The Pursuit of Emma, Dave Moyer [best contemporary novels txt] 📗

be told, I wasn’t even a full accountant, I was a ‘junior’ which is a synonym for ‘doesn’t need to be paid much.’ I have very little savings and would never consider myself as a target for thieves. Is she a thief? No, she can’t be. For one thing, she didn’t take anything. My brain was starting to hurt again; too many questions.

‘I am sorry Tom. I cannot answer your questions. But you need to find the answers from somewhere. What we need to do is plan your next step. What are you going to do?’

‘Nothing,’ I said, standing up sharply. I could see her expression but wasn’t going to listen any more.

‘Tom...,’ she mouthed.

‘No. Nothing. I am done. She has fucked with my head too much and I don’t want to know. I don’t want to find her, I don’t want to speak to her and it suits me fine if I never see her again!’ I had made up my mind. This was too ludicrous now and I knew nothing Emma would say could fix it. It was dead. Anything we had ever shared together (which right now looked like nothing) was gone and I had to move on.

‘Tom, you won’t get closure if you...’ she stated, trying to make me see sense.

‘Forget closure! I haven’t lived for the last two weeks because of this woman. I haven’t worked, I’ve barely eaten and I’ve lost time I’ll never get back. But no more. I am moving on and forgetting she ever existed. Starting now.’

I got up and turned to storm out. I was determined for the first time in a long time. My stride was broken slightly when I realised I hadn’t paid and spent ten minutes at reception paying for my session. Nursing my bruised ego, I sauntered out and headed for the nearest tube station.

*****

I felt strangely at peace when I got off the tube. I was still shaking a bit and must have looked severely poorly; I remembered the takeaway pizza I ate when I watched the ‘wedding’ video, but couldn’t remember eating since. I knew I would always have these questions but so what? People have questions the whole of their lives and get on fine. I would be one of those people. At forty, I would drink too much, buy a motorbike and slump into a mid-life crisis as a replacement for dealing with my issues. That would at least allow me to cope in the meantime.

My resolve, which was normally so fragile, had hardened on the tube and a firm plan was set. I was going to march into the house, gather everything that reminded me of Emma and either burn it or (more realistically) throw it out. I was going to search for a new job and find somebody new. Maybe I’d ask Sophie out on a date. Even as I thought this I shuddered. Not that she wasn’t beautiful or sweet or anything, but the bond we had developed was more like a brother and sister. Any romance would feel like incest. Just wrong.

As I opened the front door I faced the realisation that I wouldn’t do any of these things. Not tonight anyway. All I was ready for today was sleep, television and more takeaway pizza. I could do more tomorrow. I actually laughed out loud to myself when I thought of how Emma would frown if I ate too much pizza. Well ‘fuck you’ I thought and the first thing I did was order two large meat-feasts.

Hours later I opened my eyes. I blinked around me, trying to work out what the time was. The television was still on and I was lying with my feet on the sofa, my head on the floor and my torso drooped between the two. My face felt red and warm and, at first, deformed, until I realised I had fallen asleep on a slice of pizza and had a meatball stuck to my face. I was a mess. The blinds were all still up but no light was coming through. It must be night-time; I must have slept for hours. My appointment with Dr Davies had been at ten fifteen and I was home no later than midday so I'd been asleep for most of the day. I felt weak and sore but better mentally. She wasn’t on my mind for the first time in weeks. I mean, she was on my mind because I was thinking ‘I’m not thinking about her’ but you get the point. I was finally ready to move on.

I fumbled for my phone, and felt the usual twinge of disappointment when I realised another day had passed and not one missed call or text. The clock on my phone told me it was coming up to one in the morning and I made the decision to return back to work tomorrow. I had a phone call the day before from my ‘team leader’ Jeff, who told me I could take my time to feel right again. I hadn’t been in the mood to speak to him or anyone so I muttered a thanks and hung up. Yes, people would talk and I would have to answer a thousand pointless questions like ‘how are you feeling?’ and ‘are you coping OK?’ But this was a new Tom, a stronger Tom and I was going to face it all. Tomorrow. First I was going to drag myself upstairs to bed and get as much more sleep as possible. I set my alarm for 06:00 to give myself enough time for some serious ‘man-scaping’. My face was covered by a severe shrubbery and a shower alone was not going to clean me back up to scratch. It was going to take some serious work.

I stumbled up the staircase which seemed to go on forever and eventually made it to our room, sorry ‘my’ room. Slumping on my bed, I was just contemplating whether I had the energy to remove my clothes or not when my phone rumbled. What was that?

I searched through my pockets quickly, suddenly feeling more awake as it continued to vibrate. A phone call. Who the hell was phoning me at this time? Oh God...could it be Emma. I ripped it out of my pocket and stared at the screen. The number was blocked and my screen only read the message ‘unknown caller.’ I couldn’t miss this opportunity. I hated myself for wanting it to be Emma after all my resolve but I could hate myself later. I clicked the green button and held it to my ear impatiently.

‘Hello,’ I rushed.

Nothing. I could hear breathing and knew somebody was there but nobody spoke.

‘Hello,’ I said again, this time more urgently. The breathing got harsher.

‘Stop looking for her.’ The voice was rough and foreign, although I could tell it was being put on. It was barely louder than a whisper but the message was clear and terrifying.

I froze. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and the adrenaline shoot through me. I wanted to understand, to ask something that could help. Instead I spluttered the usual stupid response.

‘Who is this, what are you talking about...’ I started pointlessly.

‘I will say it again,’ and as he spoke I thought I heard a trace of an Eastern European accent, but I couldn’t be sure. It was certainly deep and scary.

‘Stop looking for her, stop trying to find her. We know. We are watching you. Do not test us on this. Forget she ever existed. To you she is dead. Do you understand?’

I swallowed loudly and nodded, then realised that they couldn’t see that. Or maybe they could. Are they watching me now?

‘Do you understand?’ Something in the voice made me realise I wouldn’t want to make him ask again.

‘Yes, I understand. Who are you? Where is Emma...?’

They hung up. What the hell just happened? I was out, I was moving on with my life. Now, with a sickening feeling in my stomach growing stronger by the second I knew I was back in. Whatever it took and no matter how terrifying the voice on the end of the phone was, I had to find Emma. Chapter Five

‘Can we meet where we used to play as kids?’

I was never any good at ‘hide and seek’ as a child. I always used to laugh or get bored or just forget that blending in with the background was essential and as a result would often get caught. This may go some way to explain why I was standing in a phone box, in a bright purple jumper, with the hood pulled up over my head.

After panicking last night, I tried to pull myself together. They can’t have been watching me in the house could they? I couldn’t be sure. I had no idea who ‘they’ were or what they wanted with me or Emma. I had a depressing feeling that I was involved in something far bigger than I could comprehend and knew I had to tread carefully.

A vivid imagination and the complete box set of Bond films is not a good combination for this kind of situation. I reasoned that if they were watching me somehow I would have to act normal. I reasoned further (after watching Golden Eye and Moonraker) that in order to continue my investigation I would have to become ‘stealthy’. The problem with this deduction was that ‘stealthiness’ seemed difficult to learn in a few short hours and was more like a genetic ability, which I was unlucky enough to be born without.

The basic rules I tried to follow were:

1) Act normal in the house – there could easily be bugs or cameras hidden.

2) Do not make important phone calls on either my mobile or home phone – again there could be people listening in.

3) When going out wear neutral colours and blend into the crowds.

4) Change the pace of my walking and take different routes to normal places – hopefully see if someone is following me.

5) Act as if I have moved on p my life.

Pretty ‘James Bond’ I think you’ll agree.

So where did I go wrong? Standing in this phone box, wearing the brightest piece of clothing I own... well...I panicked.

I woke up in the morning and decided I had to talk to my old friend Jack (the one who is pretty high up in the Warwickshire Police Force if you remember?) and ask his advice. As I got my mobile out I remembered basic rule number two and pondered how I could get in contact with him. I could drive up to see him but chose against it. I wanted to warn him first and see his reaction to the whole thing. Jack is a fantastic guy but to him the world is either black or white; there are no grey areas in between. What if he didn’t believe me or thought I was exaggerating my problems? I think this was why I hadn’t talked to him sooner. I had to warn to him first.

If my mobile was out of the question then what could I do? I could go and ask Sophie to borrow hers; I knew she would say yes but did