The victim suffers from Aspergers syndrome
Chapter 1
He was lost. He wasn’t used to being lost. He was a methodical man whose daily chores did not deviate from day to day. Yet he could not explain where he was or why he was there. Devotion to an ailing mother was his only concern and his current predicament could not help her.
He knew he was in Wigan, the town he was born in fifty three years ago but he was lost. Dark shadows followed him that night. The suspicious trees whispered but gave no information. And it was silent. He stopped. He looked around. He saw clouds part and the half moon appear. It gave sufficient light for him to realise he was in a park. But which one?
‘You Okay? You lost?’ a voice approaching from behind said as a dog appeared and greeted Freddy by sniffing between his legs. Freddy did not mind. He had never met a dog that did not like him. He recognised it as a Pitt Bull Terrier.
The man wore black. Trousers, jacket and peaked skip hat, all were black. His trainers were lighter, with splashed mud on both shoes. The man approached. He called his dog to heel and repeated himself.
‘Yes, lost,’ said Freddy showing no emotion.
‘You mean your dog’s lost?’ he asked looking around.
‘No. No dog. It’s me. I’m lost.’
The man realised this was not normal conversation but had no idea why. Perhaps he was just gullible, soft, an easy touch and even an easy target. The sort of person he could find useful.
‘So where d’you live?’
Freddy took a moment to reply to this stranger. No, he had never seen him before. ‘Leyland Mill Lane,’ he replied.
‘Okay, follow me.’
Freddy was pleased to be found and more than happy to be on his way with his rescuer.
‘What’s your name?’ Freddy asked.
The man looked at Freddy for a moment. ‘My name’s Donkey.’
‘Donkey?’ Freddy smiled thinking a joke was about to hit him. Would he understand it?
‘Yea Donkey, it’s my nickname. Have you got one?’
Freddy had nicknames in the distant past, stupid, dafty, dreamy, spaceman but these did not last once the joke was out. Nor were they ones he wanted to keep.
‘Nicknames? No I’ve no nickname. I’m Freddy.’
They continued until the gates of the park were behind them and they were on the lit pavement.
‘I know where I am now,’ said Freddy.
Donkey looked around, lowering his cap closer to his eyes.
‘Best make sure I get you home safely.’
‘Yes, home safely, to mum.’
They crossed the road. Donkey took out a cigarette, he lit it.
‘Want one?’
‘No, I don’t want one.’
‘You mean, you don’t want one now?’ he asked with a slightly threatening voice.
‘No not one now.’
‘Have you ever smoked?’
‘No, I’ve never smoked.’
Donkey took from his pocket another cigarette. It was not white. He lit it.
‘Here, try it. If you’ve never had one you don’t know if you’d like one.’
Freddy’s shoulders were tense but his hand reached out. He did not want to displease his rescuer. He took his first puff. He did not inhale; he just puffed out the smoke.
Donkey smiled. ‘That’s ma boy. Good isn’t it?’
Freddy smiled back. It was the least resistant response he could manage.
Donkey put his hand into his pocket. His fingers fumbled around. ‘Big match on Saturday. Are you going?’
‘Match?’
‘Yea Wigan, The Latics against Blackburn. Local derby y’know?’
‘Football. No I’m not going.’
‘Yes you are. Here’s a ticket,’ he said thrusting it into his midriff.
The ticket was now his hand. He looked at it with confusion. ‘I can’t pay now.’
‘You don’t have to. Hey, we’re friends. Donkey keeps his friends.’
Freddy was not sure how to react. His social skills were lacking, except one, and that was to convey a sense of agreement, of gratitude.
Twenty minutes later, they were on the outskirts of town. Freddy pointed down the road.
‘I live along there.’
‘I’ll see you home, best that way. There’s not much lighting around here.’
‘No, not good lighting.’
They proceeded until they reached the drive. It was along snaking drive with a large Victorian house situated at the top of the incline.
‘You live here?’ asked Donkey in disbelief.
‘Yes, with my mother.’
Donkey looked at the dark foliage as they progressed up the drive. Good cover if needed, he thought.
Donkey looked up at the stone-built three story dwelling. His eyes lingered on the Bay windows at the front then the attic in the roof. Probably a pool table up there he thought. A double garage joined the building with a modest five-seated Vauxhall Meriva under its roof. Freddy’s house seemed palatial to him. ‘Bet that house is worth a couple of million.’
‘Yes, I think so.’
He held his breath ‘So you are a wealthy man?’
‘Yes. My dad died and left me a lot.’
Donkey could hardly hide the smile breaking out. He was onto a winner.
‘Okay Freddy. 2.30 pm on Saturday. We’ll meet you at the bridge, far end of the stadium. Know where I mean?’
‘Yes, at the match.’
‘I’ll be with my friend, okay?’
‘Your friend?’
‘Yes, I’ve lots of friends,’ smiled Donkey patting Freddy’s shoulder.
Freddy wondered who his friend might be. Would he know him? He asked anyway.
‘Bones is what he’s called.’
Freddy smiled. ‘Nickname?’
‘Yea, it’s his nickname.’
The following morning Freddy told his mother he had made a new friend. He was also given a football ticket and he would be going with him on Saturday to the local derby. His mother, Elsie, smiled.
‘That was very kind of him.’
‘Yes, mum. He’s very kind.’
Elsie went to the wall calendar and made a note of Freddy’s outing to the stadium on Saturday. Beside it she wrote: prepare sandwiches for Freddy and his new friend.
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Ron