Left for Dead

by Paul J. Teague

  ‘Don’t worry Charlotte, I’ve learnt a lot since that first night I stood up and sung in the Old Codger’s bar at the holiday camp. I’ve seen it all - drunks, fights and swearing - and that’s just the women!’

  Charlotte laughed again. The release was welcome; she hadn’t realised how tense she was.

  ‘So, you’re a superstar and you’ve been on the telly. Is that really true?’

  ‘Yes, I had a period of semi-fame. I did the cruise ships for a while and even had a tour of smaller theatres around the UK. It’s been good to me - I’m comfortably off and I still enjoy it, even though the audiences are smaller. I have Will to thank for that, you know.’

  Charlotte felt a wave of guilt washing over her once again. Now was the chance to apologise.

  ‘You know, if I was ever a bitch to you back then, I’m really sorry. Me and Will had just got together, and I had no confidence in those days. I thought you were after him.’

  ‘I was after him!’ Abi laughed. ‘Charlotte, you had the hottest, kindest man on the entire holiday camp. I didn’t know that a man could just be nice before that. I thought they were only after one thing. I was in love with him, but not in that way. I owe him so much - he gave me my confidence.’

  Charlotte felt her eyes filling with tears. Will had always been like that. Maybe she’d been too down on him recently.

  ‘So why did you come back here?’ Charlotte asked, steering the subject to less emotional ground.

  She heard her phone ping but didn’t want to seem rude by looking at it.

  ‘I thought it would be a great place to raise my daughter. And it was where my career began. We live over at Hest Bank, in a lovely house. I’d love it if you and Will came over some time. You can introduce me to your family. So long as Will promises to behave, that is.’

  Charlotte laughed, using it as an excuse to wipe away a tear.

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘Yes, same bloke for twenty years. We met on a cruise ship. Funny thing is, he also began his career at a holiday camp elsewhere in the country. I know we used to curse that place, but I have a lot to thank it for.’

  Charlotte was silent for a few moments, reflecting on how funny it was the way things worked out. She’d been so jealous of Abi, yet she’d really had nothing to fear.

  ‘How old is your daughter now?’ Charlotte asked. She counted the years.

  ‘She was thirty-seven this year,’ Abi smiled. ‘She’s the light of my life. She came with me everywhere, on the cruise ships, around the theatres. We had a lovely time.’

  ‘She must have children of her own now?’

  Charlotte felt the mood change, as if Abi had suddenly tensed.

  ‘Louise has Downs syndrome,’ Abi said. ‘She lives with us in Hest Bank. It’s why I stopped the touring. She has dementia, and I wanted to care for her.’

  ‘Oh…’ Charlotte began. She couldn’t open her mouth without putting her foot in it. The older she got, the more she realised that everybody had baggage. There was always some sadness, hidden and lurking.

  Abi placed her hand on Charlotte’s arm.

  ‘Its fine Charlotte, really it is. It happens a lot with Downs adults. I always knew my life would be different because of it. I never told Will, you know. I think I was ashamed. I was so young, I used to be scared that I couldn’t deal with it. Thank goodness for my mum, that’s all I can say. And we had so many lovely years together. I would always look backstage while I was performing and Louise would be there smiling and dancing. Will gave me a wonderful gift when he encouraged me to sing that night. I’ll always be grateful - even if he did wreck my stage show in a drunken brawl!’

  ‘Maybe we can have a reunion night out, for old time’s sake. Jenna is still in town; do you remember her?’

  Charlotte felt like the grim reaper had just stepped into the room.

  Her phone dinged a second time; she had to will herself not to look at it.

  ‘Yes, I know Jenna Phillips, alright,’ Abi replied, her tone changing in an instant. ‘She’s a con merchant if ever there was one. You and she used to be great friends, didn’t you?’

  ‘We were when we arrived at the camp in 1984,’ Charlotte replied, now forgetting her phone. ‘Things cooled that summer - I’m not entirely sure why.’

  ‘She asked me for money, you know. Have you met that man of hers yet? She seems to fall into bed with one wrong ’un after another. And I’m sure he’s got her into drugs. I’d give her a wide berth if I were you, Charlotte - she’s bad news, that one.’

  Charlotte had wondered about Jenna. What Abi was telling her explained a lot.

  ‘She and that scally of hers were trying to con me, I’m absolutely certain of it. I reckon she saw me as a soft touch. You don’t work in as many rough clubs as I have without being able to spot trouble when it’s coming.’

  Needing a distraction to let Abi’s last words sink in, Charlotte reached into her pocket to take out her phone.

  ‘Excuse me one moment,’ she said, ‘We’ve left my eldest daughter in the house on her own, I just want to check that she’s okay.’

  ‘What is it?’ Abi asked, seeing the colour drain out of Charlotte’s face as she read the screen.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Charlotte said.

  There were two messages, both from Lucia.

  Mum, I think there’s somebody downstairs. I’m phoning Isla.

  Then, sent ten minutes later I’m scared Mum. Come home NOW please.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Present Day - Morecambe

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Abi asked.

  ‘It's probably alright - give me a moment…’

  Charlotte peered around the door into the bar. The two police officers, as well as Will and Tony, had gone. Of course they had, just when she really needed to speak to Will. She returned to the office.

  ‘Abi, find Will at the police station please. Tell him it’s probably okay, but he needs to check in with me as soon as he can. I’m going back to the guest house.’

  She barely waited to finish the sentence before she was back out of the door, through the bar and out onto the street.

  Shit, no car!

  Charlotte looked around. She couldn’t see any taxis nearby; it was too residential for that. Across the road, a man with a full head of grey hair had just got off a moped and removed his helmet. She took her phone and sent Lucia a message.

  Are you okay?

  The message was read immediately.

  She tried dialling, but it rang and rang until switching to voice mail. She left a short message.

  ‘Answer your bloody phone will you, Lucia! Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear like that.’

  There was only one thing for it, other than running again. She crossed the road and walked towards the moped rider.

  ‘This is going to sound really strange, but I need to get back to my daughter, can I borrow your moped please? I’ll leave you with my purse, so you’ll have my ID…’

  ‘Piss off!’ the man said, walking on.

  A taxi passed by and Charlotte ran out into the road to hail it. The driver slammed on his brakes.

  ‘You stupid cow!’ he shouted out of the window.

  ‘I need a taxi now!’ she yelled back at him.

  ‘You and the rest of Morecambe luv. I’m private hire only, I’ll lose my licence if I pick you up off the street.’

  He wound up his window and drove on.

  The moped rider was about to enter his house across the road, but as he reached for his house keys he dropped the keys to the moped on the pavement.

  Charlotte ran across the road, darted her hand out while he was still fumbling for his house keys, and launched herself towards the moped with as much speed as she could muster. She’d only driven a moped once - messing around with a friend’s as a teenager - but she knew it was just a case of switching it on and pulling back the throttle.

  ‘Hey, stop!’ the man shouted.

  Charlotte straddled the moped an
d inserted the key.

  ‘Damn thief, get off my bike!’

  She searched the controls. A red button - that had to start it. She pressed it. Nothing happened. There was a button above it, marked with a circle and a cross. She rocked it over to the circle position.

  ‘I told you to get off my damn bike.’

  The man had grabbed the back seat now.

  Charlotte pressed the red switch and the moped started. The rest was easy. She pulled back the throttle and the bike surged forward, leaving the old man staggering behind it. Charlotte lurched forward, too fast, killed the throttle and stopped almost dead in the road.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she called out. ‘Here’s my purse. I’ll return the bike, I promise.’

  She threw her purse at him and pulled back the throttle before he could catch her again.

  She was off now, minus a helmet, the wind blowing her hair. She didn’t much care about the bike - she just wanted to get to Lucia. She was no criminal; it would all get sorted out. It wasn’t as if she was a teenager going for a joyride.

  Charlotte made her way back to the promenade and forced as much speed as she could out of the vehicle. She was back to the guest house in five minutes. As she drew up outside, she could see that the front door was wide open and the lights on. She barely stopped the moped before getting off, jumping off the back of it and letting it run ahead on its own before crashing to the ground.

  She ran up the path and burst into the entrance hall, not knowing where to look next.

  ‘Lucia! Lucia!’

  She was about to run up the stairs to their private accommodation when something caught her eye in the kitchen. A pile of tins had rolled across the floor. Charlotte stepped through the door and gasped.

  On the floor, a pool of blood forming around her head, was Isla.

  ‘Oh my God, Isla!’ she screamed.

  She ran over to where her still body lay, touching her neck and then reaching for her wrist to feel for a pulse.

  ‘Isla! Isla!’

  She couldn’t raise any life from her. Then she remembered Lucia. Had the same thing happened to her? Where was she?

  Charlotte didn’t know what to do. She needed to call for an ambulance but was desperate to find her daughter.

  She started to run up the stairs, stumbling as she began to dial 999 on her phone. She cursed. Was it 999 on a mobile phone or 112? She stopped at the second digit, deleted the numbers and typed in 112.

  ‘Lucia! Where are you Lucia, it’s Mum?’

  She flung open all the doors on the landing. There was no sign of her daughter.

  She ran to the third floor, then the second floor, even checking the rooms which were mid-way through being redecorated. Nothing.

  As she stood on the top floor landing, she could hear a voice coming from somewhere.

  Hello? Which emergency service do you require? If you’re unable to speak, please tap the phone.

  ‘Hello, I need an ambulance. It’s an emergency.’

  Charlotte walked into the kitchen. There was a printed page of A4 there, on which a message had been typed, in capital letters.

  DON’T CALL THE POLICE IF YOU WANT TO SEE LUCHIA AGAIN

  Even in her state of panic, Charlotte noticed the misspelling of her daughter’s name. She ended the call to the ambulance. They’d notify the police. She knew who had Lucia - it was that bastard Bruce Craven. She should have hit him harder on the beach that night.

  Charlotte could hear her own heart pounding. She ran down the staircase, taking three steps at a time, then made straight for the kitchen, searching for Isla’s mobile phone. She looked around, but could see nothing. If it had been in her hand when she was struck, it might have fallen underneath the kitchen unit. It was worth a try. Charlotte took a spatula from a utensils holder and fished around under the unit, trying to catch the phone. Eventually she found it, flicking it out just enough to ease it out from the narrow space with her fingers. It was an old-fashioned Nokia model. Isla had neglected to lock it with a PIN.

  Charlotte activated the screen and located the address book. There were only four numbers in there, George being one of them. She dialled his number, but it went to voicemail.

  ‘Shit!’ she shouted out loud.

  George’s voice mail prompted her to leave a message.

  ‘George, it’s Charlotte. Isla’s had an accident at the guest house. She’s badly hurt. George, I’m so sorry - I can’t call the ambulance. Someone’s got Lucia. I can’t risk them harming her, not until I know she’s safe. Call me when you get this. I’m sorry.’

  Charlotte didn’t know what to do. It was impossible to tell if Isla was alive or dead; all she could see was the pool of blood and it frightened her. She daren’t call the ambulance - they’d bring the police. She couldn’t risk Lucia getting hurt. What did that mad man want from her? He’d caused them enough pain in the past. Then she got an idea. Olli, she’d call Olli. He’d pick up the phone, even if it was her dialling.

  She keyed in his number. It rang several times before he picked it up.

  ‘Olli, I can’t speak but you’ve got to get back home. Call an ambulance as soon as I put the phone down.’

  ‘Mum, you’re talking too fast.’

  ‘Listen to me Olli… I need you to get an ambulance to the guest house the moment I end this call. Isla’s had an accident.’

  Her phone dinged.

  ‘But Mum…’

  ‘Shut up Olli, please just do as I tell you. I want you to come back home immediately. Right now! And when the police come, don’t tell them you’ve seen me. Do you hear me, do not tell them I found Isla like this. Your sister’s safety depends on it.’

  She ended the call, praying that Olli would follow her instructions.

  Her phone dinged again; she navigated to the Facebook messages and opened up the app.

  It was from her anonymous connection. Or Bruce Craven, as she now knew it to be. She’d make sure her daughter was safe and this time she’d finish the job that she started in 1984.

  The messages popped up one by one.

  I’ve got Lucia and you’re necklace.

  Even now, the spelling errors jarred. Even with her daughter in so much danger.

  If you want too see them both, go back to were it all began.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  1984 - Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp

  Will couldn’t make up his mind. Was Charlotte better being left to cool off? Or should he go after her? His immediate problem was Abi, whose weight was pinning him down.

  ‘We’re going back to our chalet,’ Zach said. ‘If I were you, I’d head out after her. If you don’t, you’ll only pay for it tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll help Abi back, Will.’ Sally offered.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Will said, gently moving Abi’s right arm away from his lap. ‘I’d better make sure Charlotte’s okay.’

  Zach got up off his stool and between them, he and Will managed to rouse Abi and get her to stand, albeit unsteadily, on both feet.

  ‘I’ve got this,’ Zach said to him, ‘Go.’

  Will raced out of the door and headed directly for the staff accommodation. The camp was quiet now, except for the occasional drunken laugh far off in the distance. They’d been last out that night, and the holiday camp was getting settled down for the night.

  He ran up the stairs of Charlotte’s chalet block and tapped at the door. The lights weren’t on and all was quiet inside.

  ‘Charlotte? Are you in there? Let me in, it’s Will.’

  He tried to think what Jenna had done after she left their group. She still shared a room with Charlotte - in theory - but most of the time she was elsewhere.

  ‘Jenna, are you in there? Jenna?’

  He wondered if Charlotte had gone back to his chalet. That would make sense, maybe she’d thought better of it and returned to his room. She had the spare key, after all.

  He ran down the stairs and along to his own chalet block and opened his door. N
o sign of Charlotte - she hadn’t even left her things.

  He heard voices coming up the steps. It was Sally and Zach, back with Abi.

  ‘Have you seen Charlotte on the site?’ he asked. ‘I can’t find her.’

  ‘Maybe she went for some fresh air?’ Zach suggested. ‘She looked like she needed to cool off to me.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a wild night to be on the beach,’ Will said. ‘But maybe you’re right. I’ll see if I can find her. If you run into her, please ask her to go to her room or let herself into mine. I’ll catch up with her as soon as I can.’

  Will locked his door and ran down the stairs then towards the centre of the holiday camp. It was possible that Charlotte had gone to the beach, but it seemed unlikely. She’d had a fair bit to drink - perhaps she wasn’t thinking straight. For the first time he felt a short burst of panic. Where was she? It was unlike her. She would have returned to her room.

  Will re-traced his steps back to the family pub and then past the site of the new paddling pool. A concrete mixer was parked on the narrow road in front of the new pool, where they’d begun concreting that day. It was a small thing, but the prospect of the new pool had created a frisson of excitement among the holidaymakers.

  Will could see the distinctive outline of the old tower far up ahead of him now. He stopped by the new pool before running on, out of breath, needing to pause a moment. He heard footsteps to his side.

  ‘Good evening Will. What are you doing out so late?’

  It was George, running a circuit of the camp, making sure everybody was safe and secure.

  ‘George, have you seen Charlotte?’

  ‘No, is she alright?’ George asked, concerned.

  ‘We had a bit of a falling out. She’s had quite a lot to drink. She isn’t in her room; I’m worried about her.’

  ‘I’m heading out on my rounds now,’ George said. ‘I’ll keep a lookout for her. I’ll tell her you’re concerned.’

  ‘If you see her, please ask her to go to her room or to my chalet. I’ll meet her there. This camp is so big, we could be passing each other all night. But please tell her to go to one of our rooms and stay put when she gets there.’