‘Bye.’
MarkDrury was feeling anxious. He was getting impatient waiting for Morton toappear. All afternoon he had sat in his car, fiddling with his phone andwatching as the GPS device tracked Morton’s every move, even within theconfines of the archive. What the hell can anyone want to do in acrappy old library all day? Mark asked himself. How bloodyboring is this bloke?
Finally, the steady stream of people leavingthe building suggested that it was closing time. The GPS signal confirmedhis theory. He thrust the gun into the waistband of his jeans, got out ofhis car and made his way inside the building.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but the archive is closednow,’ the lady behind the reception desk called to him as he strode past.
‘Just left something in the locker,’ Marksaid, flashing the receptionist an oafish smile. He could see that thelook on her face suggested that she questioned if she had ever seen him beforenow, but she declined to comment further.
Mark made his way to a locker out of herview and began to pretend to fiddle inside it. From this vantage point,at the tip of the bank of central lockers, he could see if Morton approachedfrom either side.
There he was.
Mark pulled his head back slightly andwatched as Morton passed the end of the lockers and headed into thetoilet. Now was his chance. He patted the gun, which was sittingcomfortably on his right thigh and waltzed down between the lockers towards thetoilet. He briefly considered taking him out in the toilet, but quicklydismissed it when he spotted CCTV cameras pointing at the main entrance. No,I’ll flash the gun, march him out to his car, then take him off somewherequiet. He grinned and made his way to the toilet.
‘Mark!’ a voice suddenly proclaimed.
He couldn’t contain his surprise andjumped at being recognised. Damn it. ‘Hi, Jenny,’ Mark saidcoolly. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Jenny grinned. ‘I was about to askyou the same thing. This doesn’t strike me as your cup of tea somehow.’
‘Yeah, just doing some stuff,’ Mark saidvaguely, looking around the room for a clue as to what actually went on insidethe building. His eyes settled on a digital display. ‘Boats andstuff.’
Jenny nodded with a vague look ofunderstanding on her face. It was evidently enough not to arouse hersuspicions. ‘Oh, lovely.’
‘See you later,’ he said, hurrying pasther and out the door, cursing to himself for having been caught. Therewas no way he could do anything now that he had been recognised. Damnthat stupid bitch!
Mark reached his car,climbed in and wound down the window. A bead of sweat ruptured on hisforehead and under his arms, as the adrenalin raged around his body, poised forwhat he had just been about to do. This has got to happen. Today. He thumped the steering wheel with his fist, then had anidea. He would go ahead of Morton and wait for him at home. Hegrinned, pulled a quantity of phlegm down the back of his throat, spat it outof the window and sped out of The Keep car park with his tyres squealing on thetarmac.
Morton parked outside his dad’ssemi-detached house in Hastings with apprehension. He switched off theignition and just sat, staring at the house for a moment. Although hisrelationship with his father had improved a great deal since he had been toldabout his biological mother’s true identity, Morton still felt pangs of anxietywhen left alone in his father’s presence. It was at times like this thathe relied heavily on Juliette to assuage the awkwardness of thesituation. When he looked back on the years between his adoptive mother’sdeath and having his true past revealed to him, Morton realised that he hadoften treated his father with an immature flippant attitude, bordering oncontempt. It was no justification by any means, but Morton had spent muchof his life feeling like the fifth wheel of the Farrier household and that hisadoptive brother, Jeremy, was consistently treated as the miracle child who coulddo no wrong.
Morton rubbedhis tired temples and breathed slowly and deeply. It was time to grow upand move on from the past. In just a few weeks’ time, he would turnforty. Forty years old and he had no wife or children to show forit. Did that matter? Before he had met Juliette, he hadalways put his career first and the thought of being saddled with a wife andchild had once filled him with genuine horror. And yet now, he wonderedif his only objection to marriage and, maybe one day having children, wasbecause he had always believed that that was the way his life was destined tobe. Was it really all based on an outdated notion that he no longerbelieved in? He wasn’t sure.
‘See what you doto me, Dad,’ Morton mumbled to himself. It was true that the only time hebecame so introspective and maudlin was when he returned to his father’smemory-filled house. This house embodied his childhood, his teenageyears, his mother’s death and the news of his being adopted. With a flashof clarity, he realised that this was the place that enveloped his past andcould govern his future—if he allowed it to.
A loud beepingfrom his phone jolted him from his mawkishness. It was a short textmessage from Juliette, giving him Susan Catt’s mobile number. Morton lookedat the number, deliberating about whether to call or text. After such along heavy day and with what he was about to potentially face, he didn’t feelas though he had the energy for a phone call. He typed out a quick textto her, suggesting that they meet somewhere in the next few days. Heclicked ‘send’, pocketed the phone, then looked up at the house again. His father was waving at him with a huge frown dominating his face, as helooked left and right to see if Morton had been spotted sitting in his carstaring at the house. Morton smiled, took a deep breath and climbed fromhis car.
‘Hi, Dad,’Morton said cheerfully, as the front door opened.
‘What the devilare you doing out there?’ his dad barked. ‘You looked daft as a brush,looking up at the house without getting out. I hope Dave and Sandraaren’t
