Page 5 of Being Lost

Alder. As Dan leaves me alone, I think about the man who’s made our lives hell.

Phil Foster and I had been married a couple of years before his sister came back into our lives, bringing with her her husband, Alder Cantor. I’d immediately thought she was cowed by her partner. She’d been so meek, subservient when her man was around. I’d mentioned it to Phil, but he seemed entranced by his new brother-in-law who could do nothing wrong in his eyes. When his sister died, even while I thought the circumstance suspicious, Phil remained friends with the man.

Phil had always considered himself Alder’s equal, but he was not. Alder could run rings around him. It was about the time that Alder was exerting his influence that I knew our marriage was over for sure. Phil, an accountant, had been cooking the books and had gotten caught. He’d managed to worm his way out of a jail sentence, but not having a legitimate job any longer, went to work with Alder.

Phil, before his death, had been a rich man. But that money went back to where it came from, into Alder’s hands. Not that I wanted any of it.

Dan thought he’d been working for his father, unaware that Phil had simply been passing instructions on, until he found out rather than just running protection rackets, Phil was helping Alder supply drugs.

When Dan was arrested because he’d been too violent collecting a debt for his father, he bargained to stay out of jail with the knowledge he’d gained. Of course, the ten kilos of heroin he’d stopped getting to the streets had helped his case. Now instead of the feds not knowing who one of the kingpins was behind the drugs flooding into the United States via Mexico, they now had a name and a description, and many of the routes by which they’d been brought in. Past tense, of course. By giving the information away, Dan had destroyed a large part of Alder’s operation.

If Alder knew Dan was alive and got his hands on him again, he’d make him pay dearly for the trouble he had caused him. Alder, as Dan knows only too well, is a man who likes to cause pain.

Dan isn’t going to be doing anything to give himself away. That’s one thing I don’t need to worry about.

While I miss my home in Pueblo, if I had to move anywhere, there could be worse places to be than San Diego. We’ve been allocated a small house with an easy to maintain front yard, and a small one out back where I can sit in the sun, which seems to shine more often than in Colorado. At least I won’t have to contend with snow when winter comes.

It would be perfect were it not for the fact my daughter isn’t with me.

“See you later, Mom,” is shouted, followed by the front door banging, then the sound of the car Dan drives starting, revving, then fading.

It’s then I lower my head into my hands and alone, give into my sorrow. I miss my daughter so damn much. I’d love Beth’s advice on the clothes I’m designing, would love her to be here modelling them for me. But that can’t be. Dan needs someone on his side in this unfamiliar state and city.

A loud noise reaches my ears.Grrrr.It’s a motorcycle, one of those loud Harleys. I’ve no idea why, but they use our road as a shortcut to somewhere. Not every day, but often enough. I swear the sound from the exhausts makes the windows rattle. Can it be legal? Surely not.

Closing my laptop, knowing my unsuccessful search for a mannequin has just made me miss Bethany more, I go to make myself a cup of coffee, feeling lonelier than I ever have. In Pueblo I had friends and a social life, here there’s no one I know, and I’m scared of getting out and socialising.

I’m fifty-three years old. I haven’t had a man in my life for more than eighteen years since I kicked Phil to the kerb. I’d joked with Beth that maybe I’d find someone when I moved. But how could I seek out a man for myself, and what on earth would I do with him if I found one? My experience with my husband has soured me, and any man I’ve met since hasn’t lived up to my hopes or expectations.

A woman friend would be nice, someone I could share a glass of wine with and gossip to, but she’d want to know my backstory, and I hate lying. I’d be terrified that I’d do or say something and slip up and lead Alder to our door. He’ll kill my son and make sure he stays dead this time.

But finding new friends of either sex is unlikely. I work at home and rarely go out, and this doesn’t seem a particularly friendly neighbourhood, contact limited to exchanging nods and the odd hello if we’re close enough.

To be honest, I’m lonely. I can’t even go on Facebook anymore, not that I used to spend much time on it, but if I could, I might find virtual friends if not real ones.

I could set up a fake profile, make friends with Beth…

Too dangerous.

I finish making my coffee and take it into the living room, switching on the television, then switching it off again as the news is too depressing. Instead, I pick up my e-reader and open up the novel I was reading. Since Beth’s been living with Ink, I’ve taken to reading everything I can devour about fictional biker clubs, imagining my daughter and her man in starring roles, well, maybe the supporting ones who don’t have sex. I’ve no inclination to even imagine what Ink and Beth get up to in the bedroom.

I wish I could see them. Or, just talk to them.

I wonder how Mel, Beth’s pregnant friend and another biker’s old lady is doing? Or Vi, the president’s wife? She must be six, seven months pregnant herself. I think of Steph, and wonder how that amazing guide dog of hers is? Then there’s Jeannie who’s the mother hen to the Colorado club—she was a brusque woman, a bit older than me, but friendly enough.

I count them as my friends as well as my daughter’s, but like the rest of my life, it was all left behind in Pueblo, Colorado.

If only there were some way I could talk to Beth. I long to hear her voice.I don’t know if she’s well, happy, or if something has happened to her. The thought something might, and I’d never find out is horrific.

Perhaps, if I’m clever, I can find some way to get in touch. Just to check she’s alright.

No, I tell myself firmly. I mustn’t chance it. But I can’t quite rid the idea from my head.

Chapter Three

Lost

“What d’you think of this, Prez?”

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