Chapter 4

Christmas dinner went well, a mix of goose and ham, with mashed and roast potatoes, carrots, peas and sprouts, followed by Christmas pudding.

Cal came out of her shell a little, particularly when she was talking with Alison, her best friend. She was also very vocal on the fact that I was going to take her on holiday, which I would, frankly, have preferred her to keep to herself. The less everyone knew, the less they could tell. Not that I was afraid that if it came down to it, our families would betray us, but I didn’t want to put them in that position.

By the time we finished dinner, and handed out presents, it was after ten, and Aunt Mary had not heard anything from the hospital.

“Right then,” I said as she and Cal prepared to leave at ten thirty, “I’ll order a taxi for nine o’clock tomorrow morning, Cal, you and I are going on holiday together.”

“Oh, that will be nice,” Cal responded, “how long for?”

“Until we decide to come back,” I replied.

“Oh, but I’ve only packed a few things,” she answered.

“We can get things laundered,” I explained, “and anything else we need we’ll buy.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, “how will you afford it?”

“I made a few quid from my film,” I replied, “we’ll be all right.”

“All right David, if you say so,” she answered.

I was touched by her simple faith in me. I just hoped I could justify it.

I was up the next morning at six thirty, making last minute preparations, checking my passport and things. Dad found me in the kitchen drinking coffee.

“Are you sure about this son?” he asked.

“Do you see any way of the police not turning up and taking her away after we don’t take her back?” I asked.

“No, I don’t son,” he replied, “but at the same time you’re taking a huge risk. You know you could end up in jail?”

“Yes,” I said, more solemnly than I intended.

“And it doesn’t worry you?”

“Of course it worries me Dad,” I answered, “just not as much as what might happen if Cal went back.”

“You really do love that girl don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” I said, “there was a time when I might have answered ‘You really do love mum don’t you?’, but right now, I don’t know whether I can see her in the old, together forever, way. Oh, I think I’ll always love her, come what may, I’m just not sure that she’s the one any more.”

“David,” Dad began, “I, your Mum and I want you to know how immensely proud of you we are.”

He passed me a wallet, and a paper bag across the table.

“What’s these?” I asked.

“A couple of things that might be useful while you’re away,” he replied.

The wallet contained a visa debit card, and Andy Skillington’s number.

“Thanks Dad,” I said, holding up the card.

“It’s pre-paid and anonymous, there’s fifty thousand on it. I’ll keep an eye on the balance and top it up as needed. Remember that Andy’s your solicitor. Any conversation that you have with him is privileged. The police can’t force him to reveal what you said. Or where you said it from.”

A secure way of communicating with home.

“Mary’s also appointed him to handle the hospital for Cal, so he’s her lawyer as well.”

I opened the paper bag. Inside were six condoms. Six flavoured condoms.

I looked at my Dad quizzically.

“Don’t go there son,” he said menacingly.

“I don’t think they’ll be needed Dad, but thanks.”

“We don’t want any more little accidents,” he said, “be safe.”

“Don’t worry Dad,” I assured him, “we’ll be all right.”

“Son, one day you’ll be a parent. Possibly years from now, and you’ll sit across the kitchen table from your teenage child, and that child will say Don’t worry Dad, we’ll be all right. And it will be just as effective as sitting on the beach and telling the tide not to come in.”

“Okay Dad,” I responded, “worry.”

“We will.”

“But we’ll be all right,” I said.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where you’re going?” he asked.

“I thought maybe the South Pacific,” I replied.

“I thought not.”

“You can’t get into trouble for not telling what you don’t know Dad. That’s why I’ve ordered a taxi rather than letting you take us to the station.”

“So you’re taking a train from Leeds?”

“We might be. Or Wakefield, or Sheffield. They both have good connections to other parts of the country.”

He smiled at me, realising what I was doing. Giving him enough information so that if it came to it, he was co-operating with the police, but didn’t give them any useful information.

The rest of the family got up, allegedly for breakfast, but I assumed it was to see us off. Including to my surprise, Andy, and Jean. Jean the vicar’s daughter. The most surprising thing is, she’d stayed the night, and nobody had slept on the living room sofa. I looked at my parents with renewed respect.

At eight thirty we all traipsed next door to meet Cal, who was sat in the living room, with a suitcase and backpack, waiting for me.

After a quick kiss on the cheek, I sat down beside her and she immediately took my hand, looked at me and smiled. Just a small smile, not the huge happy radiant one I remembered, but a smile.

We all chatted amiably for a while, until we were interrupted by the honking of a horn outside, our taxi had arrived.

As Cal and I loaded our bags into the boot and then climbed into the car, I told the driver, “Bus station please.”

Ten minutes later, he dropped us at the bus station and we caught the first bus of the day, to Garforth. We got off the bus at East Garforth Station and caught a train to York, paying cash for the tickets as we had for the bus. At York, I went into the ticket office and booked two tickets to London, first class, on the next train. This time I used the card that Dad had given me.

There’s a mobile phone shop on York station, and I used the time before the train to go in there and buy us two pay as you go phones and put credit on them. I’d taken the time first to get some money and paid cash. I’d bought identical phones to the ones we already had, Nokia, and switched the batteries in the new ones for the fully charged batteries in the old ones, then put the old ones, switched off into my suitcase. As soon as I’d done that I made my first phone call and reported that we’d be in London at twelve fifteen, King’s Cross station.

When the train arrived, I was surprised, but happy to see that we were the only two passengers in our coach, coach K.

“This is nice,” Cal said, as she settled into the soft seat, “but should we be spending this much money?”

“Cal,” I replied, “By tonight the police will probably be looking for us. But by then we’ll be six miles up in the air. They’re looking for two fifteen year old schoolkids. They won’t be looking at first class. First stop is London, where we’re going to see a friend of mine. Actually two of them, one is a doctor, the one your Mum spoke to yesterday. She’s going to fix us up with some proper medicines for you. She’ll have her daughter with her. Cindy is a nice girl, and a big fan of mine, or rather Greg Paradise.”

Just after the train left Doncaster, the steward came round with coffee and tea, which we gratefully accepted, but turned down food.

After Doncaster it was non-stop all the way to King’s Cross, where we arrived, two minutes early.

As we walked off the platform and onto the concourse, I spotted them, Sarah and Cindy, and led Cal over to where they were stood waiting. After the obligatory introductions and cheek kisses, we adjourned to the station eatery.

Sarah immediately went into doctor mode and started asking Cal questions. Cindy sat across from me.

“Barker’s Babes all think it’s very romantic what you’re doing,” she said by way of introduction.

“Barker’s babes?” I asked.

“The unofficial David J Barker fan club. Just me and some of the girls at the moment. But we’re going to run a campaign on social media. Start putting out rumours about what you’re doing and why. If that’s all right with you?”

“Yes,” I replied, “of course. But Barker’s Babes?”

“We have a couple of other names if you don’t like that one,” she said.

“What are they?” I asked.

“There’s Greg’s Girls,” she replied.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Or some of the girls’ favourite. Paradise Pussies.”

“Absolutely no. Barker’s Babes it is. And if you’re going to do that, maybe you should be the official fan club.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes and thank you.”

I took a sheet from the notebook in my pocket and wrote my home phone number on it.

“Ring my Dad, tell him you’ve spoken to me, and tell him what you need to set the fan club up properly and he’ll sort it out for you.”

“You mean it?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “you are now the official chairman, er person, of the official David J Barker fan club.”

Her smile was worth whatever it would cost.

Sarah and Cal finished their conversation.

“Well doctor?” I asked.

“You know I can’t discuss patients with others, David,” she said, “but if we were talking hypothetically, about a fictional patient, then let’s say that this patient had undergone some emotional trauma. Say she’d lost the boy she loved because of some unspecified event while she was away at a summer school. Let’s say she suffered another trauma, which later caused her a heart problem and a loss of memory. Then I’d think it was pretty normal for such a person to be depressed. But treatably so. What this person would need would be a caring friend that she could talk to. And some chemical assistance, let’s say an anti-depressant, a beta blocker for the heart problem and an anti-coagulent to help stave off any risk of a stroke. And perhaps a nice relaxing holiday.”

As she finished she pulled out a prescription pad, wrote on it and signed it.

“Under those circumstances I’d probably hand this to the friend and tell them both to have a nice time. Always assuming there was such a person.”

She tore the prescription off the pad and handed it to me.

“I’d also advise this hypothetical friend to find a therapist when he gets to wherever he would be taking her, but my professional opinion would be that in this case, what the patient needed is just a little TLC, and rest. I think that given that, the patient’s memory will come back too, with time.”

Cindy started talking to Cal, and Sarah leaned in close to me.

“You may notice signs of opiate withdrawal, yawning, sweating, runny nose, it will pass, just give her plenty of fluids, put her to bed and let her ride it out. Don’t let her have any other drugs than the ones on the prescription, and David.”

“Yes?” I said.

“Good luck, wherever you take her. Cindy and the girls are planning an internet campaign to highlight what you’re doing.”

We said goodbye, and Cal and I picked up our bags and took a taxi to Paddington. At Paddington I bought us two tickets on the Heathrow Express, and we went to the platform, where the train was waiting for the twenty minutes or so journey to the airport.

In terminal three, I presented our passports and my debit card in exchange for two first class tickets to Los Angeles International, then we went and joined the check in queue.

Twenty minutes later we were through security, our suitcases checked in and looking for somewhere to eat. But first, there was a Boots chemist in the terminal and I got the prescription filled.

I used our boarding cards to get us entry into the first class lounge, it was one of the joys of flying first class, although nearly seven thousand pounds took some of the joy away.

“We’re going to Los Angeles?” Cal asked.

“Initially, yes,” I responded, “we’ll meet some of our friends out there.”

She looked at me, her head tilted slightly to one side.

“Millie,” she said, “there’s a girl called Millie there, your friend, our age. I was jealous, I thought that you, and she, were, you know.”

“No, we were friends, Cal,” I replied, “just friends, that’s all.”

“Will we meet Millie?” she asked.

“Would you like to?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied, “yes, I think I would.”

Our flight was called, and, being first class, we boarded first.

I don’t think Cal even knew what first class meant. Individual seats, cubicles really, that let down into a completely flat bed. Personal DVD players, comfort packs, pyjamas with the airline logo, and first class on the breast pocket. Twelve seats in the first class compartment, all taken. Because we’d booked late, we couldn’t sit together, but I promised her that as soon as the seat belt sign went off, I’d come and sit with her. She was in seat one, I was in seven.