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Deceased Three

COOPER, Freddie DOB 17/04/05 2 MEADOW ROAD LOWER BROCK LANSTON LA179HW

IC1 MALE F406 slim build, mid length brown hair, brown eyes, wearing a white, short sleeved t-shirt and navy blue gym shorts with blue gym socks and shin pads and black school shoes.

School: LANSTON PRIMARY SCHOOL 1 CALDER ROAD LANSTON LR172JU

Next of kin

Father: COOPER, John DOB 27/03/81 FLAT 32 KING’S ROAD ANCOATS MANCHESTER M40 5DH

Mother: ETHERIDGE, Sally DOB 08/11/81 2 MEADOW ROAD LOWER BROCK LANSTON LA179HW

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‘I understand, sir. You’re most probably in shock right now. We’ve got your contact details and, if you’re sure you feel ok to drive home, we can speak to you tomorrow.’ The police had struggled to verify his name and address, not least because Alec Monroe had no previous record and no photographic identification. They had also checked that he was the named driver of his vehicle. The whole interaction had dragged on as the rain beat down. For someone who relied on his use of language for a living, Monroe had found himself particularly short of words since the incident. He had been especially vague when it came to giving an initial account of what had happened. Alec got to his feet and shrugged off a large space blanket from his shoulders. He’d been looked at briefly by paramedics but he was not a priority. ‘We will need to get a statement from you as soon as possible, Mr Monroe,’ said the drenched man in uniform; Alec Monroe had already forgotten his name. His focus was elsewhere. Somewhere over the stripes on the officer’s shoulder and over to where the black body bag was being lifted into the coroner’s van. They’ll need a lot more vans, Monroe realised. A cordon was in place along the bridge; essentially a bit of blue and white tape with a couple of officers standing at either end. Presently, there was a number of concerned people congregating at the end of the bridge and he’d seen at least one long lensed camera.

A way further down the road and well out of earshot, the red haired stranger was standing under a large umbrella and talking to two police officers, both in shirts and ties. Monroe presumed the man had called the police and ambulance as soon as he’d seen the minibus go over the edge. But just how much had he seen? The man had taken over CPR almost right away when it was clear Monroe had become too exhausted to continue. The stranger had said very little really but had stayed calm throughout, Monroe thought, considering the situation at hand.

‘We’ve taken an account from the other witness too but we will need obtain a fuller statement from you both and as soon as possible.’

‘The other witness’ Monroe probed, ‘What did he say?’

The officer continued, ‘He talked you up, sir, don’t worry. From where he was he saw the whole thing too; he said he saw the bus go straight off the bridge and saw you parking up and rushing down to help. You’re quite the hero, Mr Monroe.’

‘I’m not a hero.’

‘Well, you tried and that sure counts for something. Now, I can escort you to your car so you can get home and get a good night’s rest. As I say, we’ll get that full statement from you when you’re not as shaken.’

Monroe fixed his gaze on the redhead who seemed to be sharing a joke with the one of the officers in his company, the other kept an air of decorum. I didn’t see him on the bridge, Alec thought. If he saw the bus go over, what else did he see? His mind raced as he studied the slender framed, laughing stranger from afar. Laughing? That laugh carried over all other voices and radio chatter. The stranger was returning his gaze and smiling keenly through thin lips. Lips which stretched and sagged all at once from his gaunt and prominent cheekbones. Alec Monroe held eye contact for a moment transfixed, before eventually returning a half smile.

‘I think home and sleep would be a good idea’ Alec Monroe said, feeling a chill tingle down his back.

‘Of course, how soon can we be in touch tomorrow morning? Is half nine ok?’

‘Fine,’ Monroe answered, ‘half nine is fine.’

‘I’ll see you off then. Give me one minute,’ said the young sergeant

Alec Monroe jangled his keys absently in his pocket as crossed the glistening tarmac to end of the bridge where his car awaited him. The officer helped him around the group of people stood in anticipation of some sort of information. Monroe could not bring himself to look at any of them although he felt every one of their eyes on him. He fumbled to open the door before climbing in. He found an old flannel in the glove box to dry his face and went through the motions of starting his car, as if he was resitting his driving test. As he glanced in his rear view mirror Monroe saw the stranger, sodden and smiling, posing with his hand held up in the air like one of those native American tobacco statues he had seen on holiday. He didn’t signal back. Instead, Monroe set off quickly towards home, the remainder of his journey was a steady thirty miles per hour.

Arriving back at the leased house, Alec Monroe found the place in darkness. In all the chaos he hadn’t called or text Vicky to let her know he’d be late. Several hours late as it happened. Stepping out of the rain and through the front door he brought the cold in with him. He placed his satchel down on the laminate floor and noticed that it was part way open and his off-white papers were now a lot darker and very wet. Alec felt his teeth grit back a curse word or a groan or some other noise which wanted to escape. He ran his fingers through his hair, splashing heavy droplets on his collar; his boots traipsed the wet through the hallway and into the kitchen where he lit a few candles his wife had left out. Monroe stripped off his wet clothes down to his underwear and hung items over the back of a chair in the kitchen.  He noticed the dinner place settings and with just the one set of cutlery still out on the table. As he surveyed the flickering scene he saw, attached to the oven, one of his post-it notes with the message Dinner’s in here!’ scrawled angrily over it. She’s going to be pissed off tomorrow, he thought.

Reheated meal and congealed gravy in hand, Alec settled down in the dark living room into the grey, itchy armchair and fired up the television with the remote control. It whirred into life and the glow illuminated a large portion of the room. He immediately turned the volume way down. Monroe flicked through the old terrestrial channels and found the news. Until that moment he hadn’t considered the news outlets and certainly wouldn’t have expected it so soon. Very quickly, Alec Monroe lost his appetite. The screen was filled with flashing lights and the police tape and distant shots of something in the dark. His hands hurriedly groped for the remote and he bumped the volume up a notch or two. Even at that he leant in closer to listen. A reporter was standing at the police cordon. No names as of yet; unconfirmed reports; police divers; tragic incident. The images were presented with the caption ‘Live’ in the top right hand corner of the screen. Alec Monroe felt as if at any minute there was going to be a knock at the door. It won’t be long until they figure out what had happened. He would be discovered; the jig would be up. Monroe placed his plastic dinner tray on the floor, the cushion pad beneath it rustling as it touched down, but he never took his eyes off the television set. Nausea wrapped its hands tightly around his throat and his balls started ti ache. He tried to readjust himself and wished he could sit down all over again. The camera panned to the reporter who held an umbrella in one hand and a microphone in the other as if it were a golden ticket. Wrapped up in a green raincoat and spitting out stock phrases learnt in reporter school, Alec Monroe hated the subtly northern, mixed-race young man on the television. The young man appeared to be treading a fine line between excitement and earnest. If he is local, Alec considered, he may be the only non-white face in town; from what he had seen, Lanston did not boast a diverse population.

The young man, who hadn’t paused for breath or missed a beat, tilted his body and brought another person into shot, sheltering him under the rain shield. Although his hair was slicked back and appeared darker, Monroe immediately recognised the red haired stranger. What was he still doing there? What was he doing? And what had he seen? Monroe reached for the remote control but clumsily knocked it off the grey fabric armchair and onto the floor, where the back burst open and freed the batteries to roll around the wooden ground below. He fell forward off of the chair and onto his hands and knees, scrambling to gather the parts together, darting his head back and forth from the stranger on the screen and the pieces on the floor which toyed with his fingers and eluded his grasp. When he finally locked the batteries back in their compartment, Monroe knocked the volume up just in time to hear the end of the report.

’He was completely selfless, you know, the way he dove in and pulled that poor boy from the depths. He tried absolutely everything. I felt so humbled by his strength of character. I only wish I could have found the same,’ Monroe watched as the stranger turned from holding the young reporter’s gaze to look straight down the camera, through the whirring box, into the dim living room and directly into Monroe’s eyes. The stranger smiled then announced, ‘Alec Monroe is a Godsend.’

Next Chapter: Chapter Four