by Mark Ayre
James arrived at the Barneses door in a fresh set of clothes, fake smile fixed to his face, barrage of worries and doubts crashing through him like a hurricane through Kansas. He wasn’t counting but guessed it took him near enough three minutes to lift his fist and knock on the door after arriving on the porch.
It opened on Christina, whose words of greeting came at him in a haze, some losing their way from her lips to his ears, never reaching their target. He got the gist, said hello, and followed her into the living room.
“Can I get you a drink?”
He asked for water, and she disappeared with a quick warning that everyone be friendly to him, as though he were a stray dog in need of careful handling. He turned to the three faces in the room and tried his best to smile, though a million questions sought escape through his mouth. Leading the way was ‘do you know Charlie is not Luke’s son?’
“You look like you’ve been told you have a week to live,” said Emma. “And you’ve come to impart the news.”
James breathing in, sucking the questions back down his throat. They probably didn’t know, and it wasn’t his place to tell them. So far the only hope they had came from their belief Charlie was safe with his father. James couldn’t take that away.
He made no response to Emma, but Mark shot his sister a warning look.
“Shut up, will you -” and to James - “have a seat. I was going to say you should relax after your work at the charity, but I hear you spent most of the afternoon relaxing.”
“Hitting on your girlfriend,” said Emma.
“Shut up,” Mark repeated. “She’s a social girl is Megan, bet you loved the company, didn’t you, babe?”
“I did,” she confessed. “Although next time, bring chocs, will you?”
“I will,” he said, smiling. She comforted him, as always. Although Emma’s glare and the appraising look of Mark had the opposite effect.
Silence followed, during which James took a seat, and chanced a look at the photo from which Luke had been chopped. He knew removing the Barneses hope was not the only reason he couldn’t mention Charlie’s paternity. It was also a fear that if they knew Charlie was not a Barnes, they would cease to care for him. A stupid, baseless worry once again routed in his insecurities, that they could find it so easy to cast out any non-Barnes, meaning not only Charlie but also him.
“I hear you’re thinking of moving here?”
This was Mark. James tried to regain some composure.
“Uh, yeah. Thought I’d come for the weekend. Get the lay of the land. I would have spent today looking but…”
He trailed off, as though they wouldn’t know it was because of Charlie and Mohsin if he kept quiet. All eyes were on him, Emma’s mocking, Megan’s kind, Mark’s unreadable. He hated it.
“Well, you’re in luck,” Mark said. “I’m an estate agent.”
“Really?”
“Strange thing to lie about,” Emma said.
“Good point,” said James, annoyed not at Emma’s interruption but because Megan had told him what Mark did, and he shouldn’t have forgotten.
Mark glared at his sister again but this time didn’t say anything.
“Anyway, I don’t know your requirements, but we’ve a one bedroom place open at the moment. Well kept, real nice. I could show you around tomorrow if you wanted?”
“Sounds good,” said James. “Thank you.”
Mark shrugged a no big deal shrug and smiled. James felt as though he should follow his thanks up with something else, but before anyone could utter another word could, the door opened, and Christina reappeared.
“Dinner is served.”
They filed into the dining room, taking their places around a six seater table. Mark and Megan on one side, Emma and James facing them. The place at either end sat free, with Christina having left to find George. In the middle sat a colossal roast beef, which smelt incredible. James said as much before Christina disappeared.
“So, moving out of the city,” Mark said. “Won’t you be leaving anyone behind? Family, friends, girlfriend?”
He went to pick at a carrot and Megan slapped his hand. Gave him a warning look. Mark rolled his eyes. James could feel Emma’s eyes on him.
“Not really,” he said. “I don’t live near my parents and as for friends -” the scene by the river. A rock fell - “my closest friend and I fell out recently -” lying on the bank, blood pouring into the water - “I’m sure I won’t be missed -” A foot in the back. Being rolled into the dark, blooded water. He could almost feel it clutching at him. Dragging him under. His head was beginning to throb again. He tried to smile.
“What about a girl?” Emma asked, leaning in. “Handsome guy like you. There must have been someone.”
They all watched him. Megan coughed. It must have been his imagination, but he thought she looked away, as though she didn’t like hearing about the girlfriend that might have been. He saw said girlfriend step forward, smiling, blowing a kiss. Long dark hair falling over her shoulders, big blue eyes stealing his as they had so many times before. There was the rushing water again, and the throbbing worsened.
“No,” he said. “There was no one.”
Emma made a scoffing noise that suggested disbelief. Mark gave a little smile that did the same. Prickling anger rippled across James’ skin, and how stupid was that, given he was lying? He clamped his jaw closed, and was thankful when the dining room door opened and Christina reentered.
“Look who I found,” she said, smiling as George followed her in. He looked tired, broken. There was no way George knew Charlie wasn’t his grandchild. Not looking like that.
“Evening all,” George said, before falling into his seat. Mark responded by again going for the carrots, but Christina raised a hand.
“Hold. I want to say something first.”
“We’re not doing grace are we?” Emma said, disgusted.
“No,” said Christina. “I want to talk about Charlie. Remember him?”
Emma looked down. Might have been ashamed. She hid her face well, and it was impossible to tell. James felt the pull of the knowledge he did not feel he should have weighing on him and looked at Christina without making eye contact.
“Charlie has been missing almost a day,” she said. “And it has been hurting us all, even if some of us try not to show it.”
A pointed look at Emma, who kept her head bowed.
“Now, we could sit around and cry. We could panic and get angry. We could get in our cars and drive up and down the country, knocking on every door until we found him. But what good would that do? What will we achieve by driving ourselves into the ground?
“We all feel the loss of Charlie, and will continue to until he returns - and I do believe he will return - but we must go on. We must allow the police to do their job. They were confident of finding him before, and more so with the added information George has been able to give them.”
Christina knew about Sema, that was good. Maybe the police were with her as mother Barnes gave her speech, talking the information out of her. Who knew, by the end of the meal they could be on their way to Luke’s location. By the end of the night, Charlie could be safe. He let that hope slip behind his defences to lift his spirits as Christina continued.
“Remember that we are the Barneses. That includes you, Megan. And James - our honorary Barnes.”
Forget lifted spirits, at Christina’s words they shot up like a rocket roaring towards outer space. Memories of a miserable boy in a broken bed fell on him. All the dreams and tears, nights spent wishing he could be part of a proper family. A perfect family. He had fought tears of misery back then, and he did the same with those of happiness now.
“The Barneses are the centre of this village,” Christina continued. “We will not let this tragedy break us, or turn us into fools. We will be strong for the community, and they will be strong for us, and we will be rewarded with our Charlie returned. Understand?”
Nods from around the table. She looked
at Megan, Mark, George and James with appreciation for the gestures, then turned to the only person who had not nodded.
“I know you find it tough to show your heart, sweetie,” she said, and Emma seemed to ruffle at the pet name. “I’m going to let you off.
“Now, speech over. Let’s eat.”
They tucked into the delicious dinner before them. Passing potatoes, veg and stilted conversation across the table as they ate. It was difficult to relax, with the little boy in the back of all their minds. Megan and Christina looked distracted, Mark frustrated and George on the verge of tears. Emma seemed the least bothered, but it was James who had to keep his emotions in check. He hated what had happened to Charlie, but the warmth of the family unit around him was melting the ice-cold fear for the boy. Feelings of inclusion acted like a rush of adrenaline, giving him an energy and vitality he was not used to. At times he looked around and had to suppress a smile.
Once everyone had finished Christina rose to clear the table, but James wouldn’t hear of it. He talked her down and gathered as many dirty dishes as he could, carrying them from the room. Following his lead (and perhaps, he couldn’t help but think, wanting to be alone with him) Megan collected the remaining items and followed him into the kitchen.
“How does it feel?” she asked as he flipped open the dishwasher. He looked up as she scraped leftovers into the bin. The least appealing of chores and still she looked incredible. Although he suspected the bland domesticity was part of what made it seem beautiful to him.
“What?” he asked.
“Being an honorary Barnes.” She dropped the cleared plate into the dishwasher. “It’s quick work, I must say. Christina shoved Mark and me together, but she still doesn’t like me. But here you are, honorary Barnes in 24 hours.”
“If only I’d become one a few years ago,” he said, hiding his face by loading the dishwasher. “Maybe she would have pushed you to me, rather than Mark.”
Megan tutted and slapped him on the arm. He rose to see her looking at the door. When she turned back, she glared and shook her head, an effect ruined by the smile on her face.
“Sorry,” he said.
“You were a lot shyer a day ago,” she said.
“Testing times make us bolder,” he said. “I am sorry though. You’re with Mark. I shouldn’t.”
“No,” she agreed. “You shouldn’t.”
Yet, she liked it. He could tell. The way she stood, so close to him. The constant smile on her lips and the look in her eyes. They each held a plate, but neither could bear to break the lock of their eyes across the kitchen island.
Ruining the moment, the door opened, and Christina bustled in.
“Well aren’t you a couple of stars doing the dishes? What are you drinking? Wine, Megan? Oh you’re a beer drinker, aren’t you?”
“A beer would be great.”
Christina gave Megan the sort of look a mother might give a teenager who said she wanted to stay out after curfew then collected three beers from the fridge.
“I can only imagine what my mother would have said had I asked for a beer,” she said, smiling a tight, disapproving smile. “It’s not ladylike, that’s what. I guess times move on.”
She took a bottle opener from the cutlery drawer and began popping the caps. James turned to Megan, and she to him, both fighting to repress laughter by grabbing more plates and stuffing them in the dishwasher.
Behind them, Christina had a corkscrew in the wine.
“Take those beers through will you, Megan, dear.”
Without hesitation Megan did as she was told, taking all three bottles and disappearing from the room as Christina poured a glass of wine, then went to the cupboard to grab three pint glasses, lining them up on the side as Megan returned.”
“These and the wine, too, please. And don’t worry about coming back. James is almost done. I’ll help him finish.”
Megan gave a small, respectful nod and took the glasses and wine in a couple more trips as Christina poured a wine for herself.
“Beer’s okay isn’t it, James?” she asked.
“Beer’s great,” he said, sliding the full bottom drawer closed and grabbing the used glasses to complete the top row of the day's dirty dishes. Christina seized a few herself and moved next to him to stack them.
“I hear we are in your debt once again. Finding out about that young girl’s involvement in this whole fiasco. Putting us another step towards getting our Charlie back. I really cannot thank you enough.”
“You already have,” he said, gesturing around. “Inviting me into your home. Treating me as though I were family.”
“If only you were,” she said. “Any mother would be proud of a son like you.”
“Don’t know about that.”
This is your fault, James, all your fault. You stupid, useless waste of -
“We do our best as mothers,” Christina said. James looked at her and knew she was thinking of Luke, as James had been thinking of his mother. Hearing some choice words he had used, perhaps. James wanted to reach out a comforting hand but could only stand like a soldier.
“We should, anyway. I did everything for Luke, as I did everything for Mark and Emma. I was good to them, yes, but I also taught them right from wrong. Taught them how to be productive members of society without being robots. I showed them respect and love, and I expected it in return. But I suppose Luke was never the respectful sort. Maybe he was always going to end up the way he did. But you can’t help but wonder, maybe -“
“It wasn’t your fault,” James said, unable to stop himself interjecting. She smiled at him. A warm, motherly smile that broke his heart. How many times had Luke received that smile, and he had turned away from it all.
“I thought having a child would be the making of him,” Christina said. “I thought he would change for the better. But in the end, Charlie is just another weapon in his campaign of nastiness. Even after everything I’ve seen of my Luke, I find that hard to understand.”
She leaned against the counter, looking lost. James had a dirty glass in his hand but still couldn’t move. He had no idea what to say, and when the words came, he wasn’t sure it was he who had chosen them.
“I spoke to Claire today. She told me something.”
That was lame. As though he was dangling a cliffhanger in front of her, prompting her to guess. She didn’t need to. He could tell as soon as he said it, she already knew.
“About Charlie’s parentage?”
“Yes.”
“I think, with that glass, the dishwasher will be done,” she said, pointing. He turned away, face burning. Sliding the glass away.
“It doesn’t change anything,” she said, as he closed the dishwasher. “Charlie may not be Luke’s son, but he is still our grandson. Can you understand that?”
James felt pure emotion rush through him at the way such knowledge changed nothing for her.
“Yes,” he said. “I understand.”
“They grow up so fast, without you even noticing, in a way,” she looked into the living room, where Mark and Emma sat. “You see them become adults, but you never forget them as they were. The teddies they used to love, the TV shows they watched. The way we used to call the boys Chips and Beans after their favourite foods and later Emma was Salad after hers. Sometimes it almost slips out now, all these years later.
“Charlie will be the same. He will always be my little grandson. No matter what.”
She drifted off, barely paying attention to James which might have been good. He was struggling to keep his feet. Trembling. Playing back what Christina had said. Hearing Mac earlier.
How did he get into the house? Surely the doors were locked?
He opened his mouth to voice his thoughts, but she stopped him.
“No more,” she said. “It hurts my heart to talk about this. Let’s go and have a nice evening. Let’s try to be normal, at least for tonight.”
She took her wine and walked into the living room. He grabbed his beer
, trying to follow but his legs were like lead, and every step was a struggle as the words pounded through his head.
We used to call the boys Chips and Beans after their favourite foods and later Emma was Salad after hers. Sometimes it almost slips out, even all these years later.
Because the kids wouldn’t use the names anymore. Mark wouldn’t be Chips. Emma wouldn’t be Salad. And Luke wouldn’t be Beans.
Unless he was. Because James had seen the name before. He remembered it clearly from the screen of a young girl called Amy.
Mac hadn’t known how Luke could get through a locked door, but now James thought maybe he didn’t have to.
Not if the door hadn’t been locked in the first place.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The largest store in the village would have fit in the lobby of James’ local supermarket back home. He couldn’t believe the villagers could get everything they needed from it.
24 hours was not enough time to get used to the scale of a place like this. He felt sure that, after a life spent living in a large city, it would take years to become accustomed to the village. Years he would happily spend learning, exploring, and assimilating into the culture.
“Well look who it is,” called a voice full of sarcastic cheer. “Everyone’s favourite honorary Barnes.”
Lost in daydreams, he hadn’t noticed the sliding doors part, and Emma exit. He focused on looking as though he was all there, watching her approach in tight jeans and a dark top, hands stuffed in pockets, same sly smile as always on her face.
“Morning, Emma. How are you?”
“Very formal, and pointless. My nephew is missing, how do you think I am?”
She was still smiling, which James felt spoke more than her empty words. Every time they met, he found himself liking this Barnes less and less and wondered if Luke was the only bad egg in the family.
“You seem fine.”
“You know what your problem is?” She reached forward and plucked a loose hair from his top, flicking it away. “You’re hung up on the exterior of people. You love my parents, because they come across well, and you dislike me because I’m nasty, but that’s all surface. It doesn’t speak to who we are underneath. Don’t forget, everyone has a dark side.”
