The defence smiles, looks towards the jury before saying, “Well, then, how can you be sure he was looking in the direction of Ray Jackson and her mother? He could have been looking at you, for all you know.”
He lets out a laugh and some follow suit. I don’t think this is a laughing matter, but he’s trying to make it one.
“I know what I saw.”
“Yes, well, it was also a long time ago, Miss Barker. How can you be certain it was even Liam Waters? There are a lot of men around with blond hair who wear sunglasses. It could have been anyone. How far would you say the distance was in feet from the café to where you saw this man standing?”
“I would say around thirty feet.”
“Thirty feet. That’s quite a lot. And do you wear glasses, Miss Barker?”
“Yes, but only for reading.”
“Even still, from a distance of thirty feet away from the café toward a blond man wearing sunglasses, he could have been James Bond and you would have said he was my client.”
Mr Devenport stands. “Objection, Your Honour. Inflammatory.”
The defence puts his hands up before the judge can say anything. “It’s okay, Your Honour. I apologise.”
From the look on his face he’s not sorry. He may not have that officially on record, but he’s got what he came to do and that’s putting doubt into the jury’s minds.
After Kate Barker is asked to step down, another two witnesses who saw Liam with us on several occasions take the stand. They are all asked how he was with us, specifically me, and how we in turn were with him. They all told the truth. We seemed like a family. Happy, healthy … trusting.
On the way home, my mum and I are silent. We both know that today didn’t start off well, but I’m glad it’s over. It continues tomorrow with more witnesses, but I won’t be there. I have more important issues to attend to.
After eating a meal, I go back to my room and spend an hour or so listening to music and dreaming about seeing Easton tomorrow.
As I gaze upon my pink helmet that Easton bought all those months ago, I can’t help the loony smile that comes up on my lips. He had kept his promise all this time, and so did I. Tomorrow, however, will be the day that all changes.
And I just couldn’t wait.
Central Piazza
I had to leave bright and early to get a train to Swansea and then several trains after to get to Central Piazza. It was a hassle, but all worth it to see Easton again. By the time I got there it was one thirty and I was pooped. Not seeing Easton there yet, I took my time walking round the expanse of the gardens, taking in the beautiful colours of the spring flowers in full bloom against the backdrop of small lake. I take my time walking past couples smiling and laughing, and I think to myself how much I had missed not seeing Easton all these weeks. In fact if had been ninety-two days precisely since the last time I saw him—the last time we smiled together, laughed together … made love. The ache for him has never wavered. In fact it’s grown stronger. My only hope that Easton feels the same way too.
As I get to an empty bench right at the end of the garden, I choose to sit knowing I will be hard for him to miss. I check my watch. It’s nearly ten to two. I inhale on a smile and close my eyes. Luckily the weather has been good to me today, allowing the travelling to feel easier than it could have been. I feel the warmth of the sun on my face, and it’s welcome after all the bad weather we have been having lately. I glance down at my watch. It’s two o’clock. I take a good look around the thrum of people to see if I can spot my Nike boy biker, but I don’t see him. Maybe he’s been caught in traffic. I commence my sun worshipping, every now and then opening my eyes to see if I can see Easton and check the time.
Two-thirty comes and goes.
Three comes and goes.
Three-thirty comes and goes.
It’s only when I realise I will miss my last train back that I eventually give up and leave the beautiful piazza. I had plans to explore the area with Easton today, but I guess it wasn’t meant to be.
As I wait at the train station, I check my phone for any messages as to the reason why he never showed, but there’s nothing. As I had been getting harassing phone calls, it was suggested that I change my number, but I refused on the count of being able to get in touch with Easton. I bring up his number and call it in the last ditch hope that he may be on his way but all I’m met with is his voicemail. I hang up not leaving a message and make my way home, all the way on the verge of tears.
It’s when I’m near to my home that it all happens. I’m so engrossed in how miserable I feel that a voice calling my name doesn’t register as anything possibly dangerous at first. I turn, my heart soaring that it might be Easton when I see a young woman about ten years older than me run towards me with a bottle of something in her hands.
“You fucking lying bitch whore!”
She throws whatever it is and I am able to shield most of the impact with my arms, but I know the second it hits, I feel the soaring pain and burning sensation on my arms. I scream, she runs and out of nowhere a man quickly approaches.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” I start to cry as the pain becomes unbearable.
“I’ll call an ambulance. Just hold on there a second. I’ll get help, okay?”
He runs with telephone in hand and by now I have developed quite an audience. Another two ladies approach me. “Come, sit here, sweetheart, an ambulance is on its way.”
I hear lots of voices and grumbling, mostly about the state that the world has come to and that the police aren’t doing enough to stop these chemical attacks. All the while my arms feel like they’ve been set on fire.
“Can someone please call number four-one-four in that block of flats for me? My mum’s in there.”
“Right on it,” a lady shouts, springing into action.
Soon, the man who first saw me approaches with wet bandages placing them over my arms. When he does, I scream out. I feel like my whole arms are on fire.
“I’m so sorry. I had hoped it would help. The ambulance will be here any moment.”
“Ray,” I hear my mum shout from afar. “Ray, oh my God, Ray, what happened?” She rushes forward taking the place of the lady who was holding me. She looks down to my arms and my shaking frame and starts crying.
“Some woman threw something at me,” I answer in a really strained voice. It’s so painful I can hardly talk.
“Oh my God, why?”
My teeth start to chatter as my whole body shakes. “I don’t know. She knew my name, so it was obviously meant for me.”
I think deep down we both know this has something to do with Liam. I don’t know in what capacity, but I hope to find out.
“What did she look like?”
I close my eyes trying to remember. I had been more focused on what she was aiming at me than I was on her face.
“She had short, blonde hair and a scar on her cheek. She wore jeans and a white t-shirt. That’s all I remember.”
As I recall everything, we hear sirens in the distance and within seconds I have an ambulance crew near me and police already talking to witnesses.
Everything from then on is a flurry of activity. I’m whisked away in an ambulance where they quickly administer some pain relief before checking the damage on my arms. I look down when they do and wince. The burns virtually cover both my lower arms. I will be scarred for life.
It’s then I start to cry. I hadn’t deserved this. What started out as a beautiful day with the promise of seeing Easton ended on such a shitty note.
At the hospital I’m treated for the burns while a police officer interviews me regarding the incident. I’m then allowed home with pain killers and instructions to come in each day for a re-dressing.
When at home, DI Lipton who had been in charge of the whole Liam Waters case visits me and emphasises the need to re-house us as soon as possible and get rid of my number. He then tells us news that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Apparently, Liam has a fan
club, and in this fan club, they all hate me. This is the news that leaves my mum and I with only one choice.
DI Lipton leaves with the promise he will sort everything out ASAP. We are to pack as much as we can tonight. We will be leaving for an undisclosed location soon.
My heart sinks, but not for the reasons we have to leave. It sinks because after today, I will be whisked away, and Easton won’t be able to find me. In a last ditch attempt to speak to Easton, I call his number again, and again it goes to voicemail. This time, I leave a brief message telling him that I have to leave. Just before I hang up, however, I don’t say, “Au revoir.”
This time, I say, “Goodbye.”
Verdict
On the last day of the hearing, the jury of seven men and five women retreated to make their decision. Three days later, I get the call that they have made their decision, so my mother and I are whisked away by police escort to the courtroom to hear the result. The whole time there I am a sweating, nervous wreck. My hands shake, my heart beats, and my stomach rolls with this morning’s breakfast, which only consisted of a slice of toast.
It had been over two weeks since I went to Wales and then subsequently attacked later. Over two weeks of still not knowing what had happened to Easton. I had pondered over and over again as to the reason why he would not show, and then, when he had the chance to get to me, he didn’t. The only conclusion—as much as it breaks my heart—is that he’s moved on.
“All rise,” the usher booms making everyone stand to their feet. The judge strolls on followed shortly after by the jury. I close my eyes, my heart hammering against my chest as we’re told we can be seated.
“Have you the jury reached a unanimous decision?” The judge asks.
The lead juror stands. “We have, Your Honour.”
“Then please proceed.”
“We, the jury find the defendant, Liam Waters guilty of kidnapping of a minor.” The crowd gasps, and low murmurs are heard throughout the courtroom. My mum squeezes my hand and I squeeze back. So far, so good.
“Order, order,” the judge shouts, banging his gavel. When the room falls silent, the judge asks the juror to carry on.
“We, the jury, find the defendant, Liam Waters guilty of False Imprisonment.”
The crowd erupts, the judge shouts for everyone to calm down, and then my mum hugs me, tears rolling down each other’s faces.
“We shall reconvene for sentencing tomorrow,” the judge booms, getting up from his seat.
Quickly, my mum and I rise out of our seats and are escorted by several police out of the room. The press follow us, shooting questions from behind me, but I ignore them all focusing on getting out of there as quickly as possible.
It’s over. Finally it’s over. I should be shouting from the rooftops screaming my jubilation, but I’m not.
Because out of everything that’s happened to me over the years the best part of it has slipped through my fingers.
And I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to grasp hold of it again.
Twitter
One year later
Liam had been given the maximum twenty years that he could have gotten. The judge thankfully didn’t buy his act on the day he took the stand. I hadn’t been there, but I had heard everything that had been said, and it all pointed to me being hopelessly in love with him and him being swept up by my beauty and charm—just as his solicitor tried to sell.
He’ll only serve half his term, but it’ll at least give me ten years of planning. Ten years of trying to find the best place to hide. For now, it’s in Scotland. My mum and I had been asked where we would want to relocate to, and since I wanted to be nearer to Easton in some way, I had said Edinburgh. My mum, knowing why I chose that particular place, simply nods. She understands where I’m coming from, but she hasn’t forgiven Easton for his absence all this time. Still, I had pined for him. I had even gone to the house only to find a family I didn’t recognise coming out of the front door. I had hastily left and haven’t been back since. The whole thing is still a mystery.
My mum took Eric with us in the end, and he has been living with her since. We all lived together up until about a month ago when I managed to find a full time assisting job at a law firm in the city centre. It doesn’t pay a huge amount, but it does pay enough for rent, food, and a few drinks at the weekend, once my working week is done. I have made friends, but none as close as how I got to Brett the barman. I miss him. Too many times I came close to picking up the phone and calling the bar, but I had been advised to let go of my old life and move on. As much as that had hurt, I knew it to be true—including after a time, Easton.
“Lisa, would you mind going down to the local café and getting a few coffees? I’ve got the order here.”
Oh yeah, I had forgot to mention. I’m called Lisa now and I hate it.
“Sure, let me have the order and I’ll go now.”
Beth, one of the junior solicitors smiles sweetly as she hands me the paper. “You’re a life-saver.”
I start laughing. “It’s what I’m here for.” I offer her a wink and grab my coat. Despite it being August it still gets cold. I would take this over the winters here, though. They are harsh. Despite all of that I wouldn’t move for the world. I can see why Easton spoke fondly of it here.
Making haste, I walk a little unsteadily in my new high heels. I’m not used to them, but they look great. I get to the coffee house and order the eight coffees on the list and then wait. Female voices catch my attention, and I turn to observe, pretending to play with my phone as I listen to their excitable chatter.
“Have you seen the hash tags?” one brown-haired girl asks, giggling as she does.
“I think it’s so romantic,” a girl with red hair chimes in.
“Of course you would. He could be a psychotic killer for all you know, but yeah … it’s so romantic,” a raven-haired girl with an obvious penchant for sarcasm answers while rolling her eyes.
I chuckle under my breath, but not loudly enough for them to hear me.
“How long has he been trying to find her?” the red-headed romantic asks.
“I think about a month now. It’s seriously trending on Twitter. Everyone is desperate to find the girl NikeRider is after.”
My smile instantly falls. What did she just say?!
“Excuse me,” I say, approaching the girls at the table. They all look up at the same time, and their expressions tell me they all have the same question: Who are you?
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear. you say something about someone called NikeRider, who is trying to find someone?”
The girl with the black hair looks me up and down before saying, “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Can you tell me the name of the girl he’s been searching for?”
My heart speeds up as my adrenaline spikes. Surely this is just a coincidence?
“See for yourself.” She hands me the phone, and I take it from her, my hands slightly trembling. On the Twitter page, there is a photo of a Harley Davidson bike, and the Twitter name is NikeRider. I see he’s from Edinburgh. I look down at the first tweet and see it all in front of me.
#NikeRider seeking his #BikerChick. She was once lost, so now the search is on. She needs to know how much I still love her. If you’re out there, come find me.
I swallow hard before handing back her phone. “Thanks,” I say, but I’m not really looking at her.
“You’re welcome. Hey, are you okay?”
I glance down at romantic girl and nod my head. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
I quickly turn, and soon after, all the coffees are ready. I pick them up, and as fast as I can, I make it out of the café. I know those girls are watching me. I can feel their eyes penetrating the back of my head. Right now, I don’t care. Right now, all I can think about is that tweet.
I get back to the office and quickly hand out all the coffees before sitting at my desk and taking my phone out of my pocket. With shaky hands, I light i
t up, go on Twitter, and search for all tweets involving NikeRider and BikerChick. To my surprise, there are over a hundred thousand of them—all virtually saying the same thing: NikeRider searching for his BikerChick. Hey, let’s give this romantic fool a hand and try to find her.
BikerChick, where are you? NikeRider is waiting.
And they say true love is dead. Not when it comes to #NikeRider and his #BikerChick.
I let out a small laugh, tears springing my eyes as I go through hundreds of tweets one after the other, and then it hits me. Something I probably should have done ages ago, but never thought I would ever get a hit. I Google Easton Lockhart.
Straight away I get a hit and I’m delighted when I see what I find. He has his own art gallery called Evie’s, named after his mother, but that’s not the one thing that stands out the most. All this time he’s been here, in Edinburgh, practically two streets away from where I work!
I’m out of my seat like a shot and racing towards Beth. “Beth, can I please leave early? I wouldn’t normally ask, but it’s an emergency.”
She can see the urgency in me to leave, so nods her head. “Of course. I hope it’s not too serious?”
I shake my head on the smile. “No, not at all. Quite the opposite.” I grab my coat and bag noticing the frown on her face. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”
I don’t stay long enough to hear her reply. I’m out onto the street and racing down there without even putting my coat on. By the time I reach the plush looking studio with huge windows, I stop still when I see the huge sketch—the sketch of me that I found hanging on his bedroom wall. I gasp, throwing a hand over my mouth before peeking inside to see if I can see him. There’s no one around, but that doesn’t stop me from walking in. A bell rings, announcing my presence, but I’m still alone for the time being. I notice the walls are literally covered with sketches; there is barely a free inch. The majority of the sketches are of lakes, mountains, sunsets, and sunrises, but amidst all the beauty, there are also sketches of people in obvious pain. The pain on their faces is so raw and so visceral that it makes my heart hurt.
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