Left for Dead

by Paul J. Teague

  ‘See, a little bit of patter and they’re like putty in my hand. Now, I’ve got their order, but where the heck do I get the food?’

  Will was quick to learn, not that there was much to pick up. The food was all stored in industrial-sized warmers which lined the far end of the dining room. On the cafeteria side, the guests had to help themselves. On the table-service side, they got to order from the same school lunch menu, but the waiters and waitresses dished it up and delivered it to them.

  The entire system was based on a conveyor belt process. You picked up a tray, grabbed some warm dishes, got the servers to place the order on the plate, then off you went to get it delivered to your tables before it started to go cold.

  ‘Breakfast is the time you need to get strategic,’ Charlotte explained. ‘Fried eggs are at a real premium, ‘cause they’re slow to get cooked and hard to keep warm. Get to know the serving staff who are delivering the fried eggs and you won’t go far wrong.’

  Will manoeuvred a couple of lamb cutlets onto a plate.

  ‘Hey man, wait to be served!’ a thickset man in a grubby apron shouted over to him.

  ‘They can be quite territorial over the serving duties. If you serve yourself, make sure nobody’s looking. And if you piss them off, they’ll give you the broken or rubbery eggs in the morning. I’m telling you, this place is like one massive negotiating table - it’s all about who you know.’

  Will apologised to the serving assistant - a Scot called Stevie. The way he’d spoken to Will made it sound like he was about to tear his head off.

  ‘You’ll get used to the Scots,’ Charlotte reassured him. ‘They sound terrifying, but they’re really nice. No wonder the Romans decided to call off their invasion and just build a big wall to keep them in.’

  Jenna and Sally joined the queue for food, lining up their trays on the counters next to Will and Charlotte’s.

  ‘Do you fancy coming out tonight?’ Jenna asked. ‘Apparently, Sally gets left on her own most evenings because her man is entertaining the crowds all evening. How about a crawl around the bars?’

  Charlotte hesitated for a moment. One of the few benefits of working at Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp was the bars that were spread out over the site. There was the family pub and the Old Codger’s bar, in which a keyboard and singing duo played old-time hits all evening, plus an entertainment and show area which became packed at night. Every night on stage, before nine o’clock, there’d be some form of family entertainment. The kids were sent off to bed and the cover bands then appeared on stage, along with the occasional comedian. And, if they ever fancied getting away from the site, there was the pub in the next village, which also made a pleasant change.

  ‘Yes, how about it?’ she replied. ‘I’m up for a night out. Krazeee are on stage tonight. They always play some decent cover versions - let’s do it!’

  The time passed a lot faster than normal, thanks to the novelty of Will and Sally being there. It wasn’t long until they reached the post-meal hot drinks and the end of the shift was in sight.

  ‘I need to teach you how to sort the teas and coffees,’ Charlotte began to explain to Will. ‘They’re a bit of a pain - sometimes the urn in the dining room runs dry and you have to use the back-up urn in the kitchens.’

  She walked him over to the urn and lifted off the lid, peering inside.

  ‘See, it’s as good as empty. I wish they’d just put another one out here. If you’re not careful they’ll get a cup full of limescale and then the customers will start bitching. Look, I’ll just about manage to squeeze a teapot for two out of this water. If you go into the kitchens and turn immediately right, you’ll see the second urn. Just take care when you come through the door, in case someone sends you flying.’

  Will watched how Charlotte presented the tea, then grabbed a tray, set out the cups and saucers, took an empty metal teapot and headed for the kitchens.

  He’d barely taken it all in when Mickey had taken him and Sally on their tour, and he’d already forgotten the names of the staff in there.

  ‘Hey, big man!’ shouted the guy who was unloading the dishwasher, sticking up his thumb in an enthusiastic welcome.

  ‘Hi!’ Will responded, ‘Is it over here to use the urn? Alright to just help myself?’

  ‘Get in there, big man!’ came the reply.

  Will moved over towards the steaming container, placing his tray on the sturdy table on which it was supported. He lifted the lid and peered inside, as Charlotte had done with the urn in the dining area. Will was aware of somebody approaching from behind, and turned to see who it was.

  ‘So, you’re one of the new guys?’

  Will turned around to see who was speaking. He recognised the man as the dish washer, his massive arms covered in tattoos.

  ‘Yes, hi, I’m Will Grayson,’ he began.

  ‘So what do you think of Charlotte?’ the man asked.

  Will was taken aback; he’d expected an outstretched hand and a friendly greeting.

  ‘Charlotte? Oh, well, she’s nice. She’s been very helpful… is she a friend of yours?’

  ‘Listen pal, I’m no fan of you students, prancing around like you own the place.’

  Will was immediately on his guard. He recognised behaviour like this from his school days.

  ‘And I certainly don’t like it when your type swan in here and smile sweetly at all the girls, you get me?’

  Will just stared at him in amazement, still not sure where this had come from.

  ‘Is there a problem here?’ he asked. ‘Have I offended you in some way?’

  ‘Have I offended you in some way?’ the man echoed back in an effeminate voice. He took hold of Will’s hand and placed it on the tray, directly underneath the spout of the tea urn. He placed his other hand on the tap which switched the flow of water on and off.

  Will jolted his hand to try to free it. He’d been caught completely off his guard, in no way expecting an encounter like this, not five minutes after walking into the kitchen.

  ‘Yes, Will, you’ve offended me in some way,’ the man seethed directly into his face. ‘Charlotte is my girl and I don’t like it when student types like you walk in here like you own the place, thinking you can just give them a charming smile and sweet-talk them into bed with all that learning nonsense.’

  ‘I really wasn’t hitting on Charlotte. Besides, isn’t it up to her who she speaks to?’

  Bruce held Will’s hand firmly to the tray and flicked the tap so that a trickle of scalding water ran onto his hand. Will’s impulse was to snatch it away, but the man held him firmly. Faced with that power and strength, Will was no match for him physically.

  ‘Leave Charlotte alone… or else!’ the man said, moving in so close that Will could taste his breath.

  He released Will’s hand and returned to his workstation, not bothering to glance back, with the self-confidence of a man who was used to physical intimidation.

  Will rubbed his hand, scanning the kitchen to see if anybody had noticed what just happened. There were no witnesses; everybody was busy trying to get cleaned up and finish the shift.

  He carried on preparing the teas and delivered them to the table, returning to Charlotte’s station to see what was needed next.

  ‘Did you meet Bruce in the kitchens?’ Charlotte asked. ‘He’s my, well I guess he was my… Bruce is my friend.’

  Will looked at her directly, wondering whether he should say anything. He moved his scalded hand behind his back so that she wouldn’t notice. He’d need to run it under a cold tap as soon as possible to ease the scalding.

  ‘I think I just met him. He’s the dish washer, right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s him. Did he introduce himself?’

  ‘Yes, you might say that,’ Will replied.

  Chapter Seven

  Present Day - Morecambe

  ‘I still can’t believe you ran off like that! George let me out of the side gate, so I could catch up with you.’

  Charlotte couldn’t
figure out if Will was annoyed or embarrassed.

  He shook his head in despair. ‘George is a good guy - what must he think of us?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s seen it all before. Don’t worry, I’ll go back and apologise some time. I’ll make it up to him.’

  ‘But whatever came over you?’ Will asked. ‘I thought we’d got through all of this?’

  She was as desperate as he was to see an end to the panic attacks. But it didn’t work like that. Sure, they were much less frequent now. She’d been a wreck after the incident in the classroom - any little thing would set her off. It was the sight of the tower and the dilapidated holiday camp. And the Facebook message. She’d just felt overwhelmed all of a sudden.

  ‘What did you say to George?’

  ‘I apologised of course! He was really concerned about you. He’s such a nice guy, he always was. I just felt really embarrassed.’

  ‘I’m sorry if I embarrass you, Will.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that! Come on Charlotte, I’ve been patient…’

  ‘I told you before, Will, this isn’t something that just gets fixed. I can’t take a tablet and it’s gone. Anxiety doesn’t work like that.’

  He moved his hand from the gear-stick over to hers. The car wasn’t running yet.

  ‘Come back any time,’ George had said. ‘But make sure Charlotte is okay. Take care of her first.’

  ‘How did you get out?’ Will asked, squeezing her hand.

  ‘I came out the same way we went in …’ Charlotte answered. ‘Don’t worry, I put the fence back as it was.’

  ‘Are you okay to head back home?’ Will asked.

  Charlotte nodded. They drove back to the guest house in silence. Whenever Will’s attention was taken fully by the road, she’d open up the Facebook messages once again, trying to figure out who it could be.

  She thought she’d killed Bruce Craven that night. She really believed he was dead. She was too scared to leave her room afterwards, in case he found her. She was terrified by what had happened on that beach. Yet her conscience urged her to confess and tell all.

  When Bruce had gone in the morning, when it appeared he was alive and well, she didn’t know what to think. Nobody seemed concerned. The police never came around asking questions. After what happened, she never wanted to see him again. He simply disappeared off the face of the earth.

  Charlotte thanked her lucky stars many times over that social media was not a thing when she was young. Bruce knew nothing more about her than she was a student at the college in a town ten miles away. They didn’t even have phones in those days. When Charlotte needed to call home, she’d have to save up her change and queue on the corner of her street to use an open-air public phone. There was no privacy - everybody could hear your conversation, loud and clear.

  There were no selfies; very few photographs were taken, and most communications were sent via letter and Royal Mail. She wondered how Lucia might cope in a similar situation. Nowadays, the kids seemed to exchange personal details within minutes of meeting. They had access to each other’s phone numbers, their social profiles, their dating information. They often shared intimate photographs within days of knowing each other. She shuddered to think there might be a day when her daughter got into a similar scrape with a man.

  It had been terrifying and unsettling for her, but ultimately she’d been able to walk away. Bruce Craven had disappeared. He hadn’t tried to trace her, and after she’d left the college and married, there was no way he’d ever find her anyway.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Will asked again, looking over to Charlotte. ‘I was really concerned about you back there. I don’t want to be a nag, but you’ve been so much better recently. It was a bit of a shock to see you racing off like that.’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Charlotte said. ‘Have you heard from Olli today? Has he said anything about school?’

  ‘Just a message at morning break,’ Will replied. ‘It was something like Same drill, same old nonsense. You know Olli, he’s never been one for enthusiasm where academia is concerned.’

  ‘I know the feeling.’ Charlotte smiled back, wanting to offer him something. She needed to figure out this message on her own. She’d never told Will. How could she? She was going to - the morning after she struck Bruce on the head with that rock. But she didn’t have to. He’d gone, he’d handed in his notice, she was rid of him. She and Will were free to get on with their relationship, without the threatening shadow of Bruce Craven lingering in the background. Besides, they had some making up of their own to do after the way the evening had ended.

  Will had never made anything of it at the time.

  ‘Thank God he’s pissed off!’ was all he’d said. ‘Good riddance to him. I’m pleased he’s out of our lives. If he’s gone back to Newcastle we’ll never see him again. He won’t be missed; he was violent and aggressive.’

  That was it. Will wasn’t normally one to bad-mouth people, but when it came to Bruce Craven, his invective ran freely. He’d made their lives hell over that couple of weeks at the holiday camp. They never spoke about him again, but both felt the gush of relief that comes when any toxic relationship is finally over.

  ‘Lucia is being a right pain,’ Charlotte continued. ‘She’s done nothing but bitch all day. Have you heard from her?’

  ‘Yes - they need to be a bit stricter about their mobile phone policy at that school. She can’t have done much learning today with all the messages that she’s sent. Do you want to stop at the pub for a sandwich? For old time’s sake?’

  They’d reached the village at the end of the winding road that led to Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp. In the few weeks they’d been a couple at the site, they’d often taken a walk up to the village in the light, summer evenings to get away from their friends at the camp. Neither had a car as students, so it was buses or walking - and there was no convenient bus at that time of day.

  ‘It’s right at this corner isn’t it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, it was just there, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It’s gone!’ Will said, disappointed. ‘It’s just a house now. I suppose everybody buys their booze from the off-licence these days, so there’s not much call for village pubs this far out. It feels like they’re putting up the shutters on our memories, and everything we did as youngsters is being sold off in a fire sale.’

  Charlotte’s phoned cheeped. They were back in the land of the living and her signal had returned.

  ‘Voice mail,’ she said, examining the screen. ‘I’d better check it out, it might be Lucia deciding to run away on her first day of school.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past her.’ Will laughed to himself, turning the car around in the ample drive of what had once been a very nice village pub.

  Charlotte keyed in her numbers and listened to her message.

  Hi Charlotte, it’s Nigel here, Nigel Davies from The Bay View Weekly. We’ve had quite a reaction to the online article already. It seems a few people are glad to see you back in the area. There was one lady who was quite persistent - she wanted your phone number. I told her I can’t pass it on, but I said I’d get in touch and let her know. She’s called Jenna Manson - you knew her as Jenna Phillips …’

  ‘It’s Jenna!’ Charlotte announced. ‘She still lives locally; can you believe that?’

  ‘It’s not that surprising,’ Will answered. ‘Not everybody was in such a rush to leave after they graduated. I’ll bet loads of our old chums ended up getting jobs here.’

  ‘She wants to meet up for coffee,’ Charlotte continued. ‘Nigel Davies has passed on her number. It’ll be great to catch up with her. I lost track of her after we moved to Bristol. If you missed one house move or a change of address in the old days, you lost contact forever. I guess things cooled a bit after that summer. No wonder I couldn’t find her on Facebook - she must have married. It’ll still be good to catch up though.’

  ‘We’re not still eighteen years old, you know,’ Will reminded her. ‘At our age she could be
a grandparent by now. She might have four marriages behind her. None of us are spring chickens.’

  ‘I always wondered what happened to Jenna. She was such a great laugh at college. It’s sad how we go our separate ways, isn’t it? You must lose contact with so many people during your lifetime.’

  ‘Well, some of them I’m pleased to see the back of,’ Will replied. ‘I can think of some people we knew here that I’m very happy never to see again.’

  For a moment, Charlotte really thought he was going to say his name. After all those years. It would have been fitting, having just visited the holiday camp. Charlotte figured that Will must have thought about him again, but decided against mentioning it. Bruce Craven was like a marital problem that neither partner wanted to bring up in conversation, because it stirred such heated emotions.

  Even if Will wasn’t going to say the words, she couldn’t bury her head in the sand any longer. She opened up Facebook on her phone and responded to the anonymous message.

  ‘Who are you?’ she typed. ‘What do you want?’

  Chapter Eight

  Present Day - Morecambe

  ‘I’m going to meet Jenna this afternoon, at the Costa shop on the sea front. Hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘That was fast,’ Will replied. ‘You don’t waste any time, do you?’

  ‘Well, we have the first guests in tomorrow, so there’s no time like the present. Besides, now we’ve left all our old friends behind in Bristol, it’ll be good to rekindle some old friendships up here. Especially with Jenna. She always made me laugh.’

  ‘It’ll do you the world of good,’ Will agreed. ‘Do you want me to go to the cash and carry this afternoon?’

  ‘Would you?’ Charlotte asked. ‘I know it looks like I’m skiving before we’ve even got started, but I’d love to see Jenna again. How many years is it now? It must be thirty-five or thereabouts.’