Left for Dead

by Paul J. Teague

  And as he led her through the school gates, towards the main entrance, she was greeted by the final indignity. Olli burst through the doors, laughing alongside one of the sixth form girls. He did a double-take as he passed Charlotte being escorted into the building by Mr Hyland.

  ‘Mum? What are you doing here?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  1984 - Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp

  When Charlotte and Will looked back on that summer, they both agreed that the day out in Morecambe counted as their first real date. What started with a spark of recognition and friendship on the bus, ended in a day that would have repercussions for years to come.

  Will seemed cagey after the conversation about Abi. Charlotte could sense there was something troubling him, but he seemed conflicted about whether to share it. She tried to probe, but he was having none of it. So she decided to shut up and enjoy the bus trip into the resort.

  It wasn’t the best of starts. Sitting on the top deck of the bus, moving along the winding country lanes, it was inevitable that somebody was going to get travel sickness. In this case it was Charlotte who struggled to hold onto her stomach as a passenger.

  ‘Can we move to the front of the bus?’ she asked, ‘I’m feeling a bit queasy.’

  Thankfully the front seat was vacant. After a few moments, Charlotte started to relax.

  ‘That’s better, my stomach is settling now, and we get a better view from up here anyway.’

  As they rounded the turn from the West End, they could see the sea and the Cumbrian hills far off across the bay. It was a beautiful day and the light blue cloudless sky suggested it might even stay that way.

  ‘What great weather for a day off!’ Will said, as if invigorated by the thought of some time away from the holiday camp. ‘No Bruce with you today?’

  Charlotte hesitated in her answer.

  ‘No, we… er… couldn’t get our shifts off together,’ she stuttered. ‘You know how it is in that place, it’s a nightmare even getting your own day off, let alone coordinating with someone else.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Will replied. ‘I had to run a covert operation this morning to make myself scarce before I could be pulled back in for a shift. How did you manage it?’

  ‘If you’re first in the staff canteen for breakfast, you can be in and out before anybody gets a chance to catch you. I got my free breakfast there, then waited in the lobby of the Welcome Hall until the bus arrived.’

  ‘Welcome Hall? Is that what they call it?’

  ‘Yes, welcome to Hell, more like.’ Charlotte laughed.

  They were so high up on the bus that they had an excellent view of the illuminations which were being erected along the length of the sea front, ready for the switch on towards the end of summer.

  ‘Where are you getting off?’ Will asked tentatively.

  ‘At the pier,’ Charlotte replied. Testing the waters with similar caution, she asked where his stop was.

  ‘The pier sounds fine to me,’ Will said. ‘It’s central enough … what have you got planned?’

  ‘Nothing, really. I just wanted to escape for the day. You?’

  ‘Same here. I just wanted to get away from the camp, so I don’t have to serve any of those wretched lamb cutlets. Have they even been anywhere near a lamb, do you reckon?’

  Charlotte laughed. She felt at ease with Will, a feeling that had been absent from her time with Bruce for some weeks now. When did the problem start? She couldn’t put her finger on it. It had come slowly, creeping up on her. And now, here she was. Trapped in what was supposed to be a holiday romance and scared to end it.

  Dare she suggest it? ‘How do you fancy teaming up for the day and exploring Morecambe together?’

  Will had given his answer before she’d even finished her sentence.

  ‘I’d love to.’ Then he hesitated. ‘Will Bruce be alright with that?’

  Charlotte saw his hand move to the sore spot where he’d claimed to have had an accident with the tea urn in the kitchen. He touched it, as if reminding himself it was not yet fully healed.

  ‘He’s working shifts all day,’ she began, ‘Besides, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’

  She felt brave and rebellious saying it, but at the back of her mind was fear and trepidation.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Will checked. ‘I mean, I’d love to spend the day with you, but I don’t want to cause any trouble between you and Bruce. He seems to be the possessive type.’

  ‘The chances of anyone seeing us together are pretty low. Besides, Bruce needs to get over himself. We’re only friends, right?’

  Will paused before answering.

  ‘Yes, friends. It’s just a harmless day out.’

  They’d managed to convince themselves, even though Charlotte felt sicker than she had during the early part of their bus journey, as she thought about her defiance against Bruce.

  ‘This pier has seen better days,’ Will commented. ‘Do you ever come here during term time?’

  ‘Rarely,’ Charlotte replied, happy that Will was taking her mind off Bruce. ‘None of my friends has cars, so we tend to stay in Lancaster. Anywhere else is a foreign land as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘I've been a couple of times. I’m really looking forward to having a proper look around. Where to first, then?’

  In spite of the beautiful weather, the promenade was windy, and the pier even more so, exposed to the chill of the sea.

  ‘Do you reckon places like this will survive?’ Will asked. ‘It’s beginning to look a bit run down. This pier for starters - it’s seen better days.’

  ‘I hope it’ll survive,’ Charlotte replied, deep in thought. ‘I love these old seaside resorts; it would be a shame if they didn’t pull through.’

  The morning passed at great speed after their visit to the pier, with a walk up the far end of the promenade to Happy Mount Park, passing the town hall, the bingo club and the rows of guest houses that lined the front.

  ‘Have you ever stayed in one of those places?’ Will asked, surveying a row of small, family-run hotels that looked out over the bay.

  ‘Not sure I fancy it,’ Charlotte replied. ‘It’d be like sharing your house with a load of strangers. It’s bad enough at college. They’re probably worse than they look from the outside. You’ve heard what the holiday-makers say at the camp. Most of them can’t believe they fell for the pictures in the brochures.’

  Will laughed. ‘To be honest with you, I fell for the pictures in the brochures too. I had this image of what it would be like to work there over summer. It’s much rougher than I expected it to be. Not just the staff either - the guests can be a bit of a shock too.’

  ‘Oh yes, what’s happened now you’ve got your own workstation? Do tell.’

  ‘I've got a couple of younger girls on holiday together. Can you believe that they asked me back to their room for a threesome? While I was serving them both with a banana sundae, too!’

  Charlotte felt her face reddening. She wanted to know if he’d taken them up on their offer.

  ‘And no, I didn’t accept their kind offer,’ he laughed. ‘I think they might have eaten me alive.’

  Charlotte felt a sense of relief and wasn’t entirely certain why.

  They called in at a small café on the front for lunch: Julian’s Pantry. It looked like it would be cheap and basic. As they were waiting for their toasties and tea to arrive, Charlotte leaned over the table to return the menu to its wooden holder. As she did so her sleeve pulled up to reveal a red mark just above her wrist.

  Charlotte yanked her sleeve back down, aware Will had got a clear view.

  ‘I’m as clumsy as you are,’ she said, trying to summon up a reason for the markings. ‘I ran the bath too hot last night. That’ll teach me to take more care when I’m testing the temperature of the water…’

  ‘He’s hurting you, isn’t he?’

  There was silence. The waitress put two cups of tea on the table.

  Will loo
ked into her eyes. ‘Tell me to be quiet if I’m wrong. But I think you’re scared of him.’

  Charlotte tried to hold back her tears. She couldn’t admit it to Will. She was like a dam holding back a massive force of water, but the barriers were beginning to crack and she could anticipate the power of the flood if they gave way.

  ‘You can tell me,’ Will reassured her. ‘Look, see my burn? Bruce did that. He was threatening me to stay away from you.’

  The dam burst. The waitress must have wondered what was going on as she deposited two toasties on the table. One cheese and ham, the other cheese and tomato.

  Will placed his hand on Charlotte’s arm to reassure her. He only kept it there for a moment, uncertain as to whether it would be welcome.

  It was such a relief for Charlotte to talk about it at last.

  ‘It’s my own silly fault!’ she blurted through her tears. ‘It was just a stupid summer fling. I’ve never really got seriously involved with guys before. I just thought it would be a bit of fun and I’d learn more about - well, I’d find out what men liked. It wasn’t supposed to turn into something like this. I feel like I’m trapped.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ he reassured her. ‘It’s never your fault.’

  Will let her cry.

  ‘We need to get you out of this relationship, Charlotte. We can’t allow him to behave like this.’

  He placed his hand on her arm again. This time, Charlotte made sure he knew to keep it there.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Present Day - Morecambe

  Mr Hyland was a pompous ass of a head teacher. Charlotte took an instant disliking to him, immediately regretting having sent the children to the school.

  ‘So Mrs Grayson, what exactly happened out there?’ he said in his most imperious voice.

  ‘I thought that my daughter - Lucia Grayson - I thought that she was at risk…’

  ‘At risk?’ Mr Hyland queried, before allowing her to finish the sentence. ‘How would you suggest that your daughter is at risk outside the gates of our school, with full teacher supervision provided for the pupils?’

  Charlotte hesitated. Should she mention Bruce Craven? He’d think she was mad. Will would think she was mad. Even she was beginning to wonder if she was going crazy.

  ‘Lucia had said she was approached by a man at the school gates. She said that it’s a common thing for school girls of her age, weird men at the school gates, not just here but in Bristol too…’

  Charlotte could feel the hole getting deeper and deeper. What had she hoped to achieve by going to the school? What evidence did she even have to suggest that Bruce was back? Just some anonymous troll on Facebook claiming to have her necklace. But that was her mum’s old necklace. How had they got it? It had to be Bruce, surely?

  Should she tell the police? What would she say? And if she did report it, she’d have to admit the truth. She’d have to say what happened. That she hit Bruce Craven with a stone on the beach and honestly believed he was dead at the time. She’d left him for dead, but he must have recovered well enough to be able to leave the camp the next day. Could she be prosecuted for something like that after all these years?

  But he’d tried to rape her. He was the guilty party, not her. If Will had given her one great gift in her life, it was to make her understand that Bruce Craven’s actions were not her fault. So why did she feel that she was to blame at that moment?

  ‘Miss Weir was supervising the pupils as per our school procedures, Mrs Grayson. Girls of your daughter’s age have very active imaginations. Is it possible she might have made up that scenario?’

  He was trying to blame her daughter. Was he daring to suggest like mother, like daughter? That Lucia might be as crazy as she was?

  ‘I saw a man approach my daughter…’

  ‘He was simply asking the time Mrs Grayson. I do believe that is still permitted in our modern-day society. And I’m sure that I don’t need to remind you Mrs Grayson, your daughter is a young adult now. She is old enough to think about work or taking up an apprenticeship. Interactions with other adults are how she will learn to navigate this world.’

  Charlotte realised she was beaten. She’d have to take the medicine and force it down. In any scenario, she’d come over as completely crazy. She thought that the man was Bruce Craven, a man who she hadn’t seen for well over thirty years. A man who she tried to kill. It sounded crazy even to her - yet there it was, the anonymous Facebook contact and a photograph of the necklace. Who else could it be?

  Charlotte said nothing. If she’d learned anything about male head teachers of a certain age, it was that they generally liked the sound of their own voice and they were very unaccustomed to being challenged. Her quickest route out of Mr Hyland’s office was humility and compliance. She allowed him to deliver his pronouncement and made no further challenges. Besides, Lucia and Olli were already horrified enough with her behaviour at the school gates, and it was unlikely that they’d forgive her for some time.

  ‘Mrs Grayson, I can appreciate that you’re probably very anxious about your children changing schools and moving to a new area. Any concerned parent would feel that way…’

  Charlotte felt a shit sandwich heading her way.

  ‘…but however concerned you feel, it is always inappropriate to bring violence and confrontation to the school gates, in front of children who are sometimes as young as eleven and twelve years old …’

  Charlotte felt indignation at the use of the word violence but made a tactical decision to let it ride. He was reaching his crescendo now - it was almost over.

  ‘I will not inform the police of your behaviour on this occasion, but I must caution you from taking this type of direct action again in the future. Please come and see me in the first instance if there is any concern on your part. Violence and confrontation are never acceptable Mrs Grayson, under any circumstances.’

  She wanted to punch him on the nose. Pompous oaf!

  Instead, Charlotte nodded, acknowledged what he’d said and began to make movements towards the door. Her eyes flickered towards the large clock above the door in his office. She was late for checking in their guests.

  ‘Please don’t take this out on Olli and Lucia,’ Charlotte said, making a positive movement towards the door now. ‘They’d be horrified. It won’t happen again, I promise.’

  Charlotte was accompanied to the school gates by Mr Hyland’s secretary who insisted on making empty pleasantries throughout. Charlotte couldn’t help but feel that she was being escorted off the premises.

  ‘Oh, we saw your article in the local paper,’ she said, as Charlotte crossed the threshold of school property onto the public pavement. ‘How lovely to see that you’ve taken one of the guest houses. God knows, this town needs it!’

  With that, she was gone. Was there anybody who hadn’t seen that damned newspaper article? Charlotte had thought papers were struggling to maintain a healthy circulation, but everybody in the resort seemed to have seen a copy.

  Charlotte rushed towards the car, but a white van had replaced the vehicle that had been there before. She was wedged in. There was no way she could squeeze out of a spot that small.

  She looked around, searching for signs of workmen in a nearby house. There was nothing, no sign of who the van might belong to.

  She felt in her pocket for her phone, then cursed when she remembered that she’d left it at the holiday camp.

  Charlotte felt a wave of panic wash over her. Lucia had stormed off in a huff. Olli had been horrified seeing his mother being escorted into the school. And she was too late to check in the first guests. She had one thing to do - to be there when the first guests arrived to welcome them into their brand-new business venture - and she’d failed completely.

  She felt herself beginning to spiral. The guests would be furious, and they’d leave bad reviews online. Seeing the reviews, nobody would book a holiday and the business would flounder. The local paper would run the story and they’d become laughing st
ocks. And, quite understandably, Will would be furious with her. How much patience could she expect the poor man to show?

  She scanned the area for a phone box. There wasn’t one. She wasn’t even certain she had any change even if there was; it was years since she’d used a phone box. The last one she’d made a call from had stunk of urine and vomit and she’d resolved never to use one ever again. It seemed that everybody else had made the same decision, as there appeared to be very few phone boxes left in the world.

  There was only one thing for it. She’d have to walk back. It wasn’t so far that she couldn’t cover the ground in twenty minutes or so. Besides, Lucia and Olli were walking back after school.

  Charlotte attempted a slow jog but settled instead for a fast walk. There was a time when she’d have thought nothing of running that distance, but life had overtaken her, and exercise was now a thing that other people did. She committed to taking it up again at some as yet unspecified time in the future.

  It took Charlotte half an hour to get back to the guest house. She paused outside the front door before entering. Would it be a scene of carnage?

  To her relief, Will and Isla had it under control. As she walked into the hallway, she could hear the hubbub of relaxed chatter from the dining room and Will’s voice as he organised things with Isla in the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll take the mixed grills out to the couple by the window, then we’ve got it sorted…’

  Charlotte walked into the kitchen. She could tell by Will’s sour expression that he wasn’t happy, but hopefully he’d save the inquisition for later.

  ‘Oh, hello dear,’ Isla said, ‘I was worried about you. Is everything alright?’

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ Charlotte said, ‘I got caught up in something…’

  ‘I heard!’ Will interrupted, letting his patience slip for just a moment. ‘Olli told me.’

  He was using that terse voice that he used when furious. If Charlotte could just solve the immediate problem - of getting the first guests sorted - they could save the row for later.