Matt furiously. ‘What grandfather?’
TEN
T he man with the tattered brown doctor’s satchel sat under a canopy at a café in the heart of Covent Garden. The surrounding tables teemed with office workers toasting Friday, while the surrounding cobbled square and narrow lanes swarmed with tourists and teenagers enjoying the pleasures of the West End. A bedraggled busker in a porkpie hat, carrying a small instrument resembling a violin, passed near the man’s table, pausing at the one next to it to offer his services to a couple having lunch.
Doffing his hat and bowing slightly when the couple turned down his musical talents, the busker shuffled across the stones with a barely perceptible glance back at the man with the brown satchel.
Vaughn Grant had noticed the hurdy-gurdy player’s surreptitious glance. He kept his eye on the musician as he shuffled across the bustling square. Working for Sir Charles Wren meant Vaughn’s ever-present paranoia had ratcheted up a few notches since the events at the National Gallery that morning. The Council of Guardians had learned quickly of the incident with the twins and now Arthur Summers’ brutal murder was all over the news. Vaughn knew this meant Sandie and the twins were fleeing once again.
Vaughn wanted to be sure they could get away from the city safely. When the hurdy-gurdy man accepted a request from a family eating at the restaurant across the way, Vaughn let himself relax a little. The old busker was pretty good, the playful circus sounds of his instrument drawing a crowd of enthusiastic revellers.
Vaughn nudged the satchel further under the table, making sure it was hidden, clamping it firmly between his feet. If something were to happen to the satchel after all these years, he thought, the results would be unimaginable. He smiled ironically to himself. Given who he was waiting for, perhaps not so unimaginable.
Vaughn signalled to his waitress for a refill of his cider. When she brought it, he smiled and flirted with her for a while, trying to inject a little normality into his situation. He’d prepared himself for this day for years, ever since Sandie and Malcolm had announced Sandie was expecting twins.
Vaughn sipped his drink and allowed himself to wallow in a moment of regret and recollection. It seemed so long ago, that summer after university when he and his best friends Malcolm and Simon had gone to Scotland to live at the Abbey. Sandie and her friend Mara had already been there. Vaughn sipped his cider, remembering how close they all had been, and how quickly all that had changed with the birth of the twins. If only he’d dealt with Malcolm back then when he’d had the chance. Sandie might have been able to make different choices in her life.
If only.
The sounds of the hurdy-gurdy drifted across the square. Vaughn let its childish melody fill his head. He reminded himself how lucky he was to be in a position to help Sandie and her children, and he intended to do just that.
He roused himself from his self-pity when he spotted the three of them hurrying towards the café from the direction of Covent Garden Tube station. Rather than join the line of customers waiting to be seated, Sandie and the twins ducked under the velvet rope bordering the café’s perimeter.
Vaughn stood and greeted Sandie with a warm embrace, holding her in his arms. The twins dropped their backpacks on to the ground and perched on a couple of empty chairs.
‘Em, Matt, say hi to Vaughn. You won’t remember him, but he was … is an old friend of your dad’s and mine.’
Before Em had a chance to say anything, Matt blurted out, ‘Do you still see my dad then?’
Vaughn glanced at Sandie. ‘I’m sorry, Matt. I haven’t seen him in a long time.’
‘Does my dad even know we’re leaving?’ Matt demanded.
‘Matt, that’s enough.’ Sandie sat close to Vaughn, pulling her bag off her shoulder and setting it on her lap. Matt began playing with the salt and pepper at the
TEN
T he man with the tattered brown doctor’s satchel sat under a canopy at a café in the heart of Covent Garden. The surrounding tables teemed with office workers toasting Friday, while the surrounding cobbled square and narrow lanes swarmed with tourists and teenagers enjoying the pleasures of the West End. A bedraggled busker in a porkpie hat, carrying a small instrument resembling a violin, passed near the man’s table, pausing at the one next to it to offer his services to a couple having lunch.
Doffing his hat and bowing slightly when the couple turned down his musical talents, the busker shuffled across the stones with a barely perceptible glance back at the man with the brown satchel.
Vaughn Grant had noticed the hurdy-gurdy player’s surreptitious glance. He kept his eye on the musician as he shuffled across the bustling square. Working for Sir Charles Wren meant Vaughn’s ever-present paranoia had ratcheted up a few notches since the events at the National Gallery that morning. The Council of Guardians had learned quickly of the incident with the twins and now Arthur Summers’ brutal murder was all over the news. Vaughn knew this meant Sandie and the twins were fleeing once again.
Vaughn wanted to be sure they could get away from the city safely. When the hurdy-gurdy man accepted a request from a family eating at the restaurant across the way, Vaughn let himself relax a little. The old busker was pretty good, the playful circus sounds of his instrument drawing a crowd of enthusiastic revellers.
Vaughn nudged the satchel further under the table, making sure it was hidden, clamping it firmly between his feet. If something were to happen to the satchel after all these years, he thought, the results would be unimaginable. He smiled ironically to himself. Given who he was waiting for, perhaps not so unimaginable.
Vaughn signalled to his waitress for a refill of his cider. When she brought it, he smiled and flirted with her for a while, trying to inject a little normality into his situation. He’d prepared himself for this day for years, ever since Sandie and Malcolm had announced Sandie was expecting twins.
Vaughn sipped his drink and allowed himself to wallow in a moment of regret and recollection. It seemed so long ago, that summer after university when he and his best friends Malcolm and Simon had gone to Scotland to live at the Abbey. Sandie and her friend Mara had already been there. Vaughn sipped his cider, remembering how close they all had been, and how quickly all that had changed with the birth of the twins. If only he’d dealt with Malcolm back then when he’d had the chance. Sandie might have been able to make different choices in her life.
If only.
The sounds of the hurdy-gurdy drifted across the square. Vaughn let its childish melody fill his head. He reminded himself how lucky he was to be in a position to help Sandie and her children, and he intended to do just that.
He roused himself from his self-pity when he spotted the three of them hurrying towards the café from the direction of Covent Garden Tube station. Rather than join the line of customers waiting to be seated, Sandie and the twins ducked under the velvet rope bordering the café’s perimeter.
Vaughn stood and greeted Sandie with a warm embrace, holding her in his arms. The twins dropped their backpacks on to the ground and perched on a couple of empty chairs.
‘Em, Matt, say hi to Vaughn. You won’t remember him, but he was … is an old friend of your dad’s and mine.’
Before Em had a chance to say anything, Matt blurted out, ‘Do you still see my dad then?’
Vaughn glanced at Sandie. ‘I’m sorry, Matt. I haven’t seen him in a long time.’
‘Does my dad even know we’re leaving?’ Matt demanded.
‘Matt, that’s enough.’ Sandie sat close to Vaughn, pulling her bag off her shoulder and setting it on her lap. Matt began playing with the salt and pepper at the
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