Stand by Me

by S. D. Robertson

  The first thing she did after hitting the pavement was laugh. She howled like a maniac as she made her way to the nearest taxi rank, no longer minding that people were staring. She couldn’t believe what she’d done, but she knew where it had come from. That was repressed frustration bursting out. Lisa knew the tiptoeing around her husband couldn’t last forever. She’d desperately tried to give him enough space to lick his wounds. But there was only so much time she could wait for him to pick himself back up. For too long there had been a tightness in her chest; a knot in her stomach. She’d squashed down her feelings, like a coiled spring; it felt great to release them at last.

  However, her elation began to fade in the taxi home to Aldham, giving way to the realisation that she and Mike had major issues to iron out. She didn’t exactly feel guilty about throwing the wine, still believing her husband had driven her to it. But she was ashamed at how they’d behaved in public. She imagined how mortifying it would be if someone they knew had witnessed it.

  ‘Late night at the office?’ the driver asked her as they sped through the city streets.

  Charming, she thought, wondering who would go to work in heels and a cocktail dress.

  ‘I’m a primary school teacher, so no,’ she snapped, pulling her mobile out of her bag to avoid further conversation. Luckily, he got the hint and turned on the radio.

  It was 8.42 p.m. and still broad daylight, emphasising how strange it felt to be heading home so soon. At least she knew she’d have the house to herself when she got back. Until Mike followed her, of course, although she hoped that wouldn’t be for some time.

  Lisa looked down again at her phone and noticed she was gripping it so tightly that her fingertips had gone white. Mike hadn’t contacted her so far. Her guess was that, despite the soaking she’d given him and the inevitable red wine stains on his clothes, he’d stay out drinking by himself, drowning his sorrows and telling his sob story to anyone who’d listen. She didn’t want to think about the row they’d eventually have; it was as well that the kids were out.

  At home she kicked off her heels, changed into her dressing gown and flopped on to the couch with a cup of tea. She had promised herself a large glass of white, but that was before the booze from earlier started to wear off, making her feel grotty. More alcohol was the last thing she wanted.

  She was flicking aimlessly through TV channels when her phone vibrated on the coffee table. Rather than Mike, it turned out to be Sandra, a fellow teacher and her closest friend at work. She’d sent her a text message from the taxi, hinting at what had happened and hoping for a girlie chat.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Lise, hi. Are you okay?’

  ‘Not really. Tonight’s romantic meal turned into a disaster.’

  ‘How come?’

  She recounted the story, veering from tears to laughter and then back again in the process.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Sandra said. ‘I can’t believe you did that. Was it a full glass of red?’

  ‘Yes. Was that terrible of me?’

  Sandra giggled. ‘Sounds like he had it coming. And he didn’t say anything afterwards?’

  ‘I didn’t wait around to find out. I jumped straight in a taxi and came home. I’m sure he’ll have something to say when he gets back.’

  ‘When are you expecting him?’

  ‘No idea. Do you think I should call his mobile or send him a message?’

  ‘Gosh, I really don’t know, Lise. Whatever you think is best. He’s had some time to cool down now, but it’s a tricky one.’

  ‘He’s probably getting plastered in a bar somewhere, moaning about his psycho wife.’

  Sandra, who had only met Mike a handful of times, asked: ‘Don’t be offended by this, but, um, he’s not likely to hurt you or anything, is he? You know, if he comes back in a state. Because if you need somewhere safe—’

  ‘Mike would never lay a finger on me,’ Lisa replied. ‘He has his faults, but he’s not that kind of man. Thanks for caring, though.’

  ‘Well, you’re always welcome here. You know that.’

  ‘You’re a good friend, Sandra, but I’ll be fine. There’ll be a big row at some point, I’m sure, but nothing I can’t handle.’

  Lisa felt better after ending the call. It was always good to chat to a friend for moral support at challenging times.

  She finished her cup of tea and picked up the remote control to unmute the television. A programme about border control at Australian airports was showing. She was about to flick over but got hooked by the tales of people trying to smuggle in contraband.

  Watching this made her think about her childhood friend Elliot, or El as she often called him. Although he’d lived down under for the past two decades, he still regularly popped into her thoughts. They’d been best friends throughout their years at secondary school, only for him to emigrate after their A-levels. They’d written regular letters to each other at the start, but eventually these had petered out as life got in the way.

  Since Lisa had never been one for technology or social media, her only recent contact with her old friend had been infrequent emails and Christmas cards. All the same, she’d always dreamed of going to visit him one day. They’d been so close as kids – gone through so much together – she couldn’t imagine them not getting along any more. She was confident that they’d carry on where they’d left off, chatting away nineteen to the dozen and making each other laugh at silly things. Mind you, El was quite the success story these days. He’d set up a lucrative technology firm in Sydney and, according to the letter tucked into his card last Christmas, had recently created a popular app for smartphones and tablets. In fact, from what Lisa had read in the Sydney Morning Herald after searching online, this app was doing extremely well. It was some kind of fun educational tool for toddlers, which had already netted him a fortune, by all accounts. Maybe that meant he’d outgrown her.

  Lisa was musing on this when the doorbell rang. Oh dear, it must be Mike, she thought, her heart sinking. Who else would call round so late on a Friday night? He was probably so drunk that he’d lost his key. She took a deep breath, turned off the TV and went to answer the front door. Time to face the music.

  CHAPTER 2

  He was in a small, box-like room without a window. The plastered walls and ceiling were cream: smooth, unmarked and with no fixtures or fittings. A powder-coated white metal door was the only way in or out.

  Somehow the room was brightly lit, although this puzzled him, since he could see no obvious light source.

  He was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, struggling to grasp how he’d got there or, indeed, where that was. He needed time alone to review his thoughts and memories in order to try and make sense of this. But the man sitting on the other side of the table in the smart black suit and tie, the sort you’d wear to a funeral, kept staring at him and talking.

  ‘Are you in any discomfort?’ the man asked in a northern English accent. He’d introduced himself earlier, hadn’t he? So why couldn’t he remember his name?

  ‘Sorry, what was that you just asked me? I don’t seem to be able to, um—’

  ‘I was asking whether you’re in any pain. Sometimes, when people have been through such a major trauma, there’s a sort of residual … well, yes, discomfort. It usually passes pretty quickly.’

  That word pain had thrown him; diverted his mind to unwanted memories. ‘Sorry to be weird,’ he said after taking a moment to regroup his thoughts. ‘I’m struggling to focus. Please could you repeat that once more?’

  ‘Wait. Bear with me.’ The man picked up a tablet-like device from the table and tapped something into it. He scrutinised the screen, which was directed so that only he could see it, rubbing his light stubble with one hand and nodding his head occasionally. When he looked up, he spoke slowly: ‘You’re disorientated, right? Finding it hard to concentrate?’

  He nodded in reply.

  ‘That can happen, but it should also pass quickly. We need something to ground yo
u. Cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  The man promised to return soon, grabbed his tablet and left through the metal door.

  Alone in the room, he found himself tapping his fingers on the table and staring at the floor, which was coated in a shiny grey material with a hard yet rubbery feel underfoot.

  His eyes wandered to the metal legs of the oak-effect table and the two brown moulded-plastic seats. They reminded him of school furniture.

  But this wasn’t a classroom. It was … somewhere else, the implications of which made him fidgety. His right leg bounced up and down under the table as his mind whirred, fighting to get back up to speed.

  CHAPTER 3

  THEN

  Thursday, 8 August 1991

  ‘I hate it here!’ Lisa shouted, slamming the door behind her as she stormed out of the house and down the steep concrete driveway.

  ‘Where are you going?’ her mum’s voice called from an upstairs window.

  ‘Out,’ she replied without turning back.

  She was so angry with her parents right now, she could scream. How could they do this to her? How could they take her away from all her friends at such a crucial time in her life? How could they dump her here – in the middle of nowhere – a boring old village where she didn’t know anyone? It was so unfair.

  Lisa had no idea where she was heading. She just needed to get out of that place: the house that wasn’t her home; the bedroom with the manky brown carpet and the awful bright green walls. It was this that had caused the latest row. Jamie, her annoying younger brother, had been winding her up by calling it the Bogey Room. Not once, of course, but over and over again.

  ‘I could come in here,’ he’d said, ‘wipe my bogeys on the wall and you wouldn’t even notice. Bogey Room, Bogey Room.’

  That had been the culmination of a series of taunts by Jamie, who liked nothing better than winding up his sister. Lisa, who’d been doing her utmost to ignore him as she read the latest issue of Smash Hits magazine, had finally lost her rag. She’d hurled one of her trainers at him, delivering a perfect clip round the ear. Next thing, he was running to their mum in tears and Lisa was the one in trouble.

  ‘He’s fine. It hardly even touched him. He’s a big crybaby.’

  ‘You should never throw things at your brother,’ Mum had replied, taking his side as always, oblivious to the fact he was standing behind her, grinning and sticking his tongue out at his sister.

  ‘Tell him to stop winding me up, then. Look, he’s doing it right now. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s disgusting. He was just saying that—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘He’s the one who keeps—’

  ‘Enough. I’m run off my feet trying to unpack and the last thing I need is you two squabbling. Stay out of each other’s way if you can’t get along.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Only it wasn’t, of course; when Jamie had reappeared at her door a few minutes later, whispering the same taunt about the green walls, she’d had to get as far away from him and his wind-ups as possible.

  Now where to go? They’d only lived in Aldham for five days and, although it was August, the rain had been almost constant, so she’d barely stepped outside. It was drizzling at present; she ought to have taken a jacket with her. But there was zero chance of her going back for one, so she carried on regardless.

  Her dad had mentioned something about a lane that led away from all the houses and into the countryside. He’d pointed it out from the car yesterday, saying it was popular with dog walkers and there was a nice little stream. It seemed as good a place as any to go, so that was where Lisa headed. It was only a short walk from the house and, within a couple of minutes, she found herself on the rough, moss-laden tarmac of Victoria Street.

  There were a couple of grand-looking houses at the start, with big gardens and winding drives, but after that the track narrowed to barely the width of a car, with nettles and other wild plants and bushes on either side, flanked by tall trees. These did at least provide some shelter from the rain, although they also made it rather gloomy and creepy.

  She thought about turning back, but then a kind-faced, elderly woman appeared from around the corner. Dressed in wellies and a cagoule, she was walking in the opposite direction, a chocolate Labrador at her heels. ‘Morning, love,’ she said, a quiver in her voice, as the tubby dog waddled forward and sniffed at Lisa’s jeans.

  ‘Hello,’ Lisa replied with a smile, although she continued walking and resisted stroking the dog, not feeling in the mood for having a chat with a stranger. The woman’s presence spurred her on, nonetheless, partly by reassuring her that this was a safe place, but also because it would look weird if she turned around and retraced her steps.

  As it happened, once Lisa turned the corner from where the pensioner had appeared, the lane became far less eerie. The trees thinned out, letting in the light and revealing an open field on one side and the stream her dad had mentioned on the other, with more fields beyond. The drizzle was easing off too, so Lisa was happy to keep on going.

  She strode along for a hundred metres or so, breathing deeply in a bid to unwind, to try to forget about her irritating brother and the disaster of relocating to a new part of the country, cut off from all her friends.

  That was easier said than done, though. Since the move, she’d barely thought of anything else other than how much she missed the gang. They’d all promised to write regularly. She’d even spoken briefly to Paula, her best friend, on the phone yesterday evening after Mum had agreed she could call to pass on the new number. But it wasn’t the same. Plus Paula had been in a rush, which hadn’t helped. She’d been about to leave for the cinema with Zara, a likely candidate for new best friend, leading Lisa to feel even more cut off than before.

  They were all getting ready to start at the same secondary school in September – Oak Park, where Lisa had always expected to go too. They were probably all together right now, chatting and giggling on the swings in the park and pretending not to notice the boys showing off on their BMXs. Meanwhile, here she was. Why did Dad have to get a stupid new job that meant they had to move? And why so far away? It had taken ages for them to travel by car from Nottingham, where there was loads to do, to this isolated village north of Manchester. She might as well have been on the other side of the world. She’d been popular before. Now she was a no-mates loser with nothing better to do than go for a walk alone.

  Thinking about the injustice of it all brought tears to her eyes. Meanwhile, she reached a poorly maintained stretch of the road and found herself having to dodge an increasing number of rain-filled potholes and mud patches. Still she continued until, misjudging one particular spot, her trainer-clad right foot ended up ankle-deep in cold, mucky water.

  ‘Yuck!’ she shouted, lurching forward only to lose her balance, slip and fall flat on her bum in the mud.

  It was too much. Rather than getting up, Lisa slumped where she was on the ground and started sobbing. She let out all her frustrations in one almighty wail and the tears gushed like waterfalls down her cheeks.

  Eventually the moment passed and, coming to her senses, Lisa realised how ridiculous she must look. Keen to avoid anyone finding her in this state, she levered herself up and assessed the damage. Okay, her jeans, shoes and socks were filthy and wet; she’d probably also collected a few bruises. But despite her over-the-top reaction, it clearly wasn’t the end of the world. Thank goodness there was no one around to see, she thought, when a voice cut through the silence.

  ‘Ouch!’

  The sound, which came from nearby, gave Lisa a fright. ‘Who’s there?’ she snapped, scanning her surroundings but seeing no one in either direction on the lane, nor in any of the surrounding fields.

  ‘Hello?’ she said in the most confident voice she could muster. ‘Can I help you?’

  What a ridiculous thing to say, she thought, waiting for an answer that didn’t come. She’d almost convinced herself that she’
d imagined the sound, when there was movement and a loud rustling from a thick bush on the other side of the stream. Then: ‘Ouch! Get off me.’

  It was clear this time that the voice was high-pitched – a child’s. To Lisa’s ear, well-practised from seven years at primary school, it definitely sounded like a boy.

  ‘I can see you there in the bush,’ she said. ‘What are you: some kind of peeping Tom, having a laugh at my expense? My dad’s a policeman, you know. I’ll report you to him, shall I? You won’t be laughing then.’

  ‘No, please don’t,’ the voice replied from the bush. ‘I’m not spying on you or laughing.’

  ‘Why are you hiding in that bush, then? Come out here and show yourself.’

  There was a pause before the reply. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll go and get my dad.’

  ‘No! Please, I’m begging you.’

  Lisa was surprised how well her empty threat was working. She had no idea what this boy looked like, never mind his name or where he lived. And what were the odds of her being able to bring her dad back here in time to catch him? Whoever he was, he obviously wasn’t very bright. How else could you explain it?

  ‘Show yourself,’ she said. ‘Final warning.’

  ‘Okay, okay. Give me a second.’

  There was some more rustling, another ‘ouch’ and then a beetroot head appeared, peering out from one side of the bush, mole eyes beneath a shock of dark curly hair.

  ‘There you are,’ Lisa said to the boy, who looked a little younger than her eleven years. ‘That wasn’t so difficult, was it? So why don’t you come properly out, then?’

  He shook his head vigorously, causing his chubby cheeks to wobble from side to side. ‘I can’t, seriously. Please don’t make me.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can. What—’

  ‘I’m not wearing any clothes, okay,’ he blurted out, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. ‘They stole them – and my glasses. I can barely even see you, whoever you are.’