Chapter 40
James washed his hands of me that night. Not so much as a call or visit. I was trialled as an adult. I wasn’t given bail because I was deemed a flight risk.
That was his doing.
I’m not stupid.
An idiot maybe. For losing control. For beating them until they were unconscious.
For leaving.
Do I regret it though?
No.
Not when they had done what they did—not that anyone believed me. The one person who could have spoken up was nowhere to be seen.
And that hurt.
But she couldn’t have known. Otherwise, she would have been there, telling her story, supporting me through it, getting me the fuck out.
Instead, I was left alone. To serve my time.
But I’m out now, and she’s eighteen. Which means we can leave.
Together.
I knock on the door; the sound vibrating through the quiet still night. Inside, my heart beats wildly.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Against my ribcage.
I feel sick.
I feel nervous.
I’m fucking scared.
A shadow moves around inside, the light distorted as the person approaches the front door. Please let it be her.
Maria opens the door, and her face is a picture of relief as she takes me in. Her hand goes to her mouth as she sucks in a shocked breath.
I’m taller, I’m stronger, I’m more determined than I’ve ever been.
“Owen,” she gasps. “Oh my God, Owen.” Her bottom lip quivers, her eyes fill with unshed tears as she throws herself at me.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry. He wouldn’t let me come.
” She grips my neck, and I hold her to me, smelling in her comforting smell; fresh linen and coffee.
I bury my face in her neck, and I take a moment.
“Hello, Mum,” I say in a broken whisper. “Is she here?”
“Oh, Owen…she left.”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
My heart beats even louder. Blood whooshes through my ears.
She left.
I pull back and rest my hands on her shoulder as Maria cries. “What do you mean, she left?”
“Ran away. Six weeks after you did.”
“I didn’t leave though, Maria. He let me rot in fucking jail. You both did. Where is she?” I grate the words out and she flinches, her eyes widen.
“You don’t understand…it was terrible. He was terrible.”
“I know he was terrible; I lived it.”
“But it got worse.”
“Where is she, Maria?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice cracks, a sob rips out of her. “I looked everywhere, Owen. I was going to get help when she left, and you were gone, it hit me. I realised the mistakes I made. I realised what I should’ve done. But it was too late. I was too late.”
She chokes on the words, tears streaking down her face.
“No one’s seen her since she walked out two years ago. She …vanished. I even went to the police. Filed reports. Made calls. We had search parties. It was like she never existed.”
I fall into the wall.
Missing.
Gone.
Disappeared.
Dead.
Everything runs through my head, the what ifs. Cooking up the worst visual representation of what could have happened.
I rub my face. I rub my eyes. I clench and unclench my fist.
“Please, Owen, please come in. Let’s talk.”
“Is he here?”
“No. Long gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know, but I think he likes to hang around in a pub, the Old Crow on Lansdown Road. But please, Owen. He’s not worth it. He doesn’t know anything. He’s too busy drinking himself into an early grave.”
“You have ten minutes to tell me what happened, then I’m gone.”
“Please, Owen, please don’t walk away. I can’t lose you, too.”
“You lost me two years ago when you didn’t fight for me.”
Just like I lost her.
I walk through the small 18th century pub. The ceiling’s low, with dark wooden beams running along the top. The walls full of black and white pictures of soldiers, mixed in with crosses, medals and coats of arms.
I watch him.
He’s surrounded by friends, laughing and joking like nothing’s wrong. But I see it.
He’s wasted away. His face is hollow, skin clinging to sharp cheekbones, and there’s a grey tinge beneath his eyes that no amount of laughter can hide. His body, once solid and strong, is slumped and frail—shoulders curled inward like he’s caved in on himself. Years of alcohol have ravaged him.
And yet, he still wears that same evil crooked smile—the one that hides the devil that’s hidden behind his broken facade.
“Hello James.”
“Well, look at what the cat dragged in. Lads, I’ve told you about my criminal son, haven’t I?” He holds his arm out, introducing me to his fellow wasters as he laughs at his own joke. “So, they finally let you out.”
“No thanks to you.”
“Well, it was for your own good. You were clearly out of control.” He takes a sip of his pint.
I tilt my head to the right. “You probably want to have this conversation in private, unless you want to show your friends just how much of a piece of shit you really are.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide. You carry on son.”
“I’ve seen Maria.”
His eyes whip to mine, and he downs the rest of his pint, wipes his mouth and stands. “I’ll be back in a minute boys. Lead the way, son.”
We find a quiet table in the corner.
The smell of stale alcohol from both the pub and James is overwhelming, along with the weird decoration and stifling heat from the crackling fire five metres away.
“How is she? Maria?” He asks as he takes a step.
I fold my arms, leaning back in the chair and take him in. He’s aged.
“You almost sounded like you cared there. We both know that’s the biggest lie that’s ever come out of that trap of yours.”
“I always cared.” He says.
“And beating us all black and blue was your way of what? showing us how much you cared!” I snort at the ridiculousness of it.
“Fuck off.” Eyes blazing.
“There it is, the temper. I must say I’ve never been prouder of her for finally standing up to you and throwing your arse out.”
“Says the criminal.”
“Careful.” I warn. “I’m not the small teenager anymore, Dad. My right hook is probably better than yours now. Want to test it out?” My eyes widen as he cowers in his chair. “Not so much of a big man now that I’m bigger than you, are you?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know where she is. I want to know what you did that made her run?”
“I didn’t do anything. She left when you didn’t come back. She left when she realised you’d gone and run away after you took that sweet little cunt of hers.”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
There he is.
The fucking animal.
I launch across the table, my fist clenching around his check shirt and pull him to his feet before I pull my arm back and release a blow straight to his nose.
It splits, blood spilling along with his profanities.
“Me and you.” He goads. “We’re the same. Cut from the same cloth.” He grins, his teeth covered in blood, as he spits a mouthful of it onto the table.
“I’m nothing like you.” I grate; teeth clenched.
“Yeah? Why don’t you hit me again? I know you want to. You’ve got that wild glint in your eye. Your chest is heaving, jaw clenched. Admit it, admit you want to hit me.”
A man appears to our right and I briefly catch his eye where looks on concerned, hesitant. “Hey, James, you good man?” He asks.
“Yeah, Roger. Just having a heart to heart with my boy.”
“I want to fucking kill you.” I admit and walk towards him.
“Hey, back off him.” Roger shouts taking another step forward. His hand touches my shoulder, and I shake it off, stepping into James’ face, his stale breath coming in heaves.
“You’re goading me, but you see, we’re nothing alike.
I may want to kill you; I may want to punch and kick you until you can do nothing but piss in a bag.
But I’ve got self-control. I know when to walk away.
Maria told me about you, you’re drinking yourself into an early grave because you don’t want cancer to kill you.
Is that why you were always such a cunt?
Thought the world owed you, thought we owed you.
We could have helped you; we could have supported you.
But no, you decided to walk it alone. You decided to become the monster. ”
I look around the pub, my voice rising.
“James Caulder, my dad, the wife beater, kid beater, pervert. Yet I’m the fucking criminal. I never want to see you again, if I hear you’ve been anywhere near Maria, or Lucy—”
“If she’s still alive.”
“I’ll kill you. Say you understand me.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I grip his shirt again, and pull back my arm.
“Alright, alright. You have my word.”
“Your word means shit. But I’ll be watching. Every move, every step, every drink. I’ll have eyes on you.”
I let go of his shirt and push him, he falls over the chair, it topples to the side as he lands in a heap on the floor.
“Take care, Dad.” I sneer before turning my back to him, turning my back on my past, and walk out the pub focused on finding my future.
Her.