by Dan Clark
Carolyn clears her throat. “Yeah, won’t be too long.”
She dresses in the clothes Jeanette has picked out and ironed: a navy-blue vest top that hangs loosely from her shoulders, feeling as though it no longer belongs to her, grey jeans (her least favourite pair), trainers, and a casual baggy hoodie which had actually belonged to Simon. He’d use the hoodie for the garden, or, on the rare occasion, the gym. Carolyn puts makeup on to try to hide her pale skin and cracked lips. At the dining table she forces what breakfast she can down her throat before it causes her to gag. She fights it down with orange juice. She unscrews the cap on her pill bottle and shakes out two Mirtazapine, then swallows them with the little juice she has left. Her GP had prescribed the tablets a couple of weeks back to help with her depression and anxiety.
They arrive outside the grief counsellor’s office ten minutes early.
Carolyn examines the small building from the outside, debating whether to tell her mother to turn back, and she’ll come another day. The recurring image of the box of razor blades sitting in the palm of her hand comes to mind. Maybe she’ll finally take the inner voice’s advice.
If nothing else, this session might help with the suicidal thoughts, she thinks, knowing that if asked she could probably recite the numbers under the barcode on the side of that box of razor blades, and that it weighs approximately thirty grams.
“You’ll be fine, love,” Jeanette says with glazed eyes. “I’ll be out here the whole time. Don’t worry. I’m proud of you for doing this.”
Carolyn turns the ignition off. She wants to thank her mother, to pull her close and hug her tight, burying her face in the nook of her neck. But she can’t. Carolyn’s throat has begun to swell up, and she knows she wouldn’t be able to let her go. Tears fall down her cheeks, creating a black mascara line down to her mouth. She looks back towards the building and takes a deep breath to prepare herself. She cleans her face before opening the car door and stepping out. The sounds of busy Leeds traffic almost knock her over. The people on the pavement, in business suits and office attire, out for their lunch, are heading right for her and she’d better move out of their way.
She’s enjoyed hibernating in Ryan’s room these past few weeks, coming to realise how calm it can be, with no responsibility, nobody to comment on her unbrushed hair or snigger about her grey jeans being a little short up her ankles, exposing her socks. Being in Ryan’s room was peaceful: just her and her thoughts.
Carolyn stands up straight and breathes in, concentrating on the front entrance of the building and nothing more. Nothing that could take her mind off what she has to do. Jeanette shouts words of encouragement through the car window, but Carolyn doesn’t hear clearly enough and she doesn’t turn to reply. She just has to keep walking towards the building.
This is the first step. And, finally, she’s taking it.
An hour later, she is back in the car.
“Well?” Jeanette asks, sliding her bookmark in place and dropping the book into her bag.
“It went ok,” she says, pulling over the seatbelt and clicking it in place.
“That’s it?”
“Well… yeah. What else do you want me to say?” she asks, her tone sounding a little snappy. “I’m sorry, Mum.”
Jeanette waves away Carolyn’s apology and clicks her seatbelt. “I’m just glad you actually decided to turn up today.” She rests a hand on Carolyn’s arm. “So where are we going?”
“Ashwood Forest,” she says immediately.
“Ash… Ashwood Forest?” Jeanette asks, completely shocked. First Carolyn goes through with seeing the grief councillor, and now she’s planning a visit to the forest.
“Wow… ok. Well done.” Jeanette smiles. “Why Ashwood Forest?”
“Well, the grief councillor – her name is Maggie, by the way – Maggie suggested I visit places that Simon, Ryan and I enjoyed going. She said it’d help spark memories or something.”
“Ashwood Forest. Well, I think a walk would do us great,” Jeanette says.
“You don’t mind coming with me?”
Jeanette looks at her daughter. “Of course I don’t. Thank you for showing me. Let’s go.”
It takes Carolyn thirty minutes to drive to Ashwood Forest. It would normally have taken longer, but this morning the lights and traffic are on her side.
The entrance on Barn Hey Road is leafy, and the tree branches overhanging from above make the entrance to the gravelled car park difficult to see. This is the entrance Simon and Carolyn would always use. The other one, on Brackenhurst Green, is a nightmare for parking, but the Barn Hey Road entrance always seems to have spaces. Simon would swear only a handful of people know of it.
Carolyn parks to the left and steps out as a silver Mercedes makes its way past, heading for the exit.
The trees are blowing calmly in the refreshing wind. The sound of the leaves moving, and the smell of the wet earth, bring a sense of relaxation to Carolyn. She closes her eyes and takes it in. Leaving Ryan’s bedroom was definitely a good idea. She has always loved the beginning of Autumn.
She opens her eyes and looks around for Jeanette, then fixes onto the car leaving. It only takes one glance, but Carolyn sees him.
Ryan!
Her Ryan is sitting behind the woman driving the silver Mercedes.
Carolyn’s eyes widen. The colour escapes from her face.
Why does this woman have her son?
“What… Ryan! Ryan!” Carolyn shouts as she chases after the car. The Mercedes heads onto Barn Hey Road and makes a turn. Jeanette rushes from the passenger seat of Carolyn’s car and watches in horror as her daughter screams frantically. A man walking a Cocker Spaniel stops and pulls out one of his earbuds to listen.
“That woman has my son!” Carolyn shouts. She makes it to the exit and watches as the car heads further away, then turns and rushes to her own car.
“Carolyn, stop!” Jeanette says, standing in front of her and holding her hands up in a bid to slow Carolyn down.
The man with the dog runs over and pulls out his phone. “Shall I call the police?” he asks, concerned.
“Carolyn, Ryan is dead,” Jeanette says, keeping up with Carolyn as she heads for her car. “That wasn’t Ryan. That wasn’t your son!”
The man with the dog looks up from his phone and Jeanette fixes him with a look before saying she’s confused, that she just lost her son, and that he shouldn’t call the police.
The man nods and walks away, looking over his shoulder a couple of times before making it to his own car.
“Mum, that was him,” Carolyn protests as she climbs into the driver’s seat. “That was Ryan. I saw his face.”
Carolyn starts the engine and Jeanette manages to jump back into the passenger seat before the car is thrown into reverse.
“Why has she got Ryan?” Carolyn says, unaware she is speaking out loud. “Why would she bring him to his favourite place?”
“Listen to me. That wasn’t Ryan. You have to stop, now,” Jeanette orders, but Carolyn ignores her. The car sprints back and swings around. Carolyn puts it in first and speeds out of the car park. She heads in the direction of the silver Mercedes, her foot down on the accelerator.
He’s not dead! Ryan isn’t dead. And if he isn’t dead… where the hell is Simon?
Carolyn can hear Jeanette screaming in her left ear, but her mother’s words are inaudible. She’s too busy trying to piece together the crazy idea of Simon and this woman (possibly his lover) putting all of this together. Did they fake his and Ryan’s deaths? Carolyn had never seen their bodies. Those coffins could have been filled with anything.
Did the woman driving that Mercedes bring Ryan here, to his favourite place, in a bid to gain his trust?
Carolyn can’t think straight. None of those questions matter right now. All that matters is that she gets Ryan back, and that she proves her beautiful little boy isn’t dead.
“Carolyn, STOP NOW!” Jeanette shouts.
Carolyn brings th
e car to a halt behind the Mercedes at a set of lights, pushes open her door and rushes from the car. She can see the woman driving the Mercedes watching in her wing mirror as Carolyn runs alongside her car and tries the door handles. They’re locked.
“THAT’S MY SON. YOU HAVE MY SON!” Carolyn shouts frantically.
The woman in the Mercedes is watching her with horror.
Carolyn looks crazy, delusional even. She begins bashing on the windows and calling for Ryan. The boy in the back of the car looks petrified. Carolyn can hear him screaming for his mother.
Jeanette is holding onto Carolyn’s shoulders and trying to pull her back, but Carolyn is stronger. She’s full of energy in a bid to save Ryan.
“Ryan, I’m coming!” Carolyn shouts.
The traffic light turns to green and the woman in the Mercedes puts her foot down. The car sets off at speed.
“No, Ryan. NOOO!” Carolyn shouts. By now other people have stopped, some with their phones out, and others talking to each other in hushed voices. All are watching and pointing.
Jeanette turns and heads for Carolyn’s car. The determined Carolyn realises that her mother wants to grab the keys from the ignition, and, without thinking, pushes Jeanette hard. Jeanette stumbles and falls to the floor, groaning as she bashes her knee. The onlookers gasp and point.
Carolyn stops and looks back to her injured mother. Guilt rushes through her. But at this moment, guilt is overpowered by determination. She climbs back into the car. She has to save Ryan. She has to protect her son and take him home.
Carolyn puts the car in gear as Jeanette gets herself up from the road, rubbing at her knee. Jeanette manages to rest a hand on Carolyn’s car and slide into the passenger seat before her daughter can take off.
“I’m sorry, Mum. That bitch has Ryan!”
By now the lights have changed to red, though this doesn’t stop Carolyn. She sprints through the lights and keeps her gaze straight ahead, in the direction that the silver Mercedes had headed.
Cars can be heard beeping and screeching to a stop. She doesn’t even notice. “I’m coming, baby. Mummy’s coming,” she shouts.
Jeanette buckles her seatbelt and turns to Carolyn. “Please slow down. Think about it. That wasn’t Ryan.”
“It was,” she snaps. “I saw him.”
Her facial expression changes and Jeanette turns to see what she is looking at. Up ahead is the silver Mercedes. It is parked in front of a police car. The driver is speaking to an officer and is holding the young boy up to her chest.
Carolyn brings the car to a stop inches from the back of the police car. She dives out, almost falling over.
The officer turns and stands in front of the woman.
“Excuse me, Miss,” the officer says as Carolyn charges for the woman. The officer, a redheaded man with a strong build, pushes Carolyn backwards.
“That’s my son, officer. She has my son,” Carolyn states.
Jeanette steps from the car and makes her way towards Carolyn.
“Mum, tell them. Tell them that’s Ryan!” Carolyn looks to Jeanette for support.
Jeanette tells Carolyn again that it isn’t Ryan. When Carolyn doesn’t listen, she turns and explains to the officer what happened to Simon and Ryan.
The woman holding her sobbing son overhears. “Excuse me,” she says, heading closer. “Please, take a look at my son.” The woman turns the crying boy around to face them. He lifts his head from his mother’s chest and looks at Carolyn, then Jeanette, and then to the officer before burying his face again.
“But…” Carolyn tails off. The boy is a little similar to Ryan, though Ryan was at least two years older and his hair wasn’t as light.
“NO… I saw Ryan,” Carolyn protests, looking at Jeanette. “I saw him.”
The officer speaks with the woman, who tells him she doesn’t want to take any further action. He tells Jeanette to take Carolyn home, and for Jeanette to drive.
Carolyn apologises to the woman and her son and climbs into the passenger seat. The thought runs through Carolyn’s mind: Am I going mad?
The woman heads for her car, stroking a hand over the back of her son’s head. Carolyn can’t bear to look at her any longer. Shock and guilt fill her head as she looks down at her shaking hands.
Chapter Three
October 22nd
Jeanette is busy packing the last of Carolyn’s cases into the back of her red Volkswagen Polo. After she finishes, she speaks to Carolyn’s neighbour, Sara. Carolyn locks up and takes one last look around, making sure everything is switched off and the rubbish is taken out. She hands the spare key to Sara, in case she has to enter for emergencies, or check the electricity is still on, or that a pipe hasn’t burst.
“How are you feeling?” Sara asks from over the fence. Sara is a thin black woman with short grey hair. She wears long, draped cardigans, held closed by hand.
“You know, it’s hard, but…” Carolyn tails off.
“I can only imagine. You look well,” Sara says. Carolyn knows this is a lie. She looks how she feels – awful.
“Thanks, Sara. And thank you for watching the place for me.”
“Don’t mention it.” Sara drops the keys into the pocket of her knitted cardigan. “I’m happy you’re getting away. You could do with the break.”
Carolyn and Jeanette say goodbye and begin their way to Jeanette’s home in Llanbedr, a small rural town near St Davids in south Wales.
Carolyn knows the break really will do her good. She needs to leave Leeds behind, get away from the traffic and the cake shop for a while, take time to clear her mind, and grieve properly. Part of the reason Carolyn had agreed to go is because her mother’s constant prayers and the rattling of her rosary beads were starting to get under her skin, plus the fact that Jeanette wouldn’t go home unless Carolyn went with her.
Carolyn’s plan is to spend a couple of weeks away at Jeanette’s, then she can get the train back home to Leeds and leave her mother in Llanbedr. Carolyn can be back home with Simon’s jumpers and can sleep in Ryan’s bed, surrounded by all his teddies and toys.
Jeanette had moved to Llanbedr ten years earlier, after her husband passed away from a heart attack. He is buried at his hometown’s cemetery, between St Davids and Fishguard. Carolyn and Simon had tried to convince Jeanette to come and stay with them. At the time, they were renting a small apartment on Earle Street next to a strip of kebab shops and noisy student bars. But Jeanette has always been a strong person; she’d thanked them but politely refused. It hadn’t been hard for Jeanette to sell the home she’d shared with her husband for all those years. She’d never really been the sentimental type.
With the sale of her home, to a young couple with two kids (the next-door neighbour had told her), she’d a decent amount of money spare after buying her bungalow. She’d used some of the surplus to help Carolyn and Simon with their deposit a couple of years later.
En route to Jeanette’s, Carolyn offers to drive the rest of the way after they stop for food. Jeanette dismisses the gesture and tells her she’s fine to do the other hundred miles herself. Carolyn shrugs and reclines her seat, closing her eyes. She pulls a stress ball from her pocket and squeezes at it as she imagines the events of the accident, or at least how it was described to her by the police. With a full stomach and a tired head, Carolyn drifts off to sleep and dreams of sitting in the passenger seat of Simon’s car. Radio One is playing quietly. Ryan is screaming in the back and she turns to him and watches through the back window. A huge lorry is following their car, the bright headlights almost blinding, frowning and mimicking evil eyes. It’s inches away from Simon’s back bumper. She yells at him to speed up. His shirt is soaked with sweat, and he’s panting frantically. She’s never seen him look so worried before, at least not since the time Ryan fell and bumped his head on the concrete in the back garden and they rushed him to hospital.
Simon doesn’t seem to hear her. He swerves the car from side to side in a bid to slow the lorry down, but it f
ollows suit, as if attached to a tow bar on the back. Carolyn turns back around to hush Ryan. “Everything’s going to be ok,” she says, but the seat is empty. Not even his favourite toys have been left behind. She spins forward. Simon, too, has vanished.
She turns back to the rear window. The chasing lorry with its shiny metal is nowhere to be seen. The loud roars of the engine can no longer be heard. There is nothing but empty road. Scott Mills is in the middle of talking to a listener when the radio switches off and the car loses control and begins to veer towards the concrete slabs of the hard shoulder.
She wakes with a quiver.
“You’re awake, finally. We’re not far now,” Jeanette says as they pass the sign for Llanbedr. Carolyn sits upright, rubbing her hands over the goose-pimpled flesh on her arms, her head groggy and damp with sweat.
“Bad dream again?”
“Yeah, I think it’s them Mirtazapine drugs, Mum,” she replies, feeling the cool breeze calm her forehead. “The GP didn’t mention anything about nightmares, though.”
They pull into Llanbedr, greeted firstly by the fire station, and next to that the police station with three panda cars outside. Chief Inspector Richard Williams stands outside smoking and holding a cup of coffee in his chubby hand, his face moist and pink. He acknowledges Jeanette’s car and waves. She returns the gesture. Carolyn can see the happiness starting to creep slowly back into her mother’s eyes. She’s back with her own people, and back to the church she’s missed so much.
Not long after the death of Carolyn’s father, Jeanette had taken early retirement after working forty-two years as a nurse. A few weeks after moving to Llanbedr she’d got stuck right in to volunteering at the church. At the time she’d told herself it was to keep her mind occupied, and it was only supposed to be for a couple days a week, but she and Father Joseph became good friends and now she’s there every day.
They pass The Red Fox pub, just a little further down from the police station. It has a huge car park and beer garden with plenty of benches. Dead leaves are scattered across the grass outside the pub’s wooden double doors.