by M K Farrar
When that son of a bitch who’d killed his little girl had been released from prison and then apparently tried to hang himself, she’d noticed how much worse the OCD had become. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through, knowing the man who’d killed his daughter was out of prison but now confined to a bed, being kept alive at the cost of the NHS. The quality of the man’s life must be negligible, but he still had a life where little Hayley Chase didn’t.
“Ready to go, Oliver?” one of the paramedics said brightly.
“I’m coming with him,” Mallory said.
“Not a problem.”
Ryan took a step back to allow them to shut the rear doors. “Call me if you need anything,” he told her.
“I will. Thanks, boss. I’ll do my best to be in first thing tomorrow.”
“Not a problem We’ve got you covered if you can’t.”
She was thankful for his support. She’d worked under enough people during her career to know that not everyone would be so caring.
The ambulance doors slammed shut.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Someone had followed Clara home the previous day, she was sure of it. The man from the soup kitchen. He’d walked several paces behind her and then loitered at the end of her street, trying to make out as though he’d just been walking somewhere.
Why had he followed her home? Had she given him some silent okay that she wasn’t aware of? But men didn’t see her that way—even homeless men. Her big gawky body, her awkward way of standing, her impossible shyness and constant blushing. It wasn’t attractive to anyone, and she knew that. Men didn’t stay. They got what they wanted from her and they left again. Could she put herself out there for such disappointment? She was frightened that she wasn’t strong enough to deal with it.
He’d needed someplace, hadn’t he? A cup of tea and a comfortable sofa. Maybe even more than that. Just because someone was homeless didn’t make them any less of a man.
The headache she’d been staving off all morning had returned. Maybe she should be more alarmed at having a strange man following her home, but she was tired and wanted to take another couple of paracetamols and lie down for an hour. Besides, what could she have done even if he had been? It wasn’t as though she’d have gone out there and confronted him. She certainly wouldn’t have picked up the phone and called the police. If she’d been wrong, she’d only have got him in trouble, and he looked as though he had enough problems going on without her paranoia throwing him more.
Besides, Clara didn’t trust the police. The thought of having them come to her flat and ask her questions chilled her inside. It was almost as bad as the thought of a job interview.
No, it was better just to make sure her front door was locked. It wasn’t as though he was still lurking around, was he? She hadn’t been out of her house to check but, surely, he wouldn’t have been there all night.
Why not? It isn’t as though he has anywhere else to go.
Clara went to lie down. She had an hour before she needed to get ready to go out to work. But instead of dozing, she tossed and turned and eventually gave up. She might as well start getting ready now and get there early to help set up. There was always plenty to do at the soup kitchen that didn’t have anything to do with food. Tables and chairs needed to be set out, stalls offering info on education and healthcare, and places people could get a bed for the night would also need to be laid out. At least there she had some point to her life.
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, Clara was dishing up portions of chicken pie, making sure to serve each person with a smile and eye contact. It wasn’t easy for her, and she battled her anxiety constantly, but it was important for the men and women who lived on the streets to know that here, at least, they’d been seen and acknowledged.
The whole time, she watched out for the man who’d been here the previous day. Would he come back again? She’d walked to the soup kitchen constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting someone to be following her, but no one had been there. She was being paranoid, but she couldn’t help it. There was no sign of him today, though, and she wondered where he was. Was he even all right? He’d got into a fight, hadn’t he—she’d seen the split lip and the bruised cheekbone. She hoped he hadn’t come across any worse trouble.
“Isn’t that you?” Wendy said from beside her, yanking her from her thoughts.
Clara blinked. “Sorry?”
Wendy nodded over at the television that was attached high up on the wall in the corner of the hall. On it, the lunchtime news was playing with the sound turned down.
Clara’s stomach flipped. A line of photographs was on the screen, the people in them sought with reference to a crime that had happened ten years ago.
“The photo on the right,” Wendy insisted. “If that isn’t a younger version of you, then you must have a doppelganger out there.”
Clara shrugged and served up the next person’s food. “It’s not me. Guess I must have that doppelganger.”
Wendy squinted at the TV. “Seriously? You don’t think that’s you? It’s the absolute spitting image. Says you might have been a witness to a crime ten years ago where a man was killed.”
“I said it’s not me, didn’t I?” She bristled. “I think I’d know what I looked like. Besides, I didn’t even live in Bristol back then.”
“Didn’t you? I thought you always lived here.”
“Nope.” Clara clamped her lips shut, not wanting to give out any more information. The last thing she wanted was for the police to come poking around—just the thought sent her heartrate racing. She remembered how they’d blocked both ends of the road, how they’d wrestled her to the ground and put her in handcuffs, even when she hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d claimed she was a risk to herself and others, but all she’d ever wanted was some help. Damn that bloody doctor who’d called them. She’d gone there believing she’d be prescribed some tablets, maybe even been referred for some counselling, and instead she’d ended up with her face in the dirt, and sat on by some overweight policeman. They’d told her it was for her own good, and that she wasn’t in any trouble, but it certainly hadn’t felt that way at the time.
“Maybe you should give them a call, just in case.”
“It wasn’t me, Wendy. Can we just drop it, please?”
It was unlike Clara to lose her temper, and Wendy ducked slightly. Clara realised she’d drawn herself up to her full height and pushed back her shoulders.
“Okay, okay. I won’t mention it again.”
Thankfully, Clara’s tray was empty, and she was able to take it into the kitchen for a refill. The bust-up with Wendy had left her shaky, her insides feeling like liquid. She didn’t do well with confrontation, and especially not confrontation with someone she normally liked and respected. It made her worry that she’d be told to leave and not come back again, and she didn’t want that to happen. She considered going out and apologising, but, if she did that, she risked Wendy opening up the conversation again, and she didn’t want that to happen either.
One of the other volunteers, Emma, shot her a smile. “Everything okay, Clara?”
“Yes, fine, thanks. I’m just in need of more pie. They’re hungry today.”
The other woman dished out a full tray of chicken and mushroom pie from the oven and swapped it over with Clara’s empty one. “You sure, love? You’re awful pale. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Clara picked up the tray, using a couple of tea towels so she didn’t burn her hands. “I’m fine, really.” And she went back out into the hall, and with relief saw the news had moved on to another story.
She did her best to push the news story out of her mind, focusing on her work instead. By the time everyone had left, and she was helping to finish pack everything back up, it had almost left her thoughts completely.
With the work done for the day, she stepped out of the hall, onto the pavement outside, and exhaled a breath. The sun beat down on her shoulders, and she raised her face towards
it for a moment. Perhaps she should do something different instead of going home. She should go to the local park and sit on the grass, maybe even read a book. Anything would be better than just going back to sit in the flat alone again.
As she started down the road, someone was waiting on the corner.
Clara drew up short. “You again.”
The man straightened and looked over his shoulder as though he thought she was talking to someone else.
“You followed me home yesterday,” she insisted.
He started back. “What? No, I didn’t.”
“I saw you. There’s no point in denying it.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t. I mean, it was strange, but I wasn’t frightened. Why did you follow me?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. To make sure you got home safely.”
“Why would you think that I wouldn’t?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “That was a stupid thing to say. It wasn’t that. I guess I just felt drawn to you somehow. I couldn’t say why.”
“Couldn’t you?”
He kept talking, filling in the drawn-out space with his words. “Okay, maybe I could. You reminded me of my sister.”
Immediately, her shoulders fell. His sister. Of course, it had to be something like that. No man ever paid attention to her because they thought she was attractive. How stupid of her. It was pathetic that she’d even been slightly flattered that a man had followed her home. Other women would be freaking out, but not her. No, she just wanted to find out if he’d fancied her or not.
“Your sister? I see.”
He must have realised what he’d said. “Oh, no. I don’t mean it like that. I mean, you don’t look like her or anything. That would be weird. I’m not sure what it was. I’ve been searching for her for a long time now.”
“She’s missing?”
“Yes, has been for years. She ran away from home after fighting with our mother. We never saw her again.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s why I’m here, living on the streets.” His cheeks grew pink. “I don’t normally tell people that.”
“But you feel like you can talk to me,” she said, “because I remind you of her.”
“Maybe, but I think it’s more than that. You caught my eye, for some reason.”
“Would you like to get a coffee sometime?”
Was she crazy, asking a homeless man who’d followed her out for a coffee? She was so starved of company, and here was a man who was paying her attention. She didn’t want to dismiss that simply because he didn’t have a stable place to live. It sounded as though he had pain in his life, just like she did. And she didn’t get the impression he was strung out on drugs or anything like that. He held her eye, and his gaze was direct and clear. His hands didn’t shake. Yes, his clothes were dirty and holey, and his hair and beard a little too long, but his skin was clear, and he appeared handsome beneath all that hair.
His lips twitched in a smile. “A coffee?”
“Or a tea,” she added hurriedly, “or beer. Whatever you want.” She sounded desperate now and was starting to wish the ground would open up and swallow her. She was about to be turned down by a homeless man. God, what an absolute loser she was.
“I’d love to,” he said, smiling around his split lip.
“You would? Really?”
“Absolutely. What are you doing now?”
Clara returned the smile. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Joe could hardly believe what was happening.
“I don’t even know your name,” he said.
“It’s Clara. Clara Reed.”
“I’m Joe Lorton.”
“Pleased to meet you, Joe Lorton.” She smiled again, and the expression transformed her face from a plain girl to a beautiful one.
“Do you mind if we go somewhere different?” she asked. “Get out of the city for a while? I was just thinking what a beautiful day it was and how it would be lovely to sit on some grass and breathe some fresh air.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Great. My car is parked on my road.” She jerked her head in that direction. “You already know where that is.”
She’d made a joke about him following her yesterday. He relaxed a fraction as they walked back to her road. Most women would have run a mile by now, but she didn’t seem concerned about him hanging around. Maybe she’d gone through something like this before. She must be one of those types of people who just wanted to help—after all, she did volunteer in a soup kitchen. Perhaps she just felt sorry for him?
The possibility stabbed him with guilt. He wasn’t exactly being honest, was he? He was deceiving everyone who knew him.
They reached her road, and she approached an old red Ford Focus and used a key from her bag to open the doors. She got behind the wheel, and he climbed into the passenger seat.
Clara started the engine. “Excuse the state of my car. It’s a bit of a banger.”
“It’s better than mine,” he joked.
She’d know he didn’t have a car. Should he tell her the truth about how he’d been living all this time? It felt like a confession to him, an unburdening of his soul. He’d told the truth to a handful of people over the past year, but only after he’d started to trust them.
Clara drove out of the city.
“So how did you end up on the street?” she asked.
“If I tell you that, I might have to kill you.”
She blanched, and he cringed. Probably not the best one to make after he’d followed her home the previous day. He was making himself look like a stalker.
“Joke,” he added.
“Oh, right.”
“It’s all linked back to my sister. After she ran away, I was too young to do anything much to find her. I blamed myself for not trying harder. Then when I was twenty-three, our mother died, and she left me the house. It took a while, but eventually I sold it and used the money to travel around the country, trying to get any clue about where she might have gone. I had some photographs, but they were old, from when she was a teenager when she would have been an adult by that time. I started with police stations and hospitals. I got some hints that she was living on the street. It made sense—she’d left home with no qualifications, no money. I worried she’d gone into prostitution. Not that I’d have judged her if she had. I would have been happy just to find her alive.”
“Of course. I can’t imagine not knowing where a sibling was all those years.”
“Do you have any family? Brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s just me.”
“Your parents?”
“They’re both dead.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Mine, too. Not the best thing to have in common, is it? When did you lose yours?”
“My mother died when I was very young. I was only five. I barely remember her. My dad brought me up, but then he left me when I was a teenager.”
Joe frowned. “He left you?”
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “Guess he didn’t want to take care of me anymore.”
“Jesus, that’s harsh. My dad left when I was small, too. I never even knew him, and he obviously didn’t want to know us. I’d say our mum had always been there for us, but I guess it was only me she was there for. I always wondered if she regretted throwing my sister out. She died without them ever seeing each other again. If it bothered her, she never showed it. She was a hard woman, and she’d never have admitted she’d done anything wrong. In her mind, it was all my sister’s fault.”
“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” She took one hand off the steering wheel and covered his with hers.
He glanced down at where their skin touched.
“It’s driven the course of my life,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I’d even know who I’d be without my sister’s disappearance.”
&nbs
p; “Don’t you ever want to just give up and get on with your life.”
“All the time.” He forced himself to snap out of it and pasted on a smile. They’d left the city far behind them now and were driving out in the countryside. The roads were narrow, with hedgerows and fields stretching either side. “Where are we going?”
“A place that’s special to me. It’s where I grew up.”
“You grew up out here?”
“Yes. My dad made us live almost completely off-grid. He homeschooled me and worked for himself. We had a generator for power and a compost toilet.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Wow. That sounds like a pretty alternative lifestyle. It’s amazing you turned out so... normal.”
“Normal?” She gave a strange kind of laugh. “I don’t feel normal. I feel like I’m a different species to everyone else.”
“I’ve been feeling the same way being out on the streets.”
She glanced away from the road, and they met each other’s eyes. Joe felt that same jolt of recognition he’d had at the soup kitchen. Were they the same kind of person?
The sunlight seemed to make all the colours of the countryside brighter, the blue of the sky more intense, the patchwork greens of the fields more vibrant. Sheep and cows dotted the green. The bushes and trees lush with vegetation, insects narrowly missing the windscreen. The tweet and twitter of birds flitting between the trees. The car had no air-conditioning, so they drove with the windows down and the wind whipping their hair from their faces.
Joe did feel normal, for once. Like he used to. He allowed himself to relax a fraction, even though he still didn’t know where they were going. It didn’t matter. He was out of the city and with a woman who fascinated him and who didn’t seem to care about the dirty clothes or a split lip.