I, on the other hand, flushed at the thought of a boy touching me, never mind ‘going the whole way.’ I’d never really understood why I shied away from relationships, but deep down something niggled. First the nightmares, now this regression into childhood.
Was it possible we had been drugged? Ferried to some secluded forest where no one could witness what was happening?
Flesh icy with dread, I turned the shower up, relishing the blast of hot water as it bit into my skin. But it did little to calm the tremors running through me. As soon as I stepped out of the bathroom, the fear was back. It clung to the edges of my world like tar, something foul, black and evil.
******
Eventually, I had to drag myself out of my tortured reverie. With the sun blazing down brightly, there seemed no point wasting the day. The supermarket beckoned, so I gathered up my shopping bags. Planning something nice to cook would be a welcome diversion, but more than anything, I craved a walk along the seafront.
Only the salty fresh air would blow the cobwebs away, and while I was there, I would visit the homeless men camped out in one of the beach shelters.
With that thought, I pushed a tray of frozen sausage rolls into the oven.
Those guys had so little to smile about. It had been a severe winter with sub-zero temperatures, not to mention the cruel frosts, sleet and drizzle. But where others in the town scorned them, I liked to donate food occasionally; my simple philosophy being that if I could ease the burden of misery for a few, it would make a difference in the world, no matter how small.
I allowed myself a grim smile. Whatever life threw at me, there were others far worse off. At least I had a job and a home. Even if I lost everything, there were people who would take care of me. People who loved me.
Yet what did those poor souls in the beach shelter have?
By the time I had my boots on, a savoury aroma was billowing from the kitchen, reminding me of my sausage rolls. Rescuing them from the oven, I tipped them onto a square of tin foil, wrapping them snugly to keep them warm.
There was a bite of cold in the air on Bognor Seafront, despite the onset of March.
I quickened my pace. The white posts at the bottom of the road led to the prom, the blueness of the sea dazzling. Oblivious to passing faces, I followed the line of people snaking along the tarmac. Gulls sat like sentinels upon a column of breakwaters yet today it was high tide. Glancing out to sea, I heard an explosion of froth as the waves hit the shore, and the rattle of pebbles that followed.
Distant voices echoed around me, the shouts of children intermingling. But I didn’t linger. Continuing my way along the prom, I concentrated on my goal, heading up the slope towards the beach shelter.
“Hello, there,” a voice called across. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Ambling over to the shelter, I was cheered by a familiar face; skin weathered from the cold, snowy white hair and a pair of blue eyes twinkling up at me.
“Good afternoon,” I replied. “I don’t know how you survive in this cold, but here’s something to warm you up.”
He rubbed his hands together before gazing lovingly at the tupperware box I held out to him. Peeling back the lid, his smile brightened as he breathed in the smell of warm pastry.
“Cor,” he mumbled. “Thank you...” and grabbing one of the sausage rolls, he took a hearty bite then passed the box to his mate.
“Bloody marvellous,” his neighbour mumbled. “Cheers, love!”
Returning their smiles, I glimpsed the shadow of a seagull soaring overhead. My eyes followed its motion – a scatter of crumbs dispersed in the breeze – and that was when I noticed the third man.
I had seen him before.
A frown twisted my features as for several seconds the men munched in silence, the box passed along the line. The last time I’d visited, he had barely registered. Curled up in a sleeping bag, face hidden, he was oblivious to the world all around him. Yet today he was awake. A navy hoodie shadowed the top half of his face as he slouched on the bench rolling a cigarette.
But in the moment he turned sideways, I experienced a stab of recognition. The shape of his nose had a startling effect; a crooked nose, one that might have been broken. Even with several days’ beard growth, nothing could detract from his profile, the chiselled cheekbones, a distinctive ridge to his brow.
“Bless you, Maisie,” the first man mumbled, cramming the last chunks of pastry into his mouth.
I heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Maisie. I used to know a girl called Maisie.”
The whisper hung on the man’s lips.
Heart racing, I stared back wildly, shock anchoring me to the promenade. Only then did I feel the power of his liquid brown eyes as they finally rose to meet mine.
“Oh my God,” I gasped.
A riot of thoughts streamed through my head, all of them a jumble.
“You’re not... Joe, are you?”
Chapter Ten
At first we couldn’t tear our eyes apart, drinking each other in. Twenty years peeled away like onion skin, exposing our childhood past.
“Maisie,” he croaked. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I live here,” I responded in disbelief. “So what about you? How did you end up sleeping rough?”
“It’s a long story...”
His voice trailed off and rising from the bench he took a first tentative step towards me. His hair looked a little greasy but as dark and untamed as I recalled, his frame still wiry. He had grown a few inches taller, his shoulders broader, yet there was no mistaking Joe Winterton... The same Joe I had befriended in that care home.
He risked a smile and at last my heart began to slow itself.
Oh, that smile.
His face had spread out and become more manly, giving an element of balance to his wonky features, his mouth not as wide, his nose no longer quite so prominent. I desperately wanted to throw my arms around him but something held me back.
“How are you?” I mumbled, unable to think of anything else to say.
He stank of stale cigarette smoke and BO but none of that mattered. My long lost friend had arisen from the ashes, and at a time when I needed him most.
“What happened to you?” I kept mumbling. “You look so thin!”
Fine lines feathered the corners of his eyes, his skin ingrained with dirt, a vision that had me yearning to look after him.
“You two know each other?” a voice chuckled from the beach shelter.
“Yes,” I gasped. “Joe and I go way back. We met as kids...”
“We were twelve,” Joe reminded me.
“Shall we walk?” I suggested, wary of their scrutiny. “See you later, guys, but we’ve got an awful lot of catching up to do.”
Wandering away from the beach hut, I felt a knot tighten my throat as another emotion surfaced. Panic.
It seemed incredible that Joe could materialise like this, after everything I had discussed with my therapist.
So what would you say to Joe now, if you met up again?
Right now, I didn’t know what to say. Was it possible I’d somehow registered Joe’s presence before today? Might some tiny spark of recognition have stirred my deeper memories? Looking at him now, I felt a chill slip down my spine.
“I-it’s lovely to see you again,” I faltered.
“Is it?” Joe muttered. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”
As he shuffled along the prom, I saw a stoop to his shoulders, the gait of a broken man. An uneasy silence prevailed.
“So what went wrong?” I kept pressing. “How did you end up homeless and in Bognor of all places?”
As the prom widened, the crowds began to thin out at last. Here there were fewer people to take notice of us, and I led him towards a stone bench.
Joe let out a sigh and opening his tobacco pouch, extracted the cigarette he had been rolling earlier. “I’ve been homeless for a couple of years now, bumming around from town to town. London, Brig
hton. The authorities move me on, I drift a little further along the coast, and that’s how I ended up here.”
“I’m sorry. Sounds like you’ve fallen on hard times.”
“Don’t be,” Joe snapped. “A shit lot has happened since we were kids, Maisie.”
“Like what?” His tone was warning me away, but I couldn’t help asking. “Tell me.”
His rueful gaze met mine. “I’m not like you. You were fostered and I guess it all worked out for you. I mean, look at you! A smart, modern day woman and dare I say it, a beautiful one?” He betrayed a ghost of a grin. “Or is that not PC these days?”
My heart leapt with the compliment. “I had a lucky escape. My foster parents turned out to be wonderful people - and I work in a fostering department myself now with West Sussex County Council.”
“Fostering,” Joe echoed, “for kids like us?” A whisper of smoke strayed from his lips as he spoke.
“That’s right,” I said. “Kids who would otherwise be in care homes.”
Seeing him again brought such joy, but the memories behind the joy sent my fear bubbling back to the surface. I couldn’t push the feeling away.
“Listen,” I blurted before I could stop myself. “I’ve got a flat not far from here. I was about to do some shopping but why don’t you walk back with me?”
“To your flat, you mean?”
“Yes! I’ve got so much to tell you, but somewhere other than here...”
His response however, was not what I expected.
“I don’t think so, Maisie. I mean, look at me. I live with the dregs of society...” His words trailed off pitifully, his face pinched with despair.
But I was having none of it. “Whoa, Stop right there! We’ve only just met after two decades and you’re pushing me away? Don’t be so humble!”
“I’m being realistic,” Joe laughed. “I mean for fuck’s sake, what if someone sees us? You don’t wanna be seen hanging around with scum like me!”
I gaped at him in horror. “Oh my God, will you listen to yourself? Do you know who you sounded like then? Mr bloody Mortimer!”
A shadow folded over his face.
“Please, Joe,” I relented. “Twenty years ago you were my best friend, and there’s so much I need to talk to you about. Not just about the past but now.”
As soon as he had finished his cigarette, he eased his rucksack onto his shoulders. I watched him warily. Any mention of the dreaded Mr. Mortimer was bound to stir a response in him, and I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty.
“C’mon, this way,” I coaxed him gently.
To my heartfelt relief, he didn’t argue this time.
Strolling towards the pier, we passed row upon row of flats until the road swung into view, drawing us back towards the town centre.
“Not much further,” I said as we weaved our path through the pedestrian precinct.
He loped along beside me, head down.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” he grunted.
“Well, if you can bear with me, I just need to pop into Morrisons.”
Shuffling on his feet, he looked uneasy again. It was revealed in every shifty little side glance as the usual Saturday shoppers thronged past.
“I’ll wait outside, save you any embarrassment.”
“Oh, Joe!” I sighed. “I wish you’d stop putting yourself down.”
“And I wish you’d face facts,” he sighed back. He attempted a smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve been wearing these clothes for weeks and I bet they stink. Ain’t you seen the looks on people’s faces when they walk by?”
Struck by the impact of his words, I felt my heart sink into my chest. Only now did I notice how ragged his jeans were, his worn out leather combat boots literally falling apart at the seams.
“Apart from that, I need a slash,” he added jokily. “So why don’t you get your shopping done and I’ll be sat on that wall over there.”
“Okay,” I consented, “just promise you will wait for me...”
With my eyes focused on the wall, I waited for him to vanish into the Gents.
But my mind was no longer on the shopping. Appalled by the state of his clothes, I was hit by a sudden impulse, so instead of walking into Morrisons, I sped to the nearest charity shop.
My eyes flitted madly, picking through the racks of clothes until I spotted the familiar purple mohican that distinguished one of the volunteers.
“Matt,” I hissed. “Can I ask a favour?”
“For you, Maisie?” he grinned. “Go on, fire away!”
“Would you mind filling up a sack with clothes for my homeless friend? He’s about five foot ten, slim build. Shoe size eight or nine.”
I fished out a twenty pound note.
“What sort of clothes?”
“Oh, you know,” I pleaded. “Trousers, a couple of shirts, a fleece... maybe some cheap socks and undies from Store Twenty-One over there?”
“Okay...”
Yet he seemed to be dithering. I pushed another fiver into his hand.
“Is there any chance you can drop them round to my flat after work?” I pressed my warmest smile, “and let me know if you need any more cash.”
Convinced he understood my request, I peered out of the doorway where luckily the coast was still clear, a chance to submerge myself in the crowds before sneaking my way back to Morrisons.
Deep in my heart, I knew I was doing the right thing. From the instant we reconnected I sensed Joe’s shame. It hung off him like cobwebs, and he was right about the way other people judged him. Exiting the supermarket, bags bulging with groceries, I was overjoyed to see him waiting for me. A smile lit his face and without prompting, he offered to carry one of my shopping bags.
“Right, so where now?”
“Not far,” I said. “Another five minutes’ walk to my flat.”
An inner glow spread through me like sunshine and following the route along Station Road, we arrived at the historic crossroads. The Victorian red brick railway station stood on one side, the legendary Bognor Picturedrome opposite and towering between the two, the four-storey furniture repository of ‘Reynolds & Co.’
“Just a little further,” I said, “and then we cross over.”
Keeping the conversation flowing as we walked, I couldn’t resist mentioning I worked in Chichester, a beautiful Roman City renowned for its Cathedral – but the accommodation was too expensive for me to live there.
By the time we had turned into Annandale Avenue, I felt the tide of tension had shifted a little. “That’s the beauty of Bognor,” I added, sliding my key into the door. “It’s pleasant enough but affordable.”
Gazing up, Joe took a moment to observe the large cream-coloured house before I ushered him indoors. The communal hallway lay in its usual tranquility, apart from the clomp of our feet on the tiles.
Next I unlocked the door to my own flat. “Come in.”
“Nice gaff you’ve got,” Joe said.
The discomfiture was back, I could hear it tolling in his voice. His footsteps dragged as he followed me to the kitchen and lingered on the threshold.
“Cup of tea?” I asked, catching his eye again.
He swallowed visibly, the swell of his Adam’s apple rising. Lowering my shopping bag to the floor, he gradually disentangled himself from his rucksack.
My heart thumped.
What could possibly be troubling him?
Yes, we were two very different people, nothing could change that.
“L-look,” I faltered. “I’ve got some beer in the fridge and a bottle of wine too but we can save that for dinner...”
“Dinner?”
“You didn’t think I was going to send you back to the beach shelter did you?”
His eyes flickered with suspicion as if everything was happening too fast.
“Look, Maisie, I don’t wanna be no bother. It’s great to see you but...”
“But what?”
Seeing him shri
nk back into himself, I felt my panic rise like a barometer. A hot tear plummeted down my cheek, but a moment later his expression changed.
“Hey,” he mumbled, risking a shaky step forward. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Tears swam before my eyes as I struggled to form the right words. “I-I thought we were friends!”
“We are!” he frowned. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
By the time his arm slid around my shoulder though, my inner framework was crumbling.
“You think you’ve got problems! I may look smart on the outside but I’m falling apart. I have nightmares, panic attacks... seeing a therapist and even that’s triggering flashbacks! Flashbacks of the time we were in that care home!”
“Orchard Grange...” The words reeled out of him in horror.
“Yes, Joe,” I whimpered, brushing the tear from my face, “and you’re the only person in the world I can talk to right now, so will you stop running away.”
Chapter Eleven
“Running away,” I echoed, hearing the shock in my own voice. “I’m sorry, bad choice of words... but you did, didn’t you? That’s why you were untraceable.”
I had offered him a seat. Perched uncomfortably on the rim of a dining stool though, it seemed obvious he was still bothered by his dishevelled clothes.
“Who told you that?” he said guardedly.
“A family friend. Someone who’s been around since I was fostered...”
Absentmindedly, I started picking at a sliver of skin around my thumbnail.
“Uncanny, isn’t it? I’ve been talking about you a lot lately. See, just because I was fostered, don’t go thinking I’d forgotten about you. My foster mum made enquiries.”
“Is that so?” Joe replied, a flash of challenge in his eye.
“Yes,” I nodded. “So what happened after I left?”
“Like I said, it’s a long story. I’ll probably need one of them beers if you wanna hear it all, but it’ll keep for now...” His face relaxed a little. “Never mind me, let’s talk about you. I get the feeling life hasn’t all been a bed of roses.”
Lethal Ties Page 6