Cornwall 2016
‘Come on, Jack, for goodness’ sake; have you seen the time?’ How many times do I utter this statement? I wonder.
‘Yeah; I know, I’m coming!’
‘No, you’re not, though, are you? Else I wouldn’t need to shout. I’ll see you in the car. I’ll turn it around, ready to go.’
Moments later, Jack shoots down the path towards me, his huge sports bag bouncing off his back. I catch myself at how grown up he suddenly appears; as if when he hit fourteen, he fell asleep as my little boy, then changed to a lad overnight. He gives me a big teasing grin; he understands it will prevent me from having a go for taking his time. He opens the back door, hurls his bags across the seat, then slams the door, making me wince. At the same time his mobile catapults, landing in the footwell of the back seat. I reach back for it.
‘It’s fine, Mum; I’ll get it,’ he says, all too quickly. As lovable as Jack is, he’d normally have me bending in all positions to pick things up for him. Old habits die hard.
‘Okay. I was just trying to help.’ I glance at him eagerly twisting back for it. ‘Stroppy pants.’
‘Yeah, it’s okay. I’m on it. Thanks.’
Catastrophe over, he pulls the sun visor down, adjusting his hair in the mirror.
‘It’s fine; looks gorgeous, in fact.’
He pans it back. ‘What?’
‘Your hair – looks great. Don’t worry.’
He relaxes in his seat and smiles. ‘Yeah, whatever, Mum.’
‘Did you pull the door to properly, and shut the gate?’
‘Yeah, I did. What’s the big deal with the gate? You never used to bother shutting it, before.’ I take my eyes from the road to observe his almost defiant eyes. ‘Anyway, Allan’s bound to leave it open when he drops the post, so what’s the point?’
I have no right to challenge him. ‘I know, just feel better with it closed.’ I notice his tensed fists. ‘You’re right, no big deal.’
The mood instantly changes in the car, away from light, normal school-run banter to a feeling of something heavier. But then what did I expect, given the recent revelations? I don’t know how to tell Jack about last night, but I’m going to have to, later maybe. In the end, I stuffed the second envelope into the wooden chest in the kitchen. Why didn’t I set it alight on the fire instead? I remained awake for most of the night, moving between moments of sheer fear to red-hot anger; then an overwhelming sadness. When are Jack and I going to be allowed to move on?
‘You okay?’ I squint at him.
‘Yeah, think so.’ He looks straight ahead. ‘Are you?’
‘Yes, of course I am.’ I feel his eyes on me, looking for clues. ‘It’s going to be okay, Jack. Everything will be okay.’ Who am I trying to convince?
I can tell he’s psyching himself up, as he used to as a small child. ‘Will it, though, Mum?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ What a stupid question – what is wrong with me?
‘You know why. I’m not stupid, you know.’
‘I know you’re not. Anything but.’ He looks out of the window as I reach for his clenched fist. ‘We’ve talked about this. We just need to be vigilant, you know, be sensible. That’s all.’
‘Right, so that’s normal, isn’t it?’
‘What? Being sensible?’
‘No, having to be vigilant. I’m fourteen, but I can’t go anywhere alone. We live in Cornwall – it’s supposed to be safe, you said. All my friends will think I’m a freak! No, sorry, Seb, can’t meet you at the beach, because Mum isn’t here to hold my hand and walk me down. No, sorry, Jake, can’t meet you in Truro because it would mean walking to the bus stop alone, then travelling on a bus alone! Yeah, that’s not weird at all!’ He sighs loudly. The pain in his eyes does not go unnoticed.
‘I know, Jack, I know. I’m sorry. But it’s only for the time being. Just until—’
‘For the time being, okay, so how long is that going to be? And then what? What’s he going to do? What are we going to do? Shouldn’t we talk to the police? Isn’t this what normal people would do?’
‘No, Jack. No, we can’t do that, not yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘First of all, we’ve nothing to go on.’ I think about this, as it’s not quite true: I have the certificates and the other envelope; not to mention the other stuff. But it still doesn’t prove unquestionably they were from him. I don’t have any proof he’s been stalking us. To the police, he hasn’t actually done anything wrong. Yet. ‘Look, it’s not that simple, take it from me. Going on past experience, the police only want to know if you’ve hard evidence. Suspicion and observations are simply not enough, Jack. It’s wrong, I know, but they only get involved once a crime has been committed.’
‘Smart, so he has to kill us first. Great!’
‘Jack, don’t say that! It’s not what I meant. That’s not going to happen. Don’t say such horrible things.’ My stomach flips. He’s right, though. How can it be that my child is even having to think in this manner? It’s happening again, the feeling of not being able to protect him, against all my most basic instincts.
‘Come on, Mum, we both know what he’s capable of. Or have you forgotten?’
I’m a little taken aback, as Jack doesn’t know the half of your behaviour. He was too young, yet his words tell me otherwise. Could he have been digging, researching? I’ve blatantly avoided doing the same. Stuck my head in the proverbial sand, pretending ignorance is bliss. Perhaps Jack now understands more than I do. His mobile bleeps; he turns it over to read the screen. Like a paranoid mother, I instinctively lean over to take a look.
He moves the mobile out of view. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Who is it?’
‘What?’
‘The message, who’s it from?’ What am I doing? Invading his privacy, like some kind of controlling mother.
‘What’s wrong with you? It’s just a Snapchat. Why do you want to know? Jesus!’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosey. I’m just worried about you. You’d tell me, wouldn’t you… you know, if you knew anything?’
He nods and turns to look out of the window.
The car fills with an uncomfortable silence. This is how you get under our skin. You’re not even here, yet still creating tension. Don’t let him in, Eve; you’re better than this.
I take Jack’s white-knuckled fist and squeeze. ‘Unclench your hand, Jack.’
‘What?’
‘Unclench your hand. It’s bad for you.’ He straightens out his hand without argument but returns to look out of the window. ‘I’m sorry. We’ll sort this out, just give me some time to think about how best to handle it.’
‘Okay.’ He nods. A mishmash of love and hatred burns through my gut. Someone give me a knife, a chance to stab you slowly over and over.
Half an hour later, I make my way to the multistorey car park in Truro, having dropped Jack off at school. Right on cue, as I leave the concrete blot, it begins to spit. A glance upwards informs me it’s a passing shower; I scurry into the small coffee shop for a shot of caffeine and wait. I place myself in the window, cradling a double black Espresso, to watch the world go by.
I don’t feel like clinic today – too much buzzing in my mind – except I’m booked up, including a trip to see Milly again. She’s just eleven years old. Her mum’s boyfriend is the local pot dealer, by all accounts. Recruiting children as young as and including Milly to sell his wares. Offering her freebies as payment. What initially gave her an enormous high sent her crashing, stretching her right-brain imagination into the frightening land of paranoia. Her way to escape was to descend into the dark world of self-harm. With a little help from the world of elusive hashtags and manipulative emojis.
I wince further at the recall of the certificates I received last night. You haven’t changed; I sense you feeling hard done by. Betrayed and forsaken by your son and wife. You blame me. You will never grasp the truth, an even further distortion of the imagination, this time held captive by the left-side dictator. You are dangerous.
A deep Cornish voice breaks my thought. ‘A penny for them!’ he says, tapping my shoulder as he shuffles by with his stick. You wouldn’t want to know, really. I smile back at him. The rain begins to ease so I prepare to make a run for clinic. But I’m momentarily stalled in the doorway as I spot the familiar figure, casually strolling in the fading shower, running his hands through damp hair. Before turning to deliberate the steps, one by one, missing the first. William Adams? Yes, I’m sure it is; I’ve his image implanted in my mind’s eye. Why is he going in there? The Truro counselling place? How strange.
A minute later, I walk past the entrance, to confirm I’ve the correct building. Why would he be visiting there, when he’s already booked in with me? Has he switched? Thought I was useless? Given my state of mind during our appointment, this wouldn’t be difficult to believe. There’s something peculiar about this man. Am I simply reading too much into it? After all, he didn’t leave his contact details, so maybe he did think I wasn’t up to the job. But there’s more to this than meets the eye, I’m sure of it. I walk on by for now, but I’ll return later. Besides, professionally I should know if he is seeing someone else at the same time as me. After all, we could undo each other’s work, a conflict of interests. I know the practitioners fairly well here; it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.
My morning’s appointments pass slowly. A fear of flying and an antidote of exposure therapy via guided imagery. A teenager who is bombing out of school, another victim to a boarding routine. A further OCD case; why is this becoming so prevalent? Is it a case of clutching at control in an increasingly insecure society? Finally, a case of domestic abuse. Should I simply relay my story? Don’t wait, get out now, there is no such thing as an ideal time to leave. Don’t play the game, just get out; and especially if you have children.
I pull up outside the GP surgery in Mevagissey to see Milly, wondering how she will be today. I had an interesting phone call with her mum in between appointments earlier. Circumspectly, stepped my way through it. Was she aware of her boyfriend’s antics? Of Milly’s involvement? I could very easily have made matters worse for Milly too. It makes me shudder to think this is even possible, but it is. Turns out, her mum was aware of her boyfriend’s pot-dealing, just not that her daughter has been sucked in. Milly isn’t aware of her mum’s knowledge; it is for me to encourage her to open up to mum. The boyfriend will hopefully be gone by tonight, probably move back to his own residence, the pot hole.
I watch Milly as we talk. She’s warmer today, not so wary of me, talking openly about her week. She’s listened to me, and has managed to abstain from harming herself, relaying how she’s used other distraction techniques, as we’d discussed. I’m praying this wasn’t the weed.
‘The thing is, Milly, it’s a lot tougher to struggle through this alone.’
‘I have you,’ she says.
‘You do. But, I mean, at home, it’s tough when you’re at home, to feel alone with things.’
She regards her feet and shrugs.
‘It’s even more sad, Milly, because you’re not alone. You have mum.’
‘Used to,’ she says.
‘Has mum told you you’re not to go to her with your problems?’
‘No. Not as such.’
‘Has mum changed towards you in any way?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘So, why do you think you don’t have her any more, to talk to?’
‘Not sure, just don’t.’
‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but… is it you who has changed maybe? What with everything you’ve been going through. Is it perhaps this bully in your head, the very same telling you to harm yourself to feel better – is it this, telling you not to go to mum?’
She looks at me, eyes slightly bloodshot. ‘I don’t know,’ she says.
‘From what I understand, mum would prefer to know; whatever it is frightening you, upsetting you, she would want to know. This bully will be weaker against the two of you.’ I watch as her eyes glisten. A gentle knocking on the door prompts me. ‘It’s mum – she’s waiting outside now. Can we let her in, Milly?’
Burdened eyes look back at me. She nods.
*
Ruan watches me as I run back into the clinic, dumping my briefcase, belting up my coat. ‘Hey, where you off to in such a hurry?’
‘I need to pop to the counselling place across the road. Do you want anything while I’m out? Sandwich? Pasty?’
‘Mmm, tough one. Go on, then, since you asked so nicely, pasty, please. Why the counselling place? Thinking of booking yourself in?’ He grins.
Much truth said in jest, Ruan. You probably think I should. ‘Yes, actually, I am.’ His smile disappears as quickly as it arrived.
‘Oh, bum. Sorry, Eve, wasn’t thinking.’
I smile at his awkwardness. ‘What do you think? Can you really see me, of all people, attending counselling? It would be an extremely quiet session – can you imagine?’
‘Ha, I did wonder. Thought you’d finally lost it.’ He genuinely looks relieved.
‘I won’t be long, just something I need to check on, for a client, that’s all.’ I reach out for the front door. ‘Ruan?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You didn’t put a hand-addressed envelope in my briefcase, did you?’ I find myself studying his face for a guilt-ridden reaction. I don’t want to; I can’t help it.
‘An envelope? Nope, no, not me. Why? Wait, do you mean the one from last night, when we were with you?’
‘No, a different one, not related.’ He genuinely appears perplexed. ‘No big deal; just found something in my briefcase, not sure how it got there. I wasn’t sure if you’d slipped it in for me.’
‘No, not guilty. Could it have been Bea? What was it?’
I open the door. ‘Nothing, really, don’t worry about it. I won’t be long.’ Why don’t you tell him? He knows more or less what’s going on – why the secrecy now? Are you really beginning to mistrust those closest to you? Haven’t you just pulled Milly on this? Do I have any choice though?
I bustle down Lemon Street on a mission, take a left turn through the quaint indoor market, breathing in deeply as the smell of sweet garlic engulfs me. A few moments later, I reach the pedestrianised street of terraced houses, standing in line like soldiers. Such a pretty cut-through. I rush up the steps and through the door of the counselling place.
‘Hi, Maggie, how are you?’ She looks up from her salad in a plastic bowl. ‘Sorry, I’m interrupting your lunch,’ I say to the receptionist.
‘No, lovely. Not at all. I’m well, how are you? Not used to seeing you in here.’ She looks a little muddled, worried she’s forgotten something pre-arranged.
‘Yes, all good,’ I lie. ‘Busy, you know how life is.’ She nods, taking another forkful. ‘I need a word with someone about a possible mutual client. Who’s in today, Maggie?’
‘Oh, I see.’ She stands and moves towards the clinic diary. ‘Yes, now, then, Dr Willow’s here. Steven, the acupuncturist, he’s in. Just a minute.’ She puts her glasses on and moves her finger down the list in front of her. ‘Lara Maidwell, Dr Burns and David, the physio, they’re in, oh, and sorry, Susie Hammond, she’s in too. That’s it until later, Eve.’
‘Okay.’ Who would he be likely to see? Maybe he’s here to see the acupuncturist or the physiotherapist and I’ve got this all wrong. ‘Hmm, it’s difficult because I need to talk to whoever it is seeing this mutual client, I’m just not sure who it would be.’
‘Oh, quite, yes, that is difficult. Can you give me a name?’ Can I? Is this ethical, confidentiality and all that? Yes, because there could be a conflict of interests here, and something is definitely odd about all this.
‘I can. It’s a William Adams.’
Her forehead forms confused lines. ‘William Adams? William Adams.’ She looks back through the diary.
‘It was today, Maggie, if it helps. This morning, he was here this morning.’ She nods, still searching the page. ‘William Adams, William Adams. No, Eve love, can’t have been. We don’t have a William Adams.’ She looks me in the eye. ‘The name certainly doesn’t ring a bell with me either. I’ve been here all morning too.’
I was not mistaken; it was definitely him.
‘That’s so strange. The thing is, I saw him this morning, walking into your reception. I know I did.’
‘Really? Yes, how strange.’ She looks back at her list, puzzled. ‘But I was the only one here this morning. I’d remember his name, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, of course you would, you’re right. Look, don’t worry about it.’ I can’t push her any further; it’s as though I’m doubting her. Maybe I did get it wrong – wouldn’t be the first time. My stressed brain is beginning to bail on me.
‘What does he look like, love?’
I picture him from this morning. ‘Six-footish, dark hair, quite distinguished, nicely spoken, quite well built. Oh, and he was wearing black jeans, tan trainer-like shoes and a navy bomber-style jacket?’
Her face lights up. ‘Now then, that rings a bell; a nice man, pleasant he was, didn’t want to sit down though. Had a problem with his legs, I believe. Yes, I remember him. Yes, he’s been here before too.’
Bingo. I move closer. ‘Thank goodness, thought I was seeing things.’ I laugh. ‘Who did he come to see, then? I could do with having a word with them, please.’
‘Yes, okay, love, but just a minute because his name wasn’t William Adams.’ She looks up as footsteps move down the stairs behind us. ‘Oh, Susie, good timing.’ Maggie looks from Susie to me. ‘It was Susie who saw this man. It’s her you need to talk to.’ Maggie nods towards Susie, who’s looking thrown. ‘You know the man you saw for your first appointment this morning? Eve needs a word about him.’ She taps her nose, making me smile.
‘My first appointment, yes, I know who you mean.’ She smiles at me. ‘Eve, lovely to see you. What is this? What do you need to talk to me about?’ She joins us in Reception.
‘Sorry about this. I was just asking Maggie about a mutual client we have, apparently. Do you have a moment?’
‘Sure, come through.’ We walk into a freezing cold side room; I can’t help but shiver.
‘So, it’s to do with the gentleman I saw this morning?’ I remember now how prim and proper she is, and feel a little bad for putting her on the spot.
‘Hmm.’ I run through the description again for Susie’s acknowledgment. ‘I don’t wish to know any specifics, obviously, it’s just, he didn’t tell me he was seeing you, during our appointment. I mean, perhaps he was meeting several people, checking who he felt he could work with best. But it’s just mine was a very specific referral. Look, I’ve a gut feeling something is not right here, is what I’m trying to say.’
‘I see. Well, he didn’t mention to me he was seeing anyone for anything either. He certainly didn’t mention being referred. But perhaps he’s seeing us for different reasons?’
‘Yes, that’s possible, of course.’ After all, counselling alone may not satisfy his trauma-related issues. ‘But the odd thing is, when I mentioned his name to Maggie, she told me it wasn’t the name you had for him.’
Susie raises her eyebrows. ‘Really? What name do you have, then?’
‘William Adams. This was the name on the referral too.’
She shakes her head. ‘No, that’s not right. No. Are we sure we’re talking about the same man?’
I ignore her; my instincts tell me we definitely are. ‘So what name did he book under with you?’
‘In confidence, Eve?’
‘Of course.’ I nod, the suspense killing me.
‘Gregg. Gregg Austin.’
Dear God. I was not expecting this. My legs wobble as adrenaline rips through my body. No, no, no. How can this be so? I’m sure Susie is speaking to me, but my ears can only hear humming.
‘Eve?’ I hear. ‘Eve. Are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?’
I can’t get the words out; I want to curl into a ball on the floor. Is this some kind of sick joke? Why does he call himself Gregg Austin? My mind is frantically running through the details. What have I missed?
Susie gently takes my arm. ‘What is it, Eve? What’s wrong? I thought you knew him already?’
‘I do,’ I manage. ‘Well, clearly, I don’t. I don’t know anything about him.’ I take Susie’s arm. ‘What did he come to see you for?’ It’s worth a try.
‘Come on, you know I can’t divulge this!’
‘No. No, sorry, I know you can’t. I shouldn’t have asked.’ At least this means he can’t have told her he’s about to commit murder on behalf of the person he claims to be. She would have been ethically bound to tell me then.
Moments later, I wander back through Truro, distracted by the cobbles I repeatedly wedge my heels between. Why do I wear such stupid shoes?
So much information rattling through my mind, so many disjointed facts and uncertainties. I can’t figure it out. Only one thing is for sure: whatever his game is, this William Adams, or whoever he is, he’s telling lies and he knows you. But how well does he know you? Has he been sent by you? Is this, then, the shadow that has been following me? Is he the bearer of unwanted gifts too? Absent-mindedly, I accidentally bounce off someone lurking in the street. ‘Sorry,’ we both mutter. She looks at me, a face overwhelmed by gigantic sunglasses, despite the clouds. She turns quickly from me, in a knowing way. An ex-client maybe? She does look vaguely familiar. She totters off in a hurry, before turning to look back once more.
My thoughts return to William Adams. The more I think about it, you never used to relish getting your hands dirty, did you? You thought you were above it, too clever, but it makes you a coward in my eyes. So have you sent me William? To follow me, frighten me and begin to break me down, before your grand finale? I wouldn’t put anything past you. I can’t afford to.
Who are you, William Adams? And what do you know?