A truthful man, p.15
A Truthful Man, page 15
“No.” He shook his head.
“But you look a lot like him,” she persisted.
“Coincidence.”
“If you say so.” She looked unconvinced and picked up the rest of his breakfast things without offering him a second cup of coffee.
So much for anonymity. Mark went upstairs and packed his things, then told Mrs. Bothart that he had a family emergency and needed to leave a day early. Looking relieved, she readily refunded the third night’s money.
He sat in his car, wondering where he could go without being recognised. If somewhere this out of the way wasn’t safe, then nowhere would be.
He wasn’t ready to face the storm brewing back home, and desperately wanted to remain away until the last possible moment.
He decided to take the long route south, travelling on minor roads and stopping at tiny overnight places, in the hope that no one else would spot his similarity with the criminal on the news.
The kids hadn’t called – for sure Mary had turned them against him. A crushing loneliness overcame him.
He thought about Father James, ousted from office yet beloved by his ex-parishioners, who were fighting his corner. Unlike Mark, the priest was on God’s good side and it was paying off.
Travelling back and forth to Keswick almost daily, Mark had noticed a little Church of England chapel along the shores of Derwent Water.
Perhaps it was time to pay a visit to the Creator of translucent rabbit ears and put in a word or two on his own behalf.
*
Ten minutes later he was kneeling in the back pew of the ancient stone building, afraid to raise his eyes towards the large wooden cross hanging over the altar.
He wanted forgiveness, but how was he going to get it? Everyone hated him.
He mouthed a prayer asking God to show him the way out of this mess.
Mark walked out of the chapel shortly after, unsure that God had listened to a single word, yet clinging to the hope that He would quickly help him.
An unfamiliar Ruddminster area number rang on his mobile; it must be Mr. Tibbett, and he answered with a sinking heart as he got into his car.
“Mr. Boulder? This is Ronald Tibbett. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes.”
“The police are looking for you, and I strongly advise you to go into the nearest station right away.
“You will be arrested, but they’ll release you on bail after charging you. Call me when you get back out.”
Arrested?
Stunned, Mark hunted in his SatNav for the directions to Keswick Police Station.
*
It was dark outside when he left Cumbria Police custody.
They had been perfectly polite, but the whole experience was mortifying.
He’d been searched, had his wallet, watch, belt and car keys taken away, and been put into a cold cell. Then interviewed and shown the charge sheet detailing his crimes.
It was a long list – they hadn’t missed anything.
Finally, he was released on bail and given back his possessions.
The conditions of his freedom were that he live at his house in Dartleigh until his court date (Mary was going to love that) and hand in his passport at Ruddminster Police Station by Friday.
Also, he may not spend a single night outside the County of Devon and must report to Ruddminster Police Station once a week in person until his hearing at the magistrates’ court.
Since it was late, he was allowed to spend one night en route before returning home, but must call Keswick Police Station to let them know where he was. A squad car may come round to verify his location.
Would the humiliation never end?
Mr. Tibbett, whom he called immediately afterwards, told him that the magistrates’ court hearing was only the first step. Due to the severe nature of his crimes, he would be tried later in Crown Court.
If he obeyed the restrictions placed on him, there was a good chance his bail would be renewed after the hearing until his trial.
“You mean, if it isn’t, I could languish in prison for months?”
Who would visit him? No one.
“Calm down, Mr. Boulder and just follow the conditions of your bail.”
Mark found a cheap motel close to the M6 and called the Keswick Police to give his location.
He was grateful when no panda car appeared outside to embarrass him.
Wednesday, 6th March
By 6 o’clock the next morning, he was placing his suitcase in the BMW and debating whether to go back inside for his ‘free’ breakfast. He thought better of it and stopped at an eatery just off the motorway, an hour into his trip home.
He had the full works, which would keep him going until he reached Dartleigh.
Before setting off again, he looked inside the centre console for a cloth to wipe the condensation off the inside of his windscreen. He pulled out a large yellow duster and something fell onto the floor under the brake pedal.
He reached down to pick it up.
It was the rosary his daughter had given him for his last birthday. The beads were sapphire, his September birthstone. Was this a sign from above?
Fine, God, I’ll do it! But I warn you, I don’t remember all the prayers.
Mark made the Sign of the Cross and recalled that, being Wednesday, he ought to recite the Glorious Mysteries, when Christ rose from the dead. But he wasn’t feeling glorious.
I hope you don’t mind, but I’m more in the mood for the Sorrowful ones.
He had trouble remembering the Apostles’ Creed at the start of the rosary, but knew the other prayers and hoped he was getting the order of the Mysteries right.
Five decades of the Rosary didn’t make up for the missed Masses, but surely, they would earn him some Brownie points with God?
*
Four hours later, as he turned into his driveway, his throat constricted when the remote opened the garage door. He was not looking forward to seeing his wife.
Predictably, Mary was annoyed when he explained his bail conditions. “How long will you be staying here?”
“I can’t say. I imagine the hearing in magistrates’ court will be pretty soon, but afterwards I’ll be out on bail again, waiting for my arraignment at the Crown Court.”
“Crown Court?” Her eyes widened. “Then what?”
“I live here until my trial.”
“So, you’re going to be tried in front of a jury?”
“Unless I plead guilty.”
“Are you going to do that?”
“I don’t see any alternative. I have to talk to my solicitor again.”
Mary scowled. “You could be living here for months, then?”
“Yes. But it is my home, too, don’t forget.”
“You forfeited your home when you decided to play nasty tricks on everyone, Mark.”
“We’ll just have to make the best of it.”
Her eyes were hostile. “I already told you, I can’t live under the same roof with you.”
“What do you propose then?”
“I’m calling Robert.”
*
She made him his last supper. While he ate it, she was in their bedroom packing two large suitcases.
Bishop Marsden had room for her at his palace and invited her to stay there indefinitely. But she also planned to visit the children.
After refusing Mark’s offer to put the cases in her Volvo, her parting shot was, “Enjoy the house while you can, Mark, before you lose it.”
He shut the side door to the garage and leaned back against it with a sigh of relief. No more snide comments – and he could sleep in his own bed again.
He grabbed a bottle of red wine from the rack to keep him company for the evening.
Thursday, 7th March
He woke up with a sore head the next day. It took two strong coffees before he could summon enough courage to call the office, after seeing online that his company’s stock had plummeted even farther.
Gustav told Mark that Boulder Enterprises would probably go into administration and management would be taken over by an insolvency practitioner. If the company couldn’t be rescued, the business would be broken up and the proceeds distributed to creditors, most of whom were the employees. “Since you’re not here, I had to get legal advice on the company’s behalf myself.”
Mark ignored the man’s petulant tone. “Do the staff know about this?”
“Not yet, sir. But you need to come and talk to them. They’re really worried about their jobs.”
Mark was afraid of being mugged if he went into the office. “Let’s do a video conference with everyone this afternoon. Can you arrange that?”
Gustav’s voice was strained. “I’ll send you the link when it’s been set up.”
The Swede organised the meeting for 1 p.m.
Mark was tempted to start drinking beforehand, but appearing drunk would only increase the employees’ ire. He needed to keep his mind clear – although he had no idea what he was going to tell them.
During the conference, his staff hurled invectives, calling him a coward and a swindler and telling him he should be in jail. Gustav tried to keep the conversation civilised, but there was no holding back the collective anger.
Then a man from accounting said the fatal words, “I hear the company is going into administration. What does that mean for all of us?”
This brought on a renewed spate of insults, and Gustav closed down the session for everyone except him and a grateful Mark.
Gustav said, “It looks as if administration means we all lose our jobs. The staff won’t be happy.”
“Let me look into that. This is new information for me, too. I’ll call you when I’ve spoken to my solicitor and we’ll put together an official message for the staff.”
His next unpleasant task was to stop in at the Ruddminster Police Station and hand over his passport to the Devon & Cornwall Constabulary.
“See you next Thursday,” the uniform behind the desk said amiably.
Mark managed a return smile and walked out, hoping no one he knew would see him, and doing his best not to look like a criminal.
On the way home, he called Mr. Tibbett. “What do you know about administration? I need to know the implications for my staff.”
“I’ll add that to my list of items to research.” Ronald Tibbett coughed. “Now I need to let you know what this means for you.”
By the time their phone conversation was over, Mark understood all too clearly what awaited him. After paying the fines and repaying moneys he owed to the seniors he’d robbed, he would be bankrupt.
Mark Boulder, founder of Boulder Enterprises, was poised to lose his house and his car, as well as his job and end up with nothing except the proverbial shirt on his back. And hopefully his trousers, too, he thought wryly.
His life was in ruins, as were his friendships and he had no one to turn to.
St. Peter’s words came to him, when the disciples were deserting Jesus en masse because of His teaching on the Eucharist. Jesus asked the twelve apostles if they, too, were going to leave?
Simon Peter said: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Baby Mark
Saturday, 9th March
Rita sat nervously in the front pew of St. Jude, wearing a black coat, and a black veil draped over her blonde hair.
Father James was by her side, patting her on the arm. “You’ll be fine.”
It was 10 o’clock on Saturday morning, and the church was rapidly filling with villagers paying their respects to the unknown baby whose life had come to a premature end.
Rebecca had asked Rita’s permission to open this ceremony to everyone. When the grieving mother had baulked at the idea of their knowing what she’d done, Rebecca told her she wasn’t the only woman in the area who regretted her abortion. By allowing a public funeral she’d be doing a service to other mothers, who were consumed with guilt and silently mourning their loss. Her example would inspire them to come forward and arrange for their own unborn children to be acknowledged before God.
Now, as she heard the seats filling up behind her, Rita wished she hadn’t agreed.
She glanced at the tiny coffin on a trestle next to her in the aisle. On top rested the few things she’d bought for baby Mark when she discovered she was pregnant. A white hooded snowsuit, a minute pair of yellow knitted socks and a blue woollen hat. He was due in September, when the weather turned cold, and would have needed the warm clothes.
The items reminded her of what would never be. After the service, they would be placed in the coffin and buried in the cemetery, where a headstone would later mark the spot.
She bowed her head to hide her welling tears from Father James.
The first few notes of ‘Abide with Me’ played on the organ and she stood up, shaking. The priest’s reassuring arm gripped her elbow and together they sang the first two verses.
The funeral Mass had begun.
Rita had been given the choice of reading her chosen Bible excerpts. But she knew she wouldn’t manage and had asked Father Gregory to take her place.
He read from the book of Lamentations and her heart broke all over again. Her soul, too, was bereft of peace and she had forgotten what happiness was.
She sat floundering in the misery of irreparable loss and Father James handed her a tissue.
Then, Father Gregory recited Psalm 25, reminding her that those who hope in the Lord will not be disappointed.
Rita squared her shoulders, telling herself to be brave for the sake of her baby boy. She needed strength to read her tribute to little Mark after Mass.
She was filled with gratitude to the villagers who’d come here to help her heal. She felt unworthy of their kindness, yet knew something good was coming out of the evil she’d perpetrated. Perhaps God truly had forgiven her?
But her grief quickly returned during the Eucharistic Prayer when Father Gregory asked God “to give baby Mark kind admittance to His kingdom.”
She struggled for composure as she went up to Communion and offered it for her son, numbly hoping God would accept it.
Mass ended and Father Gregory followed the final prayer with the announcement, “Rita would now like to say a few words.”
He took his seat on the left of the altar and she walked up to the pulpit.
By some miracle, she read her short speech without breaking down, and concluded by saying, “Thank you all for coming here today and supporting me in my grief, even though I’m an outsider and a complete stranger. You are now all invited to attend the committal at the grave.”
“Wait!” a voice shouted from the back of the church. Rita looked up to see Mark Boulder.
She stared in disbelief as he made his way up the aisle, saying, “I want to say a few words, too, please.”
He stopped by the coffin and touched the tiny booties.
Father Gregory stood up and made his way to the altar steps with raised palm. “Stop.” He turned to Rita. “Are you comfortable with him speaking? If you want, I can ask him to leave.”
Rita felt dizzy. What was Mark doing here? Part of her wanted him to go away – the other wanted to hear what he had to say.
He looked at her. “Please let me say something, Rita.”
Why should I? You didn’t listen to me when I wanted to keep our baby!
“Rita?” nudged Father Gregory.
She glanced at Father James, who mouthed a single word, ‘forgiveness.’
With reluctance, she nodded.
“Thank you,” he said.
As she came past him down the altar steps, he repeated, “Thank you, and God bless you.”
She didn’t react and took her seat.
“Well done, my dear!” whispered Father James.
But Rita already regretted her decision.
Mark stood at the pulpit, surveying the villagers and hesitating.
“Did you want to say something?” Father Gregory prodded.
“Yes, Father, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m amazed to see so many people here.
“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Mark Boulder and I am – was – the father of baby Mark whom you are honouring today.”
There was a collective gasp.
“Yes, I know, I have a lot of gall coming here today. It’s thanks to me that Rita was pushed into ending the life of our son.
“Not only did I not support her desire to keep our baby, but I didn’t let her tell anyone about him, and made her go to the abortion clinic by herself.”
Sitting behind Rita, Rebecca leaned forward to squeeze her shoulder.
Mark continued. “I also offered her money to keep quiet about the abortion, because I’m a married man.”
“You bastard!” yelled one woman.
“Be quiet, Ethel!” hissed her husband.
“You’re absolutely right,” said Mark, “I am a bastard.”
But at least you didn’t tell everyone I accepted the bribe, thought Rita.
He looked straight at her. “I know you can’t forgive me, Rita, but please know that I am sincerely sorry. I also beg baby Mark’s forgiveness.
“Thank you for listening, and God bless you all for supporting Rita and paying your respects to a little boy you never met.”
No one said a word as Mark bowed to the altar and descended the steps.
Rita watched him touch the coffin again, then walk down the aisle and out of the church.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: At the Graveside
Saturday, March 9th
“Are you alright?” Father James asked Rita. “I’d like to see if I can catch up with Mark.”
“Go ahead,” she said, “I’ll be fine.”
The recessional hymn was beginning as Father James left in pursuit of the deceased baby’s father.
Mark’s stooped figure was passing under the lychgate on the way to the car park.
“Wait!” called the priest.
Mark turned and Father James hurried over to him. “Come back! You can’t just walk away. You need to talk to Rita.”
