Ben (15 page)

She swore it was Ben. He had been with an older boy of about eight, who’d asked in English, ‘Could he have some chocolate?’ – and gestured towards the toddler.

At that point, the younger boy had repeated – in English – ‘Choc choc.’

‘Of course he can. Do you have any money?’ the woman had replied.

The older boy shook his head.

‘Well, go and ask your parents and then come back.’

They never did return.

I didn’t know what to think. The woman was adamant it was the boy in the picture. But that meant someone would have had to have taken Ben there. And why? To take him on a plane somewhere? From the way the older boy had said ‘
he
wants some chocolate’, the cigarette vendor had assumed they weren’t related, although they both looked the same, with their mops of blond hair. And, I had to admit, ‘choc choc’ sounded very much like Ben’s work for biscuit, ‘bick bick’. Could it have been him?

Part of me wanted to go straight to the airport. Another part insisted it was futile. The woman was mistaken. Ben would be back soon. But the seed had been planted.

In the end, the decision of what to do was taken out of my hands. The policemen said, ‘Christos Bafounis will see you now. Come.’

So back we went to the police station, once again via Monica’s to drop off Danny. Apart from Mum, we didn’t travel in silence for once. For Dad, the fact that the police had left it two whole days before bothering to check the airport was unforgivable. What about all the flights that had left yesterday or the day before? Did the Kos police have the power to check all the passenger logs?

I wasn’t so concerned by that. I had to believe Ben was still on the island. The alternative was too painful to bear. At the end of the day, the kiosk woman had identified Ben from a photo after the event. She didn’t know if he’d boarded a plane or left with an adult to come back to Kos Town. And as she hadn’t seen the
strawberry birthmark on his neck or the one on his knee, could we really trust her word, anyway?

On the plus side, we were thrilled that something was being done.
At least they’re looking …

Sissy was waiting with Bafounis when we arrived. She informed us that Danny was required for an interview, so Dad set off to collect him. In the meantime, they asked for Stephen to give another statement.

‘Why me? I told you everything yesterday.’

‘Just come, Stephen.’ Sissy said. ‘One more interview.’

I was left with Mum. If anything, she’d retreated further into herself than yesterday. If I touched her arm she looked at me. The rest of the time I don’t think she knew I was there.

Danny arrived just in time to see Stephen come storming out. Sissy was trying to calm him. He shook her away and stood in front of us, tears in his eyes.

‘They accused me.’

‘Accused you of what?’ Dad said.

Stephen could barely get the words out.

‘Of killing Ben.’

‘Killing …?’

I couldn’t even repeat it. What the hell was going on?

Stephen recounted his ordeal. Via Sissy, Bafounis had told Stephen what had happened on the afternoon of the 24th.

‘You see the baby, take the baby for a ride on your motorbike and the baby falls off. He dies. You panic and bury him.’

They had just come out with it. Stephen is Ben’s uncle, for God’s sake. He loved him like a brother, like a son. Stephen would take his own life before letting a hair on Ben’s head be harmed.

‘The indicator on your motorbike is broken,’ Bafounis had continued. ‘My men noticed it this morning.’

‘So?’ It was all Stephen could do not to laugh, the accusations were so preposterous.

‘It broke when you crashed with the baby.’

‘No, it didn’t. It’s been broken for ages.’

Bafounis went on. ‘You crashed, the bike smashed, the baby died. You buried him.’

‘Have you seen how hard the earth is round here?’

No response.

‘What, I just happen to have a shovel on my bike, do I?’

Bafounis ignored the sarcasm. ‘You buried him and drove to the hotel,’ he insisted.

‘No, I didn’t!’ Stephen’s hand smashed onto the table. Sissy jumped, Bafounis glowered. Another officer came in to check on the noise. Bafounis waved him away.

‘Tell the truth.’

‘I am telling the truth.’ He pleaded to Sissy. ‘Tell him, please. You know I didn’t do it.’

I hated Bafounis for putting my brother through that. This boy wouldn’t harm a fly. He loved all creatures. And I know he loved his nephew.

I stood up and hugged him. There was nothing I needed to say. He knew I didn’t blame him. None of us did. None of us ever would.

We sat there again for the whole day. Sissy was ever-present with her placatory words. ‘They make enquiries, they’re looking, they’re looking.’ I was relieved when Bafounis called me back into the interview room.

If he’d dared to ask me about Stephen’s broken indicator I would have told him where to go. There was no way my brother could have been involved. Instead, Bafounis had another name for me.

Simon.

We went over once again the fact that Ben had my family name and, by coincidence, his uncle’s as a middle name, and not his dad’s. Then Bafounis put his pen down and fixed me with his penetrating glare.

‘His father has him.’

I explained that wasn’t possible. Simon had left two days earlier. Bafounis just shrugged.

‘Maybe he left. Maybe he came back?’

I shook my head. Simon and I hadn’t parted on the best of terms, but he would never do anything to harm Ben. He knew that Ben couldn’t live without me and my parents. No, he wouldn’t have done that.

‘We will check,’ Bafounis said.

I left the room in a daze. So far that day, the police had accused Stephen of killing Ben, Simon of kidnapping him and a stranger of smuggling him abroad on a plane. I needed to face facts: they didn’t have a clue what was going on.

We weren’t in a good way. As soon as we were back at the caravan, Stephen took himself out to the hen house. He wouldn’t talk.
Couldn’t
talk.

I wasn’t doing any better. Physically I was there; mentally I was miles away. It was Friday evening. Ben had been missing since Wednesday afternoon. I am amazed I held it together so long.

Monica came again with more food, and dealt with Mum again. I don’t recall how long she stayed. I don’t remember saying a word. All I could think about was what had happened that day. Whichever way I looked at it, the police weren’t expecting Ben to be handed in. Not today, not tomorrow, probably not ever.

They thought he’d been kidnapped or, worse, killed.

I didn’t eat anything that night. I didn’t say anything I can remember and I didn’t cry. There were no tears left. I was hollow, empty. Drained of everything. Dad had to order me to bed. I couldn’t even manage sleep. My head was full of the same images of Ben’s smiling face. How could he have been stolen or killed? It just wasn’t possible. The police were wrong and that was the end of it.

The pressure affected us all differently. With me fading fast, Stephen in hiding and Mum out of the loop, it was left to Dad to hold the fort. He felt as guilty as Mum about Ben’s disappearance but someone needed to be alert if the police arrived with news, and someone had to think about Danny.

But by Saturday morning, even Dad had snapped. Although we didn’t know that then.

I woke up at about half past eight, determined once again to take on the day. Danny slept in till nine. Mum emerged a few minutes later.

‘Where’s your father?’

It was the first time I’d heard her speak for a day or two. If Dad wasn’t in the bedroom, I didn’t know. I hadn’t heard him leave. When Stephen came over for some coffee he mentioned hearing the Land Rover starting up early.

‘Maybe he’s gone to see Bafounis,’ he said. ‘I know he was angry about them accusing me yesterday.’

That made sense. It was on all our minds. As Bafounis preferred to speak to men, Dad was the obvious one to go there. We tried to eat breakfast. Mum went back into her room. Danny played outside with Stephen. I stared at the wall.

I don’t know how long I sat there but suddenly Mum’s door opened and she asked again if Dad had returned.

I shook my head.

‘He’s not at the police station,’ she said, some emotion in her voice, and retreated once again.

Before I knew it, the afternoon sun was already beaming down. I decided to go to the hotel and see my friends and explain events. I needed to remember that my family weren’t the only people worried about Ben. Manos couldn’t have been more sympathetic and he offered to speak to Bafounis on our behalf. I regret not letting him now. But he’d done enough letting Martin and Peter help in the search and – even though it was the last thing on my mind – promising to hold my job open until I was ready to return. ‘Besides, we have a translator, our friend Sissy.’

I joined my friends at the bar. There were no jokes or laughs like there used to be. Even the jollity of the rest of the customers didn’t make an impression on me. I just wanted to be among people. We were all going stir-crazy in the caravan. A distraction – any distraction – was a life-saver.

The sun had set by the time I left to go home. I still arrived at the caravan before Dad. It was nine o’clock. He’d been out for fourteen hours. Whatever line of enquiry he was pursuing had to be serious. Then, an hour later, I heard footsteps shuffling through the gravel outside.

I heard and smelt Dad before I saw him. Mum was ahead of me.

‘You’re drunk,’ she hissed, as he pulled himself up into the doorway. ‘Get to bed.’

After three days of being on another planet, Mum was well and truly back with us, trembling with fury at Dad. He was rambling in his drunken state, saying there was something wrong with the Land Rover, that he loved everyone: the usual baloney. Mum wasn’t impressed. She frogmarched him into their room, then slammed the door.

The atmosphere as the rest of us turned in for the night was strained. For Mum, it brought back the bad memories from when we were young of him putting a drink with mates after work ahead of his family; going to the pub instead of coming home for his dinner. She also said he was selfish for just leaving us alone.

I couldn’t be too upset with Dad. He may have absented himself physically, but Mum had as good as disappeared mentally over the last few days. I was just as disappointed with her for abandoning us. But I didn’t mention it. We all needed to be pulling together as a family, not tearing each other apart.

The following morning we left Dad sleeping it off in the caravan and took the Land Rover out. Dad wasn’t lying about something being wrong with it: we eventually found it stuck against a tree down the lane. Luckily it wasn’t damaged, and we drove to Monica’s. Instead of just dropping Danny off, we all stayed for the day.

Monica was amazed at the transformation in Mum. I wasn’t. Mum was back to herself because with Dad going off the rails, someone needed to be on them. They were a good partnership. If one wasn’t on top of things, the other would step in.

As it was a Sunday, Monica cooked a big family meal for everyone. I don’t think I ate a thing. Without having Mum to worry
about, I felt myself sinking. I couldn’t shake the insinuations Bafounis’s scattergun-approach was coming up with: kidnapping, injury, death. How dare he suggest it? I realised I was shivering. It wasn’t cold. I excused myself and stood outside in the warm air. I needed to be alone.

I don’t think anyone was looking forward to going back to the caravan. Mum’s mood darkened as we approached. Dad was outside, lying in the shade when we pulled up. There could have been the mother of all rows. Instead, Mum just gave Dad a look and went straight into the caravan. He stared after her, then at us, then at his feet, shame written all over him. More words weren’t necessary.

But Dad did have something to say. One consequence of his day out was that he’d poured his heart out to a lot of people. One of them, Tony, a regular at the Sandy Lane Hotel across the road from the caravan, had something very interesting to say.

‘I saw your Simon last week, Eddie.’

‘Oh, yes. What was he up to?’

‘He was going in the bank in Kos Town. I said hello.’

‘He’s back in England now,’ Dad explained. ‘Christine dropped him at the ferry on Monday.’

Tony sipped slowly from his beer bottle, then placed a hand on Dad’s arm.

‘That can’t be right, Eddie.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I saw him on Tuesday.’

Without the sound of the cicadas chirruping, I might have thought my ears had stopped working. Even Ben the dog was silent. Dad’s words and their implications hung in the air. Then Mum broke the spell:

‘Well, that’s impossible. Ben and I waved him off ourselves.’

‘Did you see him actually get on the boat?’ Stephen asked.

‘He waved to us from the deck as it pulled away. He definitely left Kos.’

‘And then he came back,’ Dad added.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Bafounis has made you think that. He’s making us turn on each other. He’s already tried to make us point the finger at Stephen.’