by Ayre, Mark
"Not long. Six months, I think."
Sort of a lie. He didn't think. He knew. It had been one week over six months, and he could see her now. Her beauty almost as aching as Megan's, but the two girls weren't alike. She hadn't been right for him, yet he had fallen for her as fast and hard as an F1 crash, and how had this love affair ended? The same way James' relationships always ended - in bloodshed.
Megan nodded, as though she found this answer acceptable.
"Those are supposed to be the glory months. The honeymoon period, don't they call it? I'm not sure anything has changed for us, though. Mark and me. I don't think we ever had a honeymoon period. We got together, and it was like we'd been in a relationship ten years. We were comfortable. We held hands. Slept together. But there was no excitement.
"He doesn't love me."
She averted her eyes. She hadn't expected to say it. Hadn't wanted to say it, especially not to James. But she had, and a tidal wave of hope and expectation rose in his chest at her words. He watched her but didn't say anything, knowing she had more.
"I think he's played away,” scraping the label off the side of her beer bottle. "I don't know. No evidence. I just get that feeling. He goes out a lot, often late. He hides things from me. Ugh, how pathetic is that?"
"Do you love him?"
Rather than answer she drank another healthy swig of beer and averted her eyes. The temptation to jump in with a follow up was strong, but he held off and was rewarded.
"I don't know.“
But James wasn’t buying.
"Yes, you do. I think, with love, you always know." Another pause, as he considered whether to continue. He did. "You should be with someone you love."
"Got someone in mind, do you?"
He smiled, bowed his head, but she didn't take her eyes off him. Eventually, he had to look back.
"I think I could love you," he admitted. "I think you're incredible and obviously you're beautiful, but I can put that to one side. If you told me you'd never have a drop of interest in me I'd say the same. I believe in love. I believe you should find someone you love, and fight to make it work.”
"Fairytales.” Her voice was almost a whisper. "Have you heard Christina's theory on love and passion?"
"Candle theory?"
Megan nodded.
"Seems to be working for Christina and George, and Mark and I are still strong."
"Are you?"
"Aren't we?"
He closed his eyes. Tried to pick his phrasing, and when he spoke, the words came out slow, measured.
"I think, if you find the right candle, it can burn forever, and far brighter and hotter than the light from any battery."
“Sounds perfect.”
“It isn’t - wouldn’t be. Nothing is but that makes it better, in a way. Thing about an everlasting candle is occasionally you’re going to get burned, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth keeping. You find an everlasting candle, and maybe the imperfections don’t seem so imperfect. If that makes sense.”
More drinking. More silence. Her eyes kept rising to meet his, then dropping. She didn't say anything, but he thought his candle talk had stirred something in her. Not wanting the conversation to stall he began conjuring up platitudes but, before he could spill them, she rose, draining her second drink and plonking it on the side. He couldn't believe how fast she had raced through it. His bottle sat half full in the loose semi-circle of his fingers, ignored now and forgotten when she next spoke.
"I bought a new bikini.” Pause, her cheeks reddening. "I was hoping it might persuade Mark to show a little interest. Do you want to see?" Pause. "I know. Bad idea."
"I -" he stopped himself. Words of excitement and anticipation were ready to flow, and he needed to be cool. He nodded his head.
"Great."
He sensed she, too, was trying to be reserved. Fighting her feelings. She smiled, the corners of her lips touching the growing red of her cheeks. Her hands came to her front. She took the buttons of her jean shorts and popped them open one at a time. He thought she would lower the shorts, but she went to the top and pulled it over her head, crushing it into a ball which was flung to one corner of the room, revealing a bikini top with a blue and green pattern, though he barely noticed that. More the way the fabric brought her breasts together, lifting them, showing them off. Forcing his eyes down he found her flat stomach and, as she dropped her shorts and kicked them away, the skimpy bottom portion of the bikini and her incredible legs, more on show than ever before. She was expecting an opinion but staring was all he was capable of until prompted.
"Thoughts?"
It was what Mark had said after James had viewed the maisonette. A bolt of guilt rushed through him then broke, dissolving at the sight of Megan’s beauty. It was impossible to worry about anything for long seeing that.
He got to his feet, like lifting a body of jelly, and faced her. She seemed shy, afraid. He couldn't understand why.
"Lucky I'm seeing this here," he said. "Not waterside.”
"Why?"
"If I was in a pool, and you came out wearing that, I'd drown."
A beam broke on her face, and the red seemed to recede under its radiance. Gaining a little confidence she did a spin, showing off her behind. Facing him again, she grabbed her breasts in a move that almost made him collapse.
"Padded," she said. "I don't usually go for that but thought it might make my tits look good."
"Incredible." He had to force the words out. "You're stunning."
"You mean it?"
He nodded.
Her hands dropped. They stood that way, looking at each other. James's chest tightened. She stepped towards him. Once, twice, a third time and her body was almost touching his. Their eyes met, and her hands snaked out, taking his.
"I love the way you see me, James. The way you are with me."
Nodding, like an idiot. He wanted to say something. To tell her their feelings were in sync, but it was impossible. He was trapped in her beauty, in her eyes and her words. She made another move forward, and her almost bare body was against him. She tiptoed, and her lips came to his. For the briefest second, they touched. Had it been a fragment longer they would have been entirely lost within one another but -
A round of knocking filled the air followed by the call of a male voice. Megan backed from him fast.
"Shit."
Whatever beautiful thing had been rising within James faded in an instant, as Megan pointed to the door.
"Can you get that?"
Grabbing her shorts, she began tugging them up, leaving James to deal with the newcomer.
Sick with what he was missing and who might be knocking he stumbled into the living room, lightheaded not from the booze, but the thought of those lips, and that body, pressed against his. He swung the door open hating who stood behind it before seeing them.
"Hello, James," George said, his face showcasing a tight smile. "Mark said you might be here."
Megan cleared away the bottles and made coffee for everyone as James and George settled in the living room. Not that settling was easy with George’s eyes upon him.
"How are you?" the Barnes patriarch asked, his voice heightened formal, his expression reserved. His hands were clasped in his lap, and he was staring at James. Something was up, though James couldn't tell what.
"I'm fine, you?"
Had George seen them before he knocked? The thought he might be cast aside for betraying the Barnes family made him sick. He took a breath, pretended everything was okay.
There was further stunted conversation in which potential affairs were not raised. Megan returned with a plate of sandwiches fast thrown together. Some ham and mayo, some tuna, some salad. James took one to be polite, but George only drank his coffee, leaving the food. Megan evacuated the awkward atmosphere of the room again to collect James' bag.
"Don't want you forgetting this."
James thanked her and looked to George. Trying to discern if there was suspicion in tho
se eyes. Seeing nothing, he thrust the bag over his shoulder, as though he might have to make a quick getaway.
Several minutes of silence passed, then the door opened again. The lack of knocking suggested this was not a guest, so James wasn't surprised when Mark entered. At first, his heart bubbled with guilt at what had happened with Megan, then the situation worsened. Mark's eyes were those of a man beneath the full moon, knowing a transformation is about to occur and liking it.
Silence welcomed his arrival. All eyes turned to him, but George didn’t greet his son, and James found himself unable to speak.
Megan rose, placing her coffee down and rushing to her boyfriend, kissing him on the side of the mouth.
“Hey, babe, glad you’re home. Want a drink?”
He hadn’t kissed her back and didn’t respond to her question, though his hand did come up to cup her cheek.
He slid off his coat, hanging it over the arm of the sofa. Their eyes met, and James felt the pressure swell within him, growing and spreading, filling all available space and forcing the words out through his mouth.
“Did you see Amy?”
A stupid question. He knew Mark wasn’t seeing Amy until this evening, but he hadn’t been able to help it. A horrible sense of fearful anticipation had crept over him, and he was desperate to push the conversation back onto ground he understood and could sway.
Mark wasn’t going to facilitate him. His hand slid into his pocket, and Megan looked from one to the other, confusion alighting her face.
"What about Amy?"
Again Mark ignored her, and George didn’t seem to consider the information pertinent. That was bad, sliding into awful when James realised Mark was holding something.
“You left this at the viewing.”
It was his phone. He saw it and felt as though his world had exploded.
“It was in my bag,” he croaked. Looking around he could see the world had not exploded. He wished it had.
Mark smiled a humourless smile.
"Must have fallen out."
That wasn’t true. No way. James played it back. Remembered Mark going to the coats as James went to the garden. He had taken the phone then, but to what end?
He didn’t know, didn’t want to know, so rose and held out his hand.
“Can I?”
Wanting the phone, as though it was a remote and he could rewind to a time before it’s theft.
Mark held it out, looking like he was going to surrender it, then handed it to George.
James remembered the letter. Passed around in this very room just like this. He’d felt nervous then and sick now. He remembered how distressed Claire had been and this time it was Megan.
“Mark, what are you doing?”
He put a hand on her shoulder, twisting her, so they were facing James. A unit. A team.
“You want to tell her, or should I?”
James allowed his eyes to slide past the couple to George, clutching the phone in pale trembling hands. He felt his heart leap into his throat and thud thud thud until he could barely restrain his hand reaching up and grabbing his neck to force the beating organ back into place.
“James? What’s going on?”
It was Megan, a wobble in her voice. George looked up. White-hot rage in his eyes. James scrambled for something and came up with a cliche.
“It’s not what you think.”
Megan’s face fell into confusion and James returned to Mark with a second cliche.
“I can explain.”
“You don’t have to. We know everything now.”
George stood, shaking. Mark attempted to hold back a smile. Megan tried again.
“What’s going on?”
Mark stopped ignoring his girlfriend. The one who thought he didn’t love her. The one who had bought a new bikini to spark some response from him but had shown it to James, had almost kissed James. His heart ached with how close that had been, and the tears began to gather in his eyes as Mark took the phone from George.
“He’s been lying to us. Pretending he’s on our side, but he’s playing double agent.”
Mark showed Megan the screen and James wanted to scream and knock it from his hands. Wanted to cry and plead and beg, but it was too late. Megan stepped forward. Gasped. Went to take the phone but Mark turned away from her. Showed the screen to James but James didn’t need to look. He already knew what would be there.
A photo.
A group of three. To the left, James smiled a tight smile. The kind that hid, or tried to hide, some insecurity.
In the middle a girl. Beautiful, though not as beautiful as his memory liked to paint her, as it had less than half an hour ago. James had his arm around her, holding tight, as though restraining her, although her smile said she was happy to be there. There with James and -
To the right. Another man, another smile. Not tight but knowing. As if he could see through the photo and time to what was going on in Megan’s living room. As if he could see it all and wanted to laugh.
It was that smile they were staring at. The sinister smile. The evil smile.
The smile of a future kidnapper.
The smile of Luke.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Please, just let me -“
He moved as he spoke, grabbing the phone from Mark, as though by having it he could remove his darkest secret from the minds of those around him.
“- explain.”
But George had moved as James had, and as he pulled back with the phone, George became a raging bull. Giving James no time to follow up with his explanation he barrelled forward, crashing into James and sending both of them flying, screaming and roaring.
Scrambling at George’s back, James felt a coffee table rush at him from the other side, as though part of a flanking move. It crashed into him and buckled on its legs, but didn’t break. He felt his back bend and screamed before hitting his head on the radiator and crying out again.
George had fallen too but was rising. Behind him Mark stood with calm stance, watching, while Megan cried at him to make it stop, to break them up. James saw this then spun out of the way as George came at him again. The twin fists aiming for his face hit his shoulder, sending further jarring pains through his body. Then he was up. Scrambling for the door he flew into the hall, hitting the wall as he went.
Grabbing the front door, he dived onto the lawn but caught his foot on the edge of the step as he went. Landing on his knees, he rolled onto his back, which cried in protest. His head continued to throb and, as he closed his eyes, the sound of rushing water crashed through his mind like waves breaking on the shore. Groaning, he pushed harder, trying to stand as George appeared in the doorway.
Almost up, he staggered, then George hit him. Once again they went down, and once again James smacked his head, this time on the hard lawn. His vision swam, and he saw spots, then the blurred shape of George falling upon him, hands outstretched. They were on his throat and squeezing, forcing the life out of him as the desperate man fought back tears.
“Where is he?” he screamed. “Where is my Charlie? Tell me. Tell me what that monster did with him. Tell me where he is, or I’ll kill you.”
Even if James had the answers, he couldn’t have given them. George continued to squeeze and didn’t let up. James could feel his strength fading and couldn’t speak. He knew in a moment he would be gone, and couldn’t allow that. He scrambled for a hold. For something to use or do, but there was nothing. No weapons around.
Shifting his weight, James was able to slide his body under George. One leg came loose to the side, and one found its way between George’s thighs. Sensing he would only have one chance, he waited. Feeling that grip tighten as the door behind them burst open, and Megan rushed out, followed by Mark.
The sound was enough to snatch a little of George’s attention. Not much. Only a touch. But enough. James funnelled his remaining strength into that one leg and bought it up like a piston. He felt it connect with the target zone, not with the powe
r he had wanted, but hard enough. George gave a strangled cry and instinctively went to protect his weak spot.
Realising his mistake, the hands came back, but too late. James grabbed George’s shoulders and sat up fast, his forehead meeting George’s nose and spawning a torrent of blood which full upon James like plagued rain.
Closing his mouth and eyes tight he shoved the chest of the man above, sliding George to the side and scrambling back as he did.
Still weak, still dizzy, James stumbled to his feet and wiped his face, now hot with blood. He reached the pavement and stopped, as though his enemies couldn’t get him now he was off their property. His vision clearing, he saw George lying on his side, clutching his nose and groaning. Above him knelt Megan, trying to play nurse and having little luck. Still standing, still calm, was Mark. He watched James with quiet, cold eyes. At full strength, he probably could have taken James, but James got the impression he wasn’t going to move.
“I can explain,” he said, trying that cliche one last time.
“Not interested,” Mark retorted. “You’re done here. Like Luke. Go to him. Tell him to give up Charlie and get gone. This is the only chance I’m giving. For both of you.”
James stared at Mark, feeling the fury and injustice of not being listened to flowing through him. But who did he have to blame but himself? He turned his head to Megan, hoping for some sign of hope, but received none. She was glaring. Anger and hurt in her eyes, plus heavy confusion. No one was going to listen.
“Go now,” Mark said, drawing his phone. “I’m calling the police.”
James didn’t want to go, but what choice did he have? Mark had made the situation clear, and he was smart enough to know he was facing a lost cause - just. Shaking his head as though they were in the wrong not him, he turned and walked away.
He didn’t know where to go, or what to do. Mark and George were gunning for him, the police would be on the hunt soon, and he needed time to recover. To think.
His back was in agony, and he staggered towards his temporary home. The pain continued to circle him like hungry sharks, but he didn’t care. The situation hurt worse. His dizzied mind was dragged in so many directions. Toby in the woods, his uncle and father on a blood-stained floor, the attack by the riverside, Charlie in the woods, his almost kiss with Megan and, of course, the situation with the Barnes’.