Wishing on a Star

by Christina Jones

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘By the time I was old enough, my adoptive father had been promoted. He wangled me into the force, even though the medical wasn’t encouraging.’

  ‘He must have a fair amount of influence to do that.’

  ‘You could say that.’ Luke laughed as he took a drink. ‘He’s a deputy chief constable.’

  ‘Oh, I see. And you’ve never married? Don’t you miss having a family of your own at this time of year?’ Paula realised she was being tactless again.

  He dismissed the question with a shake of his head. ‘Never found the right girl.’ Then he laughed again, ‘But there are advantages. I don’t have to buy a load of expensive presents. Anyway, enough about me. How about you? Are your family local?’

  ‘Hardly,’ Paula smiled. ‘My parents are retired. They live in Spain. My sister works in New York, and my brother’s in London.’

  ‘So you’ll be on your own too over Christmas. Perhaps we could get together for a drink?’

  Was that a subtle way of asking for a date? Paula wondered. No, somehow that didn’t seem like him. Luke seemed too reserved to do anything so bold.

  Before she left, they swapped phone numbers. Luke watched her go with regret. He liked Paula, and if he’d been more self-confident, he might have asked her out. It had been easy talking to her. Even mentioning his deformities hadn’t seemed to put her off. Or perhaps she was just being kind. That reservation was always at the back of his mind. Despite his many qualities, despite his successful career, Luke was unable to accept that people could like him for who he was and ignore his physical defects.

  As Christmas drew nearer, there was no relief from the oppressive fog that had settled like a blanket on the dale. By the late afternoon of Christmas Eve, as shoppers struggled from shop to shop, attempting to beat the closing deadline, several minor accidents had caused traffic chaos. Taking advantage of their near-invisibility, thieves had gone on a shoplifting, mugging, and pickpocketing spree.

  On the Normanton council estate on the outskirts of Dinsdale, Lauren stared out of the window. She hated the fog, detested the clammy, damp weather. The way people loomed out of the swirling mist frightened her, always had. She would have liked to have been out in the open air, but dare not go in weather like this. Staying indoors was marginally preferable, even though it meant she had to contend with her stepfather, who she hated even more than the fog. Not that Terry was her stepfather, not officially at least. He was just living with Lauren’s mother.

  If she had to list the things she disliked about Terry, Lauren would have struggled to know where to start. She would probably have opted for the way he treated her mother, or the money he spent on booze and drugs. There again, it would more likely have been his friendship with Wayne.

  No matter how she mistrusted Terry, or how disturbed she was by the way he looked at her sometimes, Lauren’s feelings about Terry paled into insignificance compared to those she had about Wayne. She not only hated him, she was scared of him. Wayne had made no attempt to disguise what he would like to do to her, and had even tried to put the threat into effect on one occasion, but luckily, Lauren had been able to avoid him.

  On Christmas Eve, her mother had been at work until lunchtime and had only been back in the house half an hour, having done all the shopping, when she received a text. She walked into the lounge, where Lauren was adding Christmas cards to the display she’d carefully made. Terry was sprawled in an armchair watching an old film on TV.

  ‘I’ve had a message from work,’ she announced. ‘Apparently they’ve had some problem reconciling the takings and they want me to go back in. It might take a while. Sorry, about this, but I don’t have any choice. I should be home in time for dinner.’ She smiled at Lauren. ‘That looks very nice; in fact everything you’ve done in here is lovely.’ She admired the tidy room with the decorated tree in the corner and the streamers hanging from the ceiling. ‘Will you turn the oven on later if I’m not back?’ she asked, as she struggled in to her coat.

  ‘No problem, Mum.’

  No sooner had she left when Terry’s mobile bleeped. He scanned the message, before telling Lauren, ‘Wayne’s coming over and bringing some beer with him. You be nice to him, you hear me? He might even give you a Christmas present.’ He laughed at her expression.

  Lauren’s heart sank. She guessed that it wouldn’t only be beer Wayne brought. He’d also bring drugs. And that could spell trouble. With her mother out, she would be trapped inside the house with those two. She racked her brains trying to think of some excuse to go out, or someone she could visit, but without success.

  Wayne was in the pub. The Red Lion was by no means the most salubrious drinking establishment in Dinsdale, but the management had a relaxed attitude to what went on under their roof. This suited Wayne and many others. If not all the drinkers were old enough in the eyes of the law it didn’t matter, as long as their money was good. And if some of the customers wanted to do a little trading in substances frowned on by the authorities during their visits to the pub, so what? It would have been counter-productive to ban this, or ask them not to, for fear of losing their lucrative trade. Wayne had been in the pub since lunchtime. Although by no means drunk, he was far from completely sober by the time his mobile beeped with an incoming message.

  He read the text with interest, and then re-read it with mounting excitement. ‘M out til late. Can u cum over n bring beer and gear. L says she want u to cum! T’

  Wayne looked round the bar, and saw the barman was not busy. Ten minutes later, armed with a couple of six-packs, he left the pub. He set off walking towards the estate, but first he had a call to make. He hoped that visiting the allotment on Christmas Eve wouldn’t arouse anyone’s suspicions. If so, he’d have to claim he was getting sprouts for the Christmas dinner. Having said that, he doubted if even the most suspicious copper would think of an allotment shed as a likely hiding place for drugs. Wayne smiled happily. Sinking some beers and smoking some weed was fine, but if he got really lucky, he might get his leg over too. Fancy Lauren wanting to see him. She’d never shown any interest before. The fact that Lauren was only fourteen didn’t worry him.

  Lauren’s mother had been gone little more than half an hour when the doorbell rang. It was Wayne, and Lauren could tell he had been drinking. As soon as they were seated in the lounge, Wayne opened a can and passed a second one to Terry. ‘I’ll stand the beers,’ he said generously. ‘I got the weed from the shed, like you asked.’

  ‘What weed?’

  ‘The gear you asked me to bring.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you for any gear. Still, as you’ve got some, it’d be a shame to waste it.’

  ‘Hang on, Tel. You said I had to bring some gear.’

  ‘I never said anything of the sort. You told me you’d bring the beer and the gear.’

  ‘When did I say that?’

  ‘In your text. “I’ll bring beer and gear” you said.’

  ‘I never. Your text said “bring beer and gear”.’

  ‘What text? I didn’t send you a text. You sent me one.’

  ‘No I didn’t. I was in the Red Lion and my mobile went off. That was when I read your text.’

  Both men reached for their mobiles and looked at the messages. Terry reacted first. ‘That’s funny, there’s no message from you here. I must have deleted it.’

  Wayne was equally baffled. ‘There’s nothing on mine either, and yet I remember reading it. There’s something weird going on.’

  ‘Still, doesn’t matter, does it. Might as well enjoy ourselves, eh? It’s Christmas, after all.’

  Somehow, in the process of getting themselves geared up, as Wayne referred to it, he ended up seated alongside Lauren on the sofa. This was absolutely the last thing she wanted. It was too late now for her to retire to the privacy of her own room. That would be seen as an insult to Terry’s guest, and the repercussions would be unpleasant for her. In addition, the last place she wanted to be when Wayne was in
an amorous mood was a room with a bed in it. A room, moreover, where his advances could be conducted in privacy.

  The next half hour was a torment for Lauren. Whenever he thought Terry wasn’t watching, which was far too often for Lauren’s liking, Wayne’s questing hands would stroke her leg, her thigh, her breast, anywhere he could reach. She lost count of the number of times she slapped his hand, or removed it from where he had placed it. Trying to glare at him without Terry seeing her reaction.

  Far from being discouraged by these small rejections, Wayne seemed to regard them as some form of foreplay. Lauren was sickened by him, his wandering hands, the whispered suggestions, and when she heard the doorbell ring again, she leapt to her feet to answer it. ‘I’ll go; it wouldn’t do for you to find a policeman on the doorstep when you’ve got a joint in your mouth.’

  She closed the lounge door behind her and as she walked across the hallway, had a frightening thought. What if the caller was another of Terry’s mates? The last thing she wanted was yet another boozy, drug taking loser who thought he was God’s gift.

  She opened the front door and peered out. For a moment, such was the density of the fog that she thought there was no one in front of her. Then he stepped closer, and Lauren’s eyes opened wide with surprise. It was no wonder she hadn’t spotted him immediately, she thought. The caller was a complete stranger, and strange certainly fitted his appearance. He was pale, beyond what was normal. He was a little under six feet tall, dressed in light coloured clothes. His hair was ash-blond, as were his eyebrows. His eyes were pale too, a washed-out blue that was almost opaque. There was no vestige of colour in his cheeks, save for a vivid red scar that ran from just below his left eye almost to his jaw. Lauren, who had recently seen The Da Vinci Code, was reminded of the albino assassin Silas.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked. Somehow, despite his odd appearance, the stranger didn’t seem at all frightening. Not until he spoke. Then, it was what he said rather than his tone that she found bewildering and disturbing. A slight shiver ran down her spine.

  ‘Hello, Lauren. I hope Wayne hasn’t harmed you? He isn’t a nice man; neither of them are.’ He indicated indoors as he spoke. ‘A pair of low-life scum. I didn’t mean for you to have to put up with Wayne pestering you when I arranged all this.’

  ‘What do you mean? Who are you? What do you want?’ Lauren recoiled a little, unsure whether she should slam the door.

  ‘I want you to listen. Listen and remember what happens. Because you’re going to be my witness, when it’s all over.’

  ‘After what is all over?’ She felt a frisson of fear.

  ‘Wait and see. I promise you, you’re safe. I will not allow anything to harm you. Is that clear?’ He looked at her intently.

  Lauren stared back, unable to avert her gaze from those pale eyes. She believed him, believed every word he told her. But why? Lauren was as disbelieving as most teenagers, particularly regarding what adults said. ‘Yes, perfectly clear,’ she replied, her words slow and measured, as if she was under the influence of that hypnotic stare.

  ‘Now, let’s go and join the others?’ He smiled cheerfully. ‘They should be about ready for us by now. We have to get everything done before your mother returns. The little diversion I organised for her at work won’t take her too long to deal with. I think we’ve got about an hour, no more, but that should be enough.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ It was curious, but despite his odd manner and his even stranger words, Lauren didn’t fear this man now.

  ‘You’ll see very soon. One thing I promise you, when this is all over, you won’t be troubled by either of those two again. Do you know what they’re planning at this moment?’

  Lauren shook her head. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she couldn’t work out how the weird visitor could tell. Perhaps he had super-sensitive hearing. Or was he making it all up?

  ‘I’m not sure you’ll want to know, but perhaps it will ease your conscience afterwards if you realize what a narrow escape you had. As we speak, Wayne and that so-called stepfather of yours are planning a gang bang – with you. Like I said, they’re a pair of loathsome creatures. You’ll be better off when they’re out of your life. As will your mother, for that matter. Come on, let’s get it over with.’

  He grasped her arm gently, and turned her to face the lounge. Although his touch was light, when Lauren looked at her arm afterwards, she was shocked to see that it was bruised, the marks clearly defined as a hand print.

  She opened the lounge door, the stranger close behind her. Both men were lolling in their seats, the effects of the drugs and beer had obviously taken their toll. They looked towards Lauren and then past her. She saw vague signs of recognition in their faces, but neither man spoke. The visitor strode past her and stooped over Terry, staring into his eyes. Terry sat up in his chair, as if at some unspoken command. Satisfied, the stranger turned and did the same to Wayne with similar results.

  As he had passed her, Lauren had noticed a faint aroma, one she could not immediately place. It was only later that she recognized it. For the moment, her attention was claimed by the visitor’s actions. He turned to her and asked, ‘If you had a Christmas wish, Lauren, what would happen to these two?’ He indicated the men, who were staring at him like adoring dogs, awaiting a command from their master.

  ‘I wish they would disappear from out of my life and my mum’s forever, but I suppose that’s asking too much.’ Lauren wasn’t sure why she said that, it seemed right, after what she’d just gone through with Wayne, and felt it was what the stranger wanted her to say.

  ‘I don’t think it is asking too much. This is Christmas, after all, and if you can’t ask for what you really want at this time of the year, when can you? Now, we have to get down to business. Are you ready?’

  She nodded, her eyes fixed on his. ‘And you know that you have to take careful note of everything these two say, so that you will be able to repeat it word for word to others later?’

  ‘I do.’ As she said it, Lauren thought that it sounded like a vow; which seemed ridiculous. The visitor obviously didn’t think so, for he smiled encouragingly.

  He turned to the two men, whose eyes were still fixed on him. ‘OK, you two are going to tell Lauren everything. Everything, do you understand?’

  Both men nodded, as if some invisible string was causing the heads to move in unison.

  ‘Right, I want you to go back in time. It is Christmas Eve, ten years ago. The time is seven o’clock in the evening. Tell us what’s happening, Terry.’

  Terry began to speak without hesitation. ‘OK, we’re here, Wayne. Let’s see if Arnie has left the door unlocked. Yeah, he has, but we’ve to make it look as if it was forced. Pass me the jemmy.’

  He got to his feet and reached out a hand to grasp the imaginary tool and began levering at an unseen object. ‘OK, remember what Arnie said. He’s going to walk down this corridor and we pretend to nab him. We take him back to the security office, make like we’re threatening him with the knife, and get the other bloke. After we knock the second guard out, we tie him up and then Arnie. Then I deal with the safe while you stand guard. What’s the other one’s name again? That’s it, Danny. He knows nothing, so if he looks like coming round, hit him again. We can’t risk letting him see that Arnie’s in on it.’

  There was a period of silence as Terry mimed a series of actions, watched impassively by the stranger, and with open-mouthed astonishment by Lauren. Some moments later, his voice threatening, his words even more so. ‘Sit still, put your hands behind your back, and don’t touch anything or I’ll slit your mate’s throat.’ As he spoke, Terry held an invisible knife horizontally in front of him.

  ‘OK, tie him up and gag him.’ He waited for what seemed an age. ‘Good, now knock him out.’

  Another pause, then, ‘OK, he’s out of it. Come on, Arnie. Let’s see what Towlers have taken today. I bet this’ll be your best ever Christmas bonus, eh? You all right, Arnie? You look a bit flus
hed – excitement getting a bit much? Wayne, remember what I told you. First sign that Danny boy there shows of waking up, you hit him good and hard.’

  There was another, longer period of silence as Terry performed a series of mimes, actions that Lauren could not even begin to guess at. Eventually, he put his hands to his ears and waited, as if expecting a loud noise. He removed them, and began dusting imaginary residue from his clothing before he spoke again, his voice a hushed whisper. ‘Hell’s bells, Arnie, looks like we’ve hit the jackpot this time. Anyway, no time to count it now, we’d better tie you up, then scarper. Someone might have heard that bang and come snooping.’

  Then Terry asked, ‘Any problems, Wayne?’ He waited, then shook his head. ‘Piece of cake.’ He smiled. ‘And judging from what’s in here,’ he patted an invisible container, ‘I’d say it was a bloody big slice of cake.’ His voice changed with dramatic haste. ‘Oh, bloody hell, what’s happened? Arnie, you all right? Arnie? Arnie?’

  Lauren watched as Terry’s hand went out, index finger poised, as if taking someone’s pulse. ‘Wayne, I think he’s snuffed it. We’d better tie him up anyway and then get out of here as fast as we can.’

  When the stranger was satisfied that Terry had finished speaking, he extended one hand, palm downwards. The first two fingers spread in a horizontal V formation. For a second, Lauren thought he was going to poke Terry in the eye, but instead he fixed her mother’s partner with that disconcerting fixed gaze. Almost immediately, Terry sat on the sofa and resumed the docile position he had adopted before the visitor requested the one-act monologue.

  ‘Did you get all that, Lauren? Is it clear?’

  She jumped with surprise. She hadn’t expected the question, and she noticed that his voice had changed. Gone was the commanding whiplash with which he addressed the men. In its place was a tender, caressing tone.

  ‘Er … yes, I think so. He did say Towlers, didn’t he?’