Hunting Shadows

by Bugler, Sheila

  The minute the lip started, he’d tell jokes and prance about the place, anything to keep her from crying. It never worked, though. No matter what he did, the tears would start and then the wailing – that horrible sound that cut through him like a knife.

  Marion, Molly-not-Marion, Jodie-not-Marion. Girls with dark hair and big blue eyes, crying and smiling, in his head and in his arms until he couldn’t stick it a second longer and before he knew what he was doing he was dropping her back onto the bed and stumbling from the room, only just remembering to lock up as he left.

  It wasn’t easy having two parents to keep happy. There was Mam, begging him to look after Marion and keep her safe. And he tried his best. God knows, he tried. Except every bloody time, he got it wrong.

  Being with Mam was the best. She was kind and warm and told him he was a great boy and she loved him and wasn’t he the best big brother in the world to his little sister?

  ‘You’ll always look after her, won’t you?’ Mam would ask him.

  And Brian would nod his head really hard and say, ‘I promise I will, Mam.’

  It wasn’t easy, though. Not with Daddy around. But a promise is a promise is a promise, and there was no way Brian was going to break that one. No way.

  Except words are easy and actions are hard. Especially when you come home one evening and he’s taken her and you think you’ll never see her again and you wonder how you’ll manage to spend your whole life living without her, knowing you didn’t keep the promise you made.

  If it wasn’t for Simon, he’d never have got through those first months. Simon offered Brian a job. Said working was better than staying at home all day, feeling sorry for himself. Brian was nearly a man, Simon said. Time to start earning his own money. Simon couldn’t subsidise him forever.

  He liked working with Simon. Some of the other blokes, they were a bit hard to take, but mostly Brian kept to himself and didn’t let them get to him. Took his orders from Simon and got on with it.

  That afternoon, he’d been in Mountsfield Park, weeding one of the few beds that was worth looking after, when he looked up and there she was. Skipping along the path towards the playground. She skipped right past him, didn’t seem to notice he was there at all. Not that he minded. The way he felt then, nothing could have upset him. It was as if he’d spent his whole life waiting for that moment.

  Even then, he wasn’t one hundred per cent sure it was her. But then he heard Mam whispering in his ear, and he knew.

  You promised, Brian. Bring Marion home and keep her safe. For me.

  So that’s what he’d done.

  Only you fucked up, didn’t you?

  Brian shook his head, as if somehow he could shake out the sound of Daddy’s voice.

  Didn’t you?

  It was so confusing. How could you tell if someone was lying to you or not? He’d spent a long time worrying about that. Wondering if she was only pretending to be Molly, but really she was Marion. But why would she lie?

  He shivered. Looking around, he realised he was standing outside, midway between the house and the shed. Daddy’s gun was on the ground beside his feet. He didn’t remember dropping it.

  In the distance, he could hear a train coming. As a boy, he’d loved going to see the trains. He’d stand at the top of the bank and watch them whizz by. There were never any people on them. Freight trains only. He used to imagine the trains were full of presents, being delivered to all the boys and girls in the world.

  Once, after a bad afternoon with Daddy, he’d gone down there, clambered down the grassy bank and waited for the train to come. If he put his ear to the track, he could feel it – the metal vibrating against his ear.

  He’d thought about crawling across the track and lying there, feeling the vibrations growing stronger as the train got nearer, picturing the shadow appearing above him and the pressure of the train running over his chest and stomach and legs and the emptiness that would follow. But then he thought about Marion and Mam and how sad they’d be if he left them.

  So he sat up and climbed back up the wet, grassy slope, and ran back to the house, where he knew they’d be waiting for him.

  11:06

  The scene that greeted Ellen and Dai was bizarre bordering on tragic. Rob York was sitting at the kitchen table. Finlay had pulled up a chair behind him and was pressing a bag of ice against the back of York’s head. Dried blood stained one side of York’s face. Helen was sitting beside him, holding his hands, bound together at the wrist with police-issue handcuffs. She had what looked like an old T-shirt wrapped around her head. Ellen could see blood on this.

  Abby stood behind York, looking like she would whack him if he dared to move.

  ‘Mr York was looking for Kevin,’ Abby explained. ‘He threatened the family with a knife. Luckily, Helen and Finlay managed to overpower him before he did anything stupid.’

  ‘My God.’ Dai pushed past Ellen and knelt in front of Helen, grabbing her free hand. ‘Are you both okay, Helen?’

  Abby glanced from Dai to Ellen but refrained from commenting.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Helen said. ‘Stop fussing, Dai. Please.’

  ‘I’ve cuffed him,’ Abby said. ‘As you can see. And read him his rights. Just waiting for someone to get him out of here now.’

  Ellen was already on the radio, sending through an update and requesting more back-up.

  ‘Malcolm and Raj are on their way,’ she said. ‘They’ll take him down to the station. Mr York, you will be charged. You know that, don’t you? You can’t just break in here with a knife and start threatening people.’

  ‘He thinks Kevin hurt his girl,’ Helen said.

  Ellen nodded. She knew for sure now it was Rob York she’d heard that night Kevin was attacked. She thought about how close they’d got to doing what they’d set out to do and shivered.

  She wanted to ask him what he’d been thinking but she couldn’t. That would have to wait until they got to the station. He looked defeated, sitting there like that. Poor man.

  ‘I thought he did it.’ He looked at Ellen, his eyes wet with tears. ‘I haven’t been able to think about anything else since that journalist showed up on my doorstep. You can’t know what it’s like for me. Sheryl and Molly, they were my whole world. Now, all I do is spend my days drinking and thinking. Not good thoughts. Especially not when I think about Molly, and what happened to her. Mostly, that’s all I ever think about. That, and what I’d do to the bloke that hurt her if I ever got my hands on him.

  ‘You spend too long doing all that thinking and your mind goes funny. You start seeing the world different. You become a different person. See, with me, there’s nothing left I care about. Not a single thing. So when you ask me what I was thinking, well, I can’t answer that. I can’t separate my thoughts from what’s real and what’s not anymore. It’s not that easy.’

  ‘I don’t blame him for wanting revenge,’ Helen said. ‘Under the circumstances, I can’t say I’d have done any different.’

  ‘How did you get Kevin to meet you that night?’ Ellen asked. Abby had already cautioned him, so whatever he said now was up to him.

  ‘Told him I was a mate of Dan Harris. That journalist told me all about it.’ York said. ‘Said I had something Hudson might want. It was a long shot. Didn’t expect him to jump so quickly, but he couldn’t wait to meet me.’

  ‘Except you got the wrong man,’ Abby said. ‘Kevin hadn’t done a thing wrong but that didn’t stop you and your thug of a mate, did it?’

  ‘What about this Harris bloke?’ Rob asked. ‘He was a kid, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Dan Harris was a thug,’ Helen said. ‘Fifteen years old he might have been but Kevin had good reason to do what he did, believe me. And he certainly wouldn’t harm Jodie. In the meantime, she’s still missing and none of this is helping, is it? No one is any closer to finding my little girl.’

  Helen tried to say something else but she started crying instead. Ellen was about to stand up, go over and comfort her. But Dai g
ot there first, holding Helen while she sobbed against him. Holding her, Ellen thought, like he might never let her go.

  13:30

  He wished Daddy would shut up, but he wouldn’t. He kept roaring and shouting and calling him a stupid cunt. Cunt was a bad word. You weren’t allowed to use it. If Mam heard you saying it, she’d be cross. But Daddy didn’t care about that. Daddy didn’t care about anything at all except slapping Brian about the head and roaring at him and getting him to sort out the mess he’d created.

  Daddy was right. Brian’s mess, his responsibility.

  He’d spent the last hour clearing out the back of the van, getting it ready. Had even put some blankets in there so she’d be comfortable. He didn’t like to think of her in there getting banged around on the hard metal surfaces.

  It would be easier if he didn’t have to do this but he had no choice. She was getting worse every day. He felt sad thinking about it. Pictured coming home this evening and there’d be no one there.

  He started thinking about all the nice times they’d had together watching The Rainbow Parade and eating cakes, but then he had to stop that because it made him feel a bit sick, thinking there’d be no more evenings like that.

  He’d gone down there earlier and sat with her for a while. Told her what he was planning to do. She didn’t say a word. Just lay on the bed with her back to him the whole time he sat there. In the end, he’d said good night to her and gone back to the house. Truth was, it had been a relief. It was no fun being with someone who didn’t speak or even look at you.

  After he left her, he’d caught himself humming the tune from The Rainbow Parade. ‘It’s Parade. The Rainbow Parade. Come and join us for colourful fun! The Parade. The Rainbow Parade. Come and join us for colourful fun!’

  He thought about going back, waking her up and singing it to her, thinking that would make her smile. Maybe then she’d turn around and the next thing she’d be chatting away to him, telling him about her favourite episodes and asking him why Fergus Fox was always so sly and mean.

  He might have done it, too, but Daddy started up then, driving him on up the stairs and into bed, pushing him around and telling him what to do and not listening when Brian started crying and begging Daddy not to hurt him.

  Later, Daddy’s voice whispering in his ear, telling him it was for his own good and the least Brian could do was be a good boy and do what Daddy wanted after all the trouble he’d caused.

  He’d tried shutting Daddy out but he couldn’t do it. His voice was there now, louder than ever. Tormenting him.

  You need to get rid of her. Little tramp like that, needs teaching a lesson. Show her who’s boss. You can’t let them get the upper hand, sunshine. They’ll walk all over you if you’re not careful.

  He’d started singing – blocking out Daddy’s voice as best he could, and clearing the van, getting it ready. He got Daddy’s gun and put it in the van. Just in case.

  He was so caught up with it all he didn’t hear the car pulling up. It was only when he heard the footsteps, right up close, that he realised there was someone else there.

  ‘Brian.’

  His heart jumped as he recognised the voice.

  Quick as a flash, he slammed closed the doors of the van and swung around but he was too late. Simon was already beside him, looking over his shoulders and peering inside the windows of the van.

  ‘Jesus, Brian, what the fuck have you been up to now?’

  13:35

  Ellen had arranged for Rob to be taken in for questioning. With a bit of luck, he’d be back home by the end of the day. Helen had refused to press charges. Under the circumstances, Ellen couldn’t blame her. As for Frankie Ferrari, Ellen was going to leave that for Kevin to decide what to do. If he wanted to press charges, fine. If not, Frankie would be off the hook, too. For now.

  Higham turned out to be a string of connected hamlets trickling down from the Gravesend–Rochester road towards the river. Ellen drove. Out along the A2, turning off just before Rochester.

  ‘Twenty miles,’ Dai said, as Ellen parked outside a boarded-up pub beside the train station. ‘That’s all that’s separating us from the end of civilisation.’

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ Ellen said. ‘According to the file, Brian lives in a house owned by his boss, Simon Wilson.’ She frowned. ‘You know, there’s something odd about the relationship between those two.’

  ‘In what way?’ Dai asked.

  ‘Wilson acts like Brian’s guardian,’ Ellen said. ‘Giving him a job, a house, looking out for him. It’s odd.’

  ‘I think it’s rather sweet,’ Dai said. ‘Not many people would be so kind to a young man with learning difficulties.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ Ellen said. ‘Wilson doesn’t strike me as the kindly type.’

  She stepped out of the car and looked around. The place reminded her of the black-and-white photos in her parents’ house of old Irish towns. It gave her that same feeling that she was observing somewhere from a time long past. Apart from a scattering of houses – a mixture of semi-derelict Victorian cottages and cheap, flat-roofed eyesores – there was nothing else.

  They had parked at the edge of the village and, from where she stood, the landscape sloped down to the Thames marshes, bleak and desolate under the heavy sky.

  ‘Listen,’ Dai whispered.

  Ellen frowned. ‘What? I can’t hear anything.’

  ‘Duelling banjos,’ he said. ‘I knew it. Deliverance country. We’re not safe in a place like this.’

  ‘Not sure what gives you the right to slag off a place like this,’ she said. ‘I mean, Wales is hardly the cosmopolitan capital of the world, is it?’

  He started explaining to her that Cardiff wasn’t Wales and, as a Cardiff man, he had every right to feel superior, but she didn’t bother listening. Instead, she pulled up the collar of her coat to keep her neck warm and headed towards what appeared to be the main street.

  A bit further along, they found a shop that looked as old as the village itself. Inside, it was empty apart from an overweight teenage girl with electric pink hair working behind the counter.

  A moment’s interest flickered across her face when Dai and Ellen walked into the shop, but it didn’t last. She had already gone back to reading her magazine by the time the door creaked closed behind them.

  ‘Vicky Pollard eat your heart out,’ Dai muttered.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Ellen said, shoving her elbow into Dai’s stomach.

  No answer from the girl.

  ‘She’s wearing headphones,’ Dai said. ‘Listening to her iPod, man, innit?’

  Ellen knocked hard on the counter, making the girl jump. Slowly, she took the headphones from her ears and looked at Ellen.

  ‘Yeah?’

  Ellen’s mind fast-forwarded ten years to a terrible image of Eilish with pink hair, a weight problem and a bad attitude. Dismissing the picture as quickly as she could, she concentrated on the girl.

  ‘I’m looking for Simon Wilson’s house,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Simon Wilson,’ Ellen repeated. ‘He owns a local business, Medway Maintenance. You know him?’

  The girl moved her head slightly. It might have been a nod of recognition, but Ellen couldn’t be sure.

  ‘My brother done some work for him last summer.’

  ‘He has a house in the village somewhere?’ Ellen pressed.

  The girl frowned. Ellen hoped this meant she was concentrating.

  ‘Don’t know about that. Thought he lived in Rochester. Or Upnor. Yeah, that’s right. He’s got a place in Upnor. Right posh it is, too. Gary went there once. Said it was well nice.’

  ‘He owns a house here in Higham as well,’ Ellen said. ‘Rents it out to a bloke called Brian Fletcher. Maybe you know him?’

  Something like a smile appeared on the girl’s face.

  ‘Smelly Brian. Yeah. He don’t live there no more, though. Ain’t no one lived in that place for a while. We was well pleased when he moved out
. Dirty git. Wouldn’t want a bloke like that living near you. Not with kids around. Know what I mean?’

  ‘Not a clue,’ Dai said. ‘Perhaps you’d be good enough to enlighten us?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘Speak to anyone around here. They’ll tell you the same thing about Brian. He’s a kiddie fiddler. You know he was arrested a few years back? He took this kid. Only problem was you lot couldn’t get your act together to prove he did it.’

  ‘Maybe because he didn’t,’ Ellen suggested.

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ the girl muttered. ‘Like I said, you won’t find no one at that house. Been empty for ages. It’s at the end of the village, on the right as you’re heading towards Rochester. Small bungalow. You can’t miss it.’

  ‘Jesus, spare me from small-town bigots,’ Dai muttered as they left the shop and made their way across the town in the direction of Rochester.

  ‘No bigots in Cardiff, then?’ Ellen asked. ‘Come on. Rochester’s this way. Let’s see if we can find the house.’

  The house was as easy to find as the girl had said. An ugly, 1950s bungalow, it stood at the edge of the village in a small patch of concrete, about 500 yards from the nearest house.

  It was obvious, as they approached, that no one was inside. They walked around the property, peering through grimy windows into the dark, empty interior. There was no sign that anyone had been there for a long time.

  ‘Layers of dust everywhere,’ Dai said. ‘Mouse droppings all over the kitchen floor. Cobwebs thick as my arm. It’s a ghost house, Ellen, that’s what it is. So, what do we do now? According to Babe back there, Fletcher hasn’t lived here for ages. So, if he’s not living here, then where the hell is he?’

  Ellen kicked at some weeds sprouting up through cracks in the concrete.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I really don’t know, Dai.’