The Locket He Was Never Supposed to See
The rain rattled the roof of the motorway petrol station, as if hoping to wash away the entire bypass. Fluorescent strip-lights hummed, flickering wet shimmer over greasy tarmac. Outside, the motorbikes were parked in ranks, their chrome glinting, each one a silent beast under the dripping sky.
Inside, the reek of petrol and burnt instant coffee mingled thickly. At the till, a small boy stood shivering, clothes sodden and torn, raindrops mingling with the muck on his cheeks as he smudged at stubborn tears. He couldnt have been more than five. His whole frame seemed to jitter with cold and something olderhunger, perhaps.
A sandwich, wrapped in cellophane, rested on the counter in front of him. His skinny hands reached out, shaking. The shopkeeper snatched it away.
Off you go, lad.
The boy shrank a little. But Im starving.
Near the vending machines, a group of bikers watched with the bored detachment of dusk. Most turned away. All but their leadera broad, battered man, silent until now, the sort that owns space just by being in it.
The boy edged towards the exit, sagging shoulders, when something glinted from beneath his torn shirt. A silver locket. It slipped from his chest, swinging forward.
The biker caught it before it could hit the floor. He paused. Opened the tiny clasp.
And stood absolutely still.
Inside was a faded black-and-white photograph. For a moment, nothing in the shop seemed realjust the hissing sound of the rain and that tiny echoing breath from the man.
That locket the man breathed.
The boy stared up, tears cutting tracks on his cheeks. Mum always wore it.
The bikers hands began trembling, knuckles white around the locket as if it might combust.
Because in that photograph was the gentle face of a woman hed triedfailedto erase from memory for two decades. The only soul hed ever let inside.
He knelt down, properly seeing the child now, voice barely rustling the air. What did your mum say my name was?
The rain smashed against the station windows.
Behind him, the bikers noise had faded entirely. The man crouched, frighteningly huge, hands dwarfed by the tiny locket.
The boy swiped tears with his sleeve. She said A sob stuttered in his throat. She said if I ever got lost
The mans jaw clenched so tight his beard twitched.
find William Ashby.
The name slammed into the silence, like a bell in a cave.
A biker by the vending machine muttered, Youre having a laugh
William stopped breathing. No one had said that full name in yearsnot since the prison sentence, not since the biker feud, not since Helen vanished.
The boys damp-flecked gaze flickered uncertainly. Mum said youd know my eyes.
William stared, really stared. And there it was. Not only Helens eyes, but his toothe same slate-grey edge; that tiny, wary knot in the brow.
The shopkeeper made a nervous chuff behind the till. William?
Ignored.
Whats your name, lad?
The question hung there, risky.
Oliver.
William closed the locket slowly. Helens laugh seemed to shimmer and dart from the worn picture, bright and unreachable, a lifetime ago. The years seemed to fall away from Williams shoulders like autumn leaves.
Where is your mum now?
Olivers lower lip wobbled. He whispered, She got hurt.
Williams jaw set, stormy.
Who hurt her?
The boys gaze pulled to the streaked glass, then the darkness beyond the car park. For the first time since hed arrived, real fear crossed his features.
He found us.
All the bikers shifted minutely.
Williams voice threatened to vanish. Who, Oliver?
He swallowed with difficulty. The man with the serpent tattoo.
The silence thickened, uncomfortable. Someone exhaled a curse. Someone else quietly set down a coffee.
Because every man in that station knew whose throat curled with a green serpent: Victor Bramble. Once Williams right hand, until blood, deals and betrayal shattered everything. The man whod sworn Helen was his, whether she wanted or not.
Williams look sharpened to a shadow. And nowwheres your mum?
The child breathed unevenly. In the car.
William stiffened. Which car?
The black one.
Everyone turned towards the streaming windows as one.
Headlightscutting through the sheeting rain. A black Jaguar, grumbling into the forecourt. A snake decal curling across the windscreen.
Oliver whimpered, clutching two tiny hands in Williams battered bikers leather. Thats him.
Bikers upended chairs, hands moving into jackets in a way that needed no explanation. The shopkeeper ducked out of sight.
But William remained perfectly still. Too still. Years of pain on his face, eclipsed only by the cold certainty brewing within.
He knelt closer. When your mum gave you the locket, did she say anything else?
Oliver clung tighter. Salty tears shimmered again. She said if you saw me, youd know she never betrayed you.
Williams eyes closed against a twist of old grief.
Outside, the black Jaguars doors swung open. Three men stepped into the deluge. From the steamed back windowthere was suddenly the pale slap of a womans hand, desperate, against the glass.