Sacrilege - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

My boss was none too pleased when I called to say I needed to take some leave. “You know full well that staff are expected to book leave at least two weeks in advance,” he admonished me in a tone intended to inflict serious repentance and retraction.

    But I was past caring. “Sorry, Frank, but it can’t be helped. A sudden death in the family, I’m afraid.” I kept my fingers crossed that it was a lie. I forbore mentioning that I had grown weary of processing insurance claims years ago and, for two shakes of a lamb’s tail, would get out altogether.

    “Oh, I didn’t realize. You should have said right away. Of course you must take leave, as long as you need. Please accept my deepest condolences, Laurence.”

    “Thanks Frank.” I put the receiver down. There was something to be said for people like Frank Jefferson. A man of the old school, he could be a devious rascal when he liked, but had respect for his staff and always played fair. For my own part, I could only trust my sins would neither find me out nor prove me psychic.

    The obvious place for me to stay in London would be with my brother Marc. However, I knew he had recently taken up with a new love interest so I did not want to intrude. His last boyfriend, Nick, had died in a fire and I was so pleased that he had started to get himself a life again, especially as I would always feel partly to blame for Nick’s death.  However, neither did I much fancy staying at a hotel on my own.  So I called my old next-door neighbour, May Finn.

    It was good to hear her voice. “Of course you can stay, Laurence, for as long as you like. It will be lovely to see you again.

    “Likewise, and I dare say we both have lots to catch up on.”

    “I can’t wait.”

    There was an indefinable note in her voice that fed me the slightest of misgivings. However, for all she had a heart of gold, May Finn had always been something of a prickly pear and I thought no more of it. “See you tomorrow then, about three o’clock.”

    “I’ll look forward to it,” she said warmly.

   Next, I called Marc and told him I would be in London for a while.  “That’s great. It will be god to see you. Do you want to stay here? You know you’re always welcome.” I explained about the widow Finn.

    “Oh, right.” The relief in his voice was tangible and I grinned down the phone. Things must we going well with the new boyfriend. “Give the old girl my regards, won’t you?”

    “I will,” I promised. We chatted a little longer but I sensed he had someone with him (the new boyfriend?) and pleaded the need to go for a pee.

    “See you tomorrow.”

    “I can’t wait.”

    I thought I detected a note of irony in much the same way as I had when May Finn had spoken those same words. “Bye for now,” I said with faint misgivings. It was only as I replaced the receiver that it struck me that I hadn’t seen either Marc or May Finn for ages. Yet, yet here I was expecting to be received with open arms the very next day. I could have sworn I heard my mother murmur in my ear, “Laurence, dear, will you never learn?”

    I caught a mid-morning train to London, arriving at Euston in time to grab some lunch at a nearby Italian restaurant I knew from the old days. It was crowded and I asked a young man if I might share his table. A shock of red hair conjured up a picture of that same Nick Carter, for whose death I felt so responsible. Perhaps that is why I felt drawn to his table although, facially, he bore no resemblance to Nick whatever. 

    “Be my guest.” He had a pleasant smile and we got chatting. He volunteered the fact that his name was Ryan and I told him mine. “Nice suit,” I said for the sake of something to say.

    “I have a job interview later. I want to make a good impression.”

    “I’m sure you will. Good luck.”

    “Thanks.”

    “Did you have far to come?” I asked conversationally.

    “Not really. I live with my boyfriend in Bow. We were supposed to be getting married next week.

    “Congratulations.”

    “Thanks.” He looked mildly surprised, “but we called it off.” He added, “A civil ceremony is a wedding by any other name, don’t you think?”

    “I do indeed. I’d get married myself, but my boyfriend hasn’t asked me.”

    He visibly relaxed. “Maybe you should pop the question yourself? Mind you, I did that and I’m not even sure I still have a boyfriend.”  He groaned audibly although the hint of a grin played on his lips. 

    “Maybe I should,” I agreed, “But he might say ‘no’ and I’m not sure where we’d go from there. Besides, we’re happy as we are. Why try and fix what doesn’t need mending?”

    “You are so right,” he agreed with feeling.

   We continued eating in companionable silence. Later, I wished him luck at the interview again and expressed the hope that he would patch things up with the boyfriend.  He merely shrugged. We exchanged business cards although I suspect we both knew we were only going through the motions as it was unlikely we would ever meet again. Even so, we gave each other a parting hug as if we had been friends for years.

    Later, as my bus made its way through familiar territory and old haunts, I retrieved the card from a pocket and read the name, Ryan J. Banks., Chartered Accountant.  I couldn’t help but reflect, somewhat wryly, that I’d never have guessed his profession. In spite of the suit, he certainly hadn’t conformed to the stereotypical image of any accountant I’d ever met or imagined. The smell of his aftershave, the smoothness of his cheek and warmth of his body against mine as we’d hugged stayed with me the whole journey. Nor had I entirely shrugged it off by the time I was walking up the path to May Finn’s front door.

    For years, I had thought of her simply as the widow Finn and we had barely exchanged more than a few words word of greeting now and then. I’d got to know her better at about the time Danny and Poppy burst into my life. She had proven a good friend during what has been trying times. My heart gave a flutter. Much as I was looking forward to seeing her again, I had avoided facing up to the fact that I really should have told her truth about Danny. 

    As far as the widow was concerned, Danny had died some three years ago. Such was the gravity of events at the time that Philip had arranged with the Home Office for Danny to join the ranks of the untimely deceased and take a new identity. Born Daniel Conti, his new birth certificate read, Maurice Heaton although no amount of persuasion or bribery had persuaded Danny to answer to the name, Maurice.

    May Finn was opening the door before I’d even rung the bell. “Why, hello Laurence! It’s lovely to see you again!”

    “Ditto, May.” We hugged. “I’m sorry it’s been so long,” I murmured guiltily.

    “Time flies so, doesn’t it? Now, come on through. I dare say you’ve eaten but I’ve baked some scones to have with our tea while we…catch up on things. Would you like to take your bag upstairs and freshen up first?” 

    "That would be nice.”

    “Yes, of course. I’ve put you in the back bedroom. You can find your own way, can’t you? Between you and me, my legs have a problem with the stairs these days so I try to avoid them as much as possible.”

    “It’s very kind of you to let me stay.”

    “Rubbish. I shall enjoy the company and I can’t wait for you meet Andrew. He lives next door, you know, in your old house. We’re getting married next spring. He’s gone to visit his daughter in Eastbourne but he’ll be back in a few days so you can meet him then.”

    “May, that’s wonderful!” I gave her another hug and she giggled like a schoolgirl, for all that she had to be pushing seventy by now.

    “Now, run along while I put out the scones and make us a pot of tea.” I chuckled. It could just as easily have been my mother telling me to tie my shoelaces properly…

   No one makes scones like May Finn. I tucked in with relish. “Where are you going to live, you and Andrew?” I asked between mouthfuls.

   “We’ve yet to decide on all that. He only asked me to marry him last week and I only accepted yesterday.” A pink blush appeared on each leathery cheek, making her look years younger. “Yes, well, more of that later. Tell me all about yourself. What have you been up to lately?” 

    It struck me as an odd question. I could only assume it was an oblique reference to the reason I had left London. Shall I tell her about Danny now? I knew I should. She was someone in whom I had complete trust, after all.  But how and where the devil do I start?  “Oh, we plod on, you know, Philip and I. He sends his regards by the way. You really must come up and see us sometime.”

    “I’d like that. But each time I suggest it, you find some excuse to fob me off,” she reminded me tartly but with a twinkle in the pale blue eyes that took the edge of her words.

    “May…” I began falteringly. “I have something to tell you.”

    “Oh?”

    “Yes. It’s a delicate matter and to be honest I’m not sure how best to put it to you.”

    “I see. In that case, perhaps you had better read the note first.”

    “Note…?” Had I missed something?

    “The one Danny left for you.”

    “Danny? You’ve…seen Danny?” I felt acutely relieved, embarrassed and guilty all at the same time.

    "Oh, yes, I have indeed. Now, where did I put it? Ah, yes, I remember!” She went to the mantelpiece and retrieved a sheet of notepaper from behind a carriage clock.

    “How…?” I gulped, hot flushes refusing to let me off the hook lightly.

   "How did we meet?  How else but taking a stroll down Memory Lane at his grave?” Her voice, heavy with amused irony as it was, would have stopped even Tony Blair, in his tracks. “As you know, I regularly visit my late husband Michael at the cemetery. After tidying the grave and laying some flowers I’d then do the same for Danny.”

    “That’s very sweet of you,” I gulped, only to receive a glare that brooked no further interruption.

    “Imagine my surprise when I came across a young man with a skimpy beard at Danny’s grave. I was even more taken aback when he appeared to recognize me and greeted me like a long lost relative. I didn’t recognize him of course. He’s changed so much. I think it’s called growing up. Besides, one doesn’t expect to visit a grave and find oneself chatting to the deceased.”

    I squirmed in my seat.

   “When he revealed his identity,” she pressed on with obvious relish, “I was, well…flabbergasted, to say the least.”

    “So what did you do?” I had to know.

   “What else could I do? I brought him back for scones and tea of course. Danny always liked my scones. He certainly hasn’t changed in that respect. He scoffed the lot.”

    “Did he…?”

    “Explain everything?  Yes, he did. I have to say, Laurence, that young man is a credit to you. I dare say Philip has played his part too. One thing for sure, Danny adores the pair of you.  Now, dare I suggest you read the note?”

    I read with mixed feelings:

      Dear Laurence,

      Grandma Finn says you are coming to London.  If you are looking for me, please don’t. I can take care of myself, honest. Teresa is in big trouble but I will sort it and see her safe. Please, please, don’t interfere. You will only get hurt and I couldn’t bear that. Go home and I will be in touch as soon as I can. - Love, Danny x 

      PS It was great to see Grandma Finn again.

      “He’s very worried about you, Laurence. He thinks you might try and find him and get out of your depth. Now, I wonder why?” she added with an irony that did not escape me.

      “I think he might have at least a little faith in me!” I protested.

      “He loves you, isn’t that enough?”

     “I suppose, if you put it that way.” I raised the teacup to my lips, drained it, and automatically reached for the teapot without even asking. Remembering my manners just in time, I glanced up enquiringly.

    “Go ahead, help yourself…” said May Finn, “My home is yours for as long as it takes.”

    “As long as it takes for what, exactly…?” I muttered as I poured the tea.

    “As long as it takes for you to find Danny, I imagine.”

    “You don’t think I should just go home and wait then?”

“What I think you should do, Laurence, and what I know perfectly well you will do are not, I fear, one and the same. Now, can I tempt you with another scone?”

That evening, turning a deaf ear to the widow’s reservations, I went to the address Agnes Musoke had given me. I had intended to call on kid brother, Marc, but he wasn’t picking up his mobile or answering the land line so I plumped for Ginny Sharp instead.

The address turned out to be a small hotel situated in a back street near King’s Cross. No surprises there. Ginny Sharp must have touted for business on every inch of those streets in her time. A sign across the door read, The Portland Hotel. In for a penny…I told myself, and marched straight in.  A woman at a counter marked ‘Reception’ glanced up from a glossy magazine, “Sorry, we’re full. Try across the road.” She returned to her magazine only to look up again seconds later as if surprised to find me still standing there. “We’re full,” she repeated.

“I’m looking for Ginny Sharp,” I said with a self-confidence I was far from feeling. It crossed my mind that Danny may have had a point about my not interfering I shrugged. It was too late now. Besides, hadn’t my interference on another occasion reached a successful conclusion…eventually?  Better not to dwell, I decided, on what had passed in between.

“Why didn’t you say so?” the young woman muttered impatiently then, “She’s not here.”

“Where is she?”

“How should I know? I’m not her keeper.”

“When are you expecting her back?”

“When she turns up, okay? Now, it’s like I said, we’re full. So piss off or I’ll call security.”

You must have some idea surely? It’s important I see her.”

“Tough,” she snapped then, “Give it about a week, yeah? You never know, you might just catch her.”

“Thanks for nothing,” I muttered.

“You’re welcome, I’m sure,” she called sarcastically after me.

I resisted a desire to have the last word and called Marc. No answer. I left a message on his voicemail, spotted a bus that wasn’t even going my way, ran for it and just caught it.

Half an hour later found me in The Flying Horse. It was close to my firm’s London office. I’d been a regular customer for years and had always much preferred it to The Copper Kettle that stood only yards from my old home. Moreover, I had a great fondness for Mo, who ran it with her husband, Max.

“Hello Mo.”

“Well, knock me down with a feather if it isn’t Laurence Fisher. How are you? It must have been a few years now since you left.”

“It feels like only yesterday,” I admitted. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”

“Oh, you know, up and down like the weather. You’ll have one on the house, of course. What takes your fancy?

“I’ll have a pint of best bitter then please.”

“Then it’s a pint of the best coming up. You always were a bitter man as I recall.”

“You’ve a good memory.”

“You need one in this game, believe me. People like it when you to remember who they are so they come back. The trouble is, they also expect you to remember every sob story they’ve ever told.”

We both laughed.

“How’s Max.”

Her jolly face clouded over. “You wouldn’t have heard of course. Max passed away a year ago come September. Cancer… “

“I’m so sorry.” I was genuinely shocked and upset.

Mo shrugged and handed me an expertly pulled pint. “I miss him, of course I do. But we had some good times, Max and me. He loved this pub too. Somehow, when I’m behind this bar it’s like he’s right here with me.”

“Dying of thirst here, Mo!” a jocular voice called out.

“Okay, keep your hair on, I’m coming.” Mo responded cheerfully.

Everyone roared, as I suspect they always did since the punter was completely bald. 

Hey, everyone, there’s been another gay murder!” A woman’s voice rose above the hubbub.

The entire bar fell quiet. Mo turned up the volume of a TV in one corner of the bar. A grimfaced newsreader was relating the fact that a young man had been found murdered on Hampstead Heath, historically a regular cruising area for gay men. The victim, as yet unnamed, was a young man in his twenties.  The newsreader moved on to an item about the latest suicide bombing in Iraq. Mo turned the sound down again and I only half-listened to the buzz of conversation going on around me.

“That’s the fifth gay murder in London since just before Christmas,” someone was saying. “It has to be the same person, surely?  I tell you, I’d be shit scared if I were gay.”

“If you ask me, gays ask for everything they get,” retorted someone else, “Good riddance, that’s what I say. Whoever’s responsible for these murders is doing us all a big favour.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” a woman with striking purple stripes in her grey hair declared loudly. “No one deserves to die like that. What have you got against gays anyway?”

“You need to ask? They give me the creeps.”

“Afraid of being chatted up?” someone piped up, “No worries there, mate. One look at your ugly face and a one legged chimpanzee would run a mile!” Everyone hooted with laughter.

Mo turned up the music.

It seemed to me that the pub returned to much the same as it had been a few minutes earlier. People were chatting, laughing, joking. Some were closeted together in earnest conversation. Others were staring into space, lost in their own private thoughts. Had we become so blasé about death, I wondered? 

I waved to Mo and left.

I called at the hotel a few nights later but there was still no news of Ginny Sharp so I visited my brother. I felt disappointed and frustrated. So it was good to see Marc again. He had moved to a bigger flat and I was impressed. It was spacious, elegantly furnished and drummed into me what I already knew. My brother, unlike me, was a career man. “I guess planners will always need architects like the rest of us need plumbers,” I joked.

“You could say that.” He grinned. “It’s good to see you, bro. We’ve left it too long this time.”

“Time flies,” I mumbled and wondered how many other people, like me, used the same excuse for relying on phone calls and e-mails rather than making a real effort to stay in touch?

Marc was an accomplished cook, and I had brought some wine. We enjoyed an excellent meal although I sensed something was preying on his mind. He would tell me later, I was sure, and resolved to wait and hear what he had to say before I burdened him with my own problems. It was good to see him looking so relaxed and happy. He had been devastated by Nick’s death, even though they hadn’t been together long. I wouldn’t risk spoiling things for him, especially as I had been partly responsible. Not that Marc blamed me, he didn’t. No one did. I was left to wrestle with my guilt on my own.  It wasn’t an entirely new experience for me, either. Harry, my first partner, had committed suicide. 

After dinner, we chatted about everything and nothing for a while until his boyish charm assumed a more serious air and I, on cue, put on my good listener’s hat.

“I dare say you’ve guessed I have a new partner,” he said quietly.

“I had wondered,” I confessed.

“And I suppose you’ve been wondering why I haven’t been on the phone to tell you all about her?”

“Her?” I could not suppress my astonishment.  ”You’ve got a girlfriend and not so much as a word over dinner?  Well, well. Who’s a dark horse then?” I remarked with a smile meant to tease and encourage at the same time.

“Her name is Jackie, although that’s not the name she was born with.”

“Lots of people change their names,” I said pointedly. Marc was one of the few people who knew about Danny.

“How is Danny by the way?”

“Fine,” I lied. “So what was Jackie’s name? You don’t have to tell me,” I added laughing, “But if you do I promise it will be our secret.”

“It’s no secret. Her name was Jack.”

“She’s …”

“A transsexual, yes, and I love her to bits. She’s moving in at the weekend so you’ll meet her soon. She’s a wonderful person, Laurie, everything I could ask for. She’s kind, funny, clever…”

“Clever?” I grinned, “Not so clever to fall for a chump like you, for a start!”

My brother looked relieved. “You don’t mind then?”

“It’s your life. If this Jackie makes you happy, that’s fine with me.”

Oh, Laurie, thank you! Give me a hug, yeah?”” He came and sat beside me and I could see he was close to tears.

“You should have told me,” I murmured in his ear as we embraced.

“I know and I’m sorry. I guess I needed some time to get used to the idea myself before telling the family.”

I felt him tense in my arms. “They might need a little time too,” I pushed him gently away and regarded the tear-stained face with a grin. “They’ll come round to the idea, you’ll see. They may not be the easiest bunch to build bridges with but we haven’t done so badly so far have we? Even Alan seems reconciled to having two gay brothers-in-law.  Let’s face it. That may be a small step for mankind, but it’s still one hell of a giant leap for Alan.”

“You don’t think this is a bridge too far?”

“I think maybe I should pay our sister a visit and put out a few feelers.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He gave me another hug. “Another drink, yeah?” he leapt up, boyish charm completely restored and I was glad I’d trusted my instincts and not mentioned that I suspected Danny had been kidnapped.

It was another three days before I struck lucky at the hotel. A different young woman sat at the counter this time but a clone of the first, nevertheless, and with much the same welcoming disposition.

“We’re full.” She returned to pairing her nails.

I had a flash of inspiration. “Ginny is expecting me.”

“Ginny,” the clone shrieked, “there’s a geezer here asking for you!”

A few minutes lapsed before Ginny Sharp emerged from a room behind the counter. If I hadn’t known she was a little younger than Danny, I’d have taken her for much older. Although it was only a few years since we last met, they had not been kind to Ginny. The heavily made up woman in the incongruously chic suit observed me with frank suspicion. “Who are you and what do you want?”  As common as ever, credit where credit was due, she had lost none of her natural directness.

“My name is Laurence Fisher. You may not remember me, but…”

“Bloody hell, yes, as if I could forget? So what are you sniffing around here for?”

“Can we talk in private?”

“No, we can’t. I’ve got nothing to say to you and whatever it is you think I might want to hear, I don’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.” She turned and opened the door.

“Agnes Musoke said you might be able to help me…find someone.”

Ginny stopped in her tracks, swung round and glared at me. “Do you have to be so bloody obvious? Go and shout it from the rooftops why don’t you?  Better still, go on TV and tell the world. What has Agnes ever done to you to deserve that, eh?” She glanced at the receptionist. “Next time someone turns up and you haven’t a clue who they are, GET RID.” She turned to me. “You might as well come through, I suppose. As I recall, you never were one to take a hint.”

I followed her into what had all the appearance of an office. She sat on a swivel chair behind a desk cluttered with assorted papers and files and promptly began to… swivel.

“I’m looking for a young woman called Teresa.  I don’t know her full name, only that she may be Ugandan and she’s a friend of Agnes Musoke.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit? I’m telling you the truth.”

“The truth as far as it goes maybe.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning, Mister Laurence bloody Fisher, I haven’t got time to dance round any mulberry bushes. As far as Teresa’s concerned, I can’t help you. I wouldn’t, even if I could. As it happen, I can’t, and just as well for the both of us, I reckon.” She leaned across the desk, “You’re playing with fire, Fisher. Fire, did I say?  We’re talking nitro glycerine here. Mark my words, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll scarper back to Manchester pronto.”

“You know about Manchester?” I could not conceal a sense of shock that caught me off guard and plainly amused Ms Sharp.

“According to Danny it’s a cool place. I’m jealous. Believe me, King’s Cross ain’t a patch on what it used to be.”

“You know about Danny? You’ve seen him?” I struggled to contain my excitement.

“Of course I have. But don’t look so worried. It’s not common knowledge that Danny didn’t pop his clogs after all. Not yet, it ain’t, anyway.  Let’s hope it stays that way, eh? I must say, he’s turned out pretty well for a lowlife. We were never mates, you understand. But he was good to Poppy and she was…my friend. Don’t get me wrong. I’d throw the little scumbag to the wolves any day to save my own skin, you too. But I owe Danny, for Poppy’s sake if nothing else.”

“Where is he?”

She grabbed a pen and wrote on a scrap of paper. “There’s this house in a place called Sawbridgeworth. That’s in Essex in case you’re wondering”

“I know it.”

“Good. You’ll be able to find your own way then, won’t you?” She glanced up at me and sucked the end of her biro. “You’ll find him there most nights. I’d leave it a few days, though, if I were you. Give him time to settle in, so to speak.” She handed me the piece of paper. I took it and felt aggrieved. Is that how people see me, as a receptacle for pieces of scrap paper?

“What’s the form?” I remembered to ask, “I imagine I can’t just turn up and ask for Danny.”

“Sorry, I forgot. He’s calling himself Maurice. Heaven only knows why. I mean, well, obviously he can’t use his own name but…Maurice? Do me a favour. But, yeah, turn up and ask for Maurice.”

“Just like that…?”

“Yeah, just like that. Oh, and don’t forget to mention you’re a punter and you’ve got money to burn. I mean to say, you wouldn’t expect someone called Maurice to come cheap, would you?”

My blood ran cold. “Danny would never, never…” But a lump in my throat would not let the words pass.

“Stoop to rent? Heaven forbid.” She laughed, leaned back and regarded me with undisguised contempt. “You know what they say…once a scumbag, always a scumbag. Look at me. Ain’t I the living proof? Ain’t I just, eh?” She swivelled on the chair and lit a cigarette. Despite the hard expression and fierce glitter in the eyes, I couldn’t help feeling, as I had once before, there was more to Ginny Sharp than met the eye. “You can see yourself out can’t you? If you need a pee, Janice will tell you where to go,” she added with giggle.

There was nothing more to be said. As I pulled the door behind me, I heard her speaking to someone on the phone in a low, harsh whisper. I paused, but couldn’t make out what was being said.  Suddenly aware of Janice’s scowl, I shut the door.

Am I being set up, I wondered? 

On the way back to May Finn’s house, I stopped on impulse to dive into a florist’s and buy her a bunch of flowers. Lilies, I knew, were her favourite. She was thrilled to bits and Andrew Bolton remarked, gruffly, that I was a good lad. Since I was on the wrong side of forty, that gave me as much a well-needed fillip as the widow’s pleasure.

Marc was not answering his phone again so it was on spec that I turned up at the flat later. I put my ear to the entry phone and an unfamiliar voice asked who I was. “Press the buzzer and come right up,” said the voice. Could this be the mysterious Jackie, I wondered as I climbed a single flight of carpeted stairs.

An incredibly good-looking woman was waiting for me at the door of Marc’s apartment. She was tall and big boned, with an ivory skin that oozed a passionate sexuality. She held out her hand as I approached and gave me a dazzling smile. “Hello Laurence. I’m Jackie. I’m afraid Marc is out so I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for me.”

“My pleasure,” I said and meant it. The smile broadened and eyes like sapphires conveyed genuine pleasure.

“Will Marc be long?” I asked as we sat chatting over glasses of an excellent Merlot a little later.

“He didn’t say.  Is it urgent, whatever it is you need to see him about?”

“It’s sort of personal,” I hedged and saw that she had taken offence.

“I was only asking, not prying.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out the way it sounded. It’s just that…well…I don’t drive, you see, and I was hoping Marc might take me somewhere in his car.”

“Oh, where, or is that personal too?”

“A place called Sawbridgeworth. It’s just past Harlow and a bit of a pain to get to by public transport.”

“In that case, problem solved. Marc hasn’t taken the car and I’m not doing anything special so I can drive you.”

“I couldn’t impose,” I protested.

“If I thought you were imposing, I wouldn’t have offered. I’d have sent you head over ass down the stairs instead.”  Jackie’s wide blue eyes twinkled, if only half jokingly. I began to see what Marc saw in her.

We were well on the way to Sawbridgeworth before Jackie asked me the question I had been expecting. “Marc has told you all about me?”

“All he thinks I need to know, yes.”

“And…?”

“And, what…?”

“Don’t be coy Laurence. There’s really no need. How do you feel about your kid brother shacking up with a transsexual?”

“If he’s happy, I’m happy.”

She glanced at me in genuine surprise. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Love, happiness, peace of mind…at the end of the day, these are the things that really count. You have to grab what you can get while you can. It’s just a pity most of us have to find that out the hard way.”

“Amen to that,” said the woman beside me with feeling. “Now, where’s this house you were telling me about?”

I read from the piece of paper in my hand.

The car screeched to a sudden halt. Jackie was staring at me as if she had seen a ghost. “You are joking? What do you want to go there for? Do you know what kind of place it is, what goes on there? And here am I thinking you’re the original mister nice guy!”

“You know it?”

“Sure, I know it. “I used to…work there.”

“You were a prostitute?” I was more surprised and curious than shocked.

Jackie shrugged. “I needed operations. They cost money, a lot more than freelance journalism pays. And before you ask, yes, Marc knows. And, no, it doesn’t make a jot of difference to the way we feel about each other. How about you? Does the idea of your brother shagging a transsexual ex-prostitute bother you? Or maybe it gives you a buzz?   You’d be surprised how many people I have that effect on.” The voice was quiet, calm…and as cutting as a razor’s edge.

“You’re very bitter.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

We have a lot in common then,” I commented dryly before I even realized what I was saying.

It was my companion’s turn to look surprised. “But I thought…Marc told me you had a partner…Philip?” I nodded. “He says you’re both very happy.” She hesitated. “He told me about Harry too. It’s never easy to put hard times behind us and learn to be happy again. And, yes, I have the tee shirt, a whole bloody wardrobe full. But I suppose that goes without saying,” she added with a rueful grin.

I grinned back and told her (almost) everything.

“It’s possible Danny may be at the house, Teresa too. Your friend Agnes meant well, I’m sure. I can’t say the same for Ginny Sharp.”

“You know her?”

“We’ve met.” The full lips tightened and the fingers of one hand clenched into a tight fist.

“Do you think it’s a trap?”

“I think you’ll need to keep your wits about you more than you seem to have the faintest idea.”

“You’ll take me then?”

“As the actress said to the bishop, we’ve come this far, we might as well go all the way.” She drove on. We didn’t speak again until she pulled up in a leafy avenue that struck me as quintessentially English. “The house is about a ten minutes walk from here. Go to the end of this road. Turn right, then right again.” 

“Will you wait for me?”  She nodded grimly. I tried to swallow my nerves but they were having none of it. “If I’m not back in two hours, will you call the police, anonymously, of course? You never know, I may need rescuing.”

“If you’re not back in two hours, all you’ll need is a body bag,” Jackie observed with a tight smile.

Her words haunted me all the way to a wrought iron gate. Beyond it stood an impressive white house in compact but beautifully kept grounds.

I began to panic.

Perhaps Danny was right and I shouldn’t interfere. Before I could further entertain the idea of changing my mind, however, the decision was taken out of my hands by a disembodied male voice demanding I identify myself. Unable to see where it came from, I spoke my name.

“Your business?” the voice enquired curtly.

“Maurice,” I said in much the same vein.

After a long pause, the gates opened and I walked up the path to the front door, wishing the bishop had been made of sterner stuff.

To be continued on Monday

Sacrilege - Chapter 1

SACRILEGE

A novel by Roger N. Taber

[Book 2 of the Laurence Fisher trilogy]

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval systems or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior (written) permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names,, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

[Note: for a synopsis of Sacrilege, see previous post.]

 CHAPTER ONE

Now, why is it, I often wonder, that just when life is going smoothly and we are happy and contented, fate invariably interferes and turns everything on its head?

We were a happy and contented household. At least, I thought we were.

I had been living in Manchester with my partner, Philip, for nearly three years. Sharing our house and lives was Danny whom we looked upon as a son although we hadn’t formally adopted him. Danny had barged into my life, rather like fate, a few years earlier when I lived in London. Philip, too, had come into my life and similarly turned it upside down at about the same time. Danny, when I first met him, had been a rent boy. Philip was a Detective Sergeant with the Metropolitan Police. A brush with the criminal fraternity involving all three of us had necessitated a diplomatic move to Manchester.

Philip was now a Detective Inspector.

Thankfully, Danny had not only taken on a new identity, but also turned over a new leaf and was doing well at a local Further Education college. Given the huge gaps in his early education, this was no mean achievement. Moreover, he had demonstrated such an extraordinary talent for art that he had been accepted at the local art college for a first degree course commencing in September. He had turned eighteen now and was, I liked to think, a credit to Philip and me. Oh, we had our ups and downs and the usual disagreements, but on the whole, we were as close knit a little family as you might find anywhere… or so I naively believed.

Yes, life seemed to be jogging along smoothly enough, and I for one, was happy and contented.

I must have been wearing blinkers. Sadly, this is something of a Fisher trait and had seen me ruin a previous relationship with my late partner, Harry. True, Philip had been a little distant of late but I’d put that down to a quirky desire to grow a beard. Danny already had a goatee. While I have no fondness for beards, I can tolerate them. However, I hadn’t appreciated how they not only change a person’s looks, but can also affect their general disposition. Danny suddenly rediscovered girls. During his several years of abstinence and concentrating on his studies, I had often fretted about his natural personality being repressed. Now it shone through, and I was delighted with the transformation. Philip, on the other hand, became morose during the early weeks of growth and seemed to be forever following its progress in a mirror. Not content with a full beard that impressed even me, he had become obsessed with brushing and trimming the damn thing.

Inevitably, there were rows.

In spite of this sprouting of hair wherever I looked, the three of us had long since made a pact never to let the sun go down on a quarrel…and we never did. That is, until one weekend in early June.

On the Friday evening, I was home alone watching Coronation Street on TV.  Philip was working and Danny had said he was going out with some mate of his called Terry. Philip arrived home earlier than I expected. I guessed at once that something was up. He had a certain look about him that had always been a sure warning that he needed to get something off his chest. Whatever it might be, I wasn’t going to like it. “There’s some quiche left if you’re hungry and plenty of salad stuff in the fridge,” I told him while trying to read his face with baited breath and keep an attentive eye on the television at the same time.

“Thanks, Laurence. Sounds good to me,” he said cheerfully enough and disappeared into the kitchen. Not even a hug. Now I knew for sure something was up. I followed him into the kitchen.

“Where’s Danny?” he asked, taking his time surveying the contents of the fridge to avoid looking at me.

“He’s out with a friend. Shall I put the kettle on for a brew?” I did it anyway, by which time he was standing next to me, meticulously creating a salad to go with the quiche.

“Danny had a go at me at breakfast,” commented Philip in a conversational tone that did not fool me for a second. “I keep forgetting he likes to be called Dan these days.”

“He’s always having a go at me for the same reason. I ask you, what does he expect? Danny he’s always been and always will be as far as I’m concerned.”

“I suppose we should make an effort. He’s turned eighteen now, if only just. I dare say he feels Danny is a throwback to a time he’d rather forget.”

“Maybe,” I was inclined to agree. Danny hadn’t had an easy time of it during his younger years. “Even so, we’re bound to forget sometimes.”

“I dare say he can live with that, so long as we at least try.”

“Well, I will if you will.”

“Good. That’s settled then. It’s goodbye Danny, hello Dan from now on. Dan goes well with the goatee, too, don’t you think?”

“You know my feelings on the subject of beards,” I remarked more testily than I intended. Thankfully, the kettle boiled and I was able to distract myself by making a pot of tea.

Later, we sat down at the kitchen table and I watched him eat as I sipped my tea.

“I thought you were watching TV?” he muttered between mouthfuls. Philip was always inclined to mutter when playing for time.

“I thought I’d keep you company instead.”

“That’s nice.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is.” He paused and looked across the table at me while not quite looking me in the eye. “You know how I love being with you.” He gave me a huge, warm smile before returning to pick at a lettuce leaf smothered in salad cream with his fork.

“Did you eat at the station?”

“I managed to grab a bite, yes.”

“So you won’t starve if you stop playing with that lettuce leaf long enough to tell me whatever it is you can’t face telling me.”

He laid the fork down and this time did look me in the eye. “You know me too well.” He grinned and ran his tongue, very sexily, along his lower lip.

I refused to be sidetracked. “So, are you going to tell me?”

“You’ve heard about the rise of homophobic attacks down south.”

“So what’s new?” I observed dryly.

“A serial killer, that’s what’s new.”

My heart sank. I knew what was coming next. “So?”

“So I’ve been asked to help catch the bastard.”

“You’re going south?”

“I’ve been seconded to the Met.”

“You’re going back to London?” I could not disguise my immediate panic.

“For as long as it takes to get a result, yes.”

The penny dropped. “So that’s why you grew the beard, so no one will recognize you.” It was not a question.

Philip nodded. “It’s has to be better to play safe than sorry, right? Not that I expect to run into anyone with an old score to settle, but you never know.”

“Will you be working undercover?”

“You know I can’t discuss it.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Okay, won’t if that’s how you prefer to see it.”

”It’s how it is,” I retorted.

“You know how it is, Laurence. I’m a copper for heaven’s sake!”

We glared at each other. I was angry and upset, the more so because I sensed he couldn’t wait to get started. “When do you leave?”

“I start Monday morning.”

“Monday…!” I was genuinely shocked. Another penny dropped. “How long have you known?”

He shrugged. “A few weeks….”

“A few weeks, and you never said a word!”

“I couldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t,” I snapped.

“Okay, wouldn’t. I didn’t want to worry you, for one thing. Besides…” his voice trailed away.

“Besides, what…?” I prompted.

“I knew how you’d react and I couldn’t face it. I love you, Laurence, and I know you love me. But when it comes to supporting me in my job you’re about as much use as wet toilet paper.”

“What do you expect? You’ve always put your job before me. How do you think it feels, always coming a poor second in your partner’s life?”

“That isn’t true,” he denied hotly, “but even if it were, you knew how it would be from the off.”

“Not quite,” I reminded him scathingly, “I only found out you were a copper by accident, remember?”

“Trust you to drag that up again. For crying out loud, Laurence, haven’t the last few years meant anything to you?”

“I used to think so. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s just as well you’re going away.”

“They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder.” He grinned.

But I was in no mood to be patronised. “Maybe, maybe not, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” I scrambled up from my chair and left the room before he could see I was close to tears. I heard him call my name with an intensity of feeling that cut me to the quick.

I ran out of the house and did not stop running until I had turned the corner of our street. Now I resorted to slow, painful steps that took me to the park. Here, I sat on a bench in front of a magnificent display or roses…aware only of mischievous shadows conspiring to make me feel both guilty and scared. London had not been kind to us, Philip, Danny and me. Hadn’t it nearly cost us our lives? Now Philip was going back. Suppose, this time…

But I was saved from a surfeit of supposing by someone greeting me with surprise.

“Hi, Laurence!” a familiar voice called. It was Danny, accompanied by a pretty girl I did not recognize. Wearily, I got up and summoned a bright smile. “I want you to meet Teresa. I’m the only one allowed to call her Terri,” he added with a shy grin. “Terri, this is Laurence. Laurence, meet Teresa Karmali.”

“I am so pleased to meet you.” The girl and I shook hands. “Dan has told me a lot about you.”

“Not too much I hope,” I joked weakly, “and you shouldn’t let him call you Terri.  Teresa is a lovely name.”

“I think he is very lucky to have people like you in his life.”

I smiled, a trifle embarrassed, and sat down.

“So what are you doing moping around here?” Danny demanded with his customary directness.

“I’m not moping,” I protested.

“I called out to you twice, but you were miles away and don’t tell me you were admiring the roses either.”

“They are beautiful,” Teresa remarked.

“Don’t let me keep you,” I mumbled.

“He’s told you, hasn’t he?” said Danny in a tone that conveyed more impatience than sympathy. “Phil’s told you he’s leaving and you’ve got the hump.”

“You knew?” I flared.

“I guessed something was up and pestered him until he told me. You could have done the same. But you didn’t have a clue, did you? He’s been getting his knickers in a real twist about telling you. Sometimes I wonder about you, Laurence, I really do.”

“So why didn’t you tell me,” I demanded.

Danny shrugged. “It’s not my place. It’s between the two of you.”

“Since when has that stopped you speaking your mind?”

“Speaking your mind is one thing. Interfering is something else.”

“Really…?” I bit my tongue, but sensed he knew what I was thinking. There had been a time when interfering in people’s lives had practically been a way of life for Danny. But this was neither the time nor the place to drag up the past. He visibly tensed. I opened my mouth to say something vaguely reassuring when a car exhaust sounded off nearby.

The sudden noise made us all jump, Teresa especially. She looked around almost frantically, her pretty face wearing a frightened expression. My heart went out to her. Africa had known more than its fair share of war zones. Had she grown up in one, I wondered?

“Is she okay?” I asked Danny.

“I am fine, thank you. The bangs made me jump, that’s all.  And I can speak for myself.”

“Sorry,” I murmured apologetically.

She gave me a radiant smile.

“Apology accepted,” said Danny.  Teresa glared at him. He grinned. Her expression softened. It crossed my mind that these two might be good for each other. “We’ll be off now. Don’t wait up,” he added cheekily, “and don’t sit here sulking either. Go home and give Phil a big hug from me.”

“I am not sulking,” I insisted.

“Really…?” Danny mimicked me to perfection, still laughing as they wandered, hand in hand, into the twilight.

I remained where I sat, feeling even more sorry for myself than I had before I set out. The knowledge that Danny had known about Philip’s plans while I had been left in the dark was hard to digest. I felt…betrayed.

“A penny for them…?” A voice at my ear slipped with practised ease into my head.

“How did you know I would be here?” I growled without so much as glancing at Philip as he sat down beside me.

“Call it a lucky guess.”

“Lucky?” I snorted, “And pigs might fly. Am I really that predictable?”

“Not predictable, Laurie…well, not exactly. Not always anyway, just sometimes, especially when you’re…”

“Sulking?”

“I was going to say, unhappy.”

“And whose fault is that?”

We sat in silence for a while. I wanted him to put his arm around me but he didn’t, probably because he thought I would push it away. Would I, I wondered? Was I really such a contrary so-and-so?

I sighed.

“It’s the job, Laurence, you know that. It has nothing to do with you and me. We’re rock solid…aren’t we?”

“So why did you tell Danny before you told me?” I grumbled. “If we’re so rock solid, how come you don’t trust me?”

“Now you’re just being silly. Of course I trust you. I love you, for heaven’s sake. I knew you’d be upset, that’s all.”

I looked up. “I’m more than upset, I’m worried sick, and you haven’t even gone yet!”

“You know me, Laurie. I can take care of myself. I’m bloody good at my job, as well you know. So have a little faith, yeah?  Manchester is no copper’s picnic, you know. But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“There’s no comparison with London,” I pointed out.

“You wouldn’t say that if you were in my shoes.  Believe you me, down south has no monopoly on crime.”

“But if someone recognizes you, one of Fat Georgie’s old cronies…”

“Fat Georgie is behind bars. He’s history. The criminal fraternity will have moved on, along with the rest of the world. No one gives a damn about Fat Georgie any more except maybe his mother if he has one. More fool her, in that case. Besides, Georgie committed the cardinal sin of getting caught. I’ll be in no more danger in London than I am on the streets of Manchester.”

“So why grow a beard?”

“Why, just to annoy you of course. What other reason could I have?” He put an arm around me and I let my head rest on his shoulder.

“I’d die if anything happened to you.”

“Nothing will.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Maybe not, but I have to believe it. Otherwise, I’d never be able to get out of bed in the mornings.”

Another long silence followed but this time a comfortable one. “Danny has a new girlfriend. I’ve met her. They were here just before you came along. She seems nice. Better still, I think she might be good for him. She has spirit.”

“So has Danny, even if it’s lost its edge in recent years.”

“Exactly…. I think Teresa might restore it, but in the nicest possible way.” I added hastily.

“She’s no Poppy then?”

“In no way, shape or form, as far as I can tell.” Poppy had been Danny’s first girlfriend. They had lived on the streets of London together. She had been raped and murdered by Fat Georgie, their pimp. Tragically, it was not an uncommon end for a young person on the streets of any major city. “Danny said I should give you a big hug,” I said, anxious to prevent my thoughts going down that particular road.

“So?”

We hugged. It was a comfort. So, too, the pungent smell of roses and the sound of birds singing. It was as if they were telling me to make the most of what life had to offer…while it lasted.

Philip had the rest of the weekend free and planned to drive to London on Monday morning. We went to bed early on Friday and got up late on Saturday.  On Saturday morning we went shopping. In the afternoon we drove to Hollingworth Lake and enjoyed a stroll in the Country Park.  That evening we took in a movie. Afterwards, Philip surprised me by taking me to dinner at Manchester’s exclusive Panaceas Bar and Restaurant. “We’ll never get in and, besides you can’t afford it,” was my first reaction.

“The table is already booked and let me worry about what I can afford. Besides,” kissing me on the lips, “you’re worth it.”

We had a wonderful meal and our own private booth gave us plenty of scope to be silly and romantic, not to mention heady on a very expensive wine. Later in bed, his arms around me, a feeling of panic came over me again. “Your address, you must leave me your address and phone number in London. Now, before we forget.”

His grip on me tightened perceptibly. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I can’t tell you because I don’t even know myself.”

“In other words, you’ll be undercover and a prime target for any nasty piece of work who might rumble you.” I felt tears sting my eyes.

“I’ll be fine, honest.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“So is crossing the road.”

“I’m scared.”

“So am I.” He licked the lobe of my ear.

“Then don’t go.”

“You know better than that. It’s my job.”

“You’ll be sure let me know how you are?”

“I’ll call you as often as I can.”

“Every day…?”

“As often as I can,” he repeated in a tone that told me plainer, than any words, to please shut up and accept the inevitable. I sighed. What choice did I have?

We made love.

On Sunday, Danny amazed us both by bringing us brunch in bed. “I thought you might want to lie-in,” he said grinning from ear to ear.

I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. “It’s past noon already!” I protested.

“I take it you had a good night then, yeah?”

“Fantastic.”

“Be my guest,” said Philip, regarding Danny with bleary eyes.

“Pardon…?”

“My wallet, it’s in my suit jacket. Help yourself. Since I can’t fault the room service, I can hardly begrudge a good tip can I?”

“You think I’m doing this because I want to cadge a few quid? I’m doing it because I love you guys and this is your last day together for a while and I wanted to make you happy.” Danny was suitably indignant.

“It’s a lovely gesture, Danny, and we appreciate it, we really do,” I assured him and gave Philip an unsubtle dig in the ribs with my elbow.

“We love you too Danny,” Philip yawned, “Will twenty quid be enough?”

“You are so horrible to me! I don’t have to stand here and take this bullshit.”

“Okay, thirty and not a penny more,” Philip grunted as he tucked in to a tuna bake, new potatoes and salad.

“Thanks Phil, you’re a star!” Danny was out of the door in no time then put his head round and treated us both to a huge grin. “Have fun. Oh, and good luck in London, Phil. Hurry home, yeah?”

“Look after Laurence for me, yeah?” Phil parried with a lopsided grin that spoke volumes.

“You know I will.”

“No taking him for a soft touch, okay?”

“As if…!” The head disappeared. We only half-listened for the sound of feet taking the stairs two at a time then the front door crashing shut some five minutes later.

“This is delicious. If he gets nowhere fast as an artist, he could get a job as a chef any time,” Philip remarked.

“I am not a soft touch,” I protested, “You’re the one who gave him thirty quid, not me.”

“I’d have given him forty to keep him from hanging around the house all day and spoiling our plans.”

“Plans, what plans?”

“Later. Eat your brunch.”

“What plans?” I insisted.

”I thought we’d have a love-in.”

“Oh, that.” I responded to his wink in kind and we ate with relish. The next morning I awoke to find a note on Philip’s pillow:

My Darling Laurence,

I know how you hate goodbyes and so do I. Besides, you were sleeping so soundly I hadn’t the heart to wake you. I will call you as soon as I can.

All my love,

Philip x x x

PS Don’t let Danny run rings around you.

I burst into tears and was so miserable I felt marginally justified about taking the day off work.

It is all very well for people to say it helps to keep busy when all you want to do is wallow in self-pity, but when you’re stuck with a job where even keeping busy sends you up the wall, it’s not always the best policy. Although circumstances had all but dictated I move to the Manchester offices of my old software firm, I had also looked forward to a change of scenery. What I needed, of course, was a change of direction altogether. I might even have taken that step if Philip and Danny hadn’t been part of the new package.  For a while, it seemed my life was finally on track. I had all I’d ever wanted…happiness, security, the kind of family life I dreamed about but for which my own family had sold me short for years. .

I pulled myself up sharply. We were a family…Philip, Danny and me.  And I was happy…wasn’t I?

I not only missed Philip’s departure but also overslept altogether. Danny had left for college by the time I made my way downstairs, shuffled into the kitchen in my dressing gown, put the kettle on and made some breakfast. I was missing Philip already. So much so that I burned the toast for thinking about him and put sugar in my tea. I never take sugar but Philip always did.

Eventually, I went into town and decided to treat myself, although to what I hadn’t a clue. Somehow, I found myself browsing shelves in a bookstore. A popular paperback caught my eye but the lighting was poor (it couldn’t be my eyes, surely?) and I took it to the front window so I could read the blurb on the back cover.

For no reason, I glanced up and saw Danny and Teresa walking on the other side of the road. I looked at my watch and frowned. Danny should have been in college. I had just started to wonder what Teresa did for a living or whether she, too, was a student when a car pulled up just ahead of them.  I saw a tall, black man step out of the passenger seat and say something. Teresa became very animated. Was it anger, defiance? A mixture of both, I decided. She looked scared too. For his part, Danny was furious. He started shouting and making gestures that were anything but placatory. I was reminded of the old, recalcitrant Danny that Philip and I had plucked from a life of street crime barely three years ago.

My heart sank.

I wanted to run out of the shop, dash across the road and demand to know what the hell was going on. I did nothing of the sort of course but remained, rooted to the spot, eyes riveted on the unpleasant scenario being played out opposite. No one seemed to be paying it any attention but me. Everyone else was going about his or her own business as usual.

The tall man caught Teresa by the arm. She tried to break free. Danny attempted to intervene. I expected a fight to break out. Instead, all three froze. Seconds later, first Teresa then Danny got into the rear seat of the car. The tall man stood and watched then slammed the door shut before returning to the front passenger seat.

The car, a Mercedes-Benz estate sped away.

“Did you see that?” I asked a young woman standing next to me, her head in a book. “Something happened across the road. Two men and a girl were…well, I think they might have been kidnapped.” She glanced up, took one look at me and wandered off towards the rear of the store. ”Honestly, there’s no accounting for the sheer ignorance of some people!” I muttered.

Depositing the book in my hands on the nearest available shelf space, I ran outside.

Had I really used the word, kidnapped? “I can’t believe I said that,” I said aloud and several passers-by gave me funny looks. There has to be a perfectly simple, logical explanation. Well, doesn’t there…? I would tackle Danny about it when he came home. For now, I could but enjoy the sunshine and treat myself as I had planned. In the event, I did neither, but caught a bus home.

The house seemed unbearably empty. When Danny was out and Philip was working, I was usually happy doing whatever needed to be done or just relaxing with a book…whatever. Yet, this was different. Philip was miles away in London and since I didn’t even have an address or a number to call, he might as well have been on the other side of the world. Danny, though, I kept reassuring myself, would be home later.

The hours passed.

I stayed up to watch the late film on TV, realized I had seen it before and dozed off. Midnight came and went, still no sign of Danny. Perhaps he had stayed over at Teresa’s?  But in my heart I knew he hadn’t. For a start he would have telephoned or sent a text message. For all his faults, there was no way Danny would leave me to worry myself sick like this, especially knowing that I was here on my own.  I kept replaying the scene I had witnessed at the bookstore window over and over in my head. It was like a compulsion. I couldn’t help myself.  In spite of endless cups of tea, I could neither relax nor shrug off the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

An awful sense of déjà vu descended on me and refused to budge. I told myself that Danny may well have been an incorrigible little toe rag once but he’d changed, grown up.  He had a new life now and a good one. He’d never do anything to jeopardise that…would he?

Eventually, exhausted, I fell asleep. I awoke, completely disoriented, to find myself stretched out, fully clothed, on the sofa.  I felt stiff, uncomfortable and needed to go to the loo. As I mounted the stairs, events of the previous day came flooding back and I looked in Danny’s room without even bothering to knock. Needless to say, his bed had not been slept in.

I felt as though I hadn’t slept a wink, something that several cups of strong coffee did precious little to remedy. I called hospitals, friends and the college. No one had any news of Danny. None of his friends had seen him for a couple of days. Nor did anyone have any information about Teresa other than they thought she was originally from Uganda and Danny was crazy about her.

All the following day I willed Philip to call but, of course, he didn’t. When I finally heard from him on the Friday, it was from a public call box. “Philip?” My heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice but my delight was short-lived.

“Hi, it’s great to hear your voice, Laurie. I’m fine. Hope you are too. Miss and love you heaps. Sorry, I can’t chat.” The sharp click of a receiver being hastily replaced was like a shot exploding in my ear. 

I could have cried. There had been so much I wanted to tell him and he still didn’t even know Danny was missing.

Common sense did its best to reassure me. At least you know he’s alright. That’s the main thing, surely? As for Danny, he can take care of himself. He’ll turn up soon, as bright and cheerful as ever, you’ll see. I felt comforted but nowhere near reassured.

The days dragged on.

Three weeks passed. Philip rang once more but, again, did not give me time to get a word in. I kept agonizing about whether to call the police and report Danny missing. Several times, I resolved to do just that but changed my mind before my fingers had finished dialling 999. I couldn’t be sure Danny had been kidnapped and, besides, the Home Office had warned us to keep a low profile after arranging Danny’s ‘death’ only three years earlier.

When my mobile phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number, I barely hesitated before taking the call. I knew Philip would not risk calling from a number that could be easily traced and suspected Danny would take the same precaution. It might even be someone with news of either…

“Hello?”

“Mister Fisher?”

“Yes.” I didn’t know the voice.

“My name is Agnes Musoke. We’ve never met but I know your son, Dan.”

A lump rose in my throat. Danny often told people I was his dad although his real father was alive and living in London. There had never been any love lost between them. He was separated from Danny’s mother who, by his own admission, had never demonstrated any maternal feelings towards him. “Do you know where he is?” I pleaded.

“Not exactly,”she hedged, “But I think he will be with Teresa and I have a good idea where she might be. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

“You can come to my house.”

“Okay. But I don’t finish work until late. I could get there for, say, about one o’clock?”

“Have a heart,” I groaned, “I have to get up for work tomorrow.”

“Please, Mister Fisher, it’s a matter of life and death. Believe me, I do not exaggerate.”

“Okay. I’ll wait up for you. Do you have a pen handy? I’ll give you the address.”

“That won’t be necessary. I know where you live.”

“Oh?”  But the line was dead. I stared at the tiny screen. “Ring, Philip. Damn you, ring!” It wasn’t only that I trusted him to advise me what to do next. The sound of his voice alone would have been enough to make me feel less helpless and ineffective, if only marginally so. More importantly, it would make me feel less…alone.

I spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks waiting for the phone ring. Every time it did, my heart leapt to my mouth. An officious sounding woman from the college called to ask if Dan was sick. I told her he was and, no, I wasn’t sure if he would be well enough to attend classes tomorrow. Then the same wrong number called three times.

A friend of Danny’s, Greg Staples, whom I had met several times and liked, called to leave a message since Danny wasn’t answering his mobile. “Will you ask him to call me as soon as he gets in touch?” I promised I would. Only fleetingly did it strike me as odd that Greg had said ‘as soon as he gets in touch’ and not ‘when you see or hear from him’ as I probably would have done.

Outwardly I raged at any and every object in my line of vision. “It’s so bloody typical of Danny to dump me in it like this and trust Philip to disappear just when I need him!” Inwardly, I was becoming increasingly frightened for the young man I had come to look upon as the son I would never have.

It was after 2.00 am when Agnes Musoke arrived. I showed her into the sitting room.

She was very apologetic.  “I’m sorry it is so late. It isn’t easy for me to get away.”

“Can I get you anything…a cup of tea, coffee, something stronger?”

“A glass of water would be nice.”  She followed me into the kitchen and we sat around the same table where the three of us - Philip, Danny and me - had enjoyed many a meal and a good few arguments. “This room is just as Dan describes it. I feel as though I have been here many times.”

“You’ve known each other a while then?”

“We started at college on the same day.”

“Oh? He’s ever mentioned you.”

“We are friends, but not close friends. We chat a lot at the college but nowhere else. You must understand. I don’t make friends easily. But Dan, he is very easy to talk to.”

“And Teresa, she’s a student too?”

“She is not a student, no. But she is the same as me in other ways.”

“Oh?”

“We are both illegal immigrants.”

“Oh.”

“We did not travel together. We met up later. Like me, she was tricked into believing this country was the next best thing to paradise. Like me, the people responsible for bringing us here put her on the streets as a prostitute. Like me, she escaped.”

I digested this news with difficulty. “And now they’ve snatched her back?” I asked after a long, awkward pause. Agnes nodded gravely.

“And Danny, how does he fit into all this?”

“He doesn’t. As far as they are concerned he is a nuisance, nothing more and, as such…expendable.”

I swallowed bile. “Will you help me find him?”

“I wish I could but I can’t and won’t risk that again. As it is, I’m frightened. Teresa would not knowingly betray me but it only takes one slip of the tongue. For now, I will stay in Manchester but for how long…” she shrugged…”is anyone’s guess.”

“So why are you here?”

She rummaged in her bag for a piece of paper and wrote on it. “This is the address of someone who may be able to help you. At least she will probably know if Danny is alive or…”

 The unspoken threat hung over us like the sword of Damocles and I fought off a desire to throw up with some difficulty.

“I must go now. Thank you for your time. Good luck.”

We shook hands.  As I closed the front door behind her minutes later, I couldn’t help wondering if I would ever see Agnes Musoke again? I looked at the piece of paper I continued to clutch in one hand and froze. I didn’t recognize the address but I knew the name, Ginny Sharp.

I groaned. If Ginny Sharp was mixed up in this little caper, Danny was as good as dead already.

To be continued on Friday