The House Guest by Mark Edwards(25)

‘Hey!’ I called. ‘Wait up!’

He strode away, breaking into a jog and disappearing behind a crowd of teenagers who were walking towards us wearing baseball kit. By the time I got through this fresh-faced crowd, he had vanished.

I swore under my breath. Who was he? Was he involved in whatever the hell was going on? Even if he wasn’t, he might have seen something.

I walked around the park for twenty minutes looking for him. I could feel my skin burning, the sun microwaving me and making me hot and miserable. It was obvious that Greybeard was long gone. Next time, I was going to have to be quicker.

I headed towards the exit of the park, thinking I should find a hotel, somewhere cheap nearby – I didn’t want to stray too far from where I’d last seen Ruth – and opened an app on my phone to search for a room.

I had my head down as I left the park and began to cross the quiet road, going back towards the centre of Williamsburg.

Two things happened at once. A car engine revved and tyres screeched on the hot asphalt. And somebody yelled.

I looked up from my phone screen.

A car roared towards me.





Chapter 14

Something leapt into my peripheral vision. Bones connected with mine. A solid force, knocking me off my feet. I landed on my back on the unforgiving concrete, something heavy on top of me, pain searing through my flesh, a glimpse of blue sky, the stink of burnt rubber. The car that had tried to floor me revved its engine again and then it was gone, a blur of metal and glass vanishing into a side street.

I pushed at the person on top of me, the man who had saved me, and he lifted himself up, rocking back on to his haunches.

‘You okay?’ he said.

It was Greybeard.

‘Man, you were a deer in the headlights.’

A small group had gathered around us, but Greybeard waved them away, told them everything was fine; I’d stepped into the road without looking, that was all. Somebody muttered something about idiots not watching where they were going, and the crowd dispersed, leaving me pushing myself to my feet. Apart from a scrape on the back of one elbow and a bruised coccyx, I was fine, though my heart was still beating fast and hard.

Greybeard had got to his feet too. He panted and brushed the dust from his jacket, tucking his sunglasses into the front pocket. Up close, I could see that he was indeed in his sixties, but looking good for it, with crinkles around his blue eyes – a face that suited maturity. His beard was not really grey but salt-and-pepper, as was his hair.

‘Who are you?’ I asked.

He stuck out a hand. ‘Callum Maguire.’

‘I’m Adam—’

‘I know, son.’

I held his gaze. ‘You’ve been following me. Why? Do you know where Ruth is? Do you know Eden? What’s going on?’

He held up both hands, palms out. ‘Whoa, whoa. Too many questions. Let me buy you a drink and I’ll explain everything.’

I hesitated. This man had been watching the house. Stalking me.

‘Come on, I just saved your life. You should be buying me a drink.’

‘That car. Was it trying to hit me deliberately? Do you know who was driving? Did you see them?’

‘No, I didn’t. It had tinted windows. But I’m going into that bar over there.’ He pointed a little way down the street. ‘And if you want answers to any of your questions, you’ll come with me.’

He walked away. He was limping slightly. I hesitated again, but only for a second. What choice did I have? He might know what had happened to Ruth.



The bar was quiet, but beginning to fill up with the lunch crowd. We found a table in the corner and Callum Maguire waved a menu at me and asked if I was hungry.

‘Actually, I’m starving.’

‘Good. Me too.’

He went to the bar to order beer and burgers. When he came back he slid a pint towards me and said, ‘You’ll probably feel light-headed for a little while, as the adrenaline leaves your system, but the food will make you feel better.’

‘Thanks. So . . . ?’

‘Your questions. Okay. Yes, the car was trying to hit you on purpose. And yes, I do know Eden – or at least, I know of her – but no, I don’t know where she and your girlfriend are.’

He took a long swallow from his own pint, and rapped his knuckles on the table then dragged them across the wood. A gesture of frustration.

‘I should have stayed outside the house. But I was tired and it was raining again. I thought the three of you were staying put for the night.’

I stared at him. ‘You were out there on Friday night? Watching us?’

‘Until the storm started, yes.’

‘Who the hell are you?’

He picked up his beer mat and tore it in half. ‘I’m a man who’s lost his daughter.’

I waited.

‘What did Eden tell you about herself?’ he asked.

‘Not much. She said she’s from a place called Bakersfield, that she’s been living in Los Angeles, that she recently broke up with her boyfriend. A musician.’ She had told me more, hadn’t she, during that drunken last night, but I could only remember small scraps of the story. Living in a roach-infested apartment. A friend she let down. Something about her mother and drugs? It was like trying to read a message through a full pint glass. ‘She told me she knows Jack and Mona – the owners of the house where we’ve been staying – but they deny it. For all I know, everything she told me was a lie.’