Julian stared at his dad as if trying to work out if he was serious — which he obviously was. With a low sigh, he made his way to a kitchen. He returned with the coffee. “What now?”
“Sit down and be quiet while I think of something.”
Julian watched his dad drink his coffee, make some phone calls, have a conversation with one of the factory foremen who poked his head into the room. Half an hour passed, an hour. He sighed again. “Have you thought of anything yet, or shall I just sit here like a dummy all day?”
Robert looked at Julian with a thoughtful frown. “Come with me.” He led Julian through the din of the factory to a door marked ‘Cripples’. Inside were thousands of mismatched shoes, some in boxes on shelves, most in piles on the floor. “You can sort these seconds into pairs.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why. It’s simply a thing that needs doing. So do it.” Robert was closing the door even as he spoke.
The room smelt of leather and glue. Its thin stud wall barely muffled the noise of the machines. Yet another sigh broke from Julian as he laid aside his suit jacket. He worked as fast as possible, gladly retreating into an almost hypnotic oblivion of monotonous movement. When the lunchtime whistle blew, he became suddenly conscious that several hours had passed. Squatted against a wall outside the back of the factory, he ate the sandwiches Wanda had made for him. Some of the factory-floor workers were gathered there, smoking. A few glanced acknowledgement, but none said anything. Perhaps they were wary of speaking to the boss’s son. Perhaps they simply had nothing to say to him. Whatever, it suited Julian fine if they chose to keep their distance. Right then, he had nothing he wanted to say to them either, or anyone else for that matter.
The afternoon swept by in the same way as the morning. Julian found himself almost reluctant to stop when the day came to an end. His dad poked his head into the room, looking over his work without comment. “So how have you enjoyed your first day?” he asked with a disingenuous smile
Julian made himself smile right back. I know what you’re trying to do, he felt like saying, but you’re wrong if you think a few shitty jobs will send me running back to university. He didn’t want to give his dad the satisfaction of even that answer, though. “Better than I expected.”
“You want a lift home?”
“No thanks.”
Julian caught a bus into town. He tried his best not to think of Mia. Still, he couldn’t help but feel relieved to note that no posters with her face on them had gone up in place of Joanne Butcher. After grabbing a burger, he went to a pub where no one he knew was likely to be. He drank the evening away alone, staggering home at closing time to sleep it off.
At breakfast the following morning, Julian’s mum asked the same question his dad had, and he gave the same reply. “Better than I expected.” Instead of a suit, he wore jeans and a t-shirt to work. He didn’t bother asking his dad what he wanted him to do, he just went straight to the ‘Cripples’ room. He actually felt relieved to get in there and close the door, close out everything. After work, he headed straight for the pub and a long swallow of beer.
Two more days passed in this monotonous cycle — wake, slide from beneath sweat-dampened sheets, eat, work, eat, work, eat, drink, sleep, dream. He stopped going outside at lunch. He just stayed in the ‘Cripples’ room all day. Alone in that dim, rumbling place, he felt distant and detached from the world, as if in a trance. If anyone looked in on him — which they rarely did — he’d turn to them blinking and dazed, like someone roused suddenly from deep sleep.
On Friday, on his way to the pub he bumped into Kyle. He thought about dodging out of sight, but it was too late. “Hey, Jules,” called Kyle, rushing over to him, eyes wide with surprise. “What you still doing around here, bro? I thought you’d gone back to uni.”
“I’m not going back.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Why?”
Julian shrugged. “I hated the course. Didn’t like the place much, either.”
Kyle’s surprise gave way to incredulity. “How can you not like London? London’s fucking wild.”
“Guess I’m just a small town boy.”
“But you couldn’t wait to get away from here.”
“Things have changed.”
“What things?”
Julian shrugged again. The last thing he wanted was to get into all that with Kyle. All he wanted was a beer to numb his mind, push reality as far away as possible. “Just things.”
“So, like, what’re you doing with yourself?”
“Working for my dad.”
“No way, dude, I thought you hated the factory.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, things have changed.” Julian sighed, his head aching from the effort of conversation.
“You can fucking say that again. Jesus, you used to say you’d rather do just about anything than work there.” Kyle motioned along the street with his chin. “I’m heading down The Cut. Why don’t you come along? You look like you could do with a beer or five.”
“Nah, I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Are you sure? If you change your mind you know where to find me.” Kyle grinned. “It’ll be like old times with you back here, bro.”
Julian was about to hurry on his way, when Kyle added, “Hey, you heard about that crazy bitch, Mia Bradshaw?”
Julian felt a sharp, tight pain encircling his heart as, suddenly, all the images of Mia lying dead that he’d been blocking out for the past few days ripped through him. His voice seemed far away, as he asked, “What about her?”
“No one knows where she is. She’s taken off somewhere with some guy — at least, that’s the rumour I’ve heard.”
“From who?”
“A girl I know who knows someone she goes to school with. You okay? You’ve gone really pale.”
Julian nodded. “What guy?”
“Dunno. All I know is she’s not been in school all week. Maybe the rumour’s true. Or maybe she’s gone the same way as that stupid bitch friend of hers. Either way, if you ask me, it’s no big loss.”
Julian clenched his jaw, resisting an urge to smash his fist into Kyle’s face. With a shake of his head, he turned away from him and started walking. Kyle called something after him, but he wasn’t listening. His head was swirling with all the things he wanted to say to Tom Benson. His gaze swept along the darkening street at shop windows, bus-stops and lampposts. Suddenly, the absence of posters with Mia’s face on them didn’t seem hopeful, it seemed bewildering, sinister even. He took out his mobile phone, hands trembling as he searched for the detective’s number. As the dial tone rang in his ear, he took a breath, tried to compose his reeling thoughts. “You were wrong,” he blurted into the phone the instant Tom Benson answered, his voice sharp, accusatory.
“Who’s this?”
“Julian Harris.”
“Ah. Yes I know I was.”
“So what’re you doing about it?”
“Believe me, Julian, everything we can.”
“Then why haven’t I seen any appeals for information or anyone searching the forest, like with Joanne Butcher? Why haven’t you hauled me down the station?”
“This is a completely different case.”
“Different how?”
“Well, for starters we’ve good reason to believe Mia Bradshaw’s run away.”
“What reason? A rumour?”
“Something a bit more substantial than that. I can’t discuss the specifics of an ongoing investigation. What I
