The Place That Never Existed Page 5

  “Look, we may have some more questions, and someone will be in touch to see how you are.” Don stopped as Bobby opened the door.

  “Bill, I really am sorry. This is not the way I wanted us to speak to each other ever again.”

  “Unless you can bring me my son back, then I’ve nothing else to say to you!”

  Bill collapsed in the chair with Lessie grabbing on to him tightly. The whole of their world had caved in.

  It was bad enough when Henry didn’t come home that first night, but he was older now, and teenagers will have these bouts of spontaneous acts of rebellion. He loved being a fisherman, but there was also something niggling at him that made him consider perhaps there were other things out there for him.

  How the hell does an experienced fisherman, who has to balance on a small boat throughout high winds and choppy waters, suddenly get blown off or fall off of a cliff? It just didn’t make sense.

  Sat in the police car, Don started the engine, then as the car pulled away said more to himself than anyone, “I hate that part of the job.”

  It was ten seconds before Bobby said, “What, delivering bad news to people?”

  “No, lying to people.”

  For a while, they drove in silence. Henry was dead, there was no going back on that fact. It didn’t really matter about the truth, did it? Henry would never come back into their lives again. Only harm would come from telling the truth.

  The truth was that if people around here knew what was really going on, then the effect on the residents of Huntswood Cove would be catastrophic.

  This is what they had all decided, and from now on, there was no going back.

  THE PLACE THAT NEVER EXISTED

  Chapter Eight

  2016 Honeymoon

  T here was definitely something quite beautiful and natural looking about the log cabin as Paul and Debbie pulled up outside. The tyres crunched on the light-coloured gravel, and the sun blazed out towards the back of the property. The wood finish was just aging, as after the years of its bright look, it was now slowly blending in with the surroundings, and the bright floral welcome of the plants splashed colour accents in ravishing glory.

  Debbie let out a squeal, something that she did once in a while when overcome with excitement, and Paul stood proudly, surveying a dream he’d made come true—even if it was for only a few days.

  They came together and held hands, and with a spring in their step, they bounced up the steps of the porch and to the front door. A wind chime sang a gentle melody from a breeze that could be barely felt.

  “This is so wonderful, Paul!” Debbie said, skipping through the cabin.

  They walked straight into the main lounge-space, with a large kitchen just off of it. Towards the back was the bathroom and above them—and visible from the lounge—was the main bedroom.

  Paul walked out to the back door, raising his eyebrows at the hot tub and barbeque area. This was exactly what he was looking for.

  After the previous months, this was exactly what they needed.

  “Hey, Paul?” Debbie called, a playfulness suddenly appearing. They were both engulfed in the hysteria of it all.

  There are few other sights of pure beauty better in this world than your wife stood in front of you dressed only in her underwear. The sun shone through so brightly that she was an erotic silhouette.

  “You are incredibly beautiful, but my wife will be here soon. I’m really sorry!”

  Debbie giggled. “You foolish man. Get over here!”

  With every step, the weight of the past slowly floated up and away from his body. After turning her around, he pulled her hair to the side and gently kissed her neck.

  She closed her eyes with a senses overload of tingles. The sun warmed her body as the tickle of Paul’s lips and roaming hands made her weak at the knees. Her bra hit the ground as aching nipples screamed for attention. She felt his naked skin on hers, his chest hair familiar as his breaths grew more rapid.

  Love and animal lust collided as they fell onto the floor, the singing birds in the trees and the innocent wind chimes’ lullaby replaced by the uncontrolled squeals of pleasure. Lost in each other, the passion built up until an inevitable…

  “Afternoon!” a cheerful deep voice rang out suddenly. “Whoa! What in God’s name is going on here?”

  “Shit! Really?” Paul said suddenly. This couldn’t be happening. “You want to give us a minute, mate?” In all honest truth he was going to punch the man in the face, whoever he was. It was not as if they were being quiet or anything. This was their honeymoon, and traditionally it is a time of being alone together and having lots of sex. Not an invitation for voyeurism.

  “Right you are!” the guy said, still sounding chipper. “I’ll be outside with the rest of the Girl Guides!”

  “What!” Paul and Debbie both said, grabbing for clothes.

  “Joke!” was all that came back from outside.

  The last time Paul had seen Debbie look so mad was the last time she had talked about her. It wasn’t a look he enjoyed. “Who is this guy?” she hissed, doing her best to keep her voice down.

  Now with his T-shirt on and pulling up his trousers, Paul replied, “I have no idea, but I’ve a good mind to go through honeymoon etiquette with him. The bloody idiot.”

  Debbie pulled on her dress, but she was a little embarrassed about speaking to a guy that had just seen rather more of her, and heard, than she’d ever expected him to. She sat up in the chair, arms crossed over herself awkwardly.

  When Paul walked through the door, he saw the guy was a lot younger than he’d initially thought. He wore a cap and had some facial hair, but he was more like early twenties, rather than the fifties he’d first had him pegged as. Although, his mind was elsewhere at the time, so he could be forgiven for not being able to pick the man out from a lineup with much clarity.

  “Ah, fully clothed now, I see.” He chuckled and held out his hand. “Robin’s me name. Robin Carvey.” His grip was strong, and his hands were large and calloused.

  “Paul Granger.”

  “Well, Paul Granger. I’m your gardener and handyman. Anything you need, just let me know!” He then started unbuttoning his shirt revealing a strong-looking chest with a beer-infused pouch below.

  “Um, and, er, what are you doing?” Paul asked as Robin removed the shirt and started undoing his trousers.

  “I saw you naked, so only fair you see me naked too!”

  Paul shot out a hand to stop him. “That is really not necessary! REALLY, not necessary!”

  “Okay, please yourself. What about your wife?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  A voice from inside shouted out. “No thanks!”

  “Okay then,” he said like they were turning down a wonderful opportunity and then pulled on his shirt with a shrug. As he was doing up the second button, he stopped suddenly and smiled.

  “What?” Paul asked. The guy was slightly odd. He didn’t seem simple, just overly confident with a strange sense of social etiquette. He must’ve been homeschooled.

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m thinking that you probably don’t,” Paul mumbled under his breath.

  “How can you contact me, right?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Well, I said I’m the gardener and handyman, but I did not tell you how you could get hold of me, right?”

  “True, but my assumption would be that we’d just ring Ginny, and she would no doubt contact you with the issue. Yeah?”

  Robin seemed to think this through, weighing up the pros and cons, before replying, “Aye, you could do that. And it might well work out just fine, unless Ginny is out.”

  “Uh-huh,” Paul nodded and threw a glance back inside. He really wanted to get rid of this man so he could finish what he had started. The mood had certainly been damaged, but Debbie was a woman who required finishing whatever she had started…

  “CB radios!”

  “I’m sorry,” Pau
l said, having missed the first part. Picturing your wife naked, or indeed any man picturing their wife naked, will always affect a man’s ability to concentrate.

  “There is no reception here for your mobile phones, so they are basically only worth using as cameras…probably for nudie snaps, judging by what I just walked in on!” He winked. “The old traditional phone can be used, of course but…” His face lit up like he was about to share with them a deep dark secret, and he was excited at their response. “CB radios is the way to go. There is one in the cupboard under the telephone. Pull out that bad boy, press the on button, turn the dial to channel thirteen, and speak into the handset. Make sure you press the button on the handset when talking, and then release when you have finished.”

  “And that is better than the telephone?”

  “Wouldn’t know. Never use them! My handle is Red Bear.”

  “What was that?”

  “Handle. That’s CB talk for name.”

  “I thought your name was Robin?”

  “It is.”

  “So why don’t I call you Robin?”

  “Because that’s not my handle. People know me by my handle on the CB.”

  “So your nickname is Red Bear?”

  “No, my nickname is V”

  “V?”

  “Yes, as in a shortened version of Carvey which so happens to be my last name, but my handle is Red Bear”

  “Okay, so we call out, Red Bear, and you will answer?”

  “I sure will. What’s your handle?”

  “I don’t have a handle.”

  “Well make one up then!”

  “Is it necessary?”

  “If something happens out here, do you think it is necessary that you get help quickly?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And how do I know that it is you?”

  “I will say that this is Paul Granger.”

  Robin was shaking his head like Paul had just fallen directly into his trap. “There could be another Paul Granger around here.”

  “But you just told me to choose a handle at random. So how do I know that if I choose Big Dog that there isn’t someone else called Big Dog?”

  “Do you want to be known as Big Dog? There isn’t anyone else called Big Dog. There is Sheep Dog and Big Dong, but no Big Dog. You could definitely have that!”

  “I don’t want to be called Big Dog. I’d prefer to be called Paul—”

  “I’ve got it!” Robin said, almost jumping on the spot. ‘What about G-Ranger, huh?”

  “Fine,” Paul conceded.

  “Really?”

  “I am really not that bothered about what handle I use when the likelihood is that I will never have cause to use the CB radio.”

  “Famous last words, G-Man”

  “G-Man? I thought it was G-Ranger?”

  “Nickname. G-Man is your nickname.”

  “Really? I met you ten minutes ago, and I’ve got a CB handle and a nickname? I feel like I’ve just opened some bizarre bank account.”

  “You are a funny guy, G-Man!” He grinned and then glanced at his watch. “Anyway, I can’t stand here talking all day, I have got stuff to do. Remember, if you need anything, channel thirteen and call for Red Bear.”

  “Okay.” Robin raised a hand and walked away. What a strange encounter, Paul thought.

  “Hey, Debs?” he said as he walked through the door and noticed she was no longer sat there.

  “Up here,” she said, certainly in better spirits now. “Why don’t you close and lock that door?”

  “Good idea,” he replied.

  “Then get your arse up here, G-Man, we’ve got some unfinished business…”

  THE PLACE THAT NEVER EXISTED

  Chapter Nine

  Huntswood Cove - A few months prior

  “C hrissy, it’s not what you think,” her boyfriend Adam said, his arms open and his frustration all too apparent. “We can’t go on like this!”

  Chrissy was sat on her bed, her legs pulled up to her chest and her tears warm drops tickling them as they fell. She had always been a popular girl. Her dad was on the local council, and her mum raised money for charities. This was not how it was supposed to be.

  “You cannot do this,” she sniffed, unable to look up at him. Part of her wanted him to just disappear and never come back, but the biggest part of her wanted to suddenly laugh and to say that it was just a big joke. He would then sit down beside her and scoop her up into his big rugby-playing arms.

  “Look, we want different things, yeah? I want to go off and play rugby. My coach reckons that I will have a good chance at playing at a high level. He’s talking about trials for Bath—”

  Chrissy looked up, the dark rings of ruined makeup spread on her flawless complexion, her brown hair, with caramel highlights still remained perfect. “I could go to uni there, too, or in Bristol?”

  Adam rubbed his eyes, not because of any tears—there were none—just through complete and utter frustration. “It’s not the rugby, Chrissy. It’s not the moving away…it’s…it’s just that…look we cannot be together anymore. I want the freedom to go out when I want and do whatever I want…”

  “And screw whoever you want!” she spat.

  “No, it’s…well, yes, I suppose I do. But I…”

  “You bastard!” She had swung her legs onto the floor and was pointing a finger with a forty-pound nail-job at him. “You said you loved me!”

  “I do…I did.”

  “We had sex together. I let you…urgh!! I can’t believe you’re doing this!” She was so angry.

  Adam was done with this conversation. He longed for her to tell him to get out. He wanted to just turn and run for the hills. Nothing good would come out of staying any longer. He had enjoyed his time with Chrissy, that was the complete and utter truth, but it had run its course. He had grown bored of the same routine. He would even go as far as acknowledging the fact that in years to come he may almost regret being unable to see that wonderful body naked again, but she was high-maintenance. It was well and truly over.

  Chrissy stood up. Before his eyes, she softened again. He could see what was happening but felt helpless. Chrissy pulled off her vest top, revealing an expensive bra that was covered in more detail than would be expected for an item of clothing that was supposed to be hidden for most of its wear. Bows, lace, and even the odd jewel sparkled up the item so that it could be proudly worn without anything else, and the owner would not be embarrassed.

  And then she removed it and slowly moved towards him, her bare breasts hypnotising him and tying his tongue in knots.

  “I know you don’t want to leave these,” she purred.

  His hands held up high, palms raised but with little conviction as he said, “Chrissy, come on. This is not going to happen.”

  “Shhhh!” she said, her hands reaching towards her skirt.

  Adam panicked, turned, and ran out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and out of her front door.

  He had been in this situation many times before. This was like the classic spectrum of emotions that a corporate HR representative goes through with you when you are being made redundant, but tweaked for potential breakups. In Adam’s experience, which of course included all of his mates’ experiences too, throughout the breakup process a woman would often go through the following emotions:

  Sadness—She will think about the loss of the relationship and melancholy will kick in, which will inevitably end in tears. She’ll remember those flowers you bought, that walk in the rain that ended under a blanket together, the birthdays and anniversaries together, poetry, presents, and the way your names fit together so perfectly.

  Anger—Blame will rear its ugly head, and the male will be the full bullseye target for this. Eyes and genitals should be protected throughout this stage. She will bring up every single thing that you have ever done wrong, remembering with amazing clarity and detail, dates and times in rapid fire like a well-researched prosecution team in a high-profile court case. Y
ou still struggle to remember her birthday, her cousin’s names, or whether she even has any cousins.

  Seduction—Often in a desperate attempt at going for the male’s Achilles’s heel, the female will go through a tried-and-tested routine of seduction. This may include clothing removal and forced attempts of sensual touching, invariably leading to sex. It is advised not to encourage, nor participate in this phase, and to rebuff any advances in the same way that you would a grizzly bear. Some men may see this as a last “hoorah!” and indulge in this, thinking it is a contemporary way of mutually dissolving the relationship through the final transferring of bodily fluids. Again, I must stress, this is a mistake. Participating will only add fuel to the fire, and another reason for her mother to hate you and her father to load another shotgun cartridge.

  Denial—In some cases, women may pretend that a conversation has not happened and carry on as if the flame still burned strongly. They may mention plans that you have together in the future, or try to fall back into the routine of normal life. It is recommended that you continue the confirmation that you are no longer a collective “us” but two single people. There is a very good chance that this may lead back up to stages of “Sadness” and “Anger” again.

  Depression—This will then lead to a comedown as at some point the revelation of the relationship’s death, and inevitable void in her life that you have left, now appears to be a hole too big to ever contemplate filling. For them, it will be time made up of crying over pictures of you and her together, listening to “your” songs, drinking wine, and eating chocolate. Her friends will see more of her, and in doing so will now hate you even more. It is advised not to try to date any of them at this point—even if “they are fit”. Give it a year or so, or at least until you know that your voodoo doll has now been thrown away.

  Post Relationship Funeral—You will now be ignored by her, her family, and all of her friends. Your pictures have been burnt, that T-shirt that you loved but left with her—also shredded, and then burnt. Your CDs have been smashed, and your tattooed name has been covered. You now officially no longer exist in her life. Any future reference towards you will be derogatory and followed by giggles of made up accusations with words like “small”, “quick”, “sloppy”, and “useless”; this, I am afraid, you will have to accept. Pictures and videos that would prove otherwise have since been burnt or deleted. Without a doubt, and unless she was really ugly, you will still have yours—alphabetically or chronologically arranged under the file name of Coldplay, safe in the knowledge that no one will want to open it up.