Left for Dead

by Paul J. Teague

  He waited until she tapped on his door before going over to start the lesson. She was dressed in a pair of tight shorts and a vest top; she hadn’t bothered to put on a bra. Will noticed straight away; he was probably supposed to. He kept his eyes firmly on Abi’s face, not wanting to give her any hint that he might be interested.

  There was very little furniture in the rooms, so they had to work sitting side by side on the single bed. Abi had her revision guide and an A4 pad at the ready.

  ‘So, what are we looking at this evening?’ Will asked. ‘More algebra, or shall we give that a rest for a bit?’

  As he looked at Abi for her reply, he noticed a new love bite just above her left breast. It was fresh and raw. At the side of Abi’s bed was an empty, plastic coke bottle. The sides were semi-compressed.

  ‘Abi,’ he began, uncertain whether to raise the topic. He’d had his suspicions, but he wanted to help. ‘You know those marks on your skin? Is everything alright? You don’t need to disinfect them, do you? That one looks sore.’

  Abi was immediately on the defensive.

  ‘Oh these? They’re hickeys. You know what it’s like in this place. Everybody’s all over each other.’

  ‘You don’t need to pretend with me, Abi.’

  She studied his face, obviously searching for signs of mockery or derision. She clearly found none, because tears began to well up.

  ‘I’m sorry Will, I was lying. You’ve got to promise me you won’t tell. Not even Charlotte?’

  ‘I promise. You can talk to me Abi, trust me. You don’t have to pretend when I’m around.’

  Abi leaned over and picked up the plastic bottle.

  ‘I make them with this. It does a good job, don’t you think?’

  ‘Why Abi? You’re a lovely person, why do feel that you need to do that?’

  Will chose his words carefully. He wanted to encourage her without giving any indication that it might be a come on.

  ‘Because that’s how it works around here. Maybe not for the students, but for the staff who are here all season, it’s like a pecking order. A way of survival.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean?’

  ‘Everybody here is sleeping with somebody else. If you haven’t got chalet rash - or a hickey - you don’t fit in. I learnt that the hard way, with Bruce. In my first year, I thought I’d better get it together with someone, seeing as all the girls were discussing who they were sleeping with. I was young and a bit daft. Bruce was a good-looking guy, so I slept with him. It’s what I did to fit in. But I fell pregnant. I have a daughter. She’s called Louise.’

  ‘So why the love bites?’ Will asked. ‘They look sore.’

  ‘I fake them because it allows me to fit in. Getting pregnant with Louise gave me a shock. Nobody ever knew. I had her after the season ended and I had to come back here because nobody else would give me a job.’

  ‘Surely somebody would have?’ Will began.

  ‘Look, we don’t all have bright futures laid out ahead of us, right? I come from a horrible housing estate in the North-East, where nobody goes to university and most girls are pregnant by the age of fifteen. This is the only place that will take me. I can earn enough over summer to pay my mum for the rent and clothes and feed me and Louise for a year. She takes care of the baby. That’s how I survive. While I’m lying about who I’m shagging and what I’m getting up to, nobody asks me any questions. They see the hickeys and they give me a knowing smile. Everybody thinks I’m a slapper, but I’m doing it for my little girl. I want her to have it better than I did.’

  Abi had tears in her eyes now.

  ‘It’s okay Abi. I get why you feel you have to do that. I can see what it’s like here. It’s easier being a student, we just come and go. It’s a seven-month season for you guys.’

  ‘You mustn’t tell anybody Will, please promise.’

  He nodded.

  ‘The baby is Bruce’s. Nobody knows I have a child, but if they ever do find out, I can’t let on who the father is. I don’t want him anywhere near her.’

  ‘Why did you decide to keep it from him? I mean, I kind of know from his behaviour. But he was alright with you, wasn’t he?’

  ‘At the start, yes, he was a perfect gentleman. But he got more and more possessive. I was pleased to get away from him in the end. And I don’t want that nasty bastard getting anywhere near my precious daughter.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Present Day - Morecambe

  Charlotte cursed the car for still being out of action, though it was still a close-run thing as to whether she could run home faster than she’d be able to drive. She messaged Lucia.

  Lock the doors. Do not let anybody in. I’ll explain later. Back in 10.

  There was no point calling; she’d ignore it anyway. She hated phones herself, but it was ironic that they were called phones when no teenager - as far as she could tell - actually used them to speak into.

  Even as Charlotte was running, she knew that there would be no Bruce Craven turning up at the guest house. Someone was trying to intimidate her, to prod a wound that been open since 1984. But she was taking no risks with her daughter. She ran from the town centre and out onto the promenade, crossing the road because it was wider on the sea side. She was out of condition and they’d need to sort out a hire vehicle if the car was going to be off the road for any length of time.

  As she passed the RNLI building, she pulled out her phone to check that Lucia had received the message.

  OK, she’d typed.

  At least she was home and safe. Five more minutes and Charlotte would be there herself. She slowed to a walk, a brisk wind off the bay making it hard to catch her breath. Soon, she reached the guest house. From the opposite side of the road, she could see there was something on the door, but she’d worked up such a sweat it was difficult to make it out. She squinted, but it was no use.

  Charlotte walked over to the edge of the road and spent another five frustrating minutes waiting for the heavy prom traffic to allow her a gap to cross over. She'd figured out what was on the door even as she began walking up the path to the double doors. It was underwear, bra and knickers. And stuck to the crotch of the pants, a sticky note.

  Slag.

  Charlotte activated her phone and took several photographs of the scene. She hadn’t had that luxury in 1984, but she sure as hell wasn’t missing out on it now.

  The door was locked, just as she’d instructed Lucia. She felt in her pockets for the keys and couldn’t open the door fast enough. Tearing the underwear off the door, she threw it on the floor just inside the entrance hall.

  ‘Lucia! Lucia!’ she called, running for the stairs.

  ‘I’m here, Mum, I’m here.’

  They met on the second landing, Lucia looking bemused by her mum’s obvious concern.

  ‘Did anybody come to the guest house?’ Charlotte asked, still struggling for breath after her run along the promenade. ‘Was it a man? What did he look like?’

  ‘Mum, calm down. Nobody came to check-in. I’m fine, I locked the doors like you asked. The only person I’ve seen all day is Isla. She popped in to check on me before she left. You’ve had a last-minute cancellation for tonight, she asked me to tell you.’

  ‘Who was it? What was the name? Was it Craven?’

  ‘Mum, calm down! No, it was Turner. It was Mr & Mrs Turner. She’s ill, apparently. Isla said they’ve re-booked for next week and sent their apologies.’

  ‘Nothing from Mr Craven?’

  ‘Mum, what is it with this Mr Craven? There’s no Mr Craven.’

  Charlotte exhaled.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucia, I didn’t mean to panic you. Has anybody been here? Did you hear anybody downstairs?’

  ‘No, it’s been quiet since Isla went. She was picked up by that old guy, George. He seems like a nice bloke; they were going for a walk around Happy Mount Park. Oh, and the laundry people came - Isla and George took care of that. And the postman. That’s it.’

  ‘Yo
u’re sure? No phone calls? No other visitors?’

  ‘Mum, you’re spooking me. What’s up?’

  ‘Just tell me Lucia, I need to know.’

  ‘Oh, there was one thing. The phone rang, but it was a wrong number. And some local woman called in to ask about prices. She has some friends visiting, but there’s not enough room in her house, so she was checking to see if she can put them up here.’

  ‘Did she give you a name?’

  ‘No mum, it was just an enquiry. She was just some woman who’d read about you and dad in the paper and asked if you were in, to say hello to. I told her you were out, but that you’d be back later.’

  Charlotte sat down on the staircase, as happy as she could be that she’d covered all angles.

  ‘Did the woman have anything with her? A bag or anything like that?’

  ‘Mum, she was just a woman. She was only here for two minutes. That’s all that happened. Oh, and I checked the telephone number with 1471 but it was withheld, so I couldn’t ring them back and see what they wanted.’

  The door opened noisily on the ground floor.

  ‘I’m back!’

  It was Will.

  ‘Charlotte? Lucia?’

  ‘We’re up here!’ Charlotte replied.

  Will joined them on the landing, taking a seat on the step at Charlotte’s feet.

  ‘Everything alright?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, we’re good here,’ Charlotte lied. It didn't look like he’d seen the discarded underwear at the door; she was grateful for that.

  ‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked Lucia.

  ‘Yes, much better for a day off,’ she replied. ‘I think things just got out of proportion. I’m sorry about yesterday. Everything has just happened so fast; I’ve barely had time to think. I reckon it might have been better if I’d missed this term at school and started at the beginning of next term. I feel like I’m trying to jump on a moving roundabout.’

  Charlotte held out her hand and Lucia slapped it. It was as close to a hug as she got, all physical contact with her daughter having been banned since she was fourteen. Will got a hug occasionally, but only on very special occasions.

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. Olli’s not coming home for tea tonight. Apparently he’s got a hot date with a sixth former from school. He said he’ll be back by ten.’

  ‘Seems like I didn’t queer his pitch with my performance at school then,’ Charlotte smiled. ‘I hope it’s the girl he was with when I saw him the other day. She looked nice.’

  ‘Can I go now?’ Lucia asked, as if they’d been detaining her for questioning.

  ‘Yes, thanks, I’m sorry if I worried you.’ Charlotte did her best to dispel any concern she may have conveyed.

  Will waited until she’d gone into her bedroom, then signalled to Charlotte that they should speak downstairs.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked, spotting the bundled underwear just inside the door. He picked it up and looked at the note.

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  Charlotte shook her head.

  ‘It was there when I got back. Lucia says she’s seen or heard nothing. Somebody knows what happened at the camp, Will. I’m really scared now. This brings it to our door. We need to tell the police.’

  Will was silent as he walked into the kitchen. He rummaged in the drawers for a bin bag and placed the collection of underwear in there along with the note.

  ‘I thought I’d killed him that night,’ he said. ‘I honestly thought I’d murdered him. It was him or me, Charlotte - he was trying to kill me. I’ve never seen such anger in someone’s eyes. I wish I had killed him. He’s still hounding us after all these years, trying to ruin our lives. I know you still think about him.’

  ‘I tracked him down today. I know where he lives. At least, I know where he was living in 1984. His parents died, you know.’

  Charlotte felt in her pockets and handed him the fax papers. They were damp from her sweat.

  ‘We should report this to the police,’ Will said. ‘We can show them who he is, they’ll be able to trace him even from an old address. Did you take pictures of the underwear?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Charlotte replied. ‘The bastard isn’t getting away with it again. I’m recording everything this time.’

  ‘Oh, I asked one of the computer guys at work about that email. Bruce’s booking. It was sent through a disposable email address. You send the email and it self-destructs after an hour, a day, whatever it is you want. As far as he could tell, it was sent from a server in the North of England.’

  Well, that’s no help, is it?’ Charlotte snapped, more forcefully than she would have liked.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. But it’s not a real booking - there’s no Bruce Craven turning up today. It’s been sent to intimidate us. Just like your Facebook messages.’

  Charlotte hung her head in her hands and sighed.

  ‘What are we going to do, Will? If we go to the police, we’ll have to admit what we did that night. We both thought we’d killed him. It’s a miracle we didn’t. Is going to the police the right thing? Maybe we could meet him and pay him off, apologise perhaps. We’re all older and wiser now. He’ll see sense, surely he will?’

  ‘Come on Charlotte, you remember what he was like; do you really think a man like Bruce Craven would see reason? Anyway, I’d like to go to see Abi sing at the pub tonight. I can also find out who that guy was who pranged the car, so we can get the insurance sorted out. How about we catch up with Abi first, and see if she can throw any light on Bruce’s whereabouts? He was the father of her child after all, so she must at least have an idea where he is.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Charlotte said. ‘We don’t have any guests this evening, so we’re both free. Lucia can lock the doors; I’ll give her strict instructions. The police station isn’t far from the pub. Let’s see what Abi has to say first, then we’ll go to the police if we have to. But if we can sort this out directly with Bruce… well, I think that might be better for all of us, don’t you?’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Present Day - Morecambe

  ‘Now, you swear to me you open this door for nobody, alright? Nobody. Am I clear?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. I’ve got my phone notifications on, I’ve got the number for Morecambe Police Station, I’ve got the telephone number of the pub. I’m fine. What do you think is going to happen?’

  ‘Nothing, but you can never be too sure,’ Charlotte answered.

  ‘Here’s Isla’s number too,’ Will said, copying it down from his mobile phone onto a piece of paper. ‘She’s only around the corner, so if you see or hear anything, give her a call, okay?’

  ‘Yes, dad!’

  Lucia rolled her eyes.

  ‘Taxi’s here,’ Charlotte said, seeing the car draw up outside. ‘We won’t be late - as soon as Abi’s done her musical turn and we’ve had time to chat, we’ll be back. Be good!’

  Charlotte checked the front door twice before she joined Will in the vehicle.

  ‘Do you think we should have left her?’ she asked, as the taxi drew off along the sea front.

  ‘She’s old enough and sensible enough,’ Will reassured her. ‘Besides, she’s safely locked in and she can call somebody if she’s worried. We’re only ten minutes away. If I ran fast enough, I could be back there in no time.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s hope Abi can help us.’

  Charlotte’s hand tightened around the plastic bag that she was holding. If they had to go to the police, they’d go to the police. But only after they’d spoken to Abi.

  The force of the booming music in the pub could be heard from the street. There were flashing lights inside too, their reflections bursting out from the windows onto the road in front. Will paid the driver and they headed inside. There was a chalkboard on the pavement: Abi was on at nine o’clock. The band performing as they walked in was Davy Vegas and the Street Smarts, playing a medley of Elvis, The Eagles and Oasis tunes, like they were the evil spawn of the world's m
ost eclectic record collection.

  The barman recognised Will immediately and came over to serve him.

  ‘I’ll have a pint please and a half cider for my wife. Also, is Tony in? I need to speak to him about our little prang the other day.’

  Yes, Tony’s in the other bar. I think he’s quite keen to talk to you too. I’ll let him know you’re here.’

  He disappeared to the other side of the bar, then returned with Will’s order.

  ‘He’ll nip round in a moment, when the band stops. It can get a bit noisy in here.’

  Will saw that Charlotte had managed to find a seat.

  ‘I thought nobody was drinking out these days. This place is packed,’ he said.

  They sat through the final number from Davy and the guys - an interesting medley of Hotel California, Wonderwall and Viva Las Vegas - in complete silence. It was too loud to hear anything else, yet many of the people in the room persisted in speaking.

  At a quarter to nine, Davy announced that Abi Smithson would be making her appearance at nine o’clock prompt. They began to unplug their instruments, stripping the performance area back to a single microphone.

  ‘Here’s Abi now.’

  Charlotte was pointing to a lady in a sequined dress, looking like Shirley Bassey had taken a wrong turn and wound up there by mistake, a bigger star than the pub deserved.

  Charlotte leapt up from her seat, almost knocking over the drinks. Abi was checking in with the barman; if she was quick she’d catch her.

  ‘Abi Smithson?’ Charlotte said.

  Abi turned and looked at her.

  ‘Charlotte Grayson!’ A delighted smile appeared on her face. ‘I saw from the local paper that you were back in town. And still with Will. Is he here?’

  Will joined them and Abi gave him a huge hug.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here; I’m so pleased to see you. You know Will, I got my ‘O’ level maths after we all went our separate ways that summer. I can’t thank you enough. I even do my own accounts these days - I studied at night class, and it’s saved me a fortune over the years. You both look amazing.’