Something Hidden (21 page)

Andrew jolted awake, heart thumping. Doof-doof-doof. Wake up!

He’d been back in that muddy field, Keira’s hand in his, their lips brushing. They were going to spend the rest of their lives together . . . and then they hadn’t.

Rain was licking the window, tip-tapping as it had on the canvas all those years ago. Andrew tried to blink himself awake but there was still the rainbow of tents in front of him, the smell of
burgers, the sizzle he felt when he and Keira touched. None of it was in the room, replaced by untucked heavy sheets, grubby skirting boards, the stain above the mirror.

Where was he?

He remembered Braithwaite, Iwan, driving . . . and then Keira had asked him to do something and he’d said yes. The part of him that had hardened since they’d separated had been in
the back of his mind, grumbling and spreading negativity as it always did, but he couldn’t say no to her.

He was in a bed and breakfast room above the pub in her village.

Alone.

It wasn’t unusual for him to wake up by himself but Andrew felt the loneliness and sense of loss more than usual. He and Keira had spent the previous afternoon together and now she wanted
a whole day with him.

Sort of.

He rolled over, reaching for his phone to check his messages and emails. There was the usual barrage of spam: how many blue pills did he want? Did he want a Rolex for a fiver? Had he been
recently injured in an accident that wasn’t his fault? Tips for ‘the one and only way to satisfy her’. Delete, delete, delete, delete, until he reached Keira’s email.
She’d gone back to being Keira Chapman, instead of Hunter, and the last name jabbed away at his chest.

Andrew called his own flat, waiting for four rings until it plipped through to his answer machine, and then trying again. And again. And again. At the seventh attempt, it was picked up with a
nervous-sounding ‘hello’.

‘Gem, it’s me.’

‘Who’s me?’

‘Andrew.’

‘Oh, sweetie, I told you last night I’d be fine by myself. You go and have fun.’

‘I wanted to make sure you and Rory were all right.’

‘Of course. Your little friend popped over last night and—’

‘Who?’

‘That pretty one you were with.’

It took Andrew a moment to realise who she meant. ‘Jenny visited?’

‘Oh, we had a right little chinwag. She’s
lovely
, Andrew.

If she wasn’t so out of your league, I’d be saying you should—’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘This and that. She helped me take Rory out for a walk. I keep telling Reg at bingo that young people aren’t all bad. He thinks they’re all hooligans.’

‘Did she just drop round?’

‘She even brought me a small sherry. I don’t know how she knew it was my drink but we had a fantastic evening. Even Rory stayed up. Honestly, Andrew, I don’t know where you
found her but she’s a little star. Make sure you hang onto her.’

Andrew wasn’t sure what to say. He was going to ask Craig to visit his flat that day to help take Rory for a walk but there was no need now. He’d told Jenny he was staying in
Cheshire for the night and would be on email, but hadn’t asked her to visit Gem. It felt strange, his worlds colliding, almost like an invasion. What had they spent all evening talking about?
Him? And why hadn’t Jenny told him she wanted to keep Gem company?

Gem was oblivious to the awkwardness. ‘I’m going home at lunchtime,’ she said. ‘The man called last night to say he’d finished doing whatever it was he was doing
with my electrics. I hope he’s not moved anything around – I had everything exactly as I liked it. Still, if he had to move things, he had to move things. Jenny’s popping over to
help. I don’t know why I brought so much stuff, I’ve not taken half of it out of the bag. Rory’s been enjoying your steaks. Anyway, Susan from bingo reckons her daughter gets ten
per cent off at Argos and I was looking at a new kettle anyway. Are you coming round for lunch tomorrow?’

She’d packed so many different topics into what was close to a single sentence that it took Andrew a few moments to realise he’d been asked something.

‘Um . . . yes . . .’

‘Jenny said she’ll help me clear out the freezer. Some of it will have spoiled but Reg’s grandson works at Iceland and can get me a deal. Then there’s the little ginger
kid from over the way that’s always knocking. He can get all sorts – beef joints, liver, sausages. I had some lamb shanks from him the other week . . .’

Gem continued talking but Andrew couldn’t get past the fact that Jenny was apparently spending the day with his aunt. What was going on? It would be nice for Gem to have some company and
help but he’d never known Jenny show that much interest in anyone.

‘. . . anyway, dear, you go and enjoy yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll put something special on.’

Andrew said goodbye and thought about calling Jenny. He would have done if it wasn’t for the fact his aunt had been chattering for over half an hour. Realising he was going to be late,
Andrew quickly changed into the clothes he’d been wearing the day before and hurried downstairs to his car, excited to be spending a day with his ex-wife.

As Andrew expected, Keira’s activity day had been organised with military precision. The hall was a few miles from the village where she lived, with an army of volunteers
helping to direct people where to park, register children, brew up, and fulfil any number of other roles. Stands were dotted around the perimeter of the hall, with tables and chairs set up for the
various events. A large marquee had been erected, with a handful of pop-up pagodas spaced around the car park ready for the outdoor demonstrations.

Keira was in the centre of the hall, bundled up in a warm jumper, tight jeans and boots, fingers cupped around a steaming mug.

She didn’t notice Andrew at first, turning in a circle to make sure everything was in place. When her eyes settled on him, they sparkled and she beamed in the way they used to. She glanced
at her watch.

‘I’m not late,’ Andrew said.

‘Nearly.’

‘I got trapped on the phone with Gem.’

‘Your aunt? How is she?’

‘Still in that flat.’ Andrew didn’t want to talk about it. ‘You’ve done an incredible job here.’

‘We’re still missing a few things. I’ve been on the phone all morning but there was a crash on the M6 and one of our couriers is stuck in traffic. Mrs Harris was supposed to be
here to sort out lunches but she’s gone down with rabies, or something, so—’

’Rabies?’

Keira grinned. ‘I’m joking. She’s ill anyway.’

‘It looks like you’ve got enough people here. How did you persuade so many to give up their time?’

She shrugged. ‘Bribery and blackmail, mostly.’

Andrew knew the truth: she could get most people to do what she wanted if she asked.

Keira linked her arm through his and led him towards the back of the hall, where a group of people Andrew didn’t recognise were pouring orange squash into a giant vat. She introduced him
as her ‘old friend from Manchester’, which wasn’t untrue, though it did miss out the ‘former husband’ part. For a while, it was like a glorified coffee morning, until
she led him around the various stalls. The array of people she’d roped in was astonishing. Someone had flown in from Sweden to explain survival techniques; a man had come up from London to
talk about how to spot edible food in a forest; a couple from Cornwall were giving an orienteering demonstration.

None of it was particularly Andrew’s thing, nor Keira’s from what he knew of her, but that only made it more impressive that she’d put together something for those who were
interested. Parents were stopping on the road to drop off their children, with a general hubbub building as the hall and marquee filled with people. Keira probably had things to do but she stuck
with Andrew, introducing him to the other adults, while finding a smile and a ‘thank you’ for everyone.

‘Who are the kids?’ Andrew asked, as a group of youngsters climbed out of a mud-spattered once-white minibus and headed towards the free biscuit and squash table.

‘They’re from various communities around the north west. Some have had problems with their parents and been left effectively homeless, others are known through poverty charities.
We’ve tried not to be too exclusive, so there are some high-achievers here as well. We contacted schools and charities across the region and let them nominate young people they thought might
benefit. It’s not just about the activities, we’re splitting everyone up to make them all work together. There’ll be youngsters with straight As who are in all the top sets at
school working alongside kids who’ve not been to school in a while. It’s the second time we’ve done this. We do different themes – late last year was creativity: art,
writing, that sort of thing. We’re doing a sportier version in the spring when the weather gets better.’

‘And this is all funded by your dad?’

‘Not him personally, the charitable division he manages. They give away millions every year.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Come on, let’s not talk about my father. I’ve
not shown you what you’re doing yet.’

Andrew was hoping she’d forgotten – he would have been perfectly happy trailing around after her all day.

She took him past the fire-starting station, waved hello to the man who could perform the miracle of turning condensation into drinking water, and kept going until they were underneath one of
the small awnings at the edge of the car park. There were a dozen stools arranged around a ready-made campfire next to a row of barbecue tools.

‘You want me to cook?’ Andrew asked disbelievingly.

‘It’s not that hard.’

‘Don’t you remember when we went camping last time? I must be the only person in the history of food who’s burned baked beans.’

‘This is the final outdoor station,’ Keira said. ‘We’ve got people explaining where to find food and what’s safe to eat, plus someone telling them about how to
gather the correct type of wood for a fire and how to light it. This is the fun bit – tell them about bacteria in lake water and why you have to boil it, that sort of thing. We’ve got a
couple of cool boxes full of burgers and sausages, so all you need to do then is chat about whatever you fancy and show them how to cook slowly enough to get rid of the pink on the inside and avoid
burning the food. Simple – you get to be the hero who cooks for all the kids.’

She linked her fingers into his and Andrew felt the tingling flashback to that campsite from thirteen years ago. It really was an easy task and he wasn’t as bad a cook as he liked to
pretend. He turned to face her, gazing into her eyes and, for a moment, Andrew thought they were going to kiss properly for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. There was a moment of
hesitation and then Keira pushed herself onto tiptoes and pecked him on the forehead.

‘You’ll be great,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go and check on a few things but if you need a hand then shout up. I’ll be around.’

She didn’t lie.

Andrew found himself enjoying the morning far more than he’d thought possible. The children were full of enthusiasm, asking questions and often answering each other’s. Every time
Andrew glanced up, Keira was there in the background, half watching him, half keeping an eye on everything else.

Time flew by and, after a couple of hours, everyone was ready for a break, with kids and adults massing into the hall in an attempt to warm up again. Andrew wanted to talk to Keira but the
Swedish guy was chewing her ear off, being all blond and smiley.

The arsehole.

Andrew hovered nearby, wondering if the man would stop wittering anytime soon, but he was laughing away about something or other, probably IKEA or Volvos, and Keira was playing along.

With nothing better to do, Andrew drifted into the marquee outside, getting himself some tea and then finding a corner where he could be by himself. He was watching Keira effortlessly play the
room when he jumped as someone tapped him on the shoulder. Andrew spun around, stepping backwards in alarm at the sight of the figure.

Iwan’s lips were pressed into something close to a smile. He nodded towards the car park. ‘A word.’

Andrew was so shocked to see Braithwaite’s right-hand man that he followed him without question until they were standing close to a row of stinking wheelie bins on the
edge of the car park.

‘Who’s the blonde?’ Iwan asked, nodding towards the marquee. Keira had escaped from the Swede and was chatting to a group of children.

‘What?’

‘The tart you keep staring at. Have you got a bird on the go, or are you just a creepy stalker?’

‘She’s, er—’

‘Don’t matter to me, like. Some of my best friends are creepy stalkers.’

Andrew turned away from Keira, back to Iwan. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Mr Braithwaite’s concerned.’

‘What are you on about?’

‘He woke up this morning feeling a little unhappy with how things are going, worrying about the potential consequences.’

‘How did you know where I was?’

‘Are you listening to me?’

Iwan’s lips were arched into a tight smile. He’d been wearing a suit the previous day but was now in loose-fitting jeans and a jumper, with a pair of brown loafers. Like a slimy
politician on Sunday television, giving an interview at home and trying to pretend he was an actual human being.

‘How did you know where I was?’ Andrew repeated.

‘I told you – Mr Braithwaite’s concerned.’

‘I don’t care. How did you know I was here?’

‘Telepathy. Now, Mr Braithwaite wants to know what’s going on with our jeweller friend.’

‘Are you following me?’

‘Your name is Andrew Hunter, no middle name. You’re thirty-five years old and drive a blue Toyota. You own an apartment in Beetham Tower, Manchester – very nice – and
work as a private investigator. You’re divorced with no children. Your parents are—’

Andrew pressed his forearm into Iwan’s chest, instantly regretting it as the bigger man pushed him back, danger in his eyes.

‘You want to go?’ he dared him.