At the sound of my voice, the obscure shadow turned away from the ocean. Time slowed down, my breathing fast-tracked, my legs creeping without instruction closer to the shadows. In the muted light of the moon, you smiled. I was no longer in control; my head floated as my legs gave way. My body collided with the ground in slow motion. Struggling for air. Images whizzing through a hollow mind on a loaded carousel.
No! Screamed through my inner voice as I resisted the pressure to vomit. I gazed up, the former shadow of Billy evaporating. You. You stood, confidence powering your smile. Arrogance beaming from your eyes. The years rewound in front of me.
I screamed. ‘Leave my son alone, you sick bastard.’
You laughed.
Then, I saw it. What stood between you and Jack, the unmistakable solid silhouette. Held in perfect position. I scrambled. Grappling to stand on two quaking props. Any words jarring in my throat. Panic.
The echo of your laugh passed through me.
As the words, ‘Why did you have to be my dad?’ hit me.
You laughed, louder than ever.
Jack, my innocent boy, pulled the trigger.
Bang.
‘Jack. No!’ I bawled. ‘No, Jack. Please, no.’
Wasted, hopeless words bounced off the cliff and circled us.
It was too late.
I clambered across unsteady ground to reach and pull my son into my arms as he sobbed. The full weight of his body leaning on me. We gave way to the floor, holding tight. Years of undiluted pain passing between us. We remained immobile for some time, I wasn’t sure how long, but enough for the cold to creep over us, until we began to shiver. Over Jack’s head, I pondered as the moonlight glimmered on the surface of the water. It was over. But the relief I’d imagined had been replaced with something even more cumbersome. I’d observed my son morph into a killer. Slowly I stood, gently pulling Jack to his feet. I removed the gun still gripped in childlike hands and hurled it, breaking the speckled surface. I stretched up to kiss his tear-damp cheek, with the vision of the small boy trapped in the back of the car, that night. Frozen, and stunned as now. I hadn’t been able to free him then and now, I could never free him.
I squeezed his hands. ‘I had to do it, Mum. Couldn’t take any more. Couldn’t go back to how it was.’ I wiped a rolling tear from his face. ‘Didn’t want him to hurt you, again.’
‘It’s over, Jack,’ I soothed.
‘I brought him this.’ He held the flash-drive up to show me. ‘Thought it was what he wanted. Thought he’d leave us alone then. Leave you alone. But it wasn’t what he wanted, was it?’
I shook my head. ‘No. He wanted us. But not in the normal way; but to ruin our lives. Couldn’t abide the fact we’d moved on without him. Built new lives. You’re right, he would never have let us go.’
‘I didn’t mean to do it. Shoot him. I don’t think I did. But, when he laughed, I wanted him dead. More than anything, I wanted to kill him.’
I grasped the spark of hatred running through his gentle eyes. ‘Jack, listen to me. You’re not the bad one, he is. But no one will ever understand this. You must promise me; you will never, ever, tell anyone about this. Not anyone. Your friends. No one. This, like everything else, always has to be our secret. Do you hear me? Our secret. Forever.’
He nodded as a blub was released, a four-year-old child, looking to me for guidance.
‘But… what if someone finds him?’
‘No one will report him missing. He’s been off the radar for so long. People get lost to these seas, are never found again, even when they’re looked for. But, one last thing, for me. Call it my living and dying bequest.’
‘What?’ He sniffed.
‘If his body is ever found – it won’t be, but if it is – I want you to remember, I shot your father. Not you, Jack. I shot him. I killed him.’
‘But…’
‘No buts. I mean it, I pulled the trigger. I took the gun from your father’s drawer. I buried it in the garden. It was my weapon. I pulled the trigger.’ Ultimately, I did. I married you, I brought Jack into your world. I knew one day you would find us, hunt us down. I always understood, someone was going to die.
Together, we stumbled back along the broken path. Battered and bruised; shocked and frightened. As we turned the final twist towards the beach, I could just make out the dark shadow running towards us. Billy. The irony wasn’t missed – a life for a life; as I remembered, it was the exact spot where Gregg murdered Billy’s friend, Tom, all those years ago. Silently, I prayed. Take the revolting body, please, Tom; hide it well in the obscure depths of the ocean. Take the truth and guard it. Because sometimes the truth is dishonest.
Billy placed a supporting arm to join mine around Jack, looking to me for explanation. I simply shook my head.
Now, I gently place Jack’s deadly mobile back on his chest of drawers, peel back the undisturbed duvet protecting his bed, lie down and wrap it around me, inhaling his vulnerable scent, with my cotton-wool-stifled mind. Perhaps it’s better this way, numbness, guarding the doors to dark memory templates. If I’m honest, if it weren’t for Jack, I could let go now, slide away to a supposedly better place.
He’ll be home soon from football, life labouring on as it has to. Miffed that he left his mobile behind. He’ll smile his boyish beam, hair pushed back from slightly sweaty hands, and kiss my cheek with the smell of fresh new air. But behind his eyes, I will meet the pain, and in those out-of-context moments when perspective implodes I will, alone, see what you have done to him. Those blameless, innocent blue eyes, his informers to his soul, do not tell the truth.
They never have and, now, never can.
The unheard voice of a child.
Epilogue
Six Months Later…
Ghostly cirrus clouds pale the azure sky as I wander away from the centre of Truro. A steady uphill climb, sandwiched between rows of terraced houses that guide me towards the train station. I’ve thought long and hard about this reunion. Early-hour awakenings with the warmer summer nights, wondering how I should feel, how I need to feel, how I truly feel. It took many months for me to appreciate… this was necessary for a form of closure. Since then, I’ve wondered, over and over, what I will say, how I will greet her, how I will feel, face to face, after all these years. We’ve communicated many times by email, since the day she walked free. A freedom Jack and I will never touch. I had to fight with this, but in the end, I could clearly see this wasn’t the fault of anyone but you.
Hopping from foot to foot, I watch as the train from Cheltenham arrives. Every conceivable emotion having already chipped away at my soul. Today, despite the fluttery feeling, I am ready. Six months of blurred emotional rehabilitation. Billy has been an unconditional rock, unselfishly spending time with me, but mostly with Jack. Proper boy time. They’ve become good friends. I’ve looked on from a distance, listened to the shared words of wisdom, which eventually led to banter, then laughter. It still hasn’t quite obscured the pain behind Jack’s eyes. I’m hoping in time this subterranean sadness will fade.
Steely doors sling open. A gaggle of festival-attired youths cackle by, laden with overflowing carrier bags of mostly food and alcohol. I smile to myself, bursting to tell them to hang onto autonomy, exuberance. An immaculate elderly couple tread carefully past, hand in hand, wrapped up for winter despite the rising temperatures; she wears a woven hat. Laughter lines etched around prudent eyes, oozing warmth. A deep sense of mutual understanding seals the small space between them.
On the floor in front of me, I spot a penny. I stoop down to pick it up.
‘So, you still believe in all that stuff, then, Eve,’ she says.