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?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Before
I awakened in the rigid chair to the slam of the front door, a cramp-like ache in my neck for company. I didn’t know the time, but it was still dark. Jack hadn’t stirred so I was guessing it was not much after 6 a.m. Why did you leave so early this morning? You could only have had a couple of hours’ sleep. Still, it suited me well. If you were gone, time for action. I crept past Jack’s bed. With no time to lose, I needed to shower, dress and get us out of here. My stomach fluttered at the thought; a mixture of nervousness but also a timid excitement – we were finally leaving.
An hour later, Jack was dressed and sitting eating breakfast. It was then, I spotted the note.
I will (reluctantly) order a replacement mobile today. Why do you always have to push me? Not home until very late, plenty of time to think about your behaviour!
Perfect. I had time to gather our belongings together. Perhaps make a few phone calls before I left since my mobile was in hundreds of pieces. I would do the sinful act of putting Jack in front of his favourite TV programmes and use the unexpected time. I then booked us a room at a bed and breakfast near Chipping Campden, somewhere remote, difficult to find. Somewhere to breathe for a while following our escape.
I sat with a coffee, pen and paper, time to go over all I’d packed for us, being not a lot. I hoped this was going to be a short-term solution, until we’d taken the next legal steps. What was I doing? Was it fair to be taking Jack from his home, all he knew, all his home comforts? Why, despite everything, did I still feel so guilty? Terrified too. It reminded me of the first time I’d abseiled, a team-building exercise; stepping blindly off the cliff edge, too scared to pay too much attention to where I’d end, should I fall. The first step off the so-called secure ground was always going to be the worst. I had no choice; we had to leave. For everything we had lived through, for all I’d witnessed; and for all my heart told me was to come.
Jack’s red medical book; I shouldn’t leave without it. I ran up the stairs to the spare room, I kept it in the drawer of the old pine wardrobe. With book in hand, I turned back towards the door; a perfunctory scan of the room, just in case. I noticed the bottom drawer of the old chest; the locked one, except it wasn’t locked, it was ajar. You must have opened it the evening before, and, in your drunken state, forgotten to lock it again. I couldn’t resist, sure I’d find the wads of cash. Boy, could I have done with some cash to take with us. Wrong. Most likely illegal. But principles wouldn’t keep us safe.
I slowly bumped the rickety drawer further out.
My heart missed a beat. Oh my God. Nausea crept upwards. Jesus Christ. I wobbled from my crouched position onto precarious knees. Pressing my hands hard to my temples. Wads and wads of cash. Thousands and thousands of pounds, but it was what lay beneath that shocked me; petrified me. My mind raced back to the conversation I’d heard the evening of the golf-club event. I’d dismissed it – why? Because I didn’t want to believe it? I was too weak to confront it? A most convenient oversight? Then images of the previous night; the poor beaten lad tossed down the steps.
A gun.
Jesus Christ. A gun. In our home.