Beck le Street

by Tony McHale

  Cassie switched on the kitchen lights.

  The first thing she saw was a shotgun just laid on the kitchen table and a figure just sat there – motionless.

  Cassie took a sharp intake of breath, then calmed down when she saw it was

  Tyler.

  “What you doing?” was all she could ask.

  “Waiting for you.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Not as drunk as I’d like to be.”

  “Where’s your truck?”

  “At the pub … Lucas and Amos gave me a lift home.”

  “Why?” Cassie asked with a degree of trepidation.

  “We needed to talk.”

  “What about?”

  “You know what about. You know.” There wasn’t anger in his voice, just disappointment.

  “I’m going to get Georgie to bed.” Cassie knew there was going to be a scene, a rare occurrence in the Samson household and she didn’t want her son to witness it.

  “Georgie can stay …”

  “But …” pleaded Cassie.

  “He can stay … because this is to do with him.”

  Georgie had known for some time that Tyler wasn’t his biological father. He’d heard odd pieces of gossip, listened in on exchanges between his ‘parents’ and from what he’d managed to piece together he knew his real father was the son of the landlord and landlady of The Black Dog. He’d followed Charlie’s career surreptitiously on line and for sometime he had an underlying wish that he’d stayed around, or taken them with him. But Charlie’s return to Beck le Street had been rather unsettling for him. He could see that there was still some mutual attraction between Charlie and his mother and Georgie had started to feel for his non-biological father. After all he was the only father he’d known and the thought of him being pushed out, even in a minor way was enough to make Georgie fight against any possible reconstituted relationship there was between his mother and her childhood sweetheart. And this was the reason he rang Tyler and told him about Charlie’s appearance at the Holiday Inn earlier that evening.

  Tyler had indeed been in The Black Dog when Georgie called and told him he’d seen his mother kiss Charlie Ashton outside the hotel. His evening was already in a tailspin by the time the call came.

  When he arrived at the pub early evening, there were still a handful of journalists gathered round a table exchanging stories and buying rounds. None of them took any notice of Tyler when he came into the pub, because none of them knew who he was. The Turner revelation that afternoon was indeed a revelation to them. Most of the journos weren’t that interested. Who cared about some paparazzi photographer getting a girl pregnant sixteen years ago? In the big scheme of things this wasn’t anything to get excited about. There were a couple of journalists however who could see something interesting if they were somehow able to link it to the three deaths … but that link, even with the help of large vodkas, was proving illusive.

  Farrah was still behind the bar and Jed still hadn’t shown. Tyler ordered his usual pint of Theakston’s Old Peculiar and as Farrah pulled the drink, she talked quietly to Tyler. She told him what had happened that afternoon and how some hack called Turner had seen Georgie’s birth certificate. As Farrah relayed the details, Tyler’s mood descended into blackness. How had this ‘creep’ found out? How did he know? Farrah had a good idea who told him, because she’d seen the expressions on their faces when Turner confronted Charlie, but she had no proof it was Lucas and Amos, so she said nothing.

  For a moment Tyler didn’t know whether to just walk out or confront the journalists. It was Farrah who pointed out to him that the journalists didn’t know him from Adam, so his best bet was to do nothing.

  Amos and Lucas were still there and furtively kept looking at Tyler. They were not sure who knew about their treacherous act. They’d sworn Turner to secrecy, but they had no reason to believe he’d be true to his promise. For the information Turner had paid them £500, an offer Amos and Lucas couldn’t resist. They believed if they kept quiet then there was no reason for anybody else to find out. But this didn’t stop them feeling like traitors. They had betrayed the rest of the village. Their justification was that they were getting at Charlie Ashton, not Tyler, Cassie or Georgie. They had no intention of hurting their village compatriots.

  However it was this guilt that made them join Tyler and offer to buy him a drink. They expressed their sympathy for him, explaining they’d been there when the journalist had made his surprise disclosure. Of course they didn’t know where he’d gleaned the information and didn’t know what he intended to do with it. They then asked Tyler what he wanted to do about it. Does the journalist need taking care of for instance?

  Tyler just thought that would make matters worse. Draw more attention to the situation. So on and on the discussions went until Georgie rang with the news of Charlie’s arrival at the hotel. After this devastating piece of information Tyler’s drink intake increased, which resulted in Amos and Lucas running him home, worried that even though driving home from The Black Dog with a skinful wasn’t an unusual occurrence for Tyler, tonight’s alcohol level was so exceptionally high, the chances of him making it in one piece were very slender.

  After arriving home, Tyler had sobered up somewhat as he waited for Cassie’s return.

  Now here they all were … all three of them, each with their own take, their own emotion, on this state of affairs.

  “What do you want me to say?” Cassie eventually said.

  “I want to know where I stand,” said Tyler.

  “Where you’ve always stood … that’s where you stand.”

  “You didn’t tell the journalist about … Georgie?”

  “I’m not prepared to discuss this in front of him …”

  “He knows … he knows all about it!” screamed a drunken Tyler.

  Cassie looked at Georgie; she’d spent her life protecting him. He’d suffered enough; he didn’t need this.

  “Georgie … do you want to stay or go?” was all she could think to say.

  “Stay,” said Georgie with what seemed more difficulty than normal. “I know who my biological father is … I’ve known for a long time.”

  “Georgie … all what happened is … complicated.”

  “No it’s not,” interrupted Tyler. “Your mother slept with someone when she was your age …”

  “Tyler … please …”

  “Then she married me … because she said she loved me …”

  “I do love you,” pleaded Cassie.

  “So why did you meet Mr Fucking Shit Face Ashton tonight …? Eh? Why did you meet him?”

  “He rang,” she lied. “He wanted to tell me about the journalist … finding out …”

  “Finding out that you were a little tart …”

  “I wasn’t a tart …”

  “You got knocked up didn’t you?”

  “Charlie was the only boy I slept with before you.”

  “Yeah – right …”

  “You know that’s true.” Tyler looked at her – a drunken look. Cassie knew nothing was going to be sorted tonight. “I’m taking Georgie to bed.”

  “I said leave him!”

  “So he can hear you slag me off.”

  “So he can hear you lying.”

  “What have I lied about?” demanded a hurt Cassie.

  “Tonight …”

  “What about tonight?” Cassie had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Fuck Face came to see you … to tell you about the journalist … right?”

  “Right.”

  “So why did you kiss him?”

  Cassie’s breath, for a second, stopped pumping into her lungs. It was like the world for a moment was in suspended animation.

  “Kiss him?” she managed to say
before glancing over at Georgie. The only person who could have possibly have told Tyler is Georgie. She could say he was a liar, but that would be wrong. He saw what he saw.

  “Outside the Holiday Inn,” continued Tyler.

  “It was nothing. It was a kiss good-bye.”

  “For the boy you haven’t seen for sixteen years.”

  “Why did you kiss him?” This time it was Georgie; he too wanted an explanation.

  “It wasn’t what it seemed ...”

  “He saw you,” said Tyler pointing at Georgie. “ He knows what he saw.”

  “I swear it was nothing.”

  “Are you leaving us?” Georgie said, a sadness in his voice.

  “No … no I’m not leaving you. I don’t care about Charlie Ashton … I care about you and dad. That’s all.”

  “You mean that?” asked Tyler.

  “Yes … I mean that.”

  Tyler stood up, steadied himself and picked up the shotgun that was on the table in front of him.

  “Then you won’t mind if I go take care of Charlie Ashton once and for all, then there will be no problem.”

  Georgie looked scared as he realised his drunken stepfather wasn’t playing around.

  “Don’t be stupid Tyler,” said Cassie trying to sound calm.

  “I’m not being stupid. You said you only cared about me and Georgie, so …” Tyler couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Put the gun down.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I don’t want to be visiting you in prison for the rest of your life. Put it down!”

  “Fuck off …!”

  Tyler clutching the gun, headed for the door. Cassie moved into his path to try and stop his exit, but Tyler wasn’t going to be easily dissuaded. He gave Cassie a shove and she staggered backwards. Tyler reached the door and started to open it. Cassie was back on her feet. She rushed at him, grabbing for the shotgun. She managed to clasp it with both her hands. Had Tyler not been drunk this would have been a ‘no-contest,’ but the alcohol had sapped his strength and played havoc with his co-ordination. Cassie hung onto the shotgun.

  “Just let it go,” she screamed.

  But drunk or not drunk, Tyler wasn’t going to let it go. Cassie wrestled with it and managed to swing Tyler away from the door. Tyler yanked the gun from her, which is when it went off, the slug firing across the kitchen, missing Georgie by inches and ending up destroying some crockery in a cupboard.

  The discharging of the gun halted the struggle. Both Cassie and Tyler stopped for a moment, shocked by what might have happened. “You okay?” Cassie moved to her son, she was shaking. Georgie just nodded his head – he was okay. Tyler watched knowing the situation had spiralled out of control, but still wanting to deal with Charlie Ashton who he considered to be the person responsible for everything that had just happened.

  “Daddy … don’t do it …” said Georgie at last.

  “It’s all right Georgie … it’s alright.”

  “Daddy ... please … don’t take the gun … please.”

  Tyler looked at his son, hunched in his wheelchair, his eyes filled with tears and he knew whatever happened this boy cared for him. To this boy he was his father. Tyler placed the shotgun on the kitchen table and left the cottage.

  Cassie held Georgie tight as they heard the Espace start up and pull away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  After leaving Turner in Scarborough, Charlie had sat in a lay-by and rung a few of the other journalists he knew were there that afternoon. He wanted to hear that they weren’t going to go with the story. What he heard was that none of them were going to go with it … straight away. If they were ever to try and go with the story, they needed a bit more. The story wasn’t dead, but it seemed it wasn’t alive either.

  In all this chaos Charlie had not really been able to mourn Devika. There was still no news when either Devika’s or his mother’s bodies would be released for burial. There would have to be a Coroner’s inquest in both cases then maybe some decision would be made.

  Charlie found himself driving the route Devika took the night she lost her life. When he reached the fateful spot he pulled off the road. It was dark and the only light was from a campfire around which the dozen or so remaining people sat keeping vigil. There were blown up posters of Devika taken from her magazine modelling assignments as well as a photograph of her when she played Ophelia in her school’s production of Hamlet. Somebody had been doing some digging on the Internet. As the light bounced off these images for Charlie the whole thing verged on the surreal. There were impressions of Devika given movement by the naked flames of the fire. Over the other side of the road, two police officers waited in their car, not sure why they were there.

  As Charlie approached in the dark, some of the group turned wondering who the newcomer was. Most of them thought he was just another person in need of some collective comfort. Then the woman who had recognised him in the car previously, recognised him again.

  She nudged the girl next to her. The girl was in her late teens, wrapped in a blanket, a woollen hat pulled down over her eyebrows. The woman said, “It’s Charlie Ashton … It’s him.”

  The girl looked at Charlie as he sat down on a vacant up-turned beer crate. There were a few acknowledgements from others, but mainly they just talked quietly in small clusters.

  Charlie wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he knew he needed to reconnect with Devika. Just to sit there with these people, people who clearly cared about her, he thought would help in some small way to him making that tie real again.

  After a few moments the girl who had been given the heads up moved next to him.

  “Are you really Charlie Ashton?” she asked with a slight lisp.

  Charlie gave a little smile and nodded.

  “You were her partner, is that right?”

  “Yes,” Charlie dutifully replied.

  “This must be awful for you.”

  “It’s not easy. I just thought it might help, coming here.”

  “It could … it could help. What was she like?” asked the girl, then added: “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. Just say … and I’ll go away. If you want to sit in silence, then I’ll walk away. Some people do … some people don’t want to talk … they just want to sit. For me talking helps, so I talk.”

  “She was amazing,” said Charlie ignoring the girl’s assessment of the group.

  “She must have been. How did she become a model? I wanted to be a model, but I couldn’t afford the photos. I think if I had have, I’d have done all right. When I was at school everyone said I had a good figure. Devika … she had a great a figure, you can see that in the photos. Is it something she always wanted to be … a model?”

  “Not really. She sort of fell into it. Her mum and dad wanted her to be a doctor.”

  “That’s what I wanted to be when I was twelve … I wanted to be a doctor. But then I wanted to be a model.”

  “You followed her career did you?”

  “Devika’s?”

  “Yes – Devika’s.”

  “Not really.” The girl looked at Charlie and smiled. He could see that three or four of her front teeth were missing. “I didn’t really know who she was,” she continued rather surprisingly.

  “So when did you discover her?” Charlie was getting a little confused and his hope of reconnecting with Devika via this group was becoming less and less likely with every word that was spoken.

  “The other day … I was on a bus … I wanted to see where Dracula landed. You know he came to Whitby … don’t you. He landed here from Transylvania. People who like Vampires I think are really special. Anyway I saw this group, so I thought it looked fun. I thought these are people who care. They must be special people, so I joined
them.”

  “So you didn’t know who Devika was until a few days ago?”

  “No. But now I know she was very special … iconic.”

  Charlie looked round the fire. Most of these people weren’t here because of Devika, they were here because something was missing in their lives. This could have been anybody … it just so happened to be Devika.

  “I’m so glad I’ve met you,” said the girl, “you’ve put everything into perspective for me.”

  “And you me,” said Charlie as he stood up and headed back to his car.

  * * * * *

  Ten minutes past twelve and Beck le Street was its normally deathly quiet. Farrah had called time at eleven, she’d had a long day and she had managed to clear the pub in fifteen minutes.

  The first thing Charlie noticed as he pulled into The Black Dog car park was an Espace. He was pretty sure it was Cassie’s vehicle and he wondered what it was doing there. He climbed down from the range Range Rover and went to inspect it.

  He walked right round the vehicle, looking inside, checking for punctures, but he couldn’t see anything wrong. Maybe she’d had an engine problem, whatever there was nothing he could do about it now.

  He started for the back door of the pub, which was when he felt the first blow to the back of the head. He wasn’t sure what had hit him, but what it was had sent him sprawling to the ground. His brain was ringing round his skull and his senses had been shattered like glass. He could hear his attacker coming towards him, but he didn’t know from which direction. Then he was hit again across his back. The blow, from whatever the weapon was, winded him to such an extent he thought he’d never breathe properly again.

  He knew he had to get away, but to where and how? Before he could make a move he sensed somebody slam their foot down on the middle of his back. His attacker was standing over him and another blow came crashing in from the side. The pain reverberated through his body. In his mind he believed this was the end. There was no way he could fight his way out of this, he didn’t have the strength, the pain was too much and his attacker had him pinned face down to the ground.