Alternative outcome

by Peter Rowlands

  “Oh, I know what you look like. I looked up your LinkedIn profile.”

  “Ah, right. What about you?”

  “Average height. Longish dark hair. Probably a suede jacket. You’ll find me.”

  “So I’ll see you on Friday.”

  And that was it. Months of intermittent research and travel had finally come down to this – an arrangement to meet. I didn’t know whether to feel delighted, overawed or simply stunned.

  Chapter 60

  Part of my brain wanted to fall into a miasma of anticipation over Ashley’s impending visit. Another part was preoccupied by the wonder of having apparently made contact with Trina. It was hard to believe that the two women had phoned me within an hour of each other.

  Thinking about Trina seemed a useful distraction from dwelling too much on Ashley, so I tried to focus on her. If I was going all the way to Chesterfield to meet her, I’d better have something worthwhile and coherent to say.

  Turning to my laptop. I pulled up the notes I’d made about my search for her and scrolled through them, making sure I’d got the sequence of events right. As I thought, she and her parents had been living relatively conventional lives in the public eye until the day they’d left Altrincham, then they had disappeared. But I had a nagging suspicion I was missing something.

  I read and re-read the notes – her father’s early history, his involvement in the property firm, its sudden collapse. Then something struck me. There had been three partners in that firm – Trina’s father and mother, plus someone named Robert Stainer. Who was he? I’d never bothered to research him.

  I rummaged around the search engines and found several people who might conceivably be the right Robert Stainer. Finally I settled on the one who seemed the best fit. He had worked in the property market in Manchester, and popped up in the years after the Markhams’ disappearance as a director of various other companies.

  Was he still alive? I looked for present-day references, and sure enough there he was, a leading figure in the North West business community. I found a picture of him giving a speech at a charity event last year – a well-built man with greying curly hair, a little heavy-jowled now, but still bearing a hint of the good looks he probably had in the past. In this shot he was sporting a poppy on his lapel.

  Whether his existence had any bearing on the Markhams’ subsequent life I could only conjecture. There was no obvious reason to think so. I could ask Trina about him, but that would depend on whether the question seemed appropriate. I had to remind myself that this was supposed to be a private meeting, not a piece of research for an article. I’d long since abandoned that idea – hadn’t I?

  * * *

  I started thinking about Ashley again. She would actually be coming here on Thursday, to this house. It was a strange thought. I gazed around me, trying to see the house through her eyes. What I saw was dowdy paintwork that Sandy and I had planned to update; old furniture that we’d intended to replace; and a film of dust over everything. Housework was not my forte.

  I knew I couldn’t fundamentally change the place, but I felt an urgent need to do something. I stood up started tidying the office in a desultory way, and gradually the task expanded. I found myself attacking the fat-spattered cooker, the stains in the sink, the hints of cobwebs over the stairs. I rounded up several empty wine bottles and a couple of whisky bottles and shoved them in the outside bin. Then I spent an age over dusting, vacuuming, polishing. Hours seemed to pass in a frenzied blur.

  Finally I collapsed in an armchair and stared around me. What I now saw was clean dowdiness, which was hopefully one step up from grimy dowdiness.

  The reality, it now struck me, was that whatever happened between Ashley and me, she was never going to live here. She might not ever even come here again after this one visit. Even if there were any chance of it, which seemed extremely remote, I wouldn’t want her to. All I could do was avoid allowing this house to convey too depressing a picture of what I was about.

  Maybe I should suggest that she stay in a hotel? No, that was ridiculous. What would it say about my attitude to her? Either that I wanted to shunt her off out of my sight, or that I was going to join her, and wanted to make absolutely sure that we spent the night together.

  By the end of this convoluted train of thought I was actually laughing to myself. I was behaving like a nervous teenager. I needed to get a grip.

  * * *

  My mobile buzzed.

  “Mike, it’s Joanna. We’re having a few people round for dinner on Thursday night. Are you up for it?”

  “Ah. Well, believe it or not, Ashley is coming up from Cornwall on Thursday. I’m meeting her at Paddington around six.”

  “Really? That’s brilliant!” I could hear her thinking. “Things must have moved on quite a bit then.”

  “Hopefully.”

  “Well, you can bring her along if you like.” She said it cheekily, knowing the answer would be no.

  “What, and subject the poor girl to your eagle eye the first time she sets foot in south London? I don’t think so.”

  She laughed. “No, I can see that. But I want to meet her soon. Make sure you keep that in mind.”

  “Yes boss.”

  She seemed about to disconnect, so I quickly added, “You’d better hear the latest. Trina Markham actually phoned me this morning. And it really was her.”

  “My god! What did she say?”

  “Not a lot, but I’m meeting her on Friday.”

  “Amazing.” She paused, perhaps processing this information. “What, and you’re taking Ashley along to meet her? I’d like to be a fly on the wall in that conversation.”

  “No! Ashley’s going back to Cornwall. But it’s not a secret. I’ll tell her all about it.”

  “I think you’ll need to.”

  “For god’s sake, I’m not trying to get involved with Trina. It would be ridiculous. I don’t even know her.”

  “Whatever. But you’d better be sure you make that clear to Ashley.”

  I laughed. “You should get a job as an agony aunt.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  2012

  The heat and humidity of Brisbane hit me with a double shock.

  Arriving after thirty-six hours and a stop-off in Singapore, I’d been protected from the climate by the air-conditioned airport environment, and then by the futuristic Airtrain, which had whisked me into the downtown area. Now I’d wandered out of my hotel and into the city streets to get my bearings. The temperature was something else.

  Sasha, or rather Sarah, lived several miles outside the centre. I could probably get there by public transport, but the idea seemed over-complicated. I decided to hire a car.

  Although the traffic here drove on the left, just as in Britain, everything else about the streets seemed foreign and slightly forbidding. I arrived at Sarah’s address around 8pm, and pulled over to the kerb with relief.

  She lived on the fourth floor of a crisp modern apartment block. I turned off the engine and wondered what to do. My plan, which was simply to turn up unannounced, had seemed straightforward enough back in Britain; now it felt ill-considered.

  I sat there for ten minutes, unsure of my next move. Then, remarkably, I saw Sasha herself rounding the corner of the street, heading briskly towards her building.

  There was no time to consider. I stepped out of the car and crossed the road, timing my movements to coincide with her arrival.

  “Hi Sasha. We met in Polperro twenty-five years ago. I was just passing.”

  Chapter 61

  Ashley strode purposefully towards me across the station concourse with a faint smile on her face. She was wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket, and was carrying a small overnight bag.

  I took the bag. “Welcome to London.”

  “Thank you kindly, Mr Stanhope.”

  I led the way out of the station and along to a pub not far down the street. We took two stools at the bar and she looked at me challengingly.

 
; “So what’s this about your dump of a house?”

  “Oh, I just meant it would seem a dump to someone who lives in a bijou flat in Cornwall.”

  “It’s not that bijou. You think I’m made of money?”

  “I was hoping so.”

  She laughed. “Dream on.”

  The inevitable awkwardness between us lifted as we talked. She updated me on her trip to drop Jack off at the hospital and her train journey, and then I recounted my recent experiences: the kidnapping, the stand-off at the parcel hub. By the end of it she was staring at me in amazement.

  “My god, Mr Stanhope, you’re a walking disaster area. What kind of world have you brought me into?”

  “It’s not usually like this, truly. It’s usually pretty mundane.”

  “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  I looked at her reflectively. “You know what’s most amazing to me about all this? I’ve only sold twenty-four copies of my book, yet one way or another it has already affected two different people who were involved in some way in that robbery. In both cases somebody believed the book was more or less true, and acted on it – and what they did rebounded on me. It has to be some kind of record.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, eh?”

  “And some.”

  She told me Bob Latimer was pleased with the editorial work I’d been doing. “He said he wished he’d got you involved years ago. The last PR firm we had knew nothing about logistics. He had to do half their job for them. It’s such a difference having someone who actually knows the business.”

  “Happy to oblige.”

  She looked at me mischievously. “Maybe you should get him to take you on full-time. Then you could come and live in Cornwall.”

  I looked into her eyes. She was being deliberately provocative, but there was a glimmer of earnestness somewhere there too.

  “I can just see that.”

  “Well why not?”

  I laughed. “Not really enough work in it for a full-time role.”

  “I’m sure you can work round that.”

  I shrugged.

  She said, “My father sends his regards.”

  “You told him you were coming to see me?”

  “Oh, we just happened to be speaking last night.” She smiled cheerfully. “He’s not my mum. He doesn’t pass judgement.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “He said he hopes your never-ending search for the Markhams is progressing well.”

  “Well, I might have some progress to report soon on that score.”

  “Aha! Tell me more.”

  * * *

  We left the pub and walked a few doors down the street to an Italian restaurant. Dining out in Paddington wasn’t exactly my idea of showing Ashley the London high life, but there was a natural flow to the evening, and I felt simply grateful to go along with it.

  Once we were sitting down, I told her Trina Markham had contacted me and I was due to see her tomorrow.

  “And you really think it’s her this time?”

  “I’m more or less certain. It’s just an instinct really.”

  “What will you say to her?”

  “To be honest I have no idea. All I know is that for some reason she’s willing to meet me. In fact she actually volunteered it. I just feel I need to follow it through.”

  “So are you going to fall in love with her all over again?”

  She was smiling at me, but I felt there was also a hint of uncertainty in her look. Perhaps Joanna hadn’t been as far off the mark as I’d thought.

  “What, are you jealous or something?”

  “Ha! Get over yourself.”

  A couple of hours later we paid and left, and I led her along to the station taxi rank.

  “Won’t this cost a fortune?” she asked.

  “It’s worth it.”

  Partly, I’d opted for a taxi because I couldn’t stand the thought of the convoluted journey by tube, mainline train and even a bus. Partly, I didn’t want to arrive at my house late in the evening on foot. I had no idea if my kidnappers were still likely to be on the rampage, and had no desire to find out.

  The cosy intimacy of the taxi might have thrown a pall of awkwardness over us, but in fact as we climbed in we were rocked with hysterical laughter about something one of us had said, and that set the tone for the lengthy journey to south London.

  * * *

  As I opened my rickety gate my senses vaguely registered light from the street lamp being reflected off the doorstep. It wasn’t raining, so how was this possible? Then as I pushed the key into the lock I realised water was trickling out from under the front door.

  “Oh god,” I said. “Something’s wrong.”

  The hallway floor was soaking wet, and I was immediately aware of hissing water pipes – the sound you get when someone has just flushed a toilet or run a bath. I reached for the light switch, then stopped myself at the last moment. It could cause an electrical short.

  I turned to Ashley, who was just behind me. “There’s a water leak. Don’t switch any lights on.”

  “Oh my god.”

  I stepped forward, and almost tripped on some indeterminate object in the middle of the floor. Kicking it aside, I made my way up the sodden staircase to the landing. Water was dripping through the ceiling in several places and coming down in a constant trickle round the edges of the loft hatch.

  By feel more than sight I managed to prod the hatch open and wrestle the loft ladder down, and I climbed half-way up. I could hear the cold water cistern in full flow, but could see nothing. I retreated into my office and groped for the torch that I kept on the mantelpiece. Thankfully, the batteries were charged.

  I climbed back up to the loft and went over to the cistern, pulling the plastic cover away. The tank was full, and water was gushing in through the inlet valve. I shone the torch around the outside, looking for the overflow pipe that should have channelled excess water out on to the patio. It wasn’t there – there was just a hole, through which water was streaming in a steady torrent.

  I reached inside the tank with one hand, groping for some means to stop the flow, but I couldn’t think of anything. I climbed back down the ladder and descended to the kitchen. I needed to find the main stop cock for the house and turn it off. I quickly located it under the sink and turned it vigorously to the left. Immediately the hissing sound stopped.

  Now I had to turn off the electrics for the house. I opened the fuse box in the hall and switched everything I could find to the off position.

  Ashley was still hovering by the front door. I pointed the torch at her briefly. “I told you this house was a dump.”

  I hurried back upstairs and into my office. I wanted to recover my laptop, which nowadays I kept under the suspended files in the bottom drawer of my locked filing cabinet. Ashley tentatively followed me. The laptop was intact, and with relief I put it down on the desk and shone the torch around the room. “This wasn’t exactly what I planned.”

  “What on earth caused this?” She was illuminated by the street lamp in a weak yellowish light.

  “I have absolutely no idea. I suppose these things happen, but – ”

  At that moment there was a creaking noise above us and a section of plasterboard ceiling slumped down, releasing a torrent of water that cascaded directly over Ashley. It was as if someone had tipped a bucket of water on her head. She shrieked briefly and jumped sideways.

  I stared at her, aghast. She said nothing for a moment, then gave a hysterical laugh. “Well I was hoping for a welcome, Mr Stanhope, but you needn’t have gone to all this trouble.”

  Chapter 62

  We stood in the lounge, taking stock. Most of the clothes in my built-in wardrobe were damp, and so was the bed. The only dry garments were a few random items that happened to be lying around loose, plus the contents of an overnight case that I usually kept packed. I had hardly anything suitable to offer Ashley, whose teeth were now chattering, and I was still wary of switching
on any lights.

  I looked at my watch. It was 11.30 – late enough, but not hopelessly late. I said, “I’ve got some friends who live just a few streets away. Could you stand meeting them? They would probably lend us some dry clothes, and they might even give us a bed for the night.”

  “Would they mind?”

  I smiled inwardly. I could already imagine Joanna’s delight at having Ashley delivered so soon for her inspection. “I’m sure they wouldn’t.”

  “Well, whatever you think.”

  I phoned their house and Joanna picked up. I said, “How’s your dinner party?”

  “Mike! Did you miss me that much?”

  I explained briefly what had happened. She said their guests had just left and they were about to go to bed. “But you must come over. Now. Understood? No excuses.”

  We returned to the hall, and I found myself kicking the object that I’d encountered on the way in. I shone the torch down. It was the ball valve assembly from the cistern, complete with the red ballcock. Suddenly this all started to make sense.

  I kicked it away angrily and turned to the front door, and then saw a large piece of paper pinned crudely to the back of the door. Scrawled on it in large red letters were the words “Regards, A. Plumber”.

  * * *

  John and Joanna were practical and down-to-earth. Joanna was clearly fascinated to meet Ashley, but managed to keep her enthusiasm in check. She led Ashley away to deliver some dry clothes to her.

  “You’re having a time of it,” John commented.

  “You could say that.”

  “And this was definitely malicious damage?”

  “No question. How else would the ballcock find its way from the loft to the ground floor?”

  He laughed grimly. “You should phone the police.”

  “I will.” But it wasn’t going to be tonight, and I couldn’t be sure of fitting it in tomorrow either. I wasn’t going to cry off the meeting with Trina.