The Godson's Legacy

by Gait, Paul;

  Rupert looked away, avoiding her malevolent eyes.

  ‘I couldn’t orchestrate something as dramatic as that, as much as I would have liked to. That is, I don’t think I did. But, then again, I was at the scene and pleased to see that you were both hurt,’ she said, maliciously.

  ‘What a pity you survived, I felt sure you’d died in the fire.’

  ‘The Highways Agency guys got us out,’ he replied, irrationally feeling he had to justify the miracle of their survival.

  ‘Shame,’ she said. ‘I quite liked the idea of being a rich widow. Still, we are married, so how is my husband? Will you mend?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to talk to you, if you don’t mind,’ he said, bizarrely. Years of her bullying conditioned him to still be respectful of her.

  ‘Mind! Of course I mind,’ she said, leaning down and shouting angrily in his face.’ I’ve come all this way to see you and you try to shun me. Well, think again.’

  Rupert’s planned stance to be Joanne’s rock and to be strong against the stresses and strains of the world evaporated. Instead he resorted to type and sat meekly by, wondering what to do.

  ‘I see you went to HIS funeral,’ she said, regaining her composure.

  ‘Yes, of course. He was my Uncle.’

  ‘And you sent him some flowers.’

  Rupert sat subdued, wondering what she was getting at.

  ‘What did you say on your card? Oh yes, I remember. Thank you for giving me a new start, wasn’t it?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know? So, is this the new start you had in mind? In hospital, visiting an unconscious girlfriend?’ Sue laughed wickedly.

  Rupert grabbed Joanne’s hand again, hoping to draw some strength from her mere presence.

  ‘Well I suppose his funeral was another good thing that happened this Christmas.’ Sue continued.

  ‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’

  ‘Not if you were falsely blamed for attempted murder,’ she said, furiously. ‘Your dear Uncle wasn’t so clever after all, was he? Even his wet nurse couldn’t support his lies. He turned queen’s evidence against him. Now what are you going to do without Uncle Geoffery to protect you? Eh?’ she said, inches away from his face.

  At the sound of Sue’s raised voice Sister King came into the room.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked, looking at Rupert for confirmation.

  Rupert felt Sue’s nails digging into his shoulder. ‘Yes,’ he said, unconvincingly.

  ‘Well you certainly don’t look it. I’m sorry but Mr Screen is still very weak. I think you’d better go. He was seriously injured and has only just regained consciousness. Mrs…?’

  ‘Mrs Williams-Screen, I’m his wife.’

  ‘Estranged wife,’ Rupert added, bravely shrugging off Sue’s hand.

  ‘I see…I think in that case you’d better leave Mrs Screen, before I call security.’

  ‘It’s Williams Screen, if you don’t mind,’ she said, indignantly, turning on her heel. ‘I’ll see you again Rupert. Be sure of that.’

  ‘Not if I see you first,’ the Sister whispered, as she ushered her out of the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  31st December

  A fine rain was starting to fall as the group of Taxi drivers huddled together, outside Gloucester Train station, waiting for the next train to discharge its passengers.

  ‘Well at least, this rain ought to help us get a few fares at last.’

  ‘Yes, hopefully. I need to pay off the credit card bill from me holiday.’

  ‘Ere, you were a lucky sod getting time off over Christmas.’ Chris said, enviously, pulling his collar up against the biting wind.

  ‘Yeah, lovely hot Tenerife sunshine.’ Ian replied, rolling his sleeve up and showing off his tanned forearm.

  ‘How was it over there?’

  ‘Bloody hotter than here,’ he said, stamping his feet. ‘All inclusive; didn’t get me wallet out once.’

  ‘Always were a stingy sod,’ the other joked. ‘I tell you what though, you were in the right place. It was bloody chaos back here with the motorway being closed.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I forgot about that. What was the final death toll in the end?’

  ‘Fortunately it was only one poor sod. It could have been a lot worse,’ the other replied reflectively. ‘Here, that reminds me. Did you pick up a fare from down by the M5 just shortly after it happened?’

  ‘Yeah, miserable cow. No tip and face like thunder. Had muddy shoes too, messed up my carpet. I had to clean it before my next fare.’

  ‘Huh! Typical.’

  ‘She was whinging about difficulties getting a signal on her phone and having to wait for a long time.’

  ‘Well what did she expect? It was gridlock. Stupid woman,’ the other replied, supportively.

  ‘Oh and she moaned about being very cold. The bitch even ordered me, didn’t ask, but ordered me to put the heater full on. I was tempted to sling her out.’

  ‘Too true. I would have.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘The Police were trying to find her or somebody like her down there.’

  ‘Don’t surprise me. She was evil.’

  ‘No. She wasn’t on the run or anything. They were concerned that she had been injured and might have collapsed somewhere.’

  ‘No, she looked alright to me. Didn’t say a lot apart from ordering me to turn the heater up and telling me where she wanted to go.’

  ‘Perhaps you should give them a shout to let them know then.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Because you know we bin having a bit more help from them recently sorting out the late night drunks problem.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll get control to call them. They’ll have the address I took her to.’

  Several days later the Taxi control rang the Police control via the non-urgent incident telephone number 101 and the details were recorded.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  3rd January

  The apprehension of the forthcoming Police interview spoilt Ben’s Christmas, in spite of Andy’s reassurance that it would simply eliminate him from their enquiries.

  But as the date drew nearer Ben became more and more anxious. To add to his worries his Mother’s inability to conqueror her addiction problems meant that he could possibly be taken into care.

  Finally, Ben could handle the pressure no longer, with the visit to the Police station scheduled for the following day, he decided to take a positive course of action.

  Ben decided to run away.

  He put James’ dire warning of getting tangled up with evil people to the back of his mind. ‘After all,’ he argued, when he’d run away before, nothing happened to him then. No, this was the right course of action,’ he concluded.

  He chose his moment when his Grandad was out. His Mother was already back in the addiction clinic again.

  He contemplated leaving a letter to reassure them that he would be alright and not to worry, but decided to telephone them instead, for he still had the phone he’d picked up from the burial ground and it appeared still to be working.

  Carefully putting his Christmas present money in an old wallet that his Grandad and given him, Ben stuffed it into his back trouser pocket.

  He filled his new Rucsac with his new sleeping bag and lightweight tent. Ben had naively planned to live in the tent, rather than run the risk of living in squats. Thus, he’d persuaded himself, he’d be addressing one of James’ warnings about exposing himself to some weirdoes who occasionally inhabit squats.

  With his clothes and some food finally packed, he shouldered his rucsac, caught a bus into Gloucester and walked over to the nearby rail station, hoping not to be seen by any of his friends.

  On arriving at the station he was surprised by the number of uniformed British Transport Police on duty.

  ‘Had somebody already alerted them to his intention to run away?’ he wondered. He was even more apprehensive when one
of them approached him.

  ‘That Rucsac looks mighty heavy,’ said PC Hall, in a kindly voice, showing genuine interest. ‘Going hiking?’

  ‘Um, yes,’ Ben said, self-consciously.

  ‘Duke of Edinburgh or Scout Hike?’

  ‘A…Scouts,’ Ben replied, apprehensively, expecting him to ask for his name next.

  ‘How many miles?’

  ‘Um…’ Ben struggled to think of a sensible distance.

  ‘Ten, twenty?’ the Policeman suggested, aware that he was causing the boy some angst.

  Ben recalled the Scouts Cotswold Marathon hike that he did the previous February and said, ‘thirteen miles.’

  ‘Thirteen miles! with a heavy rucsac like that. Better you than me. Anyway best of luck,’ he said, walking away, suddenly responding to his radio.

  Relieved, Ben moved quickly to the ticket office just inside the station entrance and got his one way ticket for the 1246 train to Paddington.

  ‘In just under 2 hours I’ll be in London away from all my problems,’ he thought.

  He bought some sweets and drinks from the café for the journey and moved away from the group of Policemen on to the long platform 2.

  At nearly 2,000 feet in length, it was the second longest railway platform in Great Britain, he read. Slightly shorter than Colchester. Originally designed to handle two Inter-City 125 trains at the same time. Because of the track layout, trains have to reverse out to pick up the main line again.

  Time seemed to drag as Ben waited for the train to arrive. Nervously he kept looking at the arrivals board, frightened that somebody would see him and thwart his plans.

  Eventually the station speaker announced the arrival of the 1246 to London Paddington and the train glided alongside the long platform, its wheels squealing as if protesting at the interruption in its journey.

  Along the whole length of the approaching train, people already had head and shoulders out of the windows, holding exterior door handles. Finally the train stopped and the doors burst open, haemorrhaging a noisy crowd of football supporters.

  Ben stepped back against the corrugated wall to get out of the way of the jostling crowd. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Police already starting to shepherd the group out of the station.

  There were very few passengers boarding the train and Ben quickly found a seat with no-one around him. He eased the heavy rucsac off his shoulder pushed it over to the window seat and sat next to it.

  After a few minutes, he heard the multiple slamming of carriage doors and the train reversed its route out of the station, quickly building up speed.

  Ben relaxed. He had done it. He had escaped. A new chapter beckoned.

  The train rattled over Horton Road level crossing, past motorists and cyclists impatiently waiting for the barriers to rise, a frustration that he too had experienced here many times before.

  The train threaded its way through the closely packed housing estates bordering the railway line, the meandering route, giving him tantalising glimpses into the inside of people’s houses and gardens. Although it was the New Year, most houses still had their Christmas decorations up.

  As they left the city, he caught sight of his own home and the alleyways along which he regularly cycled.

  The roof of the new Scout Hut that Geoffery had bought and equipped, sped by, the sight of which reminded him of one of the reasons for making his escape.

  Seeing it, was like a slap in the face. His eyes brimmed and he swallowed hard to get his emotions under control as the Ticket Inspector, a short rounded, bright faced woman demanded ‘tickets please.’

  ‘Is that your rucsac, son?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, protectively putting his hand to it.

  ‘Would you mind putting it in the luggage area please?’ Noticing his moist eyes, she asked, concerned. ‘Are you OK son?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, unconvincingly.

  ‘Is there anything wrong?’

  ‘I…it’s…my friend,’ he muttered tearfully, ‘he died recently,’ he was surprised to hear himself divulging about Geoffery’s death.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ she said, with genuine sympathy.

  Over the next ten minutes, he confided everything to the Ticket Inspector who had sat down on the opposite side of the small table and listened compassionately while he told her about his miserable Christmas and New Year.

  ‘So are you running away?’ she asked, bluntly.

  ‘What else can I do?’ Ben said, helplessly.

  ‘It sounds like your Mum still needs you. And what about your Grandad? How old are you?’

  ‘Fourteen.’

  ‘Fourteen! You’re at a difficult age. I’m sure that you find life is very confusing at the moment. Full of contradictions and adults with double standards.’

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘I wish my son was still there for me. You might think I’m making it up, but I can assure you it’s true. My son ran away, just like you. I was devastated; it was then that I discovered the real, painful, meaning of a broken heart. It was awful.’

  ‘Oh! I’m sorry…’ Ben said, empathising with her sadness.

  ‘The next time I saw him, he was on a mortuary slab,’ she continued, avoiding Ben’s wide eyed gaze. ‘He’d got in with the wrong crowd. He was only eighteen.’ She turned her gaze back to Ben. ‘Just think about those who love you son. Sometimes it might not feel like it, but you are loved, believe me. Give them a chance to show it.’

  ‘I know but…I can’t take any more of this hassle.’

  Suddenly the public address system burst into life and a voice requested that the Ticket Inspector should return to the buffet car.

  ‘Sorry son, I’ve got to go. But have a think about what I said. How will your actions affect other people too? Best of luck on whatever you decide.’ She turned and left.

  Ben was now even more confused and less confident that he was doing the right thing.

  Shortly after, the train pulled into Stonehouse station and on impulse he grabbed his rucsac and got off.

  Surprised at his own actions, he watched as the train pulled out, his carefully thought out plans now in tatters. He sat on a cold station bench for a while and reviewed what he was going to do. Eventually he decided to go back to face the music and cope with whatever else would happen. James and Andy would help him, he felt sure.

  Having made the decision, he strode purposefully to the ticket office and asked for a ticket back to Gloucester, but as he reached into his back pocket to pay, he realised his wallet wasn’t there. His back pocket was empty. His wallet and money had gone.

  In frantic desperation, he looked around him on the floor and apologising to the ticket agent, raced back to where he’d sat on the bench. Nothing. On the station platform where he’d got off the train, again nothing.

  His heart sank. ‘It must have fallen out on the train or perhaps it was stolen,’ he thought.

  He remembered being jostled by some people in the crowd as he was waiting to board the train. Perhaps it had been stolen there.

  Misery upon misery. Would nothing ever go right for him? He sat on the bench, head down, close to tears and wondered what to do.

  ‘What would Andy suggest?’ he asked himself. He knew if he rang him, he would come and pick him up, So too would his Grandad. James would have done it as well, but he was back in the clinic.

  ‘No, I’ll do this myself,’ he said, determinedly. He knew that the Cotswold Way long distance footpath ran nearby and he calculated he had time to walk back home and nobody would be any wiser of his aborted plans to run away.

  If he wanted, he could even set up camp on Churchup hill and pretend that’s what he was going to do all along. He warmed to the idea, shouldered his heavy rucsac and left the small station in better spirits, heading for the nearby Doverow hill.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  3rd January

  The office walls of the Traffic Team assigned to the M5 ‘Road Death Investigation’
were covered in scores of photos and crash sequence drawings. Each one carefully annotated and referenced back to a master plan. Each one recording in photographic horror the terrible aftermath of the collision and inferno.

  As the investigation continued, the two Policemen, Collision Investigator John Sparrow and Senior Investigating Officer, Sergeant Graham Fredericks were processing evidence in the busy headquarters building in Cheltenham.

  ‘Damn,’ said John, studying an email.

  ‘What’s up?’ his colleague asked, looking away from his own screen.

  ‘Just had an email from South Wales Police. You know that unclaimed, burnt out Polo, registered to an owner in Gwent?’

  ‘You mean the one we identified by the Vehicle Identification Number?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. The owner claims to have sold it to a big Polish bloke he met in a Tesco’s car park.’

  ‘Did he get a name?’

  ‘No name, but he showed them a receipt with a squiggle of a signature on it.’

  ‘How do we know he’s not lying and it was really him?’

  ‘The guy was in hospital recovering from an appendix operation. South Wales checked it out… and it’s right.’

  ‘OK, so we’re looking for somebody else then. You sure there was nobody in the wreckage of that Polo?’

  ‘The Fire and Rescue team say not. There was only one poor sod caught up in the fire and it wasn’t him. Miraculously everybody else was rescued before the whole lot went up.’

  ‘Then if he wasn’t killed, are we sure he wasn’t injured and ran off somewhere?’

  ‘No. The injured were all accounted for, with the exception of that one woman who wandered off. I guess we need to track her down…Otherwise I’ve got the list here which ties everybody else to a vehicle.’

  ‘So nobody reports seeing a big guy at the scene?’

  ‘No. I’ve checked all the witness statements again.’

  ‘So, where is this big Polish bloke then?’

  ‘Silly question, but what if he wasn’t driving it?’