by BRM Stewart
Nicola had sold her house in Bathgate and moved in with me. She was happy, and so was I; the relationship felt solid, and I thought it might last. It was based on the truth, and that seemed to be helping. I had taken her to see my mum and stepdad, and we were forming some kind of family unit there. I was realising, belatedly, that families are important. Friends are important too: I went round twice a week to see Davey and Jane and their son in their new hi-tech home in Milngavie.
I didn’t think of the others and the events of the past. Not often. Sometimes Nicola would ask me about Fiona, and I would talk about the happy times, but always with the shadow of her death there. Sometimes we did things that I’d done with Helen, and I always had a twinge of sadness from that; what was she doing now?
I checked the news on my phone, and read about an FBI operation which had broken up an organised cyber-attack on a US corporation. I wondered whether that was anything to do with the information they were getting through the network that B&D was in contact with. The one name that was never in the news was Gregorius; other cyber criminals became notorious, known by some kind of handle, but not him.
I finished my beer and wondered whether to just sit there for a time, or to have another beer and sit there for even longer, or… But I decided to just head back to our hotel on Gran Via and have a siesta, hoping Nicola would come back before I’d gone to sleep.
‘La cuenta por favor.’ ‘Certainly, sir.’
I wandered through the streets, across Calle Mayor up towards Gran Via, letting thoughts – mostly pleasant – turn in my head, and looking forward to the rest of the day, and the rest of the holiday, and the rest of time with Nicola.
A small, pretty blonde woman, wearing tight blue jeans and a tiny white vest top, appeared from a shop doorway. It took me a moment because of the context – and her hair was longer, curling down to the nape of her neck – but then I changed my direction to cross towards her, still not perfectly sure it was Charlene. It was. The memories from her came back: that first sight of her on the beach at Alvor, the hotel room, the beating…
Her eyes widened as she saw me, and then she gave a frown and the tiniest shake of her head. I changed direction again to reach the pavement away from her, and saw her turn to speak to someone, in Spanish. I paused to look in a random shop window, flicking my eyes to look at them. He was tall and slim, with tanned skin, black hair, and thick black stubble that looked like it had been painted on. He wore a white linen suit, sleeves pushed back on brown, hairy arms.
He put his arm round her, resting his hand on her backside as they walked away, looking in the shop windows. She leaned close to him, but kept her arms by her sides.
I walked the other way.
I woke in the middle of the night, random connections firing in my head, set off by seeing Charlene. When we’d gone to dinner at the Crowne Plaza she’d given the name Brown. When I’d first contacted Amanda Pitt, she’d been going to meet ‘Rose Brown’, the woman she was clearly having a relationship with.
It might have been just a coincidence, and it didn’t affect anything, but it made some things from that time clearer.
I smiled and reached to hold Nicola close. Just keep it like this, I thought: I’ve no other ambitions, this will do me just fine. Don’t change anything, not ever.
The End of Digital Circumstances
The author