The Trawlerman, стр. 25

Eighteen

— You asked about my superpowers?

— Yes.

— I think I’ve lost them.

— Should I be sorry to hear that, or is that a good thing?

— I had another premonition last night. Same as the other time. I was out for the evening and I became absolutely convinced that something awful was going to happen.

— And did it?

— Embarrassingly, no.

— But you felt just the same as the time you saw the woman with the knife?

— Yes. You’re right. Exactly the same. It’s hard to describe. You know that thing about the hairs on the back of your neck standing up?

— Only this time there was no woman and no knife . . . ?

— Well . . . kind of. But not. There was a knife . . . but it was just a knife.

— Have you heard of the term ‘hyper-vigilance’? It’s one of the effects of trauma. When something violent happens to you it affects your sense of time. Typically, you may become unable to put what happened in the past. It’s as if it’s happening right now and you’re still in that moment. Your brain is expecting the traumatic event to happen again and again and again. You’re in a state of constant readiness to fight, or to run.

— I’m a police officer. Half my job is about predicting whether bad things are going to happen or not.

— Well . . . exactly. Like you did with the woman with the knife. Why do you think you were right the first time and not the second?

— I would have noticed her anyway, is that what you’re saying? I would have noticed her whether or not I thought something terrible was going to happen?

— What do you think?

— I think I’m probably a pretty good copper to have noticed her when everyone else didn’t.

— Yes. I think you probably are. I think you’re probably a very good copper. That’s why you’re in this mess.

— Thank you. Shame about the superpowers, though. They would have come in useful.

— How are you feeling now?

— The same.

— You feel that something terrible is about to happen?

— Something pretty bloody bad, yes. I do. And absolutely nothing I can do is going to stop it.

There had been another name on Jill’s list of investors, just like she had said. It had been Bill South’s.

‘Again. Maybe not so bad,’ Jill had said. ‘He only lost around thirteen grand.’

Alex had been shocked. ‘Not so bad? You don’t understand. That’s all the money he has now. He lost everything else. Do you think Bill knows about this yet?’

And Jill had shaken her head. ‘I knew this was going to freak you out. It’s not your fault, Alex. None of this is anything to do with you.’

But it was. Because of her, he was not a rich man. After thirty years as a police officer, he had lost his job and his entire pension the day he had been dismissed from the force.

‘I am an idiot,’ Bill said.

‘No.’

‘It’s definitely all gone?’

‘I’m afraid so, Bill. Jill says the Guatemalan government say they have never heard of Biosfera Reforestation.’

He sat down on the small weather-beaten bench at the back of his house and put his head into his hands.

‘It wasn’t just you. Ayman Younis and Terry Neill from the golf club. They both lost more than you did. Terry Neill is a Professor of Biochemistry, for God’s sake.’

‘Does Terry Neill know yet?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

‘I’m a bloody idiot,’ he said again.

She stood in front of him, an awkward witness to his humiliation, torn between wanting to be respectful and wanting to know more. In the end, she asked, ‘Who told you about the scheme?’

‘Ayman . . . Terry . . . There were a few people at the golf club who were in on it. It was a conversation in a bar. There will be more names on the list. Tell Jill to check the bank details against the membership list of the golf club. They talked about it all in, like, whispers. I remember Ayman showing me the company website on his phone. I trusted him, you know?’

‘And you put everything you had in it?’

‘I know. The scheme was going public in September. There was a limit to the size of the fund and everyone knew it would be oversubscribed, so we had to get in early or lose out. It didn’t feel like greed because it was doing something good. It sounds so obvious now, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m an idiot,’ he said for the third time.

She sat beside him on the bench in the afternoon sun and put her arm around him. ‘I’m so sorry, Bill.’

It was as if her arm wasn’t around him at all. He sat, stiff as a soldier, watching the afternoon shadows lengthen away from them.

After a while he said, ‘I wouldn’t mind being on my own.’

She took her arm away from him and stood.

‘I don’t suppose you had any more thoughts about who was on duty the night The Hopeful came in . . .’

‘Still on about that, are you?’

‘Sorry. Not the time. If there’s anything I can do. Anything.’

He didn’t answer.

Zoë came back that evening from God knows where, skin red from the sun below the sleeves of her T-shirt.

‘How many times do I have to tell you to put sunscreen on?’

‘Skin cancer usually doesn’t show up till you’re old. By 2050 a little cancer is going to be the least of our problems.’ She poured herself a glass of water. ‘What’s wrong with Bill?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I stopped by to say hello to him on my way home and he was sitting on that bench at the back of his house. He told me to go away. I think he’s angry with me about something.’

Alex