Free The Circle Now Is Made (King's Way Book 1) by Mac Fletcher Page B

relish the thought of driving to Cardiff and back before setting out, and was almost pacing the caravan floor by Saturday afternoon. He poured himself a drink and made an effort to relax for an hour and it was dark when he was awoken by a knock on the door.
    “It’s only me,” he heard Nigel shout, “You decent?”
    Puzzled by the visit, Greg jumped up and let Nigel in. “More trouble?” he asked as he opened the door.
    “Good news and bad really - which d'you want first?"
    "Bad. I'll keep my fingers crossed for the good."
    "There's only one ferry a week from Plymouth to Santander. Two from Portsmouth but it's best part of two hundred miles and adds hours to the crossing,"
    "So I'm knackered…"
    "Not altogether… Look.”
    He placed a stout brown envelope on the flap table. “Go on, open it, it won’t bite.”
    Greg knew the instant he picked up the envelope what it contained. “How on earth…?” he asked as he took the passport from his travel wallet. "The whole thing's a perfect replica, even the copy of my picture. The only things changed are the commencement and expiry dates; both are two years later than the original!"
    "It's the same passport and picture," explained Nigel. "Only the page has been substituted for one with up to date info. But there is another difference…"
    "My name… It just says Jonathan Gregory – no Alison mentioned. My surname's been substituted with my middle name….But why? I only used the assumed name because…."
    "Because?"
    "Okay, mainly because I'm being hounded by my ex-wife's debt collectors if you must know..."
    "No need to go into details. I simply thought that if you should lose it, even if it's traced back to you it will look like identity theft."
    "I'm not sure about this lot. Is it worth the risk?"
    "What risk?" asked Nigel. "You'll never be stopped with that and you know it."
    "It's brilliant I agree, and I'm desperate to see the kids, but where on earth did you…?" started Greg, though Nigel cut him dead.
    “Ask no questions,” he insisted. Still Greg tried to explain the innocence of the assumed name, but Nigel would have none of it.
    “Whatever the reason, it’s your business,” maintained Nigel, “getting you to Perpignan and back's what matters.” Greg saw that it was useless trying to explain and too late to do anything other than risk the forgery.
    “Don’t be late in the morning,” said Nigel as he prepared to leave, “I’ll pick you up at six."
    *
     
    That evening Greg went down to the quay with Mick, Jan, young Jamie, Bart and Si, to hear the local brass band play. They practiced in a large open storage hall near the quayside every Saturday, and played on the quay itself on various afternoons and evenings throughout summer.
    It was a still, frosty night as they listened, the music recapturing for Greg all the magic of ‘quaint old Cornish towns’ he recalled from holidays past. Bart, never having been one to go without, went and fetched fish and chips and pots of curried sauce for the group. When they'd eaten he produced cans of beer from a multitude of pockets in his wax-less waxed jacket.
    “Just to wash the meal down wi'.”
    "Thanks but no, I want to be on the ball for tomorrow morning." Although Greg was looking forward to seeing his children again, he felt curiously sad to be leaving the benign company, albeit only for days. He stood and mused that it had been just weeks since his arrival at Trevelly, near to despair.
    Hard to believe I've been accepted so readily. So far, anyway.
    The band finished one of their regular tunes and struck up with a song written by folk-singer Dave Cartwright. It had become familiar to Greg in a midlands folk club many years earlier. The tune was obviously at the request of a local singer who joined the band with his guitar, and began singing:
     
    “Dance again now the sun and the rain
Have shown us all their reasons.
Sing a song to the whole year long,
Join in the dance of the seasons.
     
    Gone