Cornwall 2016
I stir with the smell of the sea; a lock of hair resting across my cheek. Images of me battling the elements, trying to make sense of the man in front of me, a mere stone’s throw from where the tide lapped, flashing through my mind. Over and over throughout an agitated sleep of a kind. It’s the white, dense fluff smothering me now. In the early hours of the morning, I recognised the man was you. All over again. The proverbial bad penny. I can’t afford to let you into my mind.
Later, I’m going to meet that man from the bench; try and get to the bottom of of who he is. How he knows you. What his business is with me. I’ll cancel my morning’s appointments, whatever they are. Last night, me and the bench man agreed to meet, at the café above Waterstones in Truro, impartial, but not conspicuous. Bustling, so safe. He told me, today he would explain things; but now I wonder, do I want to know? The cotton wool is closing me down; urging me to retreat into a ball. If it were not for Jack, maybe I would.
‘Mum?’ Jack’s just-woken squinty-eyed face appears in my doorway.
‘Hi,’ I manage.
‘You not getting up?’
Shouldn’t I be the one saying this? I drag myself limb by limb from the bed, only to sit on the edge. ‘I’m up,’ I say. ‘You want some breakfast?’ I hear myself; I’m normal in words, such a good actor. Just like you.
‘I’m on it, thanks; shall I make you a coffee?’ Christ, I must look bad.
‘Oh, go on, then, thanks, Jack, that would be lovely.’
He moves over and plonks himself down next to me, bouncing me on the bed. ‘Are you sure, Mum, about the meeting today? I mean, are you sure you should go? Shall I come with you, just in case? What if he’s a—?’
I laugh, and slap his leg. ‘You’ll do anything to have a day off school, won’t you?’ He grins at me, still not wide enough to hide his concern.
‘You know me. Seriously, though, I was thinking, I should come with you.’
‘No, Jack, really, there’s no need. It’s just a chat, that’s all.’
‘But what if—?’
‘No buts; it’s fine. I promise; we’re meeting in a very public place. Please, don’t worry. I’ll tell you all about it tonight. Besides, I already know him. Kind of.’ I don’t though, do I?
‘You always say you’ll tell me stuff, then you never do.’ I look at his troubled face. I’ve been so stupid; in trying to protect him, I’ve worried him more. Keeping him in the dark has made him feel more vulnerable. ‘What if he upsets you?’
‘People can only affect us, Jack—’
‘If we allow them to. Yeah, you said.’ He laughs. ‘Like, every day.’
‘Am I boring?’ I ask.
‘A bit.’
I pull him into me, give him a squeeze, kiss his head. He pulls his obligatory ‘don’t be so sloppy’ face. ‘Good. Now, go, get yourself ready. We’re going to be late, again!’
A couple of hours later, I stroll into the familiar book store. Why do bookshops always have a restful atmosphere? I wonder. An air of calmness, an antidote to how I’m feeling. I repeat to myself, as if I’m the most confident person, as if I’m the most confident person, no one knows any different, act as if I am so confident, posture, walk, expression. Why am I doing this? Jack was right. What’s wrong with me?
I move towards the lazy escalator, before deciding to count my way up the winding steps instead, good for left-brain control. Bumping into shoppers, already breaking my personal space barrier. At the top, I turn in full view of the open café. He’s there, sitting up, confidently gazing over the cobbled street below. He already has two coffee mugs in front of him. So he does think he knows me. What else do you know?
He spots me, seconds after, and stands at my approach. Nice manners. I pull at the chair as we both regard each other. This time, I’m offering no words. Is he nervous too? Of me or his environment? ‘Were you early or am I late?’ I look at my watch, expecting it to be the latter. I’m bang on time; there’s always a first.
‘No problem,’ he says, sliding the mug of black coffee towards me, then the milk jug. ‘I’m always early, no matter what.’
‘Black, thank you.’ We study each other, looking for clues. ‘You know, out of clinic – making conversation with a stranger suddenly feels so odd.’ I sip my medicinal coffee.
His eyes seem to crinkle with his smile. ‘I can imagine.’ He stirs his already stirred coffee. Twice.
‘So, without all the normal rules, who goes first?’ I ask.
‘I guess, I should? The question is, where do I begin?’
‘Well, clearly, you know who I am; but how about we start with you? Who are you? Your real name, what is it?’
‘You already know my name.’
He thinks I’m stupid, clearly. ‘Do I?’ I raise my eyebrows.
‘Yes. I didn’t lie to you. My name is William Adams.’
‘Okay, so it wasn’t me you lied to about your name. But to say you haven’t lied to me? Really?’ Too soon for aggressive talk, I tell myself.
He sighs. ‘No. I haven’t lied to you. At worst, I’ve…’ he looks around for inspiration ‘… well, I’d prefer to put it as, I’ve not told you the whole truth.’ I open my mouth to speak but he holds his hand out to me. ‘But it doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve lied to you. Does it?’ He maintains assured eye contact; if he is lying, he’s very good. But haven’t I been here before? Accomplished liars are brilliant at what they do. Aren’t you? I think back to my mum: you can catch a thief but you can never catch a liar, she would advise me.
‘Don’t play word games with me. This isn’t a game. I’m anything but amused.’
‘Sorry, you’ve a right to be pissed off,’ he says.
‘So, the referral? Your background? What’s it all been about?’ I challenge.
‘Look, Eve, I know I haven’t helped myself. But that was all genuine. I am ex-forces, I have been diagnosed with PTSD, amongst other things too, you’ve probably—’
‘Generalised anxiety, manifesting as acute OCD; a sleep disorder, co-morbid depression,’ I suggest.
‘Exactly.’ Slightly disenchanted eyes regard me. ‘Is it really so… obvious?’
‘Afraid so. Do you always choose a seat near the window, against a wall, rather than in the open? Eye up possible escape routes? Stand rather than sit if given the option? Take two sips of coffee rather than one or three? Align the mug handle to the angle of your body? Count your steps in and out of a building, always needing it to be an even number? Wear trainers with laces tied to within an inch of their life, so you don’t need to re-tie, or touch, what has been in contact with the floor?’
He smiles. ‘See. You do know who I am.’
‘Here’s the thing, William, I don’t know you at all, but you apparently know me. Don’t you? Shall we get to the point now?’
He smiles. ‘Can you call me Billy? I don’t like being called William. Only my grandmother called me William, if I’d been naughty.’ He takes two sips of coffee. ‘I know who you are, Eve, yes. More importantly I know who you used to be: Eve Austin.’ He looks for affirmation; I’m not giving him anything. I sip my coffee and wait. ‘The thing is; I think you may be in danger.’ He lowers his voice.
Tell me something I don’t know. ‘I’m in danger?’ I say. ‘What is it to you? Who are you? I’m not referring to what you call yourself. I want to know why you’re saying this. Please, try and give me a straight answer.’
‘Fair enough.’ He leans forward, lowers his voice. ‘Gregg Austin,’ he says. ‘Let’s just say I know, or, rather, I knew Gregg from way back. We were at school together, grammar school. I also know, he’s good reason to come looking for you.’ He takes a swig of coffee, then another. ‘Also, he’s not the only person who has reason to want to find you.’
I say nothing. Others? My stomach rolls.
‘Look, Eve, I understand, he’s dangerous. What he’s capable of. I need to get to him first. That’s all there is to it, really.’
‘Hang on a minute – you knew him from school, that’s it?’ I laugh, despite not finding this funny in the slightest. ‘You think that makes you an expert? Without being rude, your school years, well… that was some time ago,’ I say. ‘What do you think you know about his current motives? And while we’re here, what is it to you anyhow, if he finds me? Are you trying to tell me you’re here as a good Samaritan?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘It’s odd! Have you been in contact with him since school?’
‘No.’
‘So you don’t know him at all, do you? I’m sorry, but I fail to see—’
‘People like Gregg don’t change. Evil traits run through their blood. He’s no different now from back then, just feels he has more power.’
‘How would you—?’
‘I’ve never stopped watching him, even from a distance,’ he says. This is becoming more sinister by the second. He glances at his watch. ‘How much time do you have?’ he asks.
‘As long as it takes.’
‘I’ll try and explain,’ he says. ‘My grandparents brought me up; my parents were killed when I was very young. I was accepted into the local grammar school. My grandparents, it meant the world to them. Gregg was in the same year as me. I hated him. A complete bastard, bullying and manipulating. Most of the kids were either scared or in awe of him.’ He turns his attention to his mug; it’s pain I see.
‘Go on, Billy,’ I say softly.
‘There was a school trip to Cornwall. We stayed at a youth hostel, just down the coast from where you live.’
‘So, this is why you were hanging around at the beach.’
He nods. ‘My best friend, more of a brother.’ He clenches his fists and takes a moment’s breather. ‘We were close, but he was weak in the presence of Gregg. On the last but one day, we argued. He said he was going with Gregg and his mates over to Trevellas Porth, probably to spite me; said I was a jerk. I didn’t try hard enough to stop him, I let him go. I was angry with him. But, as the sun went down, he didn’t come back. I was starting to feel bad, worried. Gregg and his gang returned without him.’ He shakes his head and pauses.
‘We had a fight, Gregg and me. I wanted to kill him – if it hadn’t been for his mates, I may have. That… smirk, I still see it now. I knocked him to the floor, when I pulled his head up towards me, all I could see was the hard rock behind. I’m pretty sure I would have smashed his skull back on it, in that moment. But I was pulled off. I ran as fast as I could across the cliff path to where they’d supposedly left Tom; as I was running, a red helicopter flew over. I stopped, puked up, then continued on.’ I see tears in his eyes. This is the trauma memory, nothing to do with being a soldier.
‘I looked down from the cliff; saw a small body being pulled from the water, someone giving him mouth to mouth. CPR. Then, I saw the guy shake his head. He was gone. Just like that, gone forever.’
Now, it makes sense; Billy must have walked the path from St Agnes to Trevellas Porth, the night Charlie spotted him. ‘Gosh, this is awful, Billy, really. It was Gregg’s fault too – you’re sure?’
‘Positive. He bragged about it.’ He shakes his head. ‘He knew. Knew Tom couldn’t swim. Thought he was clever didn’t he? Said Tom failed the initiation activity, laughed in my face.’
‘Oh my God, the bastard!’ Why am I surprised?
‘The thing is, Eve, he was responsible, yes. But I was to blame. Tom was like a brother; I let him down. Let him go.’
‘No, you can’t think like that, Billy. You were not responsible; you were a child yourself. What were you – thirteen, fourteen?’
‘Fourteen. After this, I dive-bombed out of everything. I couldn’t get my head around it. So much hate inside me; I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get the images out my head. I rejected everything I had, worse still, the two people who I loved most. My grandparents. I couldn’t reach them, you see, the guilt. I hated the world, I was so angry.’
‘That’s so understandable; you needed help.’
‘I wouldn’t let anyone near me. They tried, my grandparents. I went off the scale, ended up signing up, leaving the country, for years to come. Eventually, moved into special services; channelled my anger, but always running away.’
‘Makes sense. I wonder how many end up in services, only to get away. What about your grandparents?’
‘I let them go. Never had the chance to speak to them, to put things right. Every night, I go to sleep knowing they died with broken hearts. I did that too.’ Now I see the real reason for his traumatised brain.
‘Oh, Billy; this is all so sad.’
‘So, this is why I’m here. I’ve waited for my day; all this time, to have my time with him.’ He clenches his fists. ‘I’ve waited too long.’
‘I can only imagine how hard it’s been for you. But surely you realise, whatever it is you intend to do, it won’t change anything, other than land yourself in trouble. Is it worth it?’
‘Yes, 100 per cent it will be. Anyway, I’m a professional. I don’t intend to be caught.’
I completely understand where he’s coming from. ‘You said something about others wanting to find me too?’
‘I think you know who I’m talking about.’ He raises an eyebrow at me. Do I? I feel myself blush. I ignore his comment, not wanting to dig a deeper hole.
‘Remember, I’ve been tracking him for years; he was never far from my thoughts or radar. When I returned to the UK, earlier this year, I dug some more. Seems he was a very naughty boy some years ago, wasn’t he? My feeling is, you know all about it.’ I remain mute. I’m not giving away anything yet; I need to know what he’s discovered.
‘A partner of Havers, Walker and Jenkins, wasn’t he?’
I nod; even the mention of this sends shivers down my spine. ‘Why are you asking these questions?’
‘Involved in a money-laundering scam; by all accounts he masterminded the entire affair. Unsurprisingly, he walked away, relatively untouched.’
‘He lost his practising certificate, his reputation. But, yes, that was the extent of it. I feel I need to say… I didn’t realise this at the time, by the way. We’d split up by the time this all came out, other than his contact time with my son, Jack. I purposely didn’t involve myself in anything to do with him. It was some time after, when he returned to, shall we say, pay me a visit, before I found out.’
‘Sure. How much do you know about what happened, when the shit hit the fan?’
I shake my head in honesty. ‘The bare minimum. Through Chinese whispers. It sounds lame, but I really couldn’t bear to—’
‘It’s okay, I get it,’ he says. ‘The other partner involved, he went to prison and the young lad…’ he coughs ‘… committed suicide – yeah right!’ God, no. ‘Gregg got away relatively scot-free.’
I feel sick. Images of the young lad being flung down the steps from my house, whilst I looked on, did nothing, now intimidate me. Why didn’t I go to the police? I could have saved his life. But I truly didn’t think he was going to end up dead. I had no idea at the time what it was all about. Should I have tried harder to find out? Do I ultimately have blood on my hands? I could have changed the outcome.
‘I should have known,’ falls out of my mouth. ‘Should have done something sooner. I knew he was dangerous.’
‘How? Come on, no one could blame you; give yourself a break.’
‘I knew he was up to something, something bad.’ I still can’t bring myself to admit it, but it was this lad’s plight that finally made me flee. Or worse, my mind floats back like a feather to standing in the study, loading your flash-drive. I stopped it after thirty seconds; after the lad was headbutted to the ground, blood leaching from his nose, I couldn’t watch any more. I fled. All this time, I’ve had the crime scene in its full glory on the flash-drive at home.
‘Hey,’ Billy urges me. ‘I perhaps more than anyone understand how he operates. You became one of his victims too.’ He’s being kind, but it’s too late: I do blame myself. At the time I could only think about getting Jack to safety but, now I look back, it wasn’t enough.
‘Who was the lad? What was his name?’
‘Toby Jenkins.’
‘The senior partner’s son? I knew them; met them. I didn’t know he even worked there. I went to Wimbledon with his parents, Sue and David Jenkins.’ What have I done? They didn’t deserve this, no one deserves to lose a child.
‘I met up with his father, David, last month. Apparently Toby didn’t choose to work within the company; he’d bailed out of university, from what David told me, he didn’t have a say in it. They employed him as the MLRO. As you can probably guess, he’s full of regrets.’
I shake my head. ‘MLRO?’
‘Money laundering reporting officer, someone who looks out for any dirty tricks. They had a vacant position. Toby was far too young for it. It was more a case of the partnership being seen to be doing the right thing, rather than his suitability. Unfortunately, for him, Gregg took him under his wing.’
‘Dear God. All the secret meetings, the wads of cash.’
‘It had been going on for some time; Gregg, another partner, who was also believed to be under the spell of Gregg, Toby and – can you credit it? – a bank manager from overseas.’
‘The fat, balding guy. Now I think of it, he definitely looked like a bank manager.’
‘Err, right, maybe. He vanished off the face of the earth, when everything kicked off. Whispers are, he’s somewhere in South America.’
‘How did they even, I mean why...?’
‘They took over a buy-to-let company in Spain. Reckon, Gregg did a deal with the insolvency practitioners after it fell into administration, except it wasn’t in his name. They used another scapegoat for this. It’s thought Gregg’s cut of dirty money was paid into a bank account in the name of Pat and Dennis Austin.’
‘His parents – so that’s why he kept sending them to Spain, but surely this was proof enough of his involvement?’
Billy shakes his head. ‘They knew he orchestrated the entire thing, but only had proof of a third-party involvement. Admitted to wheeling and dealing but not to money laundering. He’d covered his tracks well, hired the best lawyers. Lost his practising certificate, but they couldn’t pin the rest of the shit on him. The Spanish buy-to-let company operated as a façade, a workhorse for collecting in illegal monies, paid into the solicitor’s client account, then back out to the bank account in Spain, then distributed accordingly. On the surface legitimate monies would be paid out of the account for the deceptive purchase of more properties. Dirty money, all of it. A whole tangled grid of corruption. Toby, unfortunately, was made the scapegoat. His father believes he was murdered, he didn’t take his own life.’
‘Oh, God. No.’ I don’t want to hear this. ‘How did it happen? How did he die?’ I really don’t want to know the answer; I’ve a sick feeling, I already know.
‘He was found dead, taken an enormous quantity of pills.’ I don’t properly hear the next words; how had I not worked this out? ‘It was recorded as suicide but he’d other serious injuries. They thought he’d been in a fight beforehand. Likely story, more like – someone held a gun to his head, forced him to knock back the pills.’
‘Oh, please, don’t say that.’
‘A professional job. But his injuries were not sufficient, no other out-of-context DNA, nothing. Unfortunately, he was known in the bars for getting himself into brawls, a bit full of himself, mouthy. At the end of the day, the injuries were not what killed him, it was the pills. They closed the books.’
‘Why do you say a gun? Did they find one?’ I truly hope they did.
‘No. But someone has it somewhere. Toby’s father, David, visited the partner in prison. He said Gregg had mentioned a gun, but he’d no part in it. Or no idea of its whereabouts.’
What have I got myself involved in? ‘Billy, you said others were looking for me – who?’
‘I’m just getting to it. This partner also told David they’d all met at your home, the night Toby was beaten, then died. He reckoned Gregg recorded the “meeting” on his laptop. The idea was to pay Toby off, bribe him into carrying the can. He intended to record evidence of his fake admission, but also to suggest his father, David, had full knowledge, sanctioned the dirty dealings. Then, Gregg could have used the evidence to blackmail his father, or at least encourage the company to cover up the scandal, leaving his practising certificate intact. But it all went shit-faced. Toby refused to implicate his father.’
Suddenly so much makes sense. No wonder Gregg was so angry, when he couldn’t locate the flash-drive. I should have watched it beyond those few seconds. I’m so ashamed; I didn’t want to know the truth. The deception was so much easier to live with.
‘So the recording holds the truth?’
‘So it seems.’ Billy shuffles uneasily in his seat. ‘They believe you may have it, you or Gregg. The flash-drive.’ He’s searching my face for answers. What if this is a ploy, and Billy’s here on your behalf? Is this why he’s hunting me – for you? No, I believe him. He wants revenge; I see it in his eyes.
‘So David Jenkins is looking for me?’
‘No. I am. He sent me, well, not quite true. I offered – nothing would make me happier than to finally get my hands on the bastard.’
‘So it’s you who’s been following me all this time?’
‘For a couple of weeks, yes. I really didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘And the referral?’
‘All true and legit. Although, I think I’m beyond help. It was, though, a great method of getting close to you.’
‘Susie, the counsellor?’
He at least has the dignity to lower his head. ‘Again legit. I thought it may help me come to terms with things.’
‘But why call yourself Gregg Austin?’
‘Oops. Yeah, sorry about that. I made the call, and when I was asked for my name, I realised I couldn’t give mine because of you. I was put on the spot.’ He stretches his lip. ‘It was the first name that occurred to me. Stupid mistake.’ He nods his head at me.
‘Did you follow me home last week, a couple of times?’
‘Guilty, yep. As I say, I didn’t intend to panic you. I needed to find you.’
‘So all this time; when I’ve thought I was being hunted by my psychopath ex-husband, it’s mostly been you!’
I say mostly because it was you who delivered the envelope the other night; I could smell you. I need some air. I push back at my chair to stand up. I’m shocked, upset, angry and feel so incredibly guilty. ‘I need to leave,’ I tell Billy. I steam away from the table; he catches me up, grabbing my arm from behind.
‘No, Eve, please don’t leave. I want to help you.’ His touch is firm but gentle as I pull my arm away from him.
‘I have to go. I’ve appointments to attend to.’ I’ve still a couple of hours before I start, but I need time to rethink. ‘You want to help me? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Creeping around? Me and my son have been petrified, thinking our days were numbered, and all the time it’s been you.’ I know this isn’t completely true; it’s been both of you. I tap at my whizzing head. ‘Have you any idea at all what I’ve been thinking, preparing, running through in here?’
Billy steps ahead of me, blocking my way. ‘Look, I’ll give you some time, but I need to see you again.’
‘I’ve told you, I had no idea about what was going on back then. It’s the truth.’
‘I understand that – no one knows better than I how he operates,’ he says. ‘But I do have reason to believe you may have what they’re looking for.’ He raises his eyebrows at me. ‘I need to see you again.’ He pulls me aside from the eager passers-by. ‘Eve, it’s not just me. Gregg is following you. He’s been so close to you, many times, a mere whisper away. I’ve been trailing him, observing you both.’
I shiver. Is he lying to me? Deep down, I understand he’s telling the truth.
‘Have you been near Jack?’
‘No. Come on, give me some credit. I wouldn’t do that. But he would, and he has. You’re in danger, Eve, both of you. He’s a broken man; nothing to lose. I wanted to get to you before he did. You have to trust me on this.’
He removes a stumpy pencil from his back pocket, then scribbles his mobile number on the back of a pay-and-display ticket, thrusting it into my hand.
‘Please, for both your sakes. He’s close enough to touch you; it’s a matter of time. I’m telling you the truth.’
I turn away, running down the steps to the ground floor. I know you are. Each day I feel you getting closer. Bigger. More frustrated. I bounce off an assistant kneeling down opening boxes of Christmas cards; surely it’s not here again yet? So many discordant memories of Christmas bounce through my mind, causing an ache in my chest. As I rush out of the exit, falling onto the pavement like a crazy woman, appreciative of the cold air, a glass screen descends around me. People busying about their day – I’m no longer part of this world. It exists without me. Is this really happening all over again? But then, after all these years, the beginning of the end; a chance to finally be free. Isn’t this what I’ve been waiting for?