Ch13: Stolen May 21st part 1

After days of a heavy exhaustion that makes my nights black and virtually dreamless, I find myself unable to sleep. At nearly two in the morning, I give up and step outside. The wind is up, and there’s a fine drizzle coming down. The clouds are thin, though, and despite it being the middle of the night and overcast, I could read a book out here. It’s too light and unnatural to me, a lowly southerner.

The sky clears a little and I see a half moon low on the horizon. The light confuses my senses. Even the animal life seems to ignore the need for sleep. Rabbits hop around on the hill behind me, their kittens venturing out of the burrows to forage. Birds swoop in towards the cliffs, mouths and bellies full of fish for their young. The seals are out of sight, but after spending a bit of time with them, I recognise the high-pitched bark of the babies. My baby… I place a hand on my stomach. What about my baby.

Sleep is not going to come. Not now, with the sun hardly setting. Might as well make use of the time. I check the aga and stretch out on the sofa with my notebook.

Three months. That’s all the time Chris and I get to be happy.

I need to send a package. Now I’ve moved in with Chris, I’ve decided to clear out my old bedroom. Dad’s cold with me. His back is up, because Chris and I are still an item, and it’s becoming obvious to him that we’re in it for the long term. He wants me back at home but doesn’t understand the more difficult he is with me, the less time I want to spend back there. I want to be with Chris, in our little flat, with him talking to the slight rounding of my belly.

“You don’t need to move in with him.” Dad confronts me by the front door.

I’ve been auctioning off stuff that won’t fit in Chris’s. I need to get to the post office before it closes. “Dad, come on, move out the way.”

“I mean it, Ems. You can stay here.”

He doesn’t know I’m pregnant yet. Mum has a suspicion, she’s made that clear with a few hints. Apparently she’s keeping her worries to herself for now.

“I can’t Dad. We can keep coming over, you know, once a week for a visit. What about on Fridays, on pizza night?”

He shakes his head. It’s not the answer he’s looking for. “Put those things down and we’ll have a cup of tea. Talk about it properly.”

I sigh and hold on tight to the packages. On previous days Dad and I have talked. We’ve shouted and hugged and even cried. None of the other discussions have changed my mind, why would this time be any different? “Please, Dad.” I check my phone. I’ve got half an hour to get to the post office. I’m not going to make it.

“You’re too young, look at you, nineteen and you think you know the world. It’ll all end in tears.”

“Mum hasn’t a problem with Chris and me, why do you?” I don’t wait for an answer, I’ve heard all the justifications before, all of them excuses for what Dad really wants to say, that he doesn’t want his little girl moving in with a ‘blackie’. God I hated him when he used that word. Sometimes things said cannot be forgiven. “I’ve got to get these posted. How about I come back and we’ll talk then.” I step towards him, put a hand on his arm. For a moment Dad looks lost, and I feel like somehow there’s been a role reversal. Then I’m out of the house, and halfway down the street.

“Chris, need your help.” I’m on my phone. He’s at the little flat. “Got delayed and really need a lift to the post office before it shuts. Can you come get me?”

“Sure, no problem. On my way.”

I smile. I love my reliable, wonderful Chris. “Look out for me on the main road.”

I set off at a fast walk, Chris picking me up by the pub. We get to the post office with five minutes to spare. Looks like I wasn’t the only one trying to get in before the doors locked, as there are three people waiting ahead of me.

The rest of the scene plays out in slow motion in my head. I don’t write for a moment, instead I close my eyes and try not to let a panic attack set in. My heart’s pounding, my breathing short, my mind filled with images of Chris and me, waiting in that queue. If only Dad had kept me at the house. If only traffic had been bad and Chris didn’t get to me in time for the post office… The packages would have waited until the next day. I’d missed the last pickup anyway. Wouldn’t have made a difference to the people I was sending them too.

I open my eyes and the cottage swims into focus. I wipe at the tears that are falling and clasp my pen. I need to finish this. My story, the one that got me to here, to Vanir, all by myself in the middle of the North Sea.

A man walks in with full biker gear on. Black leathers, black helmet, shaded visor down. Should have guessed at that moment that trouble is on its way.

“Get down on the floor!” The man screams at us and pulls a gun from his pocket. “No heroes, down on the floor, arms out.”

We all drop as the man shuts the door and bolts it. He’s moving quickly, skirting the four of us on the floor and going to the counter.

“All the cash, in this bag.” He shoves an empty backpack through the package slot. “Now!” he screams, “Or the lady gets it!”

He points his gun at the woman who had been at the counter when he came in. She must be in her seventies and is quivering, but staring at him. From the angle she’s at I reckon she can see under the helmet just a little, and I realise she’s taking in all the details she can see.

“Hurry the fuck up!” he yells at the woman behind the counter. She’s emptying her drawer. “And the others!” he uses the gun to point at the other two positions behind the counter, and she moves to one of them and keeps filling the bag. The man checks the clock on the wall. He’s trembling, his movements jittery, the hand holding the gun visibly shaking. “You’re too fucking slow. Hurry up or I’ll put a bullet in this woman.”

I keep my head down, staying as still as possible. This guy is wound up to the sky, and I’m not going to be the one to make him pull the trigger.

“You don’t need to do that.” Oh. My. God. Chris’s on his knees, arms up like he’s under arrest. “She’s innocent. You’re getting your money. No need to threaten an elderly lady.”

I’m flat on the floor beside him. I grab at his leg and yank hard. “Get back down!” I whisper, afraid to speak any louder. “Stop being stupid!”

“Get the fuck down!” the robber screams and swings the end of the gun at Chris.

Suddenly the gun goes off. It’s deafening and suddenly I can’t hear anything, but I know I’m screaming. The old woman is as well, her mouth is open, and she’s looking at horror towards my Chris. He’s fallen over, blocking the door to the post office, his face contorted as he slumps down. His hands are on his chest, and there’s dark blood pumping out between his fingers.

“No!” I cry and throw myself in Chris’s direction.

All control is lost. The man who had been in front of us in the queue launches himself up from the floor at the robber and catches him off guard, knocking him to the ground. The gun goes flying into the photo booth. The man rips off the biker helmet and there’s a teenager underneath. The man punches him several times until the robber stops moving.

I’m at Chris’s side, as is the elderly lady.

“What the hell have you done?” I sob, holding my hands over his and pressing hard, trying to stop the flow of blood.

The woman has a mobile out and is talking away. The cashier is with us now, but there’s nothing that can be done. The man who tackled the robber is staying to the side, watching. I realise the other person who’d been in the queue, a middle aged woman, is passed out on the floor.

The sound of sirens gets louder, and I hold Chris’s hands under my own. He smiles at me. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. Then his eyes go blank and he’s gone.