Epitaph (5 page)

Frank Hacket thought about ignoring the ringing mobile. He looked at the name displayed on the screen, waited a moment longer then answered.

‘Hello, Gina,’ he said, trying to inject a note of enthusiasm into his voice. ‘I can’t talk for long, I’m just finishing my break.’

‘I know that,’ his wife told him from the other end of the line.

‘I assumed you’d be outside having a fag and playing with one of your scratch cards.’

‘Am I that predictable?’

‘Yes,’ she told him humourlessly
.

‘Well, we haven’t won anything so don’t get your hopes up,’ he told her.

‘I stopped hoping years ago, Frank,’ she announced.

Hacket rolled his eyes and was about to say something when Gina continued.

‘I was just ringing to ask you to bring some milk home with you when you come,’ she instructed him. ‘Four pints should be enough. And some cigarettes for me.’

‘How many?’

‘Forty.’

‘I got you twenty only yesterday. Are you smoking them two at a time? I’ve got plenty. Why can’t you smoke mine until tomorrow?’

‘I don’t like the ones you smoke. You know that.’

‘Couldn’t you have picked some up yourself while you were out? You did go out this morning didn’t you?’

‘I didn’t want to be late getting back. Laura will be home soon. I don’t like her coming back to an empty house.’

‘She’ll have to when you get a job.’

‘Well, that’s not just yet, is it? For the time being I want to be here when she gets home.’

‘Where did you go this morning?’

‘Just to the town. I had to get a card for my sister’s wedding anniversary. It’s at the weekend.’

‘See anyone you knew?’

‘Like who?’

‘I was only asking. I wasn’t interrogating you.’

‘Good. I don’t want to go over all that again, Frank.’

‘You were the one who had the affair, Gina, not me.’

‘Why did you have to bring that up now?’

‘I’m not bringing it up.’

‘Yes you are. You mentioned it. That’s bringing it up.’

‘Do you blame me?’

‘Look, we talked about it at the time. We sorted things out.’

‘I know but that doesn’t stop me thinking about what happened.’

‘We said we wouldn’t mention it again. You said you’d forget about it.’

‘I’ve been trying.’

‘Well, try harder,’ she snapped.

There was a long pause, finally broken by Gina
.

‘I want to go home at the weekend and see my sister,’ she said. ‘Take her some flowers or something. They’ve been married for fifteen years this year.’

‘I’ll probably be working.’

‘I know that. I’ll take Laura. She hasn’t seen her cousins for ages. She’ll enjoy it.’

‘Is your sister having a party for their anniversary?’

‘No, just a few friends to the house, that sort of thing.’

Hacket nodded, held the phone a little away from his face and exhaled wearily.

‘Did you get your prescription while you were in town?‘ he wanted to know.

‘I’ve got to make an appointment,’ Gina told him. ‘They won’t give out anti-depressants on a repeat prescription.’

There was a moment’s silence
.

‘You could get some from the hospital pharmacy,’ Gina insisted.

‘No,’ he told her. ‘I’m not doing that again, Gina. I nearly got caught last time. They check these things, you know. They know who’s got access to the pharmacy. I can’t risk it.’

‘I only need enough until the end of the week.’

‘I daren’t. If I get caught that’ll be it. I’ll get sacked and I’ll probably get prosecuted, too.’

Another silence.

‘Don’t forget the milk and my cigarettes when you come home,’ Gina reminded him coldly. ‘What time will you be home?’

‘They’re a bit short of staff. I might have to do some overtime.’

‘Good, we need the money.’

‘I’ll ring you if I get the chance, let you know what time I’ll be home.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll expect you when I see you.’

‘Give Laura a kiss from me,’ he asked. ‘See you later.’

‘See you.’

He ended the call and stuffed his mobile back into his pocket.

‘Can you hear me?’

Paul Crane raised his voice, trying to shout over the hissing static.

‘Amy?’

Her voice finally broke through the barrage of interference.

‘Paul, I can hear you,’ she said. ‘I’m still here.’

‘I thought we’d been cut off,’ he told her.

There was another silence then Amy spoke once again.

‘I can fly home tomorrow if you want me to,’ she informed him.

‘No, there’s no point. There’s nothing you can do anyway. Besides, if you do that you might get in trouble. You might lose your job, too.’

‘I’ll come if you want me to.’

‘No. Stay there. Enjoy yourself. Have a look around the city. Go out and have a meal. Do your shopping.’

‘I’ll bring you something nice back.’

‘Unless you can bring back a job then forget it.’

He wanted her to go now. Wanted her to hang up. Although he liked hearing her voice, at this precise moment in time he just wanted to put the phone down.

And do what? Wallow in self-pity?

He didn’t want to talk about how he was feeling because no matter how much he talked it wouldn’t help. Nothing would help unless she was going to offer him a job and that wasn’t going to happen, was it? All this aimless chat and pointless offers of solace were lost on him. If she was here with him now then he might hold her in his arms, he might kiss her and it might make him feel better for a fleeting second. Just a little human contact might relieve the pain he was so immersed in, no matter for how short a time. If she was here with him, he thought, he might even have sex with her. He didn’t want to make love to her. He wanted to have sex and there was a huge difference. In better times he had made love to her, with passion and tenderness but, if she’d been with him now, he would have wanted to fuck her. To lose himself in the pure animal release of the moment.

But she’s not here, is she? You’re alone. Completely and utterly alone. Talking’s not going to help so you might as well hang up.

‘Listen, Amy,’ he said slowly. ‘You’d better go. Like you say, we’ll talk tomorrow. I might be a bit more chatty then.’

‘What I said about our plans, Paul. I meant it. They don’t have to change, you know. We can still move in together like we said we would.’

‘Not now, Amy,’ he insisted.

Now he
did
want her to hang up. Those plans were for the future and, as it stood, he could see no point in discussing a future that he felt he didn’t have.

‘You should talk to Martin Anderson,’ she offered.

‘He left a message on my voicemail,’ Paul told her. ‘Why the fuck would I want to speak to him?’

‘Because he might know if there’re some jobs going.’

‘He’s a photographer not a fucking temp agency and I don’t need his help.’

‘You’ve got to take help from wherever you can get it at a time like this, Paul.’

‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

‘What about freelance work?’ Amy insisted. ‘Get in touch with some of the people you’ve worked with over the years. There must be some favours you can call in.’

‘It doesn’t work like that, Amy.’

‘You can ask, can’t you?’ she snapped.

‘This isn’t just about losing my job. This is about pride. Do you know how I’m going to feel going cap in hand to people, begging them for some work just to get me by? I can’t do that, Amy. Besides, people only want to know you when you’re successful. No one gives a shit when you’re down on your luck.’

‘You’re so bloody stubborn. You never ask for help.’

‘I’ve never needed help before. I’ve always been able to help myself.’

‘Well, times change.’

‘Yeah, for the worst.’

He thought about simply hanging up. Stop the call now. Tomorrow when he spoke to her he’d simply say that they
were cut off. She wouldn’t think anything more of it. Wouldn’t be angry.

‘I’d better go then,’ Amy said wearily, apparently catching the sledgehammer hints in his tone. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘Have a shower, go to bed. Try and sleep but I’m not holding my breath. Perhaps I should drink what’s left of this bottle of vodka. Perhaps it’ll knock me out.’

He expected her to protest but she didn’t.

‘If that’s what it takes,’ she said softly.

He nodded, wishing now that she was with him. He glanced to one side and could picture her seated on the sofa next to him. Shoulder-length brown hair, wide green eyes and soft lips. He closed his eyes tightly for a second and the image was gone when he looked again.

Alone again.

‘I love you,’ she told him.

More static.

‘I love you, too,’ he echoed.

And she was gone.

He replaced the receiver then pressed both hands to his cheeks for a second. Her voice was still ringing in his ears like some kind of auditory afterthought.

He finally turned and headed, once more, towards the bathroom.

Once inside he turned on the shower, listening to the jets of water as he undressed and prepared to step beneath them.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and a haunted, expressionless man stared back at him, his image gradually obscured as steam from the shower began to cover the
glass until at last he was hidden by the film of condensation. It was as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. It seemed a pleasing option.

Paul stepped beneath the shower and closed the glass door behind him.

Laura Hacket sprinted for about thirty yards, leaving the darkness of the underpass as far behind her as she could. Where the path had levelled out it was easier for her to pick up some speed now and she revelled in that opportunity, her legs pumping as she ran, her hair trailing out behind her.

She finally slowed down as she came to where the path became narrower. Not because it wasn’t as wide but because bushes on either side of the walkway were so seriously overgrown that they seemed in danger of meeting across. Laura could see where some of the vine-like branches had been tugged free, she guessed by other people who didn’t want to be ensnared by the out-of-control bushes.

And now, at last, Laura turned and looked behind her.

She was alone on the path in both directions. No one ahead and certainly, she was relieved and delighted to see, no one following.

For a moment she considered going back towards the mouth of the underpass, just to check if anyone was still down there but she swiftly thought better of that. On a list of plans it wasn’t
very close to the top of the list. Certainly not the favoured choice of options.

Laura stood still just beyond the overgrown bushes and waited to get her breath back. She could feel her heart pounding and not all of that was with the exertion of her sprint. She stared raptly at the path behind her, waiting for someone to emerge from below. Expecting her fears to be realised but no one came. Somewhere in the distance she heard a car drive past but other than that and the singing of birds high up in the trees on either side of the path, there was no sound detectable to her keen young ears.

She couldn’t see over the bushes and the smell of leaves and vegetation suddenly seemed overpowering to her. It was a heavy, thick smell that clogged her nostrils. She didn’t like it. It reminded her of the garden in the summer after a shower when everything was drying off again in the sunshine. That smell was thick and heavy, too, and she didn’t like it. But, Laura told herself, she was more content having to inhale the smell of the bushes than she was to be running away from someone. From her imagined pursuer. From Mr File. Mr Peter File.

As she finally turned and walked on, she wondered if she should tell her dad about what had happened (not that anything really had happened, other than in her own imagination) and tell him that she’d thought that dreadful Mr Peter File had been chasing her. He’d laugh when she told him. She’d laugh, too. Her dad always made her smile. No matter what kind of mood she was in, if he wanted to her dad could make her smile. She’d even bought him a little plastic figure to put in the living room at home attesting to that fact. It was about three inches high. A tiny figure with a big head, smiling face and red cheeks that was holding a trophy with the number one on it. On the stand at the bottom it read:

My Daddy makes me smile.

She’d bought it for him last Father’s Day and presented it to him along with his card. He’d cried. He always did when she gave him birthday or Christmas cards and she always felt sad despite the fact that he told her it was because he was happy. He always told her that she was the most precious thing in his life and that he loved her more than she’d ever know. He always said the same thing every time she gave him a present. Then he’d lift her up and swing her around until she was dizzy and they’d both laugh again.

Yes, she decided, she would tell her dad that she thought she’d been followed by Peter File. Just to see what he said. She hoped he wouldn’t be angry like he was when that name was mentioned on the television or radio sometimes. She’d heard him say something to her mum about that same man once, when they’d been talking in the kitchen and she’d been in the living room listening at the door. Her dad had said something about a little boy being brought into hospital who’d been attacked by Peter File.

Laura could still remember her dad getting angry when he spoke of the marks he’d seen on the little boy’s legs and the blood on his bottom.

It had been at that point that she’d run upstairs to her bedroom to play. She didn’t want to hear any more talk like that. She’d had nightmares for the next two nights because of that. Her mum would have told her that it was her own fault for listening at doors.

So, now, Laura strode on towards the end of the pathway and the streets of the estate beyond.

The sun was still high in the sky and there were bees buzzing around the flowers in the hedgerows on either side of her. Laura glanced at them and smiled. She liked bees; they were like little
flying teddy bears, even if they did sting sometimes. But her mum had told her that they only stung people who bothered them so Laura was determined not to bother them as they went about their pollen-gathering duties, buzzing loudly and then flying off.

Laura mimicked the noise they made as she skipped along the remainder of the path.

She was still skipping when the hands grabbed her.