by Pat Young
The boss would like him to stay on, help him close down at the end of the season. He even offered some labouring work on Phase Five. The council have given him the thumbs up to go ahead with his glampsite. The boss has explained how he’s hoping to have the yurts erected in time for Christmas. He expects to be fully booked and says people will flock to Brackenbrae to bring in the new year. He was desperate to show off his plans, but Gus gave them a body swerve. The boss and his crazy plans are of no interest. This time next week they’ll be nothing but a memory. One he’ll be trying his hardest to forget.
Full charge. Full signal for once. No excuse. He has to make contact. By text, so he doesn’t have to risk speaking again.
Reading from the slip of paper she’d stuck to the back of the phone, Gus keys in the woman’s number then starts to type his message.
Hi Mum
Now what?
Hope u r well
No, better make that both well. Oops, and don’t forget the dead granny. What was it they called her again? Mamie.
So sorry about Mamie I loved
The word disappears, replaced by a heart. He decides to leave it. The dead guy looked like he’d be a fan of emojis.
her very much Sorry I had to stay here and work
High season
Be in touch
Luv Seb
He adds a smiley face with sunglasses and a rainbow. He reads it aloud, nods approvingly and hits the blue send arrow.
Right, that’s it done. Should put the mother’s mind at rest long enough to let him get away. After that, well, he’s got his story sorted.
As long as he makes sure Charlie doesn’t decide to tell a story of his own, all will be hunky-dory.
57
France
‘Eric! Eric!’
‘I’m in the shower.’
‘Well, hurry up!’
Catherine clutches her phone to her chest, closes her eyes and whispers, ‘Thank you, God.’
She sits on the bed and waits for Eric. He comes into the bedroom with a towel wrapped round his waist and another draped round his neck. He lifts one end and rubs at his hair. ‘What’s the rush?’
She holds out her phone.
‘Sebastien? Did he ring?’
‘A text.’
‘That’s great.’ He looks at her and says, ‘Isn’t it?’
She gives him a smile, knowing he wants her to be happy. ‘Of course it is.’
‘What does he say?’
‘Mmm, not much, actually. Here, read it.’
Eric reads the little message. She watches for a reaction but he simply hands the phone over, saying, ‘Short and to the point. You disappointed?’
‘A little bit, perhaps.’
‘At least we know he’s okay.’ Eric starts to get dressed, his back to her.
‘Do we?’
He turns to face her, adjusting the waistband of his pants. ‘Oh, Catherine, not this again, please.’ He sits on the end of the bed to pull on his socks. The mattress moves under his weight and she leans on her hand to keep steady. If only her emotions were so easy to control. She bites down on her lip.
‘What’s the matter, darling? You’ve been waiting weeks to hear from him. Now you have and you’re still not happy. I don’t understand what’s going on.’ He gently taps three times on the side of her head. She’d like to laugh but it’s impossible.
‘I’ve just got a feeling something’s not right.’
She hears the sigh before he speaks. ‘A feeling?’
‘Yes. No. Well, more than a feeling. A suspicion.’
This time he makes no effort to muffle his sigh. ‘Oh, Catherine. This has to stop. He’s a young man now. Ready to leave home and you have to accept that fact, even if you don’t like it. He’s found himself a job, made his way there and working hard. You should be proud, not suspicious.’
That hurts. ‘I am proud,’ she says. ‘It’s just that…’
‘What?’
‘There’s something about that message. Didn’t you notice it yourself? Hi Mum? Luv Seb? Eric, when did Sebastien ever call me “Mum”? He knows I hate it.’
‘He was joking. Oh, for goodness’ sake, Catherine. You need to relax.’
‘Luv Seb? L, U, V?’
‘It’s the way young people communicate, Catherine. There’s nothing sinister about it. Didn’t you tell me he’s calling himself Seb this summer? I actually rather like it. Seb.’
Eric repeats their son’s name as if he’s trying it out. The way they used to when they were trying to choose baby names before he was born. Sebastien Louis Lamar. Sebastien from his family and Louis from hers. Her paternal grandfather. They were never able to agree on names for a girl, but boys names were easy to choose. Just as well she had a little boy.
Catherine’s mind fills with images of Sebastien as a cute toddler. Always smiling, as if he knew life would be easier if he charmed everyone who spoke to him.
‘What about the rest of it? All those silly little pictures.’
‘Emojis.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Emojis. That’s what those little hearts and smiley faces are called.’
‘How on earth do you know that?’
‘My secretary uses them all the time. Everyone does.’
‘I don’t. I wouldn’t know how to make a smiley face, especially one with sunglasses. Look.’
She holds out her phone. He peers at the text message. ‘I rather like the little rainbow. That’s quite jolly, and he does say how much he loved Mamie.’
‘With a little pink heart? I thought you’d be angry at the dismissive way he explains missing her funeral.’
‘All water under the bridge now, Catherine. Mamie would never have borne a grudge against her beloved Sebastien, so what’s the point in my continuing to be cross with him?’
‘I suppose you’re right. She’d have forgiven him anything.’
‘You still haven’t explained why this text bothers you so much?’
She hands him the phone and says, ‘Read it again and tell me what’s missing.’
He does, shaking his head and handing back her phone. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what you’re getting at. Unless it’s the rest of the words “you are”? I know how much you hate those abbreviations.’
‘That’s my point. Sebastien knows that too.’
‘To be fair, he only does it once.’
‘Anyway, that’s not the right answer.’
‘Catherine, I’m barely dressed, it’s not even breakfast time and I feel like I’ve been interrogated. Just tell me what you’re getting at.’
‘Punctuation.’
‘You’ve lost me. I need a coffee.’
She follows him to the kitchen but when she tries to speak, he waves his hand by the side of his head, as if to say, I’m no longer listening.
‘I don’t think Sebastien sent this text.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t think–’
‘I heard you, Catherine. I have no idea what you’re talking about, that’s my problem. Who else, other than Sebastien, would send us a text from Sebastien’s phone?’
‘Someone who’s stolen it?’
‘Why would a thief do that?’
‘To pretend he’s Sebastien.’
Eric’s coffee cup hovers in mid-air, halfway to his mouth. ‘Catherine, have you any idea how mad that makes you sound? I’m not even going to answer it. I’m going to finish my coffee, grab my briefcase and go to work. As for you.’ He stops and points at her. ‘You need to get out and do something to distract yourself before you go completely bonkers.’
The funny word makes them both smile. ‘Maybe you’re right. I’ll call Isabelle and see if she’s free for lunch.’
‘Great idea. Go to Le Canard Bleu. Have some Champagne. Giggle and be silly for a bit.’
‘Can we talk about this later?’
‘No, Catherine. We cannot talk about this later. Yesterday you were frantic because you hadn’t heard from yo
ur son for weeks. Now he’s been in touch and you’re complaining about his lack of punctuation.’
Hearing the words from Eric’s lips makes her feel foolish.
‘You’re right. We won’t talk about it any more. I promise.’
She doesn’t promise to stop thinking about it, however, and when Eric leaves for the office, she goes online. Looking for flights to Scotland.
58
Scotland
Friday 10 August
When I was little, I used to say a prayer with Mum. Every night, before I went to sleep. Then when I got bigger, Mum would tuck me in and give me a kiss. She’d always ask if I’d said my prayers. I’d nod, even though I didn’t really say them any more. It was stupid. ‘If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.’
What does that even mean? I know some people, the good ones, go to heaven when they die. That must mean the lord takes their soul. I like the idea of some nice, kind man, or an angel even, coming to take Robbie’s mum and his baby brother to heaven.
But what about the bad guys? Where do they go if the lord doesn’t take them? Did the lord take Robbie’s soul?
What about the dead hiker on the hillside? He looked nice. Does the lord know he’s out there? Will someone come and take his soul? I hope so, but I don’t pray for it.
Every night now, instead of saying prayers, I say something else. My sounds and my words. Very quietly, so Mum and Dad don’t hear me, I practise.
Starting with noises like ah, eh, ee, oo, saying them a few times each. Natalie calls them warm-ups. She says it’s just like a runner warming up his muscles by doing stretches. ‘These are stretches for your voice.’ That’s what she said. ‘They’ll make it easier for you to say words and then whole sentences when you’re ready.’
Then I go on to the harder ones like ssss and say them a few times.
‘Seb, Seb, Seb.’ Then it’s time for the p sound. ‘Piss, piss, piss.’ That one makes me smile. Mum can’t stand it. If Dad’s complaining about the rain, he sometimes says, ‘Oh no, look at that. Supposed to be sunny and it’s pissing down.’ Mum wrinkles up her nose to show she doesn’t like him to say pissing.
‘Piss off.’ That’s what Jayden Jeffries says, although sometimes it’s the F-word. Mum would kill me if I ever said that, so there’s no point in even trying it.
Imagine Mum’s face if I said, ‘Piss off!’ to her.
Should say it to Seb. Next time he’s threatening me. Just look him in the eyes and say, ‘Piss off, Seb.’ That would show him.
I know I won’t. Too scared. That’s one reason. The other one is, I don’t want him to find out about the talking. What if he decides he can’t go away and leave me to tell anyone what happened that day. Already know he’s worried that I’ll write it all down and show it to someone. Bet he thought that’s what was stuck to the back of my wardrobe. As if.
Nearly wrote it all down in ‘The Long Weekend’ essay, but after a few sentences I decided to rub it all out. Didn’t want to get ‘referred’. That’s what happened to Jonny McCreadie because he has ‘issues’.
After that I knew it wasn’t the kind of thing you write down on paper. At least, not yet.
Footsteps on the stairs. Mum’s. Sixth one creaks.
‘Rise and shine, Charlie!’ She opens the blind and I bury under the covers like a mole. The duvet smells of that flowery stuff Mum puts in. She pulls it off me. Not fair. ‘Come on, time you were up. Busy day. School uniform shopping.’
Hate shopping. Takes ages and there’s something important I have to do today. Shake my head.
‘Don’t say no to me, Charlie. Traipsing round shops looking at black school trousers isn’t my idea of fun either, but it’s got to be done. Today. It’s only a week till the schools go back. Everything’s probably sold out already. We should have seen to this weeks ago but I don’t know where I was supposed to find the time. So get up, please. Now.’
I know that voice. I slide over, as slow as a slug, to the edge of the bed and put my feet on the floor.
Mum lifts the red fleece. ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to throw this on the floor?’ She folds it and lays it on my desk. ‘What’s to stop you doing this at night instead of heaving it into a corner? Oh, and by the way, under no circumstances are you to take anything out of this house without asking me. A brand new fleece dumped out there in the bracken to rot like a rag?’ She shivers as if I’ve committed a terrible crime.
I reach for yesterday’s clothes, but she snatches them from me and dumps them in the dirty basket. ‘No, you don’t. Clean clothes and a shower first.’
The door shuts behind Mum and I whisper, ‘Piss off.’
59
‘Nat, any idea where Charlie might be? I want to say goodbye.’
‘I think he’s going into town.’
‘Oh, is he? That’s good. I’m glad he’s got mates. He’s a nice kid.’
‘He is, but I don’t think he’s off for a fun day with his pals. The boss mentioned Charlie’s in a right mood and his mum had a strop because she wants to go and get his school uniform sorted and he doesn’t.’
‘Can’t say I blame him for that. But she’s strong medicine, Mrs Boss.’
Nat rolls her eyes. ‘You can say that again.’
‘She’s strong med– Oi! That hurt!’ He rubs his upper arm.
‘You deserved it. Anyway, I’m going to miss beating you up. Have to make the most of it while I’ve got the chance.’
‘Yep, not for much longer.’
‘When’s your flight?’
‘Leaving here about four.’ Best not to be specific.
‘Looking forward to going home?’
‘Eventually.’
‘Will we keep in touch?’
‘Sure. You’ve got my number. Come on, one last hug. In case I don’t get the chance later.’ Gus pulls her into his arms and squeezes tight. When he lets her go, she’s got tears in her eyes.
‘Thanks for a great summer, Seb,’ she says.
‘Hey, what’s with the tears?’ In the fake Scottish accent that always makes Joyce and Nat laugh, he says, ‘This isn’t goodbye, it’s just cheerio.’ He rolls the, like they taught him weeks ago. ‘Be sure to tell wee Joyce I’ll never forget hero, will you?’ She nods. ‘Now give me a smile.’
When she does, he says, ‘That’s my girl. Okay, I’d better run, see if I can catch Charlie and his mum. I’ve got fond of that kid.’ Might as well play the game till the last minute. ‘Tell him to make sure he remembers me, will you?’
‘I’ll do that. Now get lost. I’ve got work to do. Typical of you to skive off before it’s done.’
‘Sorry, my grandmother died recently, remember? My family needs me.’
Natalie’s face shows her embarrassment. Exactly the reaction he was looking for. He wants her to remember the reason he’s leaving but not feel like asking too many more questions.
A final hug and he’s out of that playbarn at last.
He’s already said bye to Pim who, as usual, was making his bed with the precision of an army recruit.
Gus offered his hand but Pim ignored the handshake and grabbed him in a hug that felt a bit too close for comfort. He whacked his skinny back and pushed Pim away. ‘Bye then, buddy.’
‘I consider myself extremely fortunate to have had such wonderful colleagues with whom to work. You will remain in my heart for a long time to come.’
Sounded like the guy had written a farewell speech.
‘Ditto, mate. But, taxi…’ Gus waved his hand in the direction of the gate.
‘Yes, sorry. Of course, you must go. Shall I come and wave goodbye?’
‘No way. Don’t like goodbyes, me. You might see me cry. Think what that would do for my tough guy reputation.’
Pim’s laughter had followed him out the door. Could have had a worse roommate.
As he crosses the courtyard the café door opens. Big Mark shouts, ‘Safe journey, pal. Come back and see us.’
&nbs
p; ‘Might just do that.’ He waves a salute.
‘Got time for one last beer before you go?’
Gus checks his watch. ‘Sure, why not.’
Mark opens two beers but disappears back into the kitchen with his half-full bottle. Left alone, Gus looks around, impressed as ever with the imagination that can turn an old cowshed into a restaurant. Maybe this wedding business isn’t such a mad idea after all. If anyone can do it, the boss and his wife can. Will change the place though. Not that he cares. He’ll never be back, that’s for sure.
Gus drains his bottle and puts it on the bar. ‘Bye, Mark, thanks.’
No answer. Everyone is moving on already. By tomorrow it will be as if he was never here. Apart from the body buried on the hillside. Gus wishes suddenly he could see the kid before he goes. Just to make sure.
He hesitates outside the owners’ house, wondering how rude it would be to knock on the door. This part of the site is out of bounds for campers and staff, but hell, what they gonna do? Sack him?’
The doorbell chimes like a cathedral and he waits, hoping Charlie will answer.
The door opens. ‘Yes?’ says his employer.
‘Hi, Boss. Only me.’
Her frown changes to a smile and her tone melts from icy to lukewarm. ‘Oh, it’s you, Seb. What can I do for you?’
‘I know you’re in a rush, but I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.’
‘That was nice of you. Thanks. Well, goodbye, and good luck.’
The door starts to close. Gus touches it with his hand, just enough to slow its movement. ‘Is Charlie there?’
‘Yes, but he’s in a foul mood. Teenage hormones!’
‘Can I see him for a minute?’
‘I suppose so. Charlie!’
No wonder the kid’s moody if she bawls like that all the time.
‘Bye then,’ he says, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave him alone with the kid. ‘Thanks so much for everything. It’s been great.’
She disappears inside. He hears her say, ‘Seb’s at the door. For you.’ There’s a silence and he imagines the look on the boy’s face. ‘Go and shake his hand or something. Be polite and hurry up, please.’