Page 109 of The Last Love Song
Moodily, Con lit up again. He’d even started to drink to the point of oblivion, after all those years living with his father and swearing he’d never do the same.
Sometimes he caught Sorcha looking at him, her face a picture of sadness.
He’d shut her out, he knew he had. And yesterday, when she’d been so desperate for his love and support, and he’d been unable to give it to her. There was a definite chance he could lose her...but the numbness in his heart seemed to prevent him doing anything about it.
Con got out of bed and showered, before heading downstairs to brew himself a large pot of coffee. He piled it on a tray with a mug and a packet of biscuits, then picked up his guitarand began to tinker with a tune that had been going around in his head for the past few days.
‘Shit!’
It just wouldn’t come any more.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What’s happening to me?’
Con picked up his coffee cup, stood up and looked out of the window. It was a lovely August morning. He watched his electric security gates slide open, and Jenny’s car pull into the drive. As the gates closed, he saw one of his most loyal fans attempt to squeeze between them. As was most often the case, the extra strong gates – bespoke built – won.
Con shook his head in despair. Would she one day look back and wonder why she wasted some of the best years of her life sitting outside the gates of a rock star’s house?
Con sipped his coffee and listened as Jenny opened the front door. He’d go and make chit-chat – anything to take him away from the maudlin thoughts swimming about his head. He mused at the hours he’d spent alone in his hut on the beach, sometimes not seeing another person for a week. These days, he dreaded his own company.
At least tonight he’d be out with Lulu. She was the one person who brought him out of himself. Con admired her focus and determination. She didn’t give a damn what others thought of her, and was prepared to go to any lengths to publicise her cause.
He opened the door to his study and walked across the hall. Jenny’s voice carried out of her office. He stopped to listen.
‘He’s had another one, Inspector...Yes, it’s the sixth...Oh, pretty much the same...the letters cut out of a newspaper, the usual murder threat. Yes, this time the postmark’s Southampton. The weirdo certainly gets around! No, I haven’t yet, but I think the time has probably come. Will you? Okay then, I’ll call you back when I’ve spoken to Metropolitan. Goodbye, Inspector.’
Con heard the click of the receiver. He opened the door.
‘Morning, Jenny.’
She turned round. ‘Hello, Con, you’re up early.’
‘Yeah.’ Con was staring at the paper in her hand. He snatched it from her.
GONNA GET YOU COMING SOON YOU BASTARD IRISH FILTH.
Con shuddered involuntarily and dropped the letter onto Jenny’s desk.
‘Did I hear you say that was the sixth such epistle I’ve received?’
‘Yes. Look, Con, don’t panic or anything. It’s all under control. We didn’t want to worry you unduly.’
‘Someone’s sending me murder threats and no one bothers to tell me.’ Con forced a chuckle. ‘How old do you think I am, Jenny? Ten?’
‘I’m sorry, Con, really. You’ve been perfectly safe, though. There’s an unmarked police car that sits outside the house every day. It’s followed you everywhere for the past month.’
Con was startled. ‘Has it now? Jesus, the police must be short of something to do if they can spare someone to babysit me. I’ve had these sorts of letters before. It’s just cranks with nothing better to do than to scare me.’
‘Well, I spoke to Helen McCarthy when these things first started arriving and she decided it was a matter for the police because of all the Troubles in Ulster and your, er, well-publicised attitude towards them. The previous letters never made a point of highlighting your nationality. Anyway, I’ve spoken to the inspector and he wants to drop in and have a word with you.’
‘We’re in the studio rehearsing all day but...tell him he can see me there at lunchtime. I’ll buy him a beer and a sandwich for his trouble.’
‘Okay, will do.’
Con stood up. ‘I’d say I need some air. I’m going for a walk on the heath before I leave for the studio.’
‘Fine. Try not to worry, Con. You really are being well looked after.’
Con smiled thinly and left the room. He opened the front door and stepped out into the fresh, warm air, heading for the concealed gate at the bottom of the garden which led directly onto the heath. His heart was beating fast as he undid the padlock. Con felt stiflingly hot all of a sudden, and there was a tight band around his chest. After relocking the gate, he set off at speed onto the heath, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
