He took another swallow of his pint. ‘Yes, let’s do that,’ he said. ‘I must be more tired than I realized. Been having too much fun.’
Yes, that was it, she’d thought, as they’d made their slow way along the narrow riverside path that led back to their house. For once, they’d both been having too much fun.
Later that night, she’d lain awake again in bed, listening to Liam’s gentle snoring and the distant sounds of the night. Liam had collapsed into bed almost as soon as they’d got in, looking all in. She’d half-heartedly watched some Saturday night television, drunk another glass of wine, and then had followed him up. But sleep had proved elusive.
It was all like a dream, she thought. For a few moments, earlier that day, she thought they’d recaptured it, that perfection they’d had when they’d first been together. Briefly, everything had seemed right again, and she could imagine a future – here, with Liam, watching him paint, not worrying about her own career. Just getting by with each other. Now, it felt as if all that had just melted away, like a dream that you can scarcely remember on waking.
She didn’t even know why. OK, so she’d been reminded yet again that Liam was ill. That his condition was worsening. That it would continue to deteriorate. That whatever future there was here was at best uncertain.
But she’d known all that. For a short period, she’d been able to put it aside, pretend that it didn’t exist, or at least that it didn’t matter. Now, everything had come flooding back. Liam’s condition. Her own isolated life and work up north. The reality that she’d have to face again once this weekend was over.
And Jake. Jake who meant nothing to her, except as a potential target for her work. Jake who was firmly on the other side. Jake who could be her entry point into Jeff Kerridge’s inner circle.
Jake who was taking her for a drink in just a few days’ time.
Later, when she was back up north and everything was beginning to slip out of her control, she would look back at that weekend as perhaps the last time she’d felt genuinely happy, truly content. The last time she’d felt really close to Liam.
The last time things had been simple.
Before Jake.
Chapter 14
‘Are you OK? You look all in.’
She paused in the doorway, suddenly conscious of how exhausted she was feeling. ‘Thanks, Joe. You know how to brighten a girl’s spirits on a Monday morning.’
‘It’s my sole aim in life,’ Joe said, slumping down into the seat opposite her. ‘No, you look fabulous as always. But knackered.’
‘Stop digging. You’re already in well over your head.’
‘Sorry. Just thought you’ve not been quite yourself lately. None of my business, of course, so tell me to bugger off. But if there’s anything I can do . . .’
She regarded him for a moment. The staccato, nervous delivery of the words was characteristic, but the content less so. Even in the pub, Joe’s conversations rarely veered into personal territory.
What with everything that had happened since, she’d almost forgotten her unsettling encounter with Joe a few evenings before. When she’d returned to the office after meeting Morgan Jones, her brief suspicions had melted away, insubstantial compared with the potential break-in and Jones’ disturbing claims.
After the events of this last weekend, any anxiety about Joe had slipped even further into the background. She’d had a late night, little sleep, an early morning and a long drive, and was at the point where she could barely think straight. Prior to Joe entering the room, she’d been staring vacantly at the company’s accounts, scarcely registering, let alone making any sense of, the figures in front of her.
‘No, I’m fine, Joe. Just not sleeping well for some reason.’ She gestured towards the empty mug on her desk. ‘Need less of this stuff.’
‘If you’re sure . . .’ Joe made as if to rise from the chair, then paused. ‘I mean, I’m happy to hold the fort if you wanted to take the day off.’
‘When did you know me to throw a sickie, Joe?’ She felt, momentarily, her suspicions flooding back.
‘Wasn’t thinking of a sickie. Just a day’s leave. Months since you took any time off. Not as if we’re run off our feet.’
Maybe that was it, she thought. Perhaps he thought that the business was in trouble. If so, she could understand his concerns. The business was doing pretty well in fact – and still would have been even if its capital hadn’t been under-written by the Agency. But times were tough. Joe was skilled in his field, but the market wouldn’t be awash with suitable vacancies. It was only a few months since he’d been made redundant from his last job. They’d had a quiet few weeks. Marie herself wasn’t worried because she knew there was enough business in the pipeline and plenty of good opportunities emerging from her marketing efforts. But that wouldn’t be obvious to Joe, whose sights focused on the next job at hand.
She also wondered, sometimes, if she was fooling herself. It was easy to be blase when you knew it wasn’t your real livelihood. Marie paid herself a salary out of the business for form’s sake – the accounts had to be audited for real – but the money was offset against her Agency salary. She worked hard at the business, but it was all play-acting. And there was another question. If she decided to pull out of the field – or if the powers that be decided for her – something would have to happen to the business.
They’d arrange some cover story – that she was selling up, closing or liquidating the business. A lot would depend on timing. If time allowed the transition to be managed properly, as when she’d moved into the role, the business might be ‘sold’ on to another agent. If not – and the signs were that any withdrawal might happen at the shortest of notice – the options were more limited. They might come up with some story about her being taken ill or having to leave for some domestic reason. But that would mean the closure of the business, and Joe and Darren would be out of a job.
Another thing to feel guilty about. You come into this job with big ideals, and you find that all you’re doing is dicking around with other people’s lives.
‘All the more reason not to be skiving,’ she said. ‘Need to be out drumming up business.’ She picked up the papers on her desk and waved them towards Joe. ‘We’re doing OK, Joe. But we can’t afford to be complacent.’
‘If you’re sure. But doesn’t do any good if you work yourself into the ground.’
She smiled. ‘It’s sweet of you, Joe. But I’m fine. Really. Nothing wrong with me that a couple of early nights won’t put right. And a beer with you on Wednesday.’
He pushed himself slowly to his feet, still looking unconvinced. ‘I mean it. You want me to hold the fort, not a problem.’
‘Thanks, Joe. I really appreciate that. And I’ll take you up on it sometime. But not just yet.’
Nobody had told her quite how much acting ability this job would take. If this went belly up, she could always think about trying a few auditions. Whatever she’d told Joe, she felt bloody awful. It was mainly just tiredness. They’d spent the previous evening in casualty, going through the endless queuing and waiting that seemed to attend any kind of medical treatment.
When Liam had collapsed on the seafront, she’d initially assumed the worst – even though she didn’t really know what the worst might be. In those first few seconds on the rain-soaked promenade, she’d envisaged all kinds of terrors: that he’d been taken out by some lone sniper, secreted away in an upper floor of one of the hotels that overlooked the promenade, aiming for her. Or, more prosaically, that he’d suffered some major physical trauma – a heart attack or a stroke.
It seemed like forever before her rational mind kicked back in, though it could have been only a few seconds. But then she was bent over him, the rain falling harder, as she tried to see what was wrong.
There’d been no gunshot, no wound, no sniper. That was all just her overactive imagination. Blood was oozing down his forehead from where he’d caught his skull on the metal railings, but he looked better than she’d
