by Mark Ayre
“Nice to meet you,” she said, smiling that meek smile.
“You too,” said James, and watched as she rushed for the door, letting herself out and closing it softly behind her.
“Shy, right?” George said as James faced him. “You should have seen her a couple of years ago when she first arrived. Wouldn’t say a word to anyone. She’s come on leaps and bounds.”
“You do amazing work here,” James said, and George shifted his hand in a so-so gesture. Men like him were never satisfied with what they had achieved. Always wanted to do more. It was what made them great and allowed them to help so many.
“Please, sit,” said George, gesturing to the plastic seat as he took the office chair. James obliged, though it wasn’t comfortable.
From his new position, he examined the profile of the boy in the book before him. Johnny Carter, born 1998. The text was his bio, ending with the details of the job he had recently acquired - mechanic.
“I told you how proud I was of everything we do here,” George said. He took the book and spun it, so James wasn’t reading upside down, then closed it so the cover showed. “Our little book of success stories. A new edition released every year with the latest faces added. I find it acts as quite the inspiration to those coming through. Shows what they can achieve if they put their mind to it. Those we can wrangle into it also give a speech every summer. Timing could be better, but we’ve got this year's tomorrow afternoon.
“That’s all arranged but Becky has been helping me with this year’s book, although, as you can see, I’ve had plenty of practice.“
George referenced a bookshelf behind him where a row of fifteen volumes sat side by side, each with the name of the branch and the year on it. He thought of all the kids in these books, working in the real world because of EKC. Felt a real swell of emotion sweep through him.
“Incredible,” he whispered.
“Yes,” said George. “It is. I love what I do. Always have. To be able to help so many and yet, now I wonder. You spend so much time helping troubled children, only for it to turn out you’ve failed your own. Another heap of kids get onto the job market this year, and Charlie is gone. I couldn’t help him.”
Overcome by emotion, George grabbed his mouse and squeezed. James could hear the plastic creaking and thought it might crack. Part of him wanted to lean in and lay his hand on George. A mark of comfort, but he had no idea how George would react.
“You can’t think like that,” he said. “What happened with Charlie isn’t your fault. It’s Luke. You couldn’t have stopped him doing what he did.”
“Could I not?” George said. “This is not some stranger who has swept in and stolen the little boy I love. This is my son. Should I not be held responsible for his actions? I am his father. I promised to raise and protect him, yes, but also to ensure he turned out right. In the end, I think I failed on both counts. Now I’m paying the price, and not just me. Poor Charlie, and Claire too.”
Feeling it had suffered enough, George released the mouse which breathed a sigh of relief. He stared at the book as though it might contain a spell to bring Charlie back. He lay a hand on the cover and closed his eyes. Thinking about the little boy lost.
“Some kids don’t want to listen or learn,” James tried. “It’s not like you have three awful children. You have Mark and Emma who turned out right. Maybe you’re not to blame for Luke. Maybe that was always going to be the way he was, whatever happened.”
George nodded and might have looked a little comforted. James couldn’t tell if that was wishful thinking on his part.
The book slid away from James, and he jumped. George rose from his seat, slipped it into place on the shelf and ran his finger along the many spines. Caressing them. He stood that way for some time, not looking to James.
“Mac said Luke used to work here,” James said. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to get from the confession. Only that that the mood George was in, he might be more open. That made James feel dishonest but didn’t stop him saying it.
“He did, and a wonderful help he was,” said George, bitter notes clear in his voice. “Good enough to fool me into missing the problems. Into not realising what he was.”
George faced James but didn’t sit. Hovered over him, part looking at his guest, part staring over his shoulder, looking not at the wall behind, but into the past.
“It came to a head in here. Harsh words over harsh actions. I tried to convince him to stop what he was doing, and he lost his temper. He had a habit of that. Punched me in the face. The stomach. Knocked me down and hit me again and again.
“I told him he had had it. That we wouldn’t protect him anymore. He was finished. He said he would make me pay and he kicked me again. Then he left. I was crumpled on the floor, bleeding, and in pain. It was the last time I saw him, and perhaps that was for the best. Though now, of course, I would do anything to see him again, so I could reclaim Charlie. Even if I had to beat the boy’s location from my son, I would. I would do anything to get him back.”
His eyes remained distant. The tale had been like ice, freezing James to his chair and for a few moments he could do nothing but tremble and look at the man. His throat was dry and his heart going on and on at him. He found a way to clear his throat.
“What did Luke do?”
George looked at him with a start. The story had dragged him from the present, and he seemed to have forgotten James was there. Remembering, he was embarrassed and frustrated he had said as much as he had. A smile found its way to his lips, but it was weak as a newborn calf and fell apart like tissue paper under a running tap. He cleared his throat and moved around the table.
“Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t talk about it. We don’t talk about it. Give me a second, would you, I’ll be right back. I must -“
But he was moving as he spoke and had left the room before he finished the sentence. James got the impression he was no longer welcome. George would have asked him to go but didn’t have the time. He was choking with emotional memories and thoughts of his missing grandchild. He needed to vacate so James didn’t see those emotions pouring out in a way many men would find embarrassing. Women too, he supposed.
Left alone, James could not help but replay what he had heard. Luke, who had been such a great helper to the charity had confronted and attacked George, and something was nagging at James. Something he could not shake. Memories of the night of Mohsin’s attack came back, and he found himself rising, stepping around the desk and picking up the latest complete edition of the charity’s success stories.
He began flicking through, tracing the names. Here was Jason Miles, who found employment as a recruitment agent fourteen years ago; Amber May, who become a badminton instructor at the local leisure centre eleven years ago; Michael Reed, barber, seven years ago; Alan Henning, started his own gardening business three years ago and -
He stopped, the book almost sliding from his grip as he reached one of the latest entries. A beaming girl with pretty eyes and hair tied tight behind her.
“James, if you don’t mind I need some time to myself. Of course, I’d like to thank you for all of your help, and would be delighted if you would agree to come to dinner tonight, but, for now -“
He stopped, catching James’ look and seeing the book in his hands.
“What? What is it?”
Closing the door behind him he stepped to the desk, placing a hand on it as though knowing he would need steadying once James spoke. If this was the reason, his intuition was strong.
“Your fight with Luke,” James said, gripping the book so hard the pages were in danger of tearing. “Was it over someone here?”
“What do you mean? Explain yourself.”
“I’m just thinking -“ Christ this was hard - “Mac said everyone loved him. I’m wondering if maybe someone loved him too much. One of the girls. And maybe he used his position of power to start a relationship he should not have started. I suppose there are rules about that sort of thing,
aren’t there? Even if she was of age, which I doubt. Because you’re caring for vulnerable parties.”
George didn’t move, but James could almost hear the pounding of the older man’s heart. Would have been able to if his own hadn’t been thudding so hard.
“Whatever it is you are getting at, I think you ought to come out and say it.”
James didn’t. Not at first. He placed the book on the desk, turning it towards the head of the charity. George looked at the page.
Sema Yohannes. As of last year working as a teaching assistant at the school a large quantity of the village had visited earlier that day.
“You know this girl?” he asked, though it was clear George did. As soon as he saw the face, all colour drained from his skin and he sunk into the plastic chair. His hand extended, and he touched the book, unable to speak.
“She would have been underage when it started,” James said, feeling the anger bubbling within him. George looked up with pleading in his eyes.
“It was my fault.”
James said nothing. Amy, Mac and now George. Everyone seemed to be taking the blame for something.
“He promised he would end it. I know I should have done something sooner, but he was my son, and I believed him. I know you won’t understand.”
But James did. The video of long ago replaced the real world. His mother standing before him.
It’s over. I swear it is. Don’t tell your father.
James had believed it, not because she was trustworthy, but because she was his mother. And how had that ended?
“When I worked out he was lying I told him I’d had enough as I said. He beat me up, but that night he left town. I spoke to Sema, and it was over. It’s over.”
James shook his head.
“It’s not over. Luke stayed in contact with her after he left and, last night, when he slipped into Claire’s house and stole your Grandson, Sema kept watch for him. I know that because I saw her and now I understand.
“Sema was the one who attacked Mohsin.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Within his stomach were separate balls of frustration, guilt and anger, growing all the time.
The frustration came from his inability to help. Luke had taken Charlie, and only the police could find him. James had discovered pertinent information, but he would not be the one to inform the authorities. This was George’s turf, and George had pleaded James allow him to deal with it. James had wanted to say no but hadn’t.
It was this that caused the guilt. Emma’s words invaded his mind again, reminding him he had nothing to do with this. He thought through his reasons for wanting to help. The guilt of what had happened with Toby, the desire for the Barneses and Megan to think more of him. There was no altruism, and that made him angry at himself.
This was part of the anger, but not all. Mostly this was driven by the man who had not only kidnapped his son but had used his position of power to twist an innocent girl around his finger. To turn her into someone so obsessed with him she would attack another innocent to protect him. She could go to jail for what she had done, and it was Luke’s fault.
It was the anger balloon that grew the fastest. That would destroy the other two. Before long, if he didn’t do something, it would be the only emotion left.
In a daze he crossed the village, having left with thoughts of returning to the B&B but not walking in that direction. Dragged on by some part of his subconscious that suggested maybe anger was not all that was left.
“Hey. you.”
Until she spoke, he hadn’t known how close he had come to the house in which the Barneses had discussed the letter. Now the real world smashed through his thoughts, although when he saw her lying in the deck chair on the front lawn, one hand on the table beside her, touching an iced drink, the other shielding her eyes from a sun so powerful her large sunglasses weren’t enough to stop it half-blinding her, it still felt like a dream. Or an advert.
“Hi,” he managed, taking in Megan’s tiny denim shorts and her loose summery top, raised enough to reveal the stomach below the belly button. Her hair falling around her shoulders completed an image so breathtaking he could only hover on the path like an idiot as she watched him.
“Care to join me?”
“I’d love to.”
She smiled, and rose, brushing herself down although her skin and clothes were immaculate. Untouched by dirt, grass or even sweat. She made for the door, then turned that sensational smile to him once again.
“What do you drink? Beer, wine, water, cocktails?”
“Beer would be great.”
She gave a thumbs up.
“There’s another deck chair down the side -“ she pointed. “Grab that. I’ll do drinks.”
Despite the instruction he watched her walk away, mesmerised by her swinging hips as she disappeared through the front door. Once she was out of sight, he did as he was told, moving into the shade around the side of the house and taking the second deck chair, wondering how much use they got out of it in England as he dragged it onto the front lawn.
Here he faced a dilemma. Chair placement in relation to Megan’s. Too close and he would look like some a letch, or pervert. Too far and he would seem distant. This was why he found it easier not talking to girls at all. Or boys, for that matter. Talking to people only led to complications and -
“Ahh, that old chestnut.”
James almost dropped the deckchair, then nearly smashed Megan’s drink as he swung around to face her. The smile never left her face.
“What?”
“You know,” she said. “Holding off putting down the deckchair until I come out, so I can see how strong you are. Very impressive, although, I carried mine. That negates the effect somewhat.” She winked, to show she was teasing, and still, he felt uncomfortable.
“I didn’t know where to put it,” he confessed, and she rolled her eyes.
“Chuck it down.”
He obliged. She had his beer in one hand and collected her drink from the table, then nudged it with a foot. “Put this on the other side of my chair. That’s it, well done.”
Having placed the table as requested, he spun with a half-hearted glare. She laughed, put the drinks down, and squeezed his shoulder. Like pressing a switch, his angry eyes flicked to loved up.
“I’m sorry,” she said, still laughing. “Just wanted to see how far I could push talking to you like a child. I want to be a mother someday, you know. Good to have the practice.”
“You’d make a good mother.”
“Well, maybe,” she confessed, pointing at the second deck chair and drawing a line with her finger to where she would like it placed - next to the drinks table, within an arm’s length of her own - “But you’re not great practice. My child wouldn’t check me out quite so much, for a start. I hope.”
He felt his face flare with red embarrassment and busied himself, picking up the chair and placing it as directed. She gave another laugh as he tried to hide, and replaced herself in her chair, looking at him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t tease.”
He waved a hand, positioning himself in the second deck chair and trying to get comfortable under the harsh rays of the sun and over the hard white plastic.
“Tease away. I can take it.”
“An admirable quality,” she smiled, taking her glass. “Now drink up, and think positive tanning thoughts. That’s what I’ve been doing.”
He watched as she sipped her drink. Felt his blood rush at the sight of her and the thought of what he might say next. Hadn’t he been worried about Charlie and Sema minutes ago? Now it was hard to think of anything but the girl beside him.
“Aren’t you worried about tan lines?”
“I am, but what’s a girl to do? Can hardly lie here with my breasts out, can I? What would the neighbours think?”
“Well if I was your neighbour -“
“Don’t,” she admonished, light-heartedly. “Besides, not a lot of red-blooded young
men live within eye line of my lawn. Mostly elderly couples. Trust me. If I came out bare-chested, you’d hear the old dears tutting from here.”
“Pity.”
“Oh, hush. Drink up, relax, and stop with the talking. You’re making me blush.”
She smiled at him, and he returned it. They stared at the sky, relaxing, thinking positive tanning thoughts, and didn’t speak again until James’ drink was half gone.
“How was the EKC lunch shift?”
It was a treat lying beside her. He felt comfortable. Unburdened by a perceived need to try and break the silence. Nor was the quiet infected by dark thoughts from past and present. Megan wasn’t only easy to talk to, but to be with. That was what made lying beside her so dangerous.
Rather than mention any of this, he decided to answer the question.
“I’m glad I went. Not sure Mac would have been up to it alone with everything that’s happened to Mohsin. It felt good to help.”
“Mr Selfless Outsider continues to be beyond human in his helpfulness.”
The words could have been cruel, but they weren’t from her. They were honest, as she was honest, and he wished he could return the favour. Tell her everything.
“There’s nothing selfless about what I do,” he said, regretting admitting it right away for fear of how it might affect her perception of him. She lowered her shades, raised her eyebrows.
“No?”
George wanted to handle the situation, and James knew he should keep quiet about Sema. But those eyes bore into him, and his selfish need to impress reared it’s ugly head.
“I found something out,” he said, and before he could reconsider he was telling Megan about finding Sema in the book, George’s confession that Luke had been sleeping with her, his knowledge that she was the one they’d seen the previous night, and his belief she had attacked Mohsin to protect Luke. He felt his chest tighten with rage as he said this, and was glad to get to the end of the story and start working on deflating that anger balloon again.
