Find Me (Trust Me, Find Me 2)

“I’m sorry to have taken your time.”

“Hold up, a second.”

The headteacher regarded him quizzically.

“You’ve come out all this way to see us. Fancy a look ‘round? See what we do here?”

Shaun relaxed.

“I’d love to.”

“Good on ya.”

“Can I ask you about the carved poles and that red-wood building outside?”

“I can do better than that. I can show you,” John said, grabbing his keys off the desk and ushering Shaun out of the office.

“So, this is our marae. It’s where we teach our kids about Maori culture.”

Shaun copied the headteacher and slipped his trainers off to go inside the intricately carved building he’d admired.

“It feels like a church.”

“Yeah. It’s a sacred space. We use it for ceremonies as well as teaching. Come outside and I’ll show you what else we’re doing.”

Shaun followed the principal as he took him around the back of the marae to what looked like a large porch. But under which a long wooden canoe rested on a scaffolded base.

Two adolescent boys were hard at work carefully chiselling into the wood on the prow.

Shaun couldn’t help but run his hand over the intricate carvings.

“Did you guys do this?”

One of the two boys gave him a shrug.

“Yeah, me and a few others.”

“Well, you have some talent, my friend. This is awesome.”

The principal noticed the boy’s shoulders rising slightly and his mouth curling at the edges as Shaun studied the carvings closely.

“Have you tried her in the water yet?”

Shaun looked up, his fingers still caressing the wood.

“Nah, you gotta carve her first,” the boy answered casually, “D’ya wanna come and see it when we put her in?”

Shaun grinned.

“You bet I do. I’ve never seen anything like it. How many are you planning to put in the boat?”

“The waka,” the boy corrected him.

“Waka? Did I say that right?”

The boy nodded.

“We’re gonna start with ten and see.”

“Good to see ya here; Rawiri, Matthew,” the principal jumped in. “You two had your lunch yet?”

The boys mumbled that they had.

“Okay. Well, make sure you get some fresh air and a bit of a relax before you go back into class.”

He turned back to Shaun and they walked the length of the ten-metre canoe.

“It’s a project that some of our more energetic boys and girls are doing at the moment. Some of the kids, like Rawiri, here,” he whispered to Shaun, “We couldn’t get them to come to school before, and now they’re here all the time.”

“He’s a great kid.”

Shaun glanced over at the two boys who were back concentrating on their carving.

“Rawiri pretty much sounds like me at school. Honestly, I‘m not sure if I’d’ve made a good classroom assistant, I didn’t go to school myself that often.”

John paused and studied the waka carefully.

“What changed you?”

“The army. I was in for ten years.”

“Did you see active duty?”

Shaun nodded.

“Plenty.”

“Believe me, Shaun, guys like you are usually the best types. We want people who’ll learn with them. Take an interest in them, inspire them. Help them to structure themselves and empower them to find their way in the world.”

Shaun looked back at the boys as they left the waka.

“I wish I’d had a project like this at school.”

It was lunchtime, the air was warm and dry. The teachers and youngsters were wearing short-sleeved shirts.

Walking around, his eyes lingered on a furious game of touch rugby over on the playing field.

“They’re fast,” Shaun observed out loud as he paused to watch them play. “They’d be good too if their passes weren’t all going forward.”

“Fancy yourself as a bit of a coach d’ya?” John joked.

“Nah. Being Welsh we’re all rugby crazy.”

The principal clapped as a player broke out and ran in a try, touching the ball down between two bags set up as posts.

“You still want a job?”

“Yeah, but as I said, I don’t think I’m qualified.”

“I do have something. It’s only temporary, but I have a feeling about you. Our school hostel’s closing at the end of the term because the numbers have dropped too low. Ari, our hostel manager, his wife’s having a baby in a few weeks. So, I want to help him out if I can.”

“What does it involve?”

“Staying here for two months. Making sure that the five boys staying in the hostel are fed, do their studying and go to bed, basically. And you’ll probably be roped into the odd game of rugby if you’re up to it?”

Shaun chuckled.

“Think I can handle that. What happens on weekends?”

“The kids go home Friday after school and come back Sunday evening.”

Shaun thought it through. He didn’t have anything else to do.

“I don’t know much about kids.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll learn fast. And Ari’ll be around.”

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Fantastic. I’ve got your paperwork and checks. Can you start Sunday night?”

???

It was Shaun’s last evening at the lake. He was sad to be going, but being honest he needed human interaction too. It was so quiet at the lake.

According to Vern in the hardware store, there were camps in the forest, illegal marijuana plantations run by hardcore criminal gangs. Right now, he’d be happy to say hi to anyone, even a Hell’s Angel. He’d always been independent, but out here he’d never felt so utterly alone.

He gave Frank a call and let him know that he’d be gone for a few weeks, in case they thought that he’d suffered the same ending as Jake. Whatever that was.

He’d filled the feeder to the brim for Rowdy, but seeing as the rooster had lived on his own all these years just fine without him, he wasn’t too concerned.

Afterwards, he got his bag from the built-in wardrobe and began to pack his clothes. It was starting to warm up now and he was packing mainly shorts and t-shirts. Remembering Frank’s advice, he searched for the Tilley hat. He’d put it up on the top shelf of the wardrobe.

His hand scraped the empty shelf. He was certain he put it there.

Grabbing a chair, he climbed up to eye level to try and find it. There it was, right at the back.

Stretching his arm into the top space he located the cloth hat, and then oddly his fingers scraped a hard metal corner. There was something else up there too.

He stretched his hand out and angled it around the rectangular-shaped metal, nudging the object towards him until he could see it properly. It was an old biscuit tin.

Opening it up, he found a collection of sepia-coloured newspaper clippings. Photographs of schoolboys in their sports teams and the same young man in a singlet top and shorts, holding a trophy. And below each photograph, in the caption, was a reference to Jake Saunders.

Buried underneath the cuttings lay a desk diary, embossed 2017. That was only three years ago. Shaun examined it curiously. That meant that Jake was around more recently than he thought? More recently than he’d been led to believe.

He opened the book.

The first few pages were covered in scrawled handwriting and the rest of it was blank. Jake had tried to start writing a diary but had given up after a few days.

He placed the diary in his suitcase, there’d be plenty of time to read it at the hostel.

It was late but he wasn’t tired, so he fired up the games consul to see if Jason was online. It had become a dangerous habit. But especially at night, on his own, it felt like he was hanging off the cliff-face in mid-air again. And the messagi

ng between him and Jason was the only thread left to who he really was. Talking to Jason was like talking to family. His only family.

Jason: Hey, man. Are you there?

Shaun: Yes. Where are you?

Jason: In London. I’m off for a week

Shaun: Out last night then?

Jason: Yes, I was.

Shaun: Meet anyone?

Jason: Maybe.

Shaun: Was she fit?

The conversation stalled for a minute and Shaun saw the dots on the screen where Jason was typing. At last, the words appeared.

Jason:... He was

Shaun stared at the screen. Was it a typo?