Project Perry

by Ayre, Mark

  He couldn’t tell her this wasn’t true. Certainly couldn’t say why. That it was selfishness. That he knew if he didn’t help find Charlie the nightmares would never stop. The face of Toby would haunt him till his dying day. He couldn’t say that but it gave him purpose, made him fight to stay until Christina relented.

  They stepped from the car and James span with amazement, watching the cars and people file in. It was busy as school pick up but on this Saturday morning all expressions were sombre, and no one had come to collect, only to come together.

  “Less than a day has passed since my grandson went missing and already word has spread, and the people have come,” Christina said, coming up behind him. “You speak of the difference between cities and villages and this is my favourite. Community. People learn our grandson is missing and they want to help. It doesn’t matter if Luke has him, and there is little we are able to do, if anything. Still they come. The school is opened especially and we gather to talk, and to plan, as we have many times before and will do many times more. Quite incredible.”

  “Yeah,” he said, meaning it. “It is.”

  They head through the school reception to the main hall. An ample space with high ceiling and lines painted on the floor for sports innumerable. The room was not as big as the one from his school, and he wondered if it would be fit for purpose. Already free space was limited. Most people milled around the edges of the room, talking in solemn tones. In the centre of this crowd rows and rows of plastic chairs had been laid out, few of which were occupied.

  James was ready to mention how bowled over he was by how quickly the village mobilised and pulled together in the face of crisis. Before he could, however, a small woman appeared, parting the crowd with little interest in whether they saw her coming and heard her ‘excuse me’s’, or if she knocked them down with outstretched arms and quick feet.

  “Chrissy, sweetie, I can’t bear it.”

  James recognised the village babysitter, Sharon, from the party, though red eyes and quivering lips had replaced her bubbly appearance.

  “Poor, sweet Charlie. Gone. Gone. How can it be so? Such a bundle of joy. A credit to his mother and you and George.

  “I can’t believe it. I babysat him just last week. He was so happy and chatty, and I told Claire, I said: ‘I will babysit him again, any time, don’t you worry. Just ask.’ I’ve babysat a thousand kids, but the Barneses have always been my favourites.

  “Well, she did call, but I couldn’t do it. Your daughter offered me tickets to that show at the local theatre. The ones she won but didn’t want. No surprise. It was an old woman’s show, and cancelled anyway, so I could have done it, but by that point Claire had asked Amy. If only I’d insisted I do it, and not come to your party.

  “Not that I’ve anything against Amy, you understand? That poor girl tries, I’m sure, but she’s a kid herself, and lord knows she’s had her problems. Trouble with teenagers is they don’t have the concentration for a job as important as babysitting. I’ve always said so, haven’t I?”

  Christina smiled pleasantly, waiting to see if Sharon was done, or maybe trying to process the words fired at her at some speed. James knew he was struggling.

  “Sharon, thank you for coming,” Christina said, with an air so regal James almost expected her to roll her hand in the queen wave. “And don’t worry, we’re sure to find our little man and bring him home. With everyone here to support us, how could we not?”

  Sharon clapped at the response, fresh tears in her eyes. Before Christina knew what was happening the older woman grabbed her and pulled into a tight embrace that apparently made her uncomfortable.

  “Is it true?’ Sharon asked, her voice a whisper that carried across a room of overlapping conversations. “Did Luke have something to do with it? I can’t believe it. I can’t. Is it so?”

  “Quite possibly,” Christina said, lifting her hands, placing them on top of Sharon’s and prizing the hugging woman from her with a firm grip. “But that’s no bad thing. The boy is safe with his father.”

  “Safe?” Sharon said, drawing back, eyes wide. “Safe, after everything? I mean, he was such a sweet boy. When I found out all he’d done, I could hardly believe it. I mean for him to -“

  James felt his breath catch as he saw Sharon prepare to spill all there was to know about Luke’s dark secrets and felt a sick sense of anticipation at the story coming loose. But before that thread could unravel, Christina’s words came, sharp like a blade, cutting it off.

  “Sharon, please,” she said, stilling Sharon’s words in an instant. “I can’t think about this now. We have so much to do, and all these wonderful people have come out. You’ll excuse me if I have to get on, won’t you?”

  Sharon glanced around with eyes wider still, as though surprised to see so many people there when she had expected a private audience, where she would spill all to Christina as a Catholic to a priest, and the other way around. She composed herself well.

  “Yes, of course,” she said with a strained smile. “Please, go, speak. We must all come together at this time. To find our boy. Our Charlie. I can’t believe it. I can’t.”

  Christina smiled and placed a hand on Sharon’s shoulder. The kind of hand that could easily convey - and would, to Sharon - comfort, meaning little more than ‘thank you for being here’. But it had a little force behind it, and Sharon was convinced by the move to slide along, past Christina and off, looking as though she’d been hypnotised. As she disappeared into the crowd, Christina turned to James with troubled eyes.

  “I have spent my adulthood in this village, becoming the centre of a community as my mother and father once were. My family know everyone. We are respected. People feel they can come to us, talk to us about anything and I value them all.

  “But it is difficult, at times. Especially during tough periods, when they would talk to you with such ease when you are trying to hold it together.”

  Her eyes wavered with an unsureness James had not seen there before. Pleading him to take what she gave in confidence. He would, and hoped she knew it.

  “I will do anything to keep my family as we need to be,” she said, “hard as that has been at times. With Luke, I thought we would be shunned, but people were good. Still, they don’t forget. Not in a place like this, and when it is all dragged up - it’s tough.

  “My Grandson is missing, and I know I must not waste people’s goodwill. We must work together.” She bit her lip a moment but stopped immediately, sensing the sign of indecision. Then continued: “Take a seat. Soon, I will begin.

  “Let’s get Charlie back.”

  The room continued to swell over the next half hour, with people filling every available space until the hall was fit to burst. James tried in vain to count how many had piled in, but there was no chance. Had to be at least 200, but the way they continued to move and duck and weave made counting impossible.

  As the various guests of the hall shook hands and greeted each other, James made his way through rows of plastic seats that had not been designed for adult bums, situating himself halfway back on the left. An empty row from which he could see Christina at the front of the hall, standing with Mark and George. They conversed in low, hurried voices and all seemed frustrated. Perhaps arguing about the content of the speech. Whatever it was, Mark and George could not hope to win. Christina showed her control, and both backed down. She would be giving the speech, and James imagined she would not take many notes.

  Beyond the arguing family, Megan leaned against a wall. He noted her injured foot was raised, so the pain had not receded completely. She watched the Barneses with idle eyes but seemed to have little interest. Her face was drawn, worried. About Charlie, or something else?

  Her eyes caught his, and he considered jerking his head away, pretending he’d not been staring. He couldn’t, although he feared she would look away in disgust, as though he was some gross creature. But as their eyes locked, she smiled and lifted her hand in a wave. He returned the gesture, thou
gh his arm had bricks strapped to it. He smiled, and it looked for a second she might approach.

  “Gee, have you no shame?”

  He jumped, and his foot shot back, almost kicking the chair out from under him. Cheeks flushing red, Megan looked away, her attention returning to her boyfriend.

  “It’s not the worst idea. She’s not happy with Mark.”

  From the seat next door, Emma gave him an uncharitable grin, then looked to Megan. James followed her gaze and saw the Barnes trio had broken up. The young couple stood an inch apart, Mark’s forehead almost resting on Megan’s. It made James feel unwell.

  “Mark is a proponent of my mother’s teachings, see,” Emma continued, although James had not encouraged her. “They believe in putting the potential for longevity before passion, and romance. It’s classic candle theory.”

  He gave her a questioning look, and she smiled as though he was an idiot for not knowing.

  “Candles look pretty while they’re burning but, before long, they flicker out, and die. No way to stop it. To build a lasting relationship, so the theory goes, you need to be an everlasting - or at least rechargeable - battery. Sure it’s not pretty. Not sexy. But it works. Avoids the mess of divorce and isn’t that the name of the marriage game?”

  It was phrased as a question, but James didn’t suppose Emma cared if she received a response. He looked to the couple standing head to head, then to George and Christina, holding hands, standing strong He suspected jealously on Emma’s part and wondered how she’d feel if he told her about Christina and George’s midnight fumble. If Christina hadn’t sworn him to secrecy, he would have been tempted.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Said, didn’t? I think you have a chance. Megan’s not like Mark and mum. She believes in passion. In true love.

  “She’s fooled herself into believing she has that with Mark, but it’s skin deep. In her heart, she knows the truth. That she needs someone like you, and now there is someone like you, it’s harder to ignore.”

  She smiled wider, showing perfect teeth. He knew she was stirring, but still, her words acted like the piper’s tune, luring him into her trap. He forced himself to look away from Megan. To glare at Emma.

  “What’s with the evils?” she said, doing a great job of the innocent act but he didn’t buy it. He’d known too many people like her and didn’t respond, refusing to be drawn any further into her games.

  “Must you ignore me?” she pouted, placing a hand on his knee. “It’s no fun if you don’t bite.”

  “How’s Mohsin?”

  She frowned.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “What were you talking to him about? Before he was attacked.”

  She gasped and threw a hand to her mouth, mocking him. When the hand lowered she was smiling, and there was laughter in her eyes.

  “You accusing me of something?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Well, wander away,” she said, withdrawing her hand from his knee. “He was walking Mac home. She lives next door to Claire so he would have dropped her off, started home in the pleasant evening warm then bam. Headshot.”

  James played the scenario. Mo dropping Mac off, kissing her on the cheek. Might the experience have been a frosty one? Whatever the case, Mo hadn’t stayed for coffee. He left and made his way down the alley that separated Claire’s street from Megan’s. Only he hadn’t made it all the way. There had been a, as Emma put it, bam.

  Luke was in the frame for the attack, but James saw a number of scenarios, seemingly at the same time. Each one with someone different swinging the weapon of choice.

  “Do you suppose they argued?”

  “Who?”

  He didn’t respond, and she smiled again, looking attractive in a devious kind of way. A way that made him nervous.

  Eventually, she shrugged.

  “I wouldn’t know, would I?

  “Only I think my girlfriend and I would argue, had another man taken her upstairs, leaving me with no idea what was going on.”

  ‘What are you implying?”

  “Maybe she got angry.”

  “You’re off the mark.”

  “Am I?”

  He reran the scenario. The frosty atmosphere all the way home. Maybe Mac asks Mo what he spoke to Emma about. Maybe he fobs her off or outright lies. Either way, by the time they reach her door, it’s a full-blown argument. She wants to sort it. For him to convince her she has nothing to fear. But he won’t, or can’t, and she slams the door in his face.

  That should be the end of it, but she can’t get it out of her head. She follows him into the alley and takes the first object she sees, lifting it and -

  “Mac couldn’t hurt a fly. It’s one of her many faults.”

  Around them, the seats were beginning to fill. They must have been told the show was ready to begin because it all happened at once. The chattering changed from casual to hushed conversations about where to sit. The sound of shifting feet became scraping chairs and bums dropping into seats.

  As a large man with a red face took the chair next to James, he leaned closer to Emma.

  “If it wasn’t Mac, there is someone else.”

  “That so?”

  “Yeah.”

  He saw Mohsin sitting in Emma’s bedroom. She was asking him to leave Mac. He says he can’t, or doesn’t want to, or it wouldn’t be right. Whatever. She says fine, and he leaves, believing that is the end of it.

  It isn’t. She follows him, watching as he kisses Mac goodbye at the door. As he convinces her everything is okay. Her hand finds an object on the floor. When Mo leaves, walking into the dark, he doesn’t see her. Not until it’s too late when she swings and -

  “More likely,” she confessed. “But still not right.”

  “You know what’s right?”

  “Not according to mother.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I know I didn’t do it, and I seriously doubt Mac did. Besides, I thought my big brother was in the frame?”

  This was still the most likely scenario. Nor could the mystery girl be discounted. What was she doing there?

  “Why are you doing this?” Emma asked. All the seats were full now, and quiet was beginning to fall. James lowered his voice.

  “Why am I doing what?”

  “Sticking around. Sticking your nose in. Why do you care?”

  James couldn’t tell Christina the truth, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell Emma. He looked to the stage, where Mrs Barnes was preparing to come on.

  “It’s about to start,” he said, hoping that would shut her up. Suspecting it wouldn’t.

  “It’s not a show,” she said, voice low but not a whisper. She leaned in, hand back on his knee. He wanted to move but couldn’t. The fat guy was well onto his side, trapping him.

  “I think you want to be part of the family,” Emma continued, her lips close to his ear. “You think we’re perfect and you want that, don’t you? Go on, admit it. Say you want to be a Barnes and maybe you can be.”

  At the head of the room, Christina had begun to speak, but James couldn’t hear her. His head was spinning. Emma’s hand was moving down his thigh. He wanted to grab her arm but found himself frozen.

  “Come on,” she said. “You know you want it. We can marry. I’ll even let you take my name. Mother would be ever so happy. You’re just the type of boy I should be going for. Well, on the surface anyway, but that’s all that matters. What do you -“

  Her hand touched his zipper and, as though an electric current had shot through his body - and it felt a little like this was the case - he jumped up, knocking his chair into the woman behind and causing her to shriek.

  Heads turned, and he noticed Emma backing up, fading from him like a ghost in daylight. Her body disappeared, leaving only her smile, like the Cheshire cat. The room stared at James, and James stared back.

  “Sorry,” he said, feeling the embarrassment burn him like candle wax.

&n
bsp; With the room still watching, and without saying another word, he rushed down the aisle and fled the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  He burst through the double doors into the morning sun like a child fleeing a dentist. His hands were shaking, his heart pumping, his blood running furious laps around his body.

  The doors swung shut behind him, and he stopped, taking deep, calming breaths. His cheeks, like the sun climbing towards its highest point, burned. Emma was laughing. She’d tried to wind him up till he burst and he’d let her do it.

  He hated himself for that.

  Christina’s voice carried to him from within. Her words bringing her village together with a common goal. James had wanted to be a part of that but who was he kidding? 18 hours ago he’d stumbled along, dropping head first into a mystery involving people who had known each other their whole lives. Who had earned the right to care, to help, and to hope. Who was he but a stranger with a guilty conscience?

  He felt as though he was eavesdropping, like a kid listening to his parents discussing birthday presents. He moved from the door, but not the school - he wasn’t ready for that - following the walls around the building, away from open roads towards green fields well trampled by teenage feet.

  His thoughts returned to Mohsin. Quick snapshots of Mac, Emma, the stranger and Luke, all attacking.

  Whoever it was hadn’t gone easy. The blow had caused severe damage, and Mo was in an induced coma, fighting for his life. A battle the doctors weren’t sure he would win.

  Luke still seemed the most likely attacker, but there were problems. Why would he come from that direction? Why go near the alley when there was a much more covered approach around the back of the house?

  This wasn’t to mention the most crucial question, as Emma had pointed out, why was he, James, sticking his nose in when it had nothing to do with him?

  He saw her smirk, and it stung as though she’d sunk those perfect teeth into his flesh. It hurt enough that he might have left the school and village altogether, had he not turned the corner and seen someone at the end of a long wall, punctuated every few metres by windows.