A Twist of Fate (24 page)

‘Hi!' I tried, as brightly as possible.

‘Hi, hon.' Pause. ‘What the hell's the matter, Callie?'

God, I couldn't even hide my despair down the phone. I burst into tears. It was all she needed.

‘I'm coming over. Are you at home?'

I blubbed a yes.

‘Give me half an hour.'

She arrived after fifteen minutes. I let her in, my face swollen, my eyes puffy and red.

‘Bloody hell. You look like shit.'

I could rely on Tina to tell it like it was.

‘Yeah. Come in.'

‘I intend to, my darling.' She swept past me into the flat. ‘Kettle on. Tea, the curer of all ills.'

I sat, no tears left by now, and waited while she brewed a cup. She came and sat next to me. ‘By being here, that doesn't mean you have to tell me everything. Maybe you don't want to. But I'm here.'

I no longer had the energy for deception. ‘He's been arrested.'

She squinted in disbelief. ‘Rupert?'

‘No. Paul.'

‘Paul?' She was momentarily confused. ‘Oh, the guy from the island?'

I nodded.

She gave a little sigh, still not quite getting it. ‘Shit, I'm sorry. What's he done?'

‘Everything, including grievous bodily harm and armed robbery.'

‘Fucking hell! Seriously? He seemed like such a great guy. That's crazy. Bloody hell, that must be a real shock, seeing as he saved your life and everything. It's crap when people turn out differently to how you thought.'

‘Yes.'

We fell silent.

‘You seem really cut up about it.' Tina was looking at me carefully, trying to read me and match my distress with what I'd told her.

‘I am.'

‘But …'

I turned my bloodshot eyes to her. ‘I wasn't exactly honest with you before.'

‘Ah.' She pursed her lips, her brows furrowed, but her voice gentle with realisation. ‘You and him …'

‘Yes.'

She dropped her head. ‘Christ, Callie.'

‘I love him.' I felt the need to correct myself. ‘I
loved
him.'

‘Oh God. You'd better tell me exactly what happened. It might not be as it seems, you know.'

‘That's what he said.' I took a long, hot drink of tea. ‘It was three a.m. I was with him in his flat. There was a hammering on the door and the police arrested him for … God, I can hardly remember, firearm something, bodily harm, armed robbery … I stayed hidden. They cuffed him, I could hear. He called out – as much to me as them – that it wasn't what it looked like, to trust him.'

‘Do you?'

I looked at her despairingly, wanting so much to be able to say yes. ‘I thought I did.'

‘Don't rush to conclusions.'

‘But … I always doubted, Tina. I could never quite bring myself to let go completely. It was so good when I was with him, so incredibly good, everything was right, but when we were apart, the doubts would set in. I guess they were right to.'

‘Not necessarily. Innocent until proven guilty.'

‘Where there's smoke there's fire,' I countered.

‘Oh come on, Callie, don't be like that! Have you heard from him?'

‘Not yet. It's driving me mad.'

‘Jesus, with what you've been through recently it would drive anyone mad.'

‘Don't you think that's it, though? That I wasn't thinking straight. I mean, he wasn't my type. I knew that from the start. Just not my type. I kept telling myself that.'

‘Bollocks! What the hell is a type anyway? God, I'd forgotten what a bloody snob you could be.'

‘What?'

‘You always went for the safe ones, the ones your mum and dad would like.'

‘What's wrong with that?'

‘Everything. Mainly crap sex. It's a bit like selecting – or not in your case – from the widest gene pool possible. You need to get it on with someone totally different to you. I bet sex with Paul wasn't crap.'

‘No. It was incredible.'

She allowed a familiar smirk to creep in. ‘Tell.'

I sighed. ‘Oh God, Tina, not now.'

‘Sorry. Just imagining though.'

‘Yeah, well, don't.'

‘Look, I'll stay for a bit, as long as you want. He's sure to be in touch soon. He probably won't even be charged and it will all go back to normal, and even if they've got completely the wrong end of the stick and he is charged, I should imagine they'll let him out on bail. He hasn't got any previous convictions, has he?'

I didn't know. Perhaps he had a criminal record as long as my arm. He could, for all I knew. What did I actually know about him at all? ‘I don't think so. I don't know. But …'

‘What?'

‘Do you remember a few years ago, there was a fuss about a British soldier who killed two Afghan civilians? There was a big military trial. The media were all over it. In the end he was cleared.'

‘Oh yeah. I always had my doubts about that. Felt like a cover-up to me.'

I closed my eyes. ‘That was Paul.'

‘Oh … Callie …'

Her clear despair was increasingly disheartening. ‘You see, Tina, I don't know him. I can't trust him. I mustn't.'

She sighed. ‘You don't know that yet.' I could tell her own resolve was wavering.

My phone rang. I knew it was him without even looking at it. I just stared at Tina.

‘You have to answer,' she said gently. ‘You owe him that.'

I picked it up, my hand shaking. Tina moved away from me, giving me space. I accepted the call and held the phone to my ear. I waited.

‘Callie.'

I opened my mouth to speak but found nothing to say.

‘I'm sorry, Callie. I'm sorry to put you through this.'

Still, I couldn't speak. It barely sounded like Paul. There was a tremor to his voice I'd never heard before.

‘Where are you now?'

‘I've just left the police station. I've been let out on bail.'

‘You've been charged?'

‘Yes.'

I threw my hand to my mouth to stifle the sob which rose chaotically through me.

‘Why, Paul?'

He answered after a moment's silence, his voice disjointed. ‘There was an armed robbery several years ago. A high-class jeweller's. A girl was tied up, beaten and threatened at gunpoint. Over a hundred grand's worth of stuff was taken. They never found the guy.'

‘Was it you?' I said it straight out. I was the level one now. My voice didn't falter.

I heard him exhale in despair at the other end. ‘No, it wasn't me … but I was there. I can't talk about it over the phone. Can I …?' He hesitated.

‘What?'

‘Can I come over?'

I glanced at Tina who was leaning on the door frame, concern clear in her eyes.

‘Yes. Come before six. I'm going out then.' I didn't want him here at night. But even now I wanted to see him.

‘OK.' He paused. ‘I'll see you then. Callie …'

I put the phone down. He had said my name with a rise, as if he were asking for more. I hadn't given it.

Wrapping my arms around me I went back to Tina. ‘He's been charged.'

‘Shit.' Her head dropped.

‘But he's out on bail. He's coming to talk about it later.'

‘Are you happy with that?'

I nodded.

‘I'll be here for you.'

I took her hand and squeezed it. ‘No, that's all right. I need to sort this out alone.'

‘Are you sure? Do you feel safe with him?'

I looked at her, thinking she sounded mad. This was Paul we were talking about. ‘I've always felt safe with him. I feel safer with him than I've felt with any other person as long as I've lived.'

Tina frowned in bewildered concern and then gave me a hug. She stayed until mid-afternoon but as the clock approached half three, she looked at me. ‘Should I leave now?'

I nodded. ‘I suppose. I'll call you after.'

She hugged me hard and left.

I didn't do anything to prepare the flat. I just sat and waited. The buzzer went ten minutes after Tina left. I let him in.

He stood there, his head down, his eyes tired and shadowed. He looked infinitely worse than he had after surviving the plane crash.

‘Can I come in?' he asked, genuinely hesitant.

I moved aside for him. He walked carefully past me and waited in the hallway.

‘Well, don't stand there. Go and sit down. I'll … put the kettle on.'

He didn't speak while the water boiled. I glanced over at him. He was sitting forward, rubbing his hands together. I brought the tea over and sat opposite him, the coffee table between us.

‘Thanks,' he murmured, so quietly I barely heard. ‘They've charged me. I'm going to be put on trial. This is all going to get worse before it gets better. But it will get better, Callie, because I'm innocent.'

‘Innocent of what?'

He held his head in his hands and pulled his hair. He didn't start for some time. I waited. I didn't say a word. I sat and looked at him and waited. At last, as if it was the greatest effort to drag it all into the present, he began.

‘It was '07. The court-martial had ended. I was cleared. They said I was free, exonerated … not a blemish to my name. I could go back to the army. But I couldn't. I couldn't go back to a place I associated with my failure, to a place I associated with death. I left. Got good building work which paid OK, kept me ticking over, but I was so bloody unsettled, so unsure of where my life was going. I started drinking more than before, not that it affected me except when I was out with the lads. Then, when they lulled me into a false sense of camaraderie, I'd have more than I needed. I hated myself for it – staggering home, waking up the next day feeling like death warmed up, smelling like a pisspot.'

I winced.

Paul continued. ‘One night, I was out with some mates. Good lads, all of them, but they wanted to stay on, go to a strip club, spoke about getting some girls, you know, payin' for 'em. I just couldn't do it. I was sickened by myself. I left them, must have been about ten. They yelled after me, couldn't believe I was bailing out on them.

‘I'd had a fair bit to drink, but I wasn't drunk, just a little dull-headed. I walked for miles, didn't know where I was going. Just meandered along, just like my life was meandering along. I was somewhere in Kensington, but it was dead quiet, no one around. I remember thinking how strange it was that London could be so quiet, like I'd never known it before. Then I realised it wasn't silent. I was outside this jeweller's shop and I could hear this muffled noise, like someone sobbing. I could just about see inside. There was a girl in there, bound and gagged. Her face was a mess, someone had knocked her about badly. Then I saw him, a guy in a dark hoodie, helping himself to anything he could get his hands on. There was no alarm; he must have disabled it or got her to switch it off or something. The security gates were nearly all the way down but had stopped about a foot and a half off the ground.

‘Every time the girl made a noise, the guy came right up to her. In my mind her face was that of the Afghan girl; wide staring eyes, disbelieving what was happening to her. Then I saw his gun. He'd point it right in her face, push it right up against her neck and yell abuse and threats at her. She started to scream, even through her gag, and he suddenly pulled back and punched her hard across the face. Her head flopped to the side and her body sagged limply.

‘I didn't hesitate. Didn't think about the gun or the danger. I forced myself under the gates, bruised my ribs doing it, and ran in. I caught him unexpectedly – God knows what he would have done next – I was SAS, I fucking knew what to do. He gave me a chase round the shop, but I had him in the end. I got his gun off him and wrestled some of the jewellery off him. I could see the girl, still unconscious. I was desperate to get to her and help her – she could be dead or dying for all I knew. And this fucking bastard was still there. He fought me hard, but I fought back. I'd beat the crap out of him if I had to but I tried to hit him hard without wounding him too badly. I hit my head on something, glass or something. There was blood flying around. He caught my eye. I could feel it swelling up and closing. I could taste blood in my mouth. But I had him. I had him squealing like a stuck pig.

‘But then there were sirens. They distracted me. I dropped my hold on him for a moment and he ran. I thought the police would get him, was sure of it. I went over to the girl and started to untie her bindings. As I did, she started to come round. God, the relief at that moment. I was taking the gag off when she opened her eyes and looked right at me. The police came in at that moment.

‘And she started screaming. She started screaming like it was her last moment on earth. She pushed as far back from me as she could and pointed at me. And she said it, ‘Him, him. It's him, it's him.' I didn't even look behind me. I could feel them, sense them about to take me. My mind quickly added up what they saw: a girl bloodied and beaten, me leaning over her covered in more blood, my fingerprints everywhere. The gun, the shop, the jewellery. And her pointing her finger right at me.

‘I panicked. I was still too raw, too uncertain of myself. I panicked and I ran. I was fast, faster than anyone in the Met. I ran and I ran and they never caught up with me.

‘I thought they'd figure it out. I thought they'd see the CCTV and it would all be OK. When they came for me, they could do me for non-co-operation, and I'd tell them I wasn't thinking straight, but that was all. They'd see what I'd done.

‘But they never came for me. I read later that the CCTV in the shop had been glitching for weeks. There was nothing on it. And other local CCTV hadn't been able to place anyone, me or the real assailant.

‘We both got away, me and the real culprit. The girl recovered, slowly. I read all I could about it. But she was left with some permanent scarring and a limp.