Catalyst Page 16

  ‘Yes indeed, Declan. The environmental group that hosted today’s press conference said they had been handed leaked confidential documents which proved that highly toxic waste material had been buried in a landfill site on former industrial land between Sheffield city centre and Rotherham. Some of this waste, it was alleged, was left over from the terrible Trent Coal Preparation plant fire which, you may remember, caused a major ecological emergency across a large region of Nottinghamshire back in 1984. They said that tremendously dangerous chemicals were buried secretly over a period of twenty-seven years dating back to the late 1960s and that they are still under the ground. Adding to the concern raised by these leaked documents is that this historic landfill site has been earmarked for a development of 1,200 new homes, which, the group say, would be exposing thousands of people to serious and possibly deadly health risks.’

  The camera shot panned back to reveal the man stood alongside the reporter. He was around four inches shorter than her and was standing self-consciously stiffly in a plain blue shirt buttoned all the way up to the neck. Hardstaff recognised the face. His face reddened and his knuckles whitened.

  ‘With me here is Martin Bestwick of the Sheffield Environmental Action Network. Martin, this is a shocking claim. How worried should we all be?’

  Hardstaff did not hear the response. He picked up a hefty glass paperweight, presented to him several years earlier to commemorate some notable anniversary of the Sheffield Glassblowers’ Guild, and hurled it at the TV screen, shattering it in a fizz of sparks.

  ‘I might have fucking known!’ he yelled, as smoke rose from the broken screen.

  Colin Perkins, startled by the crashing noise behind the closed door of the council leader’s office, wondered if he dared go in to find out what had caused it.

  ***

  Helena Morrison’s phone had also hardly stopped ringing for the last hour but, unlike Cranford Hardstaff, she had not taken the option of ignoring it.

  She knew, even before she answered the first call from the deputy head of Planning and Regeneration, that it had to be fairly serious for him to disturb her during a period of personal leave. As the full extent of just how serious it was dawned on her, Helena felt the blood drain from her face.

  What she had agreed to was to help gloss over concerns with the Swarbrook Hill site and though those concerns were significant enough to weigh heavily on her conscience, they were not in the same league as what she was now being told might actually lay beneath the ground. If she had known this level of danger had existed there was no way she would have agreed to go through with Cranford’s cover-up. Not at any price.

  Helena talked through tactical responses and damage limitation with the deputy and the planning committee chairman and then… Then it was obvious that she would have to go in. Personal leave or not, this was a full-blown council crisis and her leadership was needed.

  Darrell said he understood. He was fine with being left alone in the house. Of course he was. He was perfectly capable of getting around on his crutches now and did not need Helena to be there twenty-four/seven, busying herself with pointless domestic chores and attempting to drown him in cups of tea. She realised that but it did not stop her feeling oddly vulnerable again as she left him alone for only the second time in the week since they got home from the hospital. There was a certain sense of safety in them both being there in the house, shut away behind a permanently locked door, and even though she understood that it would not make the slightest difference to their chances of survival should the gunman come calling again, there was a kind of comfort in them being there, together. Their marriage had not been an especially happy one for quite a while, but Helena believed the shock of the shooting had brought them a little closer together again.

  Just as it was when she set out for the Saturday morning meeting at the Botanical Gardens with Cranford and Yuvraj, leaving Darrell alone was a wrench. Maybe part of that was because she still held herself responsible for his injuries but that was not the full story. Dormant feelings had been awakened. They were good feelings.

  Since that Saturday morning meeting at the Botanical Gardens, Helena’s affections for Yuvraj had been heading in the opposite direction. She was still cross with him for being so weak when they were meant to present a united front in standing up to Cranford. He had left her with no alternative but to allow the council leader one more chance to put the situation right his way, even though doing so was against her better judgement.

  And what of that? It certainly didn’t seem as if Cranford had the situation back under control. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

  That made her even more angry with Yuvraj but his was the first number she called as soon as she set out in the car for the council offices at the town hall. They needed to talk.

  He was already waiting for her in the Peace Gardens, huddled into a large overcoat and sitting on a bench. Though it was bitterly cold, it was better that they met outside. They did not want to take a chance on being overheard.

  Yuvraj rose when he saw her walking briskly towards him and, when she was close, he instinctively moved to embrace her. With the slightest of moves, she backed away enough to make him realise that would not be a good idea. It was important they were neither seen nor heard.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, tentatively, and she returned the greeting with a glimmer of a smile. ‘How much have you heard?’

  Helena, standing still for the first time since she had finally managed to find a parking space, felt the judder of a shiver down her spine.

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘It’s a shit show,’ added Yuvraj, watching to make sure a young woman pushing a pram, the only other person in the gardens, was not heading their way.

  ‘Have you heard from Cranford?’ she asked. He shook his head.

  ‘We can’t rely on him to get us out of this mess. We have to watch our own backs and we have to be careful in case Cranford tries to pin part of this on us, don’t you agree?’

  Yuvraj shrugged and that made her cross again. She needed more than that.

  ‘How much do you think Cranford knew?’ she said.

  He puffed his cheeks, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Yuvraj, talk to me, will you? We’re already far too deep in this mess and that’s when we only thought there were a few higher-than-normal readings and worries about what happens if the old mine workings are disturbed. This is a whole new level of dangerous now and if it’s suggested we knew all this poisonous waste was on the site and that we were prepared to conceal that from the public in return for a bribe from the developers – well, I don’t even want to think about what might happen to us then, to be honest. If it ever gets out how much we were complicit in the cover-up we are going to be left wide open to being roped in as part of a huge, horrible conspiracy and it will be impossible to make anybody believe we didn’t know the full truth. At the very least we’d lose everything, and we might be looking at going to prison for a very long time. We cannot allow that to happen. It’s up to you and me to get ourselves out of this mess now because if Cranford knew everything and they are able to prove that, we could be in serious trouble. I don’t think we can trust Cranford to protect us if they come for him and so we need to get one thing clear from the start – we have to find out how much Cranford knew.’

  Yuvraj listened, increasingly edgy and agitated. He could not meet the challenge in her desperate glare. He could not face her. He turned away and lifted his head to gaze towards the dismal grey skies.

  ‘Talk to me!’ she demanded. ‘We have to get this right.’

  He reached to wrap his hands around the back of his head. The pounding pressure within it felt ready to burst free.

  ‘He knew.’

  Helena was momentarily stunned. ‘What?’

  ‘He knew,’ Yuvraj repeated. ‘Everything.’

  She stared at him, disbelieving. How could Cranford do this? She felt dizzy and lowered herself on to the bench seat, bending forward and bre
athing heavily to stem the rising anxiety that was squeezing her heart. For all three of them to be caught up in something that was worse than they imagined was one thing but for one of their number to knowingly mislead…

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Suddenly, she realised. His certainty.

  Yuvraj, in torment, paced and cupped his hands to his face.

  ‘You knew as well.’ She could see it now. An eerie calmness enveloped her. As awful as it was, they had arrived at the truth.

  He had no will to conceal it anymore. That would be pointless. He nodded.

  ‘You knew. Both of you knew what was down there and you lied to me. You told me that all we were doing was to not set any unnecessary alarm bells ringing, that all the problems with the site could be resolved and that by helping the planning application get through committee we would be doing the right thing in the long run because the project would be so good for the city. You told me it was all right for us to take the developer’s money because no harm would come of it and it would give us the chance to make a new life together. Even when our lives were put in danger – Darrell was shot, you had a gun pointed at you – even then you didn’t tell me the truth. Even then, you preserved the lie and stood by Cranford instead of explaining the full, ghastly seriousness of what was really happening.’

  ‘I was protecting you,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Protecting me! You drew me into a conspiracy which could have put the long-term health of thousands of innocent people at risk and you say you were protecting me! You were using me, Yuvraj. You needed me to see your sordid despicable plan through to the end and you were so blinded by greed that you didn’t stop to consider the position you were putting me in for a moment. Protecting me!’

  ‘It was better for you that you didn’t know the full truth. That way you would not have been so seriously implicated if it ever–‘

  ‘Oh, thank you so very much, Yuvraj! I’m sure that would make the police look at my part in this in a completely different light. Do you think I’m stupid? Are you that stupid? You’re a man of science. You’re the senior scientific officer for the city, for fuck’s sake – you’re supposed to keep the people safe from the sort of danger you were deliberately exposing them to by agreeing to be a part of this whole appalling business. How can you sleep at night?’

  He sank on to the bench now and Helena instantly stood, unable to tolerate being so close. She wanted to scream. Or hit him. Or both.

  ‘Could you really have started a new life with me, knowing what you’d done? Knowing that you’d lied to me from the start. Could you have lived with your conscience? Do you even have a conscience?’

  She circled around him, ready to strike.

  ‘Did you even love me at all?’

  He wailed and slumped, burying his head in shame.

  ‘Of course I love you. I did all this for us.’

  She gazed at him scornfully, loathing in her eyes.

  ‘I don’t believe you. I could never believe you again. If we get through this without being thrown in prison – if – I never want to see your miserable face again, do you hear me? We’re finished. Goodbye, Yuvraj.’

  Helena stomped towards the town hall. She had a job to do.

  21

  In the dream, Beth had been wandering around a strange building so real she could almost reach out and run her fingers over the rough texture of the old brickwork as she turned corner after corner on to corridor after corridor that led nowhere. She was desperate to pee but could not find anywhere to go. Doing it there and then was not an option because there were so many people about and it was bad enough that they might all realise she was still in her nightclothes. There had to be a room off one of these corridors. If not a bathroom, any room where she could just squat in a corner and…

  Her eyes opened. She was in bed, immersed in the soft warmth of the duvet, with her knees drawn up as another wave of pain from her achingly full bladder demanded her urgent attention. Beth curled her body a little tighter until the discomfort rolled through. Though she knew the solution was simple and far more easily achievable than it had been in her dream, she could not face having to give up the soothing comfort of her cosy sanctuary just yet.

  It was the only thing that felt right at that moment. Without it, all that would be left would be the clammy rumble of impending rebellion from her stomach and bowel, the taste of dry bile in the back of her throat, the furry numbness of her tongue as it attempted to revive her cracked lips and the rhythmic throbbing in her head which beat with each deafening surge of blood pumped by her overworked heart.

  It had been a good night.

  Unable to face the prospect of another night in alone, Beth had called Cassie, one of her oldest friends. It turned out that they both lately lamented the loss of their wild days. Not the ones where they pushed the stakes so far that they teetered on the brink of oblivion but the ones where they still believed they were indestructible. When they revelled in the notoriety of playing harder than anyone else and set out to stack their reputations higher and higher all the time, at every opportunity, never realising that what they were building was always destined to come crashing down around them one day. Back then, they didn’t care. It was just having fun.

  That was why they decided to meet up, that night, straight away. Beth changed, touched up her makeup while she waited for the cab to arrive and launched herself into the past. They hit every city centre bar they fancied, led on and then brutally put down every man who foolishly thought they might win favour for the price of a few drinks and had not stopped drinking until after two in the morning. It was reckoning time now, but it had been worth it.

  Another cramping stab in her abdomen convinced Beth there was no choice but to emerge from the duvet this time and, with a great surge of willpower, she was out and on her feet. She picked up her phone to check the time. Eight minutes to one. She also saw that there had been two missed calls, both from the school. It was too late to call them back now and they would have figured out for themselves she was not going to turn up to work. It was not the first time she had been a no-show. Words might be said this time – but who cares?

  While she sat on the toilet, she sipped at water from the glass she usually stood her toothbrush in, trying to supress the urge to throw up. The faint trace of mintiness was not helping, in truth. Still, she filled the glass again, after relieving her strained bladder, and walked groggily back to her side of the bed to seek out paracetamol. The recovery process was under way.

  Did it always used to feel this bad in the morning? Possibly not. She was out of practice, but she had proved she could still do it. She smiled to herself, recalling blurry impressions of the previous night, and reached for her phone again.

  God I feel like shit! Let’s do that again soon. How ru?

  The text to Cassie whooshed away and Beth put the phone on the bed beside her, waiting for a reply, waiting for the storm in her guts to move on, waiting for the paracetamol to kick in.

  She shivered. It was cold out of bed. She contemplated climbing back in but decided she might be better off staying up, now she had done the hard bit. Her clothes from last night lay discarded in a pile on the bedroom floor. She could not face dealing with them. Instead, she pushed herself back to her feet, opened the bottom drawer of her wardrobe and took out a thick green jumper.

  Coffee. She needed coffee.

  Beth aimed for the door, then edged shakily, carefully down the stairs.

  Wesley was in his favourite armchair in the front room, reading. It was one of those historical biographies he was always ordering. He had on his thick-rimmed reading glasses. She reckoned he only read those big, hefty volumes because he thought they made him look clever. He ignored her as she weaved across the room to the sofa in front of the TV. Neither of them said a word. That wasn’t unusual these days. They had an unspoken agreement to not speak much and it suited them both.

  Beth slumped dramatically into the sofa with an intentionally audible exhale of
air, stared into space for a few moments and grabbed the TV remote control off the chair arm, pointing it at the set and pressing the power button.

  Loose Women. That’ll do nicely. Wesley hated it. It would really piss him off. She turned up the volume.

  He remained still, unmoved, in his chair, focusing only on the book, determined not to give her the pleasure of knowing she was getting under his skin.

  Beth could, nonetheless, feel the rising heat of his annoyance. If she got up now to make coffee and left the TV playing to itself for a while, he would be bound to bite eventually.

  But her phone rang. Maybe it was Cassie, calling to recap some of the previous night’s highlights. It wasn’t. The name on the screen said Darrell.

  ‘Hi Darrell.’ Her voice was croaky.

  ‘Hey babe.’ His was low and deep, as usual. She turned down the TV volume. This would be much better. ‘Can you talk?’ he added.

  ‘Yeah, I can talk.’ Surely her husband’s interest was engaged now. ‘How’s your foot?’

  Beth was, by now, convinced Wesley had nothing to do with the assault but she checked his reaction as she said the words, all the same. Not a flicker.

  ‘Hurts like hell but I’ll be OK. Are you on lunch?’

  She lay back and ran her fingers through her short orange hair and curled her legs up on to the sofa.

  ‘Nah, I gave myself the day off.’

  They allowed a moment of silence to pass between them.

  ‘Perfect. Helena’s gone out. She said she’d be out all afternoon. Some kind of crisis summit at the council. I was hoping you would come over. We’d have the house to ourselves. I want you to make me feel better. My body needs you. It’s been the longest time without you.’