by Nell Grey
I shiver. The air is cold at this height, even for July.
“Let’s go back down,” I suggest.
“Alright, how about the Embankment next? The Tate Modern to Westminster?”
I take his arm.
“Can we get an iced coffee?”
After we get back to the flat Jason naps on the sofa like an old man. I’ve completely thrashed him.
That evening, Jac’s mother Callista and her partner Sam come around for supper. Callista lives in London these days, though she’s spent lots of time before in Wales.
She’s artistic and flamboyant. Her long silver dreadlocked hair is pulled off her face and garnished with dozens of beads. She coos over Jac and Annie’s new tattoos, and much to Sam’s horror starts discussing getting another one for herself, right across her back.
Of course, Callista’s been absolutely everywhere in the world, and by the time we’re eating my head is spinning with travel ideas. But I’m starting to feel normal about myself, relaxing in their company.
Until she mentions my scar.
“You don’t mind me saying, darling, but that looks very red. What’ve you been putting on it?”
“Err... I’ve been covering it with make-up.”
“That’s no good, sweetie. Manuka honey, that’s what you want.”
“I’ll try it,” I answer politely, trying to close down the conversation.
“How did it happen?”
I have the feeling that this is going to happen a lot on my travels and I’m going to need to toughen up, work out strategies to deal with it. On this occasion though, I don’t need to. Jac jumps in and answers for me.
“Oh! Claire, that’s awful,” she exclaims after. “What happened to him?”
“He pleaded guilty to grievous bodily harm so they dropped the attempted murder charge. He got three years. He’ll be out in eighteen months.”
Another reason to leave.
Cal tuts.
“And what happened to Sion?”
Jason glances at Jac. I can see that he isn’t sure if we should be talking about Sion’s new identity publicly.
“He’s fine. He’s gone away for a bit.”
Jac swallows a gulp of beer.
“They tried to charge him with murder, Cal. They had me and Annie in for questioning too.”
Cal stares at him horrified. She’s clearly at a loss for words. For the first time ever.
“Jac’s apparently only with me for my money and the farm.”
Annie winks at Cal, trying to lighten the mood, but Cal’s face has turned a stony-grey and I can tell that it has upset her deeply.
“What?” Sam asks Cal quietly as the table falls silent.
“I’m shocked, that’s all,” she mutters. “It’s worse than living in a fascist state.”
“Well, it’s all settled now,” I tell them. “Sion was free to go.”
“But you’ve still got doubts about Sion?” she asks me, suddenly.
My fork clangs onto my plate, and I mouth an apology and take a drink of my wine. Cal has read my thoughts.
Later, as she gets ready to leave, Cal hugs me tightly, “Bon voyage, darling, you’re going to have the most wonderful time.”
She whispers in my ear, “You still love him. He didn’t kill Glyn. Go find him, sweetie. And then never let him go.”
I shake my head. She means well but Sion’s gone. Now I need to find myself.
The next day I’m up early, repacking my rucksack, doing last-minute checks.
Jac and Annie come with me to St Pancras to see me off. I hug Annie tightly as we say our goodbyes. In a few hours, I’ll be in Paris. My big world adventure is about to begin and I can’t wait.
Chapter 7
---------✸---------
Shaun sat with Frank in the canoe in the middle of the lake. It was the start of the season and two fishing lines were in the water, but only one was snagging the biting trout, and it wasn’t Shaun’s.
It was the first time he’d seen the newly painted-up lodge from the water and Frank caught Shaun studying it.
“You’d never think it was the same place. Good on ya, Shaun, ya’ve done a crackin’ job.”
The white painted windows popped out of the subtle putty-coloured paintwork, making the lodge look large and homely.
“Yeah. The biggest pain was that hole in the roof, had to re-timber and dry line the rooms. Still a lot of work to do redecorating.”
“No pain, no gain, mate. Least ya got the hot water going now.”
“I’ve got Wifi too. And one very noisy rooster that wakes me up at the crack of dawn every morning.”
“Rowdy,” Frank chuckled. “Celia put her foot down. It was either get rid of that bird or she was putting him in the pot.”
“I’m feeding him now, but he’s still too fast for me to catch.”
Shaun had spent hours trying to coax, cajole and chase Rowdy back into his newly refurbished chicken coop. But Rowdy had a taste for freedom and was not a willing participant. The best he could hope for was to feed him and hope that he’d become more tame. In the meantime, he was getting used to the six a.m. wake-up calls.
Once he was settled, Vern in the hardware store said he’d help him get some layers. He liked the idea of having fresh eggs every morning.
In the space of a month, Shaun had turned the place back into the sumptuous lodge it once was.
But what was he going to do with all those bedrooms? That big barn? And the land?
The place had potential, but he wasn’t quite sure for what exactly.
“Can we stop calling it Jake’s Place now?”
“Too right. Lake Lodge. That’s what ya called it, didn’t ya?”
“Yes. Lake Lodge.”
The week before, he’d taken a shopping trip to Auckland with Celia.
White goods, electronics, furnishings; he could feel his pulse rising as he tapped in his pin code and felt his bank balance depleting before his eyes. But this place was his forever home. Even if he wanted to, he thought grimly, he could never go back.
Celia, he noticed, clammed up whenever he mentioned Jake. And it was no coincidence. He got a weird look from the folk in town too whenever he mentioned where he was living.
It was obvious that some tragedy had befallen Jake. But he had enough ghosts of his own from Helmand and Syria to deal with, without adding Jake to the collection.
And how could he be spooked, when every morning he watched the spring mists rolling like curls of smoke across the mirrored water?
Celia and a few of their friends and neighbours had arrived by the time Shaun and Frank were back on dry land with a passel of trout.
Shaun had been determined to hold fast to his promise of a barbecue, and Celia had got a group of neighbours together as a housewarming. Everyone was bringing a plate she’d told him and then quickly explained what that meant. Basically, it meant no work for him, apart from the outside table he’d constructed. Soon it was covered in bowls of salads and side dishes his neighbours brought as they arrived. And the smell of charcoal and cooking began to waft across the porch and onto the sandy shoreline below the house.
Frank took over the cooking duties while Celia introduced Shaun to neighbours and friends. The men invited him to go fishing with them, and worryingly after a couple of glasses of pinot, Celia started to take a vocal interest in Shaun’s love life. By the end of the evening, she’d promised to fix him up with every single or divorced woman she knew in the town. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle that but he needed to end this new line of interest once Celia had sobered up.
“So, what next?” Frank asked Shaun as they leaned against the island in the newly refurbished kitchen.
Shaun took out his phone and clicked on the contact that the British Consulate had given him.
“I s’pose it’s high time I saw about getting a job.”
◆◆◆
As the evening drew late and everyone had gone home, Shaun relaxed on the sof
a in the lounge, alone. Firing up his new games consul onto his new big screen, he loaded his favourite game. It was the same one he used to play online with Jason when he was laid over in some far-flung place and Shaun was in London or on a job.
He couldn’t believe it. As he was thinking about Jason, his friend’s icon simultaneously flashed up on the screen. Jason was online too.
It was too tempting, and a little drunk he clicked onto messages. Before he thought better of it, he was already connected.
Shaun: Jase? Are you there?
Jason: Hey! Sion? Is that you? How you doing, man?
Shaun: Hi Jase. I’m good
Jason: Great to hear from you. So, you a ghost now?
Shaun: Pretty much
Jason: Where are you?
Shaun considered his answer. The messaging was pretty secure. He was pretty confident that no one would hack his games accounts.
Shaun: Delete this convo after, right?
Jason: Yeah, no worries
Shaun: I’m Shaun Cobain now
Jason: Cobain? As in Nirvana?
Shaun: I’m living in NZ
Jason: North or south?
Shaun: Way up north
Jason: Awesome! Oranges and beaches
Shaun: Something like that.
Jason: I’ll come out and see you one day
Shaun: Any time, mate. I’ve got a place by a lake. Real peaceful. I’m loving it here. How’s Jac and everyone?
Jason: They’re good. Jac, Annie and Claire came down to London. Claire’s great, by the way
Shaun’s heart sank.
Shaun: Where’s she now?
Jason: She’s gone travelling but we’re in touch quite often
Shaun: Oh
There was a pause and Shaun could see Jason typing. After a few seconds, the words appeared.
Jason: Not like that, you idiot. That’s never gonna happen
Shaun: Sorry, Jase
He should never have thought that. It was an unwritten code. None of his friends would ever move in on another’s girl. She wasn’t exactly his girl. But it wasn’t Jason’s style. Thinking about it, Shaun had never met any of Jason’s girlfriends.
He smirked to himself, not that the airline pilot would ever be short of female company.
Jason: Claire’s gone travelling. She’s in Crete for the summer, working in a café. She’s messaged me a few times
Shaun: Has she got over the attack?
Jason: It shook her up for a good while, but she’s trying to move on with her life
Shaun: Has she said anything about me?
The typing paused. Jason was considering carefully what to say next. Not a good sign, Shaun concluded.
Jason: She really likes you, but she’s confused about your past
Shaun rubbed his eyes. He bitterly regretted the last few years, but it was what it was. He couldn’t change it.
Shaun: I’m out of all that now
Jason: Hang on in there, mate. I’ll talk to her if you like, tell her where you are, see if she’ll go see you
Shaun: No, it’s too risky. There might be people watching her
Jason: Then, you’ll need to think of another way
Shaun: Thanks, Brains. If you have any bright ideas, let me know
Claire still liked him. Shaun thought about nothing else all night.
But how could he reach out to her, get her to come to New Zealand without making her feel like he was entrapping her?
As he lay in the master bedroom in his new king-size bed, the curtains open, he looked out onto the silvery calm moonlit lake and contemplated it some more.
◆◆◆
Irish tapped his unlit cigarette angrily against the packet. It was nearing September now and the trail was cold. Even with the huge reward, he’d not had a sniff. Not even a false sighting.
He swiped his phone and looked at the blurry picture that he had of him. It was the only one, a black and white CCTV image looking down from the ceiling into the pub corridor where they’d ambushed him.
He was around six foot in height, athletic. His hair he guessed was a sandy brown, kind of fair but not especially so. His face? There were no discernible features; a straight nose, no scars. Sion Edwards was instantly forgettable.
And that was the problem.
He sparked the lighter and lit his cigarette.
No. The only way to get to him was through the girl.
Claire Edwards had gone travelling. And having a good time, judging by her posts. The Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Trevi fountain in Rome; she’d headed through Italy.
The last two posts she’d put up were a month apart. He studied them carefully. It was the same place. He tapped and re-sized the photo. She was wearing an apron around her waist. On the umbrella in the background, he could make out a name. Cafe Elounda.
He googled the name and found it immediately. It was in Crete.
He scrolled through his phone contacts until he got to Mac O’Shea, an old family friend and sometime buyer, though he’d not worked in England recently.
He was onto a far better thing now. He spent his summers in Greece and his winters in the Caribbean. Not bad for a Bootle boy, Irish thought with some admiration.
Mac was a nimble operator. Every spring he bought his party drugs out of Spain and then spent the summers working the Greek Islands. Moving from resort to resort on his yacht, he dropped the gear discreetly with the young Brits he met in bars, the types who needed to earn a little extra on the side in the clubs, selling pills and powder.
It was working out well for him. No one ever suspected the unassuming leather-skinned Englishman who sat reading British papers in the bar by his anchored yacht.
“Mac? How you doin’? It’s Irish… that’s right, Connor O’Dwyer… yeah, Irish Eoin’s lad…. Yeah, still raining here in Liverpool, you lucky sod... Listen, Mac, are you anywhere near Crete? I need a favour.”
◆◆◆
“Efharisto.”
I thank the Greek couple and take the money they’ve left on the table for their coffees. Sweeping my hair over my shoulder I cover my neck self-consciously as I clear up after them. The man checks back at me and I can sense that they’re talking about my scar.
The days are colder now that it’s October and the place has quietened down. Over across from Plaka in the Bay of Elounda, the evening sunlight is catching the island of Spinalonga. It lights up the side of the sandstone fort. Tiny black impenetrable windows pepper the sheer golden walls that sweep into the sea. It’s the perfect light for a sensational photograph, it’s a shame that my camera’s back in my room.
The island was used as a leper colony. Even though it’s less than a mile away from the mainland, when the sick people were shipped off there in the rowing boat they never saw their families again.
I take the empty coffee cups to the kitchen and go back out to reset the table. It’s been a busy few weeks of work but gazing out at the island every day I find myself thinking more and more of Sion. Where is he now? What’s he doing? I wish I could shake myself free of his memory, but I can’t.
I video chat to Jason sometimes. He’s keeping mad hours, flying in and out of Singapore. When I tell him I’ve been thinking about Sion, he gives me a strange look.
Don’t let the past control the future, he says to me. See things as they are now and let yourself make a fresh start.
I’ve thought about that a lot. And I agree with Jason. I need to move on.
Chapter 8
---------✸---------
Shaun felt about twelve years old as he sat waiting outside the School Principal’s office.
The secretary had smiled kindly at him and asked him if he wanted a cup of tea when he arrived, but Shaun had been far too nervous to accept.
This was ridiculous, he told himself. He’d got himself and five of his men out of a fox hole covered by enemy snipers in Afghanistan. In Iraq, he’d coolly broken into a desert compound and rescued two journalists about to be beheade
d by Isis jihadis, and yet here he was sitting outside a headteacher’s office and he was a total wreck.
He put it down to his past. School had never been a happy place for him. So why had he bothered coming?
When he’d called, the secretary had told him that school was rural, and she wasn’t lying. It had taken him a good hour in his car to reach this place, far up in the north on the other side of the vast kauri forests.
And truth be told, when he arrived he very nearly hadn’t got out of the car. But then, he’d seen the school, perched above the pristine sands in the bay. Carved totem poles were dotted around the front, and alongside the school sat an intricately-carved wooden house which made him curious. It didn’t look like any school he’d ever been to before.
“Mr Cobain, good to meet you at last.”
A tall, olive-skinned man took his hand and shook it firmly.
“I’m John. John Kara, the principal.
Shaun had been practising pronouncing the greeting in the car.
“Kia Ora, John. I’m Shaun.”
John Kara’s face cracked into a broad smile.
“Kia Ora.”
He guided Shaun through to his office, an unassuming space with walls covered in photographs of students. Sports teams, dramas, boys and girls in traditional dress.
Fastening himself behind his desk, the principal scanned through the printed email on his desk.
“So… back in July, we agreed with the Ministry that you could fill our classroom assistant vacancy. Bit unusual, but they gave us your paperwork and asked us to do them a favour.”
Shaun nodded a little sheepishly. He had instantly got a warm feeling about John Kara, but there was no denying it, it was now October. He’d left it very late to get this job.
“Yeah, well. We’re usually struggling to get staff up here, but the thing is, Shaun,” he said, looking up from the paper, “A teacher who used to work here, they moved back home and so I’m afraid we’ve filled the space.”
“Oh...Well...”
Shaun got up to leave, stretching his hand towards the principal.