Ready or Not (10 page)

             
Adam was surprised that, given Joseph’s hectic social schedule, the man would have time to waste on drinking with someone who wasn’t female and under the age of twenty-one. It had quickly became apparent that Joseph enjoyed telling Adam of his exploits; each encounter offering a chance for him to air his sordid secrets and brag about his latest extra-marital sexual activities.  

             
In recent weeks Adam had been subjected to far more information that he’d needed. He knew the details of times, places, positions; he knew enough about Lauren to feel he had been there himself. Joseph kept the stories long and specific, relishing Adam’s reactions. The more shocking the revelation, the more satisfaction Joseph got out of it. The more Joseph spoke, the more Adam knew he was going to have the last word.             

*

In the months that Adam had known Joseph he had learned that he was an estate agent. On the side – when he wasn’t busy cheating on his wife or drinking in local pubs – he renovated houses and rented them out to local students. Adam noted that these students seemed mainly to be female and Joseph clearly had a thing for younger ladies of a particular physical type. It also helped if they were good at keeping a secret and knew how to keep their mouths shut when necessary.

             
He’d seen photos of Joseph’s children, both striking kids with big dark eyes and thick brown hair and he’d plenty enough of his wife, too. Some men just didn’t know when they had it good.

             
When Adam arrived at the pub that evening Lauren was just leaving. He could see why Joseph was interested in her – she was a Barbie, typically blonde, young and naïve – but he couldn’t help feel that meeting in a very public building right opposite your mutual place of work was not exactly discreet. It seemed Joseph was so full of himself that even getting caught out was no longer much of a concern to him. He had a way of talking himself out of most things; perhaps adultery would be just another thing he could wheedle himself out of with a few choice weasel words and a handsome smile.

             
‘She’s getting frustrated,’ Joseph said. He rolled his eyes as Adam stood up from the stool opposite him.

             
‘Frustrated or frustrating?’ Adam asked.

             
‘Both,’ Joseph laughed. Finally, someone he could confide in; someone who understood. It had become a bit of a nuisance having no one to talk to about it. Adam was neutral, didn’t judge. In many respects, he was just like him.

             
Adam went to the bar to get himself another pint and Joseph a top up. When he returned to the table Joseph was turning off his mobile phone.

             
‘She’s asking when we’re going to get a night together,’ he told Adam, rolling his eyes. ‘I don’t know what it is with them – what difference does a night make? I don’t want to sleep with them.’

             
He took a long swig of his drink. ‘Well,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘You know what I mean.’ He smirked, and the look infuriated Adam.

             
‘She’s asking when I’m leaving Stephanie,’ Joseph added, pushing his phone back into his jacket pocket.

              ‘When are you leaving Stephanie?’ Adam asked, not needing an answer.

             
‘I’m not.’             

             
Adam smiled a thin smile. ‘Of course you’re not. Who leaves the wife for Barbie? Madness.’

*

Lauren hadn’t been the first. As far as Adam could gather there had been four long term ‘others’ in the ten years Joseph had been married and a seemingly infinite number of one-offs. He knew it was wrong, he claimed, but that didn’t stop him going back, again and again. One woman wasn’t enough for him. He couldn’t do monogamy. Couldn’t do domesticity. It bored him. Listening to it, Adam found himself similarly bored.

             
He was just the kind of man that Adam loathed.

             
‘What the hell have you done to your hair?’ Joseph asked as Adam sat on the pub stool opposite him. Adam ran his fingers through the dark hair and smiled. ‘Fancied a change,’ he said.

             
Joseph studied it and frowned. ‘Mistake,’ he concluded.

             
Adam’s smile stayed fixed in place. He could get the hair back, he thought, but what about Joseph Ryan? How was he going to get anything back after losing all that he’d had?

             
‘I can’t sit in here all evening,’ he told Adam, surveying the room despondently. ‘It’s depressing. That bloody building staring me in the face,’ he said, gesturing towards the estate agents. He drank the remaining half of his pint in one long gulp. ‘Where we going then?’

             
Adam had already devised the perfect plan: deciding upon the one place he knew Joseph was unlikely to refuse.

             
‘Why not?’ Joseph agreed. He smiled in anticipation.

*

The strip club was below ground level on one of the town’s many side streets and was a dark place with low ceilings and a cloying claustrophobic that made Adam a little nauseous. The lighting was tinged pink, giving the room a sickly sweet glow, like being in a giant ball of candyfloss. Adam assumed it was mood lighting, although for him it wasn’t achieving the mood they had probably been aiming for.

             
During the evening Joseph paid for three dances, all from different women. Adam, feeling a little less flush, paid for one and sat through it with disinterest. He had other things on his mind.

             
The girl who danced for him was in her early twenties, attractive in a predictable way and probably a student working here to clear her debts, Adam suspected. She moved with the confidence of someone older and leaned towards him a little too closely, the scent of her cheap perfume off putting as it caught in Adam’s throat.

             
Her small, firm breasts touched Adam’s chest as she leaned to whisper in his ear.

             
Her voice drowned beneath the music that throbbed around them, Adam didn’t hear what she said. He shrugged, smiled and shook his head. The girl leaned in again, more closely this time, and Adam turned his head towards her; careful to keep Joseph within his sights.

             
‘I said, my name is Anna,’ she repeated.  

             
From the corner of his eye, Adam watched Joseph watching Anna; distracted from the equally, if not more, attractive girl who writhed in front of him.

             
Never satisfied, Adam thought.

*

It was nearly midnight when they left the club. Adam and Joseph lived on different sides of town, so they walked together back to the pub where their evening had started then went their separate ways. Joseph knew that Stephanie wasn’t going to be happy that he was back so late on a week night: she was easygoing, but not a total pushover. In fact, he thought, she would kill him if she found out he’d been to a strip club.

             
He took a short cut through Ynysangharad Park, climbing drunkenly over the gates that were usually chained closed in a futile attempt to keep the park free of the drunks and gangs of teenagers who would otherwise have roamed there after dark. Joseph was too drunk to notice that the gates had been left unlocked, so climbed over unsteadily, stumbling as he landed. He’d left his scarf in the bar earlier that evening, but the thought of the girl who’d given him that third, last dance was enough to keep him warm for a while yet.

             
He tripped on what appeared to be nothing and laughed loudly into the cold night air.

             
Footsteps approached closely behind, echoing amongst the arch of trees that hung around him, their long branches wrapping him in darkness. Joseph turned in a drunken swirl to greet his fellow late night park-goer.

             
‘Adam!’ he said, surprised; lightly punching his friend in his chest. ‘So nice,’ he slurred, staggering sideways. He hiccupped loudly and put a hand to his heart. His other hand reached around his friend’s shoulder, weighing heavily upon his neck. ‘So nice of you to walk me home. I’m taking you home, Adam,’ he declared, ruffling Adam’s hair playfully. ‘Come and meet my wife – my wife will love you. No word about the strippers though, yeah? She’ll kill me.’

             
Adam secured his grip on the hammer he held behind his back.

             
He smiled thinly and his bright eyes flashed in the darkness. ‘She won’t need to,’ he said.

             
Adam ducked and escaped the hold of Joseph’s arm, his moves as graceful as a dancer’s.

             
The blow was precise. Joseph Ryan didn’t have time to react or respond; Adam’s arm swung with the speed of an express train and Joseph hit the ground with a thud that seemed to echo right around the park. The hammer stuck, but Adam was not prepared to leave it; it was his favourite hammer. He gave it a good wrench or two until, with a satisfying sound, like a baby slurping a yogurt, it came free. Adam smiled.

             
With gloved hands Adam removed the scarf from inside his jacket; the scarf that Joseph had forgotten to take from the back of his chair in the bar earlier that evening.

             
He threw the scarf over Joseph’s head, obscuring his victim’s face. He reached into Joseph’s jacket pocket and removed his wallet.

             
Try fucking around now, he thought, and nonchalantly walked away.

Thirteen

There were times she thought she saw him still. Sitting in traffic jams, shopping at the supermarket: she would turn and see him waiting alongside her, queuing at the next checkout and for a moment her heart would stop. Once she saw him, she would know what she was looking for. She would see what she wanted to see.

              She wasn’t stupid. She knew what other people thought of her. The little girl who couldn’t let go of the past: the woman who was searching for a ghost. She pretended that their words didn’t sting, but of course they did and they stayed with her long after those people had left; people like Stuart who came into her life and left again without ever really knowing the person she was or the things that she lived with, day in, day out.

             
But the people who were permanent features in her life – Chris, Clayton – they sometimes thought the same, though they wouldn’t admit it to her face. And that hurt the most. They thought that Kate was chasing a memory, a ghost: a missing boy, her brother who was missing forever, lost in an unknown world that she would never be able to so much as peep into. They didn’t need to say the words for Kate to know. It was written all over their pitying looks and expressions of concern.

             
Once, at a petrol station, she had caught her ghost by the arm; grabbed him as though, if she didn’t, he would evaporate in front of her and be lost again. The man had pulled his arm away, as though her touch had burned his skin. He cast a look of unapologetic impatience and mumbled something under his breath and she was left alone on the forecourt, feeling stupid and ashamed. Yet again her critics were being proved correct.

             
The only thing, the only person, Kate had left to remind her of her brother since he disappeared whilst playing hide and seek all those years ago, was now also gone. Her father, so like her brother Daniel in so many ways and so different in a hundred more, had died eighteen months earlier, suddenly and without warning. He had suffered an asthma attack, alone in the house where she had grown up. Kate and her father, Patrick, had not been speaking at the time, after a long, drawn out argument over his decision to move away. He’d been found by neighbours and Kate would never forgive herself.

             
He’d been planning on going to Ireland; to stay with family there for a while until he found somewhere of his own. He had moved from there at the age of five – had never really known Ireland as home – but he suddenly felt that he belonged there, and was ready to give up his life in Wales. The news had been a bombshell. What hurt Kate the most was that her father had said he had nothing to stay for: he had lost his son, lost his wife; there was nothing to look forward to, nothing to keep him there. 

             
But what about her?

             
How else had he expected her to react? His words were cutting and, though she knew her father was miserable and depressed, she couldn’t help but feel that he was doing this to spite her, or jolt her into changing her own life to persuade him to stay. She was hurt and shocked and though she knew her father had been unhappy for years, the selfish part of her was the loudest, screaming ‘what about me?’  

             
‘You’re almost thirty seven years old,’ he had said, his voice cold and detached. ‘You have your own life. Let me have what’s left of mine.’