by Ayre, Mark
James wanted to reject this out of hand, but images of George flashed across his mind, arms wrapped around some bimbo - Luke’s words - he had never seen. Not his only transgression, James had learned, and it proved Emma had a point, though he chose not to mention this.
“Not everyone is as they act, I know. But that doesn’t mean because you act a bitch you’re a saint.”
“Oh, feisty. But you’ve never got to know me. You refuse to see my hidden depths as you insist on judging a book by its cover. Want to know a secret?”
He looked over her shoulder, towards the sliding doors. He had come here to talk, but not to her. He felt the itching of anticipation, the desire to get on, but couldn’t help but respond.
“Sure.”
“I miss my brother every day.”
“Luke?”
“Obviously.”
He knew he was smiling but couldn’t tell if it was one of sympathy or patronising dismissal. Either way, Emma didn’t like it and poked him in the chest.
“You think him evil off hearsay and rumour.”
“More than that.”
“That so?”
“Your brother is a kidnapper. See what he’s done to Claire. See what he’s done to your father. Are you going to defend that?”
“They turned their back on him. Cast him out like he was nothing.”
“No more than he deserved.”
She opened her mouth to respond. He could see the anger building and knew she was ready to yell, but she stopped herself. Sensing the way things were going she fought to put the sarcastic smile on her face. This time not so effectively.
“You’re in dreamland,” she said. “The place you think you are doesn’t exist. Perfect little village, perfect little family and you think you can be part of it? No. You’re flavour of the month. Mark and my father may think you harmless, and mother may have you pegged as fitting her family mould, but I know different. There’s something off about you, James Perry, and like milk left out too long, it’ll soon start to stink.”
She wrinkled her nose in a spot on impression of someone smelling the aforementioned milk and looked rather proud of the simile.
“Even if that doesn’t catch you, your stock will fall. Mother will decide she’s had enough and you’ll be forgotten, because when mother is no longer interested, Mark and dad will change their tune so fast your head’ll spin. Then where will you be? Some lost and lonely boy, desperate and angry because the Barneses don’t love him. Ready to do anything to get back at them and hey - who will that make you?”
James mulled over the implication. Could see its merits and felt the anger bunch within him at that recognition. But it was different. Luke was an animal, a monster. If James were cast aside, it would hurt, but he would walk away. That would be the only option.
Not wanting to engage Emma any further he held back the proper answer, going for, as he had when becoming afraid of letting Megan in on his darkest secret, a joke.
“If I’m like Luke, will you miss me when I’m gone?”
He assumed a cruel laugh would follow, but there was nothing. Even the sarcastic smile hadn’t returned. Stepping forward she placed a hand on his cheek, one he would have thrown off, if not for the gentle look in her eyes.
“You don’t get it. You think I’m a bitch, but I’m not. You seem like a nice guy. A genuine guy but you’re getting caught up in something that’s never going to end well for you.
“Look at where you are -“ pointing at the sliding doors behind her “- you’ve been here less than two days and you only ever planned to stay the weekend. You’re staying at Janet and Ted’s B&B, so all your food is sorted, yet here you are at the local store like a proper resident.
“You’re on the fast train to hurt, and hey, you’ll see me there because my brother came to town and didn’t bother to say hello. I was meant to be the one he loved.”
She stepped back, hand falling away and, as though magnetised to it, he leaned forward a little. He could see the swell of sadness rising like a wave behind her eyes. That hurt, because he wanted it to be fake, for her to be a bitch he could dismiss with ease. Why couldn’t she give him that?
“You dream of being a hero,” she continued. “You think you’ll find Luke and bring back Charlie but you won’t. He’s gone, and he’s never coming back.
“Give up, James. Save yourself the pain. Please.”
She meant every word, and that hurt all the more. Still, he fought against her sentiment as he had against his mind telling him he could never find Charlie. Because he had more information now. Another source to draw him closer to the missing boy, and evil Luke. It was this that made him turn from Emma’s first show of real kindness, dismissing her.
“It was nice to see you. I’m sorry you find it so difficult to support your family, and I’m sorry Luke left you. I think it was for the best though. You’ll get that in the end.
“As for me, maybe I’ll stick around, maybe I won’t. But I’ll never be like him. You can count on that.”
You can count on that.
Sounded good. The question was, was it true?
He entered the store without looking back, trying to pretend the conversation hadn’t happened, and her words hadn’t affected him. A tough ask from the off and worse when he knocked down a tower of baskets trying to claim one with shaking hands.
They scattered left and right, but there was no one around. Good. Emma may have shown a knack for digging into his soul, but she had been wrong about one thing. He wasn’t here to buy food out of some misplaced belief he was about to become part of the furniture in the village. That misplaced belief did exist - it would be foolish to deny that - it just wasn’t why he was here.
Collecting and restacking the toppled baskets he head into the store with one for himself, knowing, despite the fact he expected his target to be at the till, it made sense to A) check all the aisles first and B) look like he was shopping to reduce suspicion that he was up to something more than buying a few bits for the remainder of his time in the village.
Perusing the few store aisles from right to left he felt increasingly tense, and stiff, as though a virus was steadily turning him to stone. He was due to meet Mark in a half hour and knew he should have handled this particular bit of business earlier. But he had been nervous, agonising over whether he was doing the right thing. Given the answer to this question was likely no, he had tried to ignore it. Calling the police or the Barneses might have been the sensible route, but he couldn’t do that. It was best not to think why.
A few essentials stuffed into the basket with the care of a toddler playing with lego, James made for the tills, heart pounding, mind playing tug of war over what he should do - carry on his current course, or tell someone else his theory. Neither side was making much headway when something new broke into his thoughts. A welcome distraction.
Next time, bring chocs.
He stopped one turn away from being in sight of the till and backtracked a little. His mind had been a flurry of warring emotions, entirely occupied by thoughts of Charlie and Luke. How they might be found. The guilt of risking everything handling this latest lead by himself rather than doing the right thing.
Then came Megan’s voice like the first rain after a drought. Washing away the recent troubles. A welcome distraction from the hard times still ahead.
Making his way back to the chocolate aisle he imagined the look on her face when he turned up with the requested treats. The smile as she took them. How good she would look as she bit into the first one. How great it would feel sharing them with her.
It was difficult to remember when his heart last beat at a reasonable, healthy rate, as it slid from pounding with nerves about approaching the till to thudding with excitement at thoughts of Megan, him, and a box of chocolates, to racing as he rounded the aisle and bumped into someone already there.
“Sorry.”
Coming back to Earth he saw Mac. From her expression guessed she had been as absent fro
m the world as him. She looked tired, and miserable, both of which no doubt due to sitting at Mohsin’s bedside or failing to sleep as the guilt turned unstoppably within her like the wheel on a car with broken brakes.
“Hi,” she returned. “I was just -“ she waved an all-encompassing hand at the confectionery before her - the expensive, fancy gift boxes - but offered no further explanation.
“Shopping for someone special?”
They were the same boxes he had come for. The kind you never bought for yourself, only to impress.
Surprise crept over her features like a shadow as she looked from him to the chocolates, as though expecting to see tins of beans, rather than fancy boxes, mostly purple, mostly wrapped with bows. It took a few seconds for the situation to catch up with her, then her expression cleared.
“Dad used to say the most important thing about being in love with someone, is knowing them. Not knowing them like I know you or even like I know my friends. But really knowing them. Their likes, their dislikes. The one thing that makes them happier than anything else -“ she ran her fingers over the boxes, picked one up. “These are the ones.”
A box with a purple base and white lid covered in pencilled red lettering. The bow was red. She stared at it and tears sprung to her eyes, as though the chocolates were a PTSD trigger.
“I screwed up.”
The words were almost a whisper, but he was standing close enough to catch them and chuck back a response.
“You didn’t.”
He remembered how close he had come to asking her outright if she had attacked Mohsin. Hated himself a little for the accusation. Now he knew and wanted to tell her. But it wasn’t his place to interfere with a police investigation.
“They his favourites?” James asked, trying to move past the screwing up stuff.
“Yeah. Though it’s not about the chocolates.” At this she allowed a little smile to creep onto her lips, remembering. “You know when you have a song, and every time you hear it, makes you think of something else?”
James nodded. Purple Rain had been his mother’s favourite, and it always made him think of her. He hated it.
“Works the other way, too. You walk past somewhere and hear the song you were listening to last time you were there.”
“Yes,” she said, a little squeak of excitement, then poked the box. “These are more than chocolates. They’re memories, boxed and wrapped, like magic. It won’t make up for what I did, but maybe it will get me that little closer to forgiveness.”
They hovered high in her outstretched arm, as though she was about to post them. His hand rose to lower hers. Then he remembered the reaction last time he had touched her and dropped it.
“Mac, I’m sorry if I seemed like I was accusing you of attacking Mohsin before. I didn’t think it was you then, and I know it wasn’t now.”
“Yeah, I know. I didn’t need to attack him. He never walked me home. It was such a short distance, and I liked to be alone. But I insisted the night of the party. He didn’t even complain, though if he wakes up, I’m sure he’ll regret it.”
She gave a hollow laugh, and he wasn’t sure which made him feel worse, that or the way she had said: "if".
“This wasn’t your fault.”
But it was pointless. She would feel guilty no matter what he said because she was the reason Mo was in the alley. To her, that meant she was directly responsible. She gave another weak smile at his assertion to the contrary.
“But it is. I saw Mohsin and Emma together, and I knew it didn’t mean anything, but I couldn’t let go of that stupid pathetic jealousy. So we argued, and he ran, and that’s why it happened.”
His heart burned with misery for her. If he was sure she wouldn’t scream he would have hugged her to make it better.
She’d seen her boyfriend with Emma and got jealous, so insisted he walk her home. Mo had done so, and they’d argued when they arrived. He could see what she saw. If he’d gone straight away or stayed the night, he might have been fine. If he hadn’t walked her, he would have been fine. But they did argue, and he ran into the alley not paying attention and -
Bam. Headshot.
What could he say to that? It wasn’t her fault but would she ever believe it? Instead of trying, he leaned forward and took the same box of chocolates she was still holding.
“These are nice, eh?” he said, voice calm, as though trying to talk down a vicious dog by calling it ‘good boy.’ “A good gift, if I wanted to bring someone chocolates?”
As planned, the words seemed to calm her. She lowered the chocolates to a more natural position by her side.
“Who are they for?”
“Megan,” he admitted. “I might visit her later, and she told me to bring chocolates.”
“You like her.” There was no annoyance in her voice that he might be after Mark’s girlfriend. In fact, she was smiling. “You’d make a good couple. You’d treat her right.”
“I’m sure Mark treats her right.” He didn’t want this to be true but knew it was the right thing to say, even if he did want to be contradicted, as he was.
“She’s a toy on Mark’s arm. She looks good and acts right. But he doesn’t love her. She’s too strong for him. Someone whose line of work has him praying on the vulnerable.”
James felt a measure of discomfort at this as, in a quarter of an hour, he would be one of those vulnerable. He decided not to mention this, and a few moments later, Mac was tucking her chocolates under her arm, looking in the direction of the till.
“I’ve got to go,” she said. “Nice to see you though, I hope Megan likes the chocolates.”
“And Mohsin yours,” he said, as she walked off to make her purchase.
James waited long enough to be sure Mac had paid and departed, then followed the line she had taken, coming around the final aisle to see the true target of this expedition sitting alone and unbothered at a till.
Approaching he noticed she was once again staring at the glare of her phone.
“Hey,” he said, placing his basket at her till, feeling the doubts creep in like monsters into a child’s bedroom once the lights go out. He should not be dealing with this himself. Didn’t even know how to deal with it. At first, he had been angry, but wasn’t she a victim like Sema? A young girl tempted into addiction by an older guy. Someone she probably looked up to, even idolised.
He considered walking away, but she looked up, and it was too late for that now. Even though her eyes went from him to the unattended self-service, making it clear she felt he had no right to bother her when they were available. Following her gaze, he tried on a pathetic smile.
“I hate those things. Always get it wrong, and they start yelling. ‘Remove last item’, ‘seek assistance’. You’d end up having to come over anyway. I thought it’d be easier to come here and have done.”
She gave him a look so piercing he felt it go through his chest and out the other side, but didn’t respond. A hand extended, and he almost shook it before realising she wanted the first item so she could start scanning and get the transaction over with.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, handing over the chocolates, uncomfortable as before at leading the conversation. More so at being the only speaker as he stumbled on with no idea what he was saying.”
“I mean, after the Claire thing yesterday. She’s sorry about that. She apologised.”
“Not to me.”
James handed over the next item. Already he was running out.
“I’m sure she will,” he said, and almost left it at that. Then the snippet about nicknames from Christina came back, as well as the name at the top of Amy’s phone.
Meet in half an hour. Same place.
Everyone was so sure Luke was gone, but the day after the kidnapping he’d been close enough to meet Amy at short notice. What about now?
“The police still haven’t found Charlie,” he said. She looked at him with angry eyes, and he withdrew his bank card.
“Your point is
?”
“They need help. If they can find Luke, they can get Charlie back. That’s what you want, right?”
He held the card out, watching the shining machine, begging him to lay the Visa on its face so it could charge him. Rather than do that, he slid the card in at the base, allowing him a precious few seconds. More still if he ‘forgot’ his pin.
“Luke’s long gone by now,” she said. “Nothing any of us can do.”
“I’m not so sure. That he’s gone, I mean.”
“No?”
“No.”
An angry message flashed at the incorrect pin. Amy sighed. Crossed her arms as he tried again, this time keying the correct number. He looked at the defiant face and saw the seconds slipping away. Realised he could have gone to the police and didn’t, and that meant he had to do something now. Had to draw the information out of her.
“The police think Luke disappeared on Friday, but he didn’t,” James pressed as the machine informed him his card had been approved. “See I know you met Saturday morning, so he could deal you drugs. Same as I’m sure he promised you drugs on Friday night if you let him in to take Charlie. I know you don’t want to hear that, but you can rectify your mistake by coming clean now, talking to the police, and telling them where Luke is.”
The silence that followed this declaration was broken only by the receipt rolling out of the machine.
While her skin was whiter than ever, she acted with remarkable cool, tearing the receipt from the printer and handing it to him, her eyes cold and glasslike.
“Thank you for shopping with us today. I hope you enjoyed your experience and were able to find everything you were after. Please come again.”
This statement reminded him of Apu, though thoughts of the Simpsons were not enough to cheer him. He folded the receipt and placed it in his pocket before picking up the bag of goods.
“If I leave, it’s to go to the police.”
She continued to stare, and he thought at first she might not reply, then -
“Good luck. I hope they section you for your insane theories.”
