Someone I Knew

By M T Fairhurst

As Alex McKinnon prepares to move house he’s unaware how fast his life is about to move too. He and his brother, investigative journalist Fraser, are close, but Alex has one secret Fraser has never guessed. Who is RB from Alex’s past? Surely one of their mutual friends, the Baxters, but which one of this large Italian-Scots family is it?
The Baxters also find family secrets are all coming out at once. Rita’s marriage to rising political star James McLaren is being interfered with by his new associates, but just how much hold do they have over James? Meanwhile photographer Stuart is back from Afghanistan and wondering if he can ever get back the love of his life. For parents Rosa and Bob it’s a stressful time too – not only are their eldest children struggling with their relationships, but twin daughters Ros and Rhona have had their share of recent troubles too. What none of the family could begin to guess is how these will intertwine in a bigger picture which involves the McKinnons, but rallying behind them are younger siblings Rowan and Ruaridh and some formidable Italian aunts!
And lurking in the shadows is political king-maker Harry Sinclair. He thinks all he has to worry about is Rita McLaren upsetting the apple cart, but he’s not counted on how dangerous the men are whom he’s associating with. Having a ‘fixer’ like Jim Delaney at his beck-and-call seems merely useful at first, but the Russian financier Sinclair is caught up with has a ‘fixer’ of his own, and when Delaney begins to find out just how deep Sinclair is in with them, even he gets worried! It’s one thing to send an informant to a watery grave in the river, but Delaney is determined he’ll come out of this in one piece. As Harry’s partner and his own wife both begin to see the cracks appearing around him, it’s left to his son to step up in the family business, but Giles has another agenda and it doesn’t include his father.
So when Fraser’s digging with the help of his employee and friend Charlie begin to expose things which others want kept buried, the impact on both his family and the Baxters threatens to overwhelm them. Yet the ties of family run deep amongst the Baxters, and Alex and Fraser have been friends with all of them for long enough to be held dear by them. When Alex pays a high price for his brother’s digging, the Baxters stand beside them, and some people discover that a family united can be a formidable thing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M T Fairhurst
• Release date: Feb 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311499028

M T Fairhurst

M. T. Fairhurst comes from an English and Italian family living in the UK, who keep life interesting! After a variety of jobs which have provided a good deal of insight into people and how they behave, the opportunity arose to begin writing all the stories which had been backing up waiting to be used. This first novel explores family loyalties against a background of Scotland, which is somewhere the author has a long-standing fascination with.

Book preview

SOMEONE I KNEW

M. T. Fairhurst

Published by M. T Fairhurst

Copyright 2014

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase additional copies. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~***~~~

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank some special people who helped me write my first proper book.

My sister Liz and my niece Naomi, who read all the variations of the story and constantly encouraged me to continue.

To my son Glynn for encouragement and for telling me I could do this.

And my friend L J Hutton, author of several books including The Islands Quartet and The Rune House. Thank you very much for the advice and help, both verbal and practical, and the occasional sharp elbow to keep me working.

I would not have completed the work without you all.

~~~***~~~

Table of Contents

Thursday AM

Thursday PM

Friday AM

Friday evening

Saturday

Saturday PM

Sunday-Thursday

Friday-Sunday

Monday-Friday

September

October-January

~~~***~~~

Someone you know?

Looking down at the man lying on the pavement, PC Amanda Burns was sure he was someone she knew. He looked so familiar, and surely she wouldn’t have forgotten a face like that. She just couldn’t place him at the moment.

‘Did anyone see what happened?’ Her colleague Andy Gifford was trying to collect information while they waited for the ambulance or paramedics.

They had covered the man with a blanket from the squad car and someone had kindly made him a pillow out of a rolled up jacket.

Amanda bent down to study him. The old man, Andrew, said it looked like the man had been stabbed. His breathing was erratic and he was as pale as death. She was not even sure if the ambulance would get here in time.

~~~***~~~

July Thursday Mid-Day

The Flat Glasgow

‘Who’s RB?’

What the..?

The initials struck Alex like a blow. Was she reading his mind? For almost a year he had been trying to forget something. Something that, really, he wanted to remember forever, along with the person those initials belonged to. In the past few weeks he had been able to think of nothing else.

‘RB?’ Shaken, he looked up at her from where he was kneeling on his living room floor. ‘I’m sorry… what?’

‘I said, who’s RB?’ she repeated, flicking her long red hair impatiently. ‘It’s on the card tied up with this bundle of letters.’ Her pale eyes flashed a look that warned of another string of questions she had no right to ask. ‘So? Are you going to tell me then?’

‘Oh… er, yes.’ Alex pushed his fingers through his thick blonde hair, trying to gather his thoughts. ‘Just someone I knew once,’ he said finally, not looking at her. ‘Someone I knew when I was over in Stirling, at uni. It’s not important.’ Surely anyone could hear what a lie that was.

Lynn glowered. ‘Well, I would have thought she was more than just someone you knew. You’ve kept her letters all in a nice little bundle. Why did you do that if she wasn’t important?’

Why indeed, he wondered. Self-torture was extremely perverse behaviour.

‘I didn’t particularly keep them. I’d forgotten they were there, that’s all,’ he lied again casually, not wanting to face the almost inevitable argument.

‘Fine then. If they’re not that important I’ll throw them away shall I?’ She silently challenged him to object.

‘Whatever you want,’ he mumbled. ‘They’re only a bunch of old letters.’ He turned away to hide his annoyance at her probing a part of his past where he didn’t want any intruders, and to hide the hurt he was feeling again.

So? Why had he kept the letters? Good question.

Another one was why had he come back to Glasgow?

Alright, he had got a wonderful job lecturing in history at Glasgow University now, and yes, he would have done it for nothing, he enjoyed it so much. But the job had not been his main reason for returning to his home city in the first place. Really, if he was being truthful he would admit that he was only running away from the past. Not that it had done him any good. No matter how much he tried to distance himself from it he was always aware of it. In fact, he had actually come back to the original source of it. Now these letters had seemingly jumped out on him to remind him again. And then there was this party tomorrow...

‘Hey, Lynn, nip down to Pietro’s for some coffee and something to eat, would you? Must be your turn.’

A slightly taller version of Alex stood in the bedroom doorway. Just for a moment he had forgotten that his brother was there too, helping with the flat move.

‘Oh yes, I think it is,’ she agreed smugly. ‘I’ll drop this lot in the bin place on my way. No point in hanging on to old rubbish.’

Alex watched as she dropped the letters into the bin bag they’d been filling. Perhaps he was being a bit over sensitive, but there seemed something almost cruel about it.

‘Oh no, don’t take that yet. There’s loads more room in it.’ Fraser’s large square rugby player’s hand took the bag from Lynn as he swapped it for one he’d been using. ‘There’s one I’ve finished with. Thanks.’ There was an impish sparkle in his grey-green eyes that Alex recognised. It was Fraser’s Are you asking for trouble? look. He was smiling false sweetness at her frosty glare. He’d never pretended to like her.

‘Fine,’ she snapped, pressing her shapely lips into a straight line. ‘I’ll be back in a while.’

The door slammed behind her and, in the startled silence it left, Alex felt Fraser’s hand on his shoulder.

‘Am I right in thinking you’ll want to keep these then?’ He held out the letters.

Alex stared. ‘Why did you take them out again?’ But it was not a reproachful question.

‘Well, you know, it seemed to me like they were more important than you were letting on.’

‘Oh? What made you think that then?’ Alex realised it sounded weak as Fraser gave him a sideways look. He sighed. ‘OK, I know. You’re an investigative journalist. You don’t miss anything. It’s your stock in trade. You’re a bloody pain in the arse, etcetera.’

Fraser nodded satisfaction as Alex listed all the things he’d been told by his older brother over the years. ‘There. We understand each other.’ He smiled mischievously and stretched his six foot two inch frame like a contented cat. ‘And I’m right as well, aren’t I?’ There was a small pause as he became serious again. ‘What I don’t get is why you let Lynn walk all over you.’

It was becoming an issue, and Alex knew his brother was genuinely concerned. He shrugged. ‘She’s not always like it. She’s a bit insecure. She gets jealous.’

‘Jealous?’ Fraser had heard these defences before. ‘There’s jealous and there’s trying to run someone else’s life. She’s even picking over your past now. She may have the looks of a model, Alex, but she’s got the personality of a Rottweiler.’

‘Fraser!’ It was still a weak protest. The same thoughts had crossed his own mind more than once just lately.

‘Alright, I’ve had my say, but I do worry about you, and I’m not the only one. You should stand up for yourself a bit more.’ He pointed to the letters. ‘Anyway, you’d better put those in a safe place before she comes back or we’ll both get leathered.’

Alex looked at them, feeling deflated. ‘Thanks,’ he murmured, and locked them in his briefcase.

‘Just someone you were at uni with?’ Fraser ventured. ‘I can’t remember you talking about anyone special at the time.’

‘I didn’t say they were at uni. I said it was when I was at uni,’ Alex corrected. He knew Fraser was fishing. There was no way he would not make the link from those initials to some people they both were quite close to. ‘Anyway,’ he said quickly before another question could be asked, ‘you know how it is. Sometimes things seem like they’re special and then, suddenly, they’re gone.’

‘Gone?’ Fraser’s analytical ear picked that one up too. Gone not Over

Alex looked tired.

‘You’ll be Alright at the weekend, will you?’ Fraser asked.

Alex frowned. ‘The weekend?’

‘Aye, the weekend. Mr and Mrs Baxter’s anniversary party. You’ve not forgotten have you?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ How could he, he wondered. It had been on his mind since the invitation had arrived, along with the constant nagging nerve in the pit of his stomach that he could tell no-one about.

‘You are going aren’t you?’

‘Of course I’m going. And why wouldn’t I be Alright?’

Fraser was sure he was on the right track. ‘Do you remember when we were at school and we used to call the kids the Baxter clan because there were six of them, and all close in age?’

‘Yes I remember,’ Alex said resignedly, willing him to shut up.

‘Well,’ Fraser continued thoughtfully, ‘as I recall, three of the girls were at Stirling at the same time as you. One was in the year ahead, and the twins were two years behind. Then, one of them got married and stayed there while she did her Master’s at the same time as you. And…’ he paused for effect, ‘all of them with the initials RB.’

Alex stared at him. ‘Fraser,’ he objected, ‘are you in your investigating mode? Your television stuff has got you prying into everything, even if it’s not that important.’

His brother gave him a shrug. ‘Wasn’t that difficult, was it? We’ve all been close friends for a long time’

Alex turned back to sorting some papers. ‘And how come you remember all this stuff suddenly?’

‘Because the last year you were doing your Masters’, I was working with Stuart, before he got that job with the photography agency and went off to Afghanistan.’

‘What has that got to do with it?’ Alex sounded irritated.

‘Just that he sometimes went up there to see his sisters. That’s how I knew they were all there at the same time as you.’

‘Can I not keep anything from you?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Fraser smirked. ‘You couldn’t when we were kids and you can’t now. I’m too nosey and I know you too well.’

‘Aye, well, you’re not finding out anything else about me anytime soon. OK?’

‘We’ll see.’ Fraser was thoughtful for a moment. He had been eleven and Alex only eight when their parents had been killed in an accident. He remembered his Great Aunt Moira saying to him, ‘You’re the big boy now, Fraser. You must look after your wee brother.’ He had taken it very seriously at the time. And somehow it was a habit he found hard to get out of.

‘Just remember though, Alex, if you want to talk….. you know I’m here to listen… when you’re ready.’

‘I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I?’ Alex grumbled in mock annoyance. ‘If I don’t, you’ll only go and interview some other poor unsuspecting bastard who doesn’t know what a nightmare you are.’

Fraser grinned, but there was something bothering him. ‘Seriously, Alex… the whole Baxter clan will be there at the weekend. Will you be Alright with that?’

Alex sighed. He had not been sure who would be there, but Fraser seemed to know. He nodded. ‘I’ll be fine.’ He hoped so. When the invitation had arrived he had made up his mind to face whatever the occasion brought with it. Now the letters had reminded him of what it might be.

‘OK.’ Fraser knew when he should stop. ‘Let’s have some more stuff for this bag then.’

He gathered up some more rubbish and put it in the bag he had taken from Lynn. Tied up and dumped in the doorway, it looked back at Alex accusingly. He knew why. A thought kept coming back to him. He wondered what he would have done if the letters had gone down with the rubbish. Would he have gone down later to look for them? Somehow he suspected that he would.

‘So?’ Fraser hesitated briefly. ‘Will you be taking..?’

‘No,’ Alex interrupted. ‘I can’t. It’s something I want to do by myself.’

‘Without the added hazard of avoiding rows, you mean?’

‘Please,’ Alex asked wearily.

Fraser relented. ‘OK, I’m sorry, but I’m not the only one who sees it happening. You must have realised it by now, that a good few of your friends are happy enough in your company only when you’re by yourself.’

Alex opened his mouth but didn’t speak.

‘You know it full well don’t you?’ his brother said quietly. ‘When you’ve sorted this other issue out, Alex, do yourself a favour and look at the way things really are. You deserve better. Think about it.’

Alex hadn’t the heart to argue. He knew it was right. He also knew that the issue Fraser had spoken of should be looked at in a clear light, one that had nothing in it to mar his perspective. And the way things were with Lynn…, well they should never have reached this point. He should not have let it get this far. And as if all that was not enough, he now had this television thing to think about. The university had put his name forward for a small local project which was to be televised and he was expected to go for screen tests and whatever else in the next week. Exciting though it was, it was all so alien to him that, at the moment, it was yet another anxiety.

He needed some thinking time, and he needed it now.

~~~***~~~

Thursday Mid-Morning

Greg Glasgow

The restaurant business was good in a city as busy as Glasgow. In the form of a little Hungarian outlet close to the main railway station, it provided a lucrative little trade for Gregorei Ivanov. Not that he had been known by that name for some time. Changing it to Greg Johnson had allowed him to blend in more easily, an advantage which was far more important to him in his other trade, one which brought in much more money and much quicker than selling any form of goulash.

All in all he felt very pleased with the way life had given him quite a few advantages along the way. His grandfather had been a Russian, but Greg had been born and grown up in Hungary. He had done well at school and had gone to university, only to find that there were very few jobs available to him in his own country. A few years serving in the military had taught him many useful things, but he had left them when he found out that he could make a lot more money working for the many film companies that came to Hungary to make their big action movies. And from them he had learned other advantageous skills.

Being tall and physically fit, and reasonably good looking, had got him noticed so that he moved quite quickly from extra work to bit parts. And that was when he had realised that he had a gift, not only for learning languages, but for being able to mimic, after a while, any kind of accent he studied. Hungary, he thought, had become too limited for him. Contacts he had made in the military proved extremely useful in supplying him with all the necessary papers he needed to move on. The next time an English film crew left his country, Gregorei Ivanov went with them, and left his name and all connected with him behind.

It did not mean though, that he severed all connections with people who could prove useful to him in his new life. He would prove useful to them too. He smiled at the thought. His covering business, the restaurant, was run for him by people who could not afford to draw any attention to themselves, and therefore would not draw any to him. They never questioned the fact that they hardly ever saw him, and what he did do with his time they were not going to ask.

Carefully stripping down and cleaning the instrument of his trade, he reached for the vodka he had poured to drink a toast to another successful job and another boost to a faraway bank account. With reverence he put the gun back in its soft cover and into its polished box, storing it where no-one would find it. And why would anyone even think of looking anyway? When he wanted to be, another of his skills could render Greg Johnson virtually invisible.

~~~***~~~

Thursday Mid-Morning

Rita Glasgow

Rita looked out over the beautifully kept gardens and sipped a perfect cappuccino, both of which were supplied by one of the best hotels in Glasgow. On her own salary these days she could afford this kind of luxury from time to time, but on her husband’s as well it could become a way of life.

‘Can I get you anything else, Mrs McLaren?’ Hearing herself addressed like that made her cringe sometimes. She’d married six years ago straight out of university, but the title made her sound as old as her own mother.

She looked up at the elegant waiter who, like all the staff here, made sure all the needs of their guests were taken care of. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

He moved away. She had noticed the staff sometimes giving guests the judgemental once-over, especially if they didn’t seem to quite meet with the expected standards. They never did that to her. Why would they? She wore the right kind of clothes, spoke to the right kind of people, was married to the right kind of husband. She wondered what they would have thought of her as the daughter of factory workers, and who had been educated at the local comprehensive.

A flash of anger surged through her. How dare they? She was not a job, a fashion house, a social class, a type. She was Rita McLaren. No. She stopped herself. No. She was Rita Baxter, a person in her own right. What the hell was she doing here anyway? What point was she making? That it was just because she could? Or because she was adopting an image her husband preferred?

Thinking about her husband only made her more angry. If it weren’t for him she wouldn’t have been in Glasgow at all until the following day.

She wondered how it was that good intentions, worthy goals, could go so badly off track, and how people you thought you knew could change beyond recognition. She realised that these criticisms applied to her as well as to her husband. Just lately she had seemed to lose her direction a bit too.

She hadn’t been happy for some time with the way James’s new political interests were shaping up. She could have voiced her concerns from the outset, a habit for which she was infamous in her own family. Instead she had stood aside almost as a disapproving observer, just jumping in from time to time when things really upset her. It had been like making ripples in a pond, disturbing the water and then letting it settle again. It could not go on forever though. As James changed to fit in with his new associates, even appearing to sacrifice some of his stronger principles, the disagreements between him and Rita grew more frequent and more heated. Finally, the previous evening, all the picky little rows had come to the massive head of a huge fight.

It had started, oddly enough, with her reminding James about her parents’ anniversary party on the coming Friday evening.

‘Party?’ James had screwed his eyes up in frustration. ‘But I’ve already said we’ll meet up with the Duncans and Sinclairs on Friday evening.’ He had turned away to look for something on his desk and hadn’t seen the surprise on Rita’s face. She had recognised the names of two of the most ambitious couples in James’s new circle, and coincidentally some of her least favourite people in the world. In a big crowd she could cope with them. By themselves she could not.

‘And when did we say we would go out with them?’ she had asked as calmly as she could.

‘They asked me last week. I’m sure I told you.’ It was just cast over his shoulder at her, clearly not needing any discussion. She couldn’t say at the time which part of this had spiked her annoyance most.

‘Well, James, not only have you not mentioned it until this very minute, but my parents’ anniversary party has been on our calendar for over six months.’

James had turned back to her with a shrug. ‘It doesn’t matter that much does it? Everyone else will go. You don’t all have to be there do you?’

This had been the point when Rita’s annoyance had turned to anger. ‘Doesn’t matter?’ she had repeated. ‘Why doesn’t it matter? It’s a special day for Mum and Dad. The least we can do is share it with them after all the hard work they’ve done to help us over the years.’

‘And that’s what I’m doing Rita. I owe it to our future family to work to make the best of myself. I want to make sure they’ll have someone to look up to.’

His tone and emphasis had stung her to further anger. ‘Oh, and you think I don’t have someone to look up to? My folks might not have high positions or titles, but they’ve put in a lot of time and effort for me. You’d think I could spare the time to go to their anniversary party.’

His reply had pushed her to the edge of her temper.

‘Well you have a choice then. We could meet up with some fairly influential people who could help develop our future, or go to a family do, probably at some local community hall.’

‘What do you bloody expect James?’ she had almost shouted, beginning to lose control. ‘Do you think it should be a banquet in a posh convention centre? Hardly what your snooty friends would expect an engineering worker to aspire to I suppose.’

James never quite lost his temper. He just got more cutting and sarcastic. ‘My friends are not snooty. They are actually trying to move their lives to a higher level. But if that’s the way you choose to see it, well, you know what they say Rita? You can take the girl off the housing estate, etcetera.’

That had been the moment when her overheated temper had turned to rage. Rita’s father had always said that, of all his children, Rita had the hottest temper, indicated by the reddest hair. He swore he could see it glow like coals as her temper grew. He would probably have seen the glow reach combustion level at that point, because Rita could not quite remember afterwards the precise words she used. She did know that she called James an arrogant bastard and that stick it and arse had come into her suggestion as to what he could do with his political career. She had also doubted, if he did eventually have a family, that he would ever know how to relate to them, and told him that he wouldn’t recognise a family tie if there was one hanging in his wardrobe.

James had actually sounded quite angry then. ‘I take it, then, that you’ve decided what you’re doing.’

‘Aye, I bloody well have,’ she’d yelled. ‘You can do what you like with your arsehole creeping friends. And I’ll tell you what, James, I doubt whether you’ll ever celebrate a thirtieth anniversary. No-one could stand being around you for that long.’

He’d given her a dismissive smirk. ‘Oh, right. That means you’re leaving me does it?’

Suddenly her anger had become cold and quiet. ‘Do you know something, James? You could be right.’

He was still smirking. ‘Well, I’ll be waiting here when you get back.’

It had been completely the wrong thing to say.

‘Oh, is that right?’ she’d asked almost innocently. Hands on hips, she had walked right up to him until their faces were almost touching. ‘Wealth and status is fine, James, but I’ve managed without it before and I will again. You, on the other hand, seem to have lost touch with anything simple and basic. I’ll come back to you when you show me the ordinary man again under all that varnish.’

‘Oh really?’ he’d huffed, still scornful, ‘and what would that look like? A drunk at a ceilidh on a Friday night?’

‘Oddly enough, most ordinary men have a lot more about them than that,’ Rita had snapped, ‘but if they do decide on the drunken ceilidh, you can bet they’re not looking over their shoulders for the approval of their stuck-up so-called friends.’ As she’d walked away to go and pack she had called back to him, ‘Let me know which ceilidh you’re at, James, and I’ll come and join you. I haven’t had any fun for a good while.’

Rita looked down at her empty cup and shook her head. She’d been so distracted that she couldn’t remember drinking its contents. In spite of her doubts about her real motivations, she was glad she had not gone straight to her parents’ house. At least it gave her time to think. Also she happened to know that her sister Rhona was already back there, carrying with her a so far undisclosed trouble. Rita didn’t want to add her own problems and give the impression that the whole family was becoming dysfunctional. She alone needed to make decisions about her relationship without involving anyone else.

She sighed. Where was that wonderful man she had met and married in her last year at university? That tall, gorgeous, black haired man she’d first fallen for as he ran, filthy and breathless, off the rugby field. His appearance hadn’t changed, apart from the filth of the rugby field, but… What had happened to his independent thinking, not touched by