I Am Watching You(78)

‘Look, Jenny.’ Matthew’s tone is firm. ‘I don’t mean to frighten you, but this is about Anna. And we need to find Tim very, very urgently. Why has he been upset?’

‘He was getting out all the old photos. Of when he did the Ten Tors with Anna and everyone. He was looking for someone in the photos. Some boy he reckons Anna fancied. I don’t know why. I told him to leave it. Look – he’s just upset, OK? We’re all upset . . .’

‘Luke . . .’ It comes out like a cry for help. I want to be gone. In the car. I have to get back to him . . . I start to move towards the door. I don’t understand this . . . It makes absolutely no sense, any of this. But I have to get back to him. And suddenly I can see them all milling about. Hundreds of them. I am looking again at the photograph and can see it. Anna getting her medal. All of them getting their medals . . . Luke. Tim. Everyone laughing. Everyone so happy.

‘My son Luke. He did the Ten Tors. The same year. He’s at the shop. On his own. Luke. We have to go, Matthew . . .’

‘Stop, Ella. Talk to me. Look at me.’

‘He’s seeing some people about taking over his job. Oh dear God. He said they were from a Ten Tors Facebook group. And I found something outside the shop, Matthew. I thought it was Luke’s. But I’m worried now . . .’

‘Right. Ring him. Ring Luke now on his mobile.’

I do as I am told, my hand trembling. Come on, come on, Luke.

‘There’s no answer.’ I turn to Matthew, heart pounding. The taste of bile still. All the muscles in my face hurting. Not understanding . . . Luke’s voicemail in my ear.

‘Try the shop line. Try to stay calm. Try to keep your voice calm, Ella . . . Did your son know Anna?’

‘No. No. Definitely not. I mean – he would have said . . .’ I am looking at the date on the photograph. The same year . . .

I dial again as Matthew is talking once more to Melanie Sanders. ‘Right – long shot, Mel. But Tim may be at the witness Ella Longfield’s flower shop. Trundale High Street. Her son’s alone there, Mel. He’s called Luke. I’d call it in as urgent. But no sirens . . .’

‘I don’t understand . . .’ I am the one now muttering. The line is ringing but no answer. ‘My Luke? Why my Luke . . . ? I don’t understand any of this.’





CHAPTER 48


LUKE

Luke is pleased with himself. Jessica seemed quite nice. A little bit on the small side and didn’t seem too keen on lifting. Moaned about the Ten Tors doing her back in. That might be a problem, helping with the deliveries. She also had very long nails, he noticed. Might stop her from getting stuck in. But she was nice. Local. Friendly manner. Says she doesn’t mind early starts and needs the cash. Mum would like her, so he will definitely pass on her CV.

He checks his watch. Tim next. Running a bit late. Not a good sign. Mum likes punctuality.

From the Facebook group, seems they both did the Tors the same year as him, though he doesn’t remember them. Jessica or Tim. So many people. But anyone who could face the Tors has stamina. And commitment. So a good vetting process. Yes. Luke feels chuffed with himself for thinking of this. Nice part-time job. Trundale shop. Interested? Message me . . . He is glad things are slowly improving at school, and doesn’t want to leave his mum in the lurch – wants to thank her for her support. But not many young people want to get up so early for a job. If she doesn’t like Jessica or Tim, he’ll leave it to her.

Luke glances through to the back of the shop to see that the coffee machine is nearly done. Good. He’s gasping. He tidies up the clutter on the counter and notices a rose in the display on the floor, head hanging in shame. He takes it from the bucket and moves it into a vase out the back. Will try to rescue it later. For a moment, it makes him think of Emily. He gave her a rose last Valentine’s Day. They have had a coffee together since everything and he is glad to have talked properly; that she knows how much he cares. How very sorry he is for all she went through. She is taking a break from school – a trip to stay with an aunt in France. She still doesn’t want a relationship with anyone for a bit but has said he can write. He is pleased about that. And then the shop bell tinkles. Luke smiles, thinking again of his mum. She so loves the old-fashioned sound . . .

At first he doesn’t imagine it can be Tim. Thinks it’s a customer. He looks older . . .

‘Hi. My name’s Tim. Here about the job?’ He stretches out his hand and Luke takes it, trying to conceal his surprise. Everything about this boy is sort of older than he expected. Clothes. Hair. Skin – a bit grey. Sunken eyes, too.

‘Right. Yeah. Great . . . Thanks for calling by.’

Luke babbles about the job. The hours. The duties. He asks Tim to sit at the stool by the counter. Just ten minutes and they can close for lunch for half an hour and have a proper chat.

A woman comes in, looking for a bargain. ‘Anything discounted?’ Luke shows her the sunflowers. Striking. Gorgeous – twenty per cent off. She takes them. Tim watches as he wraps them in tissue and sorts the cash and the change.

Luke is telling Tim that his mother needs someone early Saturdays and occasional Sundays to help with boxes and general sorting; also front of shop while she finishes the displays.

‘You happy serving?’

‘Oh. Yeah, yeah. Worked in a newsagent.’