Over Your Shoulder

by C J Carver

  Chapter 81

  Fifteen months later

  It was a beautiful May day when I went to see Hayley and Noah, Barry Gilder’s family. Since it was so sunny, the May blossom hanging like great pink and white pom-poms from every tree, we agreed to meet in Hyde Park, at the Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain. I hadn’t seen them since Christmas, and in that time Barry’s son seemed to have grown at least six inches and taken on more of his father’s looks. He had the same slate grey eyes and steady composure I remembered in his father, the same caution before he spoke.

  ‘You get more like your dad every day,’ I told him, which made him and his mum smile.

  Kids of all ages had shucked off their shoes and were playing in the water fountain, chasing the water as it cascaded along the Cornish granite. Hayley held Noah’s shoes as he went and played, quickly teaming up with a couple of boys who were playing tag over the bridges.

  ‘How are you doing?’ I asked her.

  She considered my question, and then said, ‘We’re okay,’ sounding surprised. I hadn’t appreciated before how pretty she was, but the bruises of grief were fading, with the sun behind her, turning her auburn hair into bright copper and her eyes jewel green, I saw she was more than pretty. She was beautiful.

  I wondered what she saw in return. I couldn’t be termed beautiful in any sense of the word, but at least I’d stopped drinking. It had taken nearly a year until I’d finally started to get to grips with myself, my shock and grief, and although I wasn’t the handsomest man in the world, I hoped I wasn’t too embarrassing to look at. I’d showered, remembered to shave, and I was wearing a pair of faded jeans and the same sunglasses and shirt that Susie used to chuckle at, saying they made me look like a Mediterranean yachtsman.

  Hayley said, ‘The money came through not long ago. It’s helped a lot. We might even go away on holiday next year. To Disneyland, if we can.’

  She was talking about the money her father-in-law had tucked away. David Gilder hadn’t spent a single penny the Saint had paid him, but put it in a savings account where it stayed untouched until he died. Being under the police radar, it was now Hayley’s and Noah’s. After what they’d been through, I thought they deserved every penny.

  We fell into step along the Serpentine. Mothers and strollers, babies, a couple of picnic blankets on the grass with smooching young couples. Summer was on its way and for the first time since I could remember, my spirits lifted into a kind of optimism.

  ‘What about you?’ Hayley asked.

  I’d tried going back to work for Ronja, but instead of being comforting, the old routine just seemed to intensify my anguish. It was Rob who suggested going into business together, something different until I got back on my feet again, and with some of Mum and Dad’s money, some of mine, we bought Dennis’s Boat Yard.

  Rob had spent the last twelve years working in a boat builder’s yard and with my experience in repairing the odd yacht, along with Dad’s more extensive knowledge of the trade we made a pretty good team. Mum answered the phone and did the books, and as word got around, we got really busy.

  I still hadn’t given up my dream of being a comic book artist though, and had got back in touch with Top Dog Comics, who were reviewing the artwork I’d sent them. I wasn’t holding my breath for a full-time artist’s job, but as Rob kept telling me, you had to be in it, to win it.

  ‘I’m pretty good, actually,’ I said, hearing the same note of surprise I’d noticed in hers.

  ‘And Susie?’

  I knew she was talking about my Susie, and not the real Susie. The real Susie’s family had held a memorial for their murdered daughter and although they’d invited me, genuinely sorry for me for what had happened, I hadn’t been able to bear going. It would have been too weird. I’d seen Susie’s parents Victor and Marjory when they’d flown over, and had found it disturbing, unsettling and extremely upsetting. I hadn’t seen them again.

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  Hayley gave me a sideways look. ‘Well done you.’

  It had taken a supreme amount of courage and fortitude, but twelve months earlier, and with the help of my therapist, I’d ended all contact between me and Susie. I never said a formal goodbye. It simply came to me one day, as I walked out of the visits centre, that I didn’t have to go again. That I didn’t have to talk to her again if I didn’t want to.

  I stopped all contact. Returned letters from her unopened. Changed my phone and email numbers. Moved house.

  Going cold turkey felt the right thing to do. That way there was no confusion. I had to start learning how to live without her. Find myself again.

  The first month was horrendous. I felt as though I was living at the bottom of a treacle jar, everything was such an effort, but gradually my mind cleared and for the first time, I saw our relationship with a more detached eye.

  I saw how I’d become a fly in her web. How I’d lost my self-identity. How I’d swallow anything she told me thanks to her seasoning her words with endless praise about how understanding I was, how proud she was of me, how much she adored me. It took a while, but eventually I was able to stand back and see her for what she was: a charming, charismatic, fiercely intelligent woman whose motives were to manipulate and coerce, ruthlessly and without remorse.

  When I started divorce proceedings, I expected Susie to do everything to try to reel me back in. I was ready for her to refuse to sign documents, to question everything, to beg, plead and threaten, demand to see me, but instead there was a deafening silence. Every document that needed signing was signed promptly and sent back by return. She didn’t contest a single point.

  ‘The decree nisi came through last week,’ I told Hayley, lifting my face to the sun. ‘I’m a single man again.’

  Hayley gave my arm a squeeze. A couple of horses and riders trotted past, bits and stirrups jingling. The sun was warm on my shoulders and in my hair. We chatted about Noah’s school, Hayley’s working at the local surgery, and after we’d eaten an ice cream each, sitting on the grass, Hayley said it was time to go. ‘See you anon,’ I said. I kissed her on the cheek. Shook Noah by the hand.

  I watched them walk away, glad they were doing okay. Glad I was doing okay too, and blissfully unaware of what waited for me just around the corner.

  Chapter 82

  My new home, still in Bosham, was a detached period cottage built out of Sussex flint and brick, with roses climbing the walls and a view of the water. It had a conservatory, a garden shed and a swing seat, and best of all, a jetty at the bottom of the garden, where Talisman was moored. Normally I wouldn’t have been able to afford such a stunning property, but with Susie not contesting my solicitor’s bold request for half the value of her London apartment, I hadn’t hesitated. I’d practically bolted away from my old cottage and all those memories of us, and the instant I walked into my new home, I felt something fundamental inside me unwind, and relax.

  I was approaching my cottage and thinking about whether I’d join Rob for a pint in The Anchor Bleu later, when I took in the car sitting in my driveway. As I approached, a man climbed out, hefting something bulky, and walked to my front door. I was frowning, trying to recall what I might have ordered, when the man returned to his car and I saw him properly.

  Fifties, spectacles, soft grey hair, paunchy jowls. Skin as pale as the underbelly of a fish.

  A torrent of icy alarm ran down my spine.

  It was Kevin Parsons. The actor who Susie had used to impersonate her father, her brother, whoever might be useful to her, culminating in his pretending to be Mark Felton, MI5 officer.

  For a second I couldn’t believe it. The police had tried to find Kevin Parsons without success, but here he was. On my fucking doorstep.

  I rammed the throttle to the floor. My ancient BMW sprang forward but it was no match for his vehicle, which tore off with a throaty roar. When I caught a glimpse of the number plate, I knew I didn’t stand a chance. It was Susie’s super-beefed-up turbocharged Audi, but even tho
ugh I knew it was fruitless, I gave chase. It didn’t take long before he dwindled away from me into the distance but I kept going, only giving up when I came to the main road to Chichester and the Audi was nowhere to be seen.

  I called the police, who made a report, and finally I turned for home, apprehension in my belly and fear in my heart. I considered calling Rob to meet me there, but I didn’t want to endanger him. I parked on the road, not in my driveway, and walked cautiously to the bulky package on my doorstep.

  Which wasn’t a package at all.

  It was a carry cot.

  Inside which lay a sleeping baby.

  A note was tucked in the edge of the blanket. Nick. Written in Susie’s bold slanted handwriting.

  My knees gave way. I sprawled on the ground. Mouth dry, pulse leaping, I reached for the note.

  He’s yours, she’d written. One hundred per cent. But if you want to do a DNA test, just say the word. He’s cute, but I’m afraid I make a crap mother. You’ll be a brilliant dad. You’ll teach him how to sail and how to be a good man. Just like you. x

  My fingers were tingling as I brought out my phone and dialled.

  ‘Mum?’ I had to clear my throat a couple of times after she answered. ‘I’ve got some news for you and Dad. Are you sitting down?’

  A note from the publisher

  Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it please do consider leaving a review on Amazon to help others find it too.

  We hate typos. All of our books have been rigorously edited and proofread, but sometimes mistakes do slip through. If you have spotted a typo, please do let us know and we can get it amended within hours.

  info@bloodhoundbooks.com

  Love crime, thriller and mystery books?

  Sign up today to be the first to hear about new releases and exclusive offers, including free and discounted ebooks!

  Why not like us or follow us on social media to stay up to date with the latest news from your favourite authors?

  You will also enjoy:

  John Nicholl’s The Girl in Red

  J.A. Baker’s The Cleansing