A Gathering of Twine Read online

  Ryan pulled two levers and the dial needles gently fell to zero.

  “Ok. Bring me up,” the radio squawked again.

  Ryan punched another button and the pulley mechanism whined into life, bringing the temporary lift platform up from the tunnel below.

  “How does it look down there?” Ryan asked once Tom was up.

  “That layer’s gone down ok I think, but I don’t like the soil. It’s flaky. The whole place is absolutely soaked...”

  Tom broke off as the sound of a landing aircraft drowned him out. They came in every couple of minutes, with only the briefest lull around lunch time, and the noise of the engines often made it impossible to hear the radios.

  With a squeal of tyres and a roar of reverse thrust, the plane taxied to its stand. Ryan was still in child-like awe of how these machines, that weighed so much, could get off the ground, let alone stay in the air.

  “Looks like there is water getting in somewhere,” Tom continued. “If we don’t get the props right we’ll lose a wall.”

  Ryan wondered how a failed teacher and part-time DJ knew so much about the effects of water in mine-sealing operations. But then how did he know? He had learned as he had gone along. Little snippets here and there. Maybe he could use it in his book.

  The truth was that, with the exception of Kethron and his two senior managers, there was very little experience on the team. Ryan supposed it was cheaper that way, but he had been tempted more than once to ask Anna why she had put him forward for this job. The pay was a pittance, and he suspected that it was an attempt to get him out of the house.

  Maybe Anna does care.

  Ryan considered that thought and dismissed it. If Anna had been cold before, these days she was positively frozen. Communication, such as it was, was brief, direct, and without depth. He knew that Kethron was giving her daily reports on him.

  He suddenly wanted a drink. A proper drink that would take away all these feelings and let numbness enter, if even only for a little while.

  Another plane landed, and Ryan waited for the engine noise to abate before he replied to Tom.

  “Best to let Kethron know. He’s already made it clear how thin the margins are on this job. He won’t want any surprises.”

  *

  When winter came Ryan was not disappointed that the work was suspended. The ravaging wind had been picking up, and even under his thermal gloves, he was losing sensation at the end of his fingers. Several times he had tried to pull the levers to “Off” and slipped, only to grasp and scrabble at them again before succeeding.

  Nor was he surprised that Christmas came and went without any kind of marking of the celebration. No tree, no Christmas dinner and no presents. Christopher seemed indifferent. Now nearly two, he was developing a good vocabulary, although the practising of it seemed reserved almost exclusively for his mother. Ryan thought the boy eyed him with suspicion and was not interested in playing with his father when he tried to make the effort.

  What did surprise Ryan was the arrival of two police officers in the middle of January. He saw them walking up the short path to the front door, and despite his intoxication, he felt his bowels turn to water.

  This is about the girl. The one you followed home. They know. They know what you did. Anna told them. She put it all on you, and now they know and you are going away for a very long time. And you know what they do to men like you inside. Oh yes, you know, and now you are going to find out exactly how loud you can scream.

  The door bell rang, and Ryan let out a little yelp.

  He looked to the back door. He could run. But they would see him. Over the fence maybe? It was still too cold to be out long without several layers of clothing, and there was no time for that. Perhaps he could pretend to be out. He could just lie on the floor.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Anna was back at work already, after the festive break. She need not ever know the police had been here. If she did she would be angry. Very angry indeed. Maybe if he told them the truth she would be put away, and he could start over with Christopher. Somewhere new.

  The heavy door knocker rattled.

  “Mr Hyde. It’s the Police. Open up please.”

  Ryan crept towards the door.

  Were they really the police? They were in uniform, but were they real? Maybe Anna had made more friends. Maybe he would be arrested and get in the car and never be seen again. This was her way of getting rid of him. He knew it.

  He put his eye to the spyhole. “Can I see some ID?” he asked weakly.

  Ryan saw the two officers look at each other in bemusement, reached into their jackets to produce their warrant cards, and held them up to the spyhole.

  They could be fake. They could be fake cards for fake policemen in fake uniforms.

  Ryan realised that he did not even know what a police ID card looked like and that he was probably out of time to make his escape. They knew he was in the house, and could kick the door down. He had seen enough police dramas on the television.

  Gingerly he slid the bolts back, turned the key and opened the door.

  “Hello, Officers.”

  “Mr Hyde?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ryan Hyde?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m PC Parry. This is PC Cooke. May we come in?”

  “Umm... sure.” Ryan led the two officers into the lounge. Cooke said nothing, but looked around the house, taking all the features in, before settling on the small mound of empty wine and vodka bottles.

  “A good Hogmanay Mr Hyde?” Parry asked, following his colleagues line of sight.

  “Umm... yeah,” Ryan replied weakly.

  “Have you been drinking today Mr Hyde?”

  “Yes.” There seemed little point in hiding it.

  “Are you drunk or can you help us with our enquiries?”

  “I wouldn’t drive, but I’m not drunk,” Ryan said a little too defensively. “What enquiries? What is this about?” He sat down before the shaking of his legs was noticed.

  Cooke and Parry had seen his condition at the door but said nothing.

  “Do you know Thomas Cullum?”

  “Tom? Yes. What’s happened?”

  “How do you know him?” Parry ignored Ryan’s question.

  “We work together at the airport.”

  “Which airport?”

  “Edinburgh.”

  “And what do you do there Mr Hyde?”

  “I’m filling in the mine. The one that is under the runway. It was on the news a while back.”

  “And who is it you work for, Mr Hyde?”

  “It’s a contracting firm. Corax Ground Works. Mr Kethron runs it, but we’re part of a larger company. Corvus Group Holdings. They do a bit of everything. What’s happened to Tom?”

  “When did you last see Thomas Cullum?”

  “Umm... probably a month or so ago. Work has stopped because of the weather.”

  “Did you speak to him over Christmas?”

  “No.”

  “Text?”

  “No.

  “Email?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever bought drugs from your friend Tom?”

  Ryan’s alarm was giving way to anger. “What? No! Look, what’s going on?”

  “Mr Hyde, I am sorry to tell you this, but Tom Cullum passed away on New Year’s Eve.”

  A wave of shock enveloped him, briefly giving everything a dream-like quality. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “What happened?”

  The two officers looked at each other.

  “Mr Hyde, did Tom ever mention a girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “What about a Charlene Jefferson? He might have referred to her as Charlie.”

  “No. I thought he was single.”

  “Did he ever mention that he was having trouble with someone?”

  “No.”

  “Someone was hanging around his flat?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Nuisan
ce phone calls?”

  “No. He invited me to a club once where he was DJ-ing.”

  “Did you go?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Ryan considered mentioning his wife’s reaction to the suggestion but thought better of it. Anna would not like her name being brought up in this conversation.

  “I have a young child. He’s nearly two. My clubbing days are behind me.” He smiled weakly.

  “Where is your child now?” The officers’ gaze had returned to the pile of empty bottles.

  “He’s at the nursery.”

  “Did you know that Tom was into drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Was he ever late for work? Absent for a few days perhaps?”

  “I don’t think so. Mr Kethron would be the best person to ask about that.”

  “We’ve already spoken to Mr Kethron. He said that you two were quite pally.”

  Ryan shrugged. “Tom was ok. But he didn’t confide in me or anything.”

  “How long had you known him?”

  “We met on the job. In October. So... about three months maybe.”

  “Did he ever come here?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever go to his flat?”

  “No. I usually come home straight from work.”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t have a second car, and my wife needs hers.”

  “How do you get to work?”

  “Mr Kethron picks me up. How did Tom die?”

  “The enquiry is ongoing Mr Hyde.”

  *

  After the police had left Ryan turned on his laptop and began looking for details of what had happened to Tom.

  Between various news reports, Ryan was able to piece together that Tom had recently started seeing Charlene “Charlie” Jefferson. The problem was that Charlie’s former boyfriend had not taken this well and had hung about Tom’s flat resulting in the police being called a number of times, although all the trouble had been verbal and there did not seem to have been any physical altercations.

  On New Years’ Eve, Tom had been due to play at a small club and had reversed his Corolla out of his usual spot in the tenant’s basement car park. The car park was not pass-controlled, and unknown to Tom, Charlie’s ex had been underneath, presumably tampering with the vehicle. He was crushed when a wheel went over him and died of internal injuries.

  What followed next was unclear, and the media speculation had made events even more so. Tom had fled the scene – that much was known from CCTV footage. The body had been discovered some hours later when neighbouring residents returned from the evenings’ celebrations. The police were called, and it was quickly established who owned the vehicle, and also that Tom had not arrived for his DJ-ing slot.

  Tom was found two days later in woodland near Pitlochry by dog walkers. He had apparently died from exposure but also had a quantity of Ecstasy on him. How he got there was unexplained, and both his car and Charlie remained missing…

  Ryan sat back letting out a sigh. Tom’s Facebook page was filled with condolence messages. At the top, was the “Photos” tab, and idly he clicked it. A myriad of albums appeared. Ibiza 2002. Ayia Napa 2004. Benidorm 2006. Scotland 2007.

  Ryan clicked the last tab and began to scroll through. Various club nights. A host of increasingly sweaty faces pushed up against the camera with almost caricature-like leering grimaces. Halfway through his breath caught, and he heard himself choke, cough, and then splutter. But the sound was very far away as if he was listening to someone else. His attention was now wholly on the screen.

  There on the monitor was a photo, and the caption read “Tom & Charlie”.

  Except Ryan knew that woman. And her name was not Charlie. It was Anna’s friend – Irene. Ryan shivered. It could not be. But it was. He looked again at the photo. It was definitely her. He quickly scrolled forward through the rest of the photos, and there she was again. And again. And in the background of the group shot. There was another of her, half-hugging Tom.

  Ryan felt sick. Very sick. Putting the laptop down, he crossed to the kitchen. No vodka. Opening another cupboard, he found the whisky. He usually did not touch this until the afternoon, but these felt like desperate times.

  He poured himself a measure, his hand shaking so that it became a double, and then a treble. He downed it in one and poured himself a second. From the kitchen’s open door, he could see his laptop. He shivered again and poured himself a third.

  What would he tell Anna? Kethron would no doubt inform her that the police had interviewed him and that he had given Ryan’s name. He could not say that he had not spoken to them. That would displease her to start with.

  But he did not have to tell her about Irene. She did not need to know that.

  Except that she would check his internet browsing history. She was doing that more and more often now. Checking what he was looking at. And she would see. And she would know.

  Ryan quickly went back into the lounge and told the browser to clear the viewing history and all the temporary files. A minute later the program confirmed that the operation had been completed.

  Except now it says that you have never looked at anything. Anna will know that you cleared it. And she will want to know why...

  Ryan began to panic.

  It was running slow. That’s it. The computer was running slow. Needed a clear out.

  But Anna would know.

  It had not run slow when she used it. Why was it running slow for you Ryan?

  Ryan began to sweat and again considered the possibility of fleeing.

  Leave the boy – he’s his mother’s child anyway. Run. Get out. Get away. Just run!

  Ryan stood still, despite the screaming voice inside his head. Where would he run to? He did not know anyone in the village. Anna had made sure of that. Maybe someone from work would take him in, but then Kethron would find out and he would tell his wife. And with no car, how would he get away?

  The train station. But he had no money. Anna had taken his wallet away when they had first moved up to Falkland. He had no cards, no cash. And apart from his airport security pass, he had no ID.

  Maybe there is someone you could call. From before.

  Ryan picked up his mobile, before remembering that Anna had deleted most of his contacts. The same was true of his friends’ email addresses. It dawned on Ryan how utterly trapped and helpless he was. There was nothing he could do to get away. With this last heave of resignation, his panic evaporated.

  He would just have to tell Anna the truth.

  Ryan began to cry silently to himself, imagining the punishment that would be wrought on his already bruised frame. Curling up on the sofa, he found himself exhausted, and sleep came like a wave, rolling over him.

  *

  “I know,” was all Anna had to say after he told her what had happened and turned to make dinner.

  “But... but... what about Irene?”

  “What about her?”

  Ryan gawped. “But she knew Tom. And she is missing. And the police think she’s called Charlie!”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean ‘no’?”

  Anna spun around to look at him, her eyes telling him he should really not have used that tone. She crossed the room quickly and was suddenly very close to him. Too close. Ryan’s hands instinctively went to cover his groin.

  “It was not Irene in those photos, was it?”

  Ryan wanted to protest the point, but self-preservation kicked in. “No,” he said weakly and felt his ears pop.

  “Irene did not know Tom, did she?”

  “No,” Ryan whined, feeling the tears creeping up, as his ears popped again. Harder this time.

  “Tom was a lazy worker, wasn’t he? He probably had it coming.”

  “Yes,” was all that Ryan could whisper. His ears popped so hard that he let out an involuntary cry.

  Anna smiled. “Good boy,” and patted him on the head.

  Later that even
ing, as the alcoholic vapours rolled off him like smoke from a fire, Ryan heard Anna on the phone. The voices began to muddle as unconsciousness bid him welcome, and he could not tell if it was Kethron or Irene she was talking to. But she did not sound happy. And that frightened Ryan.

  *

  Work at the airport resumed in February, which was later than expected due to the winter snow. The runways constantly had a small fleet of snow-blowers moving up and down them, and whilst they kept the tarmac clear for the aircraft, the cleared snow was deposited along the edges where Kethron and his team had been working. The melt had been slow.

  “This is Rooksby,” said Kethron on their first day back. “He’ll be taking over from Cullum.”

  “Hi,” said Ryan.

  The man, who was nearly as big as Kethron, grunted a monosyllabic acknowledgement.

  Ryan turned back to Kethron. “Did Tom tell you about water in the number three cell?”

  Kethron looked at him hard. “No.”

  “He thought that there might be some ingress. Maybe from the Almond or from the Gogar Burn. He thought that the props might need adjusting, otherwise, we’re at risk from losing a wall.”

  Kethron continued to look at him but made no reply.

  “I’ll check it out,” Rooksby said eventually.

  Ryan was not surprised when Rooksby came up and told him that he could see nothing wrong. He was Kethron’s man through and through.

  Ryan noticed that a lot of the faces that had been familiar before Christmas were now absent, replaced by hulks who were similar in appearance to Kethron. He had heard gossip that Kethron had been in the Forces, seeing action in Iraq and the Balkans, before going into ‘private security’. How he had wound up at Corax was anyone’s guess, but there seemed little doubt that he had built up an extensive network of contacts along the way. The replacements were all his men; strong, disciplined, and for the most part silent.

  *

  The winter grudgingly gave way to spring, and it was late April when work began at the southeastern extent of the airport’s four-hundred-acre estate.

  Aircraft stand two-hundred-and-ten through to-two-hundred-and thirteen had been designed for the big cargo planes. In their hey-day, they had seen some of the larger Antonovs delivering submarine parts, and the hope was that with the regeneration of the old RAF site into a cargo hub, the airport operator could win some of that business back from its southern competitors. They also had shallow mine workings running right underneath them.