Parallel Life (22 page)

‘What?'

‘Don't look now, but see that bloke across the way?'

‘How can I see if I don't look now?'

‘You can be very annoying,' said Annie.

Lisa looked. ‘Yes, that's him.'

‘Buggeration,' cursed the small woman. ‘He went to see his mam one night last week. We thought he'd gone away after that, but—'

Lisa stood up.

‘No,' begged Annie. ‘Don't go, don't—'

But Lisa was already out of the restaurant. She dashed across the road and collared him outside the bookmaker's. ‘What do you want?' she asked.

He felt his cheeks burning. How had she found him? He was a long way from her shop, was just thinking of backing an outsider, had been doing no harm to anyone. ‘It's a free country,' he snapped.

‘Not for you, it isn't.'

‘Is that a threat?'

Lisa swallowed. She had never before noticed that he had evil eyes. Or perhaps they hadn't been evil before he'd been pushed too far. ‘It's a promise, Jimmy.'

He grabbed her arm. ‘I need the gun. Nobody will believe it wasn't me, because the ones who did the shooting have all pissed off to God knows where. Get me that gun, Lisa, and I'll leave the north right away.'

She didn't believe him. ‘You know what we want,' she stated coldly. ‘Annie will feel safer with you out of the way. If you don't go, if you don't leave everyone alone, she'll have you dealt with. As for me – well – if my name gets dragged into it, I'll survive. That gun is Annie's insurance. She doesn't want you near her children.'

‘There are other ways,' he whispered menacingly.

‘One foot wrong and you are inside,' she replied icily before crossing the road.

He watched her, saw her sitting down at a table near the window. Annie was with her. A couple of other women stopped to pass the time of day with Lisa. He recognized one of them from a stall in the market. Annie was staring right at him. She was clearly becoming one of the in-crowd, one of the ladies who lunched, the high and flaming mighty.

Jimmy Nuttall walked away. He was in danger, and he knew it. No matter what he said if he were arrested, the cops would send him down for the Birmingham job. Well, if he was going to jail, he'd make sure he went for something he had bloody well done.

It was time to get his thinking cap on. It was possibly time to ditch Sal, or to force her into a higher gear.

Eight

He woke in a sweat again, gasping for breath, head aching as soon as he switched on his bedside lamp. Alan Browne had helped him greatly, but Ben still had the nightmare at least once a week. The hanged man had probably saved Ben's sanity, because the enormity of the event had shaken him to the core.
It could have been me if I had carried on among those people
, he thought. Theirs was a special madness, but it was addictive, contagious, supremely dangerous. How many more would die or go insane through loneliness? Because isolation was the factor that drove men and women of all ages to seek contact via computer. He had to get out and mix, had to take hold of life and shake it.

It had been stated by several people over the years that the most successful kind of policeman was one with a criminal mind, that the best gamekeeper was an experienced poacher. Ben would turn gamekeeper. Whatever it entailed, wherever he must go to achieve his aim, he was determined to become an Internet spook. Dangerous sites needed to be closed; people who collected certain data via the web had to be jailed. There was too much power out there in the ether, too little control. So many kids sat in bedrooms at night, eyes glazed from staring constantly at screens, innocence stolen by predatory monsters. It would be a terrible job, a needle-in-a-haystack task, but Ben wanted it and intended to get it. What must a person study to achieve such an aim? Criminology, psychology – both?

But first, he had to deal with himself. It was three o'clock in the morning, and he was wide awake, thanks to that recurring dream. Both Mother and Harrie knew that he intended to go off somewhere in his van, so why not now? For too long, Ben had been guilty of over-planning; he had depended on rigid control of his environment, and everything had been done on his terms. It was time to begin making sudden decisions, even if the decision to make such decisions originated in his desire to be in charge.

He laughed out loud. ‘That thought was Irish enough for Woebee,' he said to himself. Better to get on with living than to sit here wondering about his own sanity. Judged compos mentis by two experts, he now had to modify his behaviour. Easy? Probably not, but it would be done.

He threw belongings into a bag, had a shower, dressed. At half past three, he was making his way downstairs, map in one hand, luggage in the other. When he reached the hall, he stopped suddenly. There was someone skulking in a doorway.

‘Benjamin?'

Oh, bugger. It was Father. ‘Yes?'

‘Where are you going?'

Ben bit his lower lip. ‘Exams are over. Thought I'd go away for a few days. Are you still working at this hour?'

‘Yes. Any idea where you are heading?'

‘No. It doesn't particularly matter. Thirty years ago, I suppose I might have said that I am going to find myself. Wasn't that the way with your generation, all flower power and self-discovery?'

Gus stared at the floor for a few seconds. Then he raised his head. ‘And in the long-term?'

It was Ben's turn to ponder. ‘After taking a year out – I'll help Mother and Harrie in the shops – I am going to attack disease. You've always said that it wouldn't be a hydrogen or neutron bomb that would finish the human race. You told me it would be the little people.'

Gus half-smiled. ‘Microbes, yes. I am still convinced of it. Just by the way we all live, mankind has created its own means of self-destruction. The bacteria and viruses get stronger; we grow weaker by the day. Our immune systems are showing signs of flat-lining.'

Ben sat on the stairs. ‘The diseases I want to attack also end in death. I saw a man die – I believe I told you that in temper. The Internet is a great carrier of germs. But they don't show on a slide, Father. I want to become a back-room boy for the police.' He waited for the onslaught. The problem with Father's responses was that they were quiet, infrequent, reasonable and potentially fatal. The man could kill an idea with a whisper, so Ben prepared himself for the inevitable. But it didn't happen.

Gus, hands deep in pockets, head bowed in thought, was nodding. ‘Too much time alone, boy. You are more like me than you can ever know.' He raised his head and looked straight into his son's eyes. ‘Take life by the throat and live it. I know how you have been. I . . . I am not good with people. Someone ought to have helped you. I am not . . . not in the slightest way gregarious.'

‘I know.'

‘That's why I stopped being a doctor of medicine.'

‘Yes.'

Gus took a few steps forward and placed a hand on the shoulder of his son. ‘If you have a calling, follow it. Be glad every morning when you wake, and do your best with that day. I really should have tried harder for you. There has been a reason. Not a good enough one, but nevertheless, a reason for the way I have been. Excuse is, perhaps, the better term for it.'

Ben thought the shock would steal his breath away, but it didn't.

‘Take care of your mother and your sister. Harriet is to marry William Carpenter, I believe.'

‘Yes.' Would he ever say more than ‘yes'?

‘I am not a bad man, Benjamin. I have been careless and too engrossed in my work. Don't spend all your time at a computer. The world may be diseased, but it remains worthy of your attention. Lose the fear.'

For at least five minutes after Gus had wandered off, his son remained on the stairs. What had all that been about? Was Father going away? Was he leaving Mother at last? ‘Look after your mother and your sister'? Life in the middle lane was interesting, to say the least of it.

Halfway between the existence he had known and the world he was about to discover, Ben still feared the fast lane. Well, he would drive along it today in reality, if not yet metaphorically. On the M62, he would learn to overtake at speed.

Harrie polished off the rest of the liquorice allsorts.

Across the desk, an amused Miriam Goldberg watched a happy, almost carefree young woman who had burst from her shell completely in recent weeks. Harrie was in love. Her brother, too, was showing clear signs of climbing out of the deep pit into which he had fallen. ‘How's your mother?'

‘Fine. She's given up collagen and men. For now. But you never can tell with Mother. My father isn't exactly communicative, and she needs company. We talk now – the three of us.'

‘You, Ben and Lisa?'

Harrie nodded. ‘It's hilarious. The first time was the best, because my mother had to get herself completely plastered before facing the two of us. Father didn't come.'

‘Shame.'

‘Yup.' Harrie eyed her mentor. ‘Do you think we're a crazy family, then?'

The psychologist laughed. ‘Show me a completely sane family – if you can find one. That's a beautiful ring, by the way.'

Harrie breathed on it, then polished it with a tissue. ‘You'd like Will – he's the real gem. But there is a situation, and he is not best pleased.'

‘Oh?'

‘His dog has divorced him.' Harrie went on to tell the tale of Hermione and Milly. As soon as any outer door to Weaver's Warp was left ajar, Milly was through it like a bullet. She would shoot upstairs, stand on her hind legs and open Hermione's door with her teeth. ‘She adores my grandmother and the feeling is reciprocated. Will is heartbroken.'

‘Is your gran a lover of dogs?'

‘No. Just Milly. We manage to get her out for a walk – Milly, I mean, but she is only truly contented when helping Gran. The help is not always helpful, if you get my drift. Milly decides what Gran wants to do, then arranges Gran's life accordingly. It's very amusing.'

Miriam leaned back in her chair.

‘I have to sack you today,' Harrie said.

‘Oh?'

Harrie smiled. ‘I think I'm cured, Doctor.'

After saying goodbye to a woman who had helped without seeming to do a great deal, Harrie stood on the steps outside and looked across Bolton. It was a splendid view, marred, perhaps, by the blue fug of busyness that hung over the centre of a town easily large enough to be a city. She looked at the beautiful clock, at Trinity Church, at the school she had attended for seven years.

Then she looked right. Her father was making his way up the steep steps leading to a house further down the terrace. His lady friend and his trains were in there, then. On a sudden whim, she called to him.

Gus stopped, turned and waved to her, then disappeared into the house.

Harrie grinned to herself. He might have custard and gravy on his tie or shirt when he got home, but at least he could play with his trains. She hoped he was happy. It was important that everyone should be happy, because she was not the only person deserving of joy.

Back in her shop, she advised Roger that she had dismissed her head doctor.

‘Good,' he replied smartly. ‘Both Claire and I knew—' He broke off, peering through the window. ‘There's a bloke out there. He keeps walking past – are we going to be burgled?'

‘Where?' Harrie tried to look outside, but Roger was in her way.

‘He's gone.'

‘Well, that's all right, then. We can scarcely be burgled by a man who isn't there.'

‘He could have been casing the joint, though.' Roger opened the door, stepped outside, and returned immediately. ‘No sign.'

Claire, Roger's wife, came through from the back. ‘It's been nothing but watch batteries all morning,' she complained. ‘Can I go home now?'

‘Yes,' answered Harrie. It suddenly occurred to her that Mother's ex-chap was something of a criminal. ‘We did get the safe and alarms changed, didn't we?'

‘Oh, yes,' replied Claire as she struggled into her lightweight summer coat. ‘We're all up to date, Harrie. Anyone who breaks in here will get his eardrums burst. We've a real screamer inside now.'

Harrie made tea and sat in the office. Annie Nuttall's husband was not to be trusted. He had installed alarms, then had burgled the houses months later. Mother thought the police were after him. And there was something about Birmingham a few years earlier, a job that had gone disastrously wrong. ‘I should bring Milly to work,' she said to Roger.

‘From the sound of it, that would take surgery,' he answered. ‘Is she still fastened to your grandmother?'

‘With superglue, yes.'

There were few customers that afternoon. Harrie engaged in polishing and cleaning while Roger, who was still on pins, kept watch at the window. He didn't see the man again, but he still felt uneasy when he and Harrie left the shop, shutters down, valuables in the safe, alarms on, everything bolted.

‘Stop worrying,' Harrie advised. ‘You'll be old before your time'.

She drove home, her mind filled with plans for her new little house. It wasn't too little, she reminded herself. There was a second bedroom in case Gran wanted a change of viewpoint, and all doors had been widened to make room for a wheelchair.

She noticed, however, that every time she looked in her rear-view mirror the same van was there. When she reached the ring road, she stopped near a row of shops, outside which people walked and chattered. The van drove off, and she immediately forgot about it. It was a mere coincidence. Roger had made her nervous, and she would deal with him tomorrow.

At home, she found a note from Ben. He had run away with the gypsies, apparently. She laughed at her absent brother, then ran upstairs to separate dog from old lady. Milly needed exercise, and it was Harrie's turn to take the miscreant out.

Jimmy was fast reaching the point of no return with Sal.