by Ruth Dugdall
“So what’s happened?” Cate tried not to think about Liz, waiting for her at the hotel. She had told the receptionist to pass on the message that she’d be back as soon as she could but she didn’t know if it was true or even possible. “Where’s Ben?”
Penny waited until the door was fully shut before she began to explain.
“Hospital. There was a 999 call for police and ambulance to attend a house, turns out it was his boss from the aquarium. Ben has been attacked, apparently set upon by a stranger. The constable took a brief statement while they waited for the ambulance but it was only when he put it into the system and filed his report that Ben’s name triggered an alert through to Steve, so that was the first I knew of it. I called you straight away.”
She was gabbling, and Cate realised Penny felt guilty. Just two days ago, along with everyone else in the room, she had dismissed Cate’s concerns and said they had to wait for things to escalate. Well, now they had and Ben was in hospital.
“How bad is he?” Cate asked, hardly daring to hear the answer.
“It could have been a lot worse. Here,” Penny breathed out, blowing her beaded fringe from her face, then handed Ben’s statement to Cate. “He says it was a random attack. No idea who his attacker was, can’t give much of a description. Some bloke just came from nowhere and left him in a bloody pool on the floor with a broken nose.”
“What about accents?” Cate asked, looking at Ben’s signature at the bottom of a typed page. “Did the attacker speak?”
Penny shook her head, “Hoping for a northern accent, Cate? It’s not just folks in Hull who are hunting down our Humber Boy, you know. The Sun ran a piece on him this morning. Front page, with pictures of Noah’s weeping parents. You see it?”
“I try to avoid red tops.”
“Good for you. Sadly, that’s where most of the fuel is coming from. That and the Internet. The online campaign has gone viral and it’s trending on Twitter. I’m afraid we can’t contain it.”
“Shit.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
“The world is watching and Silent Friend has already found him.”
Penny held up both hands, “We don’t know that. It could be a random attack.”
“You’re still running with that one?” Cate pointed to a place on the statement. “Even though his wallet wasn’t taken?”
Penny looked away, then her radio crackled to life and she listened intently to the incoming message. “Sounds like Ben is out of hospital. Olivier’s escorting him, but he asked if you could wait here until he gets back, so he can update you.”
“Olivier can’t be taking Ben back to the flat?” Cate handed the statement back to Penny with a derisive thrust. She didn’t believe any of it. “I feel like I’m going crazy here. The boy needs to be in protective custody. Why don’t you want to see what’s happening here?”
“Let wait for Olivier. See what he has to say.”
Twenty minutes later, still in the windowless room at the police station, Olivier handed Cate a muddy-looking cup of coffee, gave Penny a nod and sat down near the statement. “I’ll be honest, Cate, it comes down to money. Ben’s witness protection scheme is trés cher. Move him again, with a new identity, it becomes trop cher. It is more economical for us to accept his version of events. This was a random attack.”
“A stranger breaks his nose and it’s random? Despite the online campaign, the article in The Sun? What if he gets attacked again?”
To Cate’s surprise, Olivier looked unmoved. “This may be collateral damage. After what he did we couldn’t expect a picnic. But that doesn’t mean he is in real danger.”
Cate looked from Olivier back to Penny, wondering if it was she who was mad or them. Ben had killed a boy, but he’d only been a boy himself. He’d served his sentence. Wasn’t it their job to give him a second chance at life? To keep him safe? She felt she would be wasting her breath to say any of this.
“He’s not at the flat. He’s with a couple, the man who runs the aquarium and his wife.”
“Leon,” Cate informed him. “And is that fair, to put them at risk? They have no idea who he is, or what taking him in might mean.”
“I don’t think they are in danger. And having him stay with them gives us some breathing space.”
Cate looked at his smug face and for a second she hated him, they seemed to come from different worlds. How was it that, just last night, it was thoughts of Olivier that filled her mind as she drifted off to sleep?
64
Ben
I’m in Michael’s bed, looking at his posters. I’m realising that he wasn’t as young as he is in the picture Leon has in the memorial garden when he died. In that picture, Michael is just a boy of about eight, but on the wall is a Nirvana poster, and another one of a topless woman on the back of the door. Also, on the desk is a razor and shaving cream, and other signs that he was a more a man than a boy when he died.
Issi insisted on me coming back to their home once the hospital discharged me. She’d have preferred for me to stay in overnight, under observation, but I wasn’t having that and thankfully neither were the harassed staff at Ipswich A&E.
I’m worried about what happened after I left Cheryl at the aquarium. Did she lock up? Did she go back to my flat? She has no idea where I am, and right now that feels like the best thing because I don’t know why she’s here in Suffolk. I don’t know why she had sex with me. I don’t even know what she was thinking when she bought me the red trainers. All I know is that since she and Adam arrived, I’ve had my life hijacked, my nose broken. I’m too tired to really care about anything but sleep. I don’t know who hurt me, if Cheryl’s involved or not, and I’m aching too much to think about it. At the hospital I got some codeine and an ice pack, and Leon gave me a whisky to bring up to the bedroom with me. Now I just want to sleep.
The nurse at A&E cleaned me up as best she could, but when I touch my nose it comes away with dark crusted blood. She said it should set okay because it’s a clean break, but it felt as though every bone in my face was shattered until the codeine kicked in. When we got back, Issi took my clothes to wash, since they were brown with mud from the pavement and red with the wound from my face. I’m wearing one of Michael’s T-shirts and I can tell from this that he was bigger than me, his chest was wider and he must have been taller too because it comes down to my thigh. It’s black, with a single cover on the front, Oasis: Wonderwall. I try to think back to when Oasis were still popular, but can’t. Michael must have died a long time ago.
There’s a knock at the door and it opens a crack. It’s Leon.
“Just wanted to check if you need anything?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
He stands there a moment and then seems to notice the room so he steps inside, finally walking to gingerly take the edge of the bed. “I haven’t been in here in years,” he says, looking at the topless woman behind the door. “I’d forgotten about her.”
I bring the duvet to my chin, then think about the blood still crusted around my nose, and pull it away from my face. I don’t want to mark Michael’s things.
“He was older,” I say softly, “than in the football photo.”
“Hmm. It’s just that the football day was a good one. His team won the cup and he’d scored the final goal. A day to remember, you know? This,” he gestures at the Nirvana poster, the naked woman, “this was a harder time for us, but he was still our boy. I still can’t believe that he’s not coming back.”
“How did it happen?” I ask. I don’t need to say any more, we both know what I’m referring to, though I don’t know if he’ll answer.
Leon clears his throat, a rattle there of history and pain. “Car accident. He’d just passed his test. God knows, I can’t even drive myself, I wasn’t going to pay for him to have lessons. He was a student at the college, learning to be a plumber, so he’d have a decent trade, but while he was training there was no spare cash. Not with what driving lessons cost, and then you have
to pay for the test. So he went and got a weekend job at Tesco, stacking shelves when the store was shut, saved his money up each week. He was seventeen when he started, and he failed his written test twice, but he was determined. He’d had his licence just one week when the accident… ”
Leon stops. No more words, instead he sniffs, noisily, supressing emotion and focusing back on the Nirvana poster.
“Issi’s been better since you came into our lives.” He taps my leg and stands up, walking heavily to the door.
“Goodnight, son,” he says. And I don’t know whether he’s talking to me or to the boy who died.
“Now, this will make you feel better.”
I’ve never had breakfast in bed. The tray is difficult to balance on my thighs and on the plate is a mound of scrambled egg and three rashers of crispy bacon, which I eat with a smile because Issi is watching me. It’s good food, maybe the best I’ve ever had, and every mouthful seems to make her happier. I feel safe in Michael’s room, looked after by his mother.
“Eat that, then go back to sleep. That’s the best medicine, then you’ll soon be right as rain.”
“Thanks, Issi, but once I’ve eaten this I’ll go back to my flat and get changed. Then I’m going to work.”
“Leon doesn’t expect you to work at the aquarium today. Do you, love?” she calls over her shoulder to Leon who is shuffling around the bathroom getting ready for the day ahead.
“Of course not. Tell the boy to rest.”
“See?” she says, triumphantly.
I can tell she really wants me to stay, that she’s worried about me. Leon, too, wants me to let them look after me, but how can I do that? I can’t let them get too close, not now when everything is so uncertain, not when my past is breathing down my neck, breaking my bones. What if it put them at risk too? I make the excuse that I need to go home and pick up the aquarium keys, I need to check that Cheryl locked up, and that everything is as it should be before Leon gets there.
To get back to my flat I have to walk past the place where I was attacked just twelve hours ago. I slow down, as if Silent Friend may still be there. He knows where I live, he must, but I can’t run for the rest of my life.
The key in the flat door provokes a noise, a scream, and when I open it Cheryl is stood the other side holding a butter knife, her face white as a sheet with hair that looks like it needs a wash and her dress, the one from yesterday, has creases around the arms as if she slept in it.
“Fuck! I thought you weren’t coming back.”
Cheryl’s eyes look puffy and I wonder if she’s been crying, if she cares about me that much.
“Your face! Your nose is three times the size it should be.
“It’s broken. I was jumped on, after I left the aquarium. Which reminds me, did you lock up after I went?”
“Of course I did, you bastard. Why did you run off like that? I’ve been worried sick.”
She reaches for me, and then we’re holding each other, my cheek in her blonde hair, my mouth on her honey shoulder, and she’s saying, “I’ve never been so scared in my life. Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you let me know?”
She is so upset that it stuns me. She’s only been here a few days, why does she care so much? Maybe this is normal, maybe it’s me that’s off. Maybe this is love.
“I’m okay, Cheryl. I just want to take a shower, then lie down for a while. Get something cold on my nose.” It’s throbbing again, and Issi’s ice pack had been wonderful. I don’t have an ice pack, but there is a bag of peas in the freezer.
She gets it for me and I lie down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Leon said I wasn’t to go to work today, and now I know the aquarium is locked up I feel calmer. Cheryl has gathered herself too, and she’s a good nurse. She gently places the Spar peas over my nose and makes me a cup of tea. She goes to shower and comes out wearing a clean T-shirt.
“That’s better,” she says, rubbing her hair with my towel. Her T-shirt advertises Pineapple Dance Studios, it falls off the shoulder, is bright pink with sporty stripes down the waist and it’s all she wears. I find myself staring at her legs, the peas falling to the side, thinking how toned, how creamy they look. She stops rubbing her hair and stares at me and I realise I’m caught.
“Have you heard from Adam?” I ask and she picks up her mobile, shows me the screen. It says she has eighteen missed calls.
I don’t understand why she’s not speaking to him, I thought they were in love. I don’t understand why she’s here with me and not back in Hull with him. And I certainly don’t understand why she pulled me onto the floor of the aquarium, why she pressed her body to mine.
She kisses me on the lips. My lips don’t move, still awkward even though we are lovers now. She moves her tongue to my lower lip, presses my mouth open and then we are kissing. My nose hurts and my head aches and we’re kissing and it’s the most wonderful pain in the world.
65
The Day Of
Stuart walked along the dock, wishing the Hull trawlers were still there like before the Cod Wars, back when his dad skippered the Northern Pirate. Now the only trawler in the marina was a museum, and to work, Stuart had to sign on with the crews coming out of Peterhead or Grimsby, or sometimes the Icelandic boats. Jobs were hard to come by but there was nothing else he was good at so he knew better than to complain too loudly. Not that they’d understand him in Scotland, with his accent, not in the high winds any road.
As he walked to the marina, where he was catching a boat to Grimsby to meet the trawler, he kept his boots in his eye-line, the gravel crunching in his ears, and didn’t think about his boy. He reasoned to himself, though he knew he wasn’t being truthful about his motivation.
He just couldn’t stay. He was a seaman and the land made him giddy. Home just meant Yvette, with her depression and all the mess, the clutter. The drinking and the temper. On the trawler all he had was a bunk, a small cupboard and that was it. He wouldn’t change clothes or shower for three weeks, it was a simple life and it suited him.
Still, he wasn’t being completely honest. Not fully.
It was that child. That boy who looked like butter wouldn’t melt with his white-blond hair and big blue eyes and yet Stuart wanted to smack the living daylights out of him because Ben looked just like his father.
It wasn’t the kid’s fault, it was Yvette’s and it was Stuart’s for not being around. But still, he felt the rage inside and the need to get away from it.
Yvette’s depression, that too was because of that child.
And he didn’t know, the boy, that all of this revolved around him. They would have been better off if he’d never been born.
When Stuart was out there, in the North Atlantic, he felt a calm he never did back on the Gypsyville estate. Even though it was the water that delivered the family their problem.
Eleven years ago, Stuart had been mate on the Atlantic Corsair. They’d just got the nets in when a storm took hold, and it was all the crew could do to keep upright. The captain noticed that across the water was another boat, a crabber from Iceland. A trawlerman was chaining the pots, right down by the railing, despite freezing water and twenty foot waves.
The captain was a good skipper and he’d seen enough tragedy to be worried. He positioned Corsair so they could see the man, even as he and Stuart swore at how fucking stupid the kid was. The boat was rolling, the lad was touching the sea. Then he was gone.
The emergency siren was accompanied by the captain’s voice on the tannoy: “Man overboard! Man overboard!”
Stuart and two other men got in their orange gear and into the life raft while the shouting carried on, the emergency bell ringing. The skipper tried to get as close as he could to the drowning man, close enough to throw a life ring, but he slipped below the waves and the ring was tossed aside by the sea.
The life raft was thrown around like a toy and Stuart’s hands felt icy. They were risking their own necks for the idiot boy. It felt like a hopeless act.
Then Stuart saw an arm, grabbed it, and pulled the young man to safety.
“You saved my life,” the lad said, coughing up sea water, looking pale and weak. His white hair was stiff with ice.
Stuart did save the man’s life, and so he felt responsible. They were on their way back to Hull and the Icelandic crabber had three more weeks at sea, so the young man came home with him. He stayed on the sofa, rested. Yvette looked after him. His name was Hugo.
When Ben was born, Stuart embraced his baby son. Even when his hair grew, silvery white, he didn’t suspect anything.
But then, that Christmas a few months later, Hugo came to visit with presents for them all, supposedly as a thank you. “I will never forget your kindness,” he said to Stuart and Yvette. And then he held Ben, kissed his tiny cheek, and Stuart saw that he had been betrayed.
Yvette denied it, of course she did. For months she said that Stuart was paranoid, an idiot. She said it made her depressed, his jealousy, his anger. That she had done nothing wrong. Then, during a drunken row, she admitted the truth and the hurt crashed in on him like any wave he’d ever witnessed. Sometimes he could forget and could love her again, but other times he had to get away.
The sea made him forget.
The sea didn’t lie.
66
Now
FACEBOOK: FIND HUMBER BOY B
Noah’s mum: I’ve had a lot of messages and tweets since The Sun article and I want to say thank you, to everyone who is supporting me and for all those kind words. But I need to say this publicly: I do not and never will condone violence. I am a Christian and I believe that only God can punish, and I trust Him to see that Humber Boy B is rightly judged.
I’m posting this because the police came to see me today. Someone has assaulted Humber Boy B. This has nothing to do with me, or my wishes. I simply wanted some answers, not violence.
