The Lost Ones

by Ben Cheetham

  ‘You’re right.’ Tom’s tone was apologetic. ‘If we could find some way to get him alone, then maybe . . .’ He trailed off uneasily at the thought of what came after ‘maybe’.

  ‘And how the hell are we supposed to do that? I’ll tell you what we need to do: we need to tear that camp to the ground.’

  ‘You know how I feel about that. I don’t want innocent people getting hurt.’

  ‘There are no innocent people at the camp.’ Eddie gripped Tom’s arm. ‘Face it, this is our best chance.’

  Uncertainty lined Tom’s face. Then the mantra vibrated forcefully through his mind again – Whatever’s necessary. ‘OK, Eddie, but it’s got to happen by tonight or tomorrow at the latest.’

  ‘That’s seriously short notice. It’ll cost extra.’

  Tom spoke through his teeth. ‘Sod the money. I’ll borrow whatever we need from Henry.’

  ‘I’ll get on the blower to the Geordies.’ Eddie took out his phone. ‘No signal.’

  ‘You can usually get one on the moors.’

  As Eddie headed for the edge of the forest, Henry approached Tom and asked, ‘Where’s he going?’

  ‘He’s doing something for me.’ Tom grimaced as if he was swallowing bitter medicine. ‘We need to talk, Henry. I need some money.’

  Henry’s bushy eyebrows lifted high. ‘What for?’

  Tom darted a glance at the constable who’d emerged from behind the boulders and was looking in their direction. ‘I’ll explain later. I’m not sure how much I need yet, but it has to be available for tomorrow.’

  ‘No problem, Tom. If you need a loan for the business, I’m happy to help.’

  Tom resisted the urge to retort incredulously, How could you think this is about the business? He turned away from his father-in-law, struggling to stomach the thought of taking his money. It wasn’t simply that it would give Henry a hold over him. It was the knowledge that, although this was about Erin, the money would also help get the quarry up and running. And that was something about which he’d wanted to be able to say, I did this alone. Me!

  The searchers adjusted their positions to account for Eddie’s absence. Thicker clouds were rolling in, blown on a high wind. The sun passed behind them, re-emerged, passed behind them . . . disappearing for a little longer each time, until finally it was lost for good. Evening crept relentlessly on, bringing a chill with it. The searchers pulled on jumpers and jackets. Tom refused the offer of a spare jacket. Erin was wearing only shorts and a T-shirt. He wanted to know how cold she felt. Behind the clouds, the setting sun turned the sky orange. And still nothing – no clues, no word as to how the search of the pool was going or whether the dogs had rediscovered the scent. As the gloom deepened with what seemed terrible rapidity, Tom felt the trees closing in claustrophobically.

  They took a rest and passed bottles of water around. Tom shook his head when somebody offered him one. ‘You should drink something,’ said Henry. ‘You’ll get dehydrated.’

  ‘Erin’s got nothing to drink,’ Tom replied resolutely.

  Henry made as if to say something else, but thought better of it. The stubbornness of the Jacksons was well known in Middlebury.

  Eddie returned and drew Tom aside. ‘They’re coming tomorrow. It’s gonna cost fifteen thousand, cash up front.’

  Tom caught a quiver of excitement. It crossed his mind that Eddie was enjoying all this. He knew the thought was undeserved. It wasn’t all this Eddie was enjoying, it was the prospect of a good scrap. Eddie had been itching to get his hands on the activists for months. Now he had his chance.

  Tom sidled over to Henry and told him how much he needed. ‘I’ll have the cash ready first thing,’ said Henry. ‘What exactly do you need it for?’ Tom told him and Henry asked dubiously, ‘Are you sure that’s wise? If someone gets hurt, you could end up in serious trouble.’

  ‘What other choice do I have?’

  ‘Try talking to the police again. Maybe you can convince them to do something.’

  Tom considered the suggestion, then swatted it away. ‘I’m going to find out for myself if those bastards have got anything to do with this.’

  ‘All right,’ said Henry. ‘But if anyone asks where the money came from, you don’t mention my name.’

  God forbid your precious name might be tarnished, Tom retorted silently. They searched on, the pace slowing maddeningly as starless darkness limited their vision to the ground in front of their feet. Torches were handed out, their beams bringing to life distorted faces in the tree trunks. Pale tendrils of mist licked the ground.

  ‘Everyone gather round,’ called Henry.

  ‘What are we stopping for?’ Tom demanded to know, although the answer was heartbreakingly obvious.

  ‘A fog bank is descending from the hills. The constable here informs me that the search is to be postponed until it passes.’

  Aghast, Tom rounded on the policeman. ‘You can’t do this!’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Jackson,’ said the constable. ‘It’s not up to me. It’s Sergeant Dyer’s call.’

  ‘Then I want to talk to him.’

  ‘OK, but it won’t make any difference.’

  The constable got on his radio. Sergeant Dyer’s voice came through the speaker, ‘Tell Mr Jackson that this entire area is forecast to be covered in thick fog within the next half an hour. It won’t do his daughter any good if others end up getting lost and we need to search for them too.’

  Henry doggedly tried to find a positive to latch on to. ‘The fog usually doesn’t last more than an hour or two at this time of year.’

  Tom clutched his pounding head. The thought of stopping the search for even five minutes was too much to bear. He wanted to yell into the radio, I won’t let you do this! But he knew Sergeant Dyer was right. The trees were already merging like shadows into the fog. He slashed his hands in front of his face as if trying to tear the whiteness to shreds. ‘How is this possible?’ His voice was somewhere between anger and desperation. ‘It was a clear day two hours ago.’

  ‘You know the weather around here, Tom. It can change like that.’ Eddie clicked his fingers. ‘Look, if you want to continue searching then I’m with you. But it seems to me that we could miss more than we see in this.’

  Tom resisted an impulse to throw his head back and shout Fuck you! at the sky. If growing up on a farm had taught him anything, it was that the only sensible response to nature’s indifference was to be indifferent right back. All his childhood he’d watched the elements mould his father’s face into a mask as rugged as the hills. Never once had he heard him complain. Blizzards, lashing rain, gales, scorching sun, his father had endured them all with the same passive silence.

  As the search party made their way out of the forest, they were joined by other groups, like a defeated army in retreat. Every footstep tormented Tom. He kept calling for Erin, but the only reply was the echo of his own voice. The fog pursued them like a silent assassin, erasing the forest until it was as if it had never existed.

  Beyond Newbiggin Farm, volunteers were filing onto buses. Dogs were being loaded into search and rescue vehicles. Sergeant Dyer was issuing instructions to a cluster of emergency service personnel: ‘. . . and my team will remain here. The rest of you will return to the station and await further instructions.’

  Amanda was sitting in the open door of the Mini, staring at the ground. Her face looked crumpled in, a hollow-eyed glimpse of her as an old woman. She jerked her head up and rose to her feet as Henry approached. He enveloped her in a hug. A sob broke from her as she pressed her face into his shoulder. Tom hung back from the pair and asked Eddie, ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I hate to say it, mate, but this fog looks set in. Might as well go home and grab something to eat. You should do the same. You look done in.’

  Eddie patted Tom’s shoulder and headed for his car. Tom’s gaze moved to Graham, who was standing statue-like a short distance away. Tom mustered up a nod of thanks. As if he’d been given permission to leave, G
raham tugged at Bob’s lead and turned towards his Land Rover. Tom watched him with a sad frown. What had happened to them? he wondered. How had they become so distant? They’d never been best mates. They had too little in common. But they had at least used to talk occasionally, exchange a few words about their lives. Now it was almost like they were strangers.

  Another sob from Amanda wrenched Tom’s thoughts back to Erin. Keeping a proprietorial arm around his daughter, Henry said to Tom, ‘I’m taking Amanda home. She’s in no fit state to be here. Are you coming?’

  Amanda’s tear-swollen eyes pleaded with Tom to say yes. He looked at the whiteness where the forest used to be.

  ‘What can you do here?’ continued Henry. ‘Better to gather your strength and come back at it fresh when the fog clears.’

  It crushed Tom to accept it, but his father-in-law was right. He handed the Mini’s keys to Henry and asked Amanda, ‘Are you coming with me?’

  She looked uncertainly from him to her dad, then nodded.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Henry.

  Tom turned away to hide his irritation. What would it take to make Henry accept that Amanda needed to be a wife first and a daughter second? he wondered, already knowing the answer: a different husband.

  ‘Yes.’ Amanda removed herself from Henry’s arm. She slumped into the passenger seat of Tom’s Volvo, squeezing her eyes shut as if to block out some horrific image. His face as desolate as the fog, Tom started the engine. He wondered when they would return to the forest. If Erin turned up somewhere else before the fog cleared, would they ever be able to bring themselves to return? The answer to that question was painfully clear: it depended on the state she turned up in.

  DAY 1

  10.33 P.M.

  Seth watched Tom, Amanda and Henry. Such drama, such pain. He wanted to soak it all up, store it like water to be rationed out whenever he needed to feel something. ‘It makes me want to cry,’ said Holly. He tore his gaze from the sad scene and looked at her. Her eyes were filmed with tears. One spilled over. Unthinkingly, he reached to brush it away. He started slightly as Holly curled her fingers into his. A thrill of something almost like fear went through him. His fingers were limp in hers. As if fearing she’d made a mistake, she started to pull her hand away. But he caught it in a tight grip that surprised him as much as it did her. A faint wince passed over her face. He quickly relaxed his grip.

  They climbed hand in hand onto the bus. As it chugged towards Middlebury, Seth’s mind whirled with questions. How long am I supposed to hold her hand for? What does this mean? Are we an item?

  Holly untangled her hand from his. He darted her a look, wondering if it was because of something he’d done or not done. But she was simply reaching for her water. His eyes traced her movements as she took a mouthful then rested her hand on his again. Her palm was warm and dry. His was clammy.

  ‘Beds have been set up in the Town Hall for those of you from outside the area who want to continue helping when the search restarts,’ announced a woman at the front of the bus. ‘The Black Bull, the Bridge End and the Old Oak are also laying on food.’

  ‘I’m staying at the Black Bull,’ Seth told Holly. ‘Do you want to come for something to eat with me?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said casually, as if it meant nothing.

  The bus dropped them in the market square. A reporter thrust a microphone in their faces as they disembarked. Putting his head down, Seth made for the Black Bull. The lounge tables were laden with sandwiches, pies, cold meats, cheeses, baked potatoes and salads. There were urns of tea and coffee.

  Alcohol wasn’t normally Seth’s thing – he liked to keep a clear-headed control of whatever situation he found himself in – but right then he felt the need for a beer. He wondered if he should offer Holly a drink. In many ways he considered himself a master game-player. But this was a game whose rules he’d never been taught. ‘Do you want a pint or something?’

  ‘A pint would be good, thanks.’

  The barman waved Seth’s money away. ‘On the house.’

  Seth accepted the drinks with a nod, unsure how else to respond. He wasn’t used to being given anything for free.

  The lounge was rapidly filling with volunteers. Seth headed for a two-seat table. They sipped their drinks, not making eye contact. After a few minutes, Holly said, ‘The way you asked that sergeant about Erin, I thought you were this super-confident guy. But you’re actually quite shy, aren’t you?’

  Again Seth felt that fear-like thrill. Part of him wanted this girl to see him, see who he really was. Another part wanted to get up and walk away before that could happen. Every action, every word was like the flip of a card. Right now he was winning. But he could lose big on the next deal. He gave a non-committal shrug. ‘I’m not really used to being around lots of people.’

  ‘But you’re from London.’

  ‘It’s easy to be alone in a big city.’

  Holly sipped her pint thoughtfully. ‘Do you enjoy being alone?’

  ‘What’s there to enjoy about it?’ Seth regretted the words the instant they were out, realising they revealed more than he wanted to about himself. He steeled himself for the inevitable return question.

  ‘Then why come on holiday by yourself?’

  ‘I enjoy my own company out in the countryside where there aren’t many other people,’ he lied smoothly. ‘In London it’s different . . .’ How could he explain what it was like to grow up in a loveless environment, surrounded by 8 million people who didn’t know your name? Did he even want to try? ‘I suppose it’s a bit like that saying about being lonely in a crowd.’

  ‘It’s impossible to be lonely in our house. I’m the eldest of six. I’ve got two brothers and three sisters. I know I should be grateful, but sometimes I just feel like being alone. I’ve been saving for a deposit on a flat.’ As if admitting to some secret desire, Holly added, ‘What I really want is a farm of my own.’

  ‘If that’s what you want, I’m sure you’ll get it.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I saw how you were today. You’re not someone who gives up easily. That’s one thing I’m good at. I can tell all sorts about people just from looking at them.’

  ‘So what else can you tell about me?’

  ‘You’re an honest person.’ In his mind Seth added, You’ve never known real pain, real emptiness, real need. In what he hoped was a playful tone, he continued, ‘You’re attracted to slim blond men with London accents.’

  Holly laughed, an incongruous sound in the subdued atmosphere. ‘Wow, you’re amazing. You ought to be a fortune-teller. You’d make a packet. OK, my turn. Let’s see what I can tell about you.’

  She leaned forwards, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands. Her probing gaze was too much for Seth. He took a mouthful of his pint. The lager tasted teeth-achingly sharp. The lights suddenly seemed to have become painfully bright. ‘We’ve already established you’re a bit of a loner—’ began Holly, but she broke off as Seth pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘Have you got a headache?’

  A nod was all he could manage in reply.

  ‘You’ve probably had too much sun. You should drink some water and lie down.’

  With an effort, Seth asked, ‘What about you?’

  ‘Netherwitton’s like four miles in the wrong direction from the forest. So I was thinking I might sleep at the Town Hall. Or . . .’ Holly wavered off, looking at Seth from under her eyelashes.

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Oh, OK. I’ll meet you here when the search restarts then.’

  Holly blinked awkwardly away from Seth’s gaze. Am I missing something? Have I said something wrong? he wondered. But his brain was in no condition to provide answers. Everything felt out of focus, like the moors wobbling in the midday sun. He stood up. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Night,’ replied Holly, smiling but not looking at him.

  Fighting a rubberiness in his legs, Seth dodged through the crowded lounge. He glanced at Holly
from the doorway. One of the men from their search team was talking to her. Seth felt a twisting in his stomach that had nothing to do with his aversion to speaking about himself. He took a step back towards the table, but a carping voice rose from a dark corner of his mind: What are you doing, idiot? Now’s not the time to take up with some little whore.

  ‘She’s not a whore,’ Seth muttered under his breath.

  They’re all whores.

  ‘You should know, Grandma.’

  A cackle of shrill laughter echoed through his mind. He wrenched his gaze away from Holly. Grandma was right about one thing: now wasn’t the time to get hung up on a girl. Now was the time to focus on what he was in Middlebury to do.

  The DO NOT DISTURB sign was still on the doorknob. He gazed around his room intently. Satisfied everything was as he’d left it, he retrieved a bundle of time-yellowed envelopes from his bag. He selected one with a black heart scrawled on it and removed a letter. Then he fished a cheap pay-as-you-go phone and a white plastic box roughly the size and shape of a cigarette packet from the bag. The box had a shallow circular indent flanked by a volume control dial and red, green and blue buttons. He pressed a button marked ROBOT, placed the box over the phone’s mouthpiece and dialled. After several rings, a man answered, ‘Hello?’

  Seth spoke into the indent. A speaker on the back of the box emitted a distorted machinelike version of his voice. ‘Don’t hang up or you’ll regret it.’

  Puzzled and uneasy, the man asked, ‘What is this? Who are you?’

  ‘I know what you did and I can prove it.’

  ‘I don’t . . .’ The voice stumbled over itself. ‘I don’t know what you’re—’

  ‘Shut up and listen.’ Seth began to read the letter aloud. ‘I love everything about you. I love the way the sun makes your hair shine. I love the deep pools of your eyes. I love your lips, your hands, your feet, your fingers, your toes. Sometimes I wonder if you are real or if you are an angel come down from heaven.’

  Silence followed these words, so deathly Seth wondered if he’d been hung up on. He caught the sound of tense breathing. ‘If that’s not enough to convince you I’m for real, then how about this?’ He picked out another letter. ‘My beloved, why do you not reply to my letters? I have already proven I will do anything for you. What else must I do to convince you we are soulmates? I will burn down this whole town if that’s what it takes.’