Fractured(84)

I could still feel the guard’s eyes following us all the way across the foyer. As we reached the door I heard him speak, and thought at first he was about to call us back, but he was only bidding goodbye to a fellow guard who was going to lunch.

‘See you later, Joe.’

Hand already on the door handle, I turned back to see a second security guard crossing the foyer, also heading for the exit. He was a man of about my father’s age, with greying hair and a deeply ruddy complexion. My mouth automatically turned up to greet him with a warm smile.

‘Hi, Joe. How are you?’

Bafflement was his first emotion, but neither Jimmy nor I had expected how that would change to disbelief, when I made my next remark. ‘And how is your wife doing? Is she out of hospital yet?’

All colour drained from Joe’s face as his eyes flew from Jimmy and me and then back over his shoulder at his colleague. He bustled through the door, forcing us along with him. It wasn’t until all three of us had crossed the threshold and were out of the building that he turned sharply to me, questioning almost belligerently, ‘Excuse me. What did you just ask me?’

I wasn’t used to hearing him speak to me in that way, forgetting for a moment that to him I was a complete stranger.

‘I just asked how Muriel was doing. Her latest round of chemo must be finished now, mustn’t it? You said you were hoping she would be out of hospital by Christmas.’

Jimmy had taken a small step back, standing to one side and watching our strange interplay with curiosity.

Joe, on the other hand, seemed totally shaken by my words.

‘I don’t understand… who are you?’

‘I’m Rachel. Rachel Wiltshire.’ If I was hoping for anything resembling recognition, I was going to be waiting a very long time.

‘I don’t know you,’ Joe announced, shaking his head from side to side. It was a familiar chorus: everyone appeared to be singing it these days. I couldn’t think what to say to him that wouldn’t sound completely deranged.

‘But what I really want to know,’ Joe continued urgently, ‘is how the hell you know about Muriel. I’ve not told anybody at all here about her illness. Not one word.’


I think Jimmy got Joe to the pub on false pretences. Telling him that if he joined us for a drink we would explain everything was stretching the truth by anyone’s definition. However, when I suggested that we get out of the biting wind and move our discussion to the King George pub, where most of the staff went each day for lunch, Joe reluctantly agreed to go with us.

It was a little disconcerting to see the way he kept darting sidelong glances at me as we walked the few hundred yards to the popular watering hole; as though I might be some sort of weird clairvoyant or worse.

The pub was crowded, as it usually was at that time of day, and we struggled to find a table for the three of us. All around us were small groups of my work colleagues and I had to bite my lip to stop greeting everyone I passed. Eventually I spotted a vacant table towards the back of the pub and hurried to claim it, with a clearly reluctant Joe following in my wake.

I smiled at him tentatively as we took our seats. There was no answering response, which was sad, because I had always liked this man, long before I realised we had so much in common. Eventually Jimmy returned with a round of drinks, informing us that he had ordered three ploughman’s lunches which they would bring over shortly. Somehow I doubted that anyone was going to have much of an appetite before this meeting was over.

‘So who told you about Muriel?’ was Joe’s first question, fired out at speed.

I shook my head, thinking I had better not answer that particular question first. Joe was clearly extremely defensive, which was apparent by his next comment.

‘I don’t know what your game is but I don’t want anyone making any trouble for me at work about any of this.’

He was clearly exceedingly rattled that his most private secret was known by someone he had never met before. I reached out to pat his hand comfortingly and stopped only when I saw the look of horror on his face.

‘We’re not trying to make any trouble for you, Joe,’ assured Jimmy in a very soothing tone.

‘I don’t have any money, you know,’ Joe advised.

‘Of course you don’t,’ I agreed without thinking. ‘Not after putting two kids through university and keeping your mother in that retirement home.’

Half of Joe’s pint of beer slopped over the table as his shaking hand almost dropped his glass.

‘That’s it! How do you know all this? Who are you people?’

There was no easy way to begin, but all I could do was tell the truth as I knew it.