Left for Dead Page 9

  ‘Well, I only found this out after we’d started seeing each other. Apparently…’

  ‘Go on,’ Will encouraged. ‘What happened?’

  Charlotte swallowed hard and looked at him.

  ‘Apparently, according to Sally’s Purple Coat boyfriend, Abi and Bruce used to be an item.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Present Day - Morecambe

  Charlotte felt light-headed. Who could possibly have her mother’s necklace after all these years?

  She sat down cautiously on what was left of a bench, half expecting it to collapse, and studied the photograph carefully. She knew every millimetre of that piece of jewellery. She’d played with it and coveted it as a child. And when her mum had passed away, she’d guarded it like a treasure. Until that night.

  She had always assumed it had been taken by the sea. It seemed the obvious answer. After all, when she’d left Bruce, the waves had been splashing around their feet. At first, she’d been terrified that his body had been swept away by the sea. She’d actually felt a sense of relief that he was still alive. It had come as an even greater relief to hear that he’d packed his bags and left too. For years she had hated herself for losing that necklace, the one last thing that made her feel close to her mother.

  Was it Bruce contacting her on Facebook? Surely not, after all this time. Had he harboured a resentment for all these years? Was he seeking revenge?

  Charlotte didn’t have any answers. But she knew that she had to engage with whoever was sending the messages. She couldn’t bury her head in the sand.

  What do you want? she typed, immediately erasing it, thinking it made her feel like a victim.

  We need to meet, she typed, looking at the words. Somewhere public. Or are you too afraid to show your face?

  She considered the last sentence for some time. Was it too confrontational? Perhaps. She erased it and sent the remainder of the message. She watched for a few moments to see if it would get a tick mark to show it had been read. It did not.

  Charlotte felt an overwhelming sense of panic wash through her and for a moment she thought that she would lose it again. Ever since the incidents at the school, she’d felt only one step away from everything collapsing. She couldn’t tell Will; he must be sick of her already. She was holding on by a thread.

  It was Una who distracted her from her anxiety. She began to tug gently at the lead, encouraging Charlotte to move on.

  ‘It’s okay Una, I’m coming, she said, running her hands gently along Una’s back, making the dog’s tail wag.

  There was one more stop she wanted to make before they started bulldozing the place: their old room.

  It had been Will’s room, but he’d managed to survive the summer without getting a roommate. All the other staff members would tease him, asking if he had some kind of disease or if he was a werewolf, too dangerous to assign anyone to. He’d just got lucky; they seemed to have overlooked him. Which meant that when Charlotte and he had begun their relationship, they’d had a bolt hole, providing some privacy. They’d spent many hours in that room, chatting, laughing and getting to know each other. Officially, she’d kept her shared room with Jenna, but as the summer progressed, she spent more and more time over at Will’s. It was where they’d taken their first steps as a couple. Besides, Jenna had also moved on by that time.

  She could still remember the route to the chalet. Past the nursery, turn left, towards the laundry and into the second chalet block. The accommodation looked wrecked now. The textured cladding, which concealed the low-quality building materials underneath, was beginning to flake off, and the metal windows on the upper levels were severely rusted. Those on the ground floor were boarded up and covered with spray-painted messages.

  Charlotte walked over to the bottom of the concrete staircase which used to lead to their room. It was blocked by a single section of builder’s fencing, chained to each side of the stair railings.

  She tied Una’s lead to the lowest railing and pushed the fencing panel over to one side, attempting to create a gap to squeeze through.

  Una looked at her, her long, pink tongue hanging out as she panted.

  ‘Don’t tell anybody how undignified this looks,’ Charlotte said, ruffling her fur. ‘Stay there, good girl. It’s just for a moment.’

  She crouched down and began to pull herself through the small gap that she’d created. The railings pushed against her back and for a moment she thought she might actually get stuck. However, she persisted and although she sustained a couple of small scrapes in the process, she made it through.

  Charlotte walked up the staircase. The vandals hadn’t made it this far. Lightweights.

  She stopped at the top of the stairs and took a breath. The feelings of panic had subsided now and she was feeling on a more even keel.

  The doors and windows on the upper levels were free of the chipboard which protected the ground floor. Charlotte wondered why they’d bothered; the vandals might have demolished the place themselves if they’d left it long enough. She walked along the concrete landing, past the room that Abi and Reese had shared.

  Of course, there had been life at the camp after she and Will had moved on. It had stayed open another nine years before it closed to holiday-makers. She wondered how many other couples had met or broken up in those rooms. She passed Abi’s window and turned left, into the recess which led to the doors. Left and right were the entrances to the rooms, and opposite were the toilet and bathroom. There was Chalet 12.

  Charlotte placed her hand onto the metal handle, pushing it down and pressing gently in the hope that the door would open. Below her, Una barked.

  ‘It’s okay Una, I’ll be back in a moment,’ she called.

  The door was shut, but the weather had worked its way in and she could see that it was beginning to rot. They were going to demolish the place anyway, so she forced it with her arm. There was the crunch of rotten wood and with two more pushes, she was in. There it was, Will’s room. The place where they’d first made love. The room where she’d decided that he was possibly the one.

  She didn’t really know what she was expecting but being there fed her soul. It transported her back to 1984, that feeling of excitement and a newly discovered love, the thrill of a relationship creating a spark of energy for young passion to ignite. She could see them sitting on the bed, writing letters to friends and family, laughing, comfortable in each others’ company. She felt like a spirit from the future, almost able to reach out and touch the memory.

  It created a wave of nostalgia in her and a sense of what life had torn from them over the years. Kids, jobs, money - it had left them tired and worn. She’d even had suicidal thoughts at times. She was certain she wouldn’t do anything - as sure as she could be - but she’d thought about it and the possibility continued to rear itself as a way out should things ever become so bad that she couldn’t cope. If only they could press the reset button.

  She still loved Will; being there in that room made her see it clearly. It was life that had stripped them of their joy. He was still the same old Will, the boy she’d fallen in love with at Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp, the man who’d taught her what a good relationship can be like.

  He’d never raised a hand to her - he’d never been anywhere near it. Neither had he struck the kids. Will was a good man, and she still loved him. Somehow, she had to find her way back to him.

  The room had been completely stripped. The cold, drab wallpaper had been removed, with a more modern look achieved through the simple addition of a dado rail. There was patterned paper below the rail and plain above, and it had started to peel off the walls.

  All the furniture had been removed. The only things left were the sink in the corner of the room and the mirror above it. She laughed as she recalled how they’d peed down the sink at night, rather than having to throw on some clothes to use the shared toilet on the landing. Looking at the height of the sink, she reckoned she’d put her back out if she tried it nowadays.

&
nbsp; She closed her eyes and absorbed the echoes of their youth one last time. It felt good. Will was right - coming back to this place had been a good thing.

  Una barked again. Charlotte pulled the door as firmly as she could, then looked over the barrier on the landing to let her know where she was.

  ‘Over here Una!’

  The dog looked up and started to wag her tail, content that all was well.

  Then Charlotte remembered something they’d completely forgotten in the intervening years. It came back to her with complete clarity.

  She went back into the room, made for the windowsill and crouched down so that she could see underneath it. It was still there. The message they’d left all those years ago. She and Will had got drunk on cheap Liebfraumilch and she’d dared him to carve their initials into the woodwork. It had seemed so daring at the time, vandalising holiday camp property like that. Here it was, surviving after so long, remaining hidden for all that time. WG loves CT 1984. Tyson, her maiden name. It was so long since she’d thought about it.

  Charlotte heard her phone ping. She removed it from her pocket and studied the screen. There had been nothing from Lucia that day. Hopefully that was a good sign. Olli too had maintained radio silence. It would help if the kids settled quickly.

  She’d got her reply from the anonymous contact. As she opened up the message, that sense of calm was wrenched from her.

  Charlotte fainted before she read the rest.

  Don’t worry, I’ll find you.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Present Day - Morecambe

  Charlotte woke to the sight of George’s face.

  ‘You gave me quite a fright there,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t for Una, you might have been here for ages. She raised the alarm with her barking.’

  Charlotte ran through the events in her head. The message. The overwhelming sense of order crashing around her. The hard fall to the ground, hitting the cold concrete of the balcony.

  ‘My head hurts. Did I fall badly?’ she asked.

  ‘I think you hit the railings on your way down,’ George said. ‘There’s a bruise and a bit of blood. You might want to get that checked out at the hospital or by your doctor. You have to be careful with blows to the head, you know.’

  For just one second, Charlotte thought George was trying to convey something to her. No, she was being paranoid, she was imagining it.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked, suddenly thinking about their guests. She wanted to get to the school too, to make sure that Lucia was safe.

  ‘It’s half-past two,’ George replied. ‘I’d take a moment if I were you.’

  ‘I can’t’ she replied, touching her forehead. She could feel a raised area where the bruise was forming. ‘I have to go to the school. I have to get back!’

  ‘Take it easy.’ George tried to steady her. ‘You’ve had quite a shock.’

  Charlotte was up on her feet.

  ‘Look, I’m so sorry I keep screwing everything up, George. You must think I’m out of my mind…’

  ‘I thought no such thing,’ he reassured her.

  ‘Thank you for letting me take a last look around. It means so much to me. Thank you. But I’ve got to go.’

  She placed her arm on George’s shoulder and rushed off, along the balcony and down the stairs. George had removed the chains which were securing the barrier, so the exit was now left unobstructed. Charlotte said farewell to Una and rushed off.

  So determined was she to get to the school gates in time, that she used the route she and Will had taken on their first visit, squeezing through another narrow gap and caking herself in mud in the process. She didn’t care. After the message on her phone, she had to check on Lucia. She needed to make sure that her precious daughter was in no danger.

  She ran to the car and activated the locks. Noticing an absence in her back pockets, she cursed as she realised she’d left her phone on the balcony. There was no time to retrieve it. It was safe with George; she’d have to fetch it from him another time.

  Charlotte started the car and roared along the country lane, heading back towards Heysham and Morecambe sea front. It was only when she passed a speed monitoring van that she took her foot off the accelerator and adjusted her speed to match the limit. She wanted to be at the school gates before the kids came out. It was imperative that Olli and Lucia did not see her there; they’d be horrified if they ever thought she was checking up on them.

  Even though she was ten minutes early at the main school gate, there were still parents and taxis hovering like vultures. Many of them would have come to the school gates immediately after work, on the non-stop parenting rollercoaster. The contract taxis were there for the special needs kids and travellers, but being located centrally in town, there were no school buses. All the secondary school youngsters used the municipal services.

  Charlotte found a parking space opposite the entrance, but not directly in front of it. Their car, an ordinary Ford, blended in nicely. She took out her sunglasses from the front glove compartment and put them on. It wasn’t particularly sunny, but it wasn’t so dull that she looked ridiculous. It would have to do; she couldn’t risk being spotted.

  If it turned out she was being paranoid, she’d be home before the kids got back and they’d never even know she was there.

  The school bell sounded in the distance, marking the end of the day. She felt a twitch in her stomach. For years her working days had been punctuated by bells like that. She wondered if the apprehension they caused would ever leave her.

  The children left the school premises like a stampede being filmed for a David Attenborough nature show. First came the outliers, then the mob left the playground in their noisy and boisterous groups, tearing through the peace and quiet like a violent thunderstorm. She was so pleased this was no longer her life.

  A teacher appeared at the gate, a cup of something in her hand. Every now and then she’d chide the youngsters or exchange a bit of banter with them.

  Three boys had managed to balance themselves on a single bicycle and were careering dangerously through the crowd.

  ‘Boys, walk with the bike!’ she shouted.

  They just grinned at her and rode on.

  Next, a fight broke out among a group of girls, probably only fourteen or fifteen years old. They were kicking a girl with such ferocity it made her wince, but she’d seen it all before; she knew how wild some of them could be.

  The supervising teacher split it up, making the children shake hands in a cursory attempt to smooth it all over. She sat with the bullied student for a few moments before sending her on her way. As if the two-minute head start would keep her safe - the little bitches would be waiting around the corner, ready to finish off what they’d started. Charlotte had done it herself, sometimes so anxious for the school day to end that she’d paper over the cracks and send the kids packing, knowing she wouldn’t have resolved the issue. Anything for a bit of peace and quiet and an uninterrupted mug of tea.

  Charlotte had been distracted; she’d almost missed her. There she was - she’d darted out of the school gate and was now dawdling near a tree, checking her phone. She had no friends yet. It made Charlotte want to cry.

  Then, from across the path, a man with a shaved head moved towards her. He was thickset, tattoos on both arms, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Why was he going up to her daughter? Was this Bruce, back all these years later to screw up their lives?

  Charlotte opened the car door, causing another vehicle to slam on its brakes to avoid crashing into it. She held up her hand by way of apology, shouting ‘Sorry! Sorry!’

  The man who was driving the van opened up his window and shouted ‘Watch what yer doing luv! Bloody wimmin’ drivers.’

  She ignored him, rushing across the road towards Lucia.

  ‘Hey, piss off you! Just piss off and leave my daughter alone!

  Charlotte grabbed the man by the arm and spun him around, shouting into his face.

  ‘You bloody nutter, you sc
rewed up my life before, now piss off and get out of here!’

  The man looked bemused. Even as Charlotte shouted the words, she knew that it could not possibly have been Bruce Craven. Everything about him was wrong, even thirty-five years on.

  ‘Hang on a minute darlin’, I was only asking her the time,’ the man protested. ‘She was lookin’ at her mobile phone - I just wanted to know what time it was.’

  The teacher at the school gate had observed the near-miss in the car and was now approaching at some speed to attempt to sort out the altercation.

  Lucia was horrified, screaming at her mum to get a life and leave her alone.

  ‘You’re such an embarrassment. Why did you have to do this in front of everybody at school? I hate you, Mum!’

  Lucia stormed off. Charlotte moved to pursue her, but the teacher took her arm gently.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, using her best authoritative tone. ‘You can’t just come to the school gates causing trouble like this. We have a duty of care to our children.’

  ‘She’s a bloody nutter, that’s what she is!’ the accosted man protested, cutting his losses and beginning to move away.

  ‘Is everything alright here Miss Weir?’ came a man’s voice from behind them. ‘One of the sixth formers told me something was happening at the gates.’

  Charlotte watched as Lucia ran off, well ahead of her now. The man had made good his exit, sensing that there was no more benefit to be had from causing a fuss.

  ‘It’s alright Miss Weir, I’ll handle this,’ came the commanding voice.

  The teacher released her loose grip on Charlotte’s arm and she took a step back.

  Charlotte turned to face the man and her eyes fell on his name badge.

  Mr E. Hyland, Head Teacher

  She’d made a fool of herself, and now she’d have to explain herself to this man, her children’s new head teacher. The embarrassment of it. She wanted to shrink into her shoes.

  ‘Let’s go to the office shall we? I’m afraid I’ll need to determine if the police should be involved in this matter.’