IT’S TIME

by Rachael Dytor

  I continue on. My unwelcome passenger is now shaking his head from side to side. Things are starting to look promising. He is showing more signs of regaining consciousness. I keep the speed up and head west. It starts to become obvious pretty quickly where this westerly approach is taking us.

  George

  This was disconcerting. I had been certain Thomas was headed here to confront Bert. If not here, then where? Think! I scan the outside of the croft and see an old rusted up (but possibly still functional) pick-up parked right outside. I turn towards Janey and she looks as perplexed and worried as I am.

  There is only one way to find out. “We have to go knock on the door, see if Bert is there.”

  “Yes, we do,” she gingerly responds. We approach the door together, but I take the lead and give the knocker a couple of raps. Silence. I try again but nothing. Without waiting for Janey’s authorisation, I push the door and find that it opens easily.

  We search the croft thoroughly but with no sign of either Bert or Thomas, we are back outside a few minutes later. We are more than elated to be out in the fresh air. It was utterly putrid in there! But now, we are sadly stumped. Where were they?!

  I motion to Janey to be quiet for a minute. I listen intently to see if there any voices close by, but I can only hear the noises of animals feeding and the occasional gust of wind. We need to check the barn and outhouses before leaving so we split up and search the grounds.

  It doesn’t take long. Around ten minutes later we meet up again at the front of the croft. Nothing. No sign of either of them. I rack my brain. Perhaps he has gone to the care home to see Mary, to tell her he knows about me? That would be a plausible explanation for Thomas’ disappearance, but not for Bert’s. I think we have to assume Bert is A.W.O.L. There is no sign of him, and his vehicle is parked outside. Why would they leave the croft? It made no sense.

  Janey is the first to voice her opinion. “I think I know where they might have gone … back to the beginning, back to where it all started.” The penny drops.

  “Neist Point!”

  “Exactly.”

  “Come on then,” I urge, desperate to get there as quickly as possible. My only son and the love of Janey’s life could well be in grave danger.

  CHAPTER 29

  George

  I

  t doesn’t take long to get to Neist Point. I can see in the distance only a few cars are parked up in the carpark as it is getting late in the day. We close in and it becomes immediately apparent that one of those cars looks very like mine. In no time at all, we pull up and I scan the registration plate – it is my car. “Bingo!”

  Then Janey pipes up, “Why has he brought him here, George? I get it, this is where he experienced massive trauma (hence the reason I suggested coming here), but still, do you think Bert would willingly come out here?”

  “No, I don’t believe he would, but I am sure there is a logical explanation. We need to get out there to find out what’s going on – and fast!”

  “Agreed. I’m just worried about him. What if this has brought on another psychotic episode?”

  “Yes, that is entirely possible. We should be prepared for anything. Most importantly though, let’s get to Thomas as quickly as we can. His safety is paramount. Bert might be older and physically weaker than Thomas, but I do not trust him.” From the look in Janey’s eyes, I have just voiced her concerns.

  We exit the car in tandem and set a brisk pace. From the carpark to the tip of Neist Point, it is approximately two kilometres which, at a reasonable walking speed, would take around forty-five minutes to traverse. There is, however, only one route so without doubt, we were going to come across them. Even if they had veered off the path, the landscape here is so open, you can see for miles around so I felt confident we would see them soon.

  Thomas

  It seemed fitting that this was where we had ended up. It hadn’t been my intention to come back but the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me. Bert had become more lucid on the approach to Neist Point so the timing on arrival had been just right, coinciding with him starting to open his eyes. I had gone along with Caroline’s plan without fully considering the consequences. It occurred to me that had Bert came to life whilst the car was being driven along, Lord only knows what could have happened. He could’ve taken fright, resulting in me crashing the car. Or, what if he had had the opposite reaction and lunged for me? The end result would have been the same – the car would have been run off the road. I shudder at the thought.

  No, Caroline’s plan had been executed perfectly. I cut the engine and scan the area. Good, there weren’t many cars or tourists to be seen. I then turn my attention to Bert who is showing signs of regaining consciousness with the car being at a standstill. His words are now easily decipherable – “What?” Then I watch as he vigorously rubs his eyes. “Where am I?” he says, eyes now open and taking in the surrounds. He hasn’t clocked me yet.

  What happens next happens in an instant. He turns to his right and immediately spies me. I lock eyes with him. For a split second I wonder if he even has a clue who I am. Twenty years have passed. Would he recognise me? His actions give me an immediate answer. His eyes widen in horror like a rabbit caught in the headlights and he bolts out of the car and takes off down the path. It is oddly fascinating and equally strangely amusing all at the same time. How could a person who was so heavily intoxicated simply spring to life with such velocity?

  “Don’t let him get away,” cries a determined James.

  “Don’t worry, he can’t get far, there’s only one route.” I launch myself out of the car and all four of us follow in hot pursuit. The tables had turned. The power had shifted. The last time I was here with him, he was in hot pursuit of me. This gave me a much-needed boost and I powered on.

  He knew. I saw it in his eyes when he looked at me. It had come home to roost for him. He was the physically weaker of the two of us and he had taken fright. In addition to that, he would be all too aware that in my sober state I had an advantage over him. I had manipulated the situation by getting him into the car unawares and driving him out here. He knew I had the upper hand. Then, when he saw where we had parked up, that would be the nail in the coffin. He would know I was seeking retribution. (I hadn’t intended to come here but it’s unlikely Bert would think that).

  The gap closes. Every so often, he turns around to see where I am. He isn’t fully steady on his feet and every once in a while he trips and stumbles. It is uncanny, the similarity to twenty years ago. Only, the players have switched roles! Back then it was me listening out keenly for his fast-approaching steps behind me.

  Then something distracts me. A noise coming from some distance away, barely audible. It sounds like someone is shouting my name. The wind dies down somewhat and at that point I hear it clearly – “Thomas!” And there is no mistaking who had shouted it for I knew that voice probably better than I knew the sound of my own voice – it was Janey.

  CHAPTER 30

  H

  ow did she know to come out here? I had been so fixated on getting to Bert to confront him, I hadn’t even thought about Janey and George following me. Twenty years on and all the players are back out here (with the addition of George, my newly found father) – how fitting. I must remain focussed and so I plough on undeterred.

  Bert is showing no signs of slowing down. If anything, he has quickened his pace. It is fortunate that we arrived late in the day for there are very few people here (I see the odd dog walker and straggler off in the distance). Otherwise, I am certain we would have aroused unwanted attention. I quicken my pace to match his.

  We have now covered quite some ground. To my right, I run towards the lighthouse cottages and I picture a terrified young Janey gazing out all those years ago. He can’t go much further, and he knows it. We are at the end of the road. Only the lighthouse itself and the cliff edge lie beyond this point.

  He darts around the compound (which comprises the cottages; a courtyard and t
he lighthouse) and manages to find an opening. I follow. We arrive within seconds of each other. We are stood only a few feet apart, both now at a standstill in the open grounds of the courtyard. I watch as he slumps forwards, thoroughly spent. Then, he turns around to face me.

  “What do you want from me?! Why have you dragged me all the way out here, and against my will?” He looks pitiful. It infuriates me all the more. That he (of all people) should be feeling sorry for himself after the years of torment he had mother and I endure. He can’t bear it. “Well? Aren’t you even going to say anything? You chase me all the way out here to this godforsaken place and you can’t even have a conversation with me?!”

  Then I see it in his face. His features contort. He turns in an instant from the frightened, pitiful creature I had encountered only moments ago, to the nasty, evil monster which haunted my childhood. “What is it, boy? Cat got your tongue? You always were useless. A low-down good-for-nothing waste of space.” He pauses then twists the knife in deeper. “Just like that crazy bitch mother of yours!”

  I cock my head from side to side, taking him all in, scrutinising him as if he were a new lifeform, beholding him for the first time under a microscopic lens. In that moment, it occurs to me he could say what he liked to me. The words did not hold the gravitas they once did for I see it now; they are only words. The choice is mine – whether I let those words sink in and cause irreversible damage. Or, whether I see them for what they really are – the rantings and ramblings of a bitter, old, twisted soul so pickled with liquor, it is quite possible he doesn’t even have a clue what he is saying.

  However, this does not mean he is off the hook. He needs to hear a few home truths. This is after all why I brought him out here. It is not only Bert who is growing impatient. James lets his feelings be known;

  “Well, aren’t you gonna give him chapter and verse?”

  “I am getting to it, James, believe me!”

  Bert launches in, “No fucking way! So, you haven’t outgrown your little fantasy world then? You still speak to your imaginary friends?” (he emphasises the word ‘imaginary’ for maximum impact). Indomitably, he carries on. “The thing I cannot quite understand is how you ever bagged a piece of skirt. What woman worth her salt would happily put up with that shite You were a complete waste of space years ago and nothing, it seems, has changed!”

  He has now successfully pushed my buttons by bringing Janey into it. “I am a complete waste of space, am I? You bastard! If I am certified mentally ill and ‘hear voices,’ then it’s your fault! All the abuse I suffered at your hands and witnessing how you treated mother, that’s what caused me to start hearing voices in the first place!” He shakes his head, dismissing what I’ve said. “I have read the psychologists report which was carried out following our last encounter at Neist Point … after you attacked me, landing me in hospital. It is damming. It is all there in black and white; it confirms that my mental state was all your doing. What was it he said? ‘Psychosis brought on by significant and sustained trauma inflicted by the boy’s father during childhood, both physical and mental.’ How you managed to worm your way out of a prison sentence for what you did, I do not know. You left me for dead out there in that storm.”

  I see he is taking his time to choose his words carefully, clearly fearful of implicating himself. “They couldn’t prove nothing! It was your word against mine and let’s be honest here, they’re not gonna believe the ramblings of a psychotic, delusional lad! Oh, and your mother backed me up! She gave me an alibi; said I was with her when it happened.” He is delighting in telling me this part, his face full of glee. “She took a little persuading (if you know what I mean – put in her place ya ken), but she soon came around. Then bingo, I killed two birdies with one stone! Got myself out of trouble with the law and got rid of you at the same time. George thought I was mad at him for meddling. Nothing could be further from the truth! His meddling secured you a home with foster parents and I was rid of you once and for all! Mary wasn’t far behind you either! Crazy bitch totally lost her marbles, and the care home was only too happy to take her in. I got myself a sweet wee life after that, rid of the pair of you!”

  He truly is a piece of work. There is no remorse whatsoever. He thinks himself marvellous for plotting and scheming to get rid of mother and I and for managing to evade being brought to justice. And all for what? So he can live a lonely existence in that now putrid, stinking croft where no doubt he will end his days having drunk himself to death!

  By no means did he deserve it, but I decided to give him one last chance, one last chance to make amends. “If I was such a burden to you and you wanted rid of me, why didn’t you get me the help I needed when I was living in the ‘fantasy world’ you described? Perhaps I’d have been taken off your hands then.” He laughs out loud at this.

  “What, and ruin all the fun I was having watching your pathetic little puppet show?! You didn’t know the difference between fantasy and reality, your personalities were so intertwined. I never knew which one I was talking to!” He is bent double laughing as though this is the funniest thing he has ever heard.

  It is too much. Caroline now has her say: “Are you really going to let him speak to you like that? Tell him the truth.” Of course. I feel around in my coat pocket and come across it immediately. There is a chance he does know but he might be completely in the dark. I brandish my birth certificate in front of him. He might have been utterly cock-sure of himself only seconds ago, but self-preservation is high on his agenda and he doesn’t inch any closer towards me to see what the document says. “Very well, if you are not prepared to come forwards to read it, I will happily share its contents with you. Bert, this is my birth certificate. I would like to draw your attention to the section where it says ‘father’s name.’ You see, it’s not your name in print there, it states ‘George Traynor.’”

  Now it is my turn to revel. His face says it all – he is in shock. And it is now my turn to twist the knife in. “Looks like she got one over on you!” I snigger now and my siblings join in with me. Just at that moment, my wife and father round the corner and join me, flanking me either side.

  Bert once again dons the hard-faced exterior. “Oh, I might’ve guessed you pair would be in on it. No show without punch eh!” This time, he does start to move forwards – in George’s direction. “You son of a bitch!” I waste no time and place myself squarely between my real father and the imposter.

  “If you want to get to him, you will have to get past me first!”

  “Oh, now he shows some balls! That’s the kind of attitude a son of mine would have. But you are no son of mine, are you? Show me that birth certificate! Prove it to me!” I hold it only inches from his face. He scrunches his features up in an attempt to read it then backs off.

  “I think you’ll find George is not the ‘son of a bitch’ here. It’s you! If this had all come out when I was younger, mother and I could have had the chance of a good life, a ‘normal’ life.”

  “Aye, would’ve saved me a lot of hassle too. Stupid bitch should’ve fessed up!”

  “Really, really?! And what would you have done to her if she had? She was scared witless of you! You ruined my life and hers! All the torture I experienced and then the psychosis, it could all have been avoided! And for what? You aren’t even my real dad!”

  All the pent-up emotions I had sought to bury over the years came to the fore. At the same time, I could clearly hear the voices of my siblings offering various words of reassurance and encouragement. It had all been building up to this point. Instinctively, I lunge straight for him.

  I push him with such force I was unaware I even possessed. He goes stumbling backwards and crash-lands on the concrete. He lets out a cry like an injured animal and attempts to get back onto his feet. But he is not quick enough. I am on top of him in an instant and I raise my arm heavenward, ready to bring my fist towards his face. At that moment, my intention is to pulverize his skull; to put him and us out of our misery once and
for all but I am stopped in my tracks. Janey screams at me, her voice fever pitch: “No, NO Thomas! Don’t do it! He’s not worth it!” I snap back to reality in an instant. She is right, he’s not worth it. If I follow through and kill him, then I potentially lose her and Michael and my chance at forging a relationship with my real father.

  I roll over him and he wastes no time. He is on his feet now and running off blindly. With no sense of where to go and what to do, he looks like a pheasant darting here and there, his balance somewhat precarious. Janey and George rush to my side.

  “Are you OK?” Janey asks.

  “I’m fine thanks. Tell me, how did you know to come out here?”

  “An educated guess.”

  I revert to the task in hand. “What are we going to do with him?”

  George this time: “I think you’ve said what needed to be said. You can move on now, Thomas. Why don’t we offer him a ride home and that will put an end to it once and for all? Janey and I can accompany you, make sure he doesn’t pull any stunts. There’s no reason for you to concern yourself with him anymore after that.”

  “Offer him a lift home? Really?”

  “Thomas, it shows that you are the better man. It shows that he hasn’t won, that no matter what he does or says, you will come out on top.”

  I consider this. My gut instinct was to leave him here, abandon him like he did me but there was a truth in George’s words. If I did as he suggested, once again I had the upper hand and would be seen to be unaffected by Bert’s wickedness. “OK, we can offer him a lift, but undoubtedly he will throw it back in our face.”