Chapter 15
Jake marched down to his car, opened the boot, and flung his holdall inside. He slammed it shut, hard. Then he yelped and put his hands under his armpits, trying to dull the pain.
He leaned against the back of his car, waiting for the pain to subside, staring down the long street of terraced houses, identical to his own, some divided into small flats. He lived in a London borough where his neighbours were not much different from himself, with average jobs on average wages. There were some young couples who had just started out on the corporate ladder in the city. Jake knew, on their potential wages, it wouldn’t be long before they’d be moving out, onwards and upwards to an upmarket area like Camden, or St. Johns Wood.
But Jake liked it just fine where he was. His neighbours, unaware of his family connections and who he had been in his past life, had befriended him not because they knew who he was, but just because they were friendly, amiable people.
‘Why do most people equate a better life with having a bigger house, a better car, more of everything?’ he remembered remarking to Faye one day while chatting.
‘Human nature, I guess,’ Faye had answered. ‘Doesn’t everybody want to better themselves? Doesn’t everybody look up to people who live somewhere like a posh area of London, in a fancy house, and aspire to be like them?’
‘Do you?’ he had asked.
Faye had laughed at the question. ‘Do you see me in one of those sorts of places on a teacher’s pay? No amount of aspiration’s going to get me a big, posh house, I can assure you.’
‘I’ll tell you something that might surprise you,’ Jake had replied. ‘It works the other way too.’ In the past, he had sometimes stood at the window of his beautiful apartment in the building owned by the Rosses and had cast his gaze down at the average man in the street, wondering what it was like to earn an average wage; to work, really work, for the roof over his head. ‘Sometimes I used to feel …’ He had shaken his head, finding it hard to put into words.
‘What – you used to feel what?’ Faye had pressed him for an answer.
‘I felt like my life …’ Jake was thinking about his upbringing in London, with the best schools, a college education, whatever he wanted, regardless of cost – he had chosen America, Yale. ‘It all came so easy. It wasn’t right, somehow. It was like I was living somebody else’s life.’ Marcus’s life , he had thought. If his parents hadn’t died, and he’d been brought up by them, instead of by William Ross, his life would have turned out very differently.
‘But you’re training to teach now. Something must have happened that caused you to change direction?’
‘Don’t you read the papers?’ he remembered barking at her. He knew that was unfair. Of course she had. Everyone who interviewed him for the position must have known about his background. But her question suggested she hadn’t just gone on the assumption that the loss of his wife was what had taken him there. However, despite that, she had hit a nerve, and it was a raw one; had he used the circumstances to get out of a life he wasn’t sure he wanted? Was he that heartless and that gutless that it had taken a tragedy of such magnitude to propel him into starting over? Why hadn’t he made the leap earlier?
Jake had been honest enough to admit the truth to Faye. ‘I needed a place to go, away from everything that reminded me of her.’
‘Some people would have taken a holiday,’ she had remarked.
‘I did,’ Jake had said.
And he had made it permanent – or so he had thought. Jake looked over at his house, picturing Marcus inside; his old life kept seeping back in, first through the back door and now the front.
Jake got in his car. He was ready for his holiday.
He started the engine and gingerly took the steering wheel, Fortunately, he had power steering, and the car was an automatic, so there was no gear-stick to handle, otherwise he could forget about driving with bandaged hands. It did occur to him that this might be illegal. Would he be pulled over if he was spotted driving with his hands like this? Jake dismissed that idea. He did not want to wait around for a taxi, especially as Marcus was still there. He might insist on accompanying him to the airport. Jake had a scary thought – Marcus joining him on the flight.
Jake relaxed, reminding himself that Marcus wasn’t going anywhere – he had a business to run. Jake, on the other hand, had several weeks off to do as he please. ‘I’d rather be at work,’ he said glumly to himself.
He took one long look back at his house before moving off from the kerb. Jake had left a door key on the hallway table by the phone and hoped that when Marcus left, he would have the presence of mind to lock up. There were no concierge services there to check the doors were secure at night.
At the end of the street, Jake took a left turn into a similar street with nearly identical houses. He approached the T-junction at the end, which led out to the main road and eventually the motorway. The traffic light was red. He slowed to a stop.
He sat there, thinking about Marcus turning up in his newly painted front room. The light turned green. He sat there, thinking some more. Thinking about Marcus overdosing in his newly painted front room. A car horn sounded behind him. He didn’t move; stranded in indecision. Cars manoeuvred around Jake’s stationary vehicle until the traffic light changed from green to red.
When it was green again, Jake slowly turned left and circled the block, bringing his car to a stop behind the black Saab.
Marcus was sitting on his front step.
Jake got out of the car, walked up the narrow pathway, and stood in front of Marcus.
Marcus looked up, raising his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. ‘That was a short holiday.’
Jake had the impulse to hit him for being a smartarse, and for his smug self-assurance that Jake would feel compelled to come back.
Jake sat down on the front step beside Marcus. He stared at the pathway. There were weeds sprouting up through the cracks. He plucked at the one nearest his foot and seriously began to re-consider his plan to go to Scotland. He would be quite happy, more than happy, to hang around the house. He looked at the weeds; he had things to do.
‘Where are you going on holiday?’
‘Does it really matter?’ Jake sighed and pulled on the weed. The tough little thing was staying put.
‘Yes, it does. You need to give me some idea of what you’ve got planned. You see, I’m coming with you.’
The weed was forgotten in an instant. ‘Are you nuts?’ Jake stood up so fast that he nearly lost his balance. ‘You’ve got a fiancée! Aren’t you planning a wedding?’ He was conscious of the fact that he was making a scene; somewhere in the street he heard the sound of a window slamming shut. He’d probably interrupted someone working from home.
Jake realised his mistake. He shouldn’t have turned the car around and returned. ‘And … and you can’t just up sticks and leave the company without a word of warning.’
‘Why not? You did,’ Marcus pointed out.
Jake glared at him. Was this a wind-up? If it was, Marcus was doing a bloody good job of it. He knew the score. Jake’s house, phone and physical presence were effectively out of bounds to Marcus. Jake wanted him to stay well away. If it were practicable, Jake would have slapped Marcus with a restraining order to keep him out of his sight. He was not welcome in Jake’s life, and he knew it.
Trying desperately to keep his cool, Jake asked once more what Marcus was doing at his house. ‘What do you actually want?’
‘I knew you’d come back. I need a holiday, and …’
‘You are serious,’ Jake seethed. He’d gone back because he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, Marcus did have something important to tell him. And for another reason – Marcus’s behaviour was so erratic that he wondered what he might do if left alone. If he’d known Marcus had just been just kidding around …
‘What on earth makes you think I would want to go on holiday with you, of all people? I don’t want you anywhere near me.’
Marcus’s face was still beaming, as though Jake had just finalised their holiday plans and everything was tickety-boo. Jake stared at him in disbelief. That was it, the drugs had done their work; Marcus had finally flipped.
Jake stormed off in the direction of his car. Then something occurred to him; something almost as objectionable as Marcus’s ill-conceived holiday plans. He stormed back.
‘Am I being babysat – is that why you’re here? Because William told you to come? If that’s the case, then you can tell William there is nothing wrong with me. I am perfectly capable of taking a holiday and, if he insists, I’ll gladly have Aubrey or anyone else along for the ride. But,’ Jake bent double and leaned down into Marcus’s beaming face, ‘not you.’
Jake stared into the dark eyes of the man he’d thought he knew so well and yet to his cost had discovered otherwise. It had inevitably raised the question: how much could you really know about a person?
Jake lingered a moment longer. Marcus was not going to atone for what he had done, for what he had caused – the loss of Eleanor. Not today, and perhaps, Jake had to acknowledge, not ever.
Jake left him sitting on the step and went up to his front door to double-check everything was locked and secure – it wasn’t. He locked the door. This time he was leaving. His mind was made up. He was going on holiday, if for no other reason than to put some distance between himself and Marcus. Either that, or he was about to do something that they’d both seriously regret – Marcus the most, because he was in for a punch in the face.
Jake kept his cool.
‘Good. That’s settled then.’ Marcus got to his feet. ‘My bag is already packed and, in the boot. Your car or mine?’ He motioned at his shiny black Saab. ‘Mine would be better, don’t you think?’
Jake ignored him and walked to his car. In the driver’s seat, he turned the key and let the engine idly turn over while he watched Marcus open the boot of his Saab, lift out a suitcase, and close it.
He selected reverse gear as Marcus turned and started to walk towards the car.
Jake slowly shook his head. What did Marcus think he was doing? The man was completely insane. Jake started to back up – fast.
Marcus came to a halt, realising the pursuit was futile.
Jake stopped the car and selected Drive .
He imagined taking care of one more thing before he left on his holiday. He imagined flooring the accelerator and driving right at Marcus before he had a chance to react, before he had any idea what was about to happen. He was like a sitting duck.
Smack .
Jake slowly shook his head. He couldn’t believe the idea of driving his car at Marcus had even crossed his mind. Jake moved away from the kerb, taking it slowly, turning the steering wheel to give Marcus a wide berth in case he was tempted to suddenly give in to his imagination.
Once he had passed Marcus, he accelerated.
He glanced in his rear-view mirror. The boot of Marcus’s car was open again. Jake was certain that by the time Marcus got into his car and reached the first junction, he would be long gone.
Jake smiled to himself as he headed in the direction of the motorway once again, heading for the airport. Marcus wasn’t aware he was going to the airport. He could be going anywhere; perhaps somewhere in this country that didn’t involve a flight. Even so, Jake didn’t want to chance being followed. He had a plan.
He glanced in his rear-view mirror again. His one consolation was that Marcus liked expensive, foreign-made cars. The black Saab would be relatively easy to spot amongst the many SUVs on the motorway. And if, by chance, Marcus made a lucky guess and headed straight for the airport, he had no way of knowing the flight number. And without the correct boarding pass, he had no way of discovering Jake sitting in the departure lounge in London City Airport, which is exactly where he intended to be the next day.
Jake relaxed as the airport sign came into view. He took the exit, just in case Marcus was following him. But he’d already decided he was not staying at the airport hotel after all. He took the slip road to rejoin the motorway. It wasn’t long before he exited the motorway, taking a familiar route he’d driven many, many times before to a place where he was going to stay the night before his flight tomorrow. Marcus would never, ever guess where Jake was about to go.
Jake checked his rear-view mirror one last time and grinned. Marcus’s black Saab was nowhere to be seen.