Humber Boy B

by Ruth Dugdall

  “You think someone came in here and got him?”

  “I think we shouldn’t touch anything, just in case.” She dug in her pocket for her mobile and began to dial. “I’ll let the police know.”

  When she heard Olivier’s voice on the other end of the line she spoke quickly.

  “I’m in Ben’s flat. It looks like a struggle may have taken place, but he’s gone.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there as quick as I can. In the meantime, Cate, you should wait outside.”

  “So, any sign of the girl?”

  Olivier’s first words as he stepped out of the lift, as if continuing a conversation that prior to that point had taken place in his head.

  “No sign of either Cheryl or Ben. Nothing in the flat.”

  Olivier offered Ged a hand to shake, and gave Cate a kiss on each cheek, throwing her thought pattern askew. Olivier however, was thinking very clearly.

  “We have to consider the likelihood that they have simply left. Decided to make a break for it, somewhere no-one knows either of them.”

  “I thought that too, until I saw the flat.”

  She would have preferred this option, but she couldn’t believe it. Not when Ben’s few belongings were still in the flat. Under his bed was the duffel bag he’d carried when he left prison, and inside she’d found letters from his mum and his dad. If Ben had left of his own volition he wouldn’t have left those behind.

  “I think Silent Friend has him.”

  “But you don’t know that, Cate.”

  Cate felt that Olivier was once again correcting her, making her feel irrational compared to his cool logic.

  “Ben absconding is more likely than him being abducted, statistically.”

  Cate snorted. “There are reliable statistics for a case like this?”

  “Okay, Cate. Let’s analyse this. Is there evidence of foul play?”

  Cate couldn’t say a definitive yes, she simply had a gut feeling. “Well there wasn’t a note, if that’s what you mean.”

  Olivier smiled, “I always enjoy your British humour. So sharp.”

  But inside Cate wasn’t smiling. She was once again feeling the frustration that her perspective was not being taken seriously. Ben was in real danger, and they needed to act swiftly. He could be anywhere.

  86

  Ben

  I’m back in the prison laundry, trying to scrub white shirts. But they are heavy to lift, sodden with water, and when I do lift them from the water they bleed red dye onto my hands, no matter how hard I rinse. I scrub with white soap that turns red in my hands. Then I see it’s my hands that are bleeding, that it’s my hands that are turning the shirts red. I am the problem.

  A pressure wakes me, a hand over my face, so even when I open my eyes the world stays dark. The hand is large, covers my forehead too with a pressure, so I’m a prisoner again.

  Then a voice, female and soft. “Don’t hurt him.”

  Cheryl. That’s when I know I’m not in prison, it’s much worse than that. I’m free and someone is about to hurt me and no-one is coming to help.

  The hand over my mouth smells of nicotine and something salty too, maybe sweat. The palm moves so it covers my eyelids.

  Next, something is being pulled roughly over my head. It feels like a hat but it covers my whole face, right to my neck where the wool is itchy on my skin. A balaclava, but with the mouth and eye holes at the back. That’s when I know for sure that this is Silent Friend. The same man who hurt me, left me bleeding on the ground when the couple came by. Now returned to finish the job he started.

  I can hear movement in the bedroom, light footed and quick, and I know that it’s Cheryl but I don’t know why she is letting this person blind me with the balaclava.

  I feel his hands on my shoulders, lifting me from the bed.

  “Let him put some clothes on at least.” Cheryl sounds panicked, like she’s not sure if she has any authority in this situation. She’s scared too, but something in her voice makes me think she knew this was going to happen.

  “He needs his shoes,” she says, with a certainty that tells me she knows what is going to happen to me.

  And that’s when I realise, this is where my story ends. It was all leading up to this moment. How could I think Cheryl had chosen to be with me, and not realise that it was part of something, a plan to get me? I strain my ears to Silent Friend’s breathing, knowing that I have heard it before. Cate said I must know who he is, if only I can remember. Someone from my past, now in my present.

  “Okay, Ben,” says Cheryl. “Just do what he says.”

  “Adam?” I ask, my voice coming out muffled from the fabric. “Is it you?”

  But there is only silence is the room as I am manhandled towards the lift. I try to refuse, back away, but I have no choice. The world drops beneath me as I am taken downstairs, finally travelling in the lift for the first time. And also the last.

  87

  The Day Of

  Cheryl did not think again of what she had done. How she had held the tip of Adam’s penis in her palm, her fingers were working the shaft, when she leaned into him and said, “But if I do this, you have to do what I say.”

  But Adam was thinking of it, could not do anything else but remember the feel of her hand. It was a moment he had previously only fantasised about, bent over one of his dad’s mags or after catching a scene on the TV that had aroused him. But now, a real live girl had held him in her hands and he would do anything, anything at all, for her to finish what she started. To be with her again. He wanted it so much that his mouth was salivating at the thought, his fingertips felt electrified as they remembered the feel of her waist, so small and slippery, the swimsuit allowing him to canvas her hips and bottom easily.

  She had wriggled her fingers, moving her hand too roughly so he gasped with a pained pleasure. He had no longer been able to hear his brother speaking and joking with Noah, he could no longer hear the cars thundering over the bridge. He could hear nothing but the pulse in his ear, see nothing but the skin of her perfect smooth shoulder, and taste nothing but its salt, his own appetite creating a drool on her skin. The world shrank to only them, the moment pixelated to not even her hand but his urge, the rising need, the power he could no longer stop, the pulse and push of his desire that she was coaxing, controlling.

  “Promise me,” she had said, when it was already too late.

  Adam would do anything she asked, if only he could have that feeling again. Because somewhere in his torn heart she had made him feel loved. It was water to him, it was bread. Love was the very air that was missing from his lungs.

  The Devil had moved the glass on the Ouija board. He believed it now, because only the Devil would make the price so high for just a little love.

  88

  Now

  FACEBOOK: FIND HUMBER BOY B

  Silent Friend: An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. Isn’t that what the bible says, Jessica? So how to deliver justice to a murderer who threw a boy from a bridge.

  Where to take him? What to ask?

  Noah’s mum: If you’re telling the truth, then the person asking him questions should be me. You’re not God. You’re not even the victim.

  Silent Friend: Oh, but I am.

  89

  Cate

  Cate sat at her desk, berating herself for being so useless. There was simply nothing she could think of that she could do, nothing that would help find Ben, now missing for six hours. She hadn’t heard from Olivier so she had no idea what the police may have discovered, if anything. Amelia would be out of class by now, being greeted at the school gate by Sally and Chloe. Friday night with her other family, playing with toys she was strictly speaking too old for but still loved, no doubt her and Chloe would spend the evening moving miniature animals dressed like humans around their perfect houses.

  If only real life could be that easy, if she could peer into the doll’s house of Ben’s life and find out who he was with.

  Cate tried to wor
k, she had a pre-sentence report to write on a drunk driver and a risk assessment to complete on a burglar due out of prison next week, but her eyes couldn’t focus, her brain was too preoccupied with thoughts of Ben. And she was hungry, it was long past lunch and she’d not eaten since breakfast.

  Grabbing her jacket, Cate at least felt energised by being on the move. She told Dot she was going to the Buttermarket to get a late lunch, but to call her if there was any news on Ben. Dot waved her off with a warning to take an umbrella, it looked like it would rain, but Cate didn’t stop.

  Buttermarket Shopping Mall was heaving, and unaccustomed as she was to the Friday afternoon crush of shoppers, she felt disorientated as she pushed and ‘excuse me’d’ away from groups of school kids high on the promise of the weekend and mothers with prams clutching bags of food. Signs everywhere announced sales and bargains. Cate began to feel headachy. She needed a drink and some food, and braved the café in search of both.

  It was only when she had paid for her meal that Cate saw there were no seats, before her was a group of toddlers waving sippy cups and squeaky toys at each other’s heads whilst their mothers chatted earnestly, dabbing their breasts with sheets of muslin and drinking double espressos. She had obviously gatecrashed a mother and child meeting. Just then the table nearest to her was vacated. It was the only empty table in the place and other people were already approaching it with their plastic trays piled with food. She grabbed the nearest chair, avoiding eye contact with the sulky teenage couple who nearly beat her to it, and tore open the plastic shell of her sandwich, wedging the limp offering from the box, shrivelled prawns falling from dry bread. It looked awful, she couldn’t eat it.

  Cate winced as she sipped her stewed coffee and pushed that away too. To the relief of the couple, still standing with their tray, she left the table, negotiating a path through the hordes of shoppers and out of the precinct. Outside it was pouring, she should have heeded Dot’s warning. Thin shards of rain stung her eyes. She pulled up her collar, put her head low in her jacket and ran down the pavement, failing to look properly as she stepped off the kerb and into the path of a speeding Mazda. Just as the car was about to slam into her body a hand came from nowhere, grabbed her shoulder, and pulled her to safety.

  The car driver furiously sounded his horn, and people nearby stared at her. Suddenly sensible about what could have happened, and leaning into her rescuer’s embrace, Cate swore at herself.

  “You must be more careful, it would not do for there to be no Cate in the world.”

  The man who had just pulled her to safety was Olivier.

  “What? What are you doing here?”

  “Dot told me where to find you.” He kissed her cheek, but she didn’t respond as he said her name again.

  “Sorry! It’s just, I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted. I was just going back to the office.”

  “I think you need to gather yourself a bit after stepping in front of that car. In Luxembourg we believe a glass of red wine can cure most things. And I too missed my lunch. Come on.” He took her hand, pulling her through the rain to the nearest place, an Italian restaurant. Being inside was a relief, as she stood, hair dripping water down her face. Olivier helped her peel off her jacket, handing it to a waiter who they followed to a table. He placed one arm on her shoulder to ease her into her seat. She looked up, still shaking, “If you hadn’t grabbed me… ”

  “But I did. I saw you leaving the food court but it took me a few minutes to catch up. Terrible crowds, I hate this about Ipswich.”

  Cates shook her head slowly. “If anything had happened to me, what about Amelia?”

  “Nonsense. Don’t torture yourself like that. Some medicinal alcohol will sort you out.”

  “I don’t know.” Cate rubbed her eyes, thinking about Ben. Where was he? If only she could find him.

  Olivier called to the waiter to bring a bottle of red wine, asking for the grape and year with expertise. “I’ve been here a few times before,” he explained. “Better than eating at the hotel.” And, as if on cue, a waiter arrived. Olivier ordered without checking for her preference, an assortment of salad, pasta and breads and then he poured her a glass of gleaming ruby wine.

  She caught his expression and wondered how he could look so relaxed. “I can’t stop thinking about Ben. What if he’s in danger, Olivier? Shouldn’t we – or someone – be looking for him?”

  “We – the police, that is – are. They are checking out all of the witnesses from the case, as well as the names you gave. This is not your problem to fix, Cate. Please relax. There is nothing for you to do but enjoy good wine with good company.” His fingers found her hand and she returned his smile. “There, so much better.” But inside she was still worried sick.

  She took another mouthful of the wine to loosen her up. “How do you manage to keep so calm? If anything happened to Ben, we’d all have egg on our face.”

  “Ha, I do enjoy these expressions. Yes, we would be in the egg, as you say. But I find I can still sleep, as long as I have done my job as well as I am able. Also, it helps that I like swimming, I like music, both very relaxing. And I love Friday evenings on the sofa with a jazz CD playing and a very old bottle of wine.” The image was a pleasant one. “But it’s no fun alone, so maybe we could do this together, once we have eaten?”

  “At the Novotel?”

  “It’s only a small sofa, but I think we could make it work. Unless you have to be home for Amelia?”

  “Nope. She’s with her dad all weekend.” Cate could feel the warm alcohol flowing through her veins now, the tension draining from her limbs.

  The waiter appeared, saw their intimate pose and quickly delivered the order. The food was delicious, colourful orange carrots and yellow courgettes ribboned into the pasta. Olivier divided a portion onto her plate and she tasted it, it was the best food she had had in a long time. Cate was so intent on eating that it made her jump when she felt his hand move away a damp curl of hair that had fallen onto her cheek. Outside other people ran in the rain, heads bowed or hidden under umbrellas, but the restaurant was warm and delicious and, despite herself, Cate had to acknowledge that so too was Olivier.

  She couldn’t find Ben, as Paul had already told her, she was no detective. So she would instead take Olivier’s prescription for a Friday evening and try to enjoy her new lover before he left her for good.

  90

  Ben

  The car keeps moving and my stomach lurches, bile rises and seeps into the fabric. I’m curled on my side in the boot, my nose pressed to the parcel shelf, pulsing with fresh pain.

  I can’t move, my stomach lurches again and empties itself, I try to breathe as I retch. It smells meaty and then I need to piss, I need to shit. I can’t stop, my body is emptying itself in terror and my bowel is an open passage. The stench of my waste is overwhelming, I wish I could pass out, I wish the car would stop and they would get it over with. I decide I want to die, in just a few hours they have reduced me to this moment. I’m ready now. It’s time to let this misery end.

  Minutes stretch to hours, the road beneath the car sounds smooth so I know we’re on a motorway, driving a long distance and on the metal bonnet above me I can hear heavy rain. Minutes pass and I can’t stop shaking. All I see is blackness. I can’t breathe through the balaclava, which is wet over my mouth from saliva and vomit. I could die here, I’m going to die here, and still the car keeps moving.

  We slow, stop a few times, so I think we must have paused at lights, we must be in a town. I can hear the tyres splashing through water, the car slowing at the impact. I can’t tell how many hours have passed but the idea that we have arrived terrifies me.

  The car stops and I think it is now, this is it. They will take me out, shoot me, throw me, throttle me. In whatever way they choose. I will not see another day.

  The boot opens and it is dark and wet, so I can see just two silhouettes through the fabric of my blindfold.

  “Oh fuck,” says Cheryl, stepping back a
nd holding her nose. “It stinks in there.” I can’t make out her expression, but can just about see her blonde hair, damp with rain. I long for her to touch me or give me just one kind word.

  Her companion comes forward and I can hear heavy feet. Then a hand on my shoulder, tugging me to look up. I respond, or try to, but I’m wobbly. As I lift my head a gust of wind catches inside the boot, a force that knocks me back down.

  Cold air, strong wind, heavy rain. And then I hear water, pushing impatiently against the shoreline.

  It is in that moment that I know where we are.

  I am home.

  91

  The Day Of

  Yvette had finally got around to pulling on some clothes and was wandered around the house looking for Ben and Adam, remembering that she was also looking after Noah, because her old schoolmate, Jessica, was going to London for the day. Lucky bitch. Adam would be taking care of Noah, he knew she wasn’t well and he was a good lad, that one.

  Poor kid. Stuart should never have promised him a trip to Scarborough, he never really meant it. When the call came in late last night saying there was a Grimsby boat needing a mate, he didn’t even hesitate. She’d told him that he couldn’t keep letting the lad down, but Stuart wasn’t bothered about that. And then the row, always the same, about how he was the only one keeping the family together, and didn’t he have to work just to bring some food into the house.

  Bloody martyr. That’s what she’d said. “You reckon you’re a bloody martyr, or summat? Doing it all for us.”

  What about all the weeks when they had to just get by on their own? Just the three of them? And she was ill, proper ill. The doctors had signed her off on the sick, but no-one seemed to show any sympathy. The migraines were like nothing on earth. Tablets didn’t work, nothing knocked the pain on the head like booze. She felt a twinge of guilt, knowing Jessica’s money had bought the vodka when it was supposed to pay for Noah’s lunch. Then she looked at the clock on the DVD player display, it was 3.47pm. Way past lunchtime now.