Authors: Tom Bale
R
ob came
to his senses almost from the moment they collided. Even with the element of surprise he would be no match for Jason. But he was committed now, and had no choice but to pin the other man to the ground for long enough to explain.
Fine in theory. But the earth beneath them was slick from a recent shower, and Jason was too agile to be restrained for long. Rob tried to bring his knee up to press on the man’s stomach while also keeping his face out of range of a head butt. As they grappled, he managed to say, ‘Are you trying to destroy me?’
‘What are you—’ Jason groaned as Rob landed a punch to his stomach. But it was a tactical error: with his own hand free, Jason clawed at Rob’s face, his palm slamming against Rob’s nose. ‘Fucking maniac.’
Rob twisted away, felt blood running into his mouth. ‘Couldn’t wait for your money, so you—’
‘What the fuck’re you talking about?’ With frightening strength, Jason bucked his body as if having a convulsion, catapulting Rob into the soft, sticky mud.
‘A dying man.’ Rob threw up his arms to shield himself from the assault that was bound to follow. ‘You sent him into our garden, Sunday afternoon. . .’
Belatedly he realised that Jason had frozen, half-sitting up. ‘I dunno what you’re on about.’
Panting for breath, Rob lowered his arms and wiped blood from his face. ‘Those cronies of yours, then. Collins, and Bernie something.’
‘Bernie’s not around any more.’
‘Dead?’
‘He’s in Thailand, you muppet. And Col wouldn’t have a go at you. I know some of my mates are dodgy, but they’re not the fucking Mafia.’
‘Just tell me you don’t know anything about the guy on Sunday.’
Jason exhaled. ‘
What. Fucking. Guy?
’
‘There was a man found tortured, in Petersfield.’ He studied Jason’s face for any giveaway signs of recognition, but saw none. ‘In our garden.’
‘You’re kidding?’ Dennehy sat back and issued a rueful laugh. ‘Well, fuck me!’
Somehow, Rob also managed a grin. He’d forgotten that groundworkers swore more than any other trade, except perhaps for his own.
Jason rose, then thrust out a hand and helped Rob to his feet. Across the creek, the fisherman was staring, transfixed. Jason blew him a sarcastic kiss.
‘There’s a hosepipe at the house, if you wanna clean up?’
‘Yeah. I better had.’ Rob touched his nose, gingerly. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but his face was a mess, and his clothes were filthy.
‘Bloody hell, Rob.’ Jason was shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘Lucky for you I’m in a good mood, otherwise you’d be in fucking hospital.’
R
ob didn’t think
he was joking. They trudged up the slope and on to an immaculate lawn. The foundations were being dug for a huge extension at the rear – a snooker room, according to Jason. ‘Got a kid they think’s gonna be the next Ronnie O’Sullivan. He’s six years old.’
While Rob used the hosepipe to wash his face, Jason fetched a roll of kitchen towels and they both wiped off the worst of the mud. Rob noticed that the tattooed sleeve on Jason’s left arm was nearly complete – a tangle of vines and black roses, swirling around his favourite motorcycle, sports car and dog. There was a new image, too, on his stomach: a vivid and wickedly accurate caricature of his partner.
Somewhat belatedly, Rob asked, ‘So, why the good mood?’
‘What? Oh, Dean’s asked us to marry him.’
‘Yeah? Congratulations.’
‘Not sure if it’s my thing, to be honest. But nice to be asked, innit?’
Jason rustled up seats by the simple method of flipping a couple of wheelbarrows. The sky had gone dark and another shower looked imminent, but the air felt slightly warmer.
‘So,’ Rob began, ‘Sunday afternoon, we’re having a family barbecue in the garden when this guy knocks against the fence. . .’
He recounted the incident in detail. Jason listened patiently until Rob talked of giving a statement to the police. ‘D’you say anything about me?’
‘Of course not. I had no reason to.’
‘So why lay into me like I’m the enemy?’
‘That was stupid. Rush of blood to the head, or something.’ Rob heaved up a sigh. ‘It was me who suggested the music led him to us, and the police feel it was almost certainly a random choice. And yet. . .’
‘You think it wasn’t?’
‘I don’t know. But I have to rule it out, don’t I?’
Jason had produced some cigarettes from somewhere. He lit up, then offered the box to Rob, who’d never smoked in his life but felt sorely tempted to try one now.
‘Since Sunday, there have been a couple of other things.’ He described the letters, the gate found open in the middle of the night, and the feeling he’d had at times that he was being watched. ‘That’s only just occurred to me, while I’m telling you this.’
‘All right. I can see why you’re looking for a reason, even if there isn’t one.’ Jason sucked on the cigarette, then expelled the smoke in a rush. ‘But why would I be in the frame?’
Rob fought an urge to look away. ‘Iain Kelly,’ he said simply.
Jason’s face darkened. He took out the cigarette and held it at arm’s length, lips pursed as if to spit. ‘What about him?’
‘A lot of people still think I must have known what he was doing. And I don’t blame them – I should have woken up to it sooner.’ He paused, but all he got was a non-committal shrug from Jason. ‘You and some of the guys from poker lost a lot of money.’
‘Yeah, but that’s our problem. And I don’t blame you – ’cos it was me that decided to lend it to him: no one else.’
‘But he was trading on the business reputation the whole time, the reputation that he and I had as partners.’
Jason shook his head. ‘Nah, it was a private loan.
I
cocked up, not you. Thought the wanker wouldn’t dare try to rob me.’ A final puff on the cigarette, then he flicked it into the mud. ‘Anyway, you offered to pay some of it back.’
‘Because I felt guilty. He swindled a lot of people that I knew and liked.’
‘Yeah, well, that offer still counts in your favour. . . just about.’ A wry smile. ‘If anything else happens, and you need some help, give me a shout, yeah?’
‘I will. Thanks.’
R
ob felt his phone bleep
, checked the display and found a reminder from Cerys. ‘Shit. I’m meant to be interviewing someone at two.’
‘Not like that, you aren’t.’ Jason pointed to his mud-splattered shirt and jeans.
Rob sighed. He might just make it home in time to shower, but it would be a close-run thing. ‘Bloody traffic’s horrendous. That’s what got me in such a bad mood.’
‘You need to chill a bit, mate.’ Jason gestured lazily at the water. ‘You live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Of course it’s gonna be busy.’
‘Words of wisdom,’ Rob murmured.
‘Too right, and here’s some more.’ Jason reached for another cigarette. In a very different tone, quiet and gritty, he said, ‘I wouldn’t go talking to anyone about Iain Kelly, and especially not the cops, yeah? Might make life a lot harder for all of us.’
There was a beat of silence, a long moment of intense eye contact, and then Rob broke away and nodded. He wetted his lips before speaking.
‘Understood.’
G
eorgia didn’t quite believe
it. Not that she was desperate to be ‘besties’ or anything – not with the stars of BitchWorld like Amber, Chloe or Paige. But it was better than having them as enemies, especially as most of her year group would be attending the same sixth-form college in September.
In BitchWorld it was all or nothing. Ignore them and they’d do everything they could to make your life hell. The only other option was to worship them, and no way did Georgia want to do that. Now, thanks to some poor dead guy, it looked like she might not have to.
She’d decided it was probably worth the risk she’d taken in telling the other kids what had happened on Sunday – her dad would go ballistic if he knew, but to her mind, if the word was already out there, it couldn’t really hurt to fill in some of the details.
On Monday she’d hung out in the park at Heath Pond with a big group from her year, all still hyper from having finished their GCSEs. It had gone okay: most of the girls preferred talking to listening, so Georgia was quickly able to fade into the background.
Yesterday, after surviving the sleepover, she hadn’t been in the mood to do it again, so she’d gone for a walk and lied to Wendy that she’d been with her friends. She knew her mum worried if she didn’t mix with people, but the trouble was that Wendy didn’t have a clue what it was like to be in Georgia’s skin.
Wendy and Rob’s upbringing had been normal, cosy, safe – never any shortage of love or money – and so they both seemed convinced that Georgia’s experience must have left her weighed down with all kinds of trauma and stress and psychological pain, even though she maintained that it hadn’t.
Half the time she couldn’t even work out whether she thought of her as Mum, or as Wendy. There was no question that the woman loved Georgia to bits, but did she love her, really and truly, as a
daughter
?
Georgia didn’t know. Maybe she never would.
Rob, though, was definitely getting cooler towards her. In his eyes, she was going the same way as Josh: someone who spoke back, who wouldn’t play by ‘Dad’s’ rules. Pretty soon it would only be Evan who mattered to him.
Oh God, Evan. . .
Another problem.
A
mber and Paige
had messaged to see if she wanted to meet up.
Not really
, was the honest answer. But she had nothing better to do.
Once she was safely out of sight from home, she took out the cigarettes and lighter she kept stashed in her room. She wasn’t that fussed about smoking, but knew it helped her fit in. On Monday nearly everyone had been passing smokes around, and some of them shared a joint. Georgia had so far steered clear of drugs, for reasons she couldn’t have explained to anyone from school.
Her past life, prior to adoption, was a closely guarded secret. Georgia had always feared the reaction from BitchWorld, if they knew the truth, but seeing how impressed they were when she described the man dying in the garden, she had begun to reconsider. Her own story was just as dramatic as that – maybe more so.
The centre of Petersfield was quiet, probably because of the rain showers. She’d once heard it said that the main square looked like something out of Charles Dickens. For most kids her age that meant deadly dull, but Georgia secretly thought it was lovely. Compared to where she came from, it was paradise.
Amber and Paige were waiting by the big statue, both staring down at their phones. They wore the same type of outfits as her, black leggings and sleeveless tops, but to Georgia’s eye they looked far better in them. Wendy was always insisting that Georgia was slim – and in the eyes of a middle-aged woman she probably was – but put her next to these two and she looked wide and lumpy, misshapen.
Georgia saw the instant they spotted her, but pretended they hadn’t. Something was said, and sly glances exchanged. Georgia felt her insides knotting up.
In one sense she understood how stupid it was to worry what these clueless bitches thought – and physically she had no fear of them at all. The problem was the influence they had over Georgia’s social status. Ridiculous that these things mattered, but they did. They really did.
Their greetings were friendly enough, though Georgia stayed wary. The sleepover had gone okay, but only because Paige hadn’t been there. Put her together with Amber and you got a kind of chemical reaction: two basically safe substances suddenly became dangerous.
Paige suggested they go to the bakery café across the road. Georgia offered the half-finished cigarette round but they wrinkled their noses, like it would be unclean to share anything of hers.
The café was busy, but they managed to find a table against the side wall. Georgia’s stomach rumbled at the sight of cakes and pastries. She wanted a doughnut but knew the other two would be straight on their phones, Instagramming pictures of Georgia ‘pigging out’. They ordered skinny lattes, so Georgia did the same.
‘Are the cops still at your house?’ Paige asked, and Georgia thought:
Here we go
.
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘It was only ever a bit of the garden that he was in.’
‘Do they know who he is yet?’
Georgia shrugged. ‘Don’t think so.’
Amber said, ‘He was all sliced up, that’s what my sister reckons. By devil worshippers. They were cutting pieces off him and everything.’
‘I wonder if they ate them?’ Paige said, just as the waitress brought the drinks.
‘Ugh, gross!’ Amber said, but she was giggling, too.
‘There was a case like that in Germany.’ Georgia felt she had to contribute. ‘This guy had a fantasy about being killed and eaten. He found someone who agreed to do it, only first they both ate bits of him before he was de—’ She broke off. ‘What?’
With a shudder of distaste, Paige said, ‘TMI, Georgia.’
‘
Way
too much.’ Amber took a sip of coffee and used her tongue to remove the foam moustache. ‘So, imagine if it’s, like, someone
you know
that did it. Because it could be.’
Georgia sat back. ‘It’s nothing to do with—’
‘Devil worshippers, though!’
‘But it probably isn’t true. There’s always stupid rumours—’
‘Are you calling her sister a liar?’ Paige snapped.
‘You’d better not.’ Amber’s eyes were cold. ‘She got it from a
news
paper, okay? There was a thing like it a few years ago. Some people got hold of this girl – I think she was special needs or something – and they like knew her a bit, enough to get her to trust them.’ She glanced at Paige, and they gave a matching snort of laughter. ‘So they took her prisoner, and just. . . did what they wanted to her.’
‘You’re kidding! Like, what sort of. . .?’
‘Anything,’ Amber said. ‘
Every
thing.’
‘Ooh.’ Paige shivered, wriggling her whole body with excitement.
S
ome passing
boys provided a welcome interruption. Georgia didn’t care who they were or whether they noticed her. She drank her coffee, grimacing with every swallow, and then became aware of a familiar, creeping discomfort.
She was being stared at.
She checked over her shoulder; Amber and Paige had decided to play it cool, so the boys were tapping on the glass to get their attention. But that wasn’t it.
Turning back, she realised that someone was using the reflections in the mirror beside her. It was a woman sitting at the table behind Amber and Paige; she averted her eyes as soon as Georgia looked that way, but there was no doubt she’d been studying her.
Georgia gave it a minute, then glanced back. The woman was concentrating on her phone in a way that seemed fake, somehow. Sure enough, she took a quick peek to see if Georgia was still watching, then went back to her phone.
She was quite old, perhaps thirty or more, with a thin face and short, spiky brown hair. Not pretty, but not ugly, either – she had fine cheekbones and clear, pale skin. She was wearing a dark blue t-shirt, and she had a half-sleeve tattoo on her left arm: some kind of dark, dense Celtic pattern that Georgia couldn’t help envying a little. You don’t mess with a woman who’s done that to her body.
So why is she spying on me?
As she tuned back into the conversation, Amber was saying, ‘. . . the tiniest dick in the world’, and Paige burst out laughing, but Georgia couldn’t join in.
Shit, is the woman a reporter?
Amber had asked a question; Georgia registered the word ‘brother’ but that was all. Then Paige said, ‘Oh yeah, she
so
fancies him.’
‘What?’ Georgia asked. The woman in the mirror looked up again.
‘You do, don’t you?’ Amber clasped her hands over her chest and sang, lightly, ‘
Oh, Evan, my beautiful brother, Evan
!’
‘Shut up,’ Georgia growled, but that only made it worse.
‘She wants to fuck him,’ Paige declared, and Amber nodded, still singing: ‘
Evan, take my cherry – ’cos no one else is gonna want it
!’
Georgia just glared at the table top, waiting for them to get bored.
‘Be honest,’ Paige said softly. ‘You did admit it. Hannah told me.’
Georgia’s head snapped up. Hannah was supposed to be a real friend; she was always saying how fake and two-faced Paige was. . .
Amber twisted the knife: ‘You told her he’s the hottest guy you know.’
‘That is
so
disgusting,’ Paige declared. ‘Your own brother.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Georgia shouted, ‘and if Hannah said I did, then she’s lying, and anyway he’s not even my brother, so shut up!’
That brought silence. Frowns. Confusion.
Georgia felt the blood drain from her face. Her skin crawled. It felt like the whole café was listening.
‘What do you mean?’ Paige asked quietly.
‘Nothing.’ Georgia jumped up, almost knocking her chair over. ‘You’re fucking bitches and I hate you!’
Customers and staff alike were staring at her as she stormed out, among them the woman with the spiky hair. The expression on her face was hard to read, but it might have been amusement: probably gloating at her misery.
Georgia hurried away, feeling sick to her stomach as she thought about what she’d said.
He’s not even my brother
. Oh, jeez.
How could she have been so stupid?