A Tortured Soul

Book Two of the Paul Robertson Saga

A Westmouthshire Novel

Marc Nobbs

Chapter 1: Home

Mid-September 2012

I adjusted the time on my father’s watch back to British Summer Time—rolling it forward five hours—and then stared out of the window. I still thought of it as my father’s watch, even though it had been mine for nearly two years.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said the elderly lady in the seat to my right, her melodic Welsh twang adding emphasis to the word.

Her name was Gladys and she was returning home from an extended stay in New York, where she’d been visiting her daughter and grandchildren. They’d moved to The Big Apple a few years ago, at the start of the global financial crisis, after Gladys’ son-in-law was offered a position on Wall Street.

I’d found out all this and more during our seven-hour flight—despite both of us being asleep for most of it.

At the time, we were high above the English countryside. Or at least, we were according to the map on the screen in the headrest of the seat in front of me. I had the window seat, Gladys had the aisle seat, and I’d been looking out of the window as she spoke. There were no clouds, so the rich tapestry of fields, hedges, roads, woodland and villages lay before us in all its glory.

“Yes,” I replied, quietly, my gaze still focused out of the window. “It is.”

“I remember the first time I saw England from the air. It was many years ago now, of course. We’d been on a package holiday to Spain and coming back it took my breath away when I saw it, it really did. Oh, it was beautiful. But do you know what I noticed the most?”

I looked at her. “No. What?”

“How green it all is.” She grinned. “It’s the climate, see. Lends itself to lush green plants. I knows, ‘cause I gardens, see. All this grass, these trees and hedges. They need the rain, you see. Not every country is that lucky. No, it is beautiful. Not as beautiful as Wales, mind.” Her grin widened.

She’d told me just after take-off that although she’d enjoyed her time with her family, she was looking forward to going home to the small village in the Swansea Valley, or Cwm Tawe as she called it, that had been her home all her life. All seventy-plus years of it.

I couldn’t say I was looking forward to going home that much. Not at all in fact.

I’d been away for almost a year, and everything that forced me to leave would be waiting for me when I got back. The time away was supposed to help me heal, help me cope with what was to come, but I wasn’t sure it had. I guess only time would tell.

*****

We touched down at Heathrow a little after nine in the morning, London time, having left New York in the late evening. After clearing passport control and collecting my bags, I headed for the arrivals lounge, looking up at the signs to find my way to the train station. I planned to catch the shuttle service into central London, get a train to Westmouth and then a bus to Micester. Vicky knew I was due to arrive, but she’d apparently pulled the breakfast shift and couldn’t come and pick me up.

I was still scanning around for the train station sign when a familiar voice called, “Paul!”

I looked in the direction of the voice but didn’t immediately recognise anyone. Then she started waving.

“Paul! Over here.”

Emily looked very, very happy to see me. Her grin was as wide as I’ve ever seen. I hurried over and she wrapped me up in a bear hug, despite the backpack slung over my shoulder.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she said, hugging me tightly.

I patted her back. “Missed you too, Ems.”

She pulled away and with a cheeky smirk said, “Liar. I bet you’ve had plenty of company on your travels.” She even made air quotes with her fingers.

I shrugged. “Not as much as you think. It’s hard to make friends when you’re constantly on the move.”

“I guess.” She suddenly looked embarrassed, nervous even.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

She slapped my arm. “I’ve come to pick you up, silly.”

“Well, I kinda figured that. But how did you know which flight I was on?”

“Vicky, of course. She called last weekend, as soon as she knew when you were arriving, and asked if I could pick you up because, obviously, she couldn’t?”

“Last weekend? But how did she know she’d be on the breakfast shift then?”

“Well, who else would be doing it?”

I shrugged. “One of the other chefs. There’s plenty of them up at The Hall.”

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

She smirked. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just a little surprise Vicky’s got for you when you get home, that’s all.”

“What surprise?”

“Come on, Paul, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it? It’s nothing bad, I promise. Now, let’s go, shall we? Are these all your bags?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Okay then, follow me.”

*****

It was a fairly uneventful drive home although the M25 was its usual unpredictable self. At times it felt as if we were the only car for miles and at other times it lived up to its reputation as the world’s largest car park.

“This feels weird,” I said about twenty minutes into the journey.

“What does?”

I gestured to the dashboard in front of me. “This. Sitting on the left with no steering wheel in front of me.”

“Huh? I thought you were too young to rent a car over there. Don’t you have to be twenty-one or something?”

I shrugged. “Dunno. I didn’t bother to find out. I just bought one instead. Well, I say I bought a car, but it was a proper old American pick-up truck. I almost felt American driving one of those things. Almost.”

“But why would you do that? Buy a car I mean. Or a truck or whatever.” Emily asked.

I shrugged again. “I didn’t want to be tied to public transport. I stayed in New York for a while, but when I was ready to leave I paid cash for this ten-year-old Ford from some slimy second-hand dealer. Only cost a couple of thousand dollars. He even gave me a discount for paying cash. The insurance was expensive, but the petrol was much cheaper than over here, so they cancelled each other out. And, I mean, it’s not like I can’t afford it.”

Emily knew about my financial situation. She was the only person besides Vicky and Will that did. She was the only one I trusted. A trust built on our mutual relationship with… her… and solidified in those horrible few weeks last autumn.

“Wasn’t it difficult to drive on the wrong side of the road?”

“I got used to it. Actually, getting out of New York was the most difficult bit of the whole trip. After that, everywhere else felt like a piece of cake.”

“Where did you go after New York?”

“West, well, south-west, to Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington, then back north-west through Pittsburgh and Cleveland, up to Detroit and then across to Chicago. Over a thousand miles. Seventeen hours total on the road or something like that. Took me about a month.”

“A month?”

I nodded. “I took my time. Stopped off in little towns I’d never heard of. Stayed a few days in each city too. From Chicago I took the old Route 66, winding down to L.A., just like the song says. Two thousand miles all the way.”

“Hang on, let me think, so you went through Saint Louis?”

I nodded.

“Chaplin, Missouri? Oklahoma City? Was it pretty?” She giggled. “Hey, did it show the way to Amarillo? And were you ever twenty-four hours from Tulsa?”

I chuckled. “Yes, yes, yes and yes. I think. Maybe. Only it's Joplin, Missouri, not Chaplin.”

"Really? So you've mean I've been singing Chuck Berry wrong all these years?"

She took her eyes off the road for far too long in my opinion to look at me and smile. Then her eyes went back to the road as the traffic went through one of its heavy periods.

“After that?” she asked.

“Back east. Las Vegas, Dallas, Houston, then along the south coast to New Orleans and on to Florida.”

“Disney World?”

“Not as much fun on your own as I expect it would be with friends.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Then what?”

“North, along the east coast back to New York and then… here.”

She went quiet again, for longer this time, concentrating on the road as the traffic became the worst we’d seen so far. It cleared just as quickly five minutes later.

“What about when you came home? What did you do with the car?”

“Sold it to some other slimy second-hand dealer. Got back over half what I paid for it too, which wasn’t too bad. It paid for an upgrade to my flight.”

“You know,” she said after a pause, “I’ll never understand why so many countries drive on the wrong side of the road. Can’t they all drive on the left like normal people?”

“You mean about ninety percent of other countries?”

“Is it really that many?”

“I think it’s only ex-empire countries that drive on the left, isn’t it? Makes you think we’re the ones driving on the wrong side.”

We looked at each other, grinned and simultaneously said, “Nah!”

*****

It was almost lunchtime when we got back to Micester. As we entered the town, I was reminded of just how much I hated the place. It wasn’t just the bad memories, it was the whole damn town. Everything about it. I could feel myself tensing up. It didn’t help that one of the first things you come across as you enter the town, is the cemetery.

“You okay?” Emily asked. I guess she could sense my unease.

“Fine.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah, well…”

“I understand. We could stop if you want.”

“Stop?”

“At the cemetery. Go see Clarissa. Let her know you’re back.”

I shook my head.

“Sure?”

“I said no. Not now. Just leave it. Besides, it’s not just there. It’s here. This place. The whole town. I wish I didn’t have to come back here.”

“At least it’s only for a week, huh?”

I nodded. “The sooner term starts the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Do you know where you’re staying yet?”

“One of the Halls of Residence. You know those four that are together on the edge of the campus?”

“That’s where I was last year. I was in Wintersmith. Do you know which one you’re in?”

“Not a clue. Does it matter?”

“Absolutely. Wintersmith rocks. The best of the four.”

“Why?”

“It just is, okay. The other three suck.”

“If you say so. Where are you this year?”

“One of the campus flats. Not that far from the Halls actually. There’re six of us sharing. The girls are cool. You’ll like them. And they’re all dying to meet you. Especially Amanda. You’ll like Mands. She’s a lot of fun.” She raised her eyebrows and grinned.

“You’ve not been talking me up, have you?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I hope they’re all prepared for a disappointment.”

“I don’t think they’ll be disappointed.”

“You’re biased.”

“True.”

A few minutes later, I turned to her and said, “Ems, thanks for coming to pick me up.”

She glanced at me and smiled. A big, beaming smile. “You’re welcome.” A Pause. “Actually, I’m just glad you’re back. It’s been weird at Westmouth knowing you really should have been there but weren’t. It was like there was a big hole in my life where you should have been. Two holes actually, but…”

“Yeah. I know.” This was a subject I’d rather avoid. Thankfully, the conversation couldn’t go any further because we passed right by my street.

“Ems, you missed the turning,” I said, turning in my seat to look behind.

“No, I didn’t. I’m not taking you home.”

“You’re not? Where then?”

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise, remember?”

We headed into town—why? I had no idea. Guess I’d find out soon enough. After a few more minutes, Emily parked the car at the kerb outside a greasy spoon café on the high street. At least, it had been a greasy spoon when I left. It didn’t look like one now. Sleek and modern, I suppose it could be justifiably called a bistro. On each of the two floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the entrance that made up the frontage was written the word Millie’s in a script that looked vaguely familiar.

“Come on,” said Emily. “They’re inside.”

“Who is?”

“Everyone. You’ll see.”

She led me into the restaurant and I was greeted by a loud chorus of “Surprise!” This was followed by a cheer and a few calls of “Welcome back,” and “We missed you, Slim.” That last one was my old friend, Billy, who it seemed was still calling everyone ‘Slim’—I never did work out why. He was joined by most of my old school friends, all standing behind two round tables that had been pushed together directly in front of the door—which couldn’t possibly have been the usual layout.

“Wow!” I said. “I never expected… Wow. Thanks, guys.”

“Well,” said Vicky, walking towards me. “It wouldn’t have been a surprise if you’d have expected it.” She looked at Emily. “Everything okay?”

Emily smiled. “Fine. He got a bit confused when I missed the turning.”

“I was hoping you’d keep him talking so he wouldn’t notice.”

“Yeah, well. He’s just too damn observant for that.”

“Excuse me,” I said, “Can you stop talking about me like I’m not here, please? And why aren’t you at work? You told me you were on the breakfast shift.”

“I am,” Vicky said.

“So, what are you doing here?”

She raised her eyebrows and gestured to the room. It took a few seconds for me to realise what she meant.

“No? Seriously?”

She nodded. I knew she’d always wanted her own restaurant, but I never thought she’d actually go through with it—especially since she was nailed on to be head chef at Micester Hall when the current one retired in a few years.

“So… Millie’s? You named it after Mom?”

She just smiled and wiped away a tear before it had the chance to form.

“Wow. Well done, Sis. But… What about the job at The Hall? Head Chef?”

She shrugged. “The Hall has its own menu style. The next chef will have to stick to it—or at least not deviate from it too much. Here, I can create my own style.”

“Cool.”

“Paul? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I nodded. My other friends had sat down and started talking amongst themselves. They knew I’d get to them eventually. Vicky took my hand and led me to the back of the restaurant, where a woman I didn’t recognise was waiting. I’ve got to say, she was very attractive, even if she was a little old for me—mid-to-late-twenties perhaps, something like that. Probably about Vicky’s age, actually.

“Paul, this is my partner, Jessica.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Paul.”

“Partner?” I said, taking Jessica’s proffered hand. I looked at Vicky and said, “I’m surprised you needed one. I assume you used the money we got from selling Liddington's to start this place.”

“I did. Mostly. But I didn’t mean business-partner. I meant partner. You know?”

“Partner?” I looked at Jessica again, who smiled nervously. Turning my attention back to Vicky, I said, “You mean? As in… Girlfriend?”

Vicky nodded.

I stared at my sister. “Wow! I never… I mean… Since when have you…?”

“Been gay?”

I nodded dumbly.

“Pretty much always. Although I only really realised it when I was about your age, I guess. Maybe a little younger.”

I nodded again, unable to believe my sister had never told me she was gay.

“How come I didn’t know? I mean, was I just too wrapped up in myself to notice or what? Thinking about it now, you never did seem to go on dates or anything, but I figured you were just too busy with your job or something.”

She smiled a kindly smile. “No, it wasn’t you. I’ve pretty much kept it a secret—I mean, you know what this town is like, don’t you? I’d probably have lost the job at The Hall. I know they’re not supposed to sack you for being gay, that it’s against the law and stuff, but do you think that would have stopped them?”

I shook my head.

“And besides, I never really met anyone I’d risk coming out for. Until now.”

“Oh. Right. So how long have you two…?” I pointed from Vicky to Jessica and back.

“About six months. I advertised for someone to run front-of-house while I was in the kitchen. Jessica applied for the job and…” She reached for Jessica’s hand, and they smiled at each other.

“We hit it off straight away,” Jessica said.

I nodded again. “Well, this is unexpected. Still…” I looked Jessica up and down with an exaggerated leer. “At least my sister has good taste in women.”

Both girls laughed at that and the tension that had started to build evaporated.

“So, you’re cool with it?”

I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. I just… You know what this town’s like.”

“Hey, stuff everybody else, right? As long as it doesn’t cost you too much business, that is.”

“People come here for the food,” said Jessica. “Which is fabulous, by the way. Your sister’s an excellent cook.”

“Tell me something I didn’t already know. No, wait, you already did that.” She laughed and I took Vicky’s other hand. “Look, I’m happy for you. Okay. As long as you’re happy—”

“I am.”

“—then I am too. Now, this is my welcome back party, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you won’t be offended if I go talk to me friends. I need to find out how many of them knew my sister was a lesbian before I did.”

She grinned at me. “All of them, since I came out while you were away. But go, I’ll bring some food out.”

“Cheers.”

She ducked into the kitchen while I went back to my friends. Will, who’d been sitting at the end of the group and looking a little out of place in his suit and tie, stood as I approached. He held his hand out to me and I shook it with a firm grip—as if we were two men greeting each other as equals.

“Welcome back…” There was a slight hesitation before he added, “Paul.” I swear, he just stopped himself from saying ‘Welcome back, son’. It was a common enough expression in these parts, so I briefly wondered why he’d checked himself. But I put it to the back of my mind.

“I’d say it’s good to be back, but…” I left that thought hanging. “I’ll just be glad to get to Westmouth and start the course. Give me something to concentrate on, you know?”

He nodded. “So did the trip achieve its goal?”

“I suppose so. While I was out there. Now I’m back… Guess only time will tell.”

“I’m sure it will. Look, I’d love to stay longer but this is really about you and your friends. And besides, I have a meeting in…” He looked at his watch. “Half an hour. I wanted to be here to welcome you back. Now I have. I’ll give you a call when you’re settled in Westmouth and we’ll see about having you around for dinner. We’ll talk about finding you some work experience at the firm.”

“That’d be good. Thanks, Will.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, straightened his jacket and went to say goodbye to Vicky before he left. I looked up at the rest of my old school friends. Part of me was dreading this. I wondered how much I still had in common with them. Sure, I’d kept up with their lives via a social network on the internet, but most of them were working people now—earning a wage and forging a life for themselves. And, honestly, their status updates were… How can I say this? Boring? No. It was worse than that. It made their lives seem dull and just a little empty. Or maybe it was my life that was dull and empty and that’s why I’d spent the last nine months trying to fill it. Or was I running from it?

Kevin and Billy had rented a house together. Kevin was still with Lauren and while she supposedly still lived with her parents, she spent more nights in Kevin’s bed than her own. Billy was newly single—not that it meant he spent all his nights alone, at least that was the impression his status posts gave.

I smiled at them both as I sat opposite.

“Hey, Slim,”

“Hey. Where’s Lauren, Kev?”

“The bank wouldn’t let her have any time off. She told them it would only be a couple of hours, but they said no. I’ve got to invite you over later so she can see you. There’s a match on tonight, we’ll make it a beer and pizza night if you’re up for it.”

“So how come you two were able to get time off?”

“Night shift,” said Billy.

“Huh? I didn’t know the factory ran shifts.”

“A lot has changed in the last year,” said Kevin. “The first thing the Germans did was introduce a three-shift rotation. Mornings, evenings and nights.”

“Yeah,” said Billy, “It meant they didn’t have to lay anyone off, didn’t it?”

“But, I don’t get it. If they’re running the machines all the time, that must mean they’re making more stuff.”

“Exactly,” said Billy.

“But… Why? The economy’s still as shit as it was. Isn’t it? I mean, I know I’ve been away for nearly a year, but…”

“Not in China, Slim.”

“China?”

“Yeah,” said Kevin. “China. There’re a lot of newly rich people over there and they like to spend their money on British stuff. Cars, clothes, and stuff. They think it’s classy or some shit. The Germans are flogging half of what we make over there.”

“How come no-one thought of that before they sold the company?”

Billy shrugged. “Fucked if I know, Slim. I just work there.”

“It’s something to do with distribution channels or something,” Kevin said. I raised an eyebrow and he smiled. “I listen,” he said. “I need to if I want to force my way onto the management program.”

I smiled. He was showing some ambition–or Lauren had ambitions for him. Either way, good for him. I hoped he was able to make it onto the program. The guys said they needed to go and get some sleep to be up in time for the football. They were both on the night shift again and needed to be at the factory for ten, but it was their last day before a two-day break and then they moved onto the morning shift. Kevin told me that all the machine operators worked for four days and then had two days off after which they moved onto the next shift in the rotation.

Kelly and Gavin, who were still together, had only stayed long enough to say hello, then left to do something together. I couldn’t imagine what. Okay, I could imagine what, but I didn’t really want to.

That left just Emily and Lisa, who’d been happily chatting away.

“What are you girls talking about?” I asked as I took a seat next to them.

“Comparing notes,” Lisa said with a grin.

“About what?”

“You,” she said, dismissively.

“Me?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Ignore her. We were comparing Westmouth and Cambridge. It sounds like they have to work much harder there than we did last year.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Cambridge,” I said, “I bet Oxford is the same. There’s a reason most of the government went to one or the other. Hell, a lot of foreign leaders went to one of them at some point.”

“I suppose,” said Emily.

“It’s not like you make it sound, Paul,” said Lisa. “Yes, there’s a lot of focus on our academics, but we have time to relax and have fun too.”

“I never said you didn’t, Liss.”

She grinned.

“What?” I asked.

“No-one’s called me Liss for ages. Not even you for about five or six years or something.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Whatever. So, are you two going to run out on me like everyone else?”

“I’ve got nowhere pressing to be,” said Lisa.

“Me neither,” said Emily.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us.” Lisa grinned. Emily matched it.

“Hmm,” I said. “Maybe it was worth coming home after all.”

Chapter 2: How Could You?

If I’m honest, I wasn’t in any particular hurry to go back home. Not so much because I didn’t want to be there, but more that I didn’t want to be alone there. I’d spent so much time there with… her. And then afterwards, all that time there without… her. Being there alone now would only remind me and that would kind of defeat the whole point of my trip.

So I was quite happy to sit with Emily and Lisa, chatting about their lives at university, while my sister’s girlfriend (that’d take some getting used to) supplied us with drinks and nibbles as she got the dining room ready and Vicky prepared the kitchen for the lunchtime service. They didn’t kick us out when they opened for lunch either, but that might have been because I decided I was hungry and wanted to see if this new restaurant of Vicky’s was worth my patronage in the future. She hit me when I said that and told me I should know damn well it was good enough. She was right too. The food was fabulous. The company wasn’t bad either.

Only once did one of the girls ask about my trip. Lisa tossed out a “tell us what you got up to on your trip then,” which I returned with a casual, “Maybe later, I want to hear more about this Robert.” Robert was someone who seemed to have caught Lisa’s eye. I hoped he realised how lucky he was.

After we’d eaten, Vicky really did throw us out, saying she had to clean up ready for the evening service, and she couldn’t do that with us cluttering up the place. I suppose I needed to unpack my stuff and get it washed ready to take to university anyway. We gave Lisa a lift home on the way. She sat in the back for some reason, and since Emily had a three-door hot-hatch, I had to get out when we pulled up outside her house to let her get out.

“It was good to see you,” she said as she hugged me. Then pulling away she added, “I thought I might not get the chance. I’m going back to Cambridge on Thursday.”

I smiled. “Maybe I’d have come up and said hi.”

She shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t. From what I hear, you’ll be way too busy.” Her eyes darted to Emily, still sitting in the driver’s seat.

I raised my eyebrows and silently mouthed, “Emily?”

Lisa smiled and shrugged. Then she added, “Look, we should get together for lunch or something before I head back.”

“Sure. Tomorrow? Wednesday?”

“Wednesday would be good. Lauren has a day off tomorrow and we’d planned to go shopping in London. Unless you want to join us for that?”

“Not on your life. Girls and shopping. Not my thing.”

“Okay. Wednesday then. Give me a call in the morning to tell me what time you’re picking me up.”

She went inside, and I got back in the car. Emily smiled at me before driving back to my house. I might have been reading her wrong, but there was something in that smile. I’m sure there was. No. I must have been mistaken. I was reading too much into it. It was Emily. Ems. My friend. Truth be told, my best friend. She wouldn’t want anything like that. Would she? No, of course, she wouldn’t. Not Ems.

She helped me carry my bags up to my room, where I dumped everything on the bed.

“You’re not unpacking.”

I shrugged.

“The longer you leave it, the worse it’ll get.”

“It’s just unpacking. All I’ve got to do is throw a few things in the wash. Most of what’s in there is going with me to Westmouth anyway, so it’ll only have to be packed again on Friday.”

“But it’ll be all creased if you leave it in there all week. And what are you going to wear in the meantime?”

I shrugged again.

She made an exasperated noise. “Oh, you are such a man!”

We went downstairs and she said, “Well, I… er… I suppose I should go. You know… leave you to get settled in.”

“I don’t plan on settling too much. I’m only here for a week. Remember? It’s like I’m still in America.”

She gave me a funny little smile. Not as dazzling as one of… hers… and not as cutely lopsided as Lisa’s. It was an Emily smile. “So, when are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to over there? Yes, I know where you’ve been, but I want to know what you did. I’ll bet you’ve got some interesting stories.”

“Not really. I just travelled about a bit. You know? Never in one place too long.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Seriously, Ems, drop it, okay? I went to clear my head. It’s been cleared. Now I want to move on, you know? Next chapter and all that.”

“But there must have—”

“Just drop it, Ems, okay?” I snapped. I hadn’t meant to shout. Honestly. But didn’t she understand I didn’t want to talk about it? She looked shocked. Hurt. I realised I’d probably been a bit harsh on her, so I added, in as calm a voice as I could manage, “Some other time. Maybe. Just not right now. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

After a few moments, she said, “Do you want me to come with you when you go and see Clarissa? Or would you rather be alone? It’s fine either way—”

“I’m not going.”

“You’re not? But why?”

“I’m just not, okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! Paul, you haven’t been to see her at all since—“

“Since what? Since they stuffed her in a box and dropped her in a hole in the ground? I wonder why?”

“It’s not like that. It feels right to go and—“

“And what? Talk to her? Talk to a grave? No thanks!” I could feel my anger rising so I took a deep breath and counted to five in my head. “Look, Ems, do you know what it says on my parents’ headstone?”

She shook her head.

“It says that to live in the hearts of the ones you love is to never die.”

“That’s beautiful.”

I nodded. “Know what it means? It means we don’t need to go look at a headstone because the people we love are always with us. And I loved her, Ems. I loved her, and now she’s always with me. No matter where I go, or what I do, she’s always with me.” And you have no idea just how true that is, I added silently.

“Oh. Okay. I never thought of it like that.” We stood awkwardly for a few moments before she said, “I, er… I guess I should go.” She headed for the door, and I followed to see her out. Before she left, she said, “Give me a call if you want to do anything tonight, all right? Even if it’s just watching TV or something.”

I nodded. “We’ll see.”

She acknowledged my response with a small nod, smiled and went down the path to her car. Before she got in, she said, “I’m glad you're back, Paul.”

I stayed to watch her drive off then went up to my room. I shoved the bags off the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling.

I was home. Only, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to be. Not that I wanted to be back in America particularly either. I guess I didn’t really know what I wanted. I looked around the room. It was exactly the same as I’d left it. The Chloe Goodman poster was still on the wall. I remembered the first time… she… had been in my room. She’d sat on my bed and stared at that poster. We hadn’t been together very long at that point. Later, after our non-break up and subsequent reunion, I’d offered to take it down one time. We’d just made love and were cuddling, and I noticed her looking at the poster. I offered to take it down and she just smiled one of those smiles of hers and told me not to be silly. Then she’d said that one day she’d like me to take a photo of her on that beach. I’d said I didn’t even know which beach it was but she’d said that didn’t matter—any sun-kissed beach at sunset would do.

I got up from the bed and walked over to the poster. I stared at it. Studied it. Then with a guttural roar, I tore it from the wall. The corners ripped, clinging to the Blu-Tack that held it up, but that didn’t matter since I scrunched the poster up into a ball anyway. I screwed it up, growling and grunting as I did, and then hurled it across the room.

I looked around, still angry. I didn’t know why I was angry, but I was angry. I wanted to hurl something else across the room. Throwing things felt good. But before I picked something up, I heard a noise from outside—from the front of the house. A banging. A rhythmic banging. As if someone was hammering something.

As good as throwing things felt, shouting at some fucker and getting them to shut the fuck up, would feel even better.

I stomped down the stairs, flung the front door open and barged outside. And I came to a complete stop when I saw a man hammering an estate agent’s “For Sale” sign into the front lawn.

“What the fuck!” I strode towards the man. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He shrugged. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re putting my house up for sale.”

“Yep.”

“Well?”

“Well? Do I look like I want to sell my house?”

He shrugged again. It was annoying. “This is number 5, right?”

“Yes.”

“This is the right house then.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket, unfolded and scanned it. “Er… Robertson. Right? Miss V Robertson?”

“What the fuck?” I reached into my back pocket, but my phone wasn’t there, so I raced back into the house, up the stairs and into my room and scooped the handset up from the desk where I’d tossed it earlier before falling onto the bed. After a few taps on the screen, I was listening to the ringer, but her mobile went voicemail. I yanked the handset away from my ear and started tapping away at the screen again. My thumb hovered above the big green button mark ‘dial’ and was on its way down to jab it when I realised that I still had the number for Micester Hall listed as her work number.

I clicked the phone into standby and stuffed it in my pocket then stomped downstairs to try and find something, anything, that had her new restaurant’s number on. There had to be something lying about—a letter, a menu—something. But despite turning the hallway, kitchen and lounge upside down, my quest proved fruitless. There was nothing. Nothing!

Back upstairs I went, this time for my keys and wallet. I slammed the front door shut behind me as I left. The man with the van had gone, leaving his dirty, stinking sigh behind. I punched it with a roar as I passed, then power-walked my way into town.

It was about a mile and half, maybe two, from our house to the centre of town, a good twenty or twenty-five-minute walk. My initial power-walk became a brisk I’ve-got-somewhere-to-be walk by the time I got to the end of the street. After half a mile or so it had become a steady, sedate stroll. I guess my speed had decreased as my anger drained away.

That had always been one of my worst traits—one I’d done a bloody good job of controlling around my friends over the years. I’d get very angry, very quickly, but the anger would drain out of me just as quickly. Recently though—well, over the past year—I’d found myself less and less able to control the initial burst of anger. Oh, it still drained away in a flash, but the outbursts were becoming more frequent, more extreme, and more uncontrollable. I worried that someday soon I’d end up doing something I’d regret because of it.

Walking helped. I’d found getting away from whatever caused the anger and just walking, mindlessly, helped me calm down and when calm I could think about what made me angry with something approaching a rational head. This was no exception. So Vicky wanted to sell the house. She must have a reason. And there must have been a reason why she hadn’t talked to me about it. All I had to do was stay calm and ask her.

Of course, staying calm was easier said than done. The more I thought about why she might want to sell the house, the more pissed off I got that she’d put it on the market with asking me—or at least telling me. Finding out from the bloke putting up the sign…

When I finally got to Millie’s, Jessica greeted me from her Maître’D podium.

“Hi, Paul! Come to sample the evening menu? We’re usually busy later, but I can squeeze you in now if you want. Or is it too early?”

The clock on the wall told me it was half five, which I thought was too early for dinner, yet there were diners scattered around a handful of tables.

“Where’s Vic?” I asked, none too politely.

Jess frowned. “In the kitchen. Is there something wrong?”

I pushed past her and strode towards the back of the building then through the double doors into the kitchen. It was smaller than I expected. Vicky was busy at a stove and there were two other cooks, each of them with, to my untrained eye, a tiny workspace. Unsurprisingly, it was hot. Very hot.

Vicky looked up at the sound of the door opening and her surprise was evident in her eyes. “Paul? What are you doing here? I thought you’d be spending the evening with Emily.”

“You want to tell me why the hell there’s a For Sale sign just been put up outside our house?”

“Shit. I’ll bloody kill them! That wasn’t supposed to be today.”

“So it’s right? You’re selling the house?”

She nodded. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I’m here now. Talk.”

She looked at the other two cooks, who were busy not listening, if you know what I mean. “This isn’t the time or place. I’ll talk—”

“For God’s sake, Vic! You’ve decided to sell our house without even asking me! The least you could do is explain why!”

She frowned at me, and then addressed one of the other cooks. “Jack, take over for me for a minute, will you please?”

He approached to carry on cooking whatever it was Vicky was working on while she moved to a door at the rear of the room. She held it open and nodded me through. The door led to a narrow alley behind the restaurant where the bins were kept.

She shut the door and said, “First of all, it’s not our house. It’s mine. You got cash instead, remember. And second, I wanted to explain things first, but the stupid estate agents have jumped the gun. I asked them not to put the sign up for another couple of days.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re selling? It might be your name on the papers, but it is our home! It’s Mom and Dad’s home!”

“Exactly!”

“Huh?”

She sighed. “Look, Paul, you’re right, it’s Mom and Dad’s home. Still Mom and Dad’s home. It’s not my home. Not going forward. There are too many ghosts.”

“Ghosts?”

“Yes, ghosts! For God’s sake Paul, look at the big bedroom! It’s exactly as it was before the accident. You have a fit if I even change the sheets. And when was the last time you went in there?”

I shrugged.

“See? It’s wasted space. It could be a perfectly good guest room, but you won’t let me.”

“That’s because it’s Mom and Dad’s room! How could you let someone sleep in their bed?”

“Exactly. It’s wasted space.” She paused and her expression, which had hardened probably because of my aggressive attitude, softened. “Paul, you have to understand, I can’t live there forever. I never wanted to own the place. If I’d had my way I’d have sold it as part of the estate, but Will said—and he was right—that it was unfair to put you through the upheaval of moving house while you were still at school and coping with everything. Or should that be not coping?”

“I coped fine.”

“Really? Want me to ask Ellie or Kelly if you coped well?”

I shrugged again. I hated when she was right.

“Jess and I want to get a place of our own. You know? A place that’s ours, not just mine that I inherited. And I figured that with you moving to Westmouth this is the ideal time. I couldn’t move while you were at school, and I didn’t want to do it while you were travelling—coming home to find your home wasn’t yours anymore… Know what I mean? But with you effectively moving out, this is perfect. Oh, you’ll always have a home with me—I’ll keep a room for you for as long as you want one, but I need to get out of that house. I need to start out on my own—well, with Jess.” She took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry Paul, I didn’t want you to find out like this. Those dopey estate agents weren’t supposed to put the sign up until the end of the week—so that I had time to talk to you.”

I nodded. I understood. I didn’t agree, but I understood.

“Okay. It’s your house, I guess. You can do what you want.”

“Don’t be like that, Paul.”

“I’m not. It’s a shock, that’s all.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” She smiled. “Are you staying for dinner?”

I shook my head. “Too early for me. And Jess said you’re expecting to be busy later.”

“I’ll squeeze you in. Even give you a discount.”

“No, it’s all right.”

“Let me give you some cash out of the till then, you can get a take-out later or something.”

“No, I’m all right.”

“Sure?”

I nodded. “Sure. I’ll see you later, okay?”

I left Millie’s and wandered deeper into the centre of town. It hadn’t changed all that much. I still hated the sight of it. I was lost in my own head as I walked and didn’t keep track of the time or where I was going, so I was surprised when I found myself outside the Liddington-Phipps Victory Club. I looked at Dad’s watch—the watch that had also been his father’s and his grandfather’s. It read half-past seven. My stomach rumbled and I realised how hungry I suddenly was. They served food in The Vic. It seemed as good a place as any to eat. I looked up at the sign above the door. The last time I’d been in there was to confront Del Stevens over what he’d done to Lily Williams. That was almost two years ago. Still, at least there was no chance of Stevens being inside. No, he was where he belonged. For how much longer, I didn’t know, but for now…

I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Chapter 3: Nothing to Lose

To my surprise, the inside of The Vic was nothing like I remembered. It had always been dark and, I found, a little intimidating. I guess it was like working men’s clubs of old up and down the country. It was always said that any band or comedian who played a gig at The Vic had a tough time of it. It certainly wasn’t a place for first timers.

But now it looked bright and modern, having clearly been recently refitted—I’d guess at the expense of Liddington-Phipps’ new owners as another sign of their commitment to the community. Truthfully though, my first impression was that it had lost its character. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the countless other soulless corporate clubs, pubs and restaurants that I’d come across in my travels around America and which I knew littered Britain too.

There was a stage at the far end of the room and between that and the entrance were numerous tables sitting everything from two to twelve (I’m guessing at twelve. It could have been twenty for all I knew, it wasn’t like I counted. Let’s just say there were tables for large groups and leave it at that). The bar was along the back wall next to the entrance.

Maybe three-quarters of the tables were unoccupied—The Vic’s entertainment always used to start around nine, and if that was still the case it’d be another hour or so before people started to arrive and settle in for a drink or four. I went over to an empty table and picked up the menu that sat upon it. It was nothing special, the usual Pub Grub type of thing—steaks, burgers, chicken, fish, all served with chips and side dishes like garlic bread.

I noted the table number inlaid on a tiny brass plaque in one corner and then headed to the bar to place my order. While I waited for the barmaid to arrive, I noticed someone I’d rather not have seen approaching a young woman who was sitting at the bar sipping a large glass of white wine. Mike Thornton, right-back for Micester Town football club, had been one of a group from the team that regularly used some poor girl for their entertainment at Del Stevens’ basement parties. That is until someone put a stop to those parties after they used the wrong girl. You could say I had a hand in putting a stop to them, but the credit really went to Lily Williams and her dad, Pete.

I couldn’t hear what Mike said to the young woman, but it was pretty clear she didn’t want anything to do with him. Anyone with any brains could read the signs she was giving off. But no one had ever accused Mike Thornton of being over blessed in the brains department.

She shook her head at his next question and looked in my direction, rolling her eyes over-dramatically. But Mike still didn’t take the hint and came around into her field of view, leaning on the bar with his back to me. He spoke to her again, reaching out to stroke her upper arm at the same time. She flinched but he moved with her to keep contact. That was too much.

I left the food order station, even though I hadn’t ordered yet, and walked towards the pair.

My close friends called it my White Knight complex. I had this bad habit of wading in to help solve other people’s problems. Particularly if the other person happened to be an attractive female.

“I’m pretty sure the lady isn’t interested in your company,” I said. “I know you’re not the sharpest tool in the box, but I’d think even you would’ve got the message when she said No.”

“No-one asked you, shit-for-brains,” Mike said without turning around. “So why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” He turned to face me and grinned moronically. “Well, look who it isn’t? Paul fucking Robertson. Micester’s biggest loser. I thought you’d skipped the country after you got Del banged up.” He stepped forward, clearly trying to be intimidating.

I hardened my stare. “Del Stevens is where he belongs. Where he can’t do any more damage.”

“Yeah, well, not more much longer, eh? He reckons he’ll be out before too long. Good behaviour, see? Yeah, right! He’s got the screws convinced though, innit? And that’s what matters. But trust me, when he finds out you’re back in town, he’ll fucking come for you, that’s the fucking truth.”

“Of course he will. Because he obviously loves prison so much he’ll want to get back there as soon as he can.”

He snorted. “Giving you the kicking you deserve won’t send him back inside. I don’t think—”

“No, clearly, you don’t. Must be too hard for you.” The woman at the bar snickered. Thornton just looked bemused. “I guess that’s why you can’t grasp that the lady isn’t particularly enamoured of your company.”

“Eh? Speak fucking English, will ya!”

“You want me to translate? Okay, but it’s been a while since I had to speak imbecile. I’m out of practice. Here goes… The bird said no, didn’t she? So why don’t you just fucking do one and fuck the fuck off.”

He took another step toward me and growled. “You’re a fucking arsehole. Give me one reason not to take your fucking head off right here.”

“Because you don’t have three goons backing you up so you’d probably not be able to get the job done? Or maybe because if you did you’d be joining your bum-chum Stevens inside. That’s two, do you want any more?”

“I’m going to knock you the fuck out.”

I stepped up to him and looked him square in the eye. “I’d like to see you try. See, here’s the thing, Mike. There’s something you don’t know about me. Something you don’t realise.”

“Yeah? What? You finally grown a pair or something?”

“Oh, I’ve always had a pair, believe me. But what you don’t realise, and you can tell your bum-chum this the next time you go see him on a conjugal rights visit—”

“What?”

“—is that the day Stevens stole that car, ran from the police and smashed into us, he took away the only thing in my life that was worthwhile. I lost the only thing I had to live for. So that means I’m a man with nothing left to lose. Do you see? And do you know what that makes me? Do you?”

With a snarl through gritted teeth, he muttered, “What?”

I felt the flash in my eyes as I said, “Dangerous. It makes me dangerous. So you want to take me on? Fine. Go ahead.” I stepped back and held my arms out from my sides. “I’ll let you take your best shot. And afterwards, I’ll get up and then I’ll kick fifty shades of shit out you. I swear, I’ll fuck you up so bad that you’ll be sucking your dinner through a straw for six months.”

Thornton’s eye twitched. He slowly stepped back and said, “You…” He pointed at me. “You’re a fucking nut-job, you are. Fucking nut-job.”

He took a wide path around me to get to the door. Before he left, he turned back, pointed at me again and said, “Fucking nut-job. Stay the fuck away from me, you hear? Stay the fuck away.”

I made a small lunge towards him and laughed as he dashed from the club.

Damn, that felt good.

“Thanks.”

The voice came from behind me. I turned to face the woman that I’d almost forgotten was there, even though she was the catalyst for the whole confrontation.

I shrugged. “No problem.”

“He’d have given up in about half an hour or so when his mates got here but would’ve annoyed the hell out of me in the meantime.”

“He’s bothered you before?”

“He’s been trying it on for a couple of weeks. Claims he’s some big football star, but why would he be living in a backwater like this if he was? Full of shit if you ask me. Like when he claims he knows how to show me a good time—like I’m some doe-eyed virgin just waiting for him to introduce me to the joy of sex. I tell you, in my experience, guys who are that up front about their prowess tend to have dicks not much bigger than their brains, which ain’t saying much. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I guess. Actually, an old girlfriend of mine told me you might be right. About the size of his… er… brains, I mean.”

She tipped her head back and laughed joyously. “That right, huh? And you’re still friends with this ex-girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. If you’re friends with your exes, then that usually means you’re one of the good ones.” She stood and walked over to me, holding her hand out for me to shake. “I’m Ruth. Ruth Jackson.”

“Paul.”

“Yeah, I heard. Paul fucking Robertson. Although I assume that’s not your real middle name.”

“No. No, my real middle name’s George, but that’s kind of embarrassing and not many people know that so keep it under your hat.”

She giggled. “I will, Georgie-boy.”

I gave her a faux stern look and she broke into giggles again. She quickly calmed down and said, “You looked like you were about to order some food.”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I join you? I was thinking of getting something to eat myself, but, honestly, the food here is shit, so how about we go someplace else. There’s a bistro on the high street called Millie’s. You know it?”

I grinned. “I should. It’s my sister’s place. Although, in fairness, I only found that out today.”

Ruth beamed, her bright green eyes sparkling. “Now, it sounds like there’s an interesting story behind that one. So, think you might be able to get us a family discount then?” She linked her arm in mine and led me back outside.

It felt slightly odd walking through Micester with a girl on my arm. Oh, sure, I’d had a girl or two on my arm in the US, but this wasn’t a foreign land. This was Micester and every step I took in the town reminded me of… her. Every shop we passed. Every road we crossed. This had been her town. Our town.

Had been.

Not anymore.

When I’d originally walked from Millie’s to The Vic, I’d been wandering aimlessly, so it didn’t take anywhere near as long to get back there taking the direct route. Ruth pulling me along at a brisk pace had something to do with it too. She must have been pretty damn hungry. I know I was.

There was a short queue at the Maître’D podium just inside the entrance to Millie’s, but Jessica saw me as she returned from seating a diner and smiled. Then she saw Ruth next to me and her eyebrows went up a little before she greeted the next guest in line and showed them to a table. In less than five minutes, we were at the head of the queue.

“Hi, Jess,” I said, timidly. “Look, I… Sorry about earlier. I was out of order.”

She dismissed my worries with a wave of her hand. “Forget about it. Vic explained and, if I’m honest, I think I’d have reacted the same way you did. She’s going to call the estate agents first thing tomorrow and, I tell this for nothing, I wouldn’t want to be the one who picks up that phone.” She grinned. “Table for two, I take it?”

I nodded.

“Follow me.” She led towards the back of the room, to a small table in an alcove. There were three alcoves back here, and two more on each of the side walls. Ours was the only one unoccupied. “Vic had me keep it free, just in case.” She winked and left us with menus while she returned to the next waiting customer.

“Pasta,” Ruth said as she picked up the menu. “This place has the most amazing pasta dishes. But I guess you know that.”

“Actually, this is the first time I’ve seen the evening menu. But I’ve always loved Vic’s pasta, so it’s not really a surprise.”

Ruth titled her head and gave me a look that felt as though she was peering into my soul. “Like I said, I bet there’s an interesting story here.”

Before she could ask the question I knew had to be coming, Jessica arrived back at the table with a bottle of wine. “From Vic,” she said. “On the house. As is the meal. This time. But she said not to expect this treatment every night.”

I nodded my thanks as she poured us each a glass. We quickly ordered and Jessica left us alone again.

“So…” said Ruth. “Just what is your story? It’s clear you’re from around here, but I’ve never seen you before. Six months I’ve been here. I thought I’d met everyone in this poxy little place.”

I grinned. “Not too keen on Micester?”

She snorted. “Hardly. I go where they send me, but this is the first place I’ve been where my contract can’t end soon enough.”

“That sounds like an interesting story too.”

“You’re just trying to put off telling me yours,” she said with a smile. “Now I’m even more intrigued.”

“There’s not much to tell. I’ve just got back from The United States.”

“Which bit?”

I shrugged. “All of it really. I took a year out before I started uni just to travel around and see as much as I could.”

Her eyes widened. “Started uni? My god. Just how old are you?”

“Nineteen.” She looked shocked so I quickly added, “I’ll be twenty in November.” (Like that made much of a difference)

She chuckled. “Shit, that’s cradle robbing even for me.” I gave her a questioning look until she sighed and continued. “I’m thirty-two.”

“No!” It was my turned to be shocked. “I had you pegged at twenty-two, twenty-three, something like that. Twenty-five at most.”

She laughed. “What can I say? I’m blessed with youthful good looks.” Her eyes danced with mirth in a way that was so very familiar to me. I shook that thought off. This was no time to start thinking that way—it only led to… complications.

“Seriously though, I can’t believe you’re only nineteen.”

“So you’re saying I look old. Gee, thanks.”

“No, not old. Just…” She rested her chin on her hand and looked at me. No, looked into me. Again. “I don’t know. There’s something about you that just makes me think you’re older than nineteen. You have… I don’t know… A look in your eyes or something. Perhaps the innocence I’d associate with that age is missing. This will sound stupid, but it’s like you’ve seen too much of the world. Too much of life.”

“There you go then. Travelling around America obviously helped me to grow up. I did see some pretty eye-opening things.”

She shook her head. “It’s more than that. Like the way you handled yourself with that moron at The Vic. You said you were a man with nothing to lose. You said you were dangerous.”

I shrugged.

“You’re not going to give anything away, are you?”

I slowly shook my head. “Sorry. I’d just rather not…”

“I get it. I don’t blame you. I mean, you hardly know me, right?”

“Right.”

“Guess I better get to know you then. ‘Cause I still think yours is going to be one story worth hearing.”

Fortunately, our starters arrived and the pause while we tucked in was enough to put the subject to bed. For then, at least. I had a feeling we’d come back to sooner rather than later.

We talked about Ruth instead. Turns out she was a business consultant, working for Pete Williams’ firm. He’d gone back to London and sent Ruth out here in his stead. She was on a twelve-month contract and was, so she claimed, responsible for the push to sell goods to the Far East. Relations with that part of the world were her speciality, she said.

The meal was excellent, not that I expected any less, and we polished off the bottle of wine and a couple of beers each before a splendid dessert and some coffee to round off the night. Even though Vicky had said the meal was on the house, I felt guilty enough about my attitude earlier to offer pay. She refused at first, but in the end she agreed to let me pay half-price. After saying goodbye to my sister and her girlfriend, I offered to walk Ruth home.

*****

“Look,” Ruth said when we arrived at the door to her flat. She lived in the centre of town, just a short walk from Millie’s, in a flat above a newsagent. “You should know I don’t do this very often.”

“Do what?”

She took her key from her pocket, opened the door and turned back to face me. “Pick up some young guy in a bar, go out for dinner, then have him walk me home so I can invite him in for coffee.” She raised eyebrows at the last word. “In fact, this is only the second time since I got to this damn town. And the first was an unmitigated disaster, so doesn’t really count.”

Looking at the floor I said, “Ruth, I… I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

She shrugged. “You sure?” Then she posed for maximum effect—puffing her more than adequate chest out just slightly and jutting her hip to the side. There was no doubting she was a fine figure of a woman—especially if she wasn’t lying about her age. But this wasn’t right. I hardly knew her. Hell, I’d only met her a few hours ago. I couldn’t, could I? I mean, it’s not like I hadn’t done it before, right? But that was over there. Now I was back here…

“Just come in for coffee, then. I mean an actual coffee. I’ve enjoyed this evening. I’d like to spend a bit more time with you—even if it’s just talking. Who knows, I might even get this story of yours out of you.” She grinned. “And if it goes further…”

“It won’t.”

“Sure? Tell me you’re not tempted.”

I couldn’t because I was. Who wouldn’t be? But that wasn’t the point. Now I was back in Micester, I had to behave differently. I couldn’t carry on as I had in America. I couldn’t.

<<But, of course, you will. You have to. What other choice have you got? And even though it hasn’t worked yet, you’ve got to keep trying, right?>>

I snapped my head up. That damn voice. I thought—I hoped—I’d left it overseas. I guess not.

I looked into Ruth’s eyes and saw the fire of desire burning in them. I’d seen it enough in the past nine months to recognise it. I nodded. “Okay. But I’m giving you fair warning, you have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Hey, trust me, I keep my promises.” Then I stepped forward and caught her lips with my own.

*****

There were a few wisps of cloud in the azure sky but that was all—the same as always here. Just like the grass in the meadow behind me was always lush and green with pretty wildflowers popping their heads up and waving gently in the almost-there breeze. Truth be told, the sky was probably too blue, the grass too green and the wildflowers too pretty.

I stood on the small hill in the corner of the meadow, in the shadow of a massive old oak tree, looking out over the sea. The crash of the waves against the base of the cliff and the cry of the gulls filled the otherwise all too quiet air around me.

She’d be here soon. She always was. While I waited, I breathed in deeply, taking in the salt, the fish, the seaside. This could be a lovely place. A peaceful place. A sanctuary.

“How was she?” The voice came from behind me asking the same opening question she always did. I didn’t turn to face her. I never did.

“I’ve been with worse.”

“You mean you’ve had worse.”

“It’s not that way and you know it.”

“What? You’re making love with these women now? When did that start?”

“I…I…” I couldn’t lie.

“You’re fucking them, Paul. You’re fucking them. You used to make love to me, but you’re just fucking them.”

She was right behind me now. I could feel her breath on my neck. Still, I didn’t turn around.

“Did it work this time?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. Did it work?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think it will ever work. But I’ve told you that before. You don’t listen though, do you? You just keep trying.”

I shrugged.

“Look at me, Paul.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re… You’re…”

“Say it. I’m what, Paul? Say it?”

“You’re—”

I sat up abruptly. The room was dark but that wasn’t what made it unfamiliar. Still, when you’ve spent the best part of a year travelling around a foreign country, waking up in an unfamiliar room becomes all too common so I wasn’t all that disoriented. A light sheen of sweat covered my body despite the chill in the air—and it wasn’t from the physical activities earlier in the evening either.

As I recovered control of my breathing, a sleepy voice from behind me said, “Paul? You okay?”

I grunted what I hoped was a positive-sounding reply. The switch on Ruth’s bedside table lamp clicked and the room was bathed in the weak glow of a cheap low-energy light bulb struggling to warm up and light the room properly.

I felt Ruth’s hand on my back as she said, “Paul?”

I turned to look at her. She was leaning towards me but not sitting up, holding the bed covers over her breasts and her eyes were half-closed against the light.

“I have to go.” I threw off the covers—to hell with modesty, she’d seen all I had anyway—and began searching the floor for my pile of clothes. As I pulled on my undies, Ruth knee-walked across the bed, dropping the sheet to expose her breasts—those breasts I’d licked and sucked earlier—and reached out for me.

“Paul, wait. You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. I have to go.” I faced her. “I’m sorry, Ruth. It’s not you. I just… I can’t stay here. I just can’t.”

“But why?”

“I just can’t!”

She sank back on her haunches and sighed. “Okay. Fine. Go.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Why not? You are. I really didn’t get the impression you were like this.”

“Like what?”

“The fuck ‘em and run type.”

“I’m not.” I paused. “Okay, so I am. But I have my reasons.”

“Then talk to me. I can help.”

“No. You can’t. No one can.”

As I pulled on my jeans, Ruth picked up my phone from the bedside table where I’d left it before tackling her onto the bed. She held it out to me. “Unlock it.”

I took it, tapped in the PIN code and handed it back. She tapped away at the screen and a few seconds later, her own phone beeped.

“There,” she said. “You have my number and I have yours. Prove I was right about you first time.”

I nodded my understanding as I took the phone back from her. “I can’t make any promises.”

“I’m not asking for promises. And I don’t want some relationship or anything. I just enjoyed myself with you. Both dinner and afterwards. I wouldn’t mind doing it again, that’s all. No strings. Just friends.”

I nodded again. “We’ll see.”

I buttoned up my shirt and she pulled me down for a kiss before putting on a satin robe and walking me to the door.

*****

I looked at Dad’s watch as I got home. Home. Interesting concept. This house wouldn’t be home for very much longer.

It was two-thirty. I guess Vicky was in bed. It was probably a fair bet that Jessica was with her, but that really wasn’t any of my business. I climbed the stairs as quietly as I could, stripped and got in bed. Thankfully, I quickly fell into a dreamless, if not particularly restful, sleep.

Chapter 4: Best Friends

I slept late on Tuesday morning. I don’t usually, so I was surprised when my phone came to life and woke me up a little after eleven. Guess it must have been jet lag or something. I forced myself to sit up in bed, grabbed the phone and grumbled a greeting without looking to see who it was.

“Paul? Did I wake you? You sound tired.”

“Ems? Yeah, I overslept.”

“Jet lag,” she said. “I should have known. Sorry, it’s my fault. I got it when we went to Florida a couple of years ago. The flight, driving back here, then the welcome back party and everything. You must be shattered. Sorry. I should have told them to leave the party until today.”

“Ems, it’s fine. Seriously, it’s no big deal. It’s partly my own fault. I should have gone to bed earlier last night.” I paused, probably expecting Emily to fill it, but for some reason, she didn’t, so I took a deep breath. “Ems, look, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Sorry? What for?”

“For snapping at you. When we came back here.”

“Oh, that! Forget about it. I have. You were tired. Like I said, I should have realised. If anyone should apologise—”

“No, Ems. I was out of order. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. It wasn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“What wasn’t?”

“Huh?”

“What wasn’t my fault?”

I stuttered. How did I tell her it wasn’t her fault I didn’t want to be here? I didn’t want to get on with my life like I knew I now had to. I’d been running for so long, but I wanted to keep running.

In response to my prolonged hesitation, Emily said, “Paul, are we still friends?”

“Of course, Ems. You’re my best friend.”

“You sure?”

“Ems! You’re my best friend. I’d be lost without you. I know I’ve been away, but your e-mails and texts kept me sane.”

“Really? Because your replies, or a lot of the time lack of replies, would say otherwise.”

“Ems. Don’t. Please.”

I heard her sigh. “Paul, if I’m really your best friend, then you need to start talking to me. I mean really talking to me, you know? About the important stuff.”

I nodded. I know she couldn’t see me, but I was nodding to myself more than her. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try. That’s all I can promise. I’ll try.”

“Good enough. Now, what are you up to today?”

“Well, I’ve got to unpack and do a ton of washing ready to repack and take with me on Saturday.”

“Oh, of course, I forgot, you can’t move in until Saturday, can you? We’re allowed back on Friday. I suppose if I’m already there, I could help you settle in. If you’re in Wintersmith. I’m not setting foot in any of those other skanky halls.”

“You really have a thing about this Wintersmith place. Is hall rivalry really that bad?”

“You have no idea.”

“So if I’m in one of the other three, you won’t be coming to visit me.”

“No. You’ll have to come and visit me. Besides, I’m in a flat with five other hot chicks, you’ll be coming to visit me all the time anyway.”

“If you say so. But anyway, I don’t fancy tackling the dirty clothes today. I’ve got all week. What I really do need though is a car.” I’d sold the car I bought to travel around Europe with… her… before flying to New York. I didn’t see the point in paying insurance and tax to keep it on the road outside the house.

“Car shopping? Cool. Need a buying buddy?”

“You read my mind. But I’m not going to Old Man Jones’ place—the cars he has are never very good. I was thinking of a trip to either Westmouth or Walminster. Probably Walminster—I bet you get more car for your money there.”

“Okay, I’ll take you. But you’re driving—I hate the road to Walminster. It’s too twisty. I’m ready now, but I guess you’re not. When shall I pick you up?”

“Twelve-ish? We’ll grab some lunch first.”

*****

We stopped at a drive-through on a retail park on the edge of Walminster then sat in the car, wolfing down fries, burgers and milkshakes, while Emily told me about one of the girls she’d be sharing a flat with. Amanda sounded a little bit crazy to me, but it seemed like she and Emily were good friends so she couldn’t be all that bad—Emily tended to pick her friends with care.

The retail park was home to, amongst other shops, main dealerships for three car manufacturers—Volkswagen, Ford and Renault. I didn’t want a brand-new car, as it would take a while to be delivered, but all three dealers carried Approved Used cars. You know, part-exchanges that are just a couple of years old, cars they used for test drives or ones they sold to themselves to increase their sales figures and now needed to get rid of quickly.

We spent the whole afternoon looking and took at least one car from each garage out on a test drive. We actually test drove two from the Ford dealer.

When I first got my inheritance, Will had convinced me not to splash the cash on a teenager’s dream car but to buy a small, conservative run-around instead. For the planned trip around Europe, I bought a practical car, big enough to carry all the luggage we’d need. In America, I bought the most stereotypical American car I could think of—an old pick-up truck. But this time, I wanted a car that I’d be proud to own, a car that I actually wanted. Something a bit sporty, a bit flash. It’s not like I couldn’t afford it.

In the end, I agreed on a deal for a nearly new, high spec, Ford Focus—Midnight Blue, sweet little spoiler, eighteen-inch Alloys, kick-ass stereo, built-in sat-nav and it even parallel parked itself. Really nice car. The dealer seemed happy, and so was I. I signed the paperwork and agreed to return to pick it up on Thursday after they’d serviced and valeted it and I’d had time to arrange insurance.

Emily didn’t seem as thrilled with the afternoon’s work as I did. Sure, she’d enjoyed looking at the cars and riding on the test drives with me, but she’d gone very quiet once I’d picked the one I wanted. But then, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d just dropped over fifteen grand on a car and not even really haggled with the guy. I’ll bet her car, the one we were riding back to Micester in, wasn’t worth even a third of that. Probably less.

“Are you sure you’ve done the right thing?” she asked as we neared the town. It was early evening and I was hungry, so I’d said I’d buy dinner.

“The car?”

She nodded.

“It’s a good car.”

“But it’s so expensive.”

I shrugged. “I can afford it. You know that.”

“I know, but… The insurance is going to be huge too.”

I grinned, “I can afford that too, you know.”

She nodded. Then she bit her lip. She always did that when she was about to say something that she knew might upset someone. I’d seen her do it a hundred times.

“But… I mean… Are you sure it’s what… I mean… Would she have wanted…?”

“Ems, relax. I haven’t used that money.”

“You haven’t? Then how can you afford it? How have you been living this past year?”

I looked at her, then back at the road. “It’s like this, by the time Will had done what he needed to do and was ready to pay the money over to me, I was already in America. It was just before Christmas. I’d discussed it with him beforehand—what to do if he could pay me before I came back—and I agreed to give him authority to look after it for me. I told him to lock it away somewhere. Get the best interest rate he could but lock it away so I couldn’t touch it until I’d finished uni.”

“Oh. I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. I guess I thought it was sitting in your normal bank account or something.”

I chuckled. “Not a chance. Will would have skinned me alive if I’d have even suggested it.” I smiled. “Well, he’d have strongly advised me against it or something. Anyway, the point is, I’ve got five million sitting locked away for the next few years, earning me nearly four per cent per year.”

“Four per cent? Is that good?”

“It’s good in this market given it’s in a no-risk account. The interest, though, gets paid to me every month. It’s about sixteen and a half thousand pounds.”

“A month?” She stared at me open-mouthed. “Sixteen thousand pounds a month?”

I nodded. “Three-quarters of it goes into an account where I have to give them sixty-days notice to withdraw from it, but it pays good interest. Will said I’ll end up having to pay a lot of that over to the government in tax, which doesn’t seem fair to me. The rest goes into my current account—which is about four thousand or so.”

“And you spend that much every month? How?”

I shook my head. “Not even close. I haven’t checked my account since I got back, but I’d be surprised if there was much less than twenty thousand in there. That’s why I’m not worried about spending this much on the car. It’s the difference between the interest over the past eight or nine months and what I’ve actually spent. And I don’t see myself spending any more each month this year than I have been. Less probably.”

“I suppose.” She smiled. “I guess you can afford it then. I’m sorry, Paul, I just was worried that… You know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

She nodded. Then giggled. Then said, “So, since you really are loaded, any chance you can buy me a replacement for this heap of junk.” She looked at me and smiled. “If I’m really nice to you.”

I gave her a look and she started giggling again. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”

“I know,” I said, lightly. “But if you’d have given me the chance to say yes, I wouldn’t have been.”

She arched her eyebrows in question and I shrugged in response. “If I can’t look after my best friend, then I’m not much of a friend.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need looking after, Paul. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

I looked at her while trying to not lose focus on the road. “I do.”

“What?”

“I said I do. Need looking after.”

“Paul?”

I took a deep breath. “You know what I fancy? Fish and chips. Proper fish and chips. I haven’t had that in nearly a year. They just can’t get it right over there. Is that place by the school still any good?”

She nodded. “As far as I know but I haven’t been there for ages. I’ve been going to this place on the seafront since I moved to Westmouth. Well, not all the time, obviously. I’m not saying I lived off fish and chips for a year or anything. Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Is it any good?”

“The best!”

“Let’s go there then. Do you mind?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like I’m going to object.”

“It’s your car.”

“And you’re driving. And paying for dinner. And putting some petrol in it on the way back.”

“Petrol?”

“Hey, this isn’t America. That stuff’s expensive and I’ve used a ton of it today and yesterday running around for you. Plus, you’re loaded, right?”

I grinned and took the next turning towards Westmouth.

*****

It was a relatively warm September evening even though to our right—the south-west—the sun had almost completed its day’s journey, touching the horizon and painting the sky with a riot of colour. I pulled my phone from my pocket, snapped a picture and, satisfied with the result, began tapping away on the screen.

“What you doing?” Emily asked.

“Blogging the sunset.”

“Huh?”

I looked at her and smiled. “Don’t you think that that—” I gestured towards the sky—“is something worth sharing with the world? It’s beautiful.”

“I suppose. Never really thought about it.” After a pause, she said, “Do you do that a lot? Blog?”

“You mean you’re not following me?” I said with mock hurt in my voice and a smile on my face. She shrugged and smiled back.

“Well, it’s not really a blog. I’m not broadcasting my thoughts and feelings or anything like that. It’s more of a picture steam, I guess. When I see something I like, I take a photo and upload it. And I’ve seen some pretty impressive things over the last year. Manhattan Island, Yosemite, Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, the Rockies, the world’s largest elastic band ball. I wanted to share them.”

“The world’s largest elastic band ball?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

I nodded, then found the photo on my phone to show her. “It’s in Florida”.

We were sitting on a bench on Westmouth’s promenade, looking out at the sea and eating fish and chips from a paper bag with a small, two-pronged wooden fork. The more the sun slipped below the horizon, the more the sea breeze cooled us just as the food warmed our insides. Behind us, the sounds of the town acted as background noise along with the caw of the seagulls and the crash of the waves on the beach.

I held up a chip in front of me, studying it. “You know,” I said, “I didn’t really miss many things while I was over there, but proper chips was definitely one of them. Try as they might, the Americans just can’t do proper chips.” I popped it into my mouth as Emily smirked at me.

“What else did you miss?”

I hummed and looked towards the sky, as if I was thinking hard about the question. “I don’t know…” Eventually I said, “Countdown.”

“Countdown? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I said enthusiastically. “It’s brilliant television. I always used to watch it when I got in from school.”

She shook her head and raised her eyebrows. “Countdown? That’s quite sad, you know.”

“I know. What can I say? I’m sad. Honestly, I don’t know if they have it over there or not, but if they do, I never saw it. And it wouldn’t be the same anyway. They wouldn’t have the same type of people on it.”

“You mean bored middle-class housewives, retired men and kids who are too clever for their own good? I’m sure they have those in America too.”

I grinned. “So you do watch it.”

She shook her head again. “Anything else you missed?”

I gave her a serious look. “You.” She smiled but didn’t say anything, so I continued. “I meant what I said, you know. You’re my best friend. I know we haven’t been friends for that long, relatively speaking. I mean, I’ve been friends with Kevin and Lisa and Lauren a lot, lot longer, but it doesn’t matter. And I know that we wouldn’t be friends at all if it wasn’t for… her… and that if what happened hadn’t happened, you’d be her best friend, not mine. But you’re my best friend now. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She smiled. “I could have been best friends with both of you.”

“No. You couldn’t. We could have been friends, but not best friends. If push came to shove, you’d have picked her over me every time.”

She shrugged. “Do you miss her? No, that’s a stupid question, don’t answer. Of course, you do.” She sighed. “I miss her. I miss her every day.”

We sat silently, eating, for a few moments. When I finished my last chip, I scrunched up the bag and tried to throw it in the waste bin a few feet away. It missed, so I got up and disposed of it properly. Emily had finished hers, so I threw away her bag too.

When I sat back down again, I sat sideways on the bench so I could face her.

“Ems?” I said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but—”

“Oh, sounds interesting.” She shifted to sit mirroring me.

I took a deep breath. “Look, yesterday I got the impression… It was nothing specific, and Lisa said something in passing, but, I kind of got the impression that you might want to be, perhaps, more than just friends.”

Her eyes lit up. I’d been right. I quickly kept talking, lest she say something she’d soon regret.

“But the thing is, right now, I need you to be my friend. My best friend. And just my best friend.” I took another deep breath. “Thing is, it’s like this, I’m in a really bad place right now and I need someone I can depend on, someone I can lean on. This year is going to be hard enough without adding complications.”

The fire had gone from her eyes.

“If anything… like that… were to happen between us and it went wrong—and it would go wrong because I’m too messed up for it to go any other way, trust me, I know—then I’d lose you. And I can’t lose you as a friend, Ems. I can’t ever lose you.”

Without realising it, I’d reached out to take her hand as I spoke. She squeezed it. I’m sure there were tears in her eyes.

“I need you, Ems. I need you to watch out for me. I need you to pull me back when I’ve gone too far. I need you to tell me when I’m being an arsehole. And I will be an arsehole this year. I know I will. I’ll say things shouldn’t say, I’ll lose my temper with people. I’ll lose control. I’ll fall down and I’ll need you to be there to pick me back up.”

She blinked and a tear dripped from each eye. With her free hand, the one that wasn’t squeezing the life from mine, she reached up to my face.

“Oh, Paul.” She pulled me towards her and leaned forward.

“Ems,” I said. “Don’t.”

She shushed me and leaned closer still. At the last moment, her head went up and she kissed my forehead. As short as that kiss was, it seemed to last forever.

When she pulled away, her eyes still wet, she said, “You’ll always have me, Paul. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll pull you back. I’ll pick you up. I’ll hug you and try and make the pain go away. You won’t ever lose me. I’ll always be here. Always. I promise.”

Chapter 5: Lisa

I slept much better (and thankfully dream-free) on Tuesday night and woke at seven the next morning feeling rested and slightly more positive about what was to come. I knew, deep down, I was going to struggle with life in Westmouth. I knew it wasn’t going to feel right without… her… there. But now I knew I had Emily in my corner. She’d be there for me, whatever I needed. It’s not many people head off to university knowing they have that kind of support on their doorstep. Most people have to worry about making new friends first. From the sounds of it, I already had a network of friends waiting for me—even if they weren’t my friends. Yet.

Vicky and Jess had already left to open the restaurant for breakfast so I had the house, and more importantly the utility room, to myself. So, after a shower, a bowl of cereal, some toast and a strong cup of tea, I headed upstairs to finally unpack my now stinking rucksack and set about sorting the clothes into different loads for the washing machine.

As I did, I realised that I didn’t actually like most of them. They were teenager’s clothes. I was nearly twenty for god’s sake! Perhaps it was time to restock my wardrobe. I smiled as I wondered if Emily would be up for a shopping trip. Who knows, maybe I’d get to pick my own clothes for once.

I called her, and this time it sounded like I’d woken her up. “Paul? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you calling so early?”

“It’s half-past eight. That’s not early.”

“It is if you don’t have a nine o’clock lecture.”

“Whatever. Look, I was just going through my rucksack and realised I need new clothes. Lots of new clothes. Fancy taking me shopping?”

“Shopping?” she said, sounding brighter. What is it with women and retail therapy? “When do you want to go?”

“I’m ready whenever you are. Oh, damn, wait. I agreed to take Lisa for lunch before she goes back to Cambridge.”

“That’s okay. Go spend some time with Lisa.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not your keeper, Paul. You don’t need to ask my permission.” I could hear her smiling. Yes, I know how that sounds, but I could tell she was.

“Of course. Sorry. Tell you what, how about we do the clothes shopping when we pick up the car tomorrow. There’s a ton of shops there.”

That was a preview of A Tortured Soul. To read the rest purchase the book.

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