The Pavilion Man Read online

  “Get off, you tramp, it’s mine!” shouted the man at the table as he held on tight to the other side of the plate trying to keep hold of his pizza. The two men jostled back and forth with the plate of pizza each not wanting to let go.

  “Don’t fight, stop it, let him have the pizza, we can get another one,” said the woman at the table.

  “Call the police now!” the man shouted to a waiter who had gone back to the kitchen at the far end of the restaurant. The man loosened his grip as he called the waiter and Mikhail saw his chance. Dashing out of the door with the plate of pizza in his hands, he kept running until he came to a park in the middle of a street surrounded by expensive looking houses. Climbing over the black iron railings, he sat down on the grass enjoying the best pizza he had ever had in his life.

  When he had finished eating, he looked around the park and saw at the far side of the park a small building. No lights were on, so he walked around it several times before deciding to break in. It seemed to Mikhail that his day was tuning out to be a good one for him. Inside, he found a kitchen stocked with food and drink in the fridge. At the back of the pavilion was a small bedroom, toilet and shower in an immaculate condition. Men’s clothes were in the bedroom cupboards that seemed to be Mikhail’s size. He waited till midnight; no one turned up, so he took his chances, had a shower and slept in the pavilion that night. Mikhail woke up early to leave before anyone found him in the cottage. In the daylight, he was entranced by the beauty of the park with its giant trees, some surrounded by wooden seats, well-kept flowers and foliage. In the middle was a table tennis table and near the entrance to the cottage, he saw something that he never dreamed he would see. It was a chessboard painted on the ground with oversized chess pieces. He went towards it and moved the chess pieces around before walking out of the gate past the sign ‘Pavilion Park residents only’.

  Night after night Mikhail would return to the private park on Pavilion Road and sleep in the cottage, always getting up early to avoid meeting anyone. Many seasons at the park had come and gone, Mikhail enjoyed the free use of the cottage and its surroundings. He had learned that during the summer months the kitchen was used for many events held in the Pavilion Park. On these occasions Mikhail stayed away, only returning to the park after midnight when it was over.

  There would often be picnics and parties held in the grounds by residents living in the surrounding houses. Outside caterers turned up to create themed events from the ‘Mad Hatters tea party’, treasure hunts, a games day. They decorated the park for the events. Mikhail loved this time, as they would leave food and drink in the kitchen for someone to pick up the leftovers the next day. When he returned at midnight, he would eat as much of this food as he could because he knew that the caterers would clear it away.

  One such Saturday a party held at the park with the theme ‘Saints and Sinners’ had those attending dressed up in fancy dress of the good and the great and infamous people in history. The party went on after midnight, and when Mikhail got back too early, he stayed outside the park walking around it several times as the guests left at 2am the following morning. Mikhail went into the cottage and could not resist drinking large quantities of a fruit punch that had rum in it. Getting drunk he ended up sleeping past his usual time on the sofa in the kitchen, something that he had never done before. On Sunday morning Mikhail was woken up by a man shaking him.

  “Get up, man, what are you doing here?” shouted a voice.

  “I’m the caretaker here, who are you?” said Mikhail rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

  “Oh you are, are you? And when did that happen?” asked the man standing over Mikhail.

  “I’m here many, many, year,” replied Mikhail.

  “And your name is?”

  “Mikhail Andrei,” replied Mikhail.

  “Well, Mikhail Andrei, you are not the caretaker because I am and have been for the last five years unless they sacked me last night.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know,” said Mikhail getting up from the sofa.

  “You know now. You are on private property. Get out of here, or I’ll call the police.”

  “Please, I’m homeless. I have nowhere to go. Who are you?”

  “I’m Jack McFadden; I see you’ve been wearing my clothes. How long have you been here?” Jack was a similar height and build to Mikhail but a few years older with light brown hair and eyes.

  “It’s three years now. I leave early morning and come back late at night.”

  “Well blow me down! I saw no signs,” said Jack.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know this place was for you,” said Mikhail.

  “I moved out three years ago when I got married.”

  “But you don’t come here often?”

  “I am here twice a week for a few hours as I look after two other parks much bigger than this, they take up most of my time,” said Jack.

  “Please, I ask that you let me stay, I come from Russia, I have no family, no friends in England.”

  “I can’t let you stay here. If anyone finds out you’ve been here three years I’ll lose my job.”

  “Please, you don’t know I’m here three years. I take good care of it. I can help you do your job for you here.”

  “Now you’re on to something. Have you done this type of job before?”

  “I’m very good with my hands, and I can help out at the events for you, Jack.”

  “I can’t pay you,” said Jack.

  “I don’t want pay, just somewhere to sleep, food and warmth is enough for me,” said Mikhail.

  “For a homeless person, you keep this place very clean, much better than I ever did,” Jack continued.

  “Jack, I do a very good job for you here I promise.”

  “You’re lucky me and the missus have not had a serious argument for me to come back here.”

  “You come if you argue, I’ll sleep in the kitchen. I work hard for you.”

  “It all sounds a good deal to me. No one from head office has come here for years. You can stay if you agree to do one other thing.”

  “Anything,” said Mikhail, relived that Jack was getting around to the idea of letting him stay in the cottage.

  “Feed the fox.”

  “You mean the old fox that comes every night? I’ve been doing this for years.”

  “That’s settled then, Mikhail Andrei.”

  “Please, you call me Mick.”

  “OK, my mate Mick, we're in business,” said Jack.

  “Thank you, my mate Jack, for letting me stay,” said Mikhail, they both laughed at the way he said it in his Russian accent.

  After this initial meeting, the two men became firm friends over the years. Mikhail felt relaxed enough to trust Jack and told him why he came to England. Jack tried many times to help Mikhail contact his mother and cousin Yuri in Russia. When finally Mikhail was able to get hold of his mother’s neighbour he found out that his mother died after he left Russia from a heart attack and that no one knew where his daughter was. His cousin disappeared from the blacksmith’s shop a year after. The neighbour told him the blacksmith’s shop was sold at an auction and was now a liquor store selling expensively imported alcohol.

  “I have to find my daughter, Jack. I left her as a baby and now she’s a young lady. She may even be married,” said Mikhail.

  “I’m sorry for you, Mick. I have three daughters and would be beside myself if I didn’t know where they were,” said Jack.

  “I have been here too long, I need to find a way to get back to my country, but I’ve no money.”

  “I didn’t tell you this, Mick, but my wife has not been happy with me because I didn’t pay you all these years.”

  “No, Jack, you help me a lot, a home to live, you bring your wife’s good home cooking to me, I now speak better English because of you and more I have your friendship.”

  “You need more help, Mick. It’s time to help you.”

  “Help me out how?”

  “We’ve, well it’s Mrs McFadden
really; she has been putting money aside for you in a savings account.”

  “For me!”

  “Yes. Sorry I should have told you long ago about it. It’s quite a bit now, and it means you can afford to go back to Russia.”

  “Go back to see my daughter? This is a dream come true for me, Jack. When can I go?” said Mikhail still surprised to be hear this.

  “We saved your money in Ireland, so we were not tempted to spend it. I’m off there for a couple of weeks’ holiday. I’ll give you the money when I get back.”

  “Jack, thank you and your wife for what you have done.”

  “You deserve it, Mick. I'll need you to cover me for the weeks I’m away in Ireland as there are events coming up in the park and the bosses want me here attending.”

  “You want me to be Jack McFadden?”

  “Well, it's worked quite well so far with you and me. The management office has no idea what I look like; for all they know you are me, Mick.”

  “No need to ask, I am Jack McFadden,” said Mikhail.

  “Yeah, with a Russian accent and an Irish name, now that’s a turn for the books,” replied Jack.

  “I hope after all these years I sound more Irish than Russian,” said Mikhail.

  “Oh no you don’t, Mick, believe me, you don’t.”

  They spent their evening playing chess in the Pavilion Park grounds, drinking beer and enjoying Jack’s wife’s home cooking. Despite everything that had happened to him since he had arrived in England Mikhail now felt hopeful that he would soon go back home and see his daughter.

  Chapter 6

  It was the time of the annual summer picnic for residents surrounding the park in June. A fun day of games for families was arranged by the residents’ management. Children jumped on the huge bouncy castle in the park. There were games of table tennis, chess matches, mini golf played with prizes given out to the winners. Clowns, magicians and actors dressed up in costumes of fairy tale characters to entertain all that attended the event. The caterers laid out extra seating and chairs and served drink and food including popcorn, mini burgers, ice cream and candy floss.

  Mikhail perfected the art of impersonating Jack McFadden. He went around the park checking things were running smoothly, helping to pick up rubbish, serving drinks and food along with the catering staff who believed him to be the caretaker. As he went around the tables, he heard some of the guests at the event speaking Russian. It had been a long time since he had listened to a full conversation spoken in his native Russian, and he had never met another Russian when he was homeless. The sound of Russians talking was reassuring to him. It brought back the good and bad memories of his home in St Petersburg as a blacksmith, with his wife Yelena and their daughter Marina. Every chance he could get he would go back to the tables where he heard Russians speaking to clear up the glasses and plates on those tables as it made him feel closer to his country of birth. He overheard a conversation in Russian that made him linger a little longer.

  "The consignment of vodka is due in tomorrow, so he better pay up,” said one of the Russian guests.

  “Don’t worry; he’ll deposit 1.3 million dollars in the account. When paid he’s a dead man, and we get to keep the Russo Baltique Vodka, the old version to resell again," replied another guest on the table.

  How many bottles of Russo Baltique Vodka in the consignment?”

  “Just one bottle for now, but there will be other types of vodka in the container. But with high value on the market for the Russo, we don’t need many bottles.”

  Mikhail got closer to the table, putting rubbish in a black bag. One of the Russian-speaking guests spoke to him in English.

  “Waiter, please get us more drinks." Mikhail nodded and went off to get the drinks from the kitchen. When he returned to the table with a tray of red and white wine, the two Russian-speaking men had now been joined at the table by a third man.

  “Waiter, please. Do you have vodka?” asked the third man speaking in English. Mikhail nodded. He kept looking down at the tray as he put drinks on the table trying to be careful not to spill it. The third man’s voice sounded familiar to him. As he was going back to the kitchen, he looked briefly at the man’s face that had just spoken to him; it sent a cold chill over him as he recognised the third man as Igor Zaslavsky. The last time they met was over seventeen years ago at Igor’s country mansion. He never forgot Igor’s voice. He looked more distinguished with age. Mikhail looked at his cufflinks and saw the initials IZ. Hovering around Igor were two bodyguards.

  He was half hoping that Igor would recognise him, but Mikhail knew that he too had changed in looks. His blond hair was long with streaks of grey but neatly tied in a ponytail. He was no longer muscular or had a beard and his once striking blue eyes a little duller.

  Each time he came to Igor’s table Mikhail found the conversation he overheard more interesting.

  "If Johnny hadn’t fallen out of the window it would have put our business in danger,” said one of the men.

  “Frank, you know I always suspected Johnny Murry was a traitor," said one of the men at the table.

  "What does it matter now, Philip? Our portfolio of UK properties is booming and that’s all that counts,” said Igor.

  Mikhail kept topping up drinks on the table for Igor and his associates. Each time he came to the table he was in two minds to let Igor know his true identity but decided, in the end, this was not the time or place for him to reveal it. As Igor and his associates were about to leave the event Mikhail plucked up the courage to say, “Sir, I hope you enjoyed your day?”

  “Indeed I did, very much. Thank you. And I will be back as my daughter will have her eighteenth birthday here soon.”

  At 5pm the annual summer event for the residents was over. Mikhail helped to organise the clear up of the park as usual. With tables and chairs folded and put to one side to be collected, and the bouncy castle dismantled, he helped clear the used drink glasses in crates and put rubbish in large black bags. The catering finished at 7pm leaving the park once more clean and peaceful. Mikhail sat at the kitchen table in the pavilion cottage, poured himself a cup of coffee and opened an envelope with the seal of St Isaac’s Cathedral of Russia. He took out two photographs, one of him and Yelena at their wedding and the other of his baby daughter Marina sleeping in his arms the week she was born. A loud knock at the cottage doors jolted him out of his memories. Opening the door, he saw a tall bald man of Afro-Caribbean origin that he remembered seeing as one of the guests at the picnic with a woman and a young boy enjoying themselves playing table tennis in the park.

  "Can I join you for a coffee?" asked the man.

  "No, sorry, sir. We don't allow anyone in here this is private. The event is over," said Mikhail.

  “And who are you?” asked the man.

  “I am the caretaker, sir, Jack McFadden; I was about to go home to my wife.”

  "No you are not Jack McFadden. Your name is Mikhail Andrei Raspopov a Russian national. You are not going anywhere because this is your home and it's been your home for many years," said the man. He put his right foot in the door to stop Mikhail closing it.

  "You are mistaken, my name is Jack McFadden, the caretaker of this place," said Mikhail.

  “We believe you fled Russia after your wife died. You are a former intelligence officer and have one daughter."

  “Why do you say this?” asked Mikhail, alarmed that this stranger knew so much about him.

  “Don’t you think you should invite me in now?” said the stranger at the door.

  Mikhail led him into the kitchen. The stranger appeared to be very comfortable inside the cottage and sat down on the sofa as if he was at home.

  “Why do you think you know me?” said Mikhail.

  “We've been watching you for years.”

  “I have done nothing wrong.”

  “There is a warrant for the murder of your wife in Russia.”

  “You are the police.” Mikhail sounded resigned that after all thes
e years he was to be arrested for something he did not do.

  “I work for British intelligence. My name is Ron. I’ve been assigned to investigate you for many years.”

  “Then you must know I did not murder my wife, Yelena.”

  “Yes, I believe you are innocent of your wife’s murder, but your visa is out of date.”

  “I had no money to go back. But I hope to soon, a friend is helping me,” replied Mikhail.

  “We’ll put that matter aside for the moment. We need your help.”

  “I don’t know anything to help you,” said Mikhail.

  They heard a sound outside the door. Mikhail opened it to find a fox standing there looking at him. Knowing what the fox wanted he went back into the kitchen and picked up scraps of leftover food from the event and gave it to the fox.

  "It looks like you have a friend in that fox,” said Ron.

  “What do you want from me?” asked Mikhail.

  “I am investigating illegal dealings by rich Russians.”

  “I'm a poor man; I don’t know any rich Russians.”

  “Many of the big houses surrounding this private park are owned by them we want you to watch them and report to us."

  "Why should I help you?"

  "You’ve been looking for your daughter for many years and we can help you find her in Russia.”

  "You could help me find my daughter?”

  “Yes, and help you get a new home, you will be paid generously for your work.”

  “I don't care about the money but to see my daughter I will do anything," said Mikhail.