Robert Young - Gatecrasher

He had readily agreed and made straight for Paddington station and jumped on the next train in that direction; nervous and edgy all the while, checking over his shoulder regularly, scanning the faces of passers-by, particularly those who looked at him.

When he’d arrived at Paddington and come up from the underground Campbell had received a phone call that had disturbed him greatly. An ex-girlfriend had told him that a gruff-sounding man with a thick London accent had called her saying he knew Daniel and that he was in some trouble and had then asked for a number to contact Campbell. She had, she said, declined to give the man Campbell’s number, unsettled as she was by the tone of the man’s voice. Instead, she had offered to contact him herself and perhaps pass on a message.

The man had then given her a telephone number to call and informed her that she too might be in some danger if Daniel did not make contact. Campbell had assured her it was nothing more than a prank, though she had seemed less than convinced, but he had taken the number and promised to call the prankster and tell them to stop playing jokes, that it wasn’t funny. Though a year had passed since they had last been in touch and the girl had sounded eager to catch up and interested in his wellbeing, Campbell had ended the call rather abruptly, his mind very much elsewhere. He had known it might happen — expected it really — but he was surprised by his own reaction. He was afraid of course, worried and guilty that innocent people might be drawn into this and come to harm. But more than that he had found himself filled with anger at what Gresham had done.

Before boarding the train he made the call to Gresham from a public phone in a noisy pub near the station. ‘Now you listen to me you fat vicious cunt, if I hear that you’ve even dialled a single number in that book I’ll duplicate the information that you are so eager to get your hands on and send it to every single newspaper in the country. I'll post it on the internet. I’ll go to the police and tell them all about what you and your fucking gorilla did to me and the guy that bled all over my kitchen floor the other night. I don’t give a fuck anymore, do you hear me? You just fucking try it you bastard, you just try and fucking bully me any more. I dare you.’

Just thinking about it he could feel his scalp tighten and his skin prickle with the fear and excitement of what he had done. He may yet pay for talking to Gresham like that but at the same time he felt pretty confident that the other man would not call his bluff. Not yet at least.

Now finally the train was slowing as it neared its destination and she would meet him here and they would talk.

He tossed his jacket over his shoulders and shuffled along the aisle to the door of the train as it crawled to a halt. Campbell felt the pinch of anticipation and tried to calm himself as he strolled through the ticket hall and out onto the broad pavement at the front of the station.

Waving off the attentions of the first of the queue of taxis lining up in front of him, Campbell scanned the area. There were a few more cars idling at the kerbside and he looked out for the one she had described but couldn’t see it. Then from across the car park headlights flashed and he noticed that it was the one he was looking for.

He moved gingerly across the tarmac, the stiffness from his ordeal was clear to see and as he drew nearer, the driver side door opened and Sarah stood up and peered at him. He saw her expression change as she noticed his swollen eye and fat lip, the dark cuts on both.

‘What the hell…?’ she began and he tried to smile as if it were nothing but she looked visibly shocked at the sight of him.

She came around the car and looked more closely at him. She studied the puffy eye that he could barely see through and the colourful bruise blooming across his cheek, the thin dark scab across his plump lower lip.

‘What the hell happened to you? You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.’

He smiled at the description. ‘Feels like it too.’

‘Daniel Campbell I suppose? Not quite the same man I remember meeting.’

‘Well I was Owen Michaels then, local hack,’ he said and swung his bag from his shoulder with a wince that she noticed.

‘Want to tell me what happened?’

‘All in good time Sarah. Can I dump this in the boot?’

She nodded and then took the bag from him, swatting away his protestations.

Climbing into the car was a slow and clumsy process as he tried to avoid further aggravating any of his injuries. Sarah watched him intently, frowning.

‘Seriously Daniel. What happened?’

‘You remember I said that I thought this could be valuable? Well, let’s just say I found out first hand how valuable…’

Sarah stared at him, examining his battered face for signs that he may be lying. She was clearly still less than convinced about the whole thing, despite this latest shock. Highly suspicious and alert that this was some sort of sting or set up. But seeing the state of Campbell, and having heard the pleading desperation in his voice that morning, she must have concluded that he might well be telling the truth.

Campbell turned to her as he clipped in his seatbelt. ‘Someone really wants it back.’

Without a word she started the car and pulled out of the train station car park, past the taxi rank that was still doing a brisk trade in collecting some of the other passengers of Daniel’s train.

‘So you a local girl then?’ Campbell asked breezily, trying to chase away the tense silence that had descended.

‘No. Born and raised in Muswell Hill actually. Parents moved down here when they retired. Dad has a few properties here and there and used to rent some out down here as holiday cottages and stuff. They decided to buy one of them outright and live in it.’

‘Very nice too. So, uh, how come you work down there in Hammersmith?’

‘Not really my choice where they have the offices.’ she replied, slightly puzzled.

‘No, I mean it’s a bit of a way from Muswell Hill.’

‘Oh right. No I live down in Chiswick now. Moved down there with the boyfriend. Then got the job.’

‘Oh I see.’

‘Stayed in the area after we split up.’

‘Oh.’

They fell silent again. As they drove through the town and out into the countryside beyond, the light of the afternoon dimmed and heavy clouds drew in overhead. The first fat spots of rain hit the windscreen as Sarah swung the car off the road and eased it slowly along a bumpy lane toward a small whitewashed cottage beyond.

‘Are your parents going to be in then?’ he asked, suddenly feeling nervous that she was going to walk him into a room full of people. Campbell wanted to avoid meeting anyone new right at that moment.

‘Not my parents place. One of their holiday cottages. Very quiet at this time of year. Private. I borrowed the keys and told them I’m off with some friends.’

He nodded, relieved and more than a little surprised at the trust she was showing.

‘Sarah,’ he said looking at her across the roof of the car as they stepped out into a light drizzle. ‘You seem — this is by no means a complaint — but you seem very trusting. How do you know I’m not some nutjob?’

‘I could ask you the same question Daniel. Why do you trust me? I mean, how do you know I haven’t called the police? How do you know I haven’t got this place wired with CCTV? Or told twenty different people exactly where I am and exactly what time I’ll be back?’

Campbell was silent and he stared back at her, waiting for her to reassure him that none of what she said was in fact true.

‘Look at you. For a start, I think I could beat you up if you did try something. Secondly, the things you’ve told me just sound too weird for you to have made them all up. And thirdly, you have no reason to trust me either, as far as I can see and that makes us evens,’ she said, walking to the boot of the car and pulling out his bag. ‘But I do think you’re a nutjob.’