Bring Him Back

1

The sun was melting into a golden shimmer on the water as another long, warm May day came to an end. As usual, the family who lived in the big house overlooking the bay were eating a late dinner at the long table in the conservatory dining room. As usual, too, these days, the fair-haired boy had said little during the meal. His mother sat opposite him, frowning as he toyed listlessly with the food on his plate.

The boy was twelve, and his name was Carl Hunter. The man sitting to his right with his back to the window wasn’t his real father. And as the boy saw it, this wasn’t a real family. It was a stupid pretend family and it wasn’t the same any more. In all kinds of ways.

Carl laid down his cutlery and shoved his half-empty plate away from him. ‘Finished. I want to go and watch TV.’

‘You’re not finished, Carl,’ his mother said. ‘And there’s pudding to come. I made apple crumble.’

Carl shook his head and started getting up. ‘Don’t want any.’

‘You should ask your mother properly if you can leave the table,’ said the man who wasn’t Carl’s father.

‘Please can I leave the table?’ the boy muttered sullenly.

‘No,’ his mother said. ‘You can’t. This family sits down to eat together.’

Carl let out a short laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘You keep on like that, young man, and you won’t have a TV to watch,’ his mother warned him. Her face was turning paler, like it always did when she was about to erupt.

The man laid down his fork and gently touched her arm. ‘Jessica, it’s okay.’ Turning to Carl, he smiled and said, ‘Hey, you know what I did today? Fixed the plug on your Novag. There was a broken connection inside. I’ve soldered it all up, so it should work fine now. How about that, eh?’

The Novag chess computer was one of Carl’s favourite things, but he’d accidentally damaged the plug a few days earlier. If he was pleased it was fixed, he didn’t show it.

‘What do we say, Carl?’ his mother said. ‘That was very nice of Mike, wasn’t it? Carl, what do we say?’

The boy gave Mike the frostiest scowl he could manage. ‘Thanks, Mike.’

‘It’s on the table in the study,’ Mike said in the same soft tone. ‘Maybe you’d like to go and try it out, hmm? On you go, then.’

The boy left the room without a word. They heard him go stumping off towards the study to retrieve the repaired plug, then a moment later his footsteps on the stairs as he hurried up to his room. The door banged shut.

‘Thanks so much for undermining me like that,’ Jessica Hunter said tersely.

‘I didn’t mean to undermine you,’ Mike told her. ‘And I don’t mean to spoil him, either. But he’s been through a lot, you know? All the changes he’s had to adapt to. Can’t be easy for him.’

Jessica sighed and laid her hand on his. ‘And you’re trying so hard. I’m sorry.’

‘Me too. I’m just trying to be a dad to him, that’s all. I love him as if he was mine.’

‘I know,’ she said, and smiled.

From two floors above, they could hear Carl’s music playing.

‘Oh, I just remembered,’ Jessica said, brightening up. ‘Alison called earlier. We’re invited to a party at their place next Saturday. I said we were free. Already booked the sitter. That okay?’

‘Sounds great,’ Mike said as he started clearing the plates. ‘I’ll fetch the pudding, shall I? You want cream or custard?’

‘Better go easy on the cream,’ she said. ‘Have to get into a size eight by next week.’

He was about to make his usual ‘you’re not fat, Jessica,’ remark when the sudden noise cut him short.

They both froze. Mike dropped the plates on the table. ‘What the—?’

It had come from down the hall.

‘That was the front door,’ Jessica said in alarm, looking at him with big eyes. It was a thick, heavy door. Despite the almost nonexistent crime rate on Jersey, they kept it locked and bolted.

Carl’s music was still blaring upstairs.

Before Mike and Jessica could say anything more, they heard the sound again.

A heavy thump. The splintering of glass. Someone was smashing their way inside the house.

They exchanged horrified glances, then Mike rushed out of the dining room and into the hallway. ‘Stay there,’ he yelled back at her. The crashing had stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

‘Mike! No!’ For a second she stayed in her chair, paralysed by fear. Then she leapt to her feet and ran out of the room after him. ‘Mike?’

Mike was standing in the hallway, staring towards the wrecked front door. There was a man in the entrance. A ragged figure. Crazed-looking. His beard and hair were long and straggly, like a tramp’s. His eyes were wild and his fists were tight around the handle of the sledgehammer he’d used to break the door in.

‘Oh my God,’ Jessica gasped. ‘Drew!’

The sound of music from Carl’s room stopped.

The intruder let the sledgehammer drop from his hands. It hit the shiny hardwood floor with a clang. ‘Hello, Jessica,’ he said in a strangled voice.

Jessica gaped at the figure of her ex-husband. He was barely recognisable. His clothes were dirty and unkempt. He’d gained a huge amount of weight since she’d last seen him, that day in court when the restraining order had been put in place.

Shocked disbelief was quickly turning to rage. ‘Have you gone out of your mind?’ she screamed at him.

‘What do you want, Drew?’ Mike asked, his voice low and steady.

‘I’ve come for Carl,’ Drew replied.

Jessica drew a stunned breath. ‘What do you mean, you’ve come for Carl?’

‘You heard me,’ Drew said. ‘I’ve come to fetch him.’

‘Have you been drinking? Are you completely insane? You can’t come here like this. You can’t come anywhere near Carl. The restraining order, remember?’

‘Dad!’ It was Carl. He was standing rigidly at the top of the stairs. Gripping the banister rail.

‘Come down, son,’ Drew said. ‘I’m taking you away from this place.’

‘Go back to your room, Carl!’ Jessica shouted in a panicky quaver. ‘You hear me? Right now!’

Carl hesitated. Then started making his way anxiously down the stairs. Drew nodded to him. He gave a twisted kind of smile through his messy beard.

‘Carl! Jessica yelled. ‘What did I just tell you?’

The boy glanced at her, then at Mike, then back at his father. He paused nervously on the stairs.

‘You’re upset, Drew,’ Mike said, moving warily towards him. ‘We understand how much it’s hurt you that you couldn’t see Carl any more. But maybe it doesn’t have to be forever. Let’s talk it through like civilized people. Maybe we can come to an agreement.’

‘Agreement,’ Drew snorted in disgust. ‘Like hell we will. Like I’d make an agreement with you.’

‘You’re frightening the boy,’ Mike said. ‘Don’t you care about that, Drew? About his feelings?’ He took another step forward.

‘Don’t you come any closer,’ Drew warned. From the pocket of his jeans, he pulled a gun. It was a small semi-automatic pistol, black, ugly and purposeful, and its stubby barrel was pointing at Mike’s chest. Jessica let out a cry.

‘One more step,’ Drew said to Mike. ‘I’ll blow a hole right through you. I mean it.’

Mike went very still. His gaze fixed on the muzzle of the small pistol in Drew’s hand. It was trembling slightly. Drew was sweating and his breathing was rapid and ragged, clearly teetering on the verge of panic. Mike was very afraid of what might happen if he tipped over that edge.

‘Come here, Carl,’ Drew said, holding out his free hand. The boy paused, then slowly descended the rest of the stairs. ‘Dad—’ he murmured. Drew grasped him by the arm and held him close. Whispered something in his ear. The boy looked up at him.

‘Let him go!’ Jessica screamed. ‘Drew! Please! Why are you doing this?’

Drew wagged the barrel of the gun down the passage that led past the stairs. The door on the right led down to the cellar. It was an old door, solid oak. The ring of a large iron key protruded from the lock. ‘The two of you,’ Drew said. ‘Get in there.’

‘You don’t want to do this,’ Mike said as Drew herded them towards the cellar. ‘You know what’s going to happen. Drop the gun. I said, drop the gun, Drew.’ He spoke softly, calmly.

Drew blinked. He clasped the boy even more tightly to his side. ‘Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Get in there now! You first, you piece of shit. I’m not joking. You get in there now or I’ll shoot you. I mean it. I will.’

‘I’m begging you, Drew…’ Jessica sobbed.

‘Open the door.’

Mike turned the key with a sigh. The lock clunked. The door creaked open. Cool, slightly dank air wafted up from the dark space below. He reached slowly up to the light switch and turned it on to reveal the flight of concrete steps leading down to the cellar. There were packing cases and boxes, an old table, stacked chairs. Against one rough whitewashed wall leaned the two bikes that Drew and Jessica had once enjoyed cycling around the island on. Happier times. Now they were gone.

Jessica was frantically weeping as she and Mike descended the cellar steps. Drew watched them from the doorway, still pointing the gun, his arm around Carl’s shoulders.

‘Mummy loves you, Carl,’ Jessica sobbed. ‘You hear me? Mummy loves you!’

‘You harm him,’ Mike warned Drew, ‘and I swear you’ll pay dearly for it.’

Drew made no reply. He slammed the cellar door, shutting off the anguished cry from Jessica. He turned the lock. Left the key in place, sideways so that it couldn’t be pushed through from inside. There were wire coat hangers and all kinds of things in the cellar that could be used to pick the lock.

‘Dad—’ Carl said in a shaky voice.

Drew slipped the gun back into his pocket. He squeezed his boy’s arm tightly. ‘Let’s get your things, Carl. We’re leaving.’

‘Where are we going?’ the boy asked, staring up at him. He could remember all the times in the past when his father had been drunk, sometimes hopelessly inebriated, incoherent, reeking of booze, hardly able to stand. A miserable, heartbreaking sight that Carl had almost become used to.

But not now. Now he could see his father was completely sober.

‘I have it all planned,’ Drew said. ‘Everything.’