Call to Witness Read online

  ‘Is there a question mark there?’ she asked.

  Roland dropped the conversation as the drinks were served.

  ‘Toby could decide to go it alone,’ he then said. ‘Michael sometimes struggles with his fitness. If that happens, I’ll retire gracefully too. I only want to work with Michael. I won’t get the cash incentive that Adele got, of course. I’ll go quietly. Life’s unfair, don’t you think?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘You miss him, don’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Why have you lost touch then?’

  Kara hesitated, fiddling with her necklace. ‘It’s just that…I don’t know. Marcus is trying desperately to carve out a new life for us, a new beginning, and for him that excludes the past and everyone connected with it. He sees Michael as a past relic.’

  ‘And who can blame him?’

  ‘I know, I know. I think Marcus is a little jealous of Michael as well. But I miss working with Michael. The past was my anchor. We haven’t lost touch, it’s simply that our paths no longer cross. I suppose the events leading up to the fire, and his crazy obsession with Lauren has somehow driven a wedge between us…as if we are too embarrassed to talk about it. Therefore, we avoid each other. That’s my theory, anyway.’

  Ronald emptied his glass with a satisfied gulp. ‘He needs you, Kara. Don’t turn your back on him. He is trying to confront his own demons, as you are too. But the news of your pregnancy gave him a tremendous lift, believe me. He sees this as the only good thing to come out of the whole damn tragedy. For that reason alone, don’t become strangers. Marcus will understand the situation, your needs, I’m sure. Would you like me to arrange a meeting? Is that what this rendezvous is all about?’

  Kara was silent for a few seconds. ‘I suppose it would be good…but I’m frightened that the pain of the past will be dragged up again.’

  ‘My dear, look at me.’ Their eyes locked. ‘The pain has never gone away, for any of you. It’s time to talk, cry, shout, whatever – because the way I see things, well, unless you all find peace of mind then you’re screwed for life. I admit I was apprehensive about seeing you, but I’m so pleased I did: Time to bury the ghosts of the past, yes?’

  Kara recalled her recurring dream, and nodded apprehensively.

  Ronald stood, buttoned his jacket and smiled. Then he wiped his puffed, ruddy face with a handkerchief. ‘Leave it to me.’ He prodded his chest. ‘You can rely on this silly old sod to arrange something, especially for you. I’m just a fool with a tear in his eye.’

  ‘Sentimental to the last,’ Kara said, squeezing his hand for reassurance. He returned the gesture, and smiled knowingly.

  Then he was gone. She sat for a while, staring into space, feeling calm and reassured. Ronald was a dear. He would fix it. Eventually she paid up, crossed the road, and headed toward home, thinking of Marcus. She was carrying a baby, their precious baby and it began to feel good. From afar, unbeknown to her, someone else crossed the road and, gathering speed, followed a few paces behind, monitoring her every movement with poisonous eyes.

  Kara was unaware of this person’s identity, just the proximity. It wasn’t enough to make her turn, so she was unaware of their hidden agenda as well. If she did, she would know that they had a cold conviction to fix it too.

  CHAPTER THREE

  One week later

  Preoccupied by all things which complicated her life, Kara missed a message on her mobile. Her heart jumped as she finally read it. It was from Michael, suggesting that they got together for coffee, sooner rather than later. She was perplexed: surely Ronald hadn’t broached the subject with him so quickly? She wanted to answer Michael immediately, but decided to wait and gather her muddled thoughts.

  Marcus was proving awkward again, not talking freely to her after she had explained (rather sheepishly) that she had met Ronald at a café, behind his back. Bingo! They had argued again. What a surprise. Now they had endured days of awkward silence. Raking up old issues was how he saw things. “We need to move on,” was his stock response, as always. He had a point, of course. Kara acknowledged that her health was important with the birth of their first child so close, and according to the good book of Marcus, anxiety was not conducive to a healthy mind and body. Her spirits were low again, she had to admit. She needed Marcus desperately, but each time she tried to claw her way back in, he in turn moved away from her emotionally, creating a void in their relationship. What he failed to grasp was her basic need to find the very answers that would then help to transform the irrational fears she felt for their future as a family.

  The fucking dreams didn’t help either. For her, the future was planted in the past, these very roots on which she could grow and nurture the child she carried. Marcus, of course, saw danger in doing this, seeing the past as a kind of foreboding snake pit from which he had once climbed out. He had no intention of falling back in accidentally or intentionally, and in the process losing everything dear to him. She saw danger in not doing it. In her mind, happiness could be destroyed in the blink of an eye. For this reason alone, Kara could not, would not, embrace his viewpoint. Even though she was acutely aware of what it was doing to her sanity, and their fragile connection. Ronald had put things into perspective. Why couldn’t Marcus at least just recognise this?

  Her decision was made. Marcus had to understand the perception of her whole fear. If he doubted this…this… obsession, then she would take control of her own destiny and unearth those buried building blocks so necessary to aid recovery. She would do it on her own, if need be: with a little help from Michael perhaps. Her stubbornness knew no bounds. Then, in the fullness of time, she was sure Marcus would accept the situation, and they could at last slowly gather in their precious (but fractured) dependence on one another once more. Kara craved for this kind of normality, bringing stability back into their lives. Above all, she would seek protection for herself and Marcus at any cost.

  It was this desire to dedicate her life to him and their imminent family which drove her forward, perversely, from the remnants of their shared, yet troubled, history: a bloody history. And that was the rub of course: to find this stability meant entering the snake pit once again…and face the viper and its deadly venom.

  Kara steeled herself and phoned Michael, her throat as dry as parchment. She hated this deception, keeping secrets from Marcus. But, damn it, he was equally obstinate and cocooned in his own little world. For the moment, until she decided to come clean, he would have to remain in this suspended state of childlike self-denial.

  Michael’s reassuring voice came through on the third ring. She hesitated, her pulse quickening.

  ‘It’s me,’ she announced meekly in reply.

  ‘Hi,’ Michael said. ‘Great to hear from you. I hope my text didn’t startle you, a blast from the…’

  She picked up the cautiousness in his voice, as if the common ground they once shared so perfectly had shifted.

  ‘Not at all,’ she cut in nervously. Why was she such a bloody contradiction? Kara composed herself nonetheless.

  ‘It’s been such a long time and we need to catch up: old time’s sake and all that. I was thrilled to hear from you, actually.’

  ‘When’s the baby due?’

  ‘Don’t ask! I’m like a capsized hippo most of the time.’

  ‘Christ, where have the months gone to?’

  ‘Believe me, I’ve lived every long one of them.’

  ‘Nervous of the big day?’

  ‘Terrified!’

  ‘Let me buy you lunch…How about tomorrow at one?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Zizzi’s on the dock. Is Marcus around to join us?’

  Kara bit her lip. ‘No.’

  ‘Everything OK between you?’

  ‘This would be too soon for him, Michael. Better we just meet up on our own. Is that what you had in mind?’

  ‘Exactly…’

  ‘Then one o’clock it is. You’ll still need to book a table for three
. Two chairs for me, I’m afraid. I’ve got an arse as wide as a baboon’s.’

  Michael laughed.

  ‘You’d better believe it,’ Kara said, smiling inwardly at the thought of renewing her friendship with her old boss. It was just what she needed.

  When she switched off her mobile, the first rays of sunlight crept out from behind the leaden clouds. Perhaps things were looking up, at last.

  ***

  Michael planned his strategy, knowing that Kara was vulnerable and not ready for a sudden shock to her system: He couldn’t just throw the name Maggie into the conversation. Ronald had warned him of her poor disposition. Childbirth was about to unleash itself upon her body…could she cope both physically and emotionally with everything that was going on? On top of that, he detected a strain in her relationship with Marcus. He had to tread carefully. Strangely, even before Ronald had taken him aside and suggested that Kara had wanted to meet him, he was thinking the same thing. Coincidence? Michael shrugged it off, not buying into a possible conspiracy by a member of staff to get her back working with him again.

  He had Gemma, full stop. Then the new girl knocked over a painting and damaged a frame, and in the chaos, he so wished for the impossible to happen. The old yearnings came flooding back.

  That night, he relaxed for the first time in weeks, happy that he was at last weaned off painkillers permanently. His damaged body still ached and stiffened though, constantly reminding him to remember the drill the surgeon recommended: a daily routine to moisturise his new skin grafts which concealed the hideous injuries from the fire. Naked, he tried to apply the cream without catching sight of his disfigurement in the bathroom mirror. The surgeon had performed miracles, but the burns had left their mark. If he was brutally honest, he was lucky to be alive. He finished the daily routine, shrugged on a white towelling robe, poured himself a Hine brandy and sat in the spacious lounge, overlooking Chelsea harbour. Through the window, he watched as the slate grey river below snaked lazily into the distance before being swallowed up by the towering metallic and glass metropolis which never dulled his sense of wonder: This was his town. He watched, awe-struck, as this hypnotic vast monster majestically spread upwards and outwards to the blue horizon and then slowly, as if by magic, disappeared into dusk’s last orange flame. It was a truly spectacular landscape, as the lights of the city then suddenly and systematically flickered on in their millions, like a stellar sunburst as nightfall descended. Tomorrow, the promise of a new day would bring him and Kara together again.

  Normally, he would embrace such a reunion but somehow his heart grew heavy. He loved Kara like a daughter. Over the past year and a bit he had perhaps distanced himself from her deliberately, knowing that she now had Marcus. Their life together was a cherished thing, and he wasn’t going to crowd it. Now, after what Terry had told him about the forthcoming tabloid story, this was exactly what he was going to do.

  What happened at Laburnum Farm would haunt them all forever. What happened between him and Lauren would trouble him forever: The intensity of their lust for each other was overwhelming. There was no escape from this, except in sleep and drunken stupor. He took another brandy, and kept pouring. It seemed a good option. Who was there to stop him? In the gloom, Michael saw the spectre of loneliness on the darkened horizon, a forbidding solitary prison for those without connection. He drank greedily. The future appeared to be remorselessly mapped out, and he was alone to face it.

  ***

  The following morning, Kara awoke refreshed and felt seemingly more in charge of events. She had a sparkle in her eyes. Marcus noticed it too, and after breakfast he kissed and cuddled her before leaving to open the gallery. The absence of the cursed dream meant she had slept undisturbed, a rare luxury these days. The baby kicked more frequently. She took a long soak in the bath and stroked her protruding belly, marvelling at nature’s wondrous gift of life.

  In spite of her ill-founded dread of motherhood and inadequacy, she still felt deeply privileged to have nurtured this child in her womb. God, it made her weep with unbridled happiness. Her first baby. Her first baby! She repeated the words over and over in her mind.

  The phone rang. Kara ignored it and eventually climbed from the bath and towelled herself down. She was excited and a little apprehensive at the thought of meeting Michael for lunch. She checked the time and dressed in a cream smock over black tights. For the first time in ages she took extra care of her make-up and hair. Silly cow, get real she said under her breath. Next: nails, shoes, beret, coat. There, the perfect look for a has-been city slicker, out to pasture and redundant for the first time in her life. She had heard of Gemma on the gossip grapevine, no doubt a younger, sleeker, thinner model…Kara laughed. She hated her already. She checked herself once more in the bedroom mirror and vowed to give Michael hell for not replacing her with a five-foot dwarf with ginger hair. Then she thought about it. It was just not his style. He always liked to be surrounded by glamorous types.

  Gathering her handbag, she made for the door. The phone rang for the second time. She lifted the handset and made the usual greeting. There was silence: a strange metallic silence that suggested to her that someone was listening; without wishing to talk to her.

  Kara persisted. ‘Hello? Is someone there?’

  The line went dead.

  Kara dialled 1471, and heard the recorded voice announce flatly that the caller had withheld their number.

  She closed the door behind her, took the lift and hailed a cab for the short journey to the docks. Somehow, and without warning, her new found confidence had evaporated in an instant and her legs turned to jelly. The phone call had spooked her. She tried to dismiss it but something nagged at the back of her mind.

  ***

  Michael felt like shit. He had fallen asleep in the chair and remained in the same position all night. His neck creaked as he lifted himself to go to the bathroom. On his return, he noticed the upturned empty bottle of brandy on the floor and a small stain on the carpet. Then, in a panic, he checked the time. Christ. Ten-forty five! He showered, shaved and dressed in record time, drinking black coffee as he went and swallowing aspirin as if they were Smarties. This drinking would have to stop. It was the second hangover from hell in one week. His body simply couldn’t cope any more. Get real, his brain demanded. He had made this same futile promise a hundred times before. He looked in the mirror and saw a man he barely recognised: flabby jowls, red sunken eyes and skin the texture of a moonscape. He was a wreck. He splashed cold water on his face to tighten his skin. Even his tousled hair was speckled with grey, and he saw the first visible signs of thinning at the scalp-line. Fuck. He frantically searched for a positive sign in all the misery. Maybe he could convince himself that the craggy, vacant style was in: the Serge Gainsbourg look was still hip, surely?

  Reality struck home. He had to admit defeat…he wasn’t remotely hip. The good news in all this? Kara would endeavour to soothe his faltering ego, and allow him to think that he somehow defiantly retained his debonair good looks. That was the plan anyway. Dream on.

  After dressing in black denims, open necked cotton shirt and plain brown woollen jacket, he reluctantly phoned the police station to arrange the interview they had requested. Then he took the elevator down to reception. The Concierge checked his mailbox and handed him an array of envelopes. He skipped through them and elected to collect the batch on his return. One caught his eye though.

  ‘Nick, this letter isn’t mine: It says Ms Byrne. I don’t recognise the name. Is she a new tenant? ’

  The young man behind the desk raised his eyebrows and took the letter back, placing it in the mailbox marked with her nameplate.

  ‘Just moved in, about a week ago,’ Nick replied, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Is she young and gorgeous?’ Michael asked optimistically.

  He had known Nick for a couple of years now. They had good banter usually, but Michael could tell it had been a long shift behind the desk by the reluctance in the conversation.
r />   ‘Hardly your type, Michael,’ he said. ‘She can barely muster a “hello”or “goodbye” whenever she passes my desk. Always dressed in dark clothes. Covers her head in a silk scarf and wears sunglasses.’

  Michael smirked. ‘Garbo…esque?’

  Nick grimaced. ‘Looks a mean one to me: Eyes averted and acts as cold as ice. Luckily, it’s a short-term let.’

  Michael turned the smirk into a smile and buttoned his jacket, ready for the chill as he reached the revolving door. ‘I assume you’re not relying on a Christmas bonus from her then?’

  ‘Nope, but I don’t recall getting one from you either last year…’

  ‘Ooops.’ With that, Michael made his timely escape and headed for the docks.

  ***

  Typical Kara. Her first words to him on entering the restaurant were unflattering, and made him recoil at her bluntness. He had already been kept waiting for over fifteen minutes, so this really took the biscuit.

  ‘Michael, you look ghastly. You’ve either been to an all-night rave, or recently joined a boxing class and lost your first ten bouts…’

  ‘You look fabulous too,’ he replied, standing up from the table and hugging her as best he could, avoiding the huge bump that separated them.

  ‘Liar,’ she remarked.

  Neither of then heard the subtle camera click from the far side of the restaurant.

  The waiter took her coat and Michael helped her into the chair opposite to his. She was right, one chair was barely adequate, and it made him laugh. It was a shock to see her like this: oversized and a bit like a beached whale. But he refrained from saying it aloud.

  ‘I ordered mineral water for you,’ he said, refilling his glass from a bottle of fine Argentine Malbec.

  ‘Good idea, and thanks.’ She cast a disapproving glare in his direction. ‘Do you intend to finish the entire bottle? Am I that scary? I’ll hazard a guess that you’re boozing too much…I’m not joking Michael.’