‘I don’t know if you can help me?’ Charlotte began. ‘I’m trying to find a story from the local papers. It’ll be June, July or August of 1984 - I can’t quite recall the date. I also need to go out of area, to Newcastle for a second query. Do you keep records from that far afield? I’m looking for a family name of Craven.’
‘I can certainly help you with that,’ Jon began. ‘The local papers won’t be a problem, but I may have to access my network of contacts to help with the Newcastle information.
It occurred to Charlotte that Jon’s network of contacts was probably as exciting as it ever got in local history.
‘Of course, you’re looking at an area that encompasses Ashington, Blyth, North Tyneside, Newcastle, South Tyneside and Gateshead. It has a combined population of around 700,000 or thereabouts,’ he began.
Charlotte wondered if he’d seen the immediate horror in her eyes. The look of fear that screamed history bore! Whatever it was, Jon immediately checked himself and got busy in the records area, asking her to take a seat before he did so.
‘Write down what you know regarding the Newcastle query, and I’ll make some calls for you. Are you around for the next half hour?’
Charlotte nodded and watched as Jon disappeared into the stacks to track down the microfiche files. She scribbled everything she could think of about Bruce, which amounted to his name, a city and a rough period in time.
Jon returned soon after with a series of files and some faded papers.
‘Bingo!’ he said, delighted at the find. ‘It turns out we have more than I thought. In the good old days when we were properly funded, we used to hang onto all this stuff. Not these days though - we don’t even stock the local newspaper, the funding cuts are so bad. Here are the local papers, everything from June to August 1984 on microfiche, plus a few microfiche files of special events from that time.’
Charlotte held out her hands to take the items and asked Jon to walk her through the microfiche a little more abruptly than she would have wished. If she’d given him any encouragement, she feared that she might be stuck until the next person came in wanting to trace their great aunt thrice removed. History had never really been her thing.
Before long, she was immersed in her search, poring over newspapers which probably hadn’t been looked at in years. People like Nigel were recording this stuff every day for posterity, as they had done for years. Jon had gone off to access his network of contacts.
Charlotte winced as she thought how little she’d known about Bruce at the time they’d started dating. There was no way of checking him out, no Tinder profiles, Google searches or social media. She spent her life warning Lucia about the dangers of living her life out on the web, but was it really any more dangerous now? She’d been careless and foolish back then; no wonder she’d landed herself in such trouble.
She didn’t really know what she was looking for. Neither had she come up with a game plan or any sort of strategy. All she knew is that somehow, she had to get a trace on Bruce Craven. She had to find out where he lived and what had become of him. Even though that might place both she and Will in real danger once again.
Chapter Thirty
1984 - Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp
It was easy to avoid Bruce for the following week because he’d earned himself a promotion from the kitchens to the bars. That meant he worked bars all the time, rather than just picking up extra shifts in the evenings. Had things worked out better in their brief relationship, it’s the sort of event that Charlotte would have congratulated him on. She knew he was trying to get out of the kitchens and move into work that might allow him to make a living abroad.
It was a huge relief to Will and Charlotte that they could now go in and out of the kitchens without fear of encountering him at the dishwashing machine. They’d replaced him with a young guy from Middleton, who was friendly and humorous and made a tray packed with dirty crockery and cutlery about as much fun as it could ever be.
All they had to do in the evenings was to steer clear of whichever bar Bruce had been assigned to work at, and it was possible to completely avoid him. They were like passing ships in the night - the bar staff were generally sleeping while the waiting staff were up at the crack of dawn, so their shifts barely coincided, with the exception of lunchtimes.
‘Your face is looking much better now,’ Charlotte remarked one morning at breakfast, using the harsh lighting of the restaurant to take a close look.
It was seven o’clock and the tables were set and ready. They were standing around chatting, awaiting the arrival of the first early risers.
‘It was better than I’d expected: no bruising and no damage to my nose,’ Will said, touching his face as if to check.
‘It looks like it’s all calmed down now. I haven’t seen Bruce and I’m not going to go back to collect the few things I had in his room. It was just a toothbrush, spare knickers, a bra and a brush. With any luck he threw them in the bin. I’m so pleased it’s over. I feel like I ought to buy George a gift to say thank you.’
Jenna walked over to join in the conversation.
‘Watch out, watch out, there’s a Mickey about!’ She smiled.
‘What’s he up to now? Please tell me he’s not messing about with the rotas again?’ Charlotte replied.
‘No, word is he’s looking for volunteers. Here he comes now, make sure your cutlery is straight.’
It was always easy to tell if Mickey was in asking or telling mode - his body language was that predictable. Charlotte decided he was in asking mode this time around, which put them on the offensive. At least it meant he probably wasn’t going to screw up their day off that week.
‘Hi, top team,’ he began.
It was a big ask by the sound of it.
‘Good morning Mickey, what’s up?’ Will said.
‘I could do with your help, truth be told.’ Mickey grimaced. He was playing it up, which potentially meant a deal could be struck.
‘How can we help?’ Jenna asked.
‘I’ve been dropped in it from a great height by management. The local paper is coming around today. They’re doing a feature on Holiday Hot Spots and they want to feature Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ Will replied. ‘How have they dropped you in it?’
‘Well,’ Mickey replied, readying himself to drop the grenade. ‘They want to photograph and feature some members of the staff. You know the drill, they’ll do a little fact file about who you are, where you come from, what your job is… that sort of thing. We need a couple of students to help. As my top team, will you do it?’
‘Not me!’ Charlotte answered straight away. ‘Sorry Mickey, it’s not my sort of thing.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Jenna volunteered.
‘Yes, I don’t mind either,’ Will said. ‘It’ll be a bit of fun. What’s in it for us, Mickey? How about you make sure me and Charlotte get the same day off for the next two weeks? You can manage that, can’t you?’
‘Deal,’ Mickey said, clearly expecting to have had a much harder time of it. ‘The next two Tuesdays are yours and Charlotte’s. The reporter is coming at 10 o’clock, at the end of the breakfast shift.’
‘I’ll finish off your tables if you’ve got any late stragglers.’ Charlotte offered. ‘It seems only fair if I’m getting the days off with Will.’
The deal was struck and there was excitement in the air; it was a rarity to get a photograph in the local paper. They spent the morning joking about how many copies they’d buy when it was published and how proud their parents might be at their achievement.
The reporter turned up promptly, as Mickey had suggested. He came with a notepad, pen and a photographer.
‘Hi, Eddy Edwards,’ he said, holding out his hand.
Will saw Jenna’s smile and tried to ignore it. What a name to be saddled with.
‘Hi Eddy, I’m Will, this is Jenna, and we’re your student subjects.’
Eddy worked fast and with the sure touch of
an old hand. He took a photo of Jenna serving one of the customers with prunes, much to her delight.
‘Their constipation will be immortalised in the newspaper forevermore!’ they’d laughed afterwards.
When it came to Will, Eddy quickly sensed that he and Charlotte were a couple.
‘Did you meet here?’ he asked. ‘That’s a great angle. Can I picture you together?’
It took some cajoling to convince Charlotte.
‘Go on Charlotte, nobody ever reads the local paper anyway. It’s a laugh, it can’t do any harm.’
Jenna worked on her until she agreed. Eddy the photographer took a staged shot of Will serving a breakfast to Charlotte. She winced at the thought, but Jenna and Will seemed to think it all hilarious.
‘Just move your necklace around slightly,’ the photographer said before taking the snap. ‘It’s just got a little twisted, we want you looking your best, don’t we?’
Eddy asked the type of question that Mickey had suggested would be used for the feature, and after Will and Jenna had divulged every detail of what they were studying, where their home town was, what they did at the holiday camp and what their favourite attraction was on site, he moved on to the next subjects for his article.
‘I’m heading over to the bars next,’ he said. ‘I think the staff start clocking in at about half-past-ten. Is that right?’
Will gave him directions to his next designated location.
‘By the way, I don’t know if Mickey told you. We want to take a group photo of everybody we’ve interviewed at half-past eleven, before we leave. We’re taking it in front of the new paddling pool - we’re keen to show it as a brand-new feature, boost the local tourism and all that.’
Mickey hadn’t mentioned that bit. It wasn’t so bad, but it meant squeezing the short time they had in between shifts.
‘Do you think he meant me too?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Seeing as I was just a hanger-on?’
At the designated time, Will called round at Charlotte’s chalet to pick up Jenna.
‘I’ve convinced her to tag along,’ Jenna said.
As they approached the new pool area, Eddy was already in full flow, getting everybody organised.
‘Oh hell, Bruce is there!’ Charlotte said, stopping dead on the pavement.
‘It’s okay,’ Will reassured her. ‘He’s not going to play up while management are here. Just stand away from him. It’ll all be over in five minutes.’
Bruce had clocked them too and seemed just as intent on giving them a wide berth. The photo was taken, and Eddy mopped up with final questions and fact checks before taking his leave.
‘They’ll be putting in the concrete base for this new pool any day now,’ Will remarked. ‘I wonder if it’ll be open in time for us to use it before we leave?’
‘Bruce got out of here fast enough,’ Charlotte commented, scanning the area.
‘That’s a good sign,’ Will replied. ‘Maybe he’s decided to cool it down now. Hopefully, that’s the end of it.’
Abi Smithson walked up to them. Charlotte bristled, still unsure about whether she had her eyes on Will. She wasn’t secure enough in their fledgeling relationship yet to know how things stood.
‘Hi Will… hi Charlotte. Are we still on to do some maths tonight, Will? My roommate has gone home for two days, so I have the place to myself. We’ll be able to concentrate and have a good session.’
Charlotte hoped he’d say no, but Will was too nice for that. He’d picked a social cause in Abi and, so far as she could tell, he was sticking with it.
‘Yes, that’s fine - isn’t it Charlotte? We’re meeting up to go to the Old Codger’s Bar at nine o’clock. That’ll give us at least an hour.’
‘That’s plenty of time,’ Abi teased. ‘We might even have time for some maths too!’
Will’s face reddened, and Charlotte shot him a stern glance. Abi seemed oblivious to the tension she’d just caused.
‘See you later!’ she waved, heading off to start her shift.
‘We’d better go too,’ Will said. ‘I’m sure Mickey’s goodwill won’t extend to being late for our lunch shift.’
‘Can we go via my chalet first?’ Charlotte asked. ‘I just need to get my headpiece; I didn’t want to wear it for the photo. I hate that thing!’
Will turned and they made their way back towards the staff chalets. It was a beautiful summer’s day, so they took their time, enjoying the shrieks of excited children and the hum of chatting adults. They seldom got to experience the camp like this; to them it was mainly a place of work or an environment which they stepped into at night.
As they walked up the staircase towards Charlotte’s room, their hands touched. It was good to be a normal couple, without the fear and worry of Bruce’s erratic moods. For the first time in weeks, walking in the glorious sunshine, Charlotte felt her life was finally in control. Things were great with Will; he’d come like a rush of fresh air in a fetid room.
As they approached Charlotte’s room, they saw it immediately, but it took a moment or two to work out what they were looking out. Taped to the door of Charlotte’s apartment were the bra and knickers that she’d left in Bruce’s room. And, on a sticky note attached to the crotch area, the word Slag.
Chapter Thirty-One
Present Day - Morecambe
There it was, the picture taken a lifetime ago. Her and Will, aged nineteen years, in a black and white photograph. For a moment she wanted to cry. She felt the pain of the years slipping by, the yearning for youth, the loss of the intoxicating spark of a new love.
They’d forgotten all about the newspaper article. It had been such a big deal at the time and then they all forgot to go out and buy the paper. They hadn’t even read the papers in those days; they had no interest in the news whatsoever. So it was the first time she’d ever seen it.
Working her way through the archived editions, she’d hardly dared to expect that it would still be there. It was irrational, she knew. Jon’s newspaper archive could stop time. And there they were. Thursday 26th July 1984, captured in a moment for eternity.
She laughed at the staged photograph. Love on the menu, the subheadline read. There was Will, just a skinny boy, with an elasticated bow tie that looked like it didn’t belong and a pair of black, crimplene trousers that had more than a hint of a flare in the leg. Or maybe it was just that Will’s legs were so skinny at the time.
And there it was, her mum’s necklace. The photo was taken before that night when everything turned on its head. The picture was poor quality, indistinctive, the necklace a rough blur of dots. But she knew what it was.
Charlotte wished that she could step into the picture and warn herself. Leave while you’re happy. Leave before it all goes wrong.
She couldn’t believe how young she looked. Young and naïve. Her hair was short; she hadn’t worn it in a bob like that for years. Princess Diana, that’s who was responsible for that haircut. Lucia looked much more worldly-wise, and she was three years younger.
‘Have you found anything?’ Jon asked.
His voice shook Charlotte out of her distraction.
‘Yes, I have actually. Look, would you believe that’s me?’
Jon studied the photograph.
‘So you worked at the old holiday camp, did you? We’ve got some wonderful old photographs of that, if you ever want a look. It was splendid in its heyday.’
Charlotte turned the page to read more. There was Bruce. She knew he’d have to be there, but it still shook her. He’d been an image in her mind for so long, captured in time, her memory never ageing him.
‘Are you alright?’ Jon asked. ‘Your face just went white; you look like you saw a ghost.’
‘I did, kind of.’
‘I’m heading down to the fax machine - my friend at Newcastle Library thinks he’s found your man on the electoral register. I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t go anywhere, will you?’
Charlotte gave a nod and turned back to the image. They were a
ll there: Will and Charlotte, at the end of the row, and Abi too. There were several people in the picture who she couldn’t even remember. And there was Bruce, well away from her, but standing close to Jenna. She hated him; her stomach knotted immediately as soon as she saw that smirk. You bastard.
Charlotte moved on to Bruce’s article to see if it held any gems about where he lived or where he might be tracked down to. The article was all about his promotion to bar staff, making a big deal of the employment opportunities available at the holiday camp. There was little of interest in there, just a superficial interview. But there was one clue. Bruce lived in Newcastle. At least she had a location now.
Her phone pinged. One of the library staff walked over to her.
‘Excuse me, please would you turn your notifications off. They can be very distracting to other readers. Thanks.’
Damn!
It was Jenna asking where she’d got to. The clock on her phone said it was past midday, when they’d arranged to meet up. She’d got carried away in the excitement. Charlotte tapped out a message.
On my way! Sorry! 10 mins.
She reckoned she could run it in that time. Charlotte took out her phone and swiftly photographed the pages that Jon had handed to her. She then folded up the newspaper and slotted it back in the July folder. On the folder was a date record. She noticed that the same file had been looked at in the past week. She thought nothing of it; the library was crawling with local history bores.
Jon walked up with a handful of faxed papers.
‘I’m so sorry, I’ve got to rush!’ Charlotte said.
‘He’s got you a couple of names and addresses and something else he thought you might be interested in. Reckoned it might be something, or it could be nothing.
‘I really appreciate your help, Jon; I didn’t know we had such a brilliant library on our doorstep. Thank you - I’ll buy you a coffee some time. What do you drink?’
‘Cappuccino, always.’ Jon smiled.
Charlotte took the pile of curled papers and made her exit. Who even used faxes still? The local library, apparently. She wasn’t sure why the Newcastle Library hadn’t just emailed it over.
Left for Dead Page 16
