Chapter 34 Now
Now
There was a profound powerlessness I felt with Marc, with Luca, even with George. I don’t want to let myself feel powerless again. And so this is how I find myself pulling my second sickie of the week, trailing Will on a Friday morning.
He always goes to the gym on weekdays. A quick scroll on his socials gave me a good idea of which one, provided he hasn’t changed subscriptions in the last six months.
I try not to tally how much of our money he could have paid back if he simply adjusted his lifestyle; I need a level head if I’m going to avoid being caught.
I’m currently staked out in the car, tucked away on a side street opposite the gym, waiting for him to appear.
I’m not entirely sure exactly what it is I hope to see today, but I need to understand Will better before I make any moves.
And nobody is more themselves than when they don’t know they’re being watched.
Eventually, Will strolls out through the gates, sweat drenched.
I must admit that he doesn’t look as bad as I was expecting.
I’m not sure if it’s my callousness that makes me think that, or the memory of his unmoving face and James’s bloodstained shirt.
His eye has a few purple marks around it and looks the slightest bit swollen.
His nose is much the same on the bridge.
Otherwise, he looks okay, expression suspiciously sunshiny on a newly ruggedly handsome face.
I suppose extortion puts one in a good mood.
I watch as Will disappears into the nearby car park, turning my engine on.
When I notice his car pull out, I slip out into the road, too, relieved that there aren’t too many cars between us when I join the main street.
After about ten minutes, he stops. I panic a little but manage to find another side street to turn into with a space near the junction.
I want to be able to see what he’s doing.
It soon becomes clear that he’s stopped for a pick-me-up, hopping into a café.
I can’t see what’s happening in great detail, but it looks like there’s a woman at the front of the queue flapping.
She’s rifling in her bag, looking up at the barista, and then rifling again.
Her hand gestures grow increasing large as she dips in and out of the bag.
I can see her head sink and her body begin to turn toward the entrance when Will darts forward.
I see him slip a hand into a jacket pocket.
Some passersby obscure my line of sight, but the next thing I know, the woman is walking away, a to-go cup in her hand and a smile on her face.
She keeps touching a hand to her chest and waving at Will as she goes.
This act of charity grates against my perception of James’s older brother. The gesture seems nice. Selfless, even. Although perhaps he feels he can afford it when he’s stealing our money.
I’m preparing to pull back into the road when Will exits, but he surprises me by walking past his car and continuing up the street.
I think about it for a split second and then throw caution to the wind, hopping out of my own car and pelting down the pavement to join the high street.
I can only hope that Will doesn’t choose to turn around.
After only a minute or so, he makes an abrupt left turn into a shop.
I look up. The chemist. A visit for something mundane or something more interesting?
Pushing my luck, I creep toward the windows of the shop and watch him approach the pharmacy counter.
It’s not a huge revelation, but for now, it’s enough.
I file this stop-off away in my memory and return to the car.
The next few minutes are more confusing than ever.
I assume he’ll be heading home to shower, but I know where his home with Vanessa is, and it’s not where he’s driving.
When he pulls into a quiet residential street, I make a point of finding a space as close to the turning as possible, hoping he hasn’t stopped near enough to spot me.
It’s a relief when I can see him several houses down: small, but discernible.
What is he doing here? Is it a secret family? An affair?
He rummages in his gym bag, pats his pockets.
He takes a moment to lift the corner of a hanging plant and unearths something. He opens the front door.
Aha.
So Vanessa has finally kicked him out, has she? I wouldn’t blame her if this week’s display of violence was the final straw. It’s what a good mother would do. It’s what I’d do. Protect my children first and foremost.
The adventure is already growing dull, but I haven’t seen quite enough yet. And so I wait. And after a painstaking hour, he leaves. This time, there’s a car waiting in the middle of the road for him. A Prius. A Bolt or an Uber, then.
It’s harder to follow him this time. The streets are quieter here, and so I need to leave a bigger gap between us.
But eventually, I manage to follow him to a pub.
It’s relatively unremarkable, nestled on the high street.
It’s a little early in the day for drinking, but it’s a sunny Friday and it already looks relatively busy. Perfect. Risky, but perfect.
There’s a small charity shop a few doors down.
I buy myself a satin scarf and a new jacket, ignoring the musty smell shrouding both.
With the scarf tied around my head and the dark green trench coat wrapped around my body, I look a little silly, but I hope a passing glance would spare me recognition with distance and dim enough lighting.
When I enter, I’m delighted to see that it’s even busier than I expected.
God bless the British and our sunny Friday afternoons.
I order myself a lager and look for where Will has settled.
When I spot him, hunched over a beer in a corner, for a split second I fear he’s seen me.
But his eyes are glazed over, staring into nothing.
I find myself a seat not too far from his table, sufficiently tucked into its own nook.
It’s easy to watch him from here. And I watch him sink two, three, four pints.
Alone. All while I sip my one. Over the course of my stalking, I have to admit my voyeurism loses its shine.
What I’m watching is an unmistakably sad man.
An unmistakably sad, lonely, and depressed man.
It’s easy to see how James felt sorry for him in this moment.
As he laps at his fifth pint, a little spilling onto his T-shirt, he looks so pathetic, so woefully without hope, that I almost want to cry.
There’s no pleasure to be had in what I’m doing anymore.
Watching Will feels like watching those videos circulating on social media of vulnerable people having cameras shoved in their faces for laughs.
I recently saw one of a drone repeatedly knocking into a homeless woman’s head.
It’s incomprehensible cruelty. I take my phone out and take a subtle snap of him.
Considering he’s promised to stop drinking to get back into the business, it could come in handy.
I push my hardly touched pint away from me and rise to leave, the hops still bitter at the back of my mouth. For now, I’ve seen enough.