Crossing the Line (21 page)

A bunch of girls came to a halt across the road from me, poking their fingers into bags of hot chips, laughing and swearing when they got burnt. They didn't wait for the green man, just sauntered across, earning blasts of horn from drivers and repaying them with a finger and a mouthful of shrieked abuse.

‘Oy, gorgeous.' One of them grinned at me through the chip clamped between her teeth like a cigarette. She had a scraped blonde ponytail, smoky made-up eyes, a row of gold studs edging her ear like glittering bites. She reeked of chips, heady and vinegary.

‘Gina,' I said. I was acceptable in the sight of Orla's gang now, but a fat lot of use they were to me. Hopelessly I said, ‘You seen my sister?'

She swallowed the chip, screamed abuse at a lorry driver, then turned back, shrugging.

‘Lost the heidcase again? Can you not tag her or something?'

‘Forget it,' I spat, and turned to make for the railway bridge.

‘Oy,' she shouted after me.

I didn't have time for Gina to take the piss and I spun on my heel to tell her so, but she wasn't laughing, she was frowning. She nibbled the end of a chip, then pointed it at me.

‘Second person that's asked me that.'

She went thataway.
Just like a bad old western.
Thataway.

Twenty minutes. How far could Allie have got in twenty minutes? Could Mickey have got to her in ten? Had Gina even remembered those timings right?

Course I didn't tell Mickey where to find her. I just said, she went thataway, and he said, Oh yeah, she goes down that field by the tracks, by that old caravan, doesn't she? And I said, Yeah, 'cause he obviously knew fine. Said he had a message for her. That's all.

Bloody, bloody, thoughtless Gina. Why did she tell him? Dapper Mickey, charming Mickey, psycho Mickey.

But she told me too. Lovely, lovely Gina.

No time to fall silent and wait for the train song, though I knew it must be almost time for the fast train to come through. I took one glance down the line, made out
that the level-crossing barriers were still raised, and ran down the embankment, my heels jamming into the slope and jarring my knees. I didn't pray or anything, I just said in my head
Please
as I jumped down and ran on to the tracks. As I crossed the first rail, believe it or not, I shut my eyes, and I kept them shut all the way. So much for tripping on rails or catching my foot in a sleeper. I could do this with my eyes shut and I'd proved it.
Hah.

I almost fell on to the opposite embankment, then scrambled up it, clutching handfuls of weed and nettle and dead willowherb that broke when I put my weight on it. I don't think I stung my hands. Anyway, I was too busy praying that Mickey had taken the long way round.

What kind of sentence would I get? What if I didn't kill him? What if I just hurt him, not too much, mind, just enough to let Allie get away? I didn't want to hurt anybody but I kept thinking about Mickey kicking the crap out of Kev, snapping Kev's skull on to his knee, half killing the wee bugger. And he
loved
Kev.

This was bad. This was very bad. I ran, my lungs cramped with pain.

At the top of the slope I stopped, gasping in air that hurt my chest.
There.
She was sitting cross-legged against a tree by the grubby burn, a magazine open in her lap, a can of Coke at her lips. Swamped with relief, I watched her lower the can to the ground, wriggle it into the dent she'd made for it in the soft earth, and flick over a page of the magazine.

I opened my mouth to call to her, but no sound came out, because that's when I saw Mickey.

He was coming from the other direction. Of course he hadn't gone on foot. What had I been thinking? He'd picked up his car from wherever he'd parked it, and he'd come by the back country road. He knew those little roads. Obviously he'd made it his business to know Allie's favourite spots, too. He must have spied on her, long before he'd summoned up the nerve and the guts and the pure volcanic rage to do something about her. And now he had, and now he was walking swiftly towards her from the opposite direction. I could see the bonnet of the blue Mondeo, parked beyond the broken-down wire fence.

I ran again, pelting down the slope and across the field.

I don't know if Mickey saw me but he had a good head start and he was too cool to run. Too cool and too certain. I never knew this ground was so uneven. How could I not have noticed that before? I kept stumbling and tripping, and once I sprawled in a patch of bog and felt the shape of the knife dig into me, reminding me. Hell, that was close. I clambered to my feet, pulling out the knife and tearing the newspaper clumsily off it as I ran.

Allie stood up. She'd seen Mickey now, and she looked back and saw me too. She hesitated for an instant, then she was half walking, half jogging towards me, glancing back over her shoulder at Mickey. She looked uncertain, as if she couldn't quite believe she ought to run.

Believe it!
I thought.
Just run anyway, Allie!
But I didn't have breath to spare to yell it.

I'd cut my hands but at least I had a good grip now on a naked knife. Which was just as well, because Mickey was running now too, sure-footed, fast and confident. When Allie reached me and I grabbed her arm and swung her behind me, he was only a few metres away.

My breath sounded terribly loud and high-pitched. I sounded terrified, I realised, and maybe that's why Mickey had that big fat smile on his face. I raised the knife warningly.

‘Leave her alone,' I managed to say.

‘Who's gonnae make me?' he hissed.

I swallowed. ‘I'm sorry about Kev but it's not her fault.'

I was pushing Allie back, trying to get her to go further away, but her fingers still gripped the hem of my shirt. The ground was more treacherous than ever when you were walking backwards. Mickey just kept coming on as we inched back towards the slope and the cutting. We were going to be cornered, I realised. If we got that far, I wasn't walking backwards across the rails. No way. The fast train was due. I'd rather take my chances with Mickey.

When we were almost at the foot of the slope I shook Allie off and shoved her away, heard her take a few more steps. Why didn't she just run? I couldn't take my eyes off Mickey.

‘Bugger off, Allie!' I yelled.

She moved back a little more. I could see her in my peripheral vision and I could still hear her breathing. She could go now, run, flag down a car at the level crossing. Why didn't she? I gripped the knife tighter, because my palms were sweating and the handle felt slippery.

‘Go,' I shouted.

Mickey took a step forward, and I lashed at him.

Another. I lashed out again. And again, slashing downwards, but his hand was waiting and he caught my arm. He grinned.

Damn, he was strong.

Then we were scrabbling, whacking, grunting together, wrestling on our feet like a pair of girls. Nothing cool or martial-arty about it, I can tell you. He was stronger than me, wrenching my arm up and behind me, and while I clawed furiously at his face he snapped the knife out of my hand, and stumbled back.

He took a step towards me, my confiscated knife in his fist. I took a step backwards, and so did Allie behind me.

‘Get lost, Allie,' I said, and this time I heard her move further away.

Mickey's eyes followed her, then flicked back to me. There were tears in them.

‘My wee brother's in a coma,' he spat. ‘Because of
her
!'

I said, ‘Your wee brother's in a coma because of you.'

There was a moment of silence. Just long enough for me to be amazed that you could commit suicide with nothing more than your foot and your own big mouth.

Then Mickey roared, and punched me in the gut.

Oh, he hit me hard. It took my breath right away. I doubled over, stumbled on to my knees, clutching my belly. With half my mind I was aware of Allie running at last, scrambling up the slope, running as fast as she could away from Mickey and me. That was good. About time.

The other half of me was thinking: What's with all the blood?

Mickey was still standing over me, breathing hard, as I stared at my bloody hands. I didn't want to move them away from my belly. I didn't want to look away from them and the blood seeping down over them, but out of the corner of my eye I saw my knife at his side, held with a light expert confidence. The blade of that was all bloody, too.

‘You stupid wee tosser,' I heard him say, and he gave a brief barking laugh. ‘That wis definitely self-defence.'

He turned on his heel and ran up the slope after Allie, so obviously the thing to do was to get to my feet and follow him. So I did, except I managed one step and I was on my knees again.

But if I didn't follow, he was going to kill Allie.

But if I did follow, there was going to be more blood coming out of the hole I could feel under my fingers. I gave a sob.

I stood up again and this time I managed five steps before I was on my knees. Which was when I realised, with my usual quick-thinking brilliance, that I was not
going to catch them up. I tried to howl with rage but what came out was a pathetic keening sound.

I was going to have to let go of my belly and grab the weeds and get up that way. I did that, with one hand, though I was still scared to move the other one that was holding me together. Oh God, I thought, and I loved Orla Mahon, all the way, and now I was going to die.

When I got to the top of the embankment I crouched there on all fours. Well, three of my fours, since one hand was still holding in my blood, and not doing a terribly good job of it. I peered one way and then the other, moaning with despair as I caught sight of them. Allie was running now, really running, but not towards the level crossing; she was pelting up the left-hand side of the tracks towards the tunnel. What was she thinking? She probably wasn't thinking at all. She couldn't, mustn't go in the tunnel, and she wouldn't cross the tracks. I knew she wouldn't. I knew that because the train was singing.

I had no breath to scream at her, but I was yelling in my head,
Stop stop don't don't Allie no.

She hesitated, glanced over her shoulder at Mickey. He was no more than five metres behind her and he'd slowed his pace, moving my knife from one hand to the other. I couldn't see his grin but I could imagine it. Allie looked terrified now, backing away, wildly looking for a place to run. Then her head jerked round, and she ran. Right across the tracks.

The song was louder, buzzing in my head as she ran,
and I couldn't breathe because I just knew she was going to catch her foot. But she didn't. She leaped delicately between the rails to the other side.

I thought she'd scramble up the embankment now, but she didn't. She stayed in the cutting by the tunnel mouth, and turned and looked straight at Mickey.

Mickey hesitated just the once. Then he ran. Perhaps he couldn't hear the song; perhaps he just thought he had time.

Actually he probably did have time. I couldn't believe Allie wasn't running, couldn't believe she would just stand there and lock her black solemn eyes on Mickey as he ran.
Run run Allie go go run.

Boy, I'd changed my tune, but it didn't make any difference. She simply gazed at him, arms straight and hands fisted by her sides. And Mickey stopped.

I knew Allie was scary sometimes but I thought that was just me. Sure, Mickey can't have expected her to stand there and stare him down. All the same, I don't know why he'd be goggling at her like that, then backing off a step, my knife falling out of his limp fingers.

Why did he stop? He'd have made it if he hadn't stopped. But the roaring song and the tremor of the tracks must have confused him, because he looked down at his feet in stupid fear.

He was there and then he wasn't. Was-not-there. The train was there: for one second, two seconds, three seconds. The flash of lit windows, a child on its mother's
lap, swaying businessmen, bums against the seats,
Daily Telegraph
in their hands. That was it: gone.

It must have been starting to stop; it would, wouldn't it? It must have jolted as the driver braked, and some of the businessmen probably stumbled and cursed. Nobody realises how fast they go. You blink and they're there, you blink and they're gone. It would have been braking, but it was already gone.

I didn't watch Mickey die; he was moving too fast for the eye to see. He died at such a speed, and besides, my vision was misty. Far up the tracks, towards the level crossing, the train was finally drawing to a halt.

I didn't want to look down at the rails in case he was there. I don't think he was, I think he'd been carried further up the track and he was somewhere under the train, maybe in more than one place, but I didn't want to look. So I looked across the cutting, desperately searching for Allie, but I was finding it so hard to see. My eyes kept blurring.

When I focused at last, there was someone with her on the far side of the line. A boy about Allie's age, a boy with fair hair spiking out over his forehead. She didn't speak to him – still too shocked, maybe – and after a moment he turned to walk away. I blinked again, squeezing sweat out of my eyes, and could hardly get my eyelids back open, but when I did, he was gone.

Didn't want to get involved, I guess.

‘I'm sorry,' said Allie. ‘I'm sorry I ran away and left you.'

I gave her a filthy look. ‘What d'you mean, sorry? I wondered what took you so long. Couldn't you take a hint?'

She plucked another grape, and when I shook my head she ate it herself. She had eaten virtually the whole bunch, together with the chocolate supply brought by Shuggie.

‘I didn't want to leave you,' she added, ‘but he made me. He told me I had to.'

I clenched my teeth. I didn't have to ask who had persuaded her to run: not Mickey, that was for sure. Well, for once her delusions had come in handy. ‘Can you not sit on a chair?'