Everyone stared when Marina entered the bar.
She looked round, eyes adapting to the sudden gloom after the brightness outside. The pub was rough and unadorned. It hadn’t fallen on hard times; it had never seen good times. As shadows took substance, she realised that clientele and surroundings were perfectly matched. A handful of men, all watching her. Eyes hard, wary. Items were swiftly swiped from tabletops, hands quickly disappearing underneath. She had been sized up and immediately identified as an outsider. Someone official and unwelcome. Social services. Probation. Police. Or just some wild-haired madwoman wandered in.
She felt like a lone gunslinger entering a Western saloon. If there had been a piano, it would have stopped playing.
Swallowing down nervousness, hoping it wouldn’t crystallise into fear, she walked up to the bar. Placed her hands on the counter. Found it sticky and took them away again.
The barman was big, middle-aged, like an ex-boxer turned to fat. His face was red and badly repaired, his head bald and sweating. He wore a faded Hawaiian shirt over supermarket jeans, and leaned against the till, arms crossed and unmoving. Waiting to see what she wanted and what his customers would do about it. His eyes were hard and flint-like, two sharp stones in a face of red mud. They never left her.
I have to front this, she thought. I have to do it. A mental image of Josephina’s face flashed before her. I can do it. She looked directly at him.
‘I’m looking for Tyrell.’ Her voice came out stronger than expected. She wished the rest of her could match it, and forced her eyes to lock on to his.
The pub had been silent to start with. Now, if anything, it became even quieter. The only sound was the babbling of the Sky Sports presenter on an old, heavy black TV set, tucked away in the corner.
No one paid him any attention. All eyes were on Marina.
She tried again. ‘Tyrell. Is he here?’
The barman’s eyes focused away from her, on someone or something behind her. She turned. Had he been looking at one of the drinkers in the bar? If so, which one? All of them were affecting not to look at her.
She turned back to the barman. ‘Tyrell.’
He found his voice. ‘No one here by that name.’ His voice matched his frame, big and ugly.
Marina felt desperation well within her. ‘Please.’ Her voice caught. ‘Tyrell. Is Tyrell here? I must— please … ’
He leaned on the bar and looked at her. She could see the sweat, feel the heat coming off him. ‘And I said there’s no one here by that name.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, the words out before she could stop them. The barman’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘You’re lying to me.’
He stared at her, lost for words. Then a smile spread over his features. ‘Am I, now?’
Marina felt suddenly embarrassed by her outburst. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I was … I was sent to meet someone called Tyrell. He’s supposed to be here. He … ’ She sighed. ‘He must be here.’
‘Listen, love. I know everyone in this bar, and there’s no one called Tyrell here.’
She looked round the bar, scanned every face she saw, looking for truth, a human lie detector. No one was giving anything away. They were either watching the TV or finding their drinks fascinating. One, small and middle-aged, poorly dressed, was staring at Canvey Island through the bar’s tiny, cell-like window like he had never seen it before. They were stuck between wanting to be seen to help a damsel in distress and not wanting to get involved with the madwoman having a meltdown in front of them. She turned back to the barman. ‘Please, there must be … ’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry, love, can’t help you.’
Marina looked round the bar once more. She had never felt so helpless. All her training, her professionalism had gone out of the window. She had squandered whatever advantage she had by her outburst. She ran a hand through her hair and wished Phil was with her. They wouldn’t have lied, wouldn’t have held out on him. They wouldn’t have dared. She decided to give it one last shot. She had nothing to lose.
Her voice dropped so only the barman could hear. She swung her gaze back on him once more. ‘Look. Tyrell is here. He must be here because I was told he was. I have to meet him. It’s very important that I speak to him. Very important. So please let me know which one he is so I can talk to him. Then I’ll not bother you any more. Please.’
‘Listen, darlin’, I would if I could. But I can’t. There ain’t no one here called Tyrell. I don’t know no Tyrell.’ He shrugged as if that was the end of the matter. ‘So there you go.’
Marina felt impotent anger rise within her. The image of Josephina was fading away, hope of finding her going along with it. She made one last attempt. ‘You’re lying. You must be. It’s important. I need to find Tyrell. Please. You have to help me.’
‘I ain’t got to do anythin’, darlin’. ’Cept run this pub.’ He gestured to the meagre display of optics behind him. ‘Gin and tonic?’
She shook her head.
‘Then I think you’d better leave.’
Marina didn’t know where to look, what to think or feel. Or what to do next.
Love Will Tear Us Apart. Her phone. She took it out of her bag, answered it.
‘Step outside,’ the voice said.
Marina did so. The light, the sun and the warmth hit her immediately, causing her to squint. She had forgotten it was still daylight.
‘Well, is Tyrell there?’ the voice said. ‘Have you met him?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘The barman said there was no one there called Tyrell.’
The voice laughed. ‘Quite right too. There isn’t.’
Marina frowned. ‘What?’
‘It was a test. To see if you could follow instructions. Do as you’re told, don’t tell anyone and don’t get tailed. And you can. Good girl.’
Emotions welled once more. Anger. Unease. Desperation. Swirling around, turning her head into a vortex. ‘Where is she?’
No reply.
‘Where is she?’
‘You’ll see her. When you’ve done what we need you to do.’
‘But when will—’
‘We’ll be in touch,’ the voice said.
‘What?’ Marina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. If the phone went dead, she feared that all hope of seeing her daughter went with it. ‘You can’t do this. Please. I did what you asked for, please … ’
‘You’ve done well so far. Don’t spoil it.’
The phone went silent in her hand. She looked round, up and down the street. Checked doorways, passers-by. No one else was about. No one was on the phone.
She was completely alone.