For Your Own Protection(11)

‘Good idea. I know you don’t know Catherine that well, but the guy in the toilets – hey, you said yourself, he was drunk. He may have spotted you with this beautiful girl and decided to try to cause trouble.’

‘Except we were going to break up anyway.’

‘That’s not the point.’

Matt looked off to his left, suddenly feeling aggrieved that he might well have been taken in.

‘I think you shouldn’t be too hasty in ending the relationship,’ said Sean. ‘Things were going well until you started getting those silly ideas that she was stalking you.’

‘Who says they were silly?’

‘Well, you never actually saw her following you for certain, did you? You just thought you might have seen her a few times, out of the corner of your eye.’

Put like that, it did sound somewhat lame.

‘I thought she was really nice. And you seemed good together.’

‘You didn’t say this before now.’

‘I didn’t want to interfere.’

‘But now you’ve decided to?’

‘Because I don’t want to see you make a mistake.’

Something didn’t seem right. ‘Why are you so keen on this?’

‘It’s just good to see you happy. Moving on from—’ Sean stopped himself, but it was too late.

‘. . . Beth,’ Matt finished. ‘Moving on from Beth. And from Charlie too? Is that what this is about, Sean? Encouraging me to pursue a new life, so I’ll agree to my son being taken thousands of miles away?’

Sean ran a hand through his hair defensively. ‘You know I always hoped you two would patch things up.’

‘But now you think it’s a lost cause?’

Sean couldn’t find the words, as Matt made to stand.

‘And, Sean, please, don’t go updating Beth about what I’m up to. I don’t want James Farrah knowing intimate details about my life. Time for me to go.’

‘Matt, don’t,’ Sean said. ‘Beth might be my sister, but I love both of you guys. I’ve never taken sides in all this. I just want what’s best for you all.’

‘I really wish I could believe that.’

Matt headed for the exit.





CHAPTER NINE


‘Michael.’

Michael didn’t acknowledge her arrival. He sat clutching a glass of whisky, his tangled mass of dark brown hair falling down over his stony face. He stared down into the drink as if trying to read his own fortune. Michael’s past drinking problems were well known. He’d once told them all about his battle with alcohol, which had begun in his late teens, increased through university, and peaked in those first few years of employment, fuelled at first by the lust for fun and latterly by the stress of his job. But shortly after meeting Annabelle three years ago, he had turned a corner and, as far as Rachel knew, had been dry ever since. But now here he was, sitting alone in a bar with a drink in his hand.

Rachel slid into the seat opposite. ‘Michael, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all day.’ With neither Michael nor Annabelle answering their phones, she had visited their flat before scouring all the local haunts around Camden. Finally, she had struck lucky in a pub just down from Euston station. It was a place they sometimes frequented, but it had seemed a long shot at that time of the day.

Michael’s hands stayed tightly wrapped around the glass and his head remained bowed as if in prayer. Rachel glanced at the adjacent tables, but no one else was taking any notice. She turned back towards him.

‘Michael, why weren’t you at the funeral?’

There was still no response.

‘I was worried. I thought something might have happened to you.’

Michael raised his head slowly and their eyes met. She couldn’t disguise her shock at his appearance. His eyes were fiery red and seemed to have shrunk back into his skull. His face was drawn, pale, and unshaven. He said nothing, instead bringing the glass up to his mouth in an almost automated, robotic movement. As he drank, his eyes shifted from Rachel to the diminishing liquid. He then brought the glass down hard on the table, as if he had misjudged the distance.

‘I’m sorry,’ he slurred. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.’

‘Sorry? Is that it? You and Alex have been good friends for years, and that’s the best you can come up with? Why weren’t you at the funeral, Michael? And you’ve started drinking again. What’s going on?’

Michael paused, looking down at the dregs of his whisky.

‘I wanted to come, but I just couldn’t.’

Rachel softened, her frustration quickly turning to concern. If he felt in any way the same as she did about Alex’s death, which he surely did, it was understandable if he just hadn’t felt able to be there. Maybe it was his way of trying to shut out the reality of what had happened.

‘You didn’t feel able to come? You’re too upset?’

He shrugged. ‘I need some time on my own, Rachel.’

‘Please, Michael,’ she said. ‘I know you’re suffering as much as I am. You don’t need to do this on your own. We’ve got to support each other.’

Michael shook his head, lamenting some unspoken thought. ‘You don’t know.’