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.’