The Grave Read online

  Chapter 33

  Breakfast was delicious, there were no tiny pots of jam and baskets of pastries. They were shown to their table, a choice of tea or coffee was offered. After a short wait a young girl presented dinner plates filled with bacon, eggs, sausages, fried bread, tomatoes, and even a few sautéed potato slices. The air was filled with the smell of breakfast, it had wafted there from the boarding houses of the fifties and sixties, before heart disease and blood pressure sucked the pleasure from a hotel morning. There was a rack of toast, a bowl of butter and a pot of marmalade. Sending anyone out from her establishment without a good cooked breakfast would be a failure, and Mrs Denton, the landlady, had no truck with failure.

  Apart from bits and pieces cobbled together neither of them had eaten anything substantial for a few days and they fell on the cholesterol laden treats. There was no time for speech their mouths became fully occupied with the delicious flavours and their stomachs with the carbs their bodies craved. By the time they’d finished the second rack of toast and ordered another pot of coffee Mrs Denton had popped her head out of the kitchen to grin at them and yell across the room.

  “Well either you two ‘ave bin out joggin’ this mornin’ or you found plenty to keep you busy last night.” With a great gale of laughter she disappeared, leaving Sylvie blushing furiously and Samuel bending low over his plate to avoid the amused glances of the other guests. It was a light and happy moment and precious as it ignored for a while the true nature of their situation.

  They pushed their overloaded bellies back up the narrow stairs and walked hand in hand to their room. Though they had brushed and cleaned their clothes with the small means available they knew they looked scruffy and unkempt, even in these modest surroundings. Samuel walked to the window, lifted the floral net and peered out, left and right.

  “I think we could stay here another night. We need to sort out some clothes and bags and stuff, what do you think? We could go to the shops and buy what we need. I could tell her we’ll stay on.”

  “Yes please, it’d be nice to have a place to come back to. Samuel, are we okay here? They can’t find us can they, I mean they’ve no idea where we are, they can’t know, so we’re safe aren’t we?”

  “I wish I could tell you yes, but I have to say that in all honesty I just don’t know. I’ve been places where I would have never believed I could be recognised, where I’ve never set foot before and then after a couple of days I’ve had to leave again. They are amazing, their web stretches over the whole country. They’re interlinked, many parts of the same families, cousins, brothers and they have a wonderful communication network, they all seem to know almost by instinct when one is in danger or when someone has crossed them. These aren’t little dragged together dealers, this is a huge organisation. All I can say is that for today I think we should be okay, but they’re very likely to work out how we came here, to Liverpool anyway. They know we didn’t have the car, they know there was probably nothing other than the trucks, and they’ll piece it together.

  “I threw my laptop in the lake when I first saw they were following me but I don’t know how much access they might have to my email. I don’t think we can risk trying to get your passport now, I can’t put my contact in danger, I won’t do that. We’ll have to come up with something else.”

  He put his arms around her, she was so small and frightened and he was swept by a deep need to protect her. He hadn’t been there to save Marie but maybe he could find a way to save this girl. Perhaps that’s what this was about, recompense and restitution. It was too late for him he knew, but she hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t deserve to be caught up in his mess.

  “Come on, grab your coat, we’ll go and get the bus, buy some stuff and have a drink. At the end of the day what’s going to happen will happen and staying in here isn’t an option.”

  “I haven’t got much money. Will it be okay if I use my cards?”

  “No, not now they have your name and address. Don’t worry about it. It’s time I spent some of the money, I’ve dragged it around with me long enough.”

  “Why can’t you put it in the bank? You know, in bits so it doesn’t look odd?”

  “I haven’t got an address. You have to have an address to open an account. The house in the Lakes was in Marie’s name, all the bills and so on, we thought it best, to make it easy if anything happened to me in Afghanistan. We never imagined it could be the other way round. I haven’t lived there or paid the bills in my own name for years.”

  “But what about before, when you had just come out of the army and stuff? Didn’t you have an account then?”

  “Yes, of course but I spent it all, emptied the accounts. I didn’t work and then I just lived on what I could scrounge. I was so lost Sylvie, things like money, houses they meant nothing to me. I was in a dark hole and the real world couldn’t reach me. Anyway the top and bottom of it is that the money for the bills at the house, the council tax and stuff, the cleaner, it all comes out of an account automatically, I had my army salary paid into it and I suppose now my pension. I guess it’s all just ticking over. To be honest I don’t know and I have never cared enough to check, it could be the government are after me as well. Now it wouldn’t be safe to start using it, the cards are out of date and I never collected the replacements, it’s just too complicated. No, it’s all cocked up to be honest. The cleaner is from before, she never asked any questions, the last time I saw her was after the funeral. She assumed I was going back to Afghanistan and I let her. People don’t bother if their lives aren’t touched. I suppose now though she’s going to wonder, with all the things we had to leave.

  “This gang have people everywhere. It’s a massive organisation; they work in banks and government offices. They fund arms smuggling, people trafficking, paedophile rings the drugs of course and terrorism. That’s another reason they won’t let up on me, I know too much.”

  “I didn’t realise, I thought it was just a couple of pushers, like Phil and Benny.”

  “No, it’s not, it’s a different world.”

  He pursed his lips, shook his head. Lost in the morass as he had been, home had been unreachable, he had let it all go, part of a life he no longer had. It was impossible to even guess what the situation was, maybe he should try and find out. Could he do it without drawing attention to himself, and did he really want to. There was no going back, but when danger threatened he had run instinctively to the place of peace. He should probably leave it in the past, it had served a purpose and now it was dangerous there. He didn’t know who had seen them, who was in the pay of the gang, but someone was, someone had watched and reported back, the thought was chilling. He had lived there all his life and even there was tainted now.

  “He put it from his mind, some things can’t be fixed and he had a rare chance to take some pleasure from today. He would give Sylvie a bundle of cash and enjoy watching her spend it. It had never felt like stolen money. He had taken it from the scum he left to burn to death, payment for the things they had made him do and compensation for a future he had been denied.

  He dragged the hold-all from under the bed and took out two handfuls of notes.

  “Here, there looks to be plenty there, let’s go and spend it.”

  She gasped as she took hold of the bundles.

  “It’s all fifties and twenties, I’ve never held so much money. They can’t trace it can they?”

  “I don’t think so, it’s what I’ve lived on for a few years now, to buy food and stuff and they never did find me in the woods so I guess it’s okay. Anyway, what else can we do? You know Sylvie, this is all going to end at some time, I’m in the open now, they know I’m still alive and they’ll keep on looking until they find me. They have long memories and these people, they don’t let things go. I can’t make you any promises, all I can say is, any time you want to go, just go. I’ll give you money, help you to get away.”

  The look on his face told her far more than the words he was saying. She k
new if she was to leave him now it would be the end of him, either he would force things to a climax with the drug gang or he would simply go away and allow himself to die. Like a wounded beast he would give up the fight. She shook her head and stared deep into his eyes, she wouldn’t verbalise her thoughts. If he didn’t understand yet that she was committed she didn’t know how to tell him.

  Chapter 34

  They pushed the bag under the bed as far as they could reach, in terms of security it was a joke but there was no other option. Samuel knew he’d be better without it. He had tried once to throw it away, even getting as far as the banks of a reservoir but in the end the sheer amount of money had stayed his hand. It had cost so much in personal anguish and now it had become a liability in itself and he didn’t know what to do. He had considered leaving it outside a charity shop but they would probably notify the police and it would possibly lead back to him. The army had his finger prints after all. What had seemed a prize had become a burden and he kicked it under the bed and turned away locking the room door and leaving the key at reception.

  The rain had stopped at last, though it was dull and chilly. They walked to the bus stop and joined the queue; nobody looked at them except for one old woman dragging a tartan shopping trolley. She smiled and nodded before turning back to gaze up the road. Most people were texting or simply staring blankly into the distance. A double-decker rumbled to a stop and the line shuffled forward, no-one paid the driver, they simply flashed cards and passes in his direction and he nodded curtly.

  “We need to get to the town centre, how much for two returns.”

  “Where ‘bouts ya goin’”

  “Somewhere near the shops.”

  “Lime Street, it’ll be three pound ten pence. I’ll give you a shout.”

  “Thanks mate.”

  “Yeah.”

  The bus drew away and they had to stagger to the nearest free seats, holding on to the hanging straps and bars. Sylvie had wanted to go upstairs, wanted to see Liverpool unfolding before her. She had never been so far away from home before and this city with its history and pop culture fame excited her.

  “Do you know Liverpool Samuel?”

  “Not so much, I think it’s changed a lot in the last few years. When I was a kid, a teenager, we used to come now and again, it was quite a stretch but sometimes a gang of us would do the trip. I should think I can find my way about, it’s quite compact in the centre, all the shops and so on are pretty close. Near the station and St John’s Market.”

  “Can we go and see the Cavern, you know the Beatles place?”

  “Well, you can but it’s not in Matthew Street any more, it’s been moved and I think that misses the point doesn’t it?”

  Disappointment clouded her face and he realised she was treating the trip as a day out, a mini break. She truly had no idea the danger they were in. He didn’t want the spark of excitement to fade from her eyes and so he pushed the worries away.

  “You can see the ferries though, on the Mersey, and the Liver Birds and so on. I think I can get us to there from Lime Street. There are some beautiful buildings and there are some Beatles memorials and stuff.

  “Great, it’s silly I suppose but I love the Beatles, my mum used to play them and it always seemed to me that it must have been a brilliant time, the sixties, all the stuff that went on.”

  “Yes, of course I missed it but my mum had friends who knew Liverpool well and they used to talk about it. I don’t think they realised at the time what a difference it would make to the city. Up until then it was all faded glory with the docks in trouble from Union disputes and the big boats, liners, not coming so much. It’s a place that seems to go up and down, riding high for a few years and then down in the doldrums. Anyway we’ll have a wander round. He took hold of her hand and tucked it into the fold of his arm.

  The little glow of happiness had touched him, how much had he lost, so many precious days he had spent in the dark and now, with this little scrap of a girl the curtains were drawing back. He wasn’t sure he could do it, it had been too long and he couldn’t convince himself there could be a future, the trouble he was in was overwhelming. When he fired the warehouse with the gang members locked inside he had known he was throwing away his life and acknowledged that on some level it was deliberate. He didn’t want it, the empty existence, without Marie he was on a suicide trip and he was just trying to take as many of them with him as he could.

  Was it his time now, could he go back to hope and love and fun, he couldn’t remember a time not drenched in misery. What if it was time to let himself begin to feel again, where could it go? They couldn’t have a life together just running continually to stay alive. He heaved a great sigh, it was never going to be possible to start again, he had gone too far. So, today would be what it was and if there was a tomorrow he would take it as well but he wouldn’t think ahead more than that.

  After a drive of about thirty minutes the driver yelled out.

  “Lime Street, ‘ere ya’ are mate, ‘ere’s shops. I ‘ope you’ve got ya money ready, she’s got a glint in ‘er eye your bird.”

  The other passengers laughed quietly, this was the northern humour and rough friendliness Samuel remembered and Sylvie had heard about. As a Southerner she had never really thought there could be so much difference but these people were ready to laugh and to help and she liked them instinctively. She knew of course that there were huge problems, as with any big city and the struggles were many but she had met with nothing but good humour and simple kindness, yes she liked the north.

  She was enjoying being here, and especially being with this complicated, damaged man and for the first time in years she was happy. She didn’t know what his thoughts were, his deep misgivings weren’t evident and so, as they clambered down from the bus into the hurly burly of the city, she felt anticipation and excitement the like of which she hadn’t experienced since she was a child.

  One of the great advantages of much maligned clone city centres is that the shops are so familiar, Bristol, Bath, Norwich, Oxford and yes, Liverpool, it doesn’t matter, it‘s easy to find what you’re used to, the place where you know the jeans will fit and the tops are always on the large side. In a very short time they had bought jeans and sweatshirts, socks, spare trainers, underwear and things for sleeping in. They had soap and shampoo, Sylvie had some creams and deodorants and he had insisted she buy herself a bracelet she’d tried on, dull metal and black cord but she loved it. He fastened it around her wrist and planted a kiss on her smiling mouth. They could have been any young couple, out on a spree that would leave them eating beans for the last days of the month or maxing out on cards which would wait in ambush for them on pay-day.

  The bag of money, the spectre of history with Phil and other dreadful memories tucked away in the back of Samuel’s mind were walled up, not allowed out, they were having fun and as young animals will they lost sight of the danger prowling on the dark edges of reality.

  Chapter 35

  An Italian restaurant in a refurbished fruit market restored their flagging energy with pasta and wine. Later, doing the tourist thing, swinging carrier bags from their fists coaxed them from watchful to careless. They looked at the river sliding past on the way to Ireland and the great white birds watching out from their shackled perches high above the Three Graces. They wandered the old streets and the new malls. Sylvie was entranced, for her Liverpool was grubby, scarred and weathered, rebuilt, refreshed and renewed, a diverse melange with a magic of its own, maybe part imagined but none the less she felt it.

  On the walk back to the bus station she cried out.

  “Oh look, what’s that? See there, the sculpture, do you know what it is Samuel?”

  He shook his head as they walked across the pavement to stand beside the bronze of a woman perched on a bench feeding birds. It was poignant and beautiful. Eleanor Rigby.

  Sylvie swiped away a stray tear, both were lost in their own thoughts of what might have been, hopes of what cou
ld be and wishes too precious to be acknowledged.

  “Poor little thing, she looks so lonely, so brave but, oh I don’t know, empty. I know it’s because of the song but doesn’t she look lonely Samuel.”

  He nodded at her, the little plaque, “To all the lonely people” touched him. It was him wasn’t it, lonely, brutalised and unwanted and Sylvie, though she had lived with people, they’d didn’t value her, didn’t care and so she was just as alone in her different way. Marie, in those last moments, dying on the street while he was thousands of miles away, even though she carried their child, had she been lonely and frightened. He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t let the thoughts creep in again, he had driven them away and no matter what he must not go there again. All the lonely people.