by Rae Shaw
‘Bye, Dad. Take care of yourself. The offer remains, if you want to take it.’ Mark rose to his feet and held out his hand. Bill shook it with a firm grip.
‘Thanks, son. You'll write, won't you? I do like letters.’ He grinned; he had lost a tooth. Mark doubted it had fallen out of its own accord.
‘Sure. I'll write.’
Mark’s letters would be full of inconsequential things about football, the weather and maybe a little hint of what was happening outside. But not the ongoing mission to bring down Freddie Zustaller.
He left Manchester without visiting his mother. One day he might find room in his heart for her, but not yet, not for a long while.
His journey wasn’t finished. Instead of returning to London, he turned north to Scotland.
36
Julianna
Julianna had bought a new car, a sporty BMW. Her rusty friend had been confined to the rubbish heap. The beamer wasn’t a great car in the city, but driving to Cornwall to visit her parents, it purred like a new-born kitten. Unlike Mark’s dysfunctional family, Julianna considered her family to be normal, reasonably affluent and broad minded enough not to judge her divorce or choice of career. Her father, a retired officer in the army, had left the forces to become a martial arts instructor, while her mother, an ex-army doctor, worked as a general practitioner in Falmouth.
She let Mark drive to Cornwall because his extra money helped with bills and allowed her the extravagance of buying a car. The journey was long, but worth it. He rolled his eyes every time she criticised his driving technique.
‘I do have qualifications in defensive driving and high-speed evasion tactics.’ She would have the return journey to scare him.
‘Doesn’t give you the right to tell me how to drive,’ Mark said brusquely, while grinning from ear to ear.
Two months after she had invited him to move in with her, their relationship had grown in strength and his anger had diminished. The only issue to mar things was his relationship with his family. Julianna hoped visiting his dad would heal some of those stresses. She let him take the car to Manchester to visit his father. While he was there, he sent a text explaining a change of plan; he added an extra, considerably longer journey. He’d spontaneously decided to visit his sister.
Upon his return home, he handed back the car keys, apologising for the extended loan by way of a brisk, sheepish smile. Julianna supported the decision. Checking the car, she noted the mud splattered tyres and sand in the footwell of the passenger seat.
Fatigue was etched on his face. He pecked her cheek, cautiously. She could be patient.
She took his coat. ‘Well?’
The details of his conversation with Bill slipped out over dinner, which he failed to finish. Mark was disappointed that Bill had refused Jackson's offer of help. She wasn't surprised. As he washed the dishes, she draped her arms around his waist.
‘Don't fret,’ she said. ‘You don't have to forgive him, just know that he did it and the reason why. That's all. It's not as if he's wallowing in self-pity about it. Perhaps things might change in the future.’
‘How?’ Mark sighed. ‘He'll always be watching his back in case of retribution.’
Julianna buried her nose in his shirt. He smelt of sea salt and something else, the legacy of the prison with its sweaty bodies and confined spaces. They both needed to watch their backs and each other. She hoped Ellen was safe up in Scotland.
‘Tell me,’ she said, leading him to sit on the sofa, side by side. ‘About Ellen.’
‘Going up there after seeing Tim in Manchester, it felt like the right thing. I couldn’t answer Tim’s questions about Ellen, like how’s she doing. Felt bad about it. I stopped over in Edinburgh, not far from where she’s living with Malcolm, and he told me where to find her.’
Malcolm was Derek's spy, of course. They were half-brothers. In return for free lodgings, Ellen provided rudimentary care for Malcolm by way of meals, doing the laundry and cleaning the house. She had arrived in Edinburgh with nothing but a familiar suitcase full of clothes and the address of a stranger. The rest of her things remained boxed up at Fasleigh House. If it wasn’t for their trust in Jackson and his friend, Derek, they would have never countenanced the idea of her lodging with a man she had never met, especially after her experience in Dublin. Derek ran various archaeological projects in Scotland and northern England, but he wasn't just a professor of archaeology, he had ties to Opportunitas.
Malcolm was a retired surgeon. Julianna had been briefed by Chris. Only a handful of people knew Ellen’s location, even fewer knew Malcolm's address. Ellen received cash payments to cover expenses – and her mobile number had been changed. Chris had told Ellen to stay off social media. She had been isolated, cut-off. But she wasn't a prisoner. Nobody was preventing her from returning to either London or Manchester. She was free to travel anywhere, even if her life was shaped by different people.
‘She was out at a cove looking at a tidal mill, some marks on the rocks. Hard to see unless you’ve got a good eye for it. She’s a neat artist, showed me her sketches.’
He described the landscape, the sodden turf, the wet sand and stench of seaweed. His sister, buffered by the sea breeze, happily working alone with her pad and pencils. ‘I parked the car on the sea front – it’s okay, not a scratch on it – and she climbed up to say hello.’
Had they embraced? Julianna liked to thing they might have done, but she doubted it.
Mark continued, his voice a little hazy and distant. He wasn’t in the room with Julianna, but somewhere windswept and hopefully beautiful, especially for a man who had lived all his life in cities. ‘We spent some time apologising.’ He chuckled, but his eyes weren’t smiling.
‘Oh?’
‘I told her I should have stood up to Mum. I should’ve asked the right questions, instead of assuming he was innocent. I didn’t open up to Ellen, and I regret it.’ Mark turned to Julianna. ‘She sat in the car, and I thought, given how quiet she was, that I’d got things wrong. But it turns out, she’s better at patience than me. She accepted it all without a harsh word.’
Julianna patted his hand. ‘You’re learning a different kind of patience.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ He puffed at his lips. ‘Anyway. She apologised for not being honest with me about Dad, and Freddie. She’s tired of hating.’ His voice broke slightly. ‘She asked me for help, to help her not hate them. I don’t know if I can.’
There had been other conversations like that one, mostly by email. Jackson had suggested Ellen speak to a psychologist or a counsellor. According to Mark, she had scoffed at the idea. Nobody like that had ever helped her before, and wasn't that exactly how she had gone wrong with Freddie? She had politely turned down the offer. Julianna wasn’t sure if it was the right decision, but Mark had agreed with his sister. The nightmares would go, and, eventually, Ellen would learn to let go of the blackness inside, the dread that woke her up some nights screaming. She never saw a person, just a thing, an entity. Julianna understood the origins of that nightmare – the bogey man never had a face, only a presence, which was why she had crafted one on her punch bag.
Mark blinked, recovering his voice. ‘I told her what I thought. Dad’s not evil. And she knows that, or why else did she keep quiet when she could have made things worse for him? He’s a broken man, holding back from telling everything because he fears for himself, for us. If we can get him to turn evidence, he’ll be free. But I told her we’d not see him again, because he’d be in a witness protection program.’
‘What about Deidre?’
‘Both of us agree. Mum doesn’t care enough for Dad to follow him there. I don’t think she knows how to.’
An honest appraisal. Even though she hadn’t met Deidre, Julianna thought it accurate.
‘Still. She wanted to know if she was wrong to keep that secret.’ Mark met Julianna’s gaze. Ellen wanted to be free of the guilt she had burdened herself with for years. Mark had accused her of making things worse
, but now he knew that had never been her intention. She simply wanted to be a good daughter to at least one of her parents.
‘By keeping it from the police, perhaps,’ Julianna said diplomatically. ‘But you can understand why she did it.’
‘I just wish she could have trusted me more back then.’ He shrugged. ‘She cried when I told her that. It’s hardly her fault we weren’t talking. She misses London. Especially Nicky. But she insisted she has no regrets about the move north. She’s working with geologists surveying the east coast. Plenty to do in those mud flats and rocky outcrops. She likes being outside.’ Mark smiled. ‘Even in the summer rain.’
Julianna laughed, then remembered. ‘Not quite urban archaeology is it?’
‘She says she’s warming to the seaside, and I think I know why. She’s met a man, Brett. Malcolm is okay with him, and I told her people have to trust, or we’re always stabbing at each other’s backs. It’s a good place for her to start afresh, and she’s told Brett everything. Had to get drunk to do it, she said. Can’t blame her for that. Brett seems a decent bloke; didn’t judge her. Easy going, by the sounds of it. I suspect she’ll move out of Malcolm’s place and find somewhere to live. She thrives in that calm space. Not like me… I’d go nuts.’
‘Jackson has put his faith in these people. Let’s hope that Ellen’s location remains a secret.’ She poured Mark another drink, then topped up hers with a generous amount.
The visit had been short-lived yet fruitful. Mark was simply reassured to find Ellen was happy. However, nobody knew Freddie’s whereabouts. Things weren’t safe.
‘She still doesn’t understand what I do for a living,’ said Mark. ‘Although it’s brought danger to our lives, because of Haydocks and Henderson, she accepts it’s my crusade, not hers.’ He blushed, spinning the glass in his fingers. ‘I kissed her goodbye.’
Julianna’s eyebrows perched higher. ‘And?’
‘You really need to know?’ Mark laughed, and it was genuine. ‘A hug, too. One that lasted more than a second.’
He was pleased with himself. So was Julianna.
Her phone rang. She considered not answering it. Mark was in an optimistic mood.
‘Hi, Graham.’ She covered the mouthpiece. ‘It’s Graham Saddler, the useful ex-copper who helps out at Opportunitas.’
Mark acknowledged the name with a nod, and a frown. Graham’s timing was bad.
‘Julianna, just to let you now that lass I was supposed to meet, the one who was going to spill the beans on her pimp, didn’t show. No sign of her anywhere.’
‘Damn.’
‘Yeah, sorry. I know you put some effort into getting her to talk. My contacts in the police have drawn a blank.’
‘We can’t force her. Thanks for trying, Graham.’
‘My pleasure. Anything to help Jackson out.’
She ended the call. ‘We’re done. Just a little project I’ve been given is going nowhere. I’ll switch the phone off.’
He rose. ‘Well, I went somewhere and I brought the car back in one piece, just as I promised.’ He held out his hand. ‘Ellen thinks I’ve changed. Have I?’
She clasped his warm palm against hers and followed him out of the room. ‘She should know. Both of you have.’
~ * ~
Gathered around a table, holding a glass of wine, eating a few nibbles and making small talk wasn’t on Julianna’s bucket list. Worse, the evening would probably be padded out by the trivia of relationship issues. However, because she remained curious about the Haynes, she’d accepted an invitation to play cards with Hettie, the woman whose life she was supposed to be protecting.
The threats had dried up since Ellen’s crisis. Chris agreed with Julianna when she called it the calm before the storm; girls continued to disappear off the streets and out of the hostels at an alarming rate. Jackson’s foundation was finite in its activities and constrained by the legality of its role in society. Julianna wanted to do more; playing friends with Hettie’s inner circle wasn’t part of her big plan.
Julianna’s driving duties had recently increased. Chris still vetoed her other work, including helping Opportunitas, especially since Tess had been waylaid by personal issues, which meant Julianna had barely got her teeth into anything substantial since Jackson had invited her to help out.
The boredom of chauffeuring caused her to forget her primary purpose. When not listening to Hettie’s entertaining tales in the back of the car, Julianna occasionally, when ordered, occupied a seat at the entrance of the gallery. Due to her prominent location, the visitors assumed she was an art aficionado. Rather than sitting on her assigned chair, she walked through the exhibitions, showing them the pictures, and handed out catalogues. It passed the time until Jackson turned up at the gallery in a surprise visit to view his wife’s new paintings.
Chris witnessed Julianna with a small group of Japanese visitors doing her little impersonation of a tour guide. A disapproving stare was dispatched over their heads and she scurried back to her seat in a huff. When Chris and Jackson walked past her to leave, Jackson gave her an annoyingly perceptive grin and wagged his finger at her. Julianna squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.
Later, back at the company’s HQ, Moran had hauled Julianna over the coals, reminding her not to engage in “arty farty chats about paintings”. Just because she had spent time with the boss and his family, that didn't exempt her from a rollicking.
Julianna had arrived home despondent. Her salvation was Mark. He dispelled her misery with a sublime kiss on her lips, and a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Forget it. Go have fun with Hettie, don’t think about it.’
Julianna picked up her car keys, and the bottle of plonk she had selected from the shelves of the local supermarket.
Half an hour later, she slammed the flat of her hand on the leather steering wheel. ‘What am I doing here?’
The seats were leather, and the dashboard flashed with all the latest instrumentation and the best satellite navigation system. She didn't feel out of place parked outside an exclusive area of the city. Indoors, she might feel different. She had never stepped foot inside the Holland Park house.
‘Move,’ she said in a tone reminiscent of her father’s bark when he trained her to kick her legs as high as his throat, countless evenings spent in his customised gym where she had learnt to protect herself from an unknown, unforeseeable menace. She never questioned why it might one day be important.
She approached the iron gate, punched in the keycode for access and waved at the CCTV camera; the guy on duty would recognise her. She drummed her fingers on the gate until it swung open, then strode across the drive under the leafy trees. The doorbell chimed like any other, summoning her host. She straightened her sleeves and flattened the lapels of her coat.
Hettie waved her in. ‘Julianna, come in, come in. You’re the last to arrive.’
She kicked off her shoes. There was a neat line of footwear along the wall from Jackson's hand-stitched loafers to a pair of boy's shoes. Using her toes, she straightened hers.
‘I’ve bought a bottle of wine.’ She held out the red.
Hettie thanked her and showed her to the kitchen, her bare feet pattering on the tiles. ‘That’s thoughtful of you. Jackson has a substantial wine cellar.’
The wine was a stupid mistake. She should have bought cake or chocolates.
Hettie put it on the kitchen worktop. ‘Sorry, I sound ungracious. His wine collection is a little intimidating. I pick bottles up and put them back because I don’t know if I’m about to throw back a hundred-pound bottle when all I want is to get a little pissed. So we’ll open this one.’
‘No, it’s fine. Silly of me. I didn’t know if I should bring anything or—’
‘You don’t have to bring anything but your company.’ Hettie smiled. She could charm anyone with that smile. ‘Please, Julianna. I know you’re used to calling me Mrs Haynes. But I’m Hettie tonight.’
‘Fine. Thanks,’ she said awkwardly.
The kitchen wa
s spotless to a clinical level of cleanliness, which made Julianna wonder if food was ever prepared on its surfaces.
‘We're in the breakfast room. It's the sunniest room in the evening.’ Her eyebrows bunched together. ‘Thinking about it, it shouldn't be.’ Hettie opened the bottle. ‘You’ve not been inside this house, have you?’
‘No, actually. I haven’t. I kind of throw you out of the car, don’t I?’
‘I suppose you do.’ Hettie led her into the adjoining room. There was, unsurprisingly, artwork mounted in polished frames and hung on meticulous walls. Everything shouted wealth, except the kitchen, which at least resembled some kind of grand version of normality.
The other two guests were nearly touching foreheads, nattering away in hushed tones. They broke apart when Hettie introduced Julianna.
‘Hi,’ said a thin woman with letterbox glasses. ‘I’m Zoe.’ She shook Julianna’s hand.
‘And I’m Eva,’ said the other woman. Her hair was dyed red. The roots were black.
The introductions completed, Hettie shoved the door shut with her hip. Hettie could wear anything and look graceful, even the casual attire of leggings and a low-cut sweater probably came straight out of a fashion magazine. Julianna had chosen straight slacks and a pin-striped top. She wished she had worn jeans and a t-shirt, like the others.
‘Gin rummy.’ Hettie offered Julianna a seat next to her at the table.
About them on the floor were boxes stuffed with toys and children’s books. Unlike the kitchen, the breakfast room was lived in and family orientated.
‘You shuffle too well, Zoe,’ Eva said. She lowered her cards but didn't hide them well. Julianna concurred – Eva had nothing in her hand. ‘Hettie says you’re her bodyguard?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Occasional bodyguard. Most of the time I do investigative stuff. Uncover financial irregularities, and other… stuff.’ She glossed over the work of Opportunitas. Recently Tess had returned to work so Julianna was finally allowed a project of her own and, given the sensitive nature of the investigation, it meant reporting directly to Jackson.