by Ayre, Mark
Turning a corner his foot slipped off the curb, sending renewed agony through his back. Remaining where he was a couple of minutes he closed his eyes tight, fighting tears of pain, then started again, trying to ignore the agony and martial his thoughts.
How had Mark known to check the phone? Why had he felt the need to take it? James refused to believe he had grabbed it speculatively. Something had made him go into James’ bag and take it. Anger coursed through James to rival the pain, partly at Mark, the thief, but mainly at himself. Was it not him who had allowed this to happen? He who had been so trusting he had left the picture on his phone, believing himself safe. Hadn’t even locked it. How could he have been so wrong?
Leaving the village, he wondered if he would ever return, but thought he would. The Barnes’ didn’t understand. They thought him some villain in league with their evil son and he couldn’t have that. For the first time since arriving in the village, he allowed himself to think back to his relationship with Luke. How they had bonded over hating their families. Neither saying much of why they had run but recognising parallel relationships.
Except Luke had been lying. James had seen it as soon as he had arrived in the village and met Christina. How could she be compared to his mother? The woman who had abandoned James as a child then returned so many years later to fool him into thinking she could love him, only to break every promise she had made. Luke had spoken of how much he hated his mother, and James had never seen the delusions behind the claim.
It took him twice as long as it should have to reach the B&B, and when he arrived, he saw he was not going to be lying down any time soon.
Always travelling light, James had only brought two bags into the village with him. A shoulder bag which was hooked around his neck now, containing the snacks he had bought in the shop earlier as well as the chocolates he had intended for Megan, and a larger, red bag. More of a small suitcase which contained all of his clothes and personal effects. This was what he saw as he approached the tiny bed and breakfast on the open road. Ted, the kindly man who had been so welcoming since James' arrival, dragging it to the edge of the pavement.
Janet stood in the doorway, shielding her eyes from the sun and watching her husband lower the bag as though it might contain explosives. As Ted made his way back, she saw James and let out a little gasp. Dropping from the step she pointed and Ted turned to him, anger crossing his face.
“You better get gone, fella,” Ted said, his voice calm and contemplative, as ever it was. “You’re not welcome here no more.”
“What have you done with that poor boy?” Janet shrieked, looking at him as though he were the devil. James reached the edge of the lawn, facing the sadness of two folks he had grown to care for over the past couple of days.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard -“ he started, but stopped as Christina stepped from the house.
“You know exactly what they’ve heard,” she said, not smiling, but not so furious as her husband had been. She kept the coldness of her son. “You didn’t think you’d be able to stick around now we know the truth, did you?”
“You’ve got this all wrong.”
Christina tutted and stepped away from the house. For a second it looked as though Ted might stop her, as if he thought James was dangerous - maybe he did - but he stayed where he was, and Christina came face to face with her new enemy.
“Are you going to tell me where my son is?”
Her voice was quiet, as though they were sharing a secret best kept from Janet and Ted.
“Tell me where he is, and help me get Charlie back, and maybe we can work on forgiving you.”
“I don’t know where they are,” he said, which was the truth. “You don’t know what’s going on. If I could just -“
Her hand went up.
“I’m not interested. You stand there and tell me I don’t understand and maybe I don’t get the specifics, but I know you lied. I know you turned up and pretended to be a stranger when you knew who I was. I know you wormed your way into my family without telling us what you were.
“Maybe you don’t know where Luke is, or Charlie, but do you think that matters? My grandson went missing, and Luke was to blame, but you never told us your connection to him. You used our grief to work your way into my family and that kind of disgraceful behaviour I would struggle ever to forgive.
“So, no, you cannot explain. I will never be able to trust you, whether you’ve been working with my son or not. This, so far as I’m concerned, is your one chance. Leave the village and don’t come back. Pray I find my grandson because if I don’t, if something happens to him, it will be your fault. Not that I need to tell you that. I think you already know.”
James wanted to say something. To retort to the accusations but what was there? It was true. All of it. He had nothing to do with Luke and Charlie’s disappearance, but he had kept plenty from the family. He had lied and pretended to be someone he was not. Now he was surprised they were angry. That they wouldn’t listen.
“Leave now,” Christina said, reinforcing her point. Then she turned to the couple behind her. “Lovely to see you both. I hope we speak again soon.”
She smiled and walked to her car.
James stared as she started it up, reversed, and drove away, heading back to the village he had come so fast to love, and in which now he was no longer welcome, and never would be again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
As Christina disappeared into the village, car fumes poisoning the atmosphere as her words had poisoned his character, the couple who had taken James in returned into their home. The door closed without another word, and James was left alone with two bags containing all his possessions in the world. A depressing existence it was, but what was there to do? He had been cast from the village. Excluded and rejected. No option remained but to go.
One bag over his shoulder, one at his side, he travelled the road which led into and out of the village. It was two lane, and often quiet, but was as close to a main road as the little place had. James walked towards the motorway, a few miles on, trying to ignore the screams of his back as he went. He would go to the crossroads before the motorway, turn left and continue to the nearest town. From there he could get a bus, return to the city he called home. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but beggars, as they said, could not be choosers.
Dreams of making it to town without stopping evaporated after his first steps. The intermittent screams of his back soon become a never-ending wail, sending telegrams of pain through his legs, arms and neck. Every time the larger bag slipped, and he had to jerk it back over his shoulder he faced a spasm of pain so severe he almost fell to his knees. Each of these brought fresh tears to his eyes and, within a mile, pain landed a knock out blow, and he collapsed to the ground.
For almost an hour he sat, leaning against his larger bag as though it were a wild animal he was afraid to wake. No movement. The slightest twist meant several minutes of spasming agony. He closed his eyes. Sleep was a bad idea but might be the only way to take his mind off the pain. No chance, but he was able to drift a little, falling into the zone somewhere between asleep and awake where time did not flow quite right. Seconds would tick by like hours then six or seven minutes would pass in the blink of an eye. This place reduced the pain from excruciating to a low pulse, something annoying he could almost ignore.
Full, deeper sleep was close when he heard an angry engine. He jolted awake, head full of fluff and back full of pain, sure it was coming from the village. A fleet of cars approaching like a modern-day mob, led by George and come to burn and kill the monster who had taken their favourite child. Or, it could be the police, wanting to catch and question him until he cracked and revealed the location of Charlie and Luke.
He wanted to rise, but pain kept him grounded as well as chains might have. Looking at the village he expected to see the entourage approaching, but there was nothing. Still, the engine roared and only now did he realise it was coming from the motorway, not the vill
age, so twisted his head once more.
A 4x4, huge and high above his position, sped towards him. Had there been a rock behind which he could hide, he would have dived for it, pain be damned, but there wasn’t. Instead, he was forced to stay put, head down, hoping the driver was not a stopper, so he could sleep in peace.
No such luck. The car was slowing, and he watched with dread as it came to a halt a few feet from him, its shadow bathing him in darkness as complete as on a moonless night. Looking to the steering wheel he found tinted glass, and so was unable to tell who was in the car until the door opened and the man stepped out.
“Hello there. You alright?”
James recognised him, though it took a few seconds to place the face. One he had seen in a school what felt like a thousand years ago.
“I’m okay. You’re Mohsin’s father, right?”
“Right, Nikesh -” he thrust out a hand which James took. “And you… hey, you’re James Perry.”
James considered lying to get away fast, but couldn’t deceive the man’s honest smile. He nodded, and the smile became a beam.
“I’ve wanted to meet you. The man who found my son and ensured he reached the hospital on time. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“I’ve not done anything. It was Megan who found Mohsin. I did what anyone would have done.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t look convinced. Like the world was full of people who couldn’t be bothered to call the ambulance upon seeing a dying man. Maybe he was right. He continued: “you sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been in battle.”
“I’m good,” James said, stepping back and almost tripping over his bags. Nikesh’ eyes went to these for the first time.
“Going somewhere?”
“Home. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome.”
“No, you can’t go. Mohsin will want to see you. To thank you. They’re waking him tomorrow. He’ll be groggy, but we’re hoping he’ll be able to say who attacked him.”
“I think he’ll say Sema.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and seemed to prompt confusion from Nikesh.
“Sema from the charity?”
“Yeah, how long you been away? Haven’t the cops told you?”
“I went away this morning but only for a couple of hours, and I spoke to the police before I left. They said they had no new leads and they never mentioned Sema. What’s happened?”
James stared at Nikesh with disbelief. Why wouldn’t the cops have updated him? It didn’t make sense to leave him in the dark, especially when he would be desperate for updates. Unless they had questioned her and decided she was innocent, before getting the chance to talk to Nikesh. Possible, he supposed, but there was another option…
“Did Mohsin talk about his charity work a lot?”
“Of course. He loved it. Used to talk about the people he worked with all the time. Was gutted when he was… let go.”
The way Nikesh spoke these last couple of words, James sensed there was more to it, and remembered talk of an argument between George and Mohsin. He asked Nikesh about this and, although Nikesh’ first question still hadn’t been answered, he decided to say what he knew.
“There was a girl called Becky. Mohsin was very close to her. Had met her when she first came in and treated her like a little sister. He was sponsoring her. Helping her get her school work done and the like, but he thought she was hiding something. Thought there was a guy on the scene and he was worried about it. He wouldn’t tell me much, but I think he found out about the guy. I think he went to tell George about it and George didn’t take it seriously. They argued because of it and, next day, Mohsin was told he wasn’t needed anymore. He was gutted. Would have fought it I’m sure, but this was only a couple of weeks before the attack, and he never got the chance.”
James’ head pounded as he thought it over. Luke had disappeared but how many people had he got his claws into before he went? Sema James knew about but was it possible Becky had been sleeping with him as well?
He remembered her from George’s office. The shy smile. The way she stuffed her hands in her pockets. Couldn’t have been older than fourteen and for Luke to put her under his spell was enough to make him want to retch.
But there was more, not as bad, but almost. The implication of the argument between Mohsin and George. The sacking.
Was George protecting his son? Hiding the fact he was still abusing these girls. Protecting him from an even heavier prison sentence than he might otherwise have got. James didn’t want to believe it, but it was possible. Parents would go to extreme lengths to protect their children. Breaking the law often didn’t hold them back.
“So, can you tell me about Sema?”
“Yeah,” James said. “And I need a favour.”
“What’s that?”
“I need you to drive me back to the village.”
Nikesh clutched the steering wheel as though afraid James might grab it and try to swing them off the road. The smile he had stepping from his car had slipped into the past, and when he pulled up in the village, it was with little enough care that they jolted over the curb and James was almost thrown into the roof. He slid from the car with a quiet apology.
“It’s not your fault,” Nikesh said, forcing a smile. “I just want the truth.”
There was no chance for response. The door slammed hot on the tail of Nikesh’s words, and the car was speeding off before James had secured his footing on the pavement.
Standing within the boundaries of the village again, James heard the water. Not as strong as it had been but loud enough. Gurgling and slurping around his shoes, though he couldn’t feel it. Not yet.
He started walking, the fresh air working on his mind and body, healing them.
It wasn’t only the fresh air. A new sense of determination was rising within him, leaving little room for the nightmare memories of his past and pain of his present. The conversation with George came back to him. How the older man had listened to his theories and promised to help. Had acted as though grief-stricken with guilt over what his son had done, but protected him all the same.
He was withholding vital information from the police, and yet Christina had the nerve to tell James his lies were the ones condemning Charlie.
Part of him wanted to have it out with George, but good sense held him back. The mood Mr Barnes had been in he was as likely to lash out and kill James as talk. Still, James approached the Barnes place, drawn to it like a fox to bins.
He never made it. Four houses before the turn that would have brought his goal into sight, Emma appeared like a mole popping from the ground. Cosmically, he supposed this made sense. Since Mark’s revelation a couple of hours ago, she was the only Barnes he hadn’t seen. Luke aside. As she stormed towards him, he welcomed her arrival, knowing she would give him a different perspective. After all, she had never seemed keen to toe the family line.
“Hello, Emma. I guess you’ve heard what Mark found?”
“I have,” she said, her voice a contorted mix of anger, sadness, and anticipation. “If they find out you’ve come back there’ll be trouble. The whole village will know soon, and when that happens, everyone will be gunning for you.”
“Are you warning me to run?”
“No,” she said, and her expression changed. She smiled sweetly. “Let’s talk.”
She took him to a small cafe occupied by a duo of elderly couples and a girl in her late teens reading a book. Behind the counter, a large woman with a kind face waited to serve while a chef worked out back.
Another time, it might have been a lovely place to eat. Not today. When James entered, the atmosphere changed. The girl kept reading, but everyone else looked to him. Curious stares and whispers. The friendly woman behind the till darkened and shot a look back to the chef, who had stopped cooking.
“News travels fast, huh?”
Emma smiled in response and pointed to a corner table.
“Get yourself out the way. I’ll be there
in a minute.”
Doing as he was told, he tried to ignore the eyes on him. Since childhood, he had hated attention, and that had been okay seeing as he was rather forgettable all round. Now the elderly couples turned away, pretending not to look but they were distracted. Their conversation had no natural flow. Before Emma came over with two coffees one of the sets had got up and hurried out, as though worried unpopularity was catching. The formerly friendly woman at the counter stayed where she was, glaring.
“I’ve made quite the impression.”
He tried to keep his voice light, as though he wasn’t bothered, but Emma was in no mood to joke. Taking some sugar from the pot in front of him, he waited for the onslaught.
“Where is he?” Her voice was quiet, measured. No anger but she sounded desperate, afraid, and upset, though her eyes were as soft as he had ever seen them.
“I don’t know. You think this has been some game for me? That I’ve been pretending? I haven’t. I’ve been desperate to find Charlie, and I think -“
“Don’t you listen? I don’t care about Charlie.”
An instant of shock followed by a rush of memories. Emma, Mark and Sharon. They had all made it clear who mattered the most to the youngest Barnes.
“Luke.” He shook his head. “You need to stop thinking about him. You must know what he did to you. You must. Why don’t you hate him?”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“What about Alex?”
Her expression changed. She grew paler. It was clear he wasn’t expected to know about her old boyfriend. Her hands clasped tighter to her coffee, and he thought she might throw it at him. She held her temper.
“Luke had nothing to do with Alex’s death.”