Jackie Chandler

1

THE BLACKBERRY INN sat on Ashdown Drive in Crawley, West Sussex. This pub had been Stuart Finlay’s home, his job, and his sanctuary. Sixteen years ago, the owner, George, had found Fin unconscious behind a dumpster at the back of the pub. Half-starved, with two broken ribs and a fractured wrist, Fin had insisted he was fine. He was thirteen. Now, George was the closest person Fin had to family. This pub, the closest thing he had to a home. It was where he met his clients and his friends, but yeah, not the best place for receiving phone calls.

‘Who’s this?’ Fin said, pushing the phone harder against his ear. The pub wasn’t that noisy, it was still early, but the caller’s voice was quiet.

‘Lucy. Lucy Williams, well, Lucy Underhill now.’

There was a smugness to her tone he’d always hated. ‘What’s up, Luce?’ She hated being called that, ever since someone had called her Loose Luce. Perhaps that should have told him something. Now, considering their history, he had the right to call her whatever he wanted. Considering the options, he was being positively kind.

‘Could I come up to your place?’ Lucy said.

‘Why?’ He hadn’t seen her since they split up, and he didn’t particularly want to see her again now.

‘It’s business. I’m going to pay you.’

‘What’s this about?’

‘Can I come to your flat?’

‘I’m not there anymore,’ Fin said.

‘Wow, you gave up your bachelor pad? It must be love. Who’s the woman?’

‘What do you want, Luce?’

‘Not on the phone like this. It’s awkward. Can I come see you?’

Last time they saw each other, she’d said she never wanted to see him again. Ever. As though it was his fault she’d cheated. She had the right idea back then. ‘Tell me what you want or I’m hanging up the phone.’

‘Fine.’ Dramatic sigh. ‘I think my husband’s cheating on me.’

‘Yeah, well, what goes around, comes around.’ It was almost poetic.

‘Ooh, harsh. You give that line to all prospective clients?’

No, but he didn’t apologise.

‘Oh, come on,’ Lucy said. ‘You can’t still be mad about that, surely? You’ve moved on, got a new woman, a new place—’

‘Goodbye, Luce.’ Fin hung up. He took a swig of Coke. Despite his years spent living in this pub, alcohol had never, and would never, touch his lips. There was a reason for that.

‘All right?’ George asked, his bushy eyebrows low and a towel slung over his shoulder. His rolled-up sleeves revealed multiple tattoos obscured by thick arm hair. The Scot had a knack for sensing when something was off.

‘Fine.’ Fin didn’t want to discuss Lucy Williams. George wouldn’t want to either, if he knew who they were talking about.

George raised his eyebrows and turned to serve a customer.

The phone rang again. Fin picked it up if only to stop George from scowling at it. His glare had been known to crack a phone’s screen from fifty paces.

‘I’ve got kids with this man, Fin,’ Lucy said. ‘You remember Sam? He’s got a brother and sister now.’

‘I can recommend someone.’

‘I don’t want someone I don’t know. Look, I’d understand your reluctance if we were meant to be together, but we weren’t, were we? I mean, you’re happy with this new woman, aren’t you?’ A pause, then, ‘You are happy, right?’

Oh, the mistress of manipulation.

‘Fine. Tomorrow?’ Fin said.

‘George’s bar?’

‘Yeah. Six o’clock.’ Fin always met his clients during George’s opening hours. What they drank and how much told him a lot.

‘Thanks, Fin.’

He hung up as his timer sounded. George caught his eye. He knew Fin’s timer was important but didn’t know what it was for. He was respecting Fin’s privacy in his own special way by restricting his querying disapproval to frowns and withering glares. Fin turned off the timer, shot George a beaming smile, and dialled Kat’s number. It was important to not let George know his glares held the power they did.

‘Who’s this?’ Kat answered, her voice breathless. Panicked.

Adrenaline shot through Fin’s system. He stepped away from the bar. George glanced his way. ‘It’s me. It’s Fin. Where are you?’

‘Fin?’ Like she was trying out the name to see how it sounds. ‘Fin.’ Accepting the name. ‘Fin?’ Scared, breathing faster now.

‘Where are you?’ Fin asked.

‘I’m…’

‘Take a breath.’

‘I’m…’

‘Deep breath in.’

She managed a short one.

‘Deep breath out.’ He stepped behind the bar. The back room was a dining room where staff could sit when on a break. It was quieter but kind of small. Not ideal for pacing. Fin made do.

‘In,’ he said.

Her breath was all shudders.

‘Out.’

‘I’m… I’m in my room. I’m in my room. Oh my God, I’m in my room.’ The last one was said in relief. ‘Wait.’

Christ. That phone call? Five years off his life, right there.

He heard a cap loosen on the other end of the line. A plastic bottle squished as she drank greedily. It was a nightmare. She always drank after a nightmare. Drank and ran. It was her coping mechanism.

‘I’m OK.’ Her voice was shaky. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t—’

‘Shall I come down there?’ Kat was in Canterbury, an hour’s drive from Crawley, assuming traffic was good.

‘No, no, I’m fine.’

‘Christ, Kat. You’re not fine.’

A sob caught in her throat with the next breath.

Fin winced. He didn’t want to upset her, but he needed her to see this wasn’t normal.

‘I’ve got to go,’ Kat said, her voice sounded tinny, like all the bass had been taken out of it.

‘Wait, take a moment.’ He was worried she would faint.

‘It’s fine. I’ve got to—’

‘Let me call Michael,’ Fin said.

‘I…’

That wasn’t an immediate no.

‘He can help you with this. He can give you your life back.’ Fin had been trying to persuade her to see a psychologist since Christmas. He’d been subtle at first and decided perseverance was his friend. He’d been more blunt about it in recent weeks.

‘I’ve got to—’

‘Run?’ Fin said ‘I know. How many times are you running a day?’

Silence.

‘Do you even know?’

Her breathing quickened. Anxiety. She’d hang up soon in her desperation for fresh air and a sense of freedom.

‘You can’t go on like this,’ Fin said. ‘You know that, right? Please, let me call Michael.’

No response.

‘Please, Kat.’

‘OK,’ Kat said, barely loud enough for Fin to hear.

Fin stilled. ‘OK, I can contact Michael?’ He had to be sure.

‘OK.’

‘I’ll set it up.’

‘Reset the timer?’ Kat didn’t acknowledge the decision. He couldn’t blame her. She’d gone through hell and got through the day by suppressing what she could and struggling with the rest. She was the strongest person he’d ever met.

‘Yeah,’ Fin said.

She hung up before Fin could say more. Pretty normal behaviour for Kat.

Fin returned to the bar and swallowed some of his Coke. He stayed on George’s side of it.

‘Did the wee lass agree?’ George asked.

‘Yeah.’ Fin wanted to feel relieved, or at least project it.

‘Then why dae you no’ seem happy?’

‘I’m happy.’

George snorted a derisory disagreement while he grabbed a pint and pulled on the tap, expertly filling the glass.

Fin put his hand on the bar, suddenly needing the support. He’d got what he wanted, but he would now have to meet with Michael. Persuading Kat to agree to this had been difficult, no question. Seeing Michael would be hell.

‘You feel ashamed?’ George asked.

‘No.’ The response was immediate. And not entirely honest. ‘Maybe.’ Not sure that was right, either. It wasn’t that simple.

‘You shouldnae.’

Fin knew that, but Michael knew things about Fin that few others did. Things even George didn’t know. Things Fin would rather no one knew.

‘You shouldnae,’ George repeated and headed off to hand over the beer and take the money.

Fin took another swallow of Coke. He’d looked up Michael years ago. Out of curiosity, nothing more. He had no intention of using that information, but it was what had given him the initial idea, as things had deteriorated for Kat. With her in mind, Fin had then dug deeper.

Michael had left the NHS a year ago and, as far as Fin could tell, did nothing for three months. Maybe he’d wanted some time off, but he was mortgaged to the hilt, and couldn’t afford it. So, Fin looked into what had happened immediately before Michael had quit the NHS, and found out a seventeen-year-old patient of Michael’s had committed suicide. Same age as Kat. That was unfortunate, but the fact it had affected Michael so deeply indicated his moral worth. That’s how Fin chose to look at it.

Desperation had him looking at every angle as a positive.

Kat needed this to work.

After those three months, Michael set up a private practice. Beyond his mortgage, there were no other debts. A quick credit check showed no red flags. No pending lawsuits. Nothing Fin could find that would make Michael vulnerable or throw doubt on his character.

For a week, Fin tailed him. Before he suggested Michael as a therapist for Kat, he had to be sure.

Michael’s patients entered and left through the back way, walking alongside the house, but there weren’t many of them. The practice was building slowly, which meant Michael had space in his schedule and would definitely need the money.

Michael worked, slept, ate, and jogged twice a week. He didn’t have any romantic attachments, and no one else lived in the house. The only time he went out was for dinner at his mother’s house. Janet’s house. Fin had parked at the top of the cul-de-sac, not wanting or needing to see Janet greet her son at the door. Two hours he sat there feeling the ghosts of the past creep up on him. After that, Fin fitted a bug to Michael’s car and left the Guildford area.

For the next two weeks, Michael didn’t divert from his schedule.

That was three months ago.

Fin couldn’t give Kat a chance to change her mind.

He picked up his phone and dialled. Wanting the background noise to help obscure his voice, he didn’t step into the back room. George stood nearby, his arms folded, a scowl on his lips. Fin ignored him. He had one shot at this. He wouldn’t mention Michael’s financial issues unless he had to, but he would get Kat that appointment. He only hoped certain prejudices wouldn’t get in the way.

2

MICHAEL CAHILL HAD bought the semi-detached house on Gosden Hill Road when his career had been going well. The plan had been to find a nice girl, get married, have a couple of kids, and keep his business and private lives absolutely separate.

Five years had passed since he’d proudly moved in, full of hope for the future. The nice girl hadn’t materialised, the good career had skewed sideways, and what had been his living room was now his office.

Still, each new patient presented additional money for his fledgling practice, and it was with this positive outlook that Michael opened the door to his conservatory, which functioned as a waiting room at the back of the house. He laid eyes on the new patient, and his enthusiasm didn’t just dwindle. It plummeted.

Michael’s hand, already partly extended, dropped to his side.

He couldn’t treat this man. More to the point, he doubted Stuart Finlay was there to be treated.

‘Hello, Michael.’ Fin smiled and put out his hand.

Michael didn’t shake it. Fin had grown, towering over Michael’s five foot nine. He had to be six, maybe six-one, and muscular.

‘Can I come in?’ Fin asked, lowering his hand.

‘I have a client coming,’ Michael said.

‘Aaron Saunders sends his apologies.’

Of course he does. ‘You made the appointment under a false name?’

‘You wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise.’

They were being honest. Fair enough. His movements wooden, Michael stood to the side so Fin could pass.

‘Nice place,’ Fin said.

Michael had chosen white paint for the walls, a grey palette for the soft furnishings, clean lines, and a solitary potted ficus he was proud of. Not being skilled in interior design, his aim had been to make his office comfortable but impersonal. Having Fin in that room made it feel intolerably personal.

Unsure how this would go and wanting the comfort of familiarity, Michael took his usual seat.

Fin took the couch, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs.

The coffee table functioned as a very real barrier between them.

Michael had questions. A person couldn’t disappear one night, barely a teenager, and reappear, sixteen years later, eyeing Michael’s ficus like nothing had happened. So, yes, Michael had questions, but he’d lost the right to ask them sixteen years ago. It was possible he wouldn’t be able to withstand the answers, anyway. So, he sat waiting to see how this would play out. Waiting for the anger, the recriminations, the guilt, and possibly the revenge.

‘How’s everyone?’ Fin asked politely.

‘Why are you here?’ Michael wasn’t about to discuss his family.

‘I know I shouldn’t be, but I have a referral for you.’

That was unexpected.

‘I work as a private investigator now,’ Fin said. ‘I met this girl, Katherine Morley, through a job.’

‘What sort of job?’ Michael picked up his notebook and pen.

‘She was a missing person I was hired to find.’

‘And?’

‘Things didn’t go well.’

‘You said, girl, where are her parents?’

‘Her mother and stepfather are dead. She doesn’t know who her father is.’

‘Why isn’t she here herself?’

‘Yeah, well, that’s another thing. This won’t be easy for her.’

‘Explain that.’ Therapy rarely was easy for any patient, but Michael was curious to know what Fin meant specifically.

‘She doesn’t enjoy talking about herself. She doesn’t talk much at all, to be honest.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Seventeen.’

Michael’s stomach dropped and his hands felt clammy, his sweat slick against the pen. ‘Uh, I don’t—’

‘It’s taken me a few months to talk her into this.’

‘If she’s reluctant to the process…’ The justification for refusing was right there.

‘She isn’t. She…’ Fin clenched his hands into fists and got up, walking over to the window.

Michael flinched at the sudden movement and was grateful Fin didn’t seem to notice. With Fin’s back to the room, Michael wiped his sweaty hand against his trouser leg. Seventeen. His stomach churned. His head spun. He hadn’t expected the reaction to be so visceral. Quietly, he took a deep breath to calm himself.

When Fin turned back towards him, his composure was near flawless.

‘Kat trusts me,’ Fin said. ‘That’s a big deal for her. And it was hard won, that trust. But she isn’t making friends. She eats well, but she doesn’t sleep, and she has nightmares if she tries. I can’t help her anymore. She needs to speak to a professional. But someone like Kat finds it hard to open up the way she’d need to, for any form of therapy to work.’ Fin sat back down. ‘I had to sweeten the pot.’

‘Sweeten how?’

‘I had to tell her I knew you. For her to even consider this, she had to believe we’re friends.’

Michael put down his pen.

‘Believe me, if I knew any other psychologist, anywhere in the country, I would have chosen them.’

Charming. ‘You lied to her.’

‘I’ve never lied to this girl.’

‘We’re not friends, Fin. That’s a lie. In order to get her to agree to therapy, you deceived her. I can’t take on a patient under those circumstances.’

‘I didn’t lie to her. I misled her, I’ll put my hand up to that, but I didn’t lie.’

‘That’s quite a distinction you’re making there.’

‘All she needs to know is you’re trustworthy. We may not be friends any longer, but you’re a good man.’

But Michael hadn’t been good, not that day, sixteen years ago. He’d thought of the worst thing he could say, calculated the effect those words would have, and said them, anyway. The next day, Fin was gone.

‘You don’t know what sort of man I am,’ Michael said.

‘I know what sort of boy you were. And I know how Janet raised you.’

Their eyes met. Michael saw no deceit there, no anger, but mentioning Janet’s name had been a calculated move. He didn’t like that. It would be better if Fin left now.

‘Get her to give me a ring,’ Michael said. ‘We can make a preliminary appointment and see how it goes from there.’

Fin was shaking his head before Michael finished speaking.

‘You need to agree to take her on before she meets you,’ Fin said.

‘That isn’t how this works.’

‘Make an exception for this girl.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can. You work in the private sector now, Michael.’

Now. Did Fin know why he’d left the NHS?

‘You can do what you want.’

That was an oversimplification. ‘I need to talk with her before I can decide whether she needs help, or if I’m the right person to help her,’ Michael said.

‘Why wouldn’t you be?’

‘I don’t normally deal with adolescents.’

‘But you have, in the past.’

If Fin knew that, he also knew how it had ended. ‘You’re trying to back me into a corner.’ And doing it effectively.

‘I’m trying to help the girl.’

‘By putting pressure on me.’

‘By asking you to commit to her. This girl has been hurt, betrayed, and rejected by everyone she’s ever known. She won’t talk to you for an hour only for you to turn her away once her time’s up.’