by Nell Grey
“I’m sorry to have taken your time.”
“Hold up, a second.”
The headteacher regarded him quizzically.
“You’ve come out all this way to see us. Fancy a look ‘round? See what we do here?”
Shaun relaxed.
“I’d love to.”
“Good on ya.”
“Can I ask you about the carved poles and that red-wood building outside?”
“I can do better than that. I can show you,” John said, grabbing his keys off the desk and ushering Shaun out of the office.
“So, this is our marae. It’s where we teach our kids about Māori culture.”
Shaun copied the headteacher and slipped his trainers off to go inside the intricately carved building he’d admired.
“It feels like a church.”
“Yeah. It’s a sacred space. We use it for ceremonies as well as teaching. Come outside and I’ll show you what else we’re doing.”
Shaun followed the principal as he took him around the back of the marae to what looked like a large porch. But under which a long wooden canoe rested on a scaffolded base.
Two adolescent boys were hard at work carefully chiselling into the wood on the prow.
Shaun couldn’t help but run his hand over the intricate carvings.
“Did you guys do this?”
One of the two boys gave him a shrug.
“Yeah, me and a few others.”
“Well, you have some talent, my friend. This is awesome.”
The principal noticed the boy’s shoulders rising slightly and his mouth curling at the edges as Shaun studied the carvings closely.
“Have you tried her in the water yet?”
Shaun looked up, his fingers still caressing the wood.
“Nah, you gotta carve her first,” the boy answered casually, “D’ya wanna come and see it when we put her in?”
Shaun grinned.
“You bet I do. I’ve never seen anything like it. How many are you planning to put in the boat?”
“The waka,” the boy corrected him.
“Waka? Did I say that right?”
The boy nodded.
“We’re gonna start with ten and see.”
“Good to see ya here; Rawiri, Matthew,” the principal jumped in. “You two had your lunch yet?”
The boys mumbled that they had.
“Okay. Well, make sure you get some fresh air and a bit of a relax before you go back into class.”
He turned back to Shaun and they walked the length of the ten-metre canoe.
“It’s a project that some of our more energetic boys and girls are doing at the moment. Some of the kids, like Rawiri, here,” he whispered to Shaun, “We couldn’t get them to come to school before, and now they’re here all the time.”
“He’s a great kid.”
Shaun glanced over at the two boys who were back concentrating on their carving.
“Rawiri pretty much sounds like me at school. Honestly, I‘m not sure if I’d’ve made a good classroom assistant, I didn’t go to school myself that often.”
John paused and studied the waka carefully.
“What changed you?”
“The army. I was in for ten years.”
“Did you see active duty?”
Shaun nodded.
“Plenty.”
“Believe me, Shaun, guys like you are usually the best types. We want people who’ll learn with them. Take an interest in them, inspire them. Help them to structure themselves and empower them to find their way in the world.”
Shaun looked back at the boys as they left the waka.
“I wish I’d had a project like this at school.”
It was lunchtime, the air was warm and dry. The teachers and youngsters were wearing short-sleeved shirts.
Walking around, his eyes lingered on a furious game of touch rugby over on the playing field.
“They’re fast,” Shaun observed out loud as he paused to watch them play. “They’d be good too if their passes weren’t all going forward.”
“Fancy yourself as a bit of a coach d’ya?” John joked.
“Nah. Being Welsh we’re all rugby crazy.”
The principal clapped as a player broke out and ran in a try, touching the ball down between two bags set up as posts.
“You still want a job?”
“Yeah, but as I said, I don’t think I’m qualified.”
“I do have something. It’s only temporary, but I have a feeling about you. Our school hostel’s closing at the end of the term because the numbers have dropped too low. Ari, our hostel manager, his wife’s having a baby in a few weeks. So, I want to help him out if I can.”
“What does it involve?”
“Staying here for two months. Making sure that the five boys staying in the hostel are fed, do their studying and go to bed, basically. And you’ll probably be roped into the odd game of rugby if you’re up to it?”
Shaun chuckled.
“Think I can handle that. What happens on weekends?”
“The kids go home Friday after school and come back Sunday evening.”
Shaun thought it through. He didn’t have anything else to do.
“I don’t know much about kids.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll learn fast. And Ari’ll be around.”
“Alright. I’ll do it.”
“Fantastic. I’ve got your paperwork and checks. Can you start Sunday night?”
◆◆◆
It was Shaun’s last evening at the lake. He was sad to be going, but being honest he needed human interaction too. It was so quiet at the lake.
According to Vern in the hardware store, there were camps in the forest, illegal marijuana plantations run by hardcore criminal gangs. Right now, he’d be happy to say hi to anyone, even a Hell’s Angel. He’d always been independent, but out here he’d never felt so utterly alone.
He gave Frank a call and let him know that he’d be gone for a few weeks, in case they thought that he’d suffered the same ending as Jake. Whatever that was.
He’d filled the feeder to the brim for Rowdy, but seeing as the rooster had lived on his own all these years just fine without him, he wasn’t too concerned.
Afterwards, he got his bag from the built-in wardrobe and began to pack his clothes. It was starting to warm up now and he was packing mainly shorts and t-shirts. Remembering Frank’s advice, he searched for the Tilley hat. He’d put it up on the top shelf of the wardrobe.
His hand scraped the empty shelf. He was certain he put it there.
Grabbing a chair, he climbed up to eye level to try and find it. There it was, right at the back.
Stretching his arm into the top space he located the cloth hat, and then oddly his fingers scraped a hard metal corner. There was something else up there too.
He stretched his hand out and angled it around the rectangular-shaped metal, nudging the object towards him until he could see it properly. It was an old biscuit tin.
Opening it up, he found a collection of sepia-coloured newspaper clippings. Photographs of schoolboys in their sports teams and the same young man in a singlet top and shorts, holding a trophy. And below each photograph, in the caption, was a reference to Jake Saunders.
Buried underneath the cuttings lay a desk diary, embossed 2017. That was only three years ago. Shaun examined it curiously. That meant that Jake was around more recently than he thought? More recently than he’d been led to believe.
He opened the book.
The first few pages were covered in scrawled handwriting and the rest of it was blank. Jake had tried to start writing a diary but had given up after a few days.
He placed the diary in his suitcase, there’d be plenty of time to read it at the hostel.
It was late but he wasn’t tired, so he fired up the games consul to see if Jason was online. It had become a dangerous habit. But especially at night, on his own, it felt like he was hanging off the cliff-face in mid-air again. And the messagi
ng between him and Jason was the only thread left to who he really was. Talking to Jason was like talking to family. His only family.
Jason: Hey, man. Are you there?
Shaun: Yes. Where are you?
Jason: In London. I’m off for a week
Shaun: Out last night then?
Jason: Yes, I was.
Shaun: Meet anyone?
Jason: Maybe.
Shaun: Was she fit?
The conversation stalled for a minute and Shaun saw the dots on the screen where Jason was typing. At last, the words appeared.
Jason:... He was
Shaun stared at the screen. Was it a typo?
Shaun: He! Lol. You coming out on me, bro?
At last, a response.
Jason: Yes
Holy crap! He was.
How had he missed that?
Family. Who was he trying to kid? How well did he even know his best friend?
He stared at the screen. He needed to respond, and fast.
Shaun: Look, Jase mate, I’m a bit shocked, that’s all. ‘Cos you’ve never said or even hinted that you were gay. But I’m pleased you’ve told me, and I wish I was there with you right now having a beer
Jason: Yeah. But easier this way
His stomach lurched with awakening guilt. All those times he’d teased him about his job.
Shaun: Shit man! I’m sorry for all the air hostess jokes
Jason: No worries. FYI they’re called cabin crew now
Shaun cringed.
Jason: But you were half right. My last boyfriend was a flight attendant
Shaun: How did I miss this?
Jason: I wasn’t exactly shouting about it
He wasn’t the best with emotions, saying stuff. He knew Jason stuck to the usual topics too: football, beer, going out, work, gaming. And now he knew why.
No, he needed to tell him.
Shaun: Jase, you’re like a brother to me. I’ll always be there for you
A pause and Shaun held his breath. Had he said too much?
Jason: Yeah, you to me too.
The typing started again.
Jason: You thought more about Claire?
Shaun breathed a deep sigh. They were going deep again. Should he tell Jason that he had thought about pretty much nothing else for the last week?
He’d cooked up a hare-brained plan but it could backfire badly, especially if Claire still thought he was a dangerous killer.
Shaun: I need to run something by you. Here’s the link
Shaun had set up a webpage with photos of the newly painted lodge. Alongside it was an advert.
Jason typed the link into his phone.
Jason: Is this where you’re living? It’s stunning
Shaun: I live right on the lake
Jason: Can I apply?
Shaun: Unfortunately not. There’s only one person I’m accepting for this job
Shaun reread what he had written as he waited for a reaction from his friend. Reading it again, he hoped it didn’t sound too cheesy or too obvious that it was him.
‘Enthusiastic all-rounder needed to help transform a large lakeside house into a hotel.
Duties will include decorating and preparing the rooms for the season and helping to run the hotel when the guests arrive.
The successful candidate must have experience in the hospitality industry and excellent customer service skills.
The owner will be away until December, and so anyone applying for this job will need to be happy to work independently and living alone in a remote but stunning location.
For more information contact shaun.cobain@.....’
Jason: Great idea. Let me know when you’re ready to share it and I’ll get Claire to apply
Shaun: How will she react? Will she be mad?
Jason: What’ve you got to lose, mate?
Shaun: She might think it’s a trap and I’m some nut job stalker or killer? Or both
Jason: There is that. But me and Jac vouched for you. Told her what you were really like. For some reason, after we told her all about your sordid past, your monster nights and all those dodgy women you went with, we still haven’t managed to scare her off.
Shaun: Great!
Jason: Only kidding. NZ’s on her list, her dad’s from there. I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance of a job
He was right. He knew that Claire was headed this way on her travels to find out more about the name on her birth certificate.
Jason was gay. He didn’t underestimate what a big deal that was for him to come out like that. So, why then did the fact he knew about Claire’s search for her father send a wave of jealousy crashing through him?
God! He missed talking to her.
They used to chat to each other every day. And although they’d only had one date, a walk along the estuary to the beach, he still felt that she was his. And they’d kissed in the car once too. It was after he’d told her everything and had asked her to come here with him. He’d sensed her confusion, even then.
Of course, the next day things quickly spiralled out of control. And in a few short hours, she’d been attacked, and he’d been arrested for murder. How on earth was he going to turn that around?
And if she did accept the job, how was he going to stop her running for her life when she found out that he was her boss?
The man she believed to be a cold-blooded killer. The man who’d fallen in love with her.
Chapter 9
---------✸---------
The man’s been hanging around the café for three days.
On the first evening, he ordered gyros and a large beer and sat for two hours reading a British newspaper. I chatted to him a little once I managed to settle myself. Hearing that Liverpudlian lilt in his voice filled me at first with panic. My brush with the Scousers still makes me nervous, which is ridiculous considering well over half a million people share the same accent. This chap tells me that he owns a yacht in the marina and is passing through.
The same man comes to the café again late the following lunchtime. And this time, I have a longer chat with him. His name’s Mac. He’s retired, divorced and spends every summer on his boat. Nice for some. I get him a Greek salad and a plate of sardines cooked in garlic and oregano.
As he’s finishing his meal, a young man joins him at the table. He looks around before sitting down and appears a little startled when I come over.
He orders a small beer. Judging by his accent he’s British too, but southern. London. if I had to guess, though I’m no expert.
The young man keeps looking my way. So, I go up and ask him if he wants to order food. But he clears his throat and shakes his head. It’s odd, I’m not often wrong about people trying to attract my attention.
After he’s finished his beer, the young man leaves. But I see him again in the late afternoon. He’s hanging around by my accommodation, smoking a roll-up as I leave and rush down to the café.
After I finish the evening shift I see him again. He’s sitting in a bar up the street with another man and he looks my way as I walk past. I give him a smile of acknowledgement. It’s nothing unusual, Plaki’s a small place. After a while, you come to recognise people. But the way he looks at me unnerves me, and I carry on walking a little quicker.
A couple of minutes later I sense someone behind me. The street is quiet away from the main drag. I listen as I walk, slowing down a little. I’m not imagining it. Even though the street is deserted the footsteps behind me are still there.
At the next junction I turn sharply. It’s away from my room but I want to be sure it’s not my imagination. I speed up. The scraping of feet behind me continues, faster.
I freeze. Then spin sharply. Around fifty metres behind me, slunk into the shadows of a door and scrambling in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes, is that young man again.
I turn back towards him.
“Are you following me?”
“Uh… no.”
He looks sheepishly at me, before
putting on a fixed overly-confident smile.
“What you doing here, then?”
I’m trying my best to be assertive but inside I’m all jelly.
“So… maybe... I wanted to see you? We could have some fun. You and me.”
He’s bullshitting. I can tell.
“That’s never gonna happen. Leave me alone.”
I walk back past him, marching away swiftly until I’m back again at the street corner, and when he’s out of sight I sprint back to my digs.
I’m used to drunk tourists and come-ons. This wasn’t like that. I’m not sure if it’s post-traumatic after the assault like Annie suggested, but it’s rattled me.
The next morning when I wake, he’s there again. This time, drinking a coffee from a paper cup, sitting on the step of a closed-up takeaway a hundred metres down the road in the morning sunshine. He’s playing it cool but I can see him taking frequent glances this way, up at my window.
It can’t be a coincidence I tell myself, pulling back from the window. I’m positive now that he’s stalking me so I get my camera out and focus it on his face, taking a shot of him. I’m not too sure why but it makes me feel that I’m doing something about him.
It’s the third day in a row that Mac comes back to Café Elounda. It’s certainly not because of my charms. He spent most of the previous afternoon sitting alone reading the paper.
“Back again?” I ask him chipperly.
It’s Friday evening and the place is full. He’s squeezed up against two large Greek men on a small table looking out towards Spinalonga Island.
“On your own tonight?”
“Err… yeah, I am.”
“You alright squished up there? I’ve got a table inside if you prefer.”
“No, it’ll be fine, love. Besides, I’ve got a cracking view of the leper colony.”
I wink at him.
“If y’ misbehave we’ll send you over there in yer boat,”
His face changes. Gone’s the good-humoured, bantering tourist. The jaw of his stony face is hard-set and he pierces me with his icy-blue eyes.
“That’s what happens then, is it chuck? When people do something they shouldn’t?”
I freeze. I can feel the blood draining from me.
“Like grassing up the people they work for? Who pay them good money to do a job.”
