by Mark Ayre
“Good luck. I hope they section you for your insane theories.”
“Come on, Amy. This is your chance to do the right thing. To help get Charlie back and be -“
He cut off, but she saw the word forming and smirked.
“A hero? You’re the one with delusions of grandeur, not me. It’s pathetic. Now, please leave.”
The words hit home, as Emma’s had. He had intended to say hero, and it was only him sad enough to think he might be one. It knocked the wind from his argument, and he stepped away in something of a daze, clutching the bag too tight in his fist as he left the store, floating onto the pavement with the anger building once more inside him, threatening to burst free at any moment.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
James was late, which worried him almost as much as did thoughts of what Amy might do next - namely with the arm extension she called a phone. Tardiness had always concerned him, the potential looks of disapproval he might face haunting many a journey, and this was no different. Not least because he was sure Mark could call upon an almost record worthy face of passive annoyance.
Still, as he neared the house he was already supposed to be viewing, Mark’s annoyed expression morphed into the face of Luke, incandescent with rage. He had considered many possible issues with telling Amy what he knew, but they had all involved what might happen to Charlie, or the Barneses. He had not considered the danger he might be putting himself in.
This unusual spell of selflessness slid away as he reached the lawn of the home he could one day own. Now he pictured the call Amy might be making. The chances of her using his name. Letting Luke know there were trouble makers beyond the Barnes family. What might someone as dangerous as Luke do with such information?
He was half way down the lawn and beginning to sweat. He hadn’t noticed the door was open until Mark appeared, leaning against the frame, tossing a stern look in James’ direction. He fought back the fear of what Luke might do next to focus on one Barnes brother at a time.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Mark waved the apology away.
“Doesn’t matter. Where have you been?”
James intended to lie. He could say he had been at the shops, had lost track of time. He didn’t need to mention Amy. He might say he had left on time but got lost. That was acceptable. Everyone got lost occasionally.
Yes, a lie had been the plan until he took a closer look at his new estate agent. Mark already knew the truth. James could see that. Asking was a test, and he had almost failed.
“I spoke to Amy about Luke.”
Mark stood back, gestured into the house.
“Come in. Let’s talk.”
The words were cold. They raced at and over him like the water he so often imagined. He fixed his head high, kept it that way as he stepped into the house.
Inside, a little entrance hall was split by two doors. James expected a coat rack or somewhere for shoes, but there was nothing.
“Maisonette,” Mark explained, stepping past him and opening the door on the right, leading the way into a spacious living room. To the left of the door stood the coat rack and shoe stand he’d been expecting, empty but for Mark’s briefcase and jacket until James added his coat and bags.
The living room was warm and inviting, neither of which did much to calm his nerves as Mark directed him through a door at the back of the room.
An open plan space greeted him. The kitchen, with tiled floors and smart looking white goods, had a row of cabinets stretching half way across the room. These marked a divide between the cooking and eating areas, the latter with wood panelled floor and four man table. At the back of the room sliding doors led onto a large garden with a clothes rack and everything. He stood looking onto this and already could see himself living here.
Behind him the tap came on. James turned to see Mark taking two glasses and filling them with water. He wasn’t sure if this was okay in someone else’s house, but supposed if anyone knew, it would be the estate agent.
“Amy rang me,” he said, forgoing small talk as he bought the drinks over. “Told me what you talked about.”
This surprised James. Why ring Mark, not Luke? Did she ring both? His head span as he considered the options, and he pushed them away in favour of a defence.
“Your mother mentioned Beans being Luke’s nickname, and I knew Amy had been talking to someone about getting hold of something. I reckoned drugs. I know it might be a coincidence but -“
“It isn’t,” Mark cut in, then smiled at James’ slack expression. “She didn’t say as much when she rang, but it makes sense. No one else would be using the name Beans and Luke has previous for dealing. If I’m honest, I’m furious.”
James saw it, that anger, and flinched as though Mark had raised a hand to him. Seeing this, his pseudo host smiled apologetically.
“At Luke and Amy, not you. I wanted this not to be her fault. I thought she was smarter than that but I guess I’m too trusting.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. Looked into his water as though the surface shimmered with visions of the past, but didn’t drink any, just considered his options, and made a decision.
“We don’t talk about Luke, but there has to be exceptions. You’ve been around a couple of days and already you know more than most. You’re smart, tenacious, and you’ve worked out a lot. Fair play.”
James didn’t feel tenacious, but he stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt Mark’s flow.
“I’m going to tell you some stuff and I need you to promise you’ll never repeat it. Can you do that?”
“I promise.”
“I know I can trust you,” he said. “Even if you have only just stumbled into our lives. So I’ll do this, and it’s going to be tough. I ask you don’t interrupt. Save all questions for the end and all that. Got it?”
James nodded, already afraid to speak in case it counted as interruption. Now Mark did take a drink, clearing the airways before his story.
“When I was a teenager I met and fell in love with a girl in my class - Katy Thomas. Amy’s sister. We must have been sixteen and like a lot of teenagers we thought we had that proper Romeo and Juliet love. Undying, that kind of bullshit. We pledged our hearts to each other and honestly meant it when we said it.
“I guess most teens go through that. It’s natural. They meet, fall in love, it burns bright and fast, then falls apart. You have a summer where it hurts like hell, then you get over it, move on, reassess what love is and what it means. Couple of years time it’s a fond memory, nothing more. You know the sort of thing, I’m sure.”
James did recognise that kind of love, though he had never experienced it in his own teens. At least not in a reciprocal sense. He was too awkward and shy for the kind of girls he tended to be interested in. But he had seen it happen to those around him. Had been filled with jealousy as the relationships burned then felt a sense of relief as they fell apart. Had told himself he was lucky to be missing out on that pain, but never believed it. Truth was, he would have taken the pain for the fire of teenage devotion. Better to have loved and lost and all that.
He didn’t say any of this. Didn’t even nod. Mark didn’t need him to.
“Katy and I entered the cycle and I’m not so thick as to think we would have been the exception. We would have fallen apart sure as food in a blender but we never got the chance. She did the one thing that would make it impossible for me to know for sure what would have happened.”
James lowered his head, knowing what came next and unable to look Mark in the eye as it unfolded. He hated the cowardice of that, but it was who he was, and he couldn’t change.
“We both did drugs, recreationally, but she was more into it than me. I guess I knew she was going too fast but I was afraid to say anything. I loved her, and was too pathetic to speak the truth and risk losing her. Besides, she told me she was careful, and I believed her.
“Then, one day, there was a party. One of our class mates. A celebration as we reached the end o
f our AS Levels. We were supposed to go together but at the last second mum found a bag of weed balled up in my drawer. She hit the roof and I was put under house arrest. Katy was going to stay off as well but I convinced her to go, have a good time.
“It’s shit like that that stays with you.”
James could believe it. He thought of Mac, now in a similar situation. If Mark hadn’t told Katy to go to the party - if Mac hadn’t insisted Mo walk her home. Everything changed but everything stayed the same.
“I guess I don’t need to tell you what happened. She got drunk, forgot to be careful. Disappeared into a bedroom on her own and that was it. No one noticed until the following morning but it was clear right away what had happened. Overdose.
“If I had been there, or stopped her going, or - can’t think like that though, can I? You want another drink? Guess you’re okay.”
James hadn’t touched his, and Mark’s was mostly full, but the grieving man rose and downed it, moving to the sink because he needed a few moments alone, rather than for thirst.
“Amy was a kid at the time,” Mark said, returning with fresh water. “I wasn’t the one to tell her but I’ve been looking out for her ever since. Her mum’s not so attentive and there’s no dad around. Her sister was her world and, well, I guess it gives us a common pain if nothing else.”
A lull, Mark stared at the wall and saw the past. Took his drink and sipped at that pool of memories. James took his own glass with every intention of drinking some, but put it down without a sip.
“Luke was her dealer?” James said, eventually, unable to bathe in the silence any longer.
Mark lowered his glass, nodded.
“Our dealer,” he said. “I’m as guilty as anyone else, but yeah. He dealt us, a load of other kids at the school, some at the charity.”
James flashed back to the Edith King canteen, saw two kids, one in Iron Maiden tee, one in Slipknot.
“Trina and Kieran,” he said, and Mark looked surprised. “Mac said you argued about how best to help them, but you were arguing about drugs.”
Another nod.
“After Katy, I was devastated. I saw what damage the drugs had done and I told Luke he had to stop. He said he would and maybe he did for a lot of people but not all. There were Kieran and Trina, who can be pretty persuasive. I found out about them and we argued, but I don’t think he stopped.
“Worse was Alex, who I think was seeing Emma at the time. It’s funny how life cycles. We’re talking a few years on and this time it’s Emma mum catches and stops attending a party. Different people, but the result is the same, and in the morning they find Alex lying in bed, another overdose, another love story that’ll never be completed.”
He turned away, and James couldn’t bear it. For Luke to deal the drugs that killed Mark’s girlfriend was one thing, but to keep going, and to have the same thing happen to your sister’s boyfriend was beyond belief.
Worse was that Emma either didn’t know or hadn’t accepted what happened. If it was the latter she’d likely never turn her back on Luke. Would love him no matter what he did. Same as Sema and Amy, perhaps.
“It all fell apart for Luke after that and he had to flee. He’s lucky he got away before bumping into me because I would have killed him, brother or not.
“The joke is I thought that was the end. I thought Alex would be the last victim. If I’d have known about Amy, I never would have let it go.
“Now this.”
Another silence dragged between them, broken by a sudden change in Mark’s tone. Completive and regretful to accusatory and aggressive.
“I know you thought you were doing the right thing, but it was poorly handled. She’s barely eighteen and often acts much younger. She’s difficult, emotional. You should have told me, or the cops. Let us handle it.”
James hung his head, guilt creeping through him. So many decisions made on the fly in the last couple of days, and this was the first time he’d screwed up. Now the disappointed eyes of a Barnes fell on him and he’d never hated anything more.
“I’m sorry.”
The aggression disappeared.
“No, I am. You weren’t to know, and at least now I know about Amy. I’m going to meet her tonight and the truth is coming out. It may be that Luke snuck in to give her drugs and keep her quiet, and she doesn’t know where he is. If she does, I’m going to find him, and I’m going to get Charlie, you can count on that. When I do, it’ll all be because of you.”
James tried a smile, because all that mattered was bringing Charlie home and locking Luke up. Yet here was the selfish monster rearing it’s head once again. Whispering that no matter what he had done, it would be Mark who came out covered in glory. Mark who would be the hero James had rightly been called pathetic for hankering after. Worst of all, he couldn’t help but think, if Charlie was found, would he be surplus to requirements so far as the village was concerned?
“I’ll just be happy to finally meet the kid,” James said, forcing the words out and demanding he mean them. After all, what kind of person would hope a boy remained missing just so he wasn’t cast away from the family and village he had come so fast to love?
“Shall we check this place out?”
James jumped to agree to that, desperate to escape his question before he heard the answer.
Before he was forced to admit that kind of person might well be him.
Still tangled in the thoughts of his past - something James well understood - Mark asked if James would view the property alone.
They split, Mark taking his jacket and stepping out the front door, James heading into the garden, the bedroom and back to the kitchen and diner before meeting Mark in the living room.
“Thoughts?”
Mark was scrolling through his phone and didn't so much as glance up as he asked the question. This was impolite, but James wasn’t going to say it.
He tried to rally his thoughts. What was his impression of the place? Had he absorbed enough, rushing around, worry circling his stomach as a fish circles a bag of water? Had he spent any time examining the decor or had he seen only Charlie, Amy, Megan, Katy, dancing along the walls like shadow puppets?
“I like it,” he tried, needing to make any comment that might be considered valuable. It was true, too. Already the nasty stuff was being flushed into the pipes, the cistern of his mind refilling his brain with warmer thoughts. He saw BBQs in the summer, reading a book on the sofa come winter. A quiet existence far from the city. Maybe every morning he would wake beside a beautiful woman. He envisioned that scene, then felt guilty when he realised the woman pictured was Megan. Reality returned, splitting the dreams like a plane splits clouds, and he went for the obvious thing to say next.
“What’s the price?”
“I’ve got a sheet somewhere,” Mark said. He looked to his bag, and they both saw the slip of paper sticking out the top. James went for it but Mark, ever the professional, jumped up and rushed past so he could be the one to hand over the sheet.
“There's all your details, asking price included. They might accept a little less, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. Inheritance tax can be a bitch.”
James glanced at the sheet. The figure sat atop a stunning photograph of the house's front, bold, unashamed, and taunting. Its size made his stomach lurch, but he hid the reaction behind his fist and a cough, folding the paper and sliding it into his back pocket, as though he might consider it later.
“Good to go?” Mark asked. Another nod and he picked up his jacket and bag. Mark was already opening the door, and they stepped into the sun.
“Thanks for showing me around,” James said, and Mark shrugged.
“It’s my job. I get commission if you buy.” He checked his watch. “Better go. Why don’t you pop round to ours? I know Megan would be pleased to see you and I’ll be back for lunch. You can join us.”
“I’d like that,” he said, and might have thanked the estate agent again, but Mark had turned before James finished speak
ing, rushing to his next appointment. Not the most important of the day. That would come this evening, and there would be no house sale involved. But, if they were lucky, really lucky, Mark might well be able to find Charlie.
James tried his best to hope that would happen.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On the weekends of his youth, James would often rise before his father, his mother - the times she was there - and the rest of the city. He would shower, devour a quick breakfast (Coco Pops were his favourite, but a cheap substitute was mostly the only option), and chuck on the first clothes he found, regardless of condition - dirty, clean, ripped, creased, he wasn’t bothered. Ready for the day, he would alight onto a street that sloped at such an angle it felt as though the world was tipping like the Titanic post iceberg, and begin walking.
Years later, he stood at the lawn’s edge of the viewed home, like a diver preparing to spring from the uncertain board into the pool below. The ‘For Sale’ sign hovering above him was the lifeguard, watching, waiting, sure something was about to go wrong. His mind was the usual tornado of unwanted thoughts - Charlie, Luke, Mark, Amy, Megan and Mohsin all tore around like so many Dorothy’s on their way to Oz - and he made a conscious effort to shut them out as he stepped from lawn to smooth, flat, concrete and began to walk.
Those had been his favourite mornings. Touring the streets, he had walked like a drunk in search of home. No place to be. No one to entertain but his innermost dreams, so often kept at bay, now released. The cracked street beneath his feet and the never-ending rows of tired terraced housing became the white canvas the paintbrush of his mind worked upon. The life he wished he could lead became the painting, covering what had been beneath. Silly stuff, always, but true. All true so long as he was walking.
True again as his mind washed off the paintbrush, stuck together and dusty from lack of use. The dreams returned, and now it was easier. In his youth the streets, packed fit to burst with cars and houses - the former covered in dents and rust, the latter chipped wood and dirty paintwork - changed like a caterpillar into a butterfly. With homes that stood proud, and alone, rather than cramped in side by side like hens in a battery farm. Driveways that held cars frequently washed and repaired the day they were hit. Grass front and back of every residence, rather than in a few well-trodden parks infested by the kind of people you wanted to avoid.
