A Chance Encounter

by Rae Shaw

  He grabbed her flailing hand and drew it to his waist, forcing her into his embrace. ‘You quit your job out of shame because you don't trust your instincts anymore. A bit like me, really, isn't it? Failing to notice Dad was a gangster. At least, the kind of hardnose criminal who gets involved in murder. It’s easily done when it's about the people you love. Blind faith, eh.’ He tipped her chin up.

  She glanced over his shoulder, refusing to calm down. ‘I suppose I don’t expect much from others these days.’

  ‘Except me, I hope.’ Mark leaned back on the kitchen counter, taking her with him. He was warm and soft about the middle. He had put on weight since she first slept with him.

  ‘I’d rather know the truth than a pretence at loving somebody again.’ Her temples had ceased throbbing. There wasn't any doubt that Mark had a calming influence on her.

  ‘Me, too. That why I'm still there, trying for resolution with Dad. I have to know categorically one way or the other. I have to know: did he lie to me, because he promised me he was innocent.’

  ‘He did?’ She hadn’t known there was a promise involved.

  ‘One of my lasts visits. I pinned him to his seat, metaphorically speaking, and looked him in his eyes.’ Mark possessed dark pitted eyes. Black olives surrounded by saffron skin. She was now hungry with a different kind of appetite

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said he wasn’t a hired assassin. Those words exactly.’

  ‘Very precise.’ Almost pedantically so. It seemed Mark was unaware of the potential ramifications of what his father had said. She couldn't bear to tell him. She didn't want to be the one to smash a promise apart.

  ‘Hence the legal wrangling. Mum doesn't need a promise. She just wants to walk down the streets and not feel humiliated.’

  ‘Then let's hope Sophia can help you.’ She smiled and he eased off with his arm lock.

  ‘So what’s for afters?’ he asked sweetly.

  ‘You.’ Her smile broadened into a grin.

  12

  Mark

  She landed on her bottom for the third time and even from a distance of several metres Mark could see she was laughing her head off. With some difficulty she got back on her feet and continued on her disastrous circuit. Her arms floated out to her sides and her knees kept knocking together as she attempted to push forward. Julianna might be a kick-boxer and karate expert, but she couldn't ice-skate with any grace. Eventually, she made her way over to Mark, who stood by the ringside, slurping on a can of coke.

  ‘Sure you don’t want to join me?’ She leaned on the barrier, panting heavily.

  ‘Absolutely.’ What he was witnessing was cold, wet and guaranteed to embarrass. ‘What’s with the ice-skating?’

  ‘It’s on my bucket list of things to do before I die. This ice-rink is on my doorstep and why not?’

  She had arranged to meet him nearby. Her idea, and a surprise; he wasn’t sure it matched his expectations of a date. ‘But why now?’

  ‘It’s you. You’ve made me come out of my doldrums, brought me back to life. I'm feeling motivated.’ She kicked the skates against the side of the barrier.

  He smirked. ‘My screwing you to the bed makes you want to live out a childhood dream?’

  She clung to the barrier. ‘Don’t, Mark. You make it sound vulgar and degrading. You know it’s not like that for us.’ She admonished him with a matronly, disapproving look. He guessed she had practised it as police officer. Thankfully, it fractured into a smile. The reprimand was gone before he could retaliate with a flinch.

  ‘No. It's nothing like that.’ Whether she heard over the thump of the background music, he didn't know. She pushed away with wobbly legs and arms swinging unproductively.

  Mark rested his elbows on the barrier and watched Julianna continue her precarious tour of the ice-rink. Since their first bedroom encounter on the night of the ball they had been meeting regularly, at least once a week. The commitment was loose, non-binding, and either of them could cancel at short notice. The lack of formality suited both of them, or so it seemed. For how long though? Julianna, after her failed marriage, possibly wanted the sex to have meaning, some cathartic outpouring that would heal her. Mark's need was different. Julianna was a tantalising distraction, and a rather beautiful one, too.

  He'd spent the weekend in Manchester, staying with Tim and cousin Alfie. They had taken him to a football match – the highlight of the day. Then, with no enthusiasm, he wore the mantle of a dutiful son and visited his mother, who was still living in the same house where she had built a shrine of faded photographs, threadbare football scarves and albums of newspapers, as if her husband was dead and not imprisoned. She even kept his clothes in the bedroom wardrobe. Mark sat in the armchair – Bill's old throne – and announced he had found a new solicitor. Sophia had taken custody of the boxes of documents.

  ‘There's a new hunt for the witness,’ he had told Deidre, explaining his progress.

  She had poured the tea in celebration. Warm shades of colour filled her snowy face, but she would never thaw for him. She never congratulated him on his efforts. Her own were pitiful – Deidre dictated and harangued, but never got her hands dirty with lawyers unless she had to. If he had any admiration for his mother, it was her devotion to Bill's cause. Mark genuinely believed she loved his father. It wasn't the same for Mark. He wasn't able to feel like he used to.

  As for meeting Ellen in London, he left his sister out of the conversation. Until Ellen was willing to engage with Deidre, it would only antagonise his mother. The rift was obvious by her continuing lack of concern for her daughter.

  He had tuned out the rest of the day. Nothing of significance happened. She had hugged him and he had caught the train home. Back at his flat, he had contacted Ellen and told her the boxes were gone, and that she was welcome to move in. She still hadn't replied to his text, which worried him a little. He should visit her and find out who Nicky was.

  Julianna fell over again. Somebody helped her back up on to her feet. She waved at him and set off again. Her balance and coordination were improving – a quick learner, not surprising given her natural athleticism. He stared across the sea of bodies tumbling round the rink, weaving and sliding. Why not give it a go? Hardly anyone was good at it. He went to collect a pair of boots.

  13

  Mark

  ‘Mark?’ Ellen whispered.

  Mark pressed the phone closer to his ear. He blinked at the illuminated display on the alarm clock – midnight. ‘What?’

  ‘Please, something is wrong. Really wrong. I can’t stop crying.’ She sobbed, uncontrollably, to illustrate the point.

  He rolled out of bed; he had only just got into it. The bedroom light stabbed his eyes, one in particular throbbed unpleasantly. Why now? Why couldn’t he have one decent night’s sleep and not have to rely on pills.

  ‘Mark?’ Her voice was dulled by something. He could guess what.

  He walked out of his bedroom. A glass of water might help. ‘Are you alone?’

  Another pitiful sob. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what's with the crying? Eh?’

  He pictured her alone, tears streaking her face. She was diminutive in stature, like a small child. Only twenty years old. At her age he’d had the support of other students, a personal tutor and the pastoral care system of a large college. He had managed fine without it. Ellen was different though. Her fragility wasn't to do with a lack of motivation – she had left home and found a job without help – it was something else, some need to self-destruct when the pressure bore down on her. She was quite capable of crocodile tears, though. He balanced his sympathy accordingly.

  She blew her nose. ‘I invited this guy to my room—’

  ‘Ellen!’ He spluttered on the water. ‘He hurt you?’ Why wonder she was upset, she had done a foolish thing, except Julianna had done the same thing with him: invited him in and taken him to her bed. But this was his little sister whom he babysat as a teenager while his parents went to the pub. Shoul
d he hasten over there… and… what exactly? Hold her hand. They never held hands or hugged.

  ‘No.’ She dropped the slurring. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Was it Nicky?’

  ‘Nicky?’ she said with a vocal sneer. ‘He's not here. He's with his friend. That's why I called you,’ she said feebly. Nicky was her hand-holder. Mark was way down on the reserve list. He rolled his eyes to the kitchen lights.

  ‘This man you invited,’ Mark couldn’t care less about her sensibilities, ‘did you fuck?’

  ‘No!’ she said indignantly. ‘He's somebody I met out jogging. We've passed each other a few times. Caught our breath, you know, and chatted.’ Her voice slurred again. ‘He runs for an athletics club. Does marathons. The London marathon. I want to do it.’

  ‘Jesus, Ellen,’ he muttered. Things were far worse than he thought. He had underestimated Ellen's weakness for alcohol. He couldn't demand she move in with him, but the sooner the better. The issue was no longer about unity and handling Deidre – Ellen was too broken to cope with their mother – it was about providing her with stability. Julianna would understand and it wasn't as if she came to his flat often. They preferred hers as it was closer to the office.

  If Ellen did take up his offer, he would have to ensure she understood there would be no inviting men around at short notice, regardless of their sexual orientation.

  She hiccupped. ‘I'm not that drunk.’

  He didn't agree. ‘You're absolutely sure that he didn't fuck you?’ Would she know? Had he slipped her a pill or something?

  She whispered, sheepishly. ‘I did some things. A couple of things with him.’

  Mark closed his eyes. ‘Did he force you to do them?’

  ‘No.’ She seemed adamant on that; he had to believe her. ‘He'll not be happy with me.’

  ‘Why? I don't understand.’

  ‘I was mad at him. He's so pompous sometimes and telling me that I'm good, when I know I'm bad, and that I should stay safe, like I'm a kid.’

  Mark lowered his glass of water. The pain now was focused quite brilliantly on one spot and growing bigger by the minute. ‘You're not making sense, Ellen.’ The jogging friend was more than a passing acquaintance. This person was offering the kind of advice Mark would give and at the same time, preying on Ellen's vulnerabilities.

  ‘He's a good friend, but he lives in Ireland.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck's sake, Ellen. Stop winding me up. You're drunk. We'll talk when you're sober.’

  ‘I'm not winding you up. He's been so good to me and there so few people out there for me when it matters.’

  ‘I'm here, aren't I? Hardly that far away.’

  She spoke the truth, though. For years, he had no clue about her friends. This Irishman, whoever he was, had encouraged her to do something sexual, something that she was ashamed to admit to, especially to her older brother. Where were her girlfriends? Women did this kind of stuff – hand holding and tissues. He should introduce Ellen to Julianna. Immediately, he dismissed the idea. He wanted to keep things as simple as possible with Julianna and the less complications, the better. He had already made an error taking Ellen to Razzles and expecting her to slot into that crowd. He had wasted the opportunity to make an impression with Haynes. If he had wanted to have a good time, he should have taken Julianna. What Ellen needed was somebody who talked about things she enjoyed doing, like marathons, or digging in the dirt for lost objects.

  ‘You should have a shower, or something. If it helps.’ He checked the wall clock; he’d an early meeting. ‘I have to go to bed. You'll be okay, yes?’

  She sniffed, drowsily.

  He left the glass in the sink and padded back to his bedroom. ‘Or perhaps, just go to sleep.’ His efforts to reach out to her seemed futile. Why had he bothered? There were other more important things to discuss. ‘You got the message about the boxes? The solicitor?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Deidre's happy, I assume.’

  ‘No.’ He guffawed. ‘This is Mum.’

  ‘Then burn them. Burn the fucking lot.’ She spoke venomously, without one hint of drunkenness.

  He didn’t care for the familiar angry flare of her voice. ‘This is the last time, though. I told her, that's it. If Sophia finds nothing new, then, yes, we'll burn it all. We'll light a bonfire somewhere. Okay?’

  ‘I don't believe you. You'll never do it. You don't want to do it. You're just like her; head up your arse.’

  ‘Sober up. The offer still stands, but you've got to get a grip on this… whatever this is or whoever is fucking with you.’

  She hung up without saying goodbye.

  Ellen had managed for years without him. He had made his offer and it was there on the table if she wanted it. At the end of the day, she was an adult and had made little effort to reach out to him for years. Why wouldn’t he do the same? Let her play around with strangers, as long as they enjoyed it, did it matter? He wasn't an angel himself and his relationship with Julianna was casual and low-key. If Ellen drank, then it was her choice. Julianna would disagree, but then Julianna wasn't part of his family. And what was the point of families anyway? Mark had stepped into Bill's shoes and they didn't fit, which pleased Mark no end.

  ~ * ~

  There were no more drunken calls from Ellen. Perhaps, he hoped, that one night had sobered her up. Young people made mistakes and Ellen was at that experimental stage. Mark had been through it and done things he regretted, both professionally and personally. He had more important things to consider, like staying in Jackson's eyeline, which was proving to be a challenge.

  Mark rarely came across Jackson at work, which wasn’t surprising, the man ruled a business empire and Mark’s team was one small cog in the machine. Equally, he rarely bumped into Julianna. If they saw each other in the office building, they walked past each other with a cursory nod and perhaps a small smile of recognition. They’d agreed to keep things under the radar of their colleagues.

  Things progressed with his new job, cases came and went, and they were mostly resolved without recourse to prosecutions. If Mark assumed Jackson had forgotten about him, he was mistaken. At nine o’clock he was summoned for an impromptu meeting regarding an acquisition that Jackson was negotiating.

  ‘Mark, come in.’ Jackson waved Mark over the threshold into his grandiose office. There were others there, seated around the conference table, eyeing Mark with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Departments were prone to rivalry, a bit like football teams – they all enjoyed the game but their side had to be the best. He wasn’t familiar with this bunch of lawyers.

  Jackson introduced the team managing the negotiations. ‘We’ve entered due diligence with a smallish size company. There are discrepancies with their projections. It looks like they’re spinning their financials incorrectly. Come and take a look. I want to know if these are irregularities or whether they’re engaging in opportunistic accounting policies.’

  Mark glanced over the latest financial statements, information provided by the other company. ‘I can’t tell from this. I’d need further information. It does look dubious to have these kinds of projections in the current economic climate.’

  ‘Put aside what you’re doing at the moment, Mark, I want you to concentrate on this. I'm tired of being screwed around by companies who think they can milk me for a high purchase price and then cover up their failings.’ Jackson returned to his desk.

  Mark took the remark as a dismissal and he followed the others out of the room.

  ‘Wait, Mark,’ Jackson said. ‘Shut the door.’

  ‘Sir.’ Mark fingered his jacket buttons. Beneath the cool breeze of the air-conditioning, he was perspiring like a squeezed sponge.

  ‘Please sit.’ Jackson pointed at the nearest chair. ‘I’ve been in contact with Luke. He's been helping Sophia with your father’s appeal case.’

  Mark's heart skipped forward a few beats. He had never discussed his father with Jackson or Hettie. However, he shouldn't be surprised; Jackson had eyes and
ears everywhere. The introductions at the ball had been more contrived than he’d realised.

  ‘I passed the documents to Sophia and she’s been looking them over,’ Mark said.

  Jackson nodded. What else did he know about? Haydocks reared its demonic head again. ‘More than looking them over, Mark. She and Luke have found the witness that the previous appeal failed to identify. They’re going to see him.’

  Words briefly escaped Mark. How had they managed where others had failed? ‘Wow, that is good news.’ He ran his trembling fingers through his hair. ‘The last solicitor up in Manchester couldn’t locate him.’

  ‘Luke can be persuasive.’ Jackson grinned. Luke shared his brother’s tenacity, as well as appearance. ‘I hope this works out for you and your father.’

  ‘So do I. I’m planning to visit him later in the month. It’s tough seeing him behind bars.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Jackson said dryly. ‘Your sister. Do you keep her in the loop?’

  ‘Not really. We've had a little falling out.’

  ‘Fix it, Mark. She's young. You're supposed to be the man in her life.’

  Jackson's rebuke hit below the belt. Mark jerked, recoiling. Sometimes, his boss behaved like his mentor, which Mark appreciated as long as it remained in a limited capacity and preferably related to work. When it came to personal relationships, he wasn’t so sure he wanted it. Jackson was in his mid-thirties – probably – and he had an old school approach to handling women. Julianna would struggle with the authoritarian type. Having met Hettie, heard her speak with great affection for her husband, Mark knew outward appearances weren't always a good measure of a man.

  Regardless of Jackson’s decent qualities, it was somewhat troubling being in debt to the Haynes family. If Jackson knew Mark had spied on his former boss, perhaps he wouldn't be so magnanimous.