In Denial Page 4

  ‘Are you now?’

  Adam sensed her scepticism. ‘Before I leave this morning I’m going to give you the cash for the three days I’ll be staying. I know that so many people are untrustworthy nowadays.’ He would retrieve the money he left for her in the drawer. He hadn’t expected to be seen when he put the bag in his car.

  ‘There’s no need, Mr Harrison, I ...’

  ‘No, I insist. It’ll keep my conscience clear.’

  ‘Well, if you insist.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Right, I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal. You’ll be back for dinner this evening?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Dinner about eight then?’

  ‘Eight will be fine.’ He didn’t like lying but there was no point in arousing unnecessary suspicions.

  Chapter Four

  He drove slowly south down the A82 until he picked up the signs for Balloch after which he joined the Old Military Road to Drymen. The road to the Loch Lomond Park Centre was good but not that busy. He passed perhaps three other cars coming the other way, and noticed just one car in his rear view mirror.

  He parked the Lexus in the Balmaha Visitors’ Centre car park, locked it before patting it affectionately on the wing and set off on foot along the Rowerdennan road that led up the east coast of the loch. He’d noted the sign which told him the road did not go beyond Rowerdennan. He didn’t need a road that went anywhere; his road just needed to come to an end.

  As he’d thought earlier, his expectations of a beautiful autumnal day were satisfied and as he walked through the pines he found himself whistling. There were not that many thoughts going through his head other than the need to fulfil the goal he had set himself. He could see the water - his resting place - glistening through the trees. He was never in any doubt as to how he was going to kill himself. As soon as he’d decided on the location, the method simply fell into place. He had heard that drowning was not a painful way to die although he had to smile when he wondered how many people who'd drowned had been asked for their opinion.

  After walking what he guessed was about a mile to where the road was closer to the water, he stopped. There was a small island out in the loch to his left - probably the one he'd looked at the previous day - and beyond it he thought he could just make out the roof of The Colcorran Arms on the opposite bank. He left the road and walked down a small track towards the shoreline.

  Sitting down on the trunk of a felled tree, he began the hour he had given himself to reflect on his life and more importantly on the loss of his family. He saw their faces, could hear their laughter, their chatter; there was nothing he could not remember.

  In the beginning he had cried, he had screamed; he had done everything in his power to rid himself of the utter desolation that had engulfed him, but all to no avail.

  He could not cry any more.

  He was drained of all emotions; his feelings were subsumed by the need to bring it all to a close. Nothing was ever going to get better; there wasn’t a light at the end of this dark tunnel, not even a glimmer.

  Adam lifted his face to the warmth of the sun. He could smell the pine and hear the water lapping against the shore fifty yards away.

  He would be ready soon.

  He closed his eyes.

  * * *

  ‘It’s perfect isn’t it?’

  It wasn’t Lucinda’s voice but it didn’t matter.

  Imagining anybody telling him it was perfect was what he needed to hear. It was perfect and in a matter of minutes the perfection would take him and do with him whatever it wished.

  It would all be over.

  He rose to his feet and looked across the water: he could feel it beckoning him.

  ‘It’s on days like these it’s grand to be alive.’

  Adam stopped.

  That hadn’t been his imagination.

  He wanted to turn his head but if he did and there was somebody there his dream would be shattered. He had planned this day, this hour and this minute for so long it must not be interrupted.

  But his imagination was not that creative.

  It was a feminine voice: a soft, feminine, educated voice. Dare he turn round or had it still been his imagination playing its final trick.

  ‘The air is so clean, the smells so natural.’

  Adam slowly turned his head.

  Sitting about ten feet away on the stump of the same felled tree was a young woman looking straight at him. As their eyes met, she smiled. She had shoulder length blonde hair, an oval face and the largest blue eyes Adam had ever seen. The smile stayed on her lips as his gaze moved down her long, slender neck to the clerical collar. Was it a clerical collar or perhaps the top of a polo neck sweater?

  His eyes darted back to her face.

  ‘You’re not dreaming,’ she said, the Scottish accent soft and soothing. ‘I am what I appear to be.’

  He had to be dreaming. He was in the middle of nowhere. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else out here,’ he ventured.

  ‘I thought that might be the case,’ she said, ‘so I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed your solitude but …’

  ‘Are you real?’ Adam asked, interrupting her.

  ‘Oh, yes. As I said I am what I appear to be.’

  ‘But you’re a priest!’

  A small hand touched the clerical collar. ‘Yes, ordained three years ago in Edinburgh and sent to the wilds of Loch Lomond to do my worst.’

  ‘But what …?’

  ‘… am I doing here?’

  Adam nodded.

  ‘I came to talk to you.’ Leaning forward she clasped her hands in front of her.

  ‘But we’re miles from anywhere and why would you want to talk to me?’

  ‘Because someone else thought you might want to talk.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘This is barely credible. Why would …? I came here for a bit of peace and quiet. Who …?’

  ‘Really, Mr Harrison? Is that really the reason you came here?’

  Adam frowned. ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘I know your name is Adam Harrison. I know you came to Loch Lomond from Ashbourne in Derbyshire yesterday and I know you’re supposed to be in Glasgow today.’

  ‘Doris? Did Doris tell you all this?’

  ‘If you are referring to Doris McIlvoy of The Colcorran Arms in Luss then yes, Doris did have something to do with it.’

  ‘But what …?’

  The young woman held out her hands. ‘Before we go into that, I know who you are but you don’t know who I am. My name is Gabrielle Brooks and where you stayed last night falls within my parish. As I said, I’ve been there for three years.’

  Adam didn’t know whether he ought to reach across the space between them and offer his hand as though they were meeting under normal circumstances. Instead he nodded slightly and then asked: ‘So Doris thought I needed the services of the local parish priest, did she? Why would that be?’ The situation was so surreal he couldn’t be annoyed.

  ‘She was worried about you, yes.’

  ‘And when Doris is worried about somebody she contacts the local priest to follow whoever it is for miles and miles and accost them, does she?’

  ‘I think 'accost' is a bit strong, so not quite how I would put it, but I suppose what you say is right. I have invaded your privacy but,’ she held up her hand, ‘I’m not so close that you should feel threatened.’

  ‘Is that likely? I doubt if you are ever regarded as a threat.’

  Gabrielle looked surprised and relieved. ‘I must take that as a compliment.’

  ‘It was the way it was intended.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So tell me why you’re really here. I presume you followed me from the hotel.’

  ‘Yes. Subterfuge isn’t my forte but you were quite easy to follow.’

  ‘I didn’t know I was being followed.’

  ‘If you had known, would it have made a difference?’

  Adam hesitated before he replied.
‘I have nothing to hide.’

  ‘We all have something to hide. There are things about me I wouldn’t want anybody else to know.’ Gabrielle moved from the stump onto the trunk of the fallen tree. ‘Will you sit down?’ She gestured to a spot a few feet away.

  Adam stayed where he was. ‘You could be taking quite a risk coming out here on your own,’ he suggested.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Doris McIlvoy wouldn’t have contacted me if she thought she was placing me in any sort of danger. She’s a good judge of character.’

  Adam sat down. ‘Doris McIlvoy seems to be some sort of local psychic. She foretells the future, does she?’

  Now that she was closer, he could see that Gabrielle Brooks’ features were striking. Her unlined face was devoid of make-up, her eyes were large and sparkling, and the very last occupation Adam would have expected her to be in was the priesthood. She can’t be more than mid-twenties, he thought.

  ‘No, she wouldn’t dream of foretelling the future but she’s been around people for long enough to tell the good from the bad.’ Gabrielle pulled up the collar of her coat and looked out over the water. The breeze had increased in strength and clouds were beginning to gather over the far hills.

  ‘And which category did she put me into?’

  ‘If she didn’t think you were good, she wouldn’t have called me.’

  ‘And how often does this happen?’

  ‘This is the first time.’

  Adam shook his head disbelievingly.

  Glancing towards the gathering clouds he wondered why fate had paid him such an unwanted visit. If Doris hadn’t poked her nose in, it would all be over by now.

  ‘Do you realise just how bizarre all this is? All right, I told Doris I was going to Glasgow. That, I admit wasn’t true, but all I wanted to do was have a bit of peace and quiet. The next thing I know is you appear, having followed me for over twenty miles, and start telling me the reason you’re here is because Doris thought I was a good person. It’s not just bizarre, it’s weird.’

  Gabrielle wrapped her arms round her body. The clouds had temporarily blotted out the sun and the temperature had dropped suddenly. ‘So why did you tell Doris you were going to Glasgow?’

  ‘Gabrielle … is it all right to call you that or should I be calling you Reverend or Vicar? Father isn’t very appropriate.’

  She smiled. ‘Neither is Mother. No, Gabrielle will do nicely. I was ordained into the Scottish Episcopal Church and although the Bishop might not approve, we don’t stand on ceremony around here.’

  ‘I was going to ask what Doris said to you that made you leave your parishioners and follow me the way you did. It must have been something pretty dramatic and convincing.’

  Gabrielle stood up and took a few paces towards the water’s edge, her arms still wrapped around her. The breeze was even stronger now, catching her hair and blowing it away from her face as she gazed over the loch. She stood in silence for a few seconds before turning round.

  ‘She thought you were very depressed - not rude, just very depressed. She thought you had suffered and you were still suffering. She thought you had come to Loch Lomond to kill yourself.’

  Adam looked up at Gabrielle and closed his eyes. Had he been that obvious?

  And even if he had, why would Doris McIlvoy care? Why did anyone care what happened to him? He could not do it now, not here. Even if he persuaded this young woman that he hadn’t intended committing suicide and she left, he still couldn’t do it. When his body was discovered she would blame herself. His death was his responsibility not anybody else’s. But she would feel responsible. She was too young and too inexperienced to shoulder any blame.

  Today wasn’t to be the day, after all.

  ‘It’ll be raining soon,’ he heard her say. ‘Can I suggest we go back to The Oak Tree for a coffee?’

  He opened his eyes. ‘The Oak Tree?’

  ‘The inn in Balmaha. It’s opposite the car park. You must have seen it. The coffee is the best in the shire.’

  ‘Coffee?’ Adam smiled. ‘If what Doris told you is true, do you think a simple invitation to have a coffee, even from somebody as attractive as you are, is going to dissuade me from what I intend doing?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ she replied without hesitation, ‘but at least it will give us time to talk, if that’s what you want to do.’

  ‘Talk? Nothing I might tell you or you might say to me will -’ He stopped.

  Nobody else, not even the police, knew where he was, and certainly nobody else knew what his intentions were, and yet it had taken one busybody and one kid in a dog collar to trap him into admitting they had been right. ‘ Are you sure you’re for real?’

  ‘Adam, I’m as real as you want me to be.’

  ‘Do you have a pair of wings hidden under that coat?’

  ‘No and I left my halo at home as well.’

  ‘All right,’ Adam said, spreading his hands. ‘You win. I will have a coffee with you.’

  They walked the mile back to The Oak Tree in relative silence, although Gabrielle, when Adam asked her, did tell him why she had become a priest. She in turn must have thought it better to leave her questions until he was ready.

  Over the last half-mile they broke into a gentle jog as the weather began to close in, and soon they were sitting in a corner of The Oak Tree saloon bar nursing their coffees.

  Anne, the manageress of The Oak Tree, greeted Gabrielle with a, ‘Long time no see,’ and gave Adam an inquisitive look. Gabrielle had already explained to him that Bannoch wasn’t part of her parish but she was known all round Loch Lomond because she was the first female priest they had ever seen, let alone in charge of a local flock.

  ‘I’ll be giving you a reputation you don’t deserve,’ Adam suggested as they sat down, looking out of the window at the downpour they had only just escaped.

  ‘How do you know I don’t deserve it?’ Gabrielle replied, smiling. ‘I’m not married so any man I’m seen with could be the source of a good rumour. And as I said, we all have secrets we want kept hidden.’ She stirred her coffee pensively, then looked up at him. ‘I’m going to be totally honest with you, Adam.’

  ‘Are there degrees of honesty?’

  After thinking for a moment Gabrielle shook her head. ‘No, I suppose there aren’t.’ After waiting another few seconds she said, ‘Doris recognised you.’

  It was Adam’s turn to hesitate. ‘I thought she might have done. After what you told me down by the water, I thought there had to be more to it.’ He took a sip of his coffee and it was as good as Gabrielle said it would be. ‘I suppose I wanted to believe that what had happened was history. News is news and history is not news. It was history for everybody else but not for me.’

  ‘Some faces stick,’ Gabrielle said.

  ‘And mine was one of them?’

  ‘For Doris, yes.’ She paused again. ‘Can I be totally … sorry, can I carry on with the honesty bit?’

  ‘I would expect nothing less from a lady of the cloth.’

  Gabrielle smiled. ‘You don’t talk like someone who was about to commit suicide.’

  ‘Is that what I was going to do?’

  ‘You almost admitted -’

  ‘But only almost. Sorry, I interrupted you.’

  Gabrielle lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip. ‘Doris told me that when she saw you and your family in the papers and read about the horrific circumstances in which they ...’ She stopped, her eyes on Adam’s. ‘It’s my turn to apologise. It’s probably the last thing you want to talk about.’

  ‘Isn’t that why you’re here, to get me to talk? I found them, Gabrielle. I saw the horror before anybody else did. Nothing anybody could say will ever take away the sickening feeling I have every time I think about what I saw. I don’t want how I feel to be taken away. Finding your entire family slaughtered …’ He turned to look out of the window, his eyes watering for the first time in weeks. Why? It was all over.

  ‘It must have been awful.’ He co
uld see that Gabrielle regretted straight away what she’d said. She reached across the table and put her hand on his arm.

  He nodded. ‘That’s a bit like asking somebody lying in a hospital bed if they’re all right.’

  ‘Yes, I’m really sorry. That was insensitive. Not a very good start.’

  Adam slowly turned his head as Gabrielle withdrew her hand from his arm. ‘If it weren’t for you, I’d be floating out in that loch somewhere, so from your point of view I’d say you’ve made a very good start.’

  ‘That’s not what -’

  ‘I know.’ He tipped his head to one side. ‘Look, Gabrielle, you’re a really lovely person but I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than sit here and drink coffee with a hopeless case. I won’t be passing over to the next world today. You’ve seen to that, but it will happen,’ he put his hand on hers, smiling, the intimacy of his touch not lost on either of them, ‘though not in your parish.’

  ‘How can you say such a thing? How can you joke like that about taking your own life?’

  ‘I died a long time ago, that’s why. I’ve existed ever since, not lived. It isn’t until the reasons why you are alive are stolen from you that you realise there isn’t anything left. If only one of them had been spared, we wouldn’t be sitting here now. Can you understand that?’

  Gabrielle nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I think I can.’

  ‘I probably didn’t react the way you expected when you said Doris had seen the photographs.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose it could have happened at any time, you know, somebody recognising me. I don’t know how I ever brought myself to give the photographs to the press in the first place but I suppose I wanted people, whoever they might be, to see what had been lost - not what I had lost but what they had lost.’ He paused. ‘Do you know what else worried me?’

  ‘No, but I’d like you to tell me.’

  ‘Are you sure you left your halo at home?’

  ‘I promise.’

  Adam thought for a moment.

  ‘When I saw photographs of other families who had suffered great loss, and when I saw them at press conferences, I always looked very closely at the father, the husband, the step-dad or the partner. For some reason I always wanted somebody to blame immediately and they seemed the most likely candidates. Even when a suspect was caught, arrested and charged, my arrogance often made me ignore the facts, the confessions, and I still looked at my suspect as I remained convinced that he was responsible. Then when I saw the pictures I had provided of my own family in the paper, I realised that other people would be thinking the way I had thought. There would be people out there convinced that I had murdered my wife and my children. My own arrogance had come home to roost. I wouldn’t be surprised if Doris hadn’t …’