Written in the Scars (The Estate Series Book 4)

by Mel Sherratt

  ‘The police?’ Shock was clear in Laura’s eyes. ‘I can’t believe he’d do that. He’s always precious about how hard people work, and how people on this estate will come along and take what isn’t theirs because it’s easier or sometimes, just because they can. Are you sure it was Lewis?’

  Josie shook her head. ‘I can’t be certain, but I think so.’

  The last time they had discussed Lewis, Laura had told Josie that she thought there was something on his mind, something he wasn’t telling them. Josie had hoped that between them they could get to the bottom of it, knowing how much a difference it could make if Lewis would confide in someone. But, so far, no one had been successful in getting him to do that.

  ‘Do you think he will ever get help?’ she asked.

  Laura looked up, her eyes glazed with tears. ‘Until he realises he has a problem, I don’t think so, but …

  ‘When we spoke last time,’ Laura continued, ‘you mentioned Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I’ve been researching it online. It’s often triggered by an event after the trauma, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Josie. ‘Some soldiers do come home and adapt to life without any problems, although a lot are suffering because of events on the job.’ She saw Laura raise her eyebrows questioningly. ‘Without any problems they tell us about, should I say.’

  ‘Do you think it was more than Michael’s death that he seems stressed about?’ Laura lowered her voice, fearful of Lewis overhearing.

  ‘It’s possible, I’m sure.’ Josie paused, wondering if she should voice her concerns. ‘Maybe when he came home, back to Amy and Daniel, with support from his family and his parents, he was able to cope a lot better. But as soon as he lost his dad … well, maybe he can’t confide in anyone else?’

  ‘I often wondered what they talked about when they disappeared into the shed at the bottom of the garden. Sometimes they would be in there for hours. I always thought perhaps he was sharing happy memories of his time in the army – Michael was so proud of him. But I never stopped for a moment to wonder if he was counselling him through his trauma.’

  ‘And was it soon after Michael died that Lewis’s drinking spiralled out of control?’ Josie probed.

  Laura nodded. ‘But I don’t know if he’ll ever realise that.’

  ‘It’s probably the reason he’s drinking more, to block something out of his life. He can’t face what’s inside his head on his own.’

  ‘I never thought he would turn to alcohol,’ Laura admitted. ‘He used to be the life and soul of a party without a drop of beer. He was always happy-go-lucky. I … I wish we could get that back.’

  ‘He hasn’t mentioned anything at all?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘All I know is that something happened when he was out on a tour and he says it was his fault. And when I question him about it, he clams up. He doesn’t want to talk to us.’

  ‘Really? Not even to Amy?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘And that’s the saddest thing. Amy and Lewis were good together. They were both so young when Daniel came along and when Lewis went in the army, I thought that the relationship would collapse. But they proved me wrong. Amy is like a daughter to me, and I miss having her around. I do go to see her and Daniel, but it’s difficult. I feel like I’m taking sides and I don’t want to do that.’

  ‘He’ll come around, in his own time.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Laura was quiet for a moment. ‘It’s like he’s come home as a stranger. That’s when he’s actually in the house, and not down the pub causing trouble.’

  ‘It must affect you, too, as well as Amy and Daniel?’

  ‘I guess so, but I’ll be okay. I just wish his father was here to support us both.’ Laura sniffed.

  Josie glanced at the photo of Lewis to Laura’s side. The face of a soldier grinning into the camera stared at her, almost making her smile back at its immediate warmth. Lewis wore his desert gear, rifle in hand, helmet on head.

  ‘He’s your only child, isn’t he?’ she asked, already knowing but wanting to make small talk to ease the sombreness in the room.

  Laura nodded slightly.

  ‘And deployed to Afghanistan three times?’

  ‘Yes, and I don’t think my Lewis came back at all when he left the army.’ She pointed to the ceiling. ‘What’s upstairs in that bed isn’t my son.’ Laura shook her head, a lone tear escaping down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly before continuing. ‘I just wish I could help him find his way back.’

  Josie sighed. She had her doubts that it was possible, but she wasn’t about to give up on Lewis yet.

  Chapter Eight

  While Josie talked to his mum, Lewis lay in bed upstairs. With his head pounding and mouth dry, even though he’d had a long drunken sleep the night before, he couldn’t see much point in getting up. If he went downstairs, the bloody housing officer would most likely tell him off again like a five-year-old, even though he knew he fully deserved it. Why the hell had he kicked off that mirror? He wasn’t a vandal.

  He rolled over on his back. He hadn’t closed the curtains the night before, and the sun’s rays cast a bright image of the window across the carpet. The stretch of good weather coming was supposed to last for the rest of the week, if the long-range weather forecast was to be believed. It wasn’t anywhere near as hot as it had been in Afghanistan, though. How Lewis wished he were there right now, having a laugh with Nathan and the gang.

  When he heard the front door open again and voices in the hallway, Lewis padded over to the window. Out of view, he watched as Josie walked down the pathway, stopping to close the gate behind her. She was okay, as far as authority went. He’d met her a few months ago now, when she’d called at the house after a complaint had been made against him. That was about the noise he’d made coming home one night. He’d been drunk then, too.

  Lewis scowled. Alcohol wasn’t the best option but if it helped him to get rid of the images inside his head, then the neighbours would have to put up with a little noise here and there. It wasn’t as if he caused a riot every day.

  He waited for Josie to drive off before going to take a shower. Once freshened up and dressed, he went downstairs to face the music.

  Laura was standing with her back against the worktop when he walked into the kitchen, her arms folded. ‘Afternoon,’ she said, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Morning.’ Lewis opened a cupboard and pulled out a box of cereal, then a bowl.

  ‘You need something more substantial than that.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not that hungry.’

  ‘You need to soak up the alcohol I can smell on your breath.’

  Lewis sat down at the table and poured milk over his cereal.

  ‘What did she want?’ he asked.

  ‘She says you vandalised a car.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re lying, aren’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘For crying out loud!’ Laura tutted. ‘You can’t go around taking your anger out on innocent people.’

  ‘It was a car, not a person!’

  ‘Nevertheless, it belongs to someone who has worked hard for it.’

  Lewis looked up sheepishly. ‘Don’t you think I regret it?’

  Laura sat down across the table from him. ‘You can’t go on like this.’ She reached for his hand. ‘Whatever is troubling you, son, I’d like to support you. To listen, and to—’

  ‘What, Mum?’ Lewis snatched his hand away. ‘Help me get through it?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she nodded.

  ‘You can’t help me. No one can.’ Lewis put down his spoon. ‘What happened was my fault.’

  ‘But what did happen?’

  There was a pause before Lewis spoke again.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ He shook his head.

  ‘If you tell me what’s bothering you, maybe I can support you.’

  Lewis’s laughter was cruel. ‘Stifle me, more lik
e.’

  ‘Stifle you?’ Laura sat back in her chair. ‘How can you say that? You haven’t lived at home for twelve years, I’ve taken you back after the break-up of your marriage—’

  ‘It’s only a separation. I’ll get her back.’

  ‘—and in the space of a few months my whole way of life has been affected. It was bad enough losing your dad and being on my own, but I’m beginning to think that I’d rather it be that way. You have the nerve to say that I’m stifling you?’

  ‘I can just as easily move out again, if that’s an issue,’ Lewis bristled.

  ‘Of course it isn’t. But you can’t continue to—’

  Lewis stood up abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor in his haste. ‘Look, Mum. I appreciate what you’re trying to do. Honestly, I do. But no matter how much you want to help me, you wouldn’t want to be inside my head right now.’

  ‘Son.’ She touched his arm this time.

  ‘If I want to get Amy back, I have to do this my own way.’

  ‘But Amy doesn’t want to—’

  ‘Leave me alone!’

  Laura recoiled, her face paling at the anger in his voice.

  Lewis marched out of the kitchen and left the house with a bang of the front door. Margaret, who was sitting on her doorstep smoking a cigarette, threw him a filthy look.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ he shouted, before slamming shut the gate and running down the street.

  Why wouldn’t anyone listen? He deserved to be unhappy, couldn’t they see that? Why should he be happy when Nathan…

  Only when he had left the house far behind did his steps slow enough for him to catch his breath. What was the point in running? He couldn’t escape his problems, his fears. The guilt would come with him wherever he went. It would haunt him for the rest of his life. And he couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Because then everyone would know what had happened and whose fault it was.

  Once he’d calmed down a little, Lewis went across to Vincent Square. In Pete’s Newsagent, he found a pile of envelopes that he could buy individually and brought one. Next, he went into Shop&Save and withdrew sixty pounds from the cash machine inside the doorway.

  Once he’d popped the notes into the envelope, he walked back to Davy Road, hoping he’d be able to recall where he had caused the damage last night. Stopping suddenly, he drew level with a car parked outside a house. It was a Fiesta, in fairly old shape now. The passenger side mirror was missing, wiring hanging out of a hole in the door.

  Embarrassment flooded through Lewis at the thought of what he had done the night before. Feeling his skin reddening, he walked up the pathway and knocked on a door.

  It took a while for the door to be opened. An elderly woman with short, thinning grey hair stood looking through the half-inch gap allowed by the safety chain on the door. Over the top of her glasses, she eyed Lewis with contempt.

  ‘Didn’t you cause enough trouble last night?’ she snapped.

  ‘I did and I’m sorry.’ Lewis thrust the envelope through the gap in the door. ‘I came to give you this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Money for the mirror.’

  Her hooded eyes narrowed. ‘I can’t take that.’

  ‘Why not? It was my fault.’

  ‘Yes, I know but that doesn’t make it right.’

  Lewis frowned back. ‘What would make it right?’

  ‘You only needed to apologise.’

  ‘But it cost you money.’

  The door was shut in his face. Lewis was about to leave when he heard the chain being removed before the door was opened up fully. The woman couldn’t have been a day under eighty and immediately reminded Lewis of his nan who had passed away when he was in his late teens. She wore navy trousers and a two-piece pale blue cardigan and jumper. He could see from her posture that she was unsure on her feet. In his drunken state the night before, he hadn’t noticed the stick she was leaning on.

  ‘I would have clouted you with this if I’d had it near me,’ she said, rising it an inch from the floor.

  ‘I’m not sure what I would have done if you had,’ Lewis admitted.

  She glared at him for a moment, then, seeming to relent, she handed back the envelope. ‘How about you do me a favour instead of giving me this?’ She pointed to her garden. ‘I do my best to keep everything tidy but I struggle with those hedges. I don’t have any family to help, so I don’t suppose …?’

  Lewis looked at them. It wouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours to cut them down to a decent size. He glanced up at the clear sky. It was perfect weather for it and it would give him something to do.

  ‘Unless you’re too busy in your day of causing trouble?’ the woman added with a sly grin.

  ‘Lewis’s brow furrowed. ‘Why are you letting me off?’

  ‘Because you came to make amends. I see people for what they are and not for what they do. Sadly, most people aren’t like me.’ She looked up at him, despite being two steps above the level of the path. ‘Besides, it’s not my car.’

  Lewis grinned. He’d been wondering about that.

  ‘Well, I suppose it will pass a few hours away,’ he said.

  ‘Perfect.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Elsie, by the way.’

  ‘Lewis. Lewis Prophett.’

  ‘Well, Lewis Prophett, once you’ve finished the hedges, perhaps I can persuade you to run the mower over the lawn and we’re quits.’

  Chapter Nine

  Of all the wards that Megan Cooper helped to keep tidy on her shifts at the hospital, number twelve was her favourite because of the variety of people she got to see. It was a holding bay for emergency patients who needed surgery for injuries caused that day. Once the operations were done, patients were either discharged or moved to a more specialised ward for further treatment. It was also her last ward to clean before she went home for the day.

  The ward was mixed, with beds segregated for males and females, fitting six in a bay. She turned the corner into the first bay, mopping the floor as she went, her tiny frame lugging the cleaning trolley behind her. There were three patients that morning. To her right, two elderly men were sitting in chairs beside their beds chatting to each other, their arms waving around as they spoke. She tried to work out what was wrong with them but there didn’t seem anything obvious. They looked too well to be in hospital but she knew that people could change in an instant on this ward as they were being monitored.

  On the other side of the bay, sitting on top of the covers in the middle bed, was a man that looked familiar, although Megan couldn’t think why at first. Even though he was scowling, she could tell a smile would light up his face if he ever let it. He didn’t look too much older than her nineteen years; she would bet his spiky black hair wouldn’t usually look so messy too. He wore pyjamas, his legs crossed at the ankles, new slippers on his feet. His right hand was lying on top of the covers, a bandage around it. In the other, he held a newspaper. He dropped it to the bed as he caught her eye.

  ‘Hi, there.’ Megan smiled broadly. ‘I think I remember you from school. It’s Sam, isn’t it? Sam Harvey?’

  ‘Yeah.’ His eyes narrowed.

  ‘I’m Megan, but you probably won’t remember me as I was a couple of years below you, I think. Did you have a sister? Keeley or something like that?’

  ‘Keera?’

  Megan nodded. ‘How are you feeling today?’

  ‘Like someone has tried to rip my fucking hand off.’

  ‘Oh, dear. What happened?’

  ‘Had an argument with a chainsaw.’

  ‘Euw.’ Megan grimaced.

  ‘It’s not that bad!’

  ‘It’s never that bad, you see?’ She smiled. ‘Do you need an operation?’

  ‘Had one last night.’

  Megan continued to mop the floor as she saw Sue, one of the staff nurses on duty, walking towards them. She hoped she wouldn’t get into trouble for chatting, like she often did. But Sue smiled as she walked past to make up a be
d that had been recently vacated.

  ‘Give him a run for his money, if you can,’ she shouted over as she pulled back a sheet. ‘He did nothing but moan last night.’

  ‘You’d moan if you were put through so much pain.’

  ‘Is it any better this morning?’ Sue stopped what she was doing. ‘The doctor will be around soon and we can sort out more pain relief if possible.’

  ‘I’m okay, thanks.’

  Sue nodded and continued stripping the bed.

  ‘It was too swollen to do everything,’ Sam explained to Meg. ‘I might have to have another operation. I have to wait and see.’

  ‘Well, you might be moving wards soon then.’

  ‘Haven’t a frigging clue. All I know is that it hurts like fuck.’

  Megan looked at him with a frown. ‘You swear a lot, you know.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Some people, they curse so much in conversation that they don’t even realise they do it all the time. It can offend people without you realising.’

  Sam bit on his bottom lip. ‘Have I offended you?’

  ‘Me?’ Megan shook her head, her blonde ponytail swishing at the back of her head. ‘Not at all. But—’

  ‘Well then, mind your own business and stop interfering.’

  ‘I was only –’

  ‘You were trying to be a busybody, like a lot of people here. But what do you know? You haven’t had an accident and you aren’t stuck in here either. So forgive me if I swear every now and then without thinking.’

  ‘Hey, you said a few sentences without swearing!’ Megan glanced at him from below her fringe.

  Sam’s frown changed into a smirk. Then it morphed into a yawn.

  ‘Sorry, I have a tendency to yackity-yack for too long,’ Megan smiled.

  ‘No, I’m just tired.’

  ‘That’ll be the anaesthetic,’ Megan nodded knowingly. ‘It knocks you about for a couple of days afterwards. You’ll just be getting used to it as they’ll be sending you home.’

  ‘Oh, ha ha, very funny.’

  Megan beamed as she wheeled away her trolley. ‘It’s far better than being a grumpy chops and swearing at everyone.’