by Ayre, Mark
Megan finished her drink listening to James, and twirled the glass in her hands, thinking, the ice circling the bottom, melting as fast as if it were wearing on the base. He finished his drink and before long could no longer take the silence.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
No hesitation, but he hadn’t hesitated in response to Amy, so that didn’t make it the truth. Fighting the urge to speak again, he waited and was rewarded.
“I had my suspicions, but Mark never said anything, if he knew. One of those things no one knows for sure, but everyone has an idea. Word got about. Can I get you another drink?”
The sharp turn in subject threw him off balance, but she didn’t wait for an answer. Rising, she plucked the glass from his hand and twirled, heading into the house before he could speak again.
When she returned, it was with a forced smile nowhere near the genuine one from before. He met it with a severe expression, and she dropped the act as she handed him his drink.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just so horrible, what’s happened. Yet, here I am, sunbathing, acting like nothing’s wrong. A little boy is missing. A little boy who is as good as my nephew.”
“We know where he is,” James said.
“We know who he’s with. That’s not the same.”
She sat in her seat, legs over the edge, facing James. He lifted his back and twisted to match her pose, their knees almost touching.
“Luke and I were friends,” she said, taking James by surprise. She saw it. “Yeah, I know. This was before Mark. Way before. Back in school. We met in year seven and were friends for years. I think he was my first crush. No, maybe that was Ryan Seal. Not sure. Close run thing.
“Anyway.” She looked at her glass, massaging it with her hands. He watched the condensation roll down the side and over her fingers. If it was cold, she didn’t flinch. “I could never have imagined it.”
“Imagined what?”
“Any of it. Any of what happened later. He had his issues, but he was a teenager, so who didn’t? Biggest fault was his moral line. He was so black and white, right and wrong. No grey area. If someone crossed his line - stealing or cheating or whatever - he would flip. He had this horrible temper at times. It used to scare me.”
The description made James uncomfortable. Too close to home, perhaps? In the woods of his memory, two friends argued.
I was only teasing. Only messing.
It’s called bullying, Toby.
I’m sorry.
But sorry didn’t cut it. Sorry never cut it when the moral line was crossed.
“We all change, I know,” Megan said. “And there were always problems with Luke. Especially at home where Emma was the only one he seemed to love. He hated Mark. Would bicker with Christina constantly and there were blazing rows with George.”
At that, Megan let out a dark chuckle. “You know what’s funny?”
Their eyes locked and even in her anguish, she was beautiful. He tried to concentrate on what was going on in front of him and shook his head.
“We used to go swimming at weekends. A group of us, including Luke and me. Was loads of fun. Then, one time - must have been fourteen, fifteen - Luke finds this towel that’s been left on the side. He can’t find the owner, so he runs off to hand it in. Goes to the desk and there’s no one there, so he steps into the office and what does he see? None other than George, arms around some bimbo -” pause “- Luke’s words.”
James felt something inside him twist, as though it was his husband he’d learned was the cheat. It wasn’t that, but it still felt terrible. He’d heard George’s speech about his wife, seen them side by side, heard Christina’s story about them sneaking out together. He’d painted them as perfect and now this. News that George was like everyone else. That he couldn’t be satisfied with his strong, beautiful wife. Had to fuck it up. Why did everyone have to fuck it up?
It’s over. I swear it is. Don’t tell your father.
James tried to stifle the reflex anger with a few good gulps of beer. Tried not to treat it as personal. Focused on Megan as she went on.
“Obviously, he flipped. He’d always fought with George but he wanted to think the best, and this went against everything he believed. He roared at his dad and told him to tell Christina the truth. Whether George did or not, I have no idea, but it wasn’t the only time. Luke caught him with Penny from the Post Office a few years later, and Mark caught him with a call centre girl. Carol, I think.”
“Jesus,” James muttered, unable to separate Christina from his father. The victims. George from his mother. What had George said to his sons when they confronted him? The same as James’ mum?
We are all human, dear.
As though they had to swallow it because everyone was human and these things happened. As though no one was to blame and they should stop sticking their nose in and get on with it.
James clenched his fists by his side, hoping Megan didn’t see. He was getting wound up, and it was stupid. All these things happened years ago and what did it matter?
“You okay?” Megan asked, noting the twisted face and whitening knuckles. He nodded, but with no conviction.
“I know it doesn’t make it any better,” Megan went on. “At least George slept with grown women. Luke was taking advantage of an underage girl, and that’s unforgivable.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” James muttered.
“Nobody’s perfect,” Megan said, and reached out her hand, taking his. “I like you, James. You take everything to heart. It hurts you that George isn’t the man you thought he might be. I get that, but it doesn’t make him a bad man. You probably think I should have said something to Christina, right? Guess it makes me a bitch.”
James shook his head.
“Never. It’s second-hand information to you. If Mark and Luke didn’t tell her that’s their business. I know you wouldn’t want to get involved.” He bit his lip and thought it through. “Is that why you stopped talking to Luke? Did you know about him and -”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I would never keep it to myself if I thought he was doing something like that. It was something else. Things that went on with - well I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You can,” he said.
“I know. But I don’t want to. It’s nasty stuff to do with Mark’s ex and someone Emma was seeing or supposedly seeing. I can’t go into that. It wouldn’t be fair on them.”
“I get that,” James said. He realised she was still holding his hand and hoped he wasn’t sweating. “Sorry. Just me sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. I keep thinking if I know enough, maybe I’ll be able to help, but it’s bullshit. Luke ran off with Charlie. He’s left Sema, and he isn’t coming back. The police will find him. That’s all that matters.”
Megan looked into his eyes and ran her thumb along the back of his hand. He didn’t know if she realised she was doing it but made an effort not to squeeze any tighter in case she withdrew.
“You’re an amazing guy, James, you know that?”
“I’m not.”
“No?”
“No, I’m human. Worse than most.”
“I don’t believe it. How so?”
Blood on the carpet. His father crying in the corner until he sees his son needs him.
You need to call the police, James. Tell them what I did.
But he couldn’t tell Megan about the time his mother promised him her affair would stop. How he had believed her, and everything it had led to.
He couldn’t do that, so he returned to the easy way out. The joke.
“Well, for one thing, when you mentioned your bare breasts I couldn’t help but imagine them.”
She considered him. Knew he wasn’t saying what he thought but decided not to push it. Her hand left his, but before he could panic, she had cupped one cheek, leaned forward, and kissed the other. Smiling at the way his face burned.
“That’s probably the best
way to see bare breasts, you know?” she said, then tapped her head. “In the imagination. Always going to be better than the real thing.”
“I don’t know about that,” he replied, feeling bolder.
“And never will.” She was laughing. “Now drink your drink and shut your trap. Wouldn’t want to have Mark come back and hear your hitting on his girlfriend now, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t want that.”
Sipping his drink, he leaned back, trying once again to allow the memories of Toby, his father and the river bank to wash away. The thoughts of Luke and Charlie and Mohsin to drift off.
For now, it was only him and Megan, and that was precisely the way he wanted it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They lay together until almost half five. At first in silence, later, when they moved onto their third drink, talking and laughing a little more. It was easy. The conversation flowed and with every word he fell a little more in love with her and hated himself a little more for doing so. Hated himself even more for hearing the same affection in her voice. For allowing himself to believe she might be feeling the same.
As evening began to reel in afternoon, Megan rose, drawing their time together to a close so she could shower and prepare for the evening. Revealing she, too, would be attending the Barneses for dinner.
Hiding his excitement regarding this news, James kissed Megan on the cheek and offered to replace the deck chairs.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the drinks and returning his cheek kiss. “See you later.”
Her smile lingered, and he read an eternity of meaning into it before she disappeared, leaving him alone on the curb, remembering she was taken, and he stood no chance.
Crossing Megan’s lawn, James approached the alley. Expecting it to be cloaked in darkness, despite the strength of the sun above, he was pleasantly surprised to find even the close together leaves of the overhanging tree weren’t enough to stop the powerful rays breaking through and drenching the ground in light.
Despite a clear view down the short space and out the other end, he still jogged between Megan’s street and Claire’s, as though stepping in one end of the alley set off a timer that would close it off from the outside world if one took to long to escape.
No such disaster befell him, and he survived the alley to see the spot of Christina and George’s mischief on one side, Claire’s house and the woods ahead.
Having no intention to stick around, James was annoyed when his eyes caught on Claire’s door and refused to let go. Above him, the sky seemed to darken as he was dragged into the past. In the house he could almost hear Amy and Claire rushing around, shouting Charlie’s name, growing more and more desperate until they realised he wasn’t there. Diving down the stairs, tears in their eyes they had raced for the exit and -
The door burst open.
The darkness vanished, and James stumbled back, almost tripping over the curb behind, sure the screaming mother was about to cannon out.
But, of course, the door hadn’t burst open. It had swung back, and the woman who exited was not fleeing her worst fears, though she did appear to be crying.
It was Sharon, stepping from the house and spinning back to her host, Claire, who appeared in the doorway, arms folded, expression strained.
Having reclaimed his grip on reality, James turned from the women, only to be spotted and have his name called.
He turned to see Claire waving, beckoning him over, not returning to her ejected guest until sure he was coming.
“Keep strong my girl,” Sharon was saying as James moved within earshot. “Keep strong and never lose hope. I will be praying for you.”
“Thank you,” said Claire, her jaw tight, the words fighting for release. Sharon had one of Claire’s hands clasped between both of hers and held on tight, looking to the mother of the lost child with tears in her eyes.
“Our boy will return,” she said. “I promise.”
Claire could only nod, and wait. Hoping Sharon would release her and leave. Perhaps wondering what evasive measures she must take if this didn’t happen.
Luckily for all involved, her hands were freed, and Sharon gave her goodbyes, leaving a miserable and tired Claire swaying in the doorway.
“Gossip,” she said, shaking her head as James reached her. “Has to know everything going on in the village. That’s why she’s here. Gossip.”
She paused, looking after Sharon, and there was real anger there. For a second she seemed lost in it, then she shook it off, and returned to James. He met her gaze but struggled to hold it. The grief was too heartbreaking to take in large doses.
“Come in,” she said at last. “I have something I need to say.”
She led him through a bare entrance hall and into a small, tidy living room with a dark theme, and not much in it - sofa, armchair, telly, coffee table, and little box of toys tidied away in one corner. James noticed two pictures by the telly. One of Charlie alone, one of mother and son. With a lurch, he realised this was the first time he had seen the boy, and could not help but step towards the photo.
“He didn’t put that smile on,” Claire said.”He was always that happy.”
James didn’t think that was right. ‘Happy’ didn’t seem a strong enough adjective to describe the expression on the boy’s face in each of the two photographs.
In the solo, he was close to the lens. Looked as though he was jumping towards it with only his shoulders, the top half of his torso and face showing. A clean, innocent smiling face under a mop of mousy blonde hair. There were hints of his mother in that face, but James was drawn - after the smile - to the eyes, which possessed strong hints of Barnes.
The second picture showed Charlie on mum’s lap. She had her arms wrapped around his stomach, and they were beaming. Her smile almost as big as his. The proudest and happiest mummy that ever there was. James found himself wondering who had taken the picture. Was it long enough ago that Luke might have clicked the button? Or had a friend or another Barnes stepped up? He went to ask but stopped himself. When he turned back to Claire, he almost said something stupid like ‘we’ll find him’ or ‘everything will be okay’ but remembered Sharon on the doorstep, and realised how useless such platitudes would be.
Instead, he said: “you must feel like shit.”
She nodded, gestured to the sofa. He took the left seat, and she stood above him.
“Drink?”
“Just water, please.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, and he tried to sit up straight. The beer was making him feel, not drunk, but a little light, a little buzzy, if that was a thing. He focused on the pictures. Seeing Charlie broke his heart and that was enough to sober him up as Claire returned.
“Hot day,” she said, and he nodded. She sat, looking out the window. He hoped she wouldn’t say anything that might make him feel uncomfortable.
“Charlie loved hot days.”
Ah.
Again the urge was to say they would find Charlie. That everything would be okay. Stupid assertions based in no kind of fact. His mother’s voice floated in through an open window.
If you can’t back it up, just shut it up.
He had resented the advice as a youngster but thought it applicable now. He opted for awkward silence.
“Sorry,” she said. “This is so hard. My little boy is missing, and I want to break down and cry every second of every day, but I have to stay strong. The police are doing what they can. Everyone is doing what they can. You’ve done more than most.
“I wanted to say something to you.”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, you said that. What’s up?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” He couldn’t for the life of him think what she might have to be sorry about.
“About earlier. I attacked you. With Amy. I was so angry. I lost my mind, and it was wrong. I’m so sorry I let it happen.”
He remembered, and it felt ridiculous that she was apologising for it. Here was a desper
ately worried mother and she had lashed out. Of course, she had. He would never have expected her to apologise and told her so.
“You’re sweet,” she said. He seemed to be hearing that a lot.
“But there is no need to lose my cool and act like a madwoman because I am upset. Christina would be oh so ashamed of me.”
There was slight mocking in the tone, and James didn’t know how to respond. He settled for drinking his water and nodding. It was hot in the house. Close. He was beginning to feel ill.
“Well,” said Claire, slapping her knees and standing. “That’s all I had to say. I should let you get on.”
The release gave James relief. He got to his feet, downed his water, and was prepared to as much as peg it out the door. Then he stopped. Turned. Claire stood in the centre of the room, not focusing on James. Maybe she thought he was gone, as she seemed not to notice him. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the photos, and there were tears in them. No longer could he resist the pull to say something useless.
“It’s going to be okay.”
Her head snapped to him. At first, there was shock in her eyes, then they softened.
“So everyone tells me. I wish I could believe it. But Luke is the right mix of smart and angry. Smart enough to avoid the cops and angry enough to do something stupid. To hurt my son.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“You don’t know him,” she said, shaking her head. “He hates us for turning on him. His partner and his family turfing him out of town. He would do anything to get us back. That’s what this is. Payback.”
“I know he’s angry, and maybe a bad guy, but to hurt his own son -”
Claire laughed out loud at that. The sound was harsh, shocking. She turned to him, and the tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“Maybe Luke’s not bad enough to hurt his son, but that’s the thing,” she said. “Luke isn’t Charlie’s father, and worse.
“He knows it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
James arrived at the Barneses door in a fresh set of clothes, fake smile fixed to his face, barrage of worries and doubts crashing through him like a hurricane through Kansas. He wasn’t counting but guessed it took him near enough three minutes to lift his fist and knock on the door after arriving on the porch.