Stand by Me

by S. D. Robertson

  He was about to give in, weighing up whether it was better to fake a signature after all or to return the parcel to the depot. Then he heard the sound of a toilet flush-ing somewhere nearby, followed by a door slamming shut and footsteps on stairs. Next the door behind the counter swung open and a gaunt elderly chap with bright red cheeks, unruly eyebrows and wild curly white hair appeared. The man, who Mike recognised as the proprietor, was still in the process of tucking his shirt back into his trousers.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was waiting. Call of nature.’

  ‘You want to be careful leaving the shop unattended,’ Mike replied. ‘I could have helped myself to anything.’

  ‘Yes, yes. You’re quite right. I usually put the front door on the latch, but I’m getting forgetful.’

  ‘Never mind. It was just me this time delivering a parcel for you. If I could get a quick signature, I’ll be on my way.’

  As he was saying this, Mike cast another glance out of the window to check on the van – and nearly had a heart attack as he saw it pulling away with a strange man at the wheel. Cursing loudly, he dropped everything and ran for the door. But by the time he got outside, the van was disappearing at speed into the distance.

  He swore again – shouting with such volume this time that various people walking along the pavement turned to look. A young mum with a toddler scowled at him as they scuttled past, but Mike was in no state to apologise.

  How the hell? He dived into the pockets of his trousers for the van key. But it wasn’t there. He must have left it in the ignition, with the cab door unlocked for anyone to come along and help themselves, as they just had. This was the very reason you needed the key to access the parcels in the back: to make sure you took it out with you. Being a smart alec, he’d found a way to override that by taking the package out at the previous delivery.

  He felt a horrible sinking, sickly feeling in his stomach. This was instant dismissal. He’d had that hammered into him at his induction less than a month ago. You were never, under any circumstances, to leave the key in the ignition when you weren’t behind the wheel. Not even for a second. God, how was he going to explain this to Lisa after everything else they’d been through?

  ‘Please slow down. You’re scaring me.’

  Mike blinked away the memories and, seeing that his wife was right about his speed, lifted his foot off the accelerator.

  ‘Sorry,’ he told her, rubbing his eyes with one hand. ‘I was away with the fairies for a minute there.’

  She frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound very safe. Maybe I should drive. What’s wrong? Didn’t you get much sleep last night? You do look tired.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just went into autopilot. They say you do your best driving in that state.’

  To Mike’s left, Lisa raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Please get us there in one piece.’

  He nodded. ‘You can change the radio station for a bit if you like.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, reaching forward to do so.

  Placing his left hand on her lap, Mike added: ‘Thanks for coming with me today, love. I really appreciate it.’

  He got a pursed smile in reply.

  ‘So, funny thing,’ Mike said. ‘I was chatting to Alan in the Swan last night—’

  ‘Alan?’

  ‘You know, the landlord.’

  ‘I don’t really, Mike. How many times have I been there with you? Two? Maybe three?’

  He wondered whether mentioning the pub was a good idea. Especially after what Lisa had said last night about him spending money that they couldn’t spare. Anyway, it was too late now, so he carried on regardless. ‘So I was telling Alan about this unexpected visit from Elliot—’

  ‘Moaning about it, you mean.’

  ‘I wasn’t, love. Honestly. I was just saying how he’d appeared out of the blue and all that. Anyway, as I was telling the story, this other guy I’ve not seen before was getting a drink at the bar. He asks if I’m talking about Elliot Turner, who grew up in the village.’ Mike paused for a moment for a little chuckle before continuing. ‘The thing is, and I still can’t quite believe this. I mean, he was pretty pissed, to be honest, this guy—’

  ‘What was his name?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘Um, Peter something. I didn’t catch his surname. He grew up here but lives in Manchester now. He said he was back visiting. Anyway, he knows you, or at least he did when you were a kid. That’s what I’m getting to, if you’ll give me a chance.’

  Lisa sighed, but Mike continued: ‘So this Peter starts talking about how Elliot was a bit of a nerd as a boy, who used to get bullied, and then one day this new girl moved to the village and became like his minder. He said if anyone gave him any grief after that, she used to beat them up for him. He even compared her to that female warrior on Game of Thrones. You know, the tall one.’

  ‘Yes, I know who you mean.’ Lisa scowled. ‘He was talking about me, right?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Mike said, belly laughing despite his wife’s angry face. ‘My wife the warrior woman. I mean: what? He mentioned something about a fire and then he skulked off after I told him I was married to you, refusing to say any more. I was going to tell you when I got in last night, but it obviously wasn’t the right time. Now I’m dying to know if there’s any truth in it. Were you really such a bad ass as a kid? And what about Elliot needing protecting? That doesn’t sound like the guy I’ve met.’

  Lisa gave a flippant wave of her hand. ‘Whatever. Sounds like a load of drunken nonsense.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Mike replied, knowing her well enough not to push any further.

  ‘How much longer until we get to Harrogate?’

  ‘About forty-five minutes.’

  ‘Right, I’m going to close my eyes for a bit. I didn’t sleep well last night.’

  Lisa turned the radio down a notch and reclined her seat, shuffling around before settling on a position with her face looking out of the side window, away from him. As the jolly DJ played what he referred to as another ‘summer banger’, Mike wished he hadn’t let her switch stations.

  There was clearly more to that story than she was letting on. He knew she’d done judo at primary school, although he couldn’t imagine her beating anyone up.

  And what about Elliot? His tanned, muscular frame had shamed Mike into going out running yesterday for the first time in ages. Could it be true that he was once a wimp, relying on a girl to defend him from bullies? He couldn’t help but smile at this idea.

  So far – not that he’d admit this to Lisa – he’d found her old friend a bit of a threat. Who wouldn’t? Elliot had flown over without warning from the other side of the world and had everything going for him. He was wealthy, successful and in great shape; he had a shared childhood with Lisa that Mike knew little or nothing about. Oh yeah, and he’d effortlessly managed to save Ben’s life yesterday in between cooking a fantastic meal and being an all-round nice guy.

  Mike’s life, on the other hand, was in pieces. He was overweight, jobless and pretty useless around the house. He drank too much and bit Lisa’s head off far more frequently than he bought her flowers or behaved romantically. He was stuck in a rut. The idea that someone like Elliot could potentially swoop in and steal all he had left – his wife and kids – terrified him.

  Not that Elliot had given Mike the impression he was here to do that. One of the most infuriating things about him was that he was so amiable. Despite the potential threat he posed to Mike, even he found it hard to hate him. And if anything, hearing that Elliot hadn’t always had things so easy actually increased his likeability factor.

  No, it was jealousy rather than hate that Mike felt towards Elliot. Embarrassing but true. That was the reason he’d tried to criticise his actions yesterday. That and guilt for not being the one to save Ben himself.

  But there was something else about Elliot too: something Mike couldn’t quite put his finger on. He got the sense that there was more to this sudden visit back home th
an business. Why choose to return now, unannounced, after staying away for two decades? And if he was here about important matters relating to his company, how come he had so much free time on his hands to catch up with Lisa?

  Wouldn’t a last-minute trip to the other side of the world signal something of crucial importance? So how come he hadn’t been fielding calls or emails on his mobile every few minutes? Come to think of it, Mike couldn’t ever remember seeing Elliot use a mobile. Was that normal for a guy who ran a successful tech firm?

  What if he was here for another reason altogether and the whole business thing was a cover story?

  Whatever it was, something didn’t add up.

  CHAPTER 17

  NOW

  Monday, 23 July 2018

  Ben stuck his head around Chloe’s open bedroom door. ‘Right, I’m off. I’ll be home before Mum and Dad get back.’

  ‘Wait,’ his sister replied. ‘You said it would only be a couple of hours.’

  ‘That was before I had to pay you twenty quid. Now I’m getting my money’s worth.’

  ‘When are Mum and Dad due home?’

  ‘Around seven this evening.’

  ‘And you’ll be gone all that time?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘You’re really not going to tell me where you’re going?’ Chloe frowned. ‘What if something happens to you? What if something happens to me?’

  Ben had a bus to catch. ‘Don’t be a drama queen. I’ve got my mobile.’

  ‘Is that aftershave I can smell?’ Chloe walked towards him and made a stupid sniffing noise. He took a step backwards before she did something annoying like ruffling his carefully crafted hair or putting greasy hands on his new T-shirt. Then she started gibbering about him going on a date.

  ‘You’re pathetic,’ he said, heading for the stairs.

  ‘Charming. You should be nice to me if you want me to cover for you.’

  ‘I don’t remember that being part of the deal.’ Ben continued towards the front door, opening it a crack and then turning back to Chloe, who was standing on the top stair. ‘I’ll see you later. Don’t get into any trouble.’

  ‘Bye, Romeo,’ she replied, waving sarcastically, which Ben took to mean she was still on board. So she should be after what he’d paid her; hopefully it would be worth every penny.

  He shut the door behind him and flashed a look at the time on his phone. Good. Still ten minutes until the bus was due. Damn, he felt nervous.

  Ben’s mobile, still in his hand, vibrated.

  H: You left?

  His finger darted across the screen, a trained courier of his thoughts.

  B: Walking to bus stop.

  H: Nice. :-) Let me know when you’re on it.

  Ben tried to regulate his breathing as he covered the last few metres to the bus stop. He wanted to calm down, but the butterflies in his stomach weren’t easily tamed.

  As he arrived at the shelter, a bald head jerked forward, like a tortoise peeking out of its shell, scanned the road and then disappeared back inside. It was an old man he vaguely recognised but didn’t know personally. This was good, as it meant less chance of his parents finding out about the trip.

  When the bus pulled up, Ben bought a return to Manchester and climbed the stairs to the upper deck, glad not to recognise any of the few faces already on board. He sat down in the rear corner – one row in front of the long back seat – wincing as he felt a strain in his stomach muscles. They were bruised from the scary moment at the dinner table yesterday when Elliot had rescued him from choking. Just thinking about that again sent a shiver down his spine, so he tried not to, concentrating instead on connecting to the bus’s free Wi-Fi. Once that was done, he pulled his earplugs out of his pocket and stuck on the first playlist he could find.

  He sent a message saying that he was on the bus. A moment later his phone vibrated with a response.

  H: Nice. Can’t wait. What time will you get into the city centre?

  B: Just over half an hour.

  H: Shall I meet you off the bus?

  B: No need. I know where I’m going. Already looked it up.

  H: Get you, Mr Resourceful. Buzz me if you have any problems. See you soon. X

  Ben slipped his phone back into his trouser pocket and took some further slow, deep breaths. The nerves weren’t improving. In fact, as the bus drove on, gradually filling up with passengers, they were only getting worse. He needed to hide this before he got there: to give the impression that today was no big deal.

  He stared at his reflection in the window, wondering how old he looked to those around him. Although his sixteenth birthday wasn’t until the end of August, he was confident he could already pass for that, if not seventeen. Eighteen might be a push, but his stubble helped. He had way more than most of the lads in his year, which was why he rarely went clean-shaven; he liked to think it gave him an edge.

  A couple of girls around his sister’s age giggled their way up the stairs and took a seat a few rows ahead of Ben. He thought they might have checked him out, which was funny. What would Chloe think if she found out what he was up to? Worse still, what if his parents found out? That didn’t bear thinking about.

  He knew he was taking a big risk doing this today, but it was the best opportunity to have presented itself – the only one on the horizon – so saying no hadn’t been an option. He was confident that Chloe wouldn’t get herself into trouble. She was a smart kid most of the time. He was actually pretty fond of her, when she wasn’t annoying him. And he’d been secretly impressed by her enterprising nature, squeezing twenty pounds out of him to keep quiet. Not that he let on. It was more fun to be the aloof older brother.

  A trippy dance tune he recognised came on. He turned the sound up and squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to blank out everything else; let the music wash over him. He started to feel calmer.

  Then, to his horror, he felt someone take a seat next to him. What the hell? Unless literally dozens of people had got on at the last stop, since he closed his eyes, there were plenty of other seats. If he’d thought there was any chance of someone sitting by him, he’d have spread himself out more. A moment later he smelled a gag-inducing stink of body odour and alcohol.

  He didn’t dare to open his eyes straight away, although he was itching to. He feared it might be someone he knew. But who did he know that reeked like a tramp? It was disgusting. He barely registered the sound of the music on his earplugs any more. Instead, he concentrated on shallow breathing, through his mouth rather than his nose, so as to minimise the foul smell.

  When he could bear it no longer, he opened his eyes and stretched. The idea was to make it look like he’d just woken up, while hopefully also gaining some extra space. He noticed from the view out of the window that they’d entered one of the smarter northern suburbs of Manchester. A melange of shops, cafes and restaurants gave way to a large green park, flanked by rows of semi-detached houses. Not too far now.

  ‘Hello,’ a croaky voice snapped, loud enough to penetrate the sound of Ben’s music. ‘Nice snooze?’

  Ben looked over to see a scrawny middle-aged woman grinning at him. She had nicotine-stained yellow teeth, long greasy grey hair, and a large whiskery mole on one cheek. Bizarrely for summertime, she was wearing a thick parka coat, snot green and covered in stains, plus a manky pair of lilac jogging bottoms and tatty trainers. It was all he could do not to recoil against the window.

  Why was she sitting next to him? There were loads of other seats available.

  He pointed at his earplugs, pretending not to have heard her, but she stared back at him expectantly, until he removed one of them.

  ‘Sorry, do you have the time?’ she asked.

  He pulled out his phone to check and told her, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me sitting next to you,’ she said, to which Ben pursed his lips in response. ‘I always sit on this seat if I can. It’s my favourite.’

  Ben no
dded, still breathing through his mouth.

  ‘I can’t explain why, but I definitely like it best. You must know what I mean. You chose to sit here too.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Ben realised he was a captive audience now – and this was one lonely lady, desperate to chat.

  That was how it continued for the rest of the journey: a one-way conversation, with him pretending to be interested. She told him all sorts, from how she had a hospital appointment because of her bad knee, to the fact that she owned a cat called Pussy. It was all Ben could do not to burst into laughter at that last piece of information. So she wasn’t homeless, although she clearly had an aversion to taking baths. He also suspected that the water bottle she kept swigging from held something far stronger than its original contents.

  He should have got up and moved to the lower deck, pretending that it was his stop, but he didn’t have the heart. Part of him felt sorry for her.

  At least it took his mind off where he was heading – what he was going to do – and that was a welcome relief. So he stayed there, hoping she didn’t have nits or fleas that she might pass on to him, and humouring her.

  Apparently she was a bit loopy, or some kind of religious nut, as at one point she started jabbering about how he had the mark of an angel on him.

  ‘Right there,’ she said, pointing a bony finger towards his stomach. ‘I can see these things. I have psychic genes. My mother, God rest her soul, was a fortune teller. People would travel from far and wide to have her read their tea leaves. I could do it too if I wanted to.’

  Ben smiled and nodded. Soon she moved on to telling him about how she’d been ‘quite the looker’ at his age. Then finally the bus reached the city centre and it genuinely was time for him to get off.

  ‘This is my stop,’ he said, pressing the bell.

  ‘Have you got the time again before you go?’

  Ben checked and she thanked him, standing up to let him out.

  ‘It’s been lovely chatting to you,’ she said, clamping both of her skinny hands around his. ‘You’re a good boy, although you’re a bit conflicted, aren’t you? Look after yourself today. You might have someone watching over you, but you still need to be careful.’