Sacrilege - Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

I wasted no time heading for Mile End, anxious to confront Jackie about her younger sister.

I found the block easily enough and was soon ringing the doorbell of Heather’s flat. At the same time, I did my best to put down a sudden urge to lash out at the paintwork on the door with my foot.

Jackie came to the door herself, dressed in a fetching sari. “Hello, Laurence, how nice to see you!” I entered the narrow hallway without waiting to be asked, pushing past her none too gently as I did so. “Oh, dear, I take it you’re not here because you couldn’t keep away from my stunning good looks then?” She closed the door. “You have to admit, though, I look fantastic.”

“Very nice,” I grunted.

“The sari is Heather’s actually. Apparently, she bought it for an Indian wedding and hasn’t worn it since. Not that I’m surprised. Our Heather’s not built for a sari. She should have been a butch lesbian instead of a sweet but prim legal secretary. Butch lesbians are much more interesting, don’t you think?”

“Is Heather in?”

Jackie led me into a small but ample sitting room. “No, she works all hours that girl. Either that or she’s stuck in traffic. What do you want with our Heather?”

“I don’t. It’s you I need to talk to…about another sister…Ginny.”

“Ah, you know about her, the little rat bag. Who told you? People assume I’m the family black sheep, but they don’t know the half of it.”

“Never mind who told me,” I said irritably. “She’s up to her neck in dirty laundry as usual. How much do you know?”

“I haven’t seen her for months. What she gets up to is no concern of mine. Mark my words, that little madam will come to a bad end one of these days. Frankly, I couldn’t care less. Do I take it my little sister has something to do with recent events?” She shook her head, frowning. “Why am I not surprised?  She’s forever raking in the bread on whatever side it happens to be buttered, usually the thickest.  Does that sound about right?”  I nodded grimly.  “In that case,” Jackie continued, “you had better tell me all. Tragically, Heather is teetotal. Talk about me putting the family to shame…  However, I’m glad to say all is not lost.  I’ve smuggled in a bottle of vodka. You do like vodka? You’re welcome to tea, coffee or cranberry juice. But if we’re going to be discussing my little sister, I recommend the vodka.”

“Vodka,” I agreed.

Jackie looked relieved and produced an almost full bottle from behind a cushion in the armchair where she sat fidgeting. “I dare say you’ll be after a large one… vodka, that is?”

“Please, and a clean glass would be nice.” I added, casting my eye over dirty glasses on just about every visible surface.

“My, aren’t we a fussy hussy? Careful, or people might think you’re straight.” 

There was no answer to that so I waited until I held a glass in my hand while she poured what had to be a triple measure. “Now, tell me what you know about Varicose Virginia and, if I’m feeling really horrible, I’ll do the same for you.”

“Varicose? She has veins?”

“Good heavens, no. On the contrary, I wouldn’t mind legs like hers myself. But she hates it, absolutely hates it, when I call her that. It’s one of the few things guaranteed to wind her up, the two-faced, conniving cow. But you were about to spill the beans?”

I told Jackie all I knew, touching only briefly on my first encounter with Ginny Sharp several years ago.

“Hmm...I see.” Jackie rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “It did cross my mind that she might have had a hand in yesterday’s shenanigans. Having me beaten to a pulp would make sense. But Marc…she has no axe to grind where he’s concerned. That is, not unless she wanted to hit me where she knows it would hurt the most and scare the shit out of me into the bargain.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Ah, I thought there might be.”

She did not interrupt again but listened intently to all I had to say, refilling our glasses from time to time. When I had finished, she sighed and said nothing for a while then, “It sounds like my little sister’s gone upmarket. Now, I wonder what or rather who is behind that. She’s all boobs and no brains, my sister, as you may have noticed. Even at school she let a spotty geek called Adam Merchant pimp her just so she could buy the latest designer gear. She always wanted to be a model, you know. Well, I dare say we all have delusions of grandeur.” 

She paused. I waited.

“It was never going to happen of course, the modelling thing. Oh, she was talent spotted alright, before she even left school, but only by an older and wiser pimp than Adam Merchant.” Her voice was thick with irony.

 I felt my flesh creep and couldn’t resist asking, “Do you really hate her that much?”

“Hate her?” Jackie seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “No, I don’t hate her. Hate, my dear Laurence suggests feeling, passion. Frankly, as far as my little sister is concerned I feel next to nothing, I can assure you.  Now, show me what you copied from that file on her desk. Desk, files, whatever next?  Ginny couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery, never mind an office. Who knows? Maybe the local geek’s come good after all and still remembers where to go for a good front.”

I handed her the piece of paper and she proceeded to do battle with my scrawl. “Can you make head or tail of it?”

“It’s just a basic record as far as I can see…name of goods, place of origin, where and when goods delivered…that sort of thing.  This is your friend Agnes, right?”

I nodded.

 “Place of origin, ‘Ugn’…I imagine that would be Uganda, yes?”

I nodded again. It turned my stomach to hear Agnes Musoke referred to as ‘goods’. For the first time, it hit me like a kick in the groin that I was dealing with people who had neither integrity and nor any respect for human life apart from their own.  Oh, I had heard and read about people trafficking, of course I had, and Agnes had been straight with me from the start about being an illegal immigrant. But hearing her spoken of as if she were nothing more than an item on a delivery note brought home the sheer enormity and horror of what I was up against. It was nothing less than a slave trade, a sacrilege of the highest order. Under the noses of how many governments and police forces worldwide, I wondered, was this appalling treatment of human beings a regular occurrence?

Gladly, I accepted another refill. But even a swig of vodka that was like swallowing hot coals could not displace the chill in my marrow.

“I have it, Packard!” Jackie exclaimed, all but causing me to choke on the fiery liquid that I proceeded to splutter everywhere. I had to mop my face and shirt with a handkerchief but Jackie appeared unconcerned. “See here,” she leaned over and pointed to a word on the sheet of paper in her hand that read, ‘Rpkrd’. “That would be Ralph Packard. He’s as nasty a piece of work as you could expect to meet. If Varicose has got herself mixed up in one of Packard’s sordid enterprises, she really has moved up-market. Ralph has taken a back seat in recent years but still keeps a finger on the pulse.  He prefers to let his sons, Miles and Vince manage brothels all over London… from a safe distance of course,” she added with a sniff loaded with contempt. “Three are mentioned here, do you see?” I peered over her shoulder.  BTC…now, that would be Battersea…and CMD…that must be the Camden Town one. SWB, I’d say that refers to Sawbridgeworth...”

“It could mean anything,” I protested.

“Not in this context, trust me.  It begs the question, of course, to which one did they take your friend Teresa? Not that we can be sure they’ve taken her back to any of course. But it has be a start, right?  You’ll just have to toddle off back to Manchester and have a word with your friend Agnes. The chances are she’ll have some idea or she wouldn’t have given you little sister’s name in the first place. Oh, and I wouldn’t try Varicose again either if I were you. Consider your card well and truly marked a far as that little madam is concerned.” 

“It would have helped if Agnes had told me more in the first place,” I muttered angrily.

“Give the poor girl a break, Laurence. She put her life on the line coming to see you at all. She gave you a name, didn’t she?  What do you want, jam on it? Have you any idea what kind of miserable existence these girls have?  Believe me, a fly on a cowpat fares better. Agnes may have escaped but she’s no better than a runaway slave. If Packard’s people catch up with her…Well, use your imagination. They’ll take care to leave no visible marks, of course, continue to exploit her potential until she’s past her use-by date, and then throw her out in the street.  Your Agnes appears to be one of the lucky ones...so far. But you can hardly blame the girl for not wanting to push her luck.”

“I hadn’t thought about it quite like that,” I had to admit.

“Even so, we need her help again so we’ll just have to hope she’s still in Manchester and not fled to pastures new just yet.”

“I don’t like the idea of going to Manchester and leaving such a mess behind,” I told her.

“As far as I can see, you have no choice. Besides, things could be worse. We know your friend Philip is keeping an eye on Marc, and by all accounts the widow Finn is more than capable of keeping an eye on Danny. Marc will find us - or me, at any rate - before we find him. As for Danny, it can’t do any harm to impress upon the widow that it’s imperative he stays put until we work out what to do next…which we can’t do until you’ve spoken to Agnes.”

“May Finn will want the whole story,” I groaned.

“So tell her as much as we know. From what you and Marc have told me, I gather’s she’s a tough old bird. Needs must as the devil drives, Laurence, and we don’t want Danny going it alone and screwing up now, do we?”

“It would be typical of Danny to do just that,” I commented.

“I rest my case.”

On the way back to the widow’s house, however, I let myself be sidetracked. Mile End is only one stop away on the District Line from Bow. Telling myself all the way that it was a mistake and even hoping that he would be out, I found myself ringing Ryan Banks’ doorbell.

He was surprised but clearly delighted to see me. For my own part, I was feeling as nervous as I had the last time and twice as uncertain, especially when he sat on the sofa next to me and kept pouting provocatively while I tried to engage in small talk. I was muttering something about it turning cold for the time of year when he leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips.

“Do we have to go through the motions? Can’t we just go to bed and have sex?” He kissed me again, edging closer. .

“I’m not sure,” I confessed weakly.

“So why are you here? You haven’t answered a single voicemail or text. I was beginning to think I’d read you all wrong. But here you are.”

“Here I am,” I mumbled as his mouth found mine yet again and he pushed me gently against the arm of the sofa, his whole body pressing down on me. I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him back.

A fierce passion took hold of me.

Frantically, we undressed, tumbled to the floor and let a mad, hectic lovemaking have its wicked way with us. The scent of his aftershave led me into a sunny wood, carpeted with moss and flowers while the pulsating heat of our bodies was like a summer’s heat consuming us. The flaking ceiling above us became a leafy sky even as we lay wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing into each other’s eyes but having to close them because we were afraid of what we might see if we looked too deeply. It was Apollo who entered me and Apollo it was, too, who left me naked and shivering in a wildwood fallen into gloom and haunted by shadows.

Even later, as we snuggled up in bed and Ryan slept, I could not stop shivering, nor did those same shadows cease to haunt me as I dozed. The warmth of his body, the regular sound of his breathing…they were a comfort that was all…nothing more, nothing less, or so I kept telling myself For now, it would have to do. Ryan deserved better. I liked him a lot, I really did. But it wasn’t Ryan’s name the shadows kept whispering accusingly in my ear but Philip’s.

Arriving at the widow Finn’s the next morning I was greeted with raised eyebrows and a resolute silence. Danny agreed I should return to Manchester and seek out Agnes but showed no inclination to accompany me. I became suspicious and related the story so far to a tight-lipped May Finn, over endless cups of tea, as soon as we were left alone together in the kitchen (where else?). Danny had gone for a walk, or so he led us to believe.

 “I see,” was May Finn’s initial reaction once I had brought her up to date with recent events. “Really, Laurence, you’re worse than Danny. Why must you get involved with such people? You know you’re not cut out for playing cops and robbers.”

“It’s hardly that,” I said, smarting under her despairing gaze. “Besides, what choice do I have? I can hardly leave Danny to his own devices. Even you must see that, surely? Look what happened last time. Is it my fault he has to find a girlfriend who turns out to be an illegal immigrant on the run from a bunch of crooks?”

“Not to mention the British Government,” observed the widow dryly.

“I’m involved whether I like it or not.” I pressed on regardless. “Someone has to save Danny from himself, for heaven’s sake.”

“I agree. But why does it always have to be you?”

“Who else is there?”

“You could go to the police.”

“And tell them what, exactly? I’m hardly a mine of sound information, am I? Besides, since Philip is mixed up in all this, I suppose you could say the police are already in the know. Apart from that, Agnes Musoke trusts me. I couldn’t live with myself if I betrayed that trust.”

“A very noble gesture, I’m sure” the widow commented over the rim of her teacup. ”Let’s hope you can avoid compromising it although, from what you’ve told me, I won’t hold my breath.” She didn’t take her eyes off me as she sipped. The severity of her expression had me wriggling in my seat. “Why do you do this to me Laurence? What have I done to deserve it? Haven’t I got enough on my hands with a fiancé who blames global warming for everything from street crime to homosexuality? Yet you sit there, cool as you please, asking me to play baby-sitter to Danny…again. Do I need to remind you what happened last time?”

She glowered at me and took another sip. I began to relax. I had won her over… for now, at least.

I might even have enjoyed the train journey back to Manchester but for the fact I had a hard on most of the time for thinking about Ryan Banks.  Lust, I reflected ruefully, was not the most congenial of travelling companions. At the same time, it had to be the most distracting, surely?  I tried to play down the significance of lust, blame it on whims of the flesh, casting it in the role of a frustrated child sucking its thumb and on the mind’s predilection for fairytale. My body, though, kept telling me otherwise.

By the time I was turning the key in my own front door I felt worn down by futile argument and surfing waves of desire promising me sex with Ryan Banks. “Promises, promises,” I muttered irritably as I shut the door and bent to retrieve the precious few envelopes that might prove interesting among a heap of junk mail. 

I went out to buy a few groceries, having decided against an evening in The Unicorn, a pub Philip and I had made our ‘local’. Drinking had never agreed with me when I was feeling unsettled. I’d invariably end up feeling morose and aggrieved as well as much the worse for wear. So I settled in front of the television with a pile of cheese sandwiches. I also took pity on half a bottle of white wine I discovered looking sad and neglected in the fridge.

Only one programme captured my interest and attention. I spent the rest of the time channel hopping and fretting about whether Agnes Musoke would she be prepared to tell me more than she had already. I did my best to stay positive and not dwell on the possibility that she may already have quit college, even Manchester, in which case…but adamantly refused to go there. Instead, I took myself off to bed and set to thinking myself into a state of relaxed sleep. It worked, in part at least. I fell asleep sooner than I anticipated. But there was nothing relaxed about it. I have a vague recollection of tossing and turning before the realization filtered though my senses that someone else was in the room.

I froze.

“Who’s there?” I demanded without opening my eyes. Absurdly, I felt safer with my eyes shut.

The bed creaked as the person sat on it.

“Open you eyes, you idiot. Say something. Do something,” I kept telling myself but fear left me numb and tongue-tied.

My eyes stayed firmly shut.

“Remind me not to rely on you if we ever have burglars,” a withering voice blasted my custom built cocoon.

My eyes flew open.

Philip was climbing into bed beside me. What the…?” But I got no further. He kissed me and I responded, aware of nothing else but the familiar taste and feel of his body against mine. “Marc?” I managed to murmur between kisses.

“Tomorrow,” Philip promised then, “Oh, Laurence, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” I said and meant it, albeit the words stuck in my throat. I could but trust his writhing nakedness would absorb the intensity of feeling behind them.

We made love in every sense of the word.

Later, as he slept soundly, snoring lightly as he always did, I vowed never to see Ryan Banks again. I finally found the relaxed, dreamless sleep I had sought earlier and woke feeling more refreshed and happy than I had felt in ages. A surge of optimism coursed through my veins as I let my face bathe in swathes of sunlight before opening my eyes and turning to share this inexplicable but unequivocal delight with Philip. But the space next to me was empty. Only a dent in the pillows hinted at the presence of anyone else.

I scrambled out of bed and ran downstairs. “Philip!” I yelled in growing desperation. Then I spotted a note on the kitchen table and my heart sank. Angry and hurt, I read:

      Sorry, couldn’t stay. Try not to worry and stay out of trouble.

                                          Love you,

                                                      Philip x x 

Before I even had time to collect my thoughts, not to mention mixed feelings, the land line phone rang. I dashed into the hall and nearly dropped the receiver in my haste to pick it up. “Philip?” To my astonishment, it was Marc’s voice I heard. Instant relief and joy, however, were dampened by a disappointment I could not entirely suppress. “Thank God, you’re okay. Where are you?”

“I’m at Mum’s Are you okay, Laurie?  You sound a bit…odd.”

“You know me,” I joked unconvincingly, “the original oddball.”

“How soon can you get up here? I need to know what the hell is going on.”

“And there was I, thinking you were missing me!” Even as I spoke it struck me as curious, to say the least, that he hadn’t asked after Jackie. “I have a few things to see to here then I’ll be on a train before you can say…Jackie or Ginny Sharp, for example.”

“Ah, you’ve made the connection.”

“On the contrary, it was made for me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Oh, and what do you think now that Varicose Virginia is responsible for your being kidnapped and heaven knows what else?”

“You’ve been talking to Jackie?”

“You bet I have. I’ve even met your sister Heather. One more sister to go, I gather.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You really do sound most peculiar. Is Philip there?”

“He most certainly isn’t,” I growled.

“Ah!” spoke volumes down the line.

“Does Jackie know where you are?” I remembered to ask.

“I called her. She wants to come up, but I put her off. I’d love to see her, of course I would. But with things the way they are at the moment, and…Well, you know what the family are like. Once mum and Mary have had time to get used to the idea I’m with Jackie now, the others will be putty in their hands.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

“Hope springs eternal, Laurie, hope springs eternal.” He certainly sounded more optimistic than I was feeling.  

“Look, I have to go. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can, okay? Meanwhile, take care of yourself and stay out of trouble.”

“Isn’t that my line?”

A mischievous chuckle in my ear helped ease some of the tension that had me in its grip. It also prompted me to end our conversation. “Bye, Marc.” I replaced the receiver gently before letting rip with a resounding scream that released much of my remaining tension and gave me immense satisfaction.

It took several days to track down Agnes Musoke. Her tutor was also Danny’s and  wasted no time giving me the third degree. “I trust we’ll be seeing Maurice or Dan, as he prefers to be called, in class again soon? Exams may be over, but we have a series of life experience workshops lined up that students are expected to attend.”

“He’s got a nasty bug,” I explained.

“Oh, really, is that so? That wouldn’t be the same bug Teresa Karmali has by any chance? I did wonder as they both went sick the on same day and haven’t been heard of since. At least, you were kind enough to inform us about Dan.  True, Agnes Musoke volunteered the information that Teresa, too, has a bug…but only when it suited her to put in an appearance herself. Not a word from Teresa. It’s all very disheartening, Mister Fisher, to say the least.”

I was hardly listening. I had forgotten Teresa’s second name and was anxious to store it away in a corner of my mind where it could be readily accessed. I’d have scribbled it down on the spot had it not been too obvious.

“I’m sure your students appreciate everything you do for them,” I told the tutor, “I know Maurice…err, Dan…thinks your lessons are invaluable. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for him. You and your colleagues have worked wonders.”

The tutor blushed with pleasure. “We do our best. Our pass rate is very high, you know. Dan should pass his A-levels with flying colours. But he mustn’t become complacent. I trust you’ll make sure he returns to classes as soon as he’s made a full recovery?”

I nodded, smiled weakly and fled. I hadn’t enjoyed lying. At least now, though, I knew that Agnes was still on the college roll. Moreover, I couldn’t help feeling very proud of Danny’s achievements, especially given a background of huge gaps in his education. His early teens, I knew, hadn’t been so different to Ginny Sharp’s if Jackie were to be believed. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Hadn’t I helped steer Danny in a more positive direction? “Let’s just hope he stays the course,” I muttered and promptly took myself to task for so much as imagining otherwise. Even so, I involuntarily reminded myself, we were on dodgy ground, Danny’s home territory.

I finally caught up with Agnes at the college gates one afternoon. She was on her way to a class and acknowledged me with a mixture of visible pleasure and alarm.

“I need to talk to you, Agnes, please.”

“I’m late for class already.”

“Come afterwards then or when you finish work. Can you come to my house? It doesn’t matter how late it is, I’ll be there.

“I’ll try.” She began walking hurriedly away then stopped, paused, turned and came back towards me.  “Is there any news of Teresa or Dan?”

“Dan’s fine,” I assured her.

“I’m glad. And Teresa, do you have any news of her?”

What could I say? “Dan doesn’t give up easily,” I told her, “and neither do I.” She did not respond, however, to my encouraging smile. Her expression remained serious and concerned. There was fear, too, in her eyes. I could only watch her run into the main college building with the grace of a young gazelle and hope I hadn’t scared her off once and for all.

I hardly went out during the next couple of days. If I had to go shopping for basics like milk, bread and some pasta or whatever took my fancy for meals, I’d post a note on the front door saying, ‘Back Soon’.

In the early hours of the third day, Agnes arrived. She looked tired.  As on her previous visit, refused any food or drink except for a glass of water. “Does the name Ralph Packard mean anything to you?” I thought it best not to waste any time.

Her eyes widened like saucers. There was fear…no, terror in them. She did not reply once. When she did, she spoke slowly and with feeling. “He is a dangerous man, Mister Fisher. You would be wise to keep well away from him.  You will have discovered that Teresa is…working…at one of his brothels, yes? If I don’t sound surprised, it is because I guessed as much.”

“I need to know which one,” I told her earnestly.

“Of course, but your guess is as good as mine.”

“They wouldn’t have taken her back to where she came from?”

“It’s possible but unlikely. We did escape, after all. It may well be that lightning will not strike twice in the same place, but why take the risk?”

“How did you get away?”

Agnes shrugged. “One of my customers, a regular, expressed a desire to…take me away from all that, as they say. He was a good man. I believed him. I begged him to help Teresa too. She is not like me, you see. She is beautiful for a start but also she is not strong. The life we had, it would have killed her before long if… “She paused, and seemed to change her mind about something. “But you wanted to know how we escaped..." She paused again, obviously finding it hard to talk about something she would much prefer to put behind her.

"It was very simple really," Agnes continued. "We were incredibly lucky. The customer, my saviour if you like, paid a lot of money to take us to a place where he said he wanted to share us with some friends. Of course, he was told it was strictly against house rules. But it’s true what they say about money. Enough of it will buy you anything. Two of Packard’s men were to accompany us and escort us safely back.  We were taken to a party that was in full swing. Someone spiked their drinks. Our saviour drove through the night to bring us here, to Manchester, left us with friends and drove straight back. I believe the story was going to be that the car was involved in an accident. Teresa and I took the opportunity to run away.”

“And what of Packard’s men, what will have happened to them?”

“I’m sure they paid a high price for neglecting their duties.”

“You’re right, it all sounds amazingly simple.”

“Life can be as complicated or as simple as people with enough money and the right connections choose to make it for the rest of us. Money is power, Mister Fisher. In the wrong hands, an ordinary person in the street is as good as dead.”

“And is Teresa as good as dead?”

Agnes took longer than ever to reply. “Packard has two sons, Miles and Vincent. All the Packards are a bad lot, it’s true, but Vincent is perhaps the lesser of evils. He likes Teresa. I think he will see to it that she does not suffer too much, providing of course she does as she is told and does not attempt to run away again. I have no way of knowing for sure, but his interest in her is such that I suspect it is so.  May I have another glass of water?” She drained her glass and I went to refill it.

On my return, she sipped gratefully and I could feel her eyes looking into my head and exploring voraciously. “How come they picked up Teresa and not you?” I asked the question I had wanted to ask from the start.

Agnes shrugged again. “Teresa has been living with a man I do not trust. I, on the other hand, am living with a man I trust. These men do not know each other. Teresa and I agreed we would not speak of one another. Besides, Vincent Packard will have paid a small fortune to get her back. I, on the other hand, am small change. I am at risk wherever I go of course. For now, though, I am at no greater risk in Manchester than anywhere else. I am getting an education, improving my English all the time and there is someone in my life that cares for me. If I can possibly stay, I will. But you have to understand, Mister Fisher, a runaway slave must always be looking over their shoulder.” She gave me a lovely smile. “Not that anyone can predict the future, they cannot. I, for one, would never dare try. Once, yes. Not any more. Now I take each day as it comes and treat it as if it were my last.”

“And that’s how you get by?” I was appalled.

Agnes Musoke rose to leave. “That, Mister Fisher, is how I stay alive.”

At the front door, we shook hands and she kissed me on the cheek. “Good luck, Mister Fisher. You will need it,” she added without a trace of humour in either her voice or expression.

I could not sleep. Eventually, I stopped trying and greeted the dawn over a cup of tea in the kitchen, watching the antics of some sparrows on our washing line. It was a welcome distraction from a growing anger that had threatened to consume me from the moment I closed the door after Agnes. If I was angry about the likes of Ralph Packard for exploiting people, I became even angrier at a world that, on the face of it, condemns its fat cats who feed on crime and sleaze while, behind the media front, continues to feed them.

All this was a smokescreen, of course. My anger was far more personal than I cared to admit. I was angry with Jackie for not revealing her relationship with Ginny Sharp. To be fair, Jackie had no reason to think it was of any great significance. But I was in no mood to be fair. I was furious with Philip for turning up as he had only to disappear again and livid with Marc for contacting Jackie first instead of me.

In particular, I was becoming increasingly hot and bothered over Ryan Banks. By the time I’d reached that conclusion, I was close to confronting the real reason I felt so wretched. For wasn’t it the bottom line that I was chiefly angry with myself?

Being with Philip again had reinforced my conviction that I loved him very deeply. Yet I’d had no compunction about betraying him with a young man I found attractive and with whom I couldn’t wait to have sex again. It was stupid, superficial and…unforgivable.

The next day I made the journey south once more.

After stoically ignoring three text messages from Ryan Banks, I felt compelled to reply to a fourth to let him know I was out of town and… would see him again soon. Damn!  I swore silently, instantly regretting that I had sent it. Guilt and remorse remonstrated with and threatened to overwhelm me yet again. Rescue, however, was at hand in the form of an old lady sitting opposite who not only proved amenable to conversation but was also keen to show me photographs of her latest great grandchild.

“Excuse me.” My heart skipped a beat or two as I put the phone to my ear. I hadn’t recognized the number on the screen and hoped it might be Philip.

“Laurence Fisher?” a friendly male voice enquired.

“Yes.”

“Tell me, Laurence, how does it feel to be a dead man walking?” The voice hung up almost immediately.

“Are you alright? Not bad news, I hope?” The old lady’s expression, even more so than her kindly tone,  told me that I must have looked as stunned if not as scared as I was feeling.

To be continued on Friday