The surname of a friend from school, the phone number with three of the digits transposed. The address which was her mother and father’s old one, though the house had been demolished and a pair of semis stood on the plot. The story that hackers had made it necessary to close all her internet accounts and so no, she was sorry but she didn’t have an email address. So it went, on and on.
“You probably won’t hear from us again. The farmer will very likely have insurance for his sheep and the biker will claim on his. The insurance companies may get in touch though it’s not certain and that would be by post. If the unthinkable happens and he doesn’t pull through then it may be necessary for you to attend an inquest, but let’s hope for the best, eh? Let’s hope that won’t happen.”
She nodded and smiled and then felt her spirit shrivel.
The police woman took her to the station and offered to help her find the platform, help her to find a seat. “No, it's fine. You've been so kind already.” She couldn't let them know her destination. They shook hands and parted and she felt traitorous and dishonest.
Now, hurtling through the pretty countryside in her comfortable seat on the train, she fought to recapture some of her earlier calm and happiness. Without doubt she had done the right thing, for there had been no other option. The man needed her help and she had given it. The rest of it; the contact with the police and the possibility of further involvement was a worry. Potentially it threatened everything. On the other hand, maybe she was simply being hysterical and paranoid? Perhaps the police were no threat at all, and didn’t that make it all so much worse, for she had lied unnecessarily. What a mess.
She had planned so carefully. This was but a small part of the whole plan; a break in the UK, in a part of the country they had never visited as a couple and would not immediately suggest itself as a place to search for her.
Once he realised she had left him then George would no doubt look for her passport. When it wasn't there he would guess she had travelled abroad. If he involved the police and they feared for her safety then they would check channel crossings and airports, wouldn’t they? So, she would wait, give it time before she left the country. She had been seen in the village on Monday and Tuesday and so the search would be timed from after that. She had never been afraid of the police; she'd had no reason to be, not until today, until the lying. Her fear had always been simply of her husband: the idea that he might come looking for her. George would be angry and peevish and so she must cover her tracks.
The house in France wouldn’t be hers for a few weeks yet and so there was no rush to be there. Though the sale had included some basic furniture a lot more would be needed. Until she owned property it wasn’t possible to buy a car so one would have to be hired. She would need to find where to buy essentials for her new home. Though the prospect was thrilling it was also challenging. She would have to manage things she had never done before on her own and she had thought it might be overwhelming right on top of her escape. So, a break in Cornwall, an out of the way village and a chance to stop and take stock and breathe had seemed a gentle way to start and it was a gift to herself, a reward for her bravery. A hidey hole and a refuge.
As the train rushed through the sunlit fields and sleepy villages she tried to regain control. Though things had gone awry in a totally unlooked-for way she must get back on track. It just was not possible for everything to fail so quickly and so she took a deep breath. She straightened her shoulders and from somewhere deep inside dragged back her strength and resolve.
She would make it work and make it right. She turned to the window and watched the green fields fly past, a glimpse of a fox, the still life image of a herd of deer, and the constant flash of cars on the roads running alongside the railway. She dredged up a watery smile. It was okay. Lying was wrong, but at the end of the day the good that she had done surely outweighed the subterfuge and dishonesty.
No matter, it was all too late now and it was over. They couldn’t find her, not even if they needed to, and so she would put it behind her and move along. There was no other option.
Chapter 5
The smell of fish and chips, petrol fumes. Rush and dash and noise. This wasn’t it; the place that she was looking for should be sea smell and tar and landed fish and the cry of gulls. Pauline shook her head. She wasn’t a fool and so had expected it to be a little this way but it was a disappointment nonetheless. What she wanted was the feel of new summer sandals, cotton shorts and a soft blouse. She wanted to clasp Granddad’s hardened, gardener’s hands as he shepherded her across the road and lifted her to the sea wall so she could walk high above the damp sand and the deck chairs and other golden children. She wanted Nana’s gentle smile and her wad of tissues from her shopping bag to wipe away the sticky drool of ice cream. She was craving the safety and sureness and the feeling of being special, of being beloved.
Throughout her childhood Mum and Dad suffered guilt because they couldn’t leave their business in the summer but Pauline had never minded. She was the special one, the reason for the holiday and the light in the life of her grandparents. They spoiled her and filled her days with laughter and the beach and boat rides and coach trips and made such memories that now, in this scary time she had come to find it again. It wasn’t here today but it was enough that it had been once and so she hefted her bag and made her way to the taxi rank.
“Porthelland please, Gull’s Rest… do you know it?”
“Aye – I do. Nice day again.”
“Hmm, lovely.”
“Having a break are ya? Before the hordes arrive.”
“The hordes?”
“Oh aye, another month you won’t be able to move for tourists. Nothing wrong with it of course; my best season. But it’s nice now, just before it all goes ballistic.”
“Ah I see… yes it’s lovely now, but busier than I remember. How far is it to Gull’s Rest?”
“Oh it’s about half an hour, you sit back and enjoy the ride my dear. It’ll be twenty five pounds, is that okay?”
“Oh yes, that’s fine. I knew it was a little way out of town.”
“Aye, it is that, but beautiful if you want some peace.”
The taxi pulled out of the rank and joined the melee. Now and then a tantalising glimpse of sun on water twinkled between the buildings and there was the cry of gulls and the feeling of holiday so it wasn’t all lost to burgers and booze. Pauline settled back and tried to relax…
“Here we are lovey. Gull’s Rest. You’ve been fast asleep. You must ‘ave ‘ad a long day. It’s tiring is travellin’; one of the reasons I stays at home.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“No need lovey, no need. You’re on your holidays after all. Now is Jim meeting you ‘ere or is it to be Dolly?”
“I’m not sure, but I think someone is. Thanks so much.”
“Oh well best hope for Dolly!” With a little chuckle the driver helped her out and passed Pauline her bag. “Do you want to book for the return?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.”
“’Ere you go, ‘ere’s my card. You just give me a ring and it’ll be cheaper if you pre-book.” With a wink and a little smile the taxi driver turned his face away and rumbled out of the small cobbled yard.
Pauline took a deep breath. Yes, there it was now; what she had come here for. The salt tang and the smell of warm dust and new cut grass and behind that the farm smells… and at last she felt a knot inside begin to unwind.