Читать книгу Double Entry - Margaret McKinlay - Страница 9

CHAPTER 3

For John, who knew nothing of the drama at Sentinel, the weekend passed quickly, but apart from the underlying uneasiness about the incident in his office, he now had a new problem to face and he needed space to think. So on that Monday morning he slipped out early while it was still dark, dressed in an old jogging suit that he kept at Gwen’s. He had long ago discovered that once his feet found a rhythm he could shut everything out except the thing he wanted to concentrate on.

It was too dark to take to the open country so he ran in the streets, on pavements that were gritted against the ice and at first he found it hard going. He was out of condition and the cold air nipped at his face and ears but as his body warmed, the stiffness eased and he began to relish the sheer exhilaration of running again.

He let the rhythm take over and turned his thoughts to the conversation he’d had the previous evening with his sister.

After David was in bed, Gwen had dropped her bombshell.

‘We need to talk,’ she said. And John thought that she was going to raise the old theme of ‘after seven years, wasn’t it time he thought of re-marrying?’

She was seventeen when their parents disappeared on a sailing holiday, seven years older than he was, and she’d assumed the rôle of mother figure. John suspected that she resented Rees taking that authority away from her at the time but there was nothing she could have done about it. So now at thirty-nine, she still sometimes tried to set his life to rights. They’d been over the question of marriage several times although she’d never gone as far as asking if he was celibate. Maybe that was on the agenda this time? But he was wrong.

‘It’s about David,’ she said, and immediately John felt a familiar twinge of guilt. Gwen had taken David into her home when he was a baby of four weeks old and at that time John had felt nothing more than relief. For the first years he’d been content to be a visiting father, but gradually guilt had replaced the relief and as if she could read his thoughts, Gwen spoke gently.

‘My own three are settled in boarding-school and Greg wants me to sell up here and join him in Aberdeen. He’s tired of us being separated for weeks on end and the move wouldn’t make any difference to our boys. They’d come to us in the holidays as usual, but David’s a different matter. We feel …’ she hesitated. ‘Greg says I should ask you if you want to make a home for David.’

‘Mm.’ John let his breath out in a long sigh and Gwen quickly went on.

‘He could always board like my three, or be a day boy. There’s no rush to decide,’ she said anxiously. ‘And to be honest I’ll weep buckets because he’s like my own son. Greg is right, though—it has to be your decision.’

He hadn’t expected this. Somehow the future had stretched ahead much the same as it was now, with David growing up happily with Gwen.

‘I don’t know anything about being a father,’ he said, which was very true. ‘And David is always so polite that I feel more like his uncle—you must have noticed how he is with me. Wouldn’t it turn his life upside down to move him now?’

‘The only alternative is to take him to Aberdeen,’ she reminded him, and John knew he didn’t want that. It wasn’t fair on Gwen for a start, but he realized that he didn’t like the idea of not seeing his son regularly either.

‘Maybe you should ask him,’ Gwen said. ‘I know he’s only seven but he may know exactly what he wants.’

John had looked around the comfortable room which was almost shabby in its comfort. Gwen had never been interested in smart décor and the furniture showed the knocks of rough handling by four growing boys. The bungalow had an acre of garden that was trampled by football and rugby, and Gwen herself had the comfortable roundness that came from a contented life, while he had a small flat and no idea of how to be a father to a seven-year-old boy.

‘Just think about it,’ his sister urged. She didn’t nag, although in the past she had made it plain that she despaired of the way he’d lost all impetus in life after his wife was killed. It had been very easy for him to take each day as it came, letting others make the decisions.

Lights were coming on in the houses of the little market town. A milk-float hummed by and some early commuters quietly left their homes, closing doors on families still asleep. The world was waking up as he headed back to breakfast, his breath streaming out in a condensed cloud while sweat trickled down inside his tracksuit.

He would have to look for a house, he’d decided, and home help. He couldn’t provide all that Gwen hoped for—certainly not a mother-figure, and that was the one aspect that she hadn’t mentioned. Maybe she knew of the existence of Clare Aitken and the unconventional affair that had lasted for three years, and guessed that in that respect he had a different problem.

How would Clare react to having a young child thrust into their lives? What difference was it going to make? He had no idea. And how did you ask your son if he’d like to live with you when you’d never been able to reach out to hug him? There were no rough and tumble games, no physical contact at all—David never even reached for his hand when they were out together. The years of partial separation had put a barrier between them and he didn’t know how to cross it. In the last few years, when fatherly feelings had finally come to the surface, he admitted to himself that he’d been afraid that his child would flinch away from him and had even felt jealous when he saw how easy the relationship was between David and Greg. Greg had been the natural father-figure and perhaps David had become confused by the two male adults in his life. Who could blame him?

Gwen was grilling bacon. He could smell it as he went up the path of the house and the juices ran in his mouth.

‘I’ll have a quick shower,’ he said, popping his head around the kitchen door and she nodded. She knew where he’d been, and why.

‘You know, David has been asking questions lately,’ she said as they ate. ‘We’ve never made a secret of why he lives with us but he’s obviously been thinking about it. And little boys don’t miss much.’

‘Does he talk about Trish as well?’

‘Of course. He has photographs of her and I know he talks to his grandfather about her.’

‘Gumley won’t be able to tell him much,’ John said angrily. ‘He hardly saw anything of Trish after his wife walked out on him.’

‘Maybe the old man has forgotten those days. You only remember the bits you want to remember.’

John pushed away his plate. Gwen didn’t know all of Albert Gumley’s background and she tended to see good in everyone. He changed the subject.

‘I’ll have a talk with David before I go—I had intended leaving right after lunch but we’ll see how it goes.’

‘I heard the forecast and it isn’t good. There’s snow sweeping down from the north,’ she said as she got up to clear the table and John went to look at the heavy sky.

‘How much film have you got left?’ he asked David later. It turned out that most of the spare spools that he’d bought to go with the camera had been used up, so they walked to the shops to buy more and to put the others in to be developed. And as they walked, David skipped ahead with the camera hanging from a strap around his wrist. His legs were long and out of proportion to the rest of his body, showing that he might one day match his father’s height, and he had John’s dark colouring.

There was hardly any physical resemblance to his mother, but he had a lot of her mannerisms: her easy laughter, a way of tilting his head when he was thinking, and sudden spells of quietness when nothing could distract him from what he was doing. And he had Trish’s eye for detail and colour; John realized that it was only lately that he’d even noticed that his wife lived on in their son. And he’d felt cheated. They could have had a proper family life if a drunk hadn’t driven up on to the pavement …

‘David, Aunty Gwen and I were wondering if you’d like to go to school with your cousins,’ he said as they walked back to the house. David didn’t seem surprised by the question and he even paused to zip up his camera bag carefully.

‘Joseph asked me that in the summer holidays but I didn’t know if you’d let me,’ he said with a shrug.

‘What made you think that?’

David looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘Because then you’d have no one to visit except Uncle Rees.’ He chewed the inside of his cheek before going on and his expression was quite serious. ‘But Joe thought you probably had lots of friends in Edinburgh.’

The fact that his son had discussed it all with his cousin and considered he might be lonely made John feel guiltier than ever. He didn’t know his son at all.

‘I do have friends but I’d like to know how you feel about the school—whether you’d like to live in a house with me, or board with the boys.’

‘Would your house have a garden? Grandfather promised to buy me a puppy for Christmas.’

Again Albert Gumley intruded on a conversation and John cursed the man. ‘Does he still phone you regularly?’ he asked and David nodded.

‘But he sounds awful sick. Will we be going to see him at Christmas?’

‘I expect so.’ The visiting days had been stipulated and agreed to when Gumley gave up his fight for custody of his grandson. Not that he’d had a chance in hell of winning, but the old man liked to make trouble and in the end John had agreed to take David on regular visits to keep the peace. Anyway, David seemed to like the old man. And in the future there would be the problem of David inheriting the old man’s wealth; when the time came it would be up to John to explain where Gumley’s money had come from.

‘Let’s go to the garage to look at some cars,’ David said suddenly. He’d never thought much of the ones from Kramer’s that John drove. And for the next half-hour they admired the selection that filled the large window space, with prices that would buy a small family home. David pressed his nose against the glass and pointed out details that showed he knew the various makes.

For a while John forgot the problems of the future, of telling Clare that he was about to be a real father. In rare companionship he and David discussed the merits of each model until it came home to him that other fathers had moments like this every day. But they hadn’t abandoned their sons when they were only weeks old …

A few snowflakes drifted down as they walked back towards the bungalow, with the matter of boarding-school apparently settled. And suddenly David pointed. ‘Those men are breaking into your car,’ he said, running ahead of John with his arms pumping like mad.

‘Wait, David!’ John shouted, but his son didn’t pause. He reached the men seconds before John and was brushed roughly aside by a man standing beside the open boot. The other man was looking back at John and at the same time edging towards another car parked in front of his own. John ignored both of them and reached instead for David who had fallen heavily to the pavement. He heard the sound of their running feet and the engine of their car start up, but was more concerned about the trickle of blood on David’s forehead. Only later did it occur to him that they were hardly the types to own a BMW.

‘They’re getting away,’ David said, his body stiff with the desire to get free to chase them again, but John held him tightly against his chest.

‘There’s nothing worth stealing, son,’ he said. His heart was thudding with the shock of how quickly it had all happened and the fact that David could have been seriously hurt instead of suffering only a graze.

Gwen was equally shocked that it could happen in their quiet street and John knew what she meant. A strange car would stand out and the street was a dead end with only a row of bungalows on the edge of the village. There was no passing traffic, no temptation to attract car thieves. She reached up to inspect David’d injury but he drew back and put his free arm around his father’s neck.

‘We could have chased them in your car,’ he murmured, then he leaned back and grinned. ‘But I don’t suppose we’d have caught them.’

‘Neither do I,’ John agreed. ‘Let’s forget it. Kramer’s can afford a new lock for the boot.’ They went in to eat lunch with David still clasping John’s neck tightly, a new experience that John felt might be the turning-point for him and David, but Gwen was keen to phone the police.

‘These things happen,’ John told her. ‘I didn’t get a good look at them or think to note the number of their car.’ That was true, but not the real reason why he was not keen on calling the police.

He was vaguely uneasy that this incident should come so soon after an intruder had entered his office and he wanted to discuss it all with Tollis.

Flurries of snow continued on and off during the afternoon but by four it was getting very dark and John decided it would be wise to leave before the weather got any worse. Gwen was satisfied that the question of David’s future was settled and John could see that already her thoughts were busy with the move to join Greg in Aberdeen.

She and David stood in the doorway to see him off and he lifted a hand in farewell as the snow fell like a curtain between them. It also hid the car that slipped out of a side road to fall in behind him as he left Biggar, driving with a treacherous inch of snow on top of ice under his wheels.

On the radio he got boys with falsetto voices singing carols, but no weather report, so he switched it off and noted the flash of the headlights of a car behind him. It disappeared now and then as the road twisted around the bends but it appeared to be keeping at a safe distance. John let his thoughts drift to Clare Aitken. He should have phoned her over the weekend but what he had to discuss would need to be face to face.

He wondered what Tollis would have to say about the men forcing the boot of his car—in the wrong place at the wrong time? Surely it was too much of a coincidence that he should twice be the victim of small-time crooks in a short space of time? Yet logic told him that it was probably the case.

There was very little traffic on the road and he was making good time despite the appalling conditions. The snow was a blizzard now, driving at his windscreen like a swarm of angry bees, but he should make Edinburgh with plenty of time to bathe and change before nipping up to Clare’s flat.

He was blinded suddenly by the flash of full headlights in his mirror and he inched over to let the driver pass him. Idiot, trying to speed in this weather, but the other car didn’t pass. Instead it sat on his tail for a mile and then again indicated that it was overtaking by drawing alongside. John slowed, glancing angrily across at the other vehicle, but to his surprise the passenger seemed to be making motions that he should pull over. It was difficult to be sure because the car’s side window was caked with snow, so he slowed further. The other car matched the manœuvre and edged closer still, almost forcing John on to the verge.

‘What the hell does he think he’s doing?’ John accelerated and got his nose in front. ‘And I’m staying here, mate,’ he muttered. If the other madman fancied meeting a car coming the other way that was his lookout.

The other car fell back but not far and soon John could see it edging up on him again. The passenger was making urgent signals that he should pull over, pointing at the verge and mouthing words that could not be heard. And suddenly John recognized the anger in the expression, which was the same as on the face of the man who had pushed David out of his way earlier that day.

‘Christ,’ he said. Then he was at a side road, almost went past it, but managed to spin the wheel at the last moment. The car lunged from side to side until he got it back under control and then he was heading down a narrow road to God knows where, but the other car was still on the main road and for the moment he had got away from it. Relief was short-lived as he wondered if it would double back and come after him. What the hell had they wanted from him?

He tried to get his breathing under control while keeping an eye on his mirror at the same time. The verges rose steeply on each side of the road and long spikes of vegetation poked through the snow covering. The fence posts that ran along the top had little caps of snow. The roads’s lower level meant it was more sheltered and the blizzard had eased somewhat but even so it was difficult to see where he was heading.

Still no sign of following headlights and he began to think he’d got away from them. He looked for lights or other signs of habitation, but then the road began to bend to the right and the verge on his left gave way to trees with a dark area below them that the snow had not managed to penetrate.

‘It’s got to go somewhere,’ he muttered, looking for a clutch of cottages or a farm. What he really hoped for was a hamlet with a pub, a glass of Scotch and a warm fire, a haven in fact. He admitted to being scared and out of his depth in something that he didn’t understand.

The road was still going around a long bend and his neck felt stiff with the tension of peering forward. Still trees on his left and the high bank on his right, with no sign of life anywhere. He glanced in his mirror and with a lurch of his heartbeat he saw the other car coming up fast without lights. It didn’t slow at all and suddenly he was thrown forward against his seat-belt as it rammed him. His car went into a skid that he managed to control but then the other car was coming again. This time he was tense with the expectation of it and the shock of the collision jolted his neck.

They were no longer asking him to pull over, they were ordering him to stop or else, but the choice was no longer his to make.

The last collision had caught the rear of his car at an angle and it was now swinging slowly out of control towards the dark area under the trees. He hit a tree which stopped the skid with a sickening jolt, but now he was going over a drop backwards and it was like being swallowed as the bonnet came up and the back end fell into space. The sound of crumbling metal was still in his ears when he bounced off another tree and he flung his arms up around his head.

They couldn’t have meant this to happen, John was thinking illogically. They had wanted his wallet, not his death; more muscle than brain, damn them whoever they were. His body was jerked savagely as he bounced off trees and he felt his teeth bite into his lip and tasted blood. The noise was of screeching metal, branches being torn from trees, and the thud of his heartbeat was in his throat and threatening to choke him. Something came loose in the car and struck him on the forehead but he felt no pain. His main concern was how far would he fall? Would he survive?

He lost all sense of direction as the car was buffeted from one direction to another at the whim of the trees in its path. His jaw was clenched tight as were his eyes, and his face ached with the grimace of terror.

There was a pause and the car began to move forward now, angled steeply downwards, and he knew he had to see what lay ahead. He looked through his arms and saw that, incredibly, his headlights were still working. Then he wished he hadn’t looked, because dead ahead was the branch of a tree, coming at the windscreen like a spear.

‘Oh, fuck …’