Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1) (17 page)

His eyes light up.

“What do I have to do?”

He has yet to learn the art of negotiation. I pass him two supermarket bags. “Go down to the orchard area and put all the horrible apples in this bag, and all the nice ones in this bag.”

“How are they horrible?”

“Good point, Butch. Pick up the apples that look nice, okay?”

“Yes, Uncle Dan.”

I go back inside and ask Jess if she will come outside with me.

“Is Gemma giving you a lift back?”

She seems intrigued.

“Yes. Why?” Her eyes screw up. “Are you suggesting I stay the night with you?”

“That would be fantastic, but I think impractical.” I try and force a quizzical look. You know, just in case…whoa. Keep talking, Danny. “I was thinking of asking Chan if she wanted Butch to stay the night with me, so they could have the hotel room to themselves.”

“That was truly what you were thinking?”

“It was, but then I thought, if I arranged that when all the time you had planned to seduce me, I’d end up feeling pretty gutted. So I’m sort of checking that you had no intention of seducing me tonight, because if you were, sod my sister and her bloody awful son.”

“Well, it most certainly was my intention, but that moment has passed.” For a split second I think she might be serious before she thumps me in the arm. “No chance, Romeo.”

“Phew—thank goodness!” Sexual tension? What’s that?

She puts her arm through mine, we go back in, and I make my offer to Derek—not Chan—who does not hesitate to accept my proposal. Within a few minutes, the older trio have left, followed by Chan and Derek. It’s just Jess, me, Jeremiah and two bags of smelly apples.

“What a great day,” I say. “It feels like I’ve forgotten something.”

“Gemma and your unknown builder friend?”

“Damn—don’t say he’s broken that court order yet again.”

“Not funny.”

“Yes, it is. I’ve only known him a few days but he’s a good guy, from a good family. Your Gemma is perfectly safe.”

“I thought it was a woman’s role to be a matchmaker?”

“It’s the feminine side of my character coming out.”

“Gemma’s a good girl. I am very fond of her.”

“I take that as read. They haven’t been gone that long, have they?”

“An hour and seventeen minutes.”

“Shall I call him?”

“I’m not her mum.”

“I’ll call him.” What to say? It should mean they are getting on well, shouldn’t it?

“Hi, Ed. Sorry to trouble you, but Jeremiah fancies some fish and chips. Will you be long? Oh, okay. Well yes, if you could. Hang on.” I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “They’re having a drink down the pub. He says shall he bring some fish and chips back with him?”

Jess shrugs; my nephew understandably ignores me because I have already stated he fancies fish and chips.

“Yes, do that please, and maybe bring back a bottle of Prosecco.”

Jess sits down and Jeremiah sidles up and sits on her lap. She runs her fingers through his hair and smiles at me.

“I won’t be around for a few days—well, not until the end of next week. I’ll be in Paris until Thursday. Plan a surprise for next weekend because I think I might well need my spirits lifted.”

No jokes from me in response, only a warm feeling in my chest.

***

There are some spare tables outside the pub, of which they decide to take advantage. Ed goes to the bar and returns with their drinks. These uncertain minutes spent with this attractive black girl are forcing feelings to the surface. He has now made a decision to let Danny down and offload her as soon as possible.

They are struggling for small talk, so he asks her,

“Got much on next week?”

“Not really. You?”

As he speaks, he feels something overcoming him, something strange and uncomfortable. Even as he continues talking, he can feel the tension building in his head. “I’ve got the work at Danny’s place to start, and on Wednesday I’ve got to go to the solicitor’s.”

“Why?”

“For the reading of my uncle’s will. It’s…” But he cannot force out another word, and suddenly moves from his seat and walks quickly around the pub to the outside toilets. Once inside, he breaks down and sobs violently. The feelings of loss for the uncle he loved so dearly, having been held back thus far, completely overcame him.

***

Gemma is far from stupid. It does not take her long to work out that her behaviour towards Edwin has somehow triggered a reaction, and that he might well feel embarrassed when he returns, although she accepts his cockiness does bring out the worst in her. But is it cockiness or merely self-confidence? There is a difference, and there could be more to him than meets the eye. She decides to ease up in him as he returns, head slightly lowered, avoiding eye contact.

“I’m sorry if I said something that upset you. It was unintentional.”

He nods and sips at his glass without saying a word.

“I’m guessing it was something to do with your uncle. Were the two of you close?”

He nods. “It’s only now I’m starting to appreciate how close we were. He was twenty years older than me, but thinking about it, he was my best friend.”

“I’m sorry. Tell me about him.”

“He was the black sheep of the family. He disappeared in his late teens to early twenties and finished up on the streets homeless, an alcoholic, and a drug addict. Lost to the world, but my father found him and nursed—no,
nurtured
him back to life. He turned his life around, set up his own charity to help people like himself to get back on to life’s ladder. That’s what he calls his charity: Life’s Ladder. I’m fairly involved with that. I’m a trustee—you know, like a director—and we’ve employed five—no, six formerly homeless people within the building company. One of them has even progressed to being a manager.”

“Edwin.”

“Yes.”

“I feel like a shit for the way I’ve been talking to you.”

“No. Much of what you said is spot on. I’ve never had a long-term relationship, only a long line of one-night stands, a few weekend flings. But I must be getting old, because I cannot summon the interest to go hunting anymore…I bet if I went through my phone, it would take me less than ten minutes to get someone to spend the night with me. Maybe five minutes. But I’m not proud of that. In fact, if anything I feel ashamed. So yes, things have got to me, and that old couple—forty-three years—that seemed brilliant somehow. I don’t know why, but they got to me as well.”

“Let’s start again. Tell me about the charity.”

***

We are snuggled up on the two-seater sofa, a little family—Jess, Jeremiah, and me—playing daft little games, deciding that to find the vinegar and salt is not worth the effort. Jess telling me what she likes and what she does not like about Paris. I’ve never been, so my overall impression is that I ought to get there as soon as I can.

“I’ll probably get Sky set up next week,” I say.

“You’re never thinking of having a Sky dish on the front of this building?”

“No. I’m sure they can place it behind the fence with a lead coming into the house.”

“That sounds better.”

“Anyway, I need to be able to watch the football. We could sit here and watch the Arsenal games live, and I could boo and you could cheer.”

“Not really—I have no interest in football. I don’t mind rugby, though.”

“Don’t be daft.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t like football—of course you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Hang on.” I go to my credit card wallet and extract the multi-folded, well-worn photo Rob produced as part of Mission Gertrude, and place it in front of Jess. “So what are you doing there, then?”

She takes hold of the picture and studies it carefully.

“She does look a bit like me, I must admit, but no, that’s not me. I have never been to a football game in my entire life.”

I am gob-smacked. I wasn’t chasing something that was already gone. I was chasing something that was never there in the first place.

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

Sunday is a strange day. After the chaos and activity of yesterday, these peaceful hours pottering around the house whilst Jeremiah tops up his beauty sleep feel kind of wonderful. This
is
me. I have found myself. It took me over thirty years, but there is nothing wrong with that, is there?

I get Jeremiah spruced up, drop him off at the hotel, and arrange to pick up Derek early tomorrow morning. Edwin was in a strangely subdued mood last night, but we arranged to meet at the site at seven so Derek could grasp what was needed of him.

I thought Edwin and Gemma would make a nice couple. I’m obviously not cut out for this matchmaking lark—better leave it to the women in future. I also got the feeling that Jess’s trip to Paris was putting her in a bad frame of mind. It was a long day and it seemed to me that everyone wanted to get home and to bed, which suited me fine.

It is going to take some getting used to, sleeping in my new home. My bedroom window does not face the main road, so it is usually extremely quiet, but when cars drive past in the early hours, they seem to be travelling at speeds between two hundred and three hundred mile an hour. I know I will get used to it, but at this point in time it all feels rather odd. I am ticking away the boxes on my to-do list; only one more box to unpack, Sky to ring about the satellite dish, and a new list to be drawn up for tomorrow.

Monday mornings are meant to make you depressed aren’t they? I almost feel guilty about the positive mood I’m in, as I arrive at the hotel to collect my brother-in-law. The only time I have ever seen Derek in a suit was at his wedding. He looks uncomfortable and more than slightly nervous, but has got the hang of working with the wheelchair, so we pull up at the site precisely on time. Unsurprisingly, Edwin is already there. We go inside and he explains to Derek exactly what he needs of him, both today and for the rest of this week. Five of his crew arrive in a van at seven-thirty, and I’m quickly excluded from the organisation of matters. They seem to be good lads. They accept Derek’s apologies for his temporary disability and appear to want to get started as soon as they can. I feel confident that the next six weeks are going to go according to plan.

***

Gemma has been on edge all morning; she needs to spend time, one on one, with her boss. She has checked the office clock a dozen times before she can hold on no longer and pokes her head around JB’s door.

“Coffee time!”

Jessica Roberts lifts her head and nods. “Good timing. I could do with a break. What time is the taxi due?”

“Three-thirty, so you’d better leave here by two if you don’t want to be rushing. You’re stressed enough without adding to the pressure. I’ve got all the documents you will need, piled up and ready to collect whenever you want.”

“Thanks, Gemma. After you.” She has presumed that Gemma wants to undertake a cross examination so encourages her to start the conversation, with a casual gesture of her hand.

“Quite a bit has happened since we last sat here having a coffee together.”

“Yes. Weird isn’t it? Because it only seems like yesterday.” Jess is momentarily lost in her thoughts before asking. “Talking of which, any more thoughts on yesterday?”

“About Edwin, you mean? The more I think about it and the way he opened up to me eventually, I feel maybe I should not have jumped to conclusions quite so quickly. He seems motivated to put as much energy into his uncle’s charity as he does into his own business, so that makes him look like a decent person to me.”

“I’ve got to admit I tore Danny off a strip for pushing the two of you together. He just did not look like your type of guy whatsoever. But who knows? I know for sure I would have passed Danny in the street a few weeks ago and not even glanced in his direction, and here I am now, pining that I can’t see him for the best part of a week.”

“I like Danny.”

“Good.”

“But Paul Clement is a shit, a nasty piece of work. I think you dodged a bullet there.”

“I dodged the first bullet, Gem, but I’m guessing he hasn’t used up all his ammunition yet.”

“It’s a business trip, Jess. No, I will reword that. It’s a business trip,
JB
. Let’s get you back into
JB
mode again, show him you’re capable of a bit of French resistance.”

***

The journey from her home to the hotel in Paris went smoothly—too smoothly. JB would have been more than happy if the flight had been delayed by several hours. By the time she had checked in, a few minutes after eight, there was already a message waiting for her to ring Monsieur Clement, which she ignored. However, no sooner has she unpacked her case than there is a phone call from reception.

“Good evening, Miss Roberts. Monsieur Clement would like to have a word with you.”

She has no chance to reject the call before his voice comes over the line.

“JB—welcome to Paris. Would you like to join me for dinner tonight? I made a reservation in the restaurant.”

“I’m sorry, Paul, but the journey has left me with a fearful migraine. I am going straight to bed and turn the lights out.” She knows it is extremely doubtful that he believes her, but she has left him with no room to challenge her statement.

“Oh, poor you. Will you still be able to attend the meeting for ten tomorrow?”

Of course I can, you nasty French Canadian creep
, she thinks, but she just says, “Hopefully I will be all right. If there are any problems, I’ll let you know in plenty of time.”

“You have my mobile number?”

“I have. Goodnight, Paul.”

“Bon—” She slams the phone down. That’s enough of him for one day. First thing on in the morning, Jess makes a call to Gemma to get any updates, then purposely turns her phone off. She walks into the boardroom at exactly one minute to ten, carefully avoiding eye contact with Paul Clement. The day is broken up with the typical leisurely French lunch, where she manages to squeeze onto a different table than Paul. By five p.m. she is bored out of her mind with the sheer tedium of the day. There are five others over from the UK. In truth, one of them could have made the trip and passed on any relevant information. She manages to convene a dinner for all the Brits, ostensibly so they can pass on their thoughts about how they can improve their performance in the UK. It makes it awkward for Paul Clement to intrude. She guesses he won’t go away, but the longer she keeps him at arm’s length, the better for everyone involved. She has no intention of turning her phone back on again until tomorrow morning.

***

It is only nine o’clock when Jess arrives back at her room, and there is a knocking at the door within seconds. Maybe she has left something downstairs? She hurries to the door and opens it, and there stands Paul Clement. He is not happy and barges past her into the room. Jess has been caught completely off guard. Her first instinct is to run out into the corridor, but this needs to be sorted out for once and for all. Jess gently closes the door and turns to find Paul rifling through her handbag.

“So you do have your phone with you.” With that, he throws the phone violently on the floor. “Your behaviour is unacceptable. You keep denying me the chance to apologise properly for my actions. Your constant non-communication feels like you are blackmailing me or holding me to ransom.”

“Holding you to ransom! What a strange thing to say. You are on the main board of directors and my boss. What happened a few months ago happened behind closed doors, with your word against mine, but I think if I turned up tomorrow”—she stoops and picks up her damaged phone—“and produced my phone and explained your behaviour, then questions might very well be asked.”

Clement slowly shifts to face, her and Jess feels increasingly uncomfortable.

“We had a misunderstanding,” he says. “Are you saying that I attempted to rape you?”

“I’m saying…I’m saying that if I hadn’t been a company employee, yes, you would have forced me to do something I did not want to do. To do something I had no intention or wish to do.”

“Oh, JB, how can you say that? We all know how ambitious you are. There is an opening for a directorship for UK operations, and you thought I had a chance to influence things in your favour.”

“Seriously? You seriously think I would debase myself for that. You’re a sick man, Paul.”

“And yet you let me into your bedroom. That seems rather reckless if, as you say, I have a history of trying to rape you. I’m not sure people would believe you, JB.”

She is now physically cornered by her boss. She can hear the erratic nature of his breathing, smell his stale breath. Even though she is prepared, she cannot stop him from grabbing the sleeve of her jacket. The last time, she had gently reasoned him out of her room. This time it is something else, like being cornered by an animal. He is way too powerful for her and before she can react, he has her pinned to the floor. As he shifts his weight, she manages to free her right arm and dig her fingernails into the flesh around his left eye. As he screams, she forces herself to her feet and with all the strength she can manage, she drives a stiletto heel into his thigh. She then stumbles over to the fridge and takes out a beer bottle. She stands there waiting for him to move, for him to do something, anything.

He struggles to stand up, his left hand held over his eye.

“You’re finished in this company.”

“What! You don’t think
you’re
in trouble now with the rest of the board? Not that it matters. I’m finished with all this. I do not need it. I turn down opportunities all the time. My resignation will be on your desk when you get to work, but I can tell you that this is not the last you have heard from me. Now get out of here before I scream the place down.”

His last gesture, before he leaves the room, is to spit at her feet.

***

Jess did not actually promise to ring me—she was not too sure of her schedule—but I’m disappointed that her phone seems to have been switched off for the entire day. I’m going to make an early start so it’s time to go to bed, but I leave the phone plugged into the charger, just in case. I am brushing my teeth when the phone rings. There is a strange number that comes up on my display; it could be a scammer.

“Hello.” Nothing, no voice, just a few background noises. The digital clock says ten-sixteen. “Hello, is there anyone there?” I am about to put the phone down when I hear some heavy breathing. I have this instinct, some sixth sense to hang on the line.

“Danny, it’s me,” she says, and then starts sobbing. It’s the worst feeling that hits me; there is something seriously wrong and there is nothing I can do. I just keep repeating over and over, “It’s okay, Jess, I’m here. It’s okay, Jess, I’m here.”

She finds her voice again. “I don’t know what to say, Danny. I’m okay but I’m not, if you know what I mean. Maybe I shouldn’t have rung you. Maybe I should clear my head first.”

“No, Jess, we need to talk but the signal here is terrible. Where are you? I’ll ring you back within two minutes.”

She gives me the name of her hotel and the room number. I throw some cold water over my face and then ring her back. She picks up the phone without saying anything.

“Hi, Jess. It’s me.”

The silence is ruptured by the sound of her tears. I wait.

“It was horrible, Danny. He attacked me and it was horrible.”

“Who?”

“My boss, Paul Clement.”

“I don’t understand. He attacked you? Why? No—that doesn’t matter. I don’t care why. What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do. I have already written out a letter of resignation, which I’m going to email tonight, and when I get home I’m going to send full details of everything to the board. My flight is not until Thursday, so I’m going to lock myself into the room until then.”

“This sounds terrible, Jess! I must be able to do something.”

“Just stay on the line. That will be enough.”

We stay on the line together, just snippets of information coming my way, and every ounce of empathy I can produce passing down the wires to her.

Eventually she sighs and whispers, “I’m going to go to bed now.”

“Tuck yourself in and put a
‘Do Not Disturb’
sign outside your door.”

“Good idea. Night, Danny.”

“Night, Jess.”

I go downstairs and turn on my laptop. I need to know more.