secret smoker was, they’d done me a huge favour. Probably left the window very slightly open to be sure there was no residual smell of smoke. I flipped the latch. Brilliant, halfway there.
It would be harder for me to reach over and get the second latch. I would have to move my steadying hand to allow me to lean right across the frame. I was precariously balanced as it was. I could hear the plastic piping creaking as I shuffled about trying to position myself correctly.
Why wasn’t Sally answering my text? If she’d looked at her phone, I could have avoided all of this nonsense.
Cautiously, I moved my hand over, clutching the windowsill next to me. I tried to lean over, testing the angle I’d have to maintain to get my hands anywhere near that second latch. My first attempt was aborted: I moved my foot at the same time as I leant my body over, but there was no pipe for my foot to rest on and I almost fell off. I swiftly moved my furthest hand back onto the windowsill, holding it firmly while I steadied my body – and my nerve.
The second time, I did it. I’d had to stretch my arm so far that I strained it. Wincing, I pushed through the pain. My fingers explored the gap between the frame and window and eventually came to rest on the latch. My arm felt as if it was about to pop out of its socket, I wasn’t sure that it would stretch any further. Then I got it. I worked the latch out of its retainer, the window swung
open, and I went flying to the ground below.
What a dunce! I should have loosened the furthest latch first, then I could have hung onto the window while it was still secured. Instead, it flew open and I fell onto the paving slabs below. My head cracked as it hit the ground. I was struggling to stay conscious; something made me hang on for a few seconds before I dropped back down onto the hard concrete floor. It was the sound of voices. Raised, angry voices. I heard Jem. He sounded scared, as if he was pleading with somebody. And then I heard her scream. I couldn’t do a thing about it because the blow to my head had finally taken its toll. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I heard Meg cry out with an anger that I’d never heard before.
‘You bastard! You fucking bastard! How could you do that to me!’
I don’t know how long I was out. Probably only seconds, maybe longer. It was enough time for everything to change again. When I came round, it was quiet. No voices, no shouting.
I tried to raise my head off the slabs. It was sore and I was disoriented. It was like those Tom and Jerry cartoons when the birds fly around their heads. That’s how I felt. Dazed.
I was consumed by an overwhelming sense of self-loathing. I was an imbecile. Why couldn’t I have worked out that the window frame would send me flying when the latch was worked free? I pulled myself off the floor. I felt as if I was twice my normal weight, my body seemed so heavy after the fall. There didn’t appear to be any blood, but my hands were scratched, and one of my knees was incredibly sore.
I hobbled round to the front of the building, hoping that the door would be open. It wasn’t. However, the internal door was now closed. There were also more lights on. And the car that had been pulled up around the front had gone. I hadn’t even thought about that. I didn’t recognise it, whoever it belonged to.
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