One Perfect Witness: a gripping psychological suspense

by Pat Young

  ‘I understand perfectly, and I shall be the very model of discretion, I assure you. It is part of my personality.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Seb, before you go?’

  Gus sighs. What now?

  ‘I am very sorry, whatever has happened.’

  ‘Appreciate it, mate.’

  Natalie is already busy when he opens the door to the playbarn. She’s dragging a table across the floor, its legs screeching like a tortured cat.

  ‘This is going to be a real pain in the arse,’ she says. ‘Stacking all this away every time there’s a wedding then hauling it all back out again. I’m not sure they’ve thought this through properly. Still, it won’t be my problem. Can you give me a hand with the chairs, please?’

  ‘If the wedding business takes off they won’t need a playbarn, or us. Have you thought about that?’

  ‘They’ll need us for this summer, surely?’

  ‘You think so? Mrs Boss seems pretty determined to get started as soon as poss. I’m thinking I might take off. See if I can find another job for the rest of the summer, or longer. Not sure this is for me.’

  ‘Jump before you’re pushed, you mean? Why would you do that? Let’s just ask the boss if he’s planning on keeping us on. Weddings aren’t the kind of thing folk book on a whim. Brides certainly don’t book places that aren’t even ready. The work hasn’t started on the tower yet and that’s to be Brackenbrae’s USP, apparently.’

  ‘Nah, maybe you’re right.’

  ‘You okay? You seem kind of down this morning. That’s not like you.’ She touches his arm.

  He pulls away, not comfortable with touchy-feely stuff. ‘How do you know what I’m like, Nat? You hardly know me.’

  ‘I know you’re a kind, caring guy with a great sense of humour and a soft spot for kids. Charlie loves you. I can tell.’

  Gus gives a snort. ‘Oh really? How can you tell that?’

  ‘Just the way he looks at you, like he’s fascinated or something. I don’t know. It’s just, this might sound daft, but I sense a kind of special bond between the two of you.’

  ‘You’re full of shit, Nat,’ he says, shaking his head. If only she knew.

  ‘That’s another reason I don’t want you to leave. I think, between the two of us, we can have Charlie talking before the summer holidays are over.’

  ‘You really believe that’s a possibility? The kid could talk anytime?’

  ‘Well, maybe not anytime. But we’ve got almost six weeks to help him work up to it. He just needs to be encouraged, made to feel confident enough to try. Think what an achievement that would be, Seb. How empowered he’d be to face all the challenges of high school, if he can talk like all the other kids. You and I can make that happen.’

  She sounds as passionate as the worst kind of Bible-basher. She’s scarily committed to achieving her goal.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure that would be the best thing for Charlie?’

  She looks at him as if he’s lost his mind. ‘Am I sure? What kind of a crazy question is that? Of course, I’m sure. That kid’s life will be a misery for the next four or five years if we don’t help him. You don’t know kids, but I do, and they can be the most evil, devious, cruel little shits when they find a victim.’

  ‘Do you think Charlie will be a target for bullies? He seems quite robust to me.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? He’s a seriously sensitive wee boy. Why else would he have stopped talking in the first place?’

  42

  Friday 29 June

  Can’t believe it’s the summer holidays. Felt quite sad to leave school yesterday. For the last time. Think Miss Lawson was sorry to see us go. She was nearly crying and gave us all a hug. Some of the boys didn’t want one but I did. I’m going to miss her. Mum bought Miss Lawson a present from me when she was up in Glasgow. A reed diffuser. I have no idea what that is but Mum said it was from a posh shop and Miss Lawson would be very pleased. Mum insisted I hand it over in a special white carrier bag with the name of the shop on the side. Jayden Jeffries gave her a packet of sweeties in an Aldi bag and Miss Lawson seemed just as pleased. Mum could have saved a lot of money.

  Miss Lawson and Mrs Walker shook us all by the hand and said, ‘Good luck’ and then our names. Mrs Walker knows the name of every kid in the school. When Miss Lawson shook mine and said, ‘Good luck, Charlie,’ she bent down and whispered, ‘Hope you find your voice, Charlie. You have great things to say. I’m sure of it.’ Then she made her mouth into a funny shape, with her lips all tucked inside, and she nodded her head, over and over.

  Now I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself all day every day. It seems like a long time from June till August. About forty days. Surely I can learn to speak again in forty days, if I really want to, and I think I do. What’s wrong with talking about normal stuff like chips and football players? I don’t have to talk about the bad things that have happened. If I could speak, maybe I could sort things out with Seb. Stop him bullying me. Explain that he doesn’t have to worry. His secret’s safe with me. Then at the end of the summer holidays, he’ll go away back to France and I’ll never see him again. Nobody ever needs to know what happened that day. Yeah, that’s a good plan. Why didn’t I think of it before?

  Before I say anything to him, I want to check some stuff on the Internet. I’ll need to be sneaky and get into the office when that geek Pim isn’t there. Maybe I can get in while he’s in the café having his lunch break. Don’t want him nosing around over my shoulder and telling Dad what I’m up to.

  The kitchen seems full of people when I open the door, but it’s just Dad, Mum and Joyce.

  Mum pounces on me the minute I walk in.

  ‘Charlie, did you ever find that blue shirt? Or the shorts I bought to go with it? They were from Next.’

  ‘Ooh,’ says Joyce, ‘that must have cost a bob or two.’

  What even is a bob? But thanks, Joyce, I don’t need you making it any worse for me. I shrug and try to look as if I’ve no idea what Mum’s talking about. Inside I’m thinking phew! I’ve been waiting for her to wave them in front of my face and say, ‘Seriously, Charlie? A brand-new shirt? All covered in God knows what.’

  That means the shirt must still be under the bed. I rise from the table, scattering Coco Pops everywhere and run out. Mum says, ‘That boy!’ Don’t hear what else cos I’m taking the stairs two at a time. I lift the mattress and stick my head underneath so my shoulders keep it up and I can reach further in. My fingers feel around and there it is. Shoved right back. How did I manage that? Stand there for a minute with my head under the mattress while I try to decide what to do. The mattress is so heavy it feels like it’s squashing my brain and I can’t think. I grab the shirt and put the bed back the way it was. I’d like to find that red fleece but there’s no way I’m going back into those gorse bushes, ever.

  I open my desk drawer and stuff the shirt right in at the back. Then I pile up all my pens and colouring books and coloured pencils and a Tipp-Ex thing and an old pencil case from the drawer below, and a couple of comics. The drawer is so full I can hardly shut it. No one’s going to find it there. Why would anyone look for a shirt in a desk?

  The sun is pouring in my bedroom window and it’s the summer holidays. Maybe things will work out alright after all. If I’m patient.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asks Mum, the minute I walk into the kitchen. I clutch my belly and make a face. Then smile to show her I’m okay.

  Dad says, ‘Right, I’m off out to clear some bracken.’

  The smile drops off my face. I can feel it go.

  ‘Want to come and help me, Charlie?’

  No idea what to say. I should go with him and try to keep him away from the grave, but I can’t go back out there. Even thinking about it makes me feel sick. My head seems to decide for me and gives a quick shake to Dad.

  ‘No? You sure?’

  Very sure. Nod to prove it.

  ‘Okay.’ Dad sounds a bit disappointed, bu
t I can’t help that.

  ‘You still available to cover reception today, Viv?’

  ‘Me? Why? What’s happened to Pim?’

  ‘He asked for the day off, remember?’

  ‘On the first Saturday of the summer holidays? Please don’t tell me you said yes.’

  ‘His family are over from Holland. He’s going to meet them in Glasgow.’

  ‘Glasgow? Why didn’t you get them to come here for a couple of nights?’ She makes that tutting noise. ‘Where were you when they were giving out the business brains, Richard?’

  Why is she being nasty to him? He does his best. I want to tell her to shut up and stop being a bitch. Just as well I can’t talk.

  ‘I’m away to get started,’ says Joyce. ‘I’ll be in the toilet block if anybody needs me.’ She makes a face at me, as if to say, I’m outta here.

  ‘Anyway, to answer your question, no, I’m not available today. I’m going to the big wedding fayre at the racecourse.’

  ‘Today? I thought that was tomorrow?’

  ‘Saturday’s the best day apparently.’

  ‘You might have told me.’

  ‘Thought I did. Anyway, if we’re going to be a success as a wedding venue, I need to make contacts in the business.’

  ‘So you can check out the opposition?’

  ‘Exactly, and who knows, maybe we’ll be on the exhibitors’ list at the next wedding fayre.’ She seems excited and it’s good to see her smile again. Dad must think the same. He goes and gives her a hug and a kiss.

  ‘Okay, good luck. By the way, don’t worry about reception. I’ll put a sign on the door directing enquiries to the café. I should be back before the first check-ins arrive and if I’m not, Big Mark can give them a free drink and tell them to go ahead and use the pool.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want to come with me, Charlie? I’ll let you use the scythe?’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ says Mum. ‘I prefer my boy with two feet, thank you very much.’ She ruffles my hair as she passes. ‘You be okay till Dad gets back?’

  Nod.

  ‘Good. I’m off to get ready. First rule of business – dress to impress.’

  Will I be okay till Dad gets back? With Pim on a day off and reception closed? Will I? It’s the chance I’ve been waiting for.

  43

  Tuesday 3 July

  Gus looks down at the airplane steps, sees his trainers and wonders if it was a mistake to wear shorts.

  There’s no one waiting to meet him, and he feels a huge wash of relief. Trouble is, he’ll need to take a taxi now and he’s short of cash. The plane ticket just about cleaned him out.

  He gives the driver the address and sits back to watch the town go by. What’s he going to say when he gets there? Hi, Mum, long time no see? Best to stick to a simple hello and say as little as possible till he sees how the land lies.

  The taxi pulls up and the driver sticks his hand across the seat and demands a sum that seems ridiculous for such a short ride. Prices have gone up since he was last here. He hands over the last of his cash, hoping it’s enough and climbs out.

  Heads turn as he walks in. Because of how he’s dressed?

  ‘Son! You made it. Thank God for that.’ Her thin arms go around him, and he smells her freshly washed hair as it brushes his cheek. It feels so good to be home, so good being hugged by someone who loves him. He never wants it to stop.

  ‘Sorry about the gear,’ he says when she pulls away to have a look at him.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. The only thing that matters is you’re here. At last. Isn’t that right?’

  A man he doesn’t recognise, but who looks vaguely familiar, shakes his hand then pulls him into a tight hug with lots of hard slaps on the back. Meant to be affectionate, he knows.

  The man seems to have trouble speaking. ‘Thanks for coming, son. Your mum was starting to panic but I told her you’d be here. I said you’d never miss your grandmother’s funeral.’

  Something about the man is troubling him, but Gus can’t put his finger on what it is. When it dawns on him he blurts out, ‘Your hair. It’s the same colour as the dead guy’s.’

  ‘The dead guy’s? What are you talking about, Sebastien?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ says the woman. ‘This isn’t Sebastien. You’re not my son.’

  Gus sees the crowd of men in dark suits gathering, making their way towards him. He was crazy to think he could get away with this. ‘Let’s get this asshole out of here. Anyone who wears shorts to a funeral deserves to be taught a lesson.’

  Gus throws a punch, a good one, connecting with bone. A woman screams and someone starts crying. He raises his fist again and someone grabs his arm, forces it up his back. He kicks out, swearing in a crazy mixture of English and French.

  ‘Seb! Seb! Stop this noise.’

  Gus flails wildly with his left arm, trying to punch the face above him.

  ‘Stop! It’s me, Pim. You’re dreaming.’

  Gus sits up, pushes Pim away and says, ‘Dreaming. Yeah, dreaming, sorry.’

  No more sleep. He lies awake till the first birds start to sing and dawn creeps into their room.

  Guilty conscience will do that to a guy, he’s heard. This is the first time in his life he’s felt true remorse about anything. Sure, he’s been disappointed in himself at times, especially when his temper has got the better of him. This black feeling that gets him the minute he wakes is something new. It stays with him all day long, following him around like a stray dog that won’t go away no matter how many kicks it gets.

  Eventually it’s time to get up, shower and face the day. He rubs at his eyes as he crosses the courtyard wishing he didn’t have to go to work. Ever since that phone call from the dead guy’s mother, he’s been having these crazy dreams.

  Did she realise she was speaking to an impostor? Surely she’d recognise her own son’s voice. A thousand times he has replayed their conversation in his head. Over and over again, trying to remember exactly what he said, if anything. Just a series of grunts and okays is all he remembers, surely not enough to make her suspicious.

  But even if he got away with the phone call, say the woman was too upset to notice if his voice was deeper or higher or whatever, it’s only a matter of time till the shit hits the fan. The guy’s granny had just snuffed it and his mother expected him to go home. Right away. She made that obvious on the phone, talking about flights and all. An image of him walking down the stairs of a plane flashes into his mind, so real he tries to remember what he was wearing the last time he flew. Flashback to the dream. Great. As if flashbacks to the shooting aren’t enough to torment him.

  Funerals don’t get arranged overnight. If the old dear has just croaked it, he’ll have a couple of weeks’ grace, surely, before Sebastien is expected back home. That should be long enough to make some sort of plan. If only he hadn’t blown his first few weeks’ wages, he might have enough for his air fare by now. But he had to buy his round, didn’t he. Besides, it’s a great laugh in the bar at night and about the only time he can forget what happened. After a few beers, even Pim can be quite funny and Big Mark is hilarious. The boss is on to a good thing. Pay your workers their wages then sit back while they spend them in your bar. Nice one.

  Natalie puts her hands on her hips when he opens the door. ‘At last. We thought you’d never put in an appearance this morning.’

  ‘Don’t start, Nat. I’m not in the mood this morning. Seriously.’

  ‘Too long in the bar last night? I thought you looked like you were in for a session with Mark. That’s why I left. I prefer a clear head, you need it for this job.’

  ‘Nah, it’s not that. I just didn’t sleep, and when I did, I had this horrendous dream where I was about to get a kicking. Pim saved me.’

  Natalie laughs. ‘Pim? The hero? Was he wearing his pants over his tights, by any chance?’

  Gus can’t help laughing at the mental picture she’s planted in his brain. No wonder Joyc
e calls her ‘a wee tonic’. He’s gonna miss this girl. Pity he’s got to leave soon. They could have a good thing going if he stayed on.

  As if she’s reading his thoughts, Nat says, ‘You know what you were saying the other day, about leaving early? You didn’t mean it, did you?’

  Gus rubs his hands through his hair. ‘Know what, Nat? I’ve no idea what I’m gonna do and that’s the truth.’

  ‘Well, I hope you stick around. I think we make a good team. Speaking of which, Kidz Klub is about to get busy from now on and we need a programme. Will you take a look at this and see what you think of it?’

  With a flourish, Natalie produces a beautifully printed list of activities for the following week. ‘Don’t worry if you don’t agree with it. I can easily make changes.’

  Gus points to Wednesday afternoon. ‘What’s this? Hiking with Seb. When did I agree to that?’

  ‘You didn’t, but apparently there’s a big family coming in today with seven kids. I think it may be a blended family.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Quote, a blended family is formed when a couple moves in together, bringing children from previous relationships into one home, unquote. So, if Mum with three kids moves in with–’

  ‘It’s okay. I get it.’

  ‘Well, they’ve asked the boss specifically if we will provide activities for the older children. It was a condition of their booking and they wanted two tipis for the full week.’

  ‘So the boss said yes?’

  ‘No, the boss said sorry because the tipis aren’t available yet, not till he gets permission from the local council. He offered them two static caravans instead at a reduced price and some special activities for their kids. That’s where you come in.’ Natalie waves her hand like she’s just performed a magic trick.

  ‘Hiking? Where the hell am I supposed to go hiking, with kids in tow?’

  ‘Well, here’s my plan. The boss has agreed a special rate with the Farm Park. You know, on the main road? With the camel and everything?’