Mesmeris (8 page)

‘He doesn’t.’ I pulled away from him.

‘Oh yes, he does, because this morning, no matter what I did, he wouldn’t cry, would he, lads?’

His ‘lads’ murmured agreement.

‘No, he wouldn’t cry and he wouldn’t scream and no matter what I did, I couldn’t hurt him - not enough. But when we mentioned you. . .’

‘The way he tried to get to his feet!’ Jenkins staggered about drunkenly, bent double, one arm reaching out for support. ‘Priceless.’

Dim laughed.

‘He loves you,’ Tipper smiled. ‘So we’re going to leave him - a little present.’

‘Go to hell,’ I said, my mouth dry.

I backed away into the wall and felt around for a piece of brick, a loose stone, anything that could be used as a weapon. Nothing but a lump of crumbly plaster. Then I spotted a shard of broken glass, sticking out from underneath the skip on my right.

Collins came up behind him. ‘Hey, Tip, what you doin’, man?’

I edged towards the skip, keeping my eyes on Tipper.

Tipper rolled his eyes. ‘What’s up, Collie - wanna be first?’

Collins shook his head. ‘Nah, don’t like this. This ain’t what we said.’

Tipper spun around, grabbed Collins’s face in his hands and squeezed it, made Collins’s mouth pucker. ‘Then FUCK - OFF!’

The other two laughed. I dived for the piece of glass. It was a large part of a broken bottle, bigger than I expected, pale green, thick and jagged.

Tipper still had his back to me. If I hadn’t thought about it, I could have gone forward and slit his throat. But I did think about it and then it was too late. Dim’s gaze was back on me. His eyes widened when he saw the glass in my hand. ‘Tip,’ he said.

Collins walked away - just walked away and left me there.

‘Help me,’ I shouted at his back.

He didn’t turn around, walked straight out of the yard.

‘Please,’ I said.

He didn’t come back.

I wedged myself into the corner between the wall and the skip, held the glass out in front of me. A grin spread over Tipper’s face.

‘Fuck!’ he said. ‘You really are something, Miller.’ He shook his head. ‘A danger to yourself and those around you – you know that, don’t you?’ He walked towards me, slowly.
‘No wonder you’re pissing people off. Now, give the glass to me,’ he said, ‘there’s a good girl.’

‘Don’t touch me.’ I jabbed it towards him, hoped he wouldn’t notice my hand shaking.

Tipper turned to the other two and laughed. His phone rang. He looked at it and said, ‘Excuse me a moment,’ to me, as if we were in a business meeting. He turned away and spoke quietly into it.

I heard, ‘He’ll live,’ but the rest was inaudible. Perhaps Tipper would have to go somewhere, have to let me go. Maybe it was all going to be all right, after all. I must have relaxed, blinked, taken my eyes off him because something hit my arm and the glass went spinning from my hand. It ricocheted off the skip, away into the rubbish, brushing Dim’s leg as it passed.

Tipper’s face, his triumphant grin as he closed his phone, the excitement in his eyes, made me feel faint. The three of them came towards me. ‘No,’ I said. ‘No, hang on a minute - listen – listen.’ I held a hand up, as if that would stop them. ‘Stop – stop a minute, just a minute.’ They didn’t stop, all had the same look in their eyes - the same excitement, the same glee. ‘Don’t – look, don’t. Please – please.’ My voice grew louder and higher-pitched, until it was just a shriek.

Tipper put his hand on the back of my head and grabbed a handful of my hair. I cried out, felt it tearing at the roots. I punched at his chest, then tried to stick my fingers in his eyes, felt the soft, warm wetness.

‘Shit!’ Tipper’s eyes streamed with water. He let go of my hair to wipe his face on his sleeve but before I could get him again, Jenkins and Dim grabbed my arms and pushed them back against the wall. Tipper blinked furiously, his left eye red, the lashes stuck together. ‘Gonna teach you a fuckin’ lesson now, you bitch.’

He pushed up against me. I tried to kick him, knee him, anything. I couldn’t move. His breath stank of fags and alcohol. My stomach heaved. He held my chin in his hand, lifted my face to his.

‘Get me that glass.’ He waved his hand.

As soon as Dim released my arm, I went for Tipper’s eyes again.

This time, he was ready, caught my wrist. ‘Too slow, Miller.’

Tipper took the glass from Dim and stood back, examined it, felt the edge with the tip of his finger. ‘I’m tempted to use this, Miller.’ He stroked my cheek with the cold glass, traced my jawline.

I held my breath.

‘One way to upset lover boy. Doubt he’d want to look at you again. Maybe he’d cry.’ He turned his mouth down. ‘I think he’d cry, don’t you?’

Jenkins giggled.

Tipper bit his lip. ‘I’m very, very tempted,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think I will.’

I sobbed but saw no pity in those pale blue eyes, no compassion - nothing.

‘Do you know why, Miller?’

I couldn’t shake my head because the glass was pressed hard against my skin. One movement and it would slice through the flesh.

‘Because,’ a sick smile, ‘I don’t like to get blood on my clothes.’ He flung the glass against the wall. It smashed into pieces.

He’s going to kill me, I thought, here, in this horrible place, with the smell, the dirt, the rats. I jerked my head round, tried to bite his hand.

He smacked me across the face. The taste of metal poured into my mouth. Then he kissed me. Disgusting. I bit him, caught his lip.

‘Fuck! Fuck!’ He pulled away sharply, his hand to his mouth and looked me in the eye. Pure hatred.

I screamed. His mouth silenced me. He was all over me, his hands all over me, his mouth on mine. I kept my mouth shut tight, my teeth clamped together as he tried to push his tongue inside. I should have let him and bitten it off, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear the taste of him. It made me sick. I could hardly breathe, couldn’t move. Jenkins giggled in my ear. I stopped struggling, closed my eyes, shut myself off from it. This isn’t me. It’s just my body. I’m safe inside, where they can’t reach me, where nobody can reach me.

Tipper forced his knee between my legs.

‘Cops!’ Someone shouted. ‘Cops.’ I opened my eyes. Collins stood at the entrance, waving his arms frantically.

‘Shit!’ Dim and Jenkins let go of me and ran for the alleyway and I think I’d have passed out with relief but Tipper didn’t move. His body still trapped mine against the wall, held it upright. My arms were free from the elbows down so I pummelled his back where I hoped his kidneys might be. His jacket was padded though and it was impossible to get any strength behind the punches. I doubt he even felt them.

He watched the others run out into the lane and disappear, eyes narrowed. ‘He’s lying,’ he said and somehow, I knew he was right, and despair washed over me. This was it, the end. Who’d have thought it would be so sordid, so grubby, so trashy?

‘Wouldn’t think he’d have the balls.’ Tipper shook his head and laughed. ‘Oh, Collie, you stupid fucker.’ Then he smiled at me. ‘So, it’s just the two of us. Kind of romantic, don’t you think?’

Something moved behind him, hurtled towards us - pale shirt, dark hair, and then Tipper was gone.

I slumped to the floor, closed my eyes, and leaned against the skip.

‘You okay?’

I pulled my clothes together, curled up like a child and cried.

‘Bastards.’ He stroked the hair back from my face, so gently. ‘You poor kid.’ It was Jack’s voice, definitely his voice. I opened my eyes. He was crouched in front of me. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’m here now.’

Okay? His left eye was half-closed, the eyelid puffed up and red, like the cheekbone below it. A gash along his forehead stood proud, crusted with dried blood. But it
was
okay. It was more than okay.

My eyes slid to Tipper as he rolled onto his front. He was up on all fours. He was going to kill Jack – and then he was going to kill me. But Jack saw him too. Tipper didn’t have time to straighten up before Jack caught him by the throat. Maybe I wasn’t going to die after all. Tipper grabbed at Jack’s collar. There was a sound of tearing fabric as they both fell to the ground.

I dragged myself to my feet, stumbled towards the blur of flailing arms and legs.

Tipper was on top. He punched Jack’s face so hard I heard something crack, pulled his fist back.

No way. No way
. I threw my arms around his neck, and yanked his head back. My feet slipped out from under me. My back slammed into the ground, knocked the air from my lungs, and my head filled with noise, buzzing, ringing.

By the time my vision cleared, Jack was on top, one hand pressed down on Tipper’s throat. He pulled himself up until he was sitting across Tipper’s chest. I shuffled backwards, out of the way, watching, just in case. Tipper’s legs flailed. Jack punched him once, to the side of the head then dragged him to his feet, shoved him up against the wall
and held him there, a couple of inches off the ground. Tipper gasped for air, his eyes bulging. Urine trickled down his leg, splashed onto the concrete.
Not so brave now
.

‘I’m going to tear your bollocks off, pal,’ Jack said, ‘and stuff them down your throat.’

Yes – yes, good idea
. Tipper squirmed, dangled there, and did I care? Did I hell.

Jack looked at me. ‘Go outside, Pearl, okay, and wait for me.’

‘Outside?’ I shook my aching head. ‘They’re out there.’

‘They’re not. They’ve gone, I swear. Go outside and wait for me – and don’t look back. D’you hear me?’

‘They’re going to hurt my sister,’ I said. ‘We have to call the police.’

‘No – no police. I’ll deal with it.’ Jack looked from me to Tipper. ‘Anyway, don’t think he’s about to hurt anyone, do you?’

‘They’ve got people watching her.’

He looked up at the sky, took a deep breath. ‘Then get his phone.’

I couldn’t move.

‘Pearl. If you get his phone, he can’t tell anyone to hurt your sister, can he?’

I struggled to my feet. It was difficult because it made my head ache. Once I was up though, the pain eased off. I inched towards Tipper and stretched out my hand, averting my eyes. I felt the fabric of his jeans, pushed my hand inside his pocket, retched.

‘Quickly,’ Jack said.

Hard plastic. I closed my eyes, pulled the phone out, breathed through my mouth.

‘Go,’ Jack nodded at the lane.

I made it out of the yard. Checked first, in case the others were there, waiting for me. Jack watched me all the way. He said he’d hear me if I called, if they came back to get me. My legs gave out and I sat on the wet ground. I cried then, great, heaving sobs – not of pain or fear or shock - but of relief. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, and each juddering sob hurt my chest and tore at my stomach.

Then the screams came – harrowing cries, rising to shrieks of agony and, in between the shrieks, Tipper’s desperate, pleading whimpers and Jack’s voice - quiet, calm, reassuring – utterly chilling.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Jack emerged a couple of minutes later, holding my grubby bag. He looked a mess. His shirt hung open, half the buttons gone, ripped at the shoulder. Blood trickled down his forehead from the newly re-opened cut.

He squatted down next to me and picked me up in his arms, like a baby. He kissed my face, my cheeks, my eyes. He held my head to his chest and kissed my hair. ‘Are you okay?’

I nodded. Shocked and dirty maybe, but nothing was broken and I was still alive.

‘Think you can walk?’

‘Think so.’

Jack put me on my feet and steadied me with his arm. I felt woozier than I expected, as if we were on a gently rolling ship.

‘You don’t make things easy, do you?’ he said. ‘If his mate hadn’t seen me . . .’

‘Collins?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I went to the Tate. He’d run there to get help – showed me where you were.’

‘I tried to get to the tube,’ I said. ‘I got lost.’ And I tried to laugh but it caught in a sob.

He pulled me close. ‘Bastards!’

More tears welled up. I wiped them away, didn’t want him to see me cry.

‘We need to clean up,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should go back to the Tate.’

‘No!’ I imagined them all there, waiting for me, staring at me.

‘You know anywhere else?’

I shook my head. We could hardly walk into a pub or restaurant looking like we did.

‘It’ll be okay,’ he said, ‘I promise – I won’t let anyone get to you.’

I had to believe him, had no real choice. It took us only ten minutes to get there, even though I was slow. My search for the station had taken me almost full circle. Jack stood guard while I went into the toilets. I saw my reflection in the mirror - ugly – red, puffy eyes, half their normal size, surrounded by black mascara - red nose from crying, red patch on my cheekbone, on my forehead, hair all over the place. I brushed my hair, washed my face with handwash and practised a smile. The smile made my face crease up and then my eyes didn’t look so bad. No amount of washing seemed to be able to get rid of the black rings around them though.

Jack was outside the door, just as he’d promised although he’d obviously been to clean himself up too. His shirt was pulled together, his face clean, hair combed over the scar on his forehead. He looked quite normal, except for the shirt. When I saw him, I did the smile I’d practised and he laughed and kissed my nose. ‘Funny girl,’ he said. He didn’t seem to mind that I was ugly.

This time when we crossed the Millennium Bridge I had Jack’s arm around me and it felt different, safe, as if no one could hurt me.

‘We have to find Tipper’s fleas,’ Jack said.

‘Can we not?’ My insides squirmed at the thought of them. ‘I don’t want to see them.’

‘You don’t have to. You can sit in the car.’

‘You’ve got a car?’

‘How d’you think I got here?’

I shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I didn’t . . .’

His eyes flashed to something behind me.

‘No!’ I shouted, but he’d already gone. He ran across the road, dodging traffic, and chased Jenkins and Dim down the side of the cathedral. I ran after them but I was slow and didn’t get over the road for ages. By the time I reached the other side, Jack had gone. I
ran into the gardens and stopped. A man in a smart suit, pink, pinstriped shirt, polished shoes, was sitting on one of the benches, eating sandwiches. I ran past him. Perhaps they’d run through, out of the gate the other side. Some Japanese girls stood on a plaque while a boy took a photo. Maybe the boys had gone another way or maybe in London nobody took any notice of people being chased. I couldn’t decide which way to go, then heard someone laugh to my left. I ran back. They were behind a bush, all three of them. Jack had his back to me. Dim and Jenkins had tried to hide beside a buttress. It was Jenkins who’d laughed.