by Ben Cheetham
“No.”
“That’s a shame, but it’s probably not important. After all, it’s not illegal to get dressed up and go out with your friends.” Suddenly, the detective bent forward, his voice dropping low, as if he wanted to make sure there was no chance of anyone who might happen to be listening at the door overhearing. “But it is illegal to engage in sexual intercourse with a minor.”
Something – some almost intimidating intensity – in the detective’s eyes made Julian wonder if he’d made a mistake not having his parents present. “I haven’t touched Mia.”
“That’s not what her foster father says.”
“Well he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Doesn’t he? So why were you seen leaving his house the other afternoon with your hands tied with what looked like a stocking?”
Julian felt his neck getting red. He chewed his lip as his mind raced for a plausible lie and failed to come up with one. The detective nodded, Julian’s silence and expression told him all he needed to know. “He wants to press statutory rape charges, you know.”
“But I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That remains to be seen.” Inhaling audibly through his nose, the detective sat back. “I warned you, didn’t I? I warned you you’d get in trouble hanging around with Mia Bradshaw.” The intensity left his eyes. He flipped his notepad shut. “Look, between you and me, I’m inclined to believe you. Mia’s foster father thinks she’s with you, but he’s obviously wrong on that score.”
“He’s wrong on every score.”
“That’s what I’m saying. If he’s wrong about that, he’s more than likely wrong about everything else. But I’ve got to follow procedure. And once your name’s in the system, it’s in the system, if you know what I mean. That’s the worst thing about cases like this, even if there’s no conviction, the accusation alone is enough to leave a permanent stain.”
“Look, I really don’t care about that as long as Mia’s okay.”
“Well you should. Your father has a good name, a good reputation in this town. That reputation brings a lot of business his way.”
“This has got nothing to do with him.”
“Don’t be naïve. You’re his son, this has got everything to do with him. Keep that in mind. And bear this in mind, too, I assume I’m right in thinking that someday you’ll take over his business, which means…”
Wrinkles furrowed up between Julian’s eyes as the detective’s words sank in. He finished the sentence for him in a voice heavy with the strain of responsibility, “Which means that someday its success will depend on my reputation.” He heaved a breath, imagining everything his dad had worked so hard to build falling apart, imagining what that would do to his parents. “But what can I do? Like you said, you’ve got to follow procedure.”
“I’ll tell you what I can do. I can talk to Mia Bradshaw’s foster father, convince him he’s got it all wrong.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re a good kid, and this town needs you. Your factory employs a lot of people. I’d hate to see them suffer because you made one stupid little mistake. But you’ve got to do something for me in return – you’ve got to take my advice. Forget about Mia Bradshaw.”
“How can I forget about her when she’s missing and might be in danger, or worse?”
“Missing. That’s an emotive word. If I thought for one second that she was missing, do you think we’d be sat here chatting like this? I’d have you hauled down the station, neck-brace n’all. And I’d have every available man out searching for her. But she’s not missing. She’s holed up in some dive, out of it on booze and drugs. Or she’s a runaway. Whichever the case, she’ll either be picked up by the police, or she’ll go crawling home by herself.”
“You really think so?”
“I guarantee you. That girl’s got a history as long as my arm of this kind of thing. I give her two or three days max.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.”
Tom Benson sat looking steadily at Julian, as if waiting for him to say something. Julian knew what he wanted to hear, but the word caught in his throat. Just the thought of saying it felt like a betrayal of Mia. A brief flash of that same intensity in the detective’s eyes drew it out. “Okay.”
The detective’s moustache twitched slightly as, standing to leave, he smiled. “Good. And let’s hope we don’t have to have any more of these chats.”
Heavy with unease, Julian could only nod in mute agreement. It wasn’t just Tom Benson’s unwillingness to take his concerns seriously that disturbed him. He felt that he’d been backed into a corner, forced to choose between safeguarding his own future and abandoning Mia to whatever fate she might’ve brought upon herself, and he was disgusted at the ease with which he’d made his decision. Mia was right, he was just a rich kid, that’s all.
Chapter 11
One day passed. Julian didn’t call Eleanor, didn’t answer her calls. He didn’t want to speak to her, didn’t want to speak to anyone. He didn’t look at his laptop, didn’t read, didn’t watch television. He did sleep, though, long and restlessly. Even the dreams were preferable to the guilt that coursed through him to the bone whenever he thought about Mia. Two days dragged by. The pain in his neck eased off to a nagging ache. Pale as a ghost, he rose and showered. His mum gave him a worried look when he sat down at the table for breakfast. “Are you sure you should be up and about?”
“I’m fine.” Julian looked at his dad. “So what happens now?”
Robert looked back at him. There was a moment’s uneasy silence. “Me and your father have been talking,” said Christine. “And we’ve come to a decision, haven’t we Robert.”
“Yes.” Robert’s tight-lipped response made it clear that whatever decision had been made he far from approved.
“We’ve decided to allow you to work at the factory.”
“On the condition that you don’t drop out of university,” put in Robert. “You defer your course for a year.”
“That way you leave your options open in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t change my mind,” said Julian, his voice flat, toneless. Normally it would’ve given him some satisfaction to get his own way, even when it came to an issue that called forth so many mixed, conflicting feelings. But at that moment he had no room for any emotion other than the dreadful hollow guilt festering deep down inside him.
“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it,” said Robert.
“Okay, fine.” Julian made to stand.
“Where are you going?”
“To get dressed for work.”
“You don’t have to start today,” said Christine. “Rest up a few more days. Relax in the garden, invite your friends over, whatever you feel like doing.”
Julian shook his head. “I told you, I’m fine.” Besides, he might’ve added, I want to work, I want to work so hard it deadens all thought and feeling.
“You’d better be quick, if you want a lift,” Robert told him. “I’m leaving in a few minutes.”
As they passed between the gates, a red car further up the street pulled away from the kerb behind them. The thought vaguely passed through Julian’s mind that maybe it was an unmarked police car, keeping tabs on his movements. He watched the car in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t make out the face of its driver. After a couple of miles, it took a different exit at a roundabout.
Julian and his dad didn’t exchange a word, didn’t even look at each other during the drive to the factory, which was on an industrial estate on the outskirts of town. ‘Harris’ Shoes’ read the sign over the entrance to the hanger-like building. Julian had once asked his dad, why shoes? And his dad had replied, good or bad times, people always need shoes. The workers were taking their places, but work hadn’t begun on the assembly lines yet. When it did, Julian knew, the noise of the machines would be loud enough to vibrate his diaphragm. The workers nodded hello, giving Julian c
urious glances, as he and Robert made their way to the soundproofed offices at the rear of the factory. Seating himself at his desk, Robert began flipping through mail and papers. Julian sat opposite him. Several minutes passed. The dull rumbling of the assembly line starting up reached their ears.
“I wanted to talk to you about some ideas I have for cutting costs,” said Julian.
“Hmm?” Robert looked up at him as if he’d forgotten he was there.
“Have you considered investing in new technology? It would cost in the short term, but provide gains in the long term by allowing us to cut down on production line workers.”
“No I haven’t considered it, Julian. For one thing, every Harris shoe is hand finished. That’s why people choose us over our competitors. For another, we’re not in the business of chucking people on the dole. And besides, decisions on operating strategy are for management to make. You said you wanted to start at the bottom. So you can start by making me a coffee. My secretary’s off sick.”
Julian stared at his dad as if trying to work out if he was serious – which he obviously was. With a low sigh, he made his way to a kitchen. He returned with the coffee. “What now?”
“Sit down and be quiet while I think of something.”
Julian watched his dad drink his coffee, make some phone calls, have a conversation with one of the factory foremen who poked his head into the room. Half an hour passed, an hour. He sighed again. “Have you thought of anything yet, or shall I just sit here like a dummy all day?”
Robert looked at Julian with a thoughtful frown. “Come with me.” He led Julian through the din of the factory to a door marked ‘Cripples’. Inside were thousands of mismatched shoes, some in boxes on shelves, most in piles on the floor. “You can sort these seconds into pairs.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why. It’s simply a thing that needs doing. So do it.” Robert was closing the door even as he spoke.
The room smelt of leather and glue. Its thin stud wall barely muffled the noise of the machines. Yet another sigh broke from Julian as he laid aside his suit jacket. He worked as fast as possible, gladly retreating into an almost hypnotic oblivion of monotonous movement. When the lunchtime whistle blew, he became suddenly conscious that several hours had passed. Squatted against a wall outside the back of the factory, he ate the sandwiches Wanda had made for him. Some of the factory-floor workers were gathered there, smoking. A few glanced acknowledgement, but none said anything. Perhaps they were wary of speaking to the boss’s son. Perhaps they simply had nothing to say to him. Whatever, it suited Julian fine if they chose to keep their distance. Right then, he had nothing he wanted to say to them either, or anyone else for that matter.
The afternoon swept by in the same way as the morning. Julian found himself almost reluctant to stop when the day came to an end. His dad poked his head into the room, looking over his work without comment. “So how have you enjoyed your first day?” he asked with a disingenuous smile
Julian made himself smile right back. I know what you’re trying to do, he felt like saying, but you’re wrong if you think a few shitty jobs will send me running back to university. He didn’t want to give his dad the satisfaction of even that answer, though. “Better than I expected.”
“You want a lift home?”
“No thanks.”
Julian caught a bus into town. He tried his best not to think of Mia. Still, he couldn’t help but feel relieved to note that no posters with her face on them had gone up in place of Joanne Butcher. After grabbing a burger, he went to a pub where no one he knew was likely to be. He drank the evening away alone, staggering home at closing time to sleep it off.
At breakfast the following morning, Julian’s mum asked the same question his dad had, and he gave the same reply. “Better than I expected.” Instead of a suit, he wore jeans and a t-shirt to work. He didn’t bother asking his dad what he wanted him to do, he just went straight to the ‘Cripples’ room. He actually felt relieved to get in there and close the door, close out everything. After work, he headed straight for the pub and a long swallow of beer.
Two more days passed in this monotonous cycle – wake, slide from beneath sweat-dampened sheets, eat, work, eat, work, eat, drink, sleep, dream. He stopped going outside at lunch. He just stayed in the ‘Cripples’ room all day. Alone in that dim, rumbling place, he felt distant and detached from the world, as if in a trance. If anyone looked in on him – which they rarely did – he’d turn to them blinking and dazed, like someone roused suddenly from deep sleep.
On Friday, on his way to the pub he bumped into Kyle. He thought about dodging out of sight, but it was too late. “Hey, Jules,” called Kyle, rushing over to him, eyes wide with surprise. “What you still doing around here, bro? I thought you’d gone back to uni.”
“I’m not going back.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Why?”
Julian shrugged. “I hated the course. Didn’t like the place much, either.”
Kyle’s surprise gave way to incredulity. “How can you not like London? London’s fucking wild.”
“Guess I’m just a small town boy.”
“But you couldn’t wait to get away from here.”
“Things have changed.”
“What things?”
Julian shrugged again. The last thing he wanted was to get into all that with Kyle. All he wanted was a beer to numb his mind, push reality as far away as possible. “Just things.”
“So, like, what’re you doing with yourself?”
“Working for my dad.”
“No way, dude, I thought you hated the factory.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, things have changed.” Julian sighed, his head aching from the effort of conversation.
“You can fucking say that again. Jesus, you used to say you’d rather do just about anything than work there.” Kyle motioned along the street with his chin. “I’m heading down The Cut. Why don’t you come along? You look like you could do with a beer or five.”
“Nah, I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Are you sure? If you change your mind you know where to find me.” Kyle grinned. “It’ll be like old times with you back here, bro.”
Julian was about to hurry on his way, when Kyle added, “Hey, you heard about that crazy bitch, Mia Bradshaw?”
Julian felt a sharp, tight pain encircling his heart as, suddenly, all the images of Mia lying dead that he’d been blocking out for the past few days ripped through him. His voice seemed far away, as he asked, “What about her?”
“No one knows where she is. She’s taken off somewhere with some guy – at least, that’s the rumour I’ve heard.”
“From who?”
“A girl I know who knows someone she goes to school with. You okay? You’ve gone really pale.”
Julian nodded. “What guy?”
“Dunno. All I know is she’s not been in school all week. Maybe the rumour’s true. Or maybe she’s gone the same way as that stupid bitch friend of hers. Either way, if you ask me, it’s no big loss.”
Julian clenched his jaw, resisting an urge to smash his fist into Kyle’s face. With a shake of his head, he turned away from him and started walking. Kyle called something after him, but he wasn’t listening. His head was swirling with all the things he wanted to say to Tom Benson. His gaze swept along the darkening street at shop windows, bus-stops and lampposts. Suddenly, the absence of posters with Mia’s face on them didn’t seem hopeful, it seemed bewildering, sinister even. He took out his mobile phone, hands trembling as he searched for the detective’s number. As the dial tone rang in his ear, he took a breath, tried to compose his reeling thoughts. “You were wrong,” he blurted into the phone the instant Tom Benson answered, his voice sharp, accusatory.
“Who’s this?”
“Julian Harris.”
“Ah. Yes I know I was.”
“So what’re you doing about it?”
“Bel
ieve me, Julian, everything we can.”
“Then why haven’t I seen any appeals for information or anyone searching the forest, like with Joanne Butcher? Why haven’t you hauled me down the station?”
“This is a completely different case.”
“Different how?”
“Well, for starters we’ve good reason to believe Mia Bradshaw’s run away.”
“What reason? A rumour?”
“Something a bit more substantial than that. I can’t discuss the specifics of an ongoing investigation. What I can say is that we’re keeping this one out of the newspapers. This is an extremely sensitive matter, considering all that’s happened recently. So I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this to yourself for the time being. And as for hauling you down the station…” There was a meaningful pause, before Tom Benson continued, “You didn’t keep anything from me, did you?”
“No.”
“So what would be the point? I’d simply be wasting precious man-hours that should go into finding Mia Bradshaw.”
Julian had no reply to that. He recognised the sound of the detective inhaling through his nose. “You remember what we spoke about before?” said Tom Benson.
“Of course I do.”
“Good, because I’m sticking my neck out for you, Julian. Don’t make me regret it.”
Am I supposed to be grateful? Julian felt like retorting. Tom Benson seemed to have Mia, his and the town’s best interests at heart, but there was something about the business that made him feel used and manipulated. Remembering the red car that’d seemed to follow his dad’s car a few mornings back, another thought occurred to him. Maybe the detective was playing him. Maybe all that stuff about protecting him and the factory was a load of bollocks. Maybe the real reason Tom Benson hadn’t hauled him down the station was because he was waiting to see if he’d lead him to Mia. Julian glanced around, half-expecting to see the same car lurking nearby, but the road was empty.
His face faraway in thought, Julian made his way to the pub. His beer sat untouched as, over and over, his thoughts followed the same track – I should’ve never listened to that fucking policeman. I’ve got to do something. But what? What can I do? “You can get up off your arse and start looking for her,” he muttered at himself, standing to leave.
