Black Rabbit Summer (22 page)

I stopped for a moment and looked over my shoulder. The Greenwell kids were following me. They weren’t running or shouting or anything, they were just idly following along behind me. There were about half a dozen of them – white tracks, basketball shirts, gold chains glinting in the sun.

As I hurried on down to the dockland road, I kept glancing over my shoulder to see what they were doing. At one point, I saw three of them peel away from the others and head off away from them, almost doubling back. I didn’t understand it at first, and I wondered for a moment if I was just being paranoid. Maybe they weren’t following me after all? Maybe they just happened to be going in the same direction as me, and now three of them just happened to be going somewhere else? But then I saw
where
they were going, and I suddenly realized what they were doing. The three who’d split away from the others weren’t just going somewhere else, they were heading down to the far end of the dockland road, blocking my way back to St Leonard’s Road.

My only option now was to cross over the dock road, find my way into the wasteground, and head up into Back Lane.

The wire fence that screens the wasteground from the road used to be a rusty old thing full of holes, so it used to be really easy to get through, but it wasn’t any more. It was a new fence, a lot higher than the old fence, and as I crossed the dock road and stopped in front of it, there wasn’t a hole to be seen.

I looked back across the road and saw the three Greenwell kids heading straight for me. They were about fifty metres away now. And when I looked to my right, I could see the other three moving towards me from the far end of the road.

‘Shit,’ I said.

I hadn’t really been all that scared until now. I’d been a bit worried, and I’d had that horrible fluttery feeling in my belly, but I hadn’t really thought I was in any real danger or anything. I mean, I’d been scared, but I hadn’t been
running
scared. Now, though… well, now I was beginning to feel more and more trapped.

So now it
was
time to start running.

I headed off to my left, away from the kids coming down the dock road, and as I ran I kept my eyes on the fence, looking for a way into the wasteground. I could hear rapid footsteps behind me, so I knew the Greenwell kids had started running too, but I didn’t waste any time looking round at them. I just kept going.

I was trying to think as I pounded along the pavement, trying to work out where to go and what to do if I couldn’t get into the wasteground –
where does this road take me to? where can I go from there? how can I find a way back home without getting the shit beaten out of me?
– and I was just beginning to realize that I didn’t have a clue where I was going or what I was going to do, when suddenly I saw a gap in the fence. It was right at the end of the wasteground, just next to the car park of a grotty little docklands pub – a section of fence where the wire mesh had been ripped away from its supporting post and folded back, leaving just enough room to squeeze through into the wasteground.

I lunged through it, gashing my arm as I went, and then I quickly looked round to see where the Greenwell kids were. They’d all joined up again now, the six of them running in a ragged group along the road, no more than twenty metres behind me.

I got going again, running hard across the wasteground towards the gas towers.

I was feeling more hopeful now. I knew where I was again, and I knew where I was going, and I knew that if I could just get
past the gas towers, then up the steep hill and into Back Lane, I’d probably be OK. I knew every inch of Back Lane, and once I was there, I’d have all kinds of options. I could head for home, or back towards the recreation ground, or up the bank and into the old factory. If necessary, I could even just find somewhere to hide. So I was running without too much fear now, just running fast, but not too fast, trying to keep steady, trying to avoid all the rocks and rubbish and holes in the ground…

The wasteground is a weird kind of place. I don’t know what it used to be, or even if it used to be anything, but it’s always had a really strange feel to it. It’s hard to explain, but it’s almost as if it’s a separate little world, with its own unique atmosphere and terrain. The ground is mostly bare. An uneven expanse of crumbly old concrete, covered with a thin layer of sand and earth, it’s dotted here and there with strange little bushes and stunted trees that never seem to get any bigger. There are piles of rocks and rubble all over the place, huge heaps of tangled metal, and several deep ponds full of oily grey water. The whole place looks grey. Even the bits of it that aren’t grey – the bushes and the trees, the thick green moss surrounding the ponds – it all
looks
grey. But then, beyond all the greyness, on the high concrete walls that span the far side of the wasteground, where the skateboard kids spray-paint their comic-book scenes of cities and streets, there’s a wonderful explosion of vibrant colour. Metallic reds, sunburst yellows, purples and greens and electric blues…

It’s incredible.

And then there’s the atmosphere, the wasteground air, with its faint but insistent smell of gas. It’s always been there, this vaguely unsettling odour, even though the gas towers have been empty for years, and it always seems to smell the same. It’s never
weaker, never stronger. It’s always just
there
– an ever-present scent in the air. But the strangest thing of all is that as soon as you leave the wasteground, as soon as you step through the fence, or climb the bank into Back Lane, the smell of gas is suddenly gone.

So, yeah, like I said, it’s a weird kind of place, the kind of place that makes you think… but I don’t suppose I should have been thinking about it just then. Because if I hadn’t been thinking about it just then, if I hadn’t been gazing around as I ran, thinking about the weirdness of the wasteground, I might have seen the two kids standing in the shadows of the gas towers earlier, and I might have had more time to think…

But I didn’t.

They were standing just to the right of the nearest gas tower, and I didn’t see them until they’d stepped out in front of me, blocking my way, and I’d almost run into them. I stopped just in time, turned quickly to the left, and ran off round the other side of the tower. They didn’t make much of an effort to get hold of me, and they didn’t come rushing after me either… and I suppose I should have realized then what was happening. But I was too busy being scared to think straight. It wasn’t until I’d reached the other side of the tower, and I looked up to see where I was going, and I saw Wes Campbell standing in the middle of the path, looking at me with a mocking smile on his face…

That’s when I realized what was happening.

‘Hey, Boland,’ Campbell said to me. ‘You all right? You look a bit hot and bothered.’

He’d chosen a good spot to wait for me. With the gas tower to my right and a thick spread of brambles to my left, he was blocking the only way forward. And I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know that the Greenwell kids were behind me. I could hear them – muttering and laughing, getting their breath back, lighting cigarettes.

I was trapped.

All I could do was stand there and watch as Campbell started moving towards me. Grinning softly, his eyes fixed coolly on mine, he didn’t stop walking until he was almost on top of me.

As I stepped back a little, he raised his eyebrows and smiled at me.

‘What’s the matter?’ he pouted. ‘Don’t you like me?’

Someone behind me sniggered.

I said to Campbell, ‘Pauly rang you, didn’t he?’

Campbell shrugged. ‘Pauly’s always ringing me.’

‘He told you I was at his house –’

I stopped talking as Campbell leaned in close to me and placed his finger on my lips. It was a curiously gentle gesture, almost intimate. But it was also incredibly menacing.

‘Shhh,’ Campbell whispered, leaning in even closer. ‘You talk too much… you know that, don’t you?’

I found myself nodding at him.

He stared at me for a moment, his eyes only inches from mine, then he slowly took his finger from my lips, smiled at me again, and took a step back. ‘I just want a little chat with you, OK? Just me and you… is that all right?’

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything.

Campbell carried on staring at me for a while, then eventually he raised his eyes and looked over my shoulder, turning his attention to the Greenwell kids behind me. ‘All right,’ he told them, nodding his head, ‘you can go now. Wait for me back at the corner.’

‘How long you gonna be?’ one of them said.

Campbell gave him a look. ‘Just wait for me.’

I heard a few mutterings, the scuffle of moving feet, then the sound of shuffling footsteps as they all turned round and headed back across the wasteground. As Campbell watched them go, I wondered what they’d do if I turned round and called out to them –
Hey, hold on, don’t go… don’t leave me alone with him…

But it was too late now.

They were gone.

And I
was
alone with him.

And he was looking at me as if he could do whatever he wanted.

And I didn’t like it one bit.

‘You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?’ he said.

‘No.’

‘That’s good.’ He smiled. ‘Because I don’t want to hurt you, I just want to talk to you. All you’ve got to do is keep your mouth shut and listen, and everything’ll be all right. OK?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s not too difficult, is it?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’ He jerked his head towards a stack of old bricks next to the gas tower. ‘Sit down over there.’

I went over and sat down.

When Campbell came over and sat down next to me, I didn’t know if he was sitting too close on purpose, or if it was just something he did without thinking – an instinctive tough-guy thing, invading your space to intimidate you. Whatever the reason, I found myself shuffling away from him, but almost immediately he put his arm round my neck and pulled me back towards him.

‘Where are you going?’ he said, tightening his arm.

‘Nowhere,’ I muttered, almost choking. ‘I was just, you know… I was just getting comfortable…’

He loosened his grip and draped his arm round my shoulder. ‘Is that better?’

I couldn’t say anything.

He grinned at me. ‘Are you
comfortable
now?’

I’d never felt less comfortable in all my life, but I nodded at him anyway.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now, listen… are you listening?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Right… this is what you’re going to do, OK? You’re going to stop poking your nose into things that don’t concern you. You’re going to forget whatever you saw at the fair. And you’re not going to ask any more questions about anything. Do you understand?’

‘No…’

He sighed. ‘I thought you were supposed to be smart?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘It’s not
difficult
, for Christ’s sake. You didn’t see anything, you don’t know anything, you don’t
want
to know anything. Which bit of that don’t you understand?’

‘I was only asking Pauly about Raymond –’

‘Who?’

‘Raymond… Raymond Daggett.’

‘Who the fuck’s Raymond Daggett?’

‘He was with me the other night, you know… Saturday night, in Back Lane –’

‘The spazzy kid?’

‘Raymond’s not –’

‘Fuck
Raymond
,’ Campbell said angrily, gripping my neck again. ‘I don’t give a shit about
Raymond
… this has got fuck all to do with
Raymond.
This is just me telling you to keep your fucking nose out, all right?’

‘Or else what?’ I heard myself say.

There was a split second’s silence then, just enough time for me to wonder if I could have said anything
more
stupid, then Campbell’s arm suddenly tightened round my neck and he leaned to one side and violently yanked my head down. As my body doubled over, my legs flew up into the air, and I ended up kind of half-sitting and half-lying on the stack of bricks, with one arm jammed under my chest, the other one scrabbling around, trying to find something to hold on to, and my head shoved down between Campbell’s legs.

It was ridiculous.

I was scared to death.

But it was still ridiculous.

I could hardly breathe, my head was exploding with pain, but even as Campbell tightened his grip, squeezing my throat so hard
that I thought my neck was going to snap… even then, I was still faintly aware that my head was shoved down between his legs, and that didn’t feel right at
all.
I actually felt kind of embarrassed about it. God knows why. I mean, it wasn’t as if I’d chosen to be in this situation, and there were far more
useful
things I could have been feeling than a vague sense of irrational embarrassment.

Or maybe there weren’t?

Maybe that’s what happens when you think you’re going to die – you concentrate on the trivial things to take your mind off the horror. You think of embarrassment rather than pain. You concentrate on the spotless white jeans of your killer, rather than the fact that he’s strangling you. You smell his scent, a darkly sweet perfume, and you wonder where you’ve smelled it before…

Someone was shaking me now, shaking the life back into me, and I could hear a distant voice in the sky.

‘You listening to me, Boland?’

‘Yuhh…’

A whisper.

‘Look at me.’

I opened my eyes. I was lying on the ground at Campbell’s feet – lying on my back, looking up at him. My throat hurt. My neck hurt. The sun was too bright.

‘Look at me.’

I sat up slowly and looked at him. His face was blurred, cold and waxy.

‘Next time I won’t let go,’ he said. ‘Do you understand?’