Читать книгу The Family Man: An edge-of-your-seat read that you won’t be able to put down - T.J. Lebbon - Страница 16

For the final few normal hours of her life, Emma followed a familiar routine.

‘Hurry up, you’ll be late for school!’

‘Okay, Mum.’

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to Daisy humming along to something on her iPod. Every school morning was the same, and every morning her daughter was out of the door with seconds to spare. It was only her second week back in school following the summer holidays, but it seemed that this final year in primary school would be the same.

‘Come on! I’ve got to get ready myself, yet.’

‘Chill pill, Mum.’ Daisy appeared at the top of the stairs. Short and slight like Emma, but also possessing her mother’s athletic build and love of sports, Dom always said that Daisy was going to be a heartbreaker.

‘What?’ Daisy asked as she hurried downstairs.

‘You’re gorgeous.’

‘Like a princess?’

‘Gorgeouser.’

‘That’s not a word.’

‘It is. I’m your mummy and I say so.’

‘Mu-um!’ Daisy rolled her eyes. She hardly ever called Emma “mummy” any more, another milestone that had drifted by without them really noticing.

‘Got your homework and stuff for your art project?’

‘Yep.’

‘And you’ll walk straight home from school.’

‘No, I’ll go to town and go to the pub then go to the nightclub.’

‘And where’s my invitation?’

Daisy rolled her big blue eyes again. ‘Mu-um!’

‘Love you.’ Emma kissed her, opened the door, and watched the most precious thing in her world leave. She often watched Daisy down the driveway and along the street, knew she was embarrassed by it, but guessed that deep inside she also quite liked it.

Even so young, Daisy was quickly becoming her own person. She was growing into someone who made her parents intensely proud, but that couldn’t camouflage the sense that she was already leaving them.

Sometimes when Emma watched Daisy walking away, her heart ached.

She closed the front door and sighed. The house was suddenly silent, with no blaring music, hassled husband or singing daughter to stir the air. Emma didn’t really like the house this quiet. It sang with the ghosts of children unknown.

She had always wanted more than one child. It had taken three years of trying before Daisy was conceived, after being told by doctors that she would probably never have babies. They’d tried for another without success, and now in their early forties she and Dom were still leaving things to chance. But she felt her clock rapidly ticking, and she was resigned to their daughter being an only child.

Secretly, she was sure that Dom blamed her, probably because in her darkest moments she blamed herself. She hadn’t even known Dom in those wild few years she’d spent with Genghis Cant and Max Mort. He had been the steady rock further downstream in her future.

At the age of eighteen she’d fallen so easily into that life, attracted by the glamour of a touring band, the charisma of its lead singer, the carefree atmosphere and sense of freedom that came from being in a different town every week and a different country every couple of months. They’d never been huge, but they’d built a large enough fan base to enable them to tour constantly, make reasonable money from their regular albums, and buy and maintain a small tour bus.

This had been in a time before music was so easy to download for free, and album sales had been much healthier. Genghis Cant had played regular festivals in Germany, Holland and Denmark, and their touring had taken them as far afield as Greece.

Their bus had been called Valhalla. It became the centre of her life. She’d shared one of its bunks with Max for two years which she could now barely remember, and he had been more than willing to share his drink and drugs.

She’d once asked her doctor whether such intense substance abuse could have damaged her chances of motherhood. The doctor had only stared at her. She’d wanted to strike him, curse at him, because she didn’t believe it was his place to judge, however silently. He couldn’t acknowledge the way she’d pulled herself back up and out of that life. As quickly as she’d fallen she had risen again, hauled back home by her parents and then saved by Dom.

Those years were a blur now, a poor copy of a movie of someone else’s life. She still caught occasional glimpses, and sometimes in dreams she was there again, although viewed from the perspective of comfortable middle-age those times were more nightmarish than daring and revelatory.

She was happy to leave them as little more than vague memories. While she acknowledged that she was a product of her experiences, there were plenty she preferred not to dwell upon.

One thing she hadn’t lost, however, was her taste for guitar music.

After Dom left for work around seven thirty and Daisy was out of the door by eight fifteen she always had half an hour to herself to get ready for work. Today she chose Pearl Jam, washing and dressing to the evocative strains of Eddie Vedder. It was at these times, when she was alone listening to music, that she came closest to missing those old wild times.

After she locked the back door and went out to her car, she saw a Jeep blocking the end of the driveway. It was several years old, a Cherokee, white and mud-spattered, tinted windows. She didn’t recognise it, and she stared for a while, passing her keys from hand to hand and wondering what to do.

She pressed the button that unlocked her car. She could get in and reverse down the driveway, hoping that the driver would see and move aside. Or perhaps she should walk to the Jeep and knock on the window.

The tinted glass made it difficult to tell whether there was even anyone inside. The vehicle hadn’t been there when Daisy had left for school, so it must have pulled up while she was showering and dressing.

I left the back door unlocked, she thought, mildly troubled.

As she started striding along the driveway, the Jeep pulled smoothly away. Emma frowned, shrugged, jumped in her car and reversed out onto the road.

She waved to a couple of people she knew in the village as she passed by, then hit the main road. The radio news came on, and she was shocked once more by the post office slayings headline. Police were appealing for witnesses. A silver BMW had been found several miles away, but they were still searching for a white van and a red Ford. Narrows it down to about a million vehicles, she thought.

By the time Emma reached the college ten minutes later she’d forgotten all about the Jeep.

Emma enjoyed her job. It wasn’t a traditional career choice, and when some people heard what she did they occasionally frowned, as if wondering why anyone would actually want to be a Student Welfare Officer. But she loved people. She interacted with dozens each day, and she was well liked by the college staff and pupil population alike.

She had her own office with a small desk, a laptop, and a comfortable and informal area for when students wanted a heart-to-heart. She spent most of her time whilst in the office seated here, whether with a student or on her own. She even got to choose the furniture herself.

Dom earned more then her. But he worked far longer hours, and some days it was just him and Davey. He was a nice enough kid, but hardly a conversationalist.

Sometimes that suited Dom, because he was at home with his own company, but to Emma that was the idea of a nightmare. She was a sociable creature. Added to that the pressure exerted on Dom from running his own business – the invoicing, estimating, and other admin tasks that went with it – and her job was a breeze.

Emma spent that morning speaking with a couple of students who’d fallen heavily for each other and had an accident. Got carried away, forgot a condom. The boy seemed more embarrassed than the girl, but Emma had shrugged and said, That can happen to anyone. She was good at putting students at ease, however difficult the situation they brought to her, and her conversational manner always put them on the same level.

They’d left in a better frame of mind, with instructions to go to the doctor’s for a morning after pill, and after promising to ensure they used protection in future.

After that, an older student came for a chat about workload, and Emma listened while he talked. There wasn’t much she could offer, but he smiled and said that she’d helped a lot. He had long dreadlocks and piercings, and reminded her of Dog Bolton, the guitarist from Genghis Cant.

She decided to drive out to a local garden centre for lunch. The Hanging Garden had a fantastic cafe attached, and their quiche was legendary. She had no afternoon appointments, so she took her laptop, intending to spend a couple of hours after lunch catching up on some work emails and form-filling. The sun was blazing, they had a garden with shaded tables and several water fountains, and she was prepared for a warm, relaxing afternoon’s work.

Stepping out of the main college building, the heat really hit her. It was a true Indian summer.

She paused outside the revolving doors and took in a few breaths. Sweat prickled beneath her summery dress and across her nose. She squinted into the light, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed. She loved this weather much more than Dom, but after spending several hours indoors it always came as a shock.

Heat haze shimmered across the expansive college car park, blurring some of the vehicles parked in the distance. It rose from metal chassis as if every car had only just parked. Her car was halfway across in one of the staff areas, and as she neared it she saw the Jeep.

It was parked on the access road, idling, exhaust fumes hanging low and dense in the heavy air. Its nose was pointed towards the exit, rear end facing her. Sun glinted from its raised windows. Whoever was inside was taking advantage of the air conditioning.

She shielded her eyes, tried to make a point of standing still and looking. Was it the same vehicle? It was white, and she thought it was a Cherokee, but the heat haze made the air between them fluid, confusing shape and distorting sharp edges. It must have been a hundred metres away.

Emma walked a couple of steps and the Jeep crept ahead, very slowly.

She stopped. It stopped.

Shock pulsed through her chest. What is this? More disturbed than she wanted to let on, she turned her back on the Jeep and jumped into her own car. Starting quickly, she reversed and aimed in the opposite direction before glancing in the mirror. It was still there, still idling. She dropped into gear and moved away, heading for a maintenance exit at the far corner of the car park. It was a rough lane and not really for casual use, but some of the staff used it at busier times.

‘Stupid,’ she muttered, opening every window in an attempt to swish away some of the baked air inside. By the time the air conditioning fired up she’d be at The Hanging Garden, so she resigned herself to getting sweat-sticky.

Once out on the road, she found herself glancing in the mirror more than usual. She considered just why someone might be following her. She came up with nothing.

Occasionally a student became fixated on a teacher or other staff member, and once or twice she’d been involved in one of these cases in her professional capacity. But no one had been coming to see her more than usual; she’d noticed no undue attention. She was pretty sure none of the students who drove to college used an expensive vehicle like that. It was a few years old, but probably still worth twenty grand

‘Fucking stupid,’ she said, and talking to herself was a sign that the Jeep had truly unsettled her.

She drove faster than usual back into Usk, then through the town and out along the river. The roads were lunchtime- busy, but there was no sign of the Jeep. She considered calling Dom, but they rarely chatted during the day. A few texts sometimes, but casual chat was kept to a minimum. They were both busy, and there were no regular break times to catch up. Besides, what would she say to him?

Half a mile from the garden centre there were traffic lights. An area of road had been coned off and excavated, curls of blue pipework piled on the verge. No workmen were present. She stopped at the red light as cars passed from the opposite direction.

A supermarket delivery van pulled up behind her. The driver was singing, bobbing his head and performing as if no one else could see him. In her side mirror she could see back along the road, and a couple of other cars slowed behind them. Then a flash of white and the Jeep was there.

‘Shit,’ she muttered. This was crazy. Dom preparing to show her a new car he’d bought as a treat? No, that was unlikely, and throwing a surprise like this wasn’t like him. Besides, he’d had to leave early to get the dinked Focus fixed.

It was someone from the college coming for lunch, that was all. Usk was full of cafes and restaurants, but The Hanging Garden was picturesque and had great food, and was a firm favourite.

‘Different car,’ she said. ‘Get real, Jayne Bond.’ Sitting there in her idling car, the heat felt more oppressive than ever.

The lights turned green. She dropped into gear, and from behind she heard the heavy, angry roar of a vehicle accelerating. She’d pulled across the white line by the time the Jeep flashed past, missing her wing by inches.

‘Prick!’ She stamped on her brakes, jarring to a halt and readying for a crunch as the supermarket truck hit her from behind. There was no impact. The Jeep roared past the roadworks, then its brakes glared and smoke breathed from its wheels as it slewed across the road. Its back end slid around, almost embedding in the hedge. It rocked to a standstill.

Emma was panting. She glanced in her mirror at the cars behind.

The Jeep’s driver’s window powered down.

The man was staring right at her. He rested his left hand on the steering wheel, right elbow on the windowsill. He was expressionless, and even from this far away his eyes seemed to pierce to the heart of her. He was anywhere between forty and sixty, with masses of wild, curly, unkempt hair streaked with grey, and a big beard that filled his face and almost reached his chest. One finger of his left hand tapped the wheel, and she wondered what music he was listening to.

Emma rarely judged by appearances. The people she’d mixed with during her tumultuous early years had left her very open-minded, and in her day job she often met caring, sensitive and intelligent students with more art on their skin than a gallery, more metal in their faces than a robot. It was what existed on the inside that mattered.

This man scared her. He looked truly wild, but it was also in the way he stared. At her. There was nothing in his eyes, no expression on his face. No glimmer or hint of what he was thinking. Charles Manson eyes, she thought, no idea where the image came from.

He didn’t even appear to blink.

‘Motherfucker,’ Emma muttered. It was her favourite extreme curse-word. She drove forward, aimed directly at the Jeep fifty metres ahead. She had no intention of ramming it. She wasn’t really sure what she intended, but the man’s stare felt like an assault, and her aggressive reaction was pure instinct.

The Jeep straightened and powered away. The driver’s expression hadn’t changed at all as he looked away, and a second later he was out of sight. The Jeep was much faster than her car. Even so she followed faster than she should have, watching its tail end moving quickly ahead until it disappeared around a bend.

She slowed as she approached the bend a few seconds later, breathing a sigh of relief when she cleared it and there was no sign of the white vehicle.

Two minutes later, parking in The Hanging Garden’s car park and switching off the engine, she gripped the steering wheel and took several deep breaths. Her sweating wasn’t only due to the heat.

‘Just some nutter,’ she said. Then she shivered. Someone walked over my grave. It was a weird saying her mother used to use, and it had always spooked the hell out of her.

She pulled out her phone and called Dom.