CHAPTER 12
I reached out for the paper, and Ken simply folded it, placing it into the locker behind his seat, where our money was kept.

That thought stopped me dead. ‘Our’ money? Ken was talking, and I had to make some sort of noise to let him know I hadn’t heard.

‘Our’.

“You hear what I said, Debbie?”

“Sorry. Got a bit lost”

“OK. What I said was that I don’t want to have this conversation here, among all these strangers. We will be taking a few days off travelling around, and we need a proper sit-down and talk. Don’t look so worried, duck. It’s important stuff, all right, but we need a proper, calm discussion”

“Where are we going?”

Change the subject, girl. He grinned.

“Somewhere I think you’ll like, Deb. I have some regular work there, so it’ll just be the two of you through the day. Let’s get rolling, OK?”

We were easily out of the field with no issues this time, and Lorraine was doing the driving for the first leg. I couldn’t work out where we were going, but she clearly knew the way. We passed a couple of reasonably-sized towns, the land then becoming more and more agricultural, with great sweeps of level fields as far as I could see, and just the hint of a blue horizon in front of us. The roads turned to lanes, and the hint to the reality of an endless stretch of ocean behind roughly grassed dunes. A few sheep, but many cattle, moving steadily over lush green fields as waves swept over the grass in a steady wind. Waves in the grass, white horses beyond the dunes, and a small farm up yet another rough lane. We pulled into a concreted yard with traces of liquid cowshit everywhere, and as Lorraine cut the engine, a raw-faced man in wellies and a worn check jacket came out of the door to what was clearly the main farmhouse. Ken stepped down, and the two of them shook hands with obvious warmth and familiarity.

Ken waved at Loz to start up again, then dropped back into the left-hand seat.

“Usual place, duck. Get set up, have a cuppa, then see what Graham has for us. And we will have that chat before we do anything else”

Lorraine was nodding.

“Well, after that cuppa, love!”

“Point well made as ever, Nurse P!”

‘The usual place’ was a piece of land nestled near the end of a farm building, sheltered by a small stand of trees, a tiny outdoors toilet on the other side of the grass. We set up the big tent, but the trailer and stand were left packed. After a little bit of a struggle, the bed was hauled out of the van and set up in the tent, an inflated air mattress beside it. The kettle boiled, we had mugs of tea sitting outside the tent on camp chairs, the golden sun warming my shoulders as I sipped.

“Deb?”

Her tone of voice was worrying me, and I could only guess at what was going on. Ken had the newspaper with him, so it clearly involved whatever story it held. I fought back the tears, but my fear was far harder to hide.

“Yes, Loz?”

“We need to sort a few things out, love. We are going to need a decision from you. I know you and I spoke about who you are, but this is something that could be even bigger. Ken?”

He opened the paper and began to read, mumbling every so often as he skipped a part he thought either irrelevant, too difficult or too painful.

“Usual bollocks about hard-hitting journalism, etc, but… The care home, Mersey View in Runcorn, came to the attention of the local council when a child went missing from the establishment. William Wells, who is said to be twelve years old, apparently climbed out of a window onto a flat roof before climbing over a wall topped with barbed wire. His whereabouts remain unknown.

“Local police spokesman Cyril Warburton confirmed that Master Wells has previously absconded a number of times, and therefore ruled out abduction”

He paused, staring at me in silence before he almost whispered his next words.

“We can reveal that there is far more to this story, as a result of our undercover investigation of Mersey View. Acting on information from a confidential source, our reporter befriended John Parsons, who ran the home with his wife Marie. Our man let it be known that he had an interest in a particularly vile activity, that of pederasty, and one evening, when Parsons was in his cups, he hinted in very clear terms that he would be able to provide what he called ‘chickens’ to our man. Arrangements were made to meet at the home for this purpose.

“Naturally, our reporter would have made his excuses and left if such a meeting had come to pass, but events overtook him. Marie Parsons was taken to hospital with a serious knife wound said to have been inflicted by one of the inmates, whose name was withheld for legal reasons but is believed to have been Arthur Henry Bowles. Our reporter then turned over his evidence to the police, who agreed that he accompany them to the premises”

Ken sat in silence once more, staring into space, before finding his focus again.

“Deb, love… the rest is nasty. Are you up to it?”

Lorraine was holding my hand, and I looked up at her in gratitude before nodding to Ken.

“I went in behind a number of police officers, not knowing what to expect. The reality was almost too shocking for a family newspaper to report. Mersey View is a former hotel, and each room has been converted into two spaces that can only be described as cells. What staff were employed there all appear to have left, and I can only assume that it was in disgust and anger at the hell that is Mersey View…. Deb?”

“Yeah?”

“I am going to skip a lot of this. It is all about injuries to boys”

He drew a deep breath, shuddering.

“Apparently, John Parsons was seriously injured in his arrest. He’s in hospital, now. Same one as his wife, both under guard. How long were you in that fucking place?”

“Three years”

“Jesus fucking Christ! Sorry, duck. Sorry. So bloody sorry…”

As I watched he collapsed in floods of tears, Lorraine taking him in her arms as she herself wept. I took a chance and went to them both, and the returning hug nearly broke my ribs.

It was a long time before we were under control again, and at Lorraine’s nod I set the kettle heating. Something to do with our hands, something to distract, deflect.

Lorraine’s voice was almost inaudible.

“We really need to talk, love. Really talk. About you”

Ken was still holding her hand, and his smile was far from comfortable.

“You could go home now, Deb. They are all gone”

I shook my head.

“Every time I got out, they took me straight back, and if I go back up there, it’ll just be another care home, another bunch of bastards. If you want, I can leave now, but there is no way I am going back there, ever. I’d rather be dead. Do you… Do you want me to go?”

Lorraine was weeping now, her tears slow but steady.

“What do you think we want, love?”

I wanted to scream at them to JUST TELL ME, but I didn’t. ‘Our’ money. ‘Our’ tent. I looked down at my wrist band, tracing the name Ken had stamped there, ‘Deb Petrie’.

“I’m not sure, but I think I do. Can I stay, please?”

We didn’t move from the tent for an hour, but eventually we were able to talk without weeping, and after a face wash, Ken promised me a treat. Once we were sorted, and equipped with sunglasses, he led the way down a lane towards the dunes I had seen.

“Not far, duck, but it’s one of the reasons we come up here”

“What’s the ob?”

“Ah! Listening properly! Well, Graham Milburn, he’s the farmer, he has some older machinery. Can’t afford to replace it, and so he needs it fettling every so often. Each time we pass this way, he gives us a safe place, and I get my hands dirty”

“So we rest while you work?”

Lorraine laughed, a lot more easily after our tears.

“Rest? Work? He bloody well enjoys that stuff, girl! Sort of a lesson for you, that. People can get things from each other, from situations, in ways you might not see straight away. We get a free place to stay, where nothing is going to get nicked. Ken gets to play with old machinery, like a pig in bloody shit, and I get some first-class foraging. And we all get this!”

As she had spoken, we had reached the dunes, emerging onto the most beautiful sweep of clean white sand I had ever seen. Nothing broke the horizon to sea, and I felt that the water went out to the very edge of the world. White horses reared in the wind as sand grains soughed through the long grass that held the dunes in place, and apart from a couple of dots far to the South, we had the whole beach to ourselves. Ken found some flat pebbles, and showed me how to skim them over the water, counting the hops to see who was best at the game, all three of us barefoot in the chilly water as their actions answered my question.

We sat barefoot in the dunes afterwards, until dry enough to brush most of the sand off, then made our way back along the lane to the farm, where Mr Milburn was waiting for us with a large pot and a paper parcel.

“Always the same with you two! Straight down the beach! Got some pernackity for you, and some home made stotty, still warm, like. And who might this little sweetheart be?”

Ken laid his arm over my shoulder.

“Graham Milburn, our host and all-round nice chap; Debbie Petrie, our adopted daughter”