Smith - One Truth, One Hope, One Salvation: There Is Something I Have Been Meaning to Tell You

TO TELL THE TRUTH

Anna Smith

First published in Great Britain in 2012 by

Quercus

55 Baker Street

7th Floor,

South Block

London

W1U 8EW

Copyright 2012 by Anna Smith

The moral right of Anna Smith to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

eBook ISBN 978 0 85738 424 9
ISBN 978 0 85738 296 2 (TPB)
ISBN 978 1 78087 164 6 (HB)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Also by Anna Smith

The Dead Wont Sleep

For my mother, who gave so much, and climbed a mountain every day.

I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.

Mother Teresa of Calcutta

Costa del Sol, July 1998

In the blink of an eye she was gone. It was easy. The kid was just sitting there on the beach, picking up handfuls of sand and letting it run through her fingers. She was like a little fairy, smiling up at him with one eye closed against the harsh glare of the midday sun. She didnt even make a sound when he scooped her up. It was only when he walked swiftly, carrying her to his car on the little sidestreet, that she shouted loud for her mummy, but he was too quick. He bundled her into the boot and sped out of the street. Minutes were all it took. As he cut onto the dual carriageway, he turned up the radio to drown out her muffled cries. He lit a cigarette and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Job done. Thats how it all began. As quick as that.

In the bedroom of the beachside villa, Jenny was coming so hard she nearly passed out. But somewhere in her euphoria she heard the cry. Call it a mothers instinct, something primal that needs no explaining that your entire world has come tumbling down.

Christ! Its Amy! She heaved Jamie off her and leapt out of the bed, throwing on a robe over her naked body. Heading to the door, she tripped over clothes and flip flops, discarded earlier in the heat of forbidden passion.

What the fu? Jamie rolled over. Then he sat up, asking Whats the matter?

But Jenny was gone. All he could hear were her shouts: Amy! Amy!

Oh, fuck! He jumped up and pulled on his shorts and T-shirt. Oh fuck, no! he muttered, hurrying into the kitchen, from where he saw through the open patio door Jenny running up and down the beach, calling.

Amy! Amy! Amy!

She put her hand to her mouth and almost buckled to her knees as Jamie ran towards her. He held her.

Oh, Jamie! Shes gone. Shes gone, Jamie, Amys gone. She was sleeping. She must have got out. Where is she? Where is she, Jamie? What if shes gone into the sea?

Sssh, Jen. Shell be here, Jamie said, attempting to comfort her. But his stomach dropped as his eyes darted across the stretch of deserted beach. Nothing. A windsurfer was just a speck on the horizon.

She cant be far, shell have wandered off. You wait here and Ill run round the back and see if shes walked somewhere.

He let go of Jenny and ran into the sidestreet, desolate and chilly in the shade. A shiver ran through him. He looked around at the empty street, silent but for the roar of speeding traffic above on the nearby dual carriageway. He shivered again and swallowed to stop himself being sick.

Jesus, he murmured.

Right there and then, Jamie knew his life, everyones lives, had changed forever. This was his best friends little girl, and hed just been shagging his best friends wife. Shit! Maybe he would wake up in a second. He ran back to the house, dizzy with panic. Jennys face crumpled in sobs when she saw him return alone. They looked at each other.

Oh, Jamie! She collapsed in his arms, clinging to him. What have we done? Jesus, what have we done! Call the police. We have to. Phone Martin. I need to get Martin Oh, God, Martin!

Jamie reached into his pocket for his mobile phone. He took a deep breath. Whatever he said, both of them said, in the next ten minutes would come back to haunt them if they didnt get it right. Twelve years as a criminal lawyer defending liars had taught him that. He took Jenny by the shoulders and spoke calmly.

Jenny. Listen. Well find her. I promise. His mouth was tight. Go and put some clothes on. Ill call the police. Ill phone Martin. Hell be on his way back by now. We have to get our story right. We have to.

He shook her shoulders gently. He hoped he was getting through to her. Guilt was for another day.

Two people witnessed this drama as it unfolded, but nobody could see them. They were high up on the balcony of a villa cut out of the craggy coastline, from where they could look down at the shimmering heat and the soothing surf washing onto the shore.

The older man groaned as he spilled himself into the mouth of the teenage boy, who looked up with smiling eyes as he swallowed.

He ruffled the young Moroccans thick wavy locks. Taha. You are the sweetest boy, he said. Taha stood up, his naked brown body glistening in the sunlight. Then they heard the screaming.

What the hells that? The older man sat forward in his chair, pulling a white bathrobe over his nakedness.

A woman screaming, sir, the boy said, pointing down. Look. Is from the place we saw the small girl on the beach.

The man stood up and strained to look, careful not to get so close that anyone passing could spot him. Discretion was everything.

Hmmn. Certainly seems to be some kind of panic on. He was always a master of understatement.

Taha continued to watch as the older man went indoors and returned fully dressed, buckling the belt in his khaki linen trousers.

Maybe is the girl, sir. The boy turned around and looked him up and down. You know? The man? Remember when we were on the balcony at first? He took her? The boy looked out to the beach. Maybe she stolen.

The older mans eyes narrowed.

Time to go now, Taha. He ran his hand across the boys bony shoulder. You have a vivid imagination, dear boy. He smiled, looked at his watch. Come on, get dressed. Time I got back. I have a late lunch engagement. He handed the boy a one-hundred-euro note. You know the drill, Taha. Let yourself out.

Thank you, sir. Thank you. The boy took the money and bowed, almost like a servant. I see you again? Maybe next week, sir?

The older man smiled like a benign headmaster to his favourite pupil, then turned and left.

Taha went back to the edge of the balcony and watched the couple standing on the beach. He could see the woman was crying. Then he heard a police siren. He went back into the villa, pulled on his shorts and vest and shoved the money in his pocket. He would be rich tonight, even after he had given his Russian pimp boss his cut.

As he was about to leave, he saw something on the floor. It looked like a credit card, but when he picked it up he saw it was some kind of pass, with a photograph of the man who had just paid him a hundred euros to rent him for two hours of sex. Taha tried to read the card. He couldnt understand what Rt. Hon. meant, and the name was different, but he recognised the picture of the man he knew as Thomas.