Born Under Punches (43 page)

‘But she's not my daughter, is she? We both know that.'

Louise could hold it in no longer.

‘She is your daughter, you bastard, she is yours!'

She punched him.

Everything moved down to slo-mo: seventeen years to pull back her arm, seventeen years to let it fly, seventeen years for the punch to fall, her fist clenched hard, connecting with the side of his jaw.

The impact of the blow knocked Keith off balance. He fell to his knees, tried to speak.

‘Don't say a word, you little shit! Of course you're her father. D'you think I don't remember? That night at my flat? You raped me, you bastard! You fucking bastard!'

He tried to stand, she pushed him back down.

‘Stay there.'

‘I didn't … I didn't …' he said weakly.

‘Don't lie to me. No, I didn't know at first. I tried to block that night out. Thought it was that big bloke at first. But things started coming back to me over the years. Things I thought I'd imagined. And I put it all together. So don't lie. I saw you. I opened my eyes, remember?'

He attempted to climb to his feet. She allowed him to.

‘It wasn't like that,' he said, his voice fearful and pleading. ‘It wasn't r—' He couldn't say the word. ‘Wasn't what you think it was. It was love. I did it out of love. I love you.'

‘Really? Well, I fucking hate you …'

And she was on him. Punching, kicking, biting. Venting over a decade and a half of pent-up hatred. Repaying him for every insult, slight and degradation he had heaped on her during their marriage.

‘You never loved me …' she said, panting, ‘you just wanted to possess me …'

Punch after punch.

Year after year.

Insult after insult.

She was tiring but she wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop. The tap was turned on, she would let it run out of her until the tank was empty.

‘Get off my dad! Leave my dad alone!'

Louise stopped, turned at the voice. Ben was standing in the kitchen doorway, face twisted in shock and horror. He ran along the floor, launched himself at her, began pummelling with his small fists.

‘Get off him! Get off him!'

Louise backed off, stunned by the turn of events. She made her way over to the kitchen door.

‘All right,' she said. ‘All right.'

The pummelling stopped. Ben crossed to Keith, began helping him up off the floor.

Louise looked at them. Father and son. A chip off the old block. Mini me.

Ben was Keith in miniature. He would grow up to be just like his father.

Louise didn't want to hang around and watch it happen.

‘I'm going to get my daughter,' she said. ‘And I'm going to find someone to help me.'

She left the house, slamming the door behind her.

She got into her Ka, drove away.

The sky was darkening. The night would soon be hitting hard.

The polls were coming to the end, the nation having made up its collective mind.

Tony stood on the jetty by the Garden of Eden pub. He looked out over the river, watched the clouds scud slowly across the sky, their greyness deepening to purple then black as the day drained out of them.

‘Thanks for coming,' he said.

The other person nodded.

‘Odd place for a meeting.'

‘You think so?' Tony leaned on the railing. He was thoughtful. Preoccupied. ‘I don't.'

He moved his head slowly to the left.

‘It's perfect here. Perfect. Look.'

He pointed. The redundant piers, the tall cranes old and rusted, sticking up like tottering spider webs, too feeble to trap anything. The jetty, all rust and wet wood. Past them the river curved away back to its source. On the bed on the far side stood the power station. Its four chimneys belched billow after billow of smoke into the air, a twenty-four-hour cloud factory, its buildings lit by night-time arc lamps.

‘Look at the power station. Still coal-fired. They take hard, black coal and turn it into bright, white energy. Coal's all imported now, of course. But it's old. Old energy. Unrenewable energy. It's the past. Now look along that way.'

He pointed to the right. By the river's entrance to the sea, along the harbour wall, stood the wind turbines. Huge, white windmills turning slowly, picking up the slightest breeze.

‘There's the future. Clean, bright, dazzling. Renewable. And in the middle?'

He turned, looked behind him. Coldwell. The leisure centre replacing the colliery. The T. Dan.

‘Us. The present. In the middle. Always. We try to reach the future, follow the flow of the river down to where it's clean and bright. But we can't. 'Cause we've still got the past sitting there. We're afraid to cut loose from it. We can't turn it off, so we leave it there. Choking up the air. Holding us back. Impeding our progress.'

Tony fell silent, leaned on the railing.

‘Interesting theory.'

Tommy Jobson stood next to him. Leaned alongside him.

Tony nodded.

‘Claire caught me in the office. Taking my medication. Our little arrangement might be in jeopardy.'

‘Oh, dear.'

Tony turned to him. ‘More than fucking “oh, dear”, isn't it? For me anyway.'

Tommy shrugged. ‘She might not say anything.'

Tony sighed. ‘No, she might not. I'll have to talk to her again.'

Tony's mobile trilled. He answered it. ‘Hello?'

‘Listen, Tony, it's me.' Louise. Her voice frantic. ‘Don't hang up. Please. Please talk to me. This is important, please.'

‘He-hello, Louise.'

His voice was hesitant, unused to dialogue.

‘Oh, thank God. Listen, you've got to help me. I've tried Stephen and he's not answering. Please. You have to help.'

‘OK, Louise, calm down. Just tell me what's wrong.'

She told him.

He listened.

‘Right. I'll meet you at my house. Ten minutes. Don't worry. It's going to be all right.'

He ended the call.

‘Trouble?'

‘Yeah.'

‘We'll take my car. I'll drive.'

*

Suzanne wanted out of there.

She hadn't spoken since Karl picked the two boys up in Coldwell and drove back to his flat. She knew what they were thinking, expecting of her. They had openly stared at her body, especially the odd-looking one in the glasses. The other had tried to be cooler, more reserved about it, as if it was all no big deal. Something about him unnerved her. She sensed anger within him, which, one day, would probably manifest itself in cruelty and violence.

She had felt their eyes on her from the back seat of the car, like spiders crawling all over her body.

Karl lit a spliff, handed it round. The two boys demolished their share, Suzanne declined.

‘Take it.'

A command, not a request.

She took it.

They reached the Wills Building, parked, went up to Karl's flat.

‘Help yourself, lads,' said Karl, throwing Davva a bottle of tequila.

Davva examined it as if he'd never seen tequila before.

‘Ta,' he said, then looked again. ‘What's that at the bottom? Looks like a worm, or somethin'.'

‘It is,' said Karl, happy to impartknowledge. ‘That's gold tequila. The best stuff. An' the worm's supposed to be like a drug. Eat that when you've reached the end of the bottle and you get like an acid trip.'

Davva looked again at the bottle, awe in his eyes. ‘Fuckin' brilliant …'

‘Get stuck in.'

Karl smiled, turned to Skegs on the other side of the room.

‘Put some music on, Skegs. There's some UK garage collections there. One o' them'll do.'

Skegs did as he was told. Oxide and Neutrino kicked things off. The air in the flat became angular with beats, solid with lyrics and sampled harmonies.

Skegs's attention was caught by something lying next to the CD cabinet. He picked it up. ‘Hey, looka this.'

The others turned, looked Skegs had found Karl's automatic.

‘Careful with that,' Karl said. He smiled. ‘You don't know where it's been.'

Karl looked at Suzanne to see if she was smiling. She wasn't.

‘Whassamatter with you?'

Suzanne sighed.

‘I can't do this, Karl. I can't go through with it. I want to go home.'

Karl looked at her. There was no love in his eyes, no warmth. He looked like a farmer at auction appraising cattle, weighing up cost and profit.

‘See how it goes.'

He turned to the boys.

‘Lads, amuse yourselves for a bit.' He pointed to the coffee table. ‘There's skunk, weed, coke. Some white widow, you'll like that. Help yourselves. Then make yourselves scarce. Me an' the lady got a bit o' business to attend to.'

Davva and Skegs rolled themselves skunk spliffs. Karl a white widow. He inhaled a couple of times, shaking his head from the buzz. Suzanne did nothing.

The boys left the room. Karl turned to her. He was red-faced, keyed up, breathing hard. He began to touch her.

‘Wait,' said Suzanne.

‘What?' Irritation bordering on anger in Karl's voice.

‘Need to go to the toilet.'

She grabbed her bag, left the room.

Once in the toilet she took out her mobile phone. Dialled a number in desperation. Hoped it would be answered.

Hoped it would be her mother.

The Daimler pulled up to the kerb in front of Tony's house.

‘There she is,' Tony said.

He pointed to a Ka parked on the opposite side of the road. He hauled himself out of the Daimler as quickly as his shattered leg would allow, made his way over to her.

She saw him coming, got out of the car and ran to him. She reached him in the middle of the road, flung her arms around him.

‘Tony …'

She clung to him.

He held on to her.

‘We'd better move,' he said.

They walked to the pavement, still holding on to each other.

There was too much to be said in such a small space of time. Instead they said nothing.

They reached the pavement. Louise stopped dead, stared at the man in the light-coloured suit emerging from the driver's side of the Daimler.

‘That's—'

‘Tommy Jobson,' said Tony.

‘What's he—'

‘It's OK. He's with me. Times change.'

The knife. Tommy grinning about what he was going to do with it.

‘Times don't change for me,' she said.

Tommy looked at her, his face impassive.

‘Shouldn't we be going to get your daughter?' he said. He opened the car door.

She looked at him. Physically he was the same. Older, a little greyer. But his eyes were different.

They looked pained.

Lost.

‘Get in,' he said.

They got in. Tommy drove. He stayed just within the speed limit, police involvement being the last thing they wanted.

The Wills Building. Red-brick and grass-brick art deco. Spotlit in the darkness.

Tommy pulled the car up in a residents' parking bay.

‘Wait here,' he said.

‘Where are you going?' said Louise.

‘To get your daughter.'

Louise was getting out of the car.

‘No. No. You're not going in there. I won't let you—'

‘You think you're going to get her? Just walk in, walk back out with her?' He shook his head. ‘Stay here.'

Tommy walked off.

Louise started to go after him. Tony put a restraining arm on her.

‘Let him go. He knows what he's doing. It's what he does for a living.'

She subsided, sighed.

Tommy walked to the front door.

And struck lucky. Someone was leaving as he was entering. They held the door for him. He smiled, nodded his thanks.

He took the lift up to the right floor. Alighted.

He didn't need to know the number. The noise led him to it. He rang the bell, waited. It was soon opened by a youth clutching his jeans about his waist.

Karl. That was the name Suzanne had given.

Knowing subtlety wouldn't work, Tommy grabbed the youth by the throat, gripped hard. He squeezed off air, making him light-headed and disorientated. Feeling the youth weaken, Tommy pushed him backwards as hard as he could.

Karl caught the side of the sofa, upended it as he fell. He crashed on to a coffee table, scattering weed and charlie, then tumbled on to the floor, lay there.

He checked the youth, found no signs of immediate threat, looked round for Suzanne. He found her crouched on the floor, naked. Fear in her eyes, clothes in her hands.

She looked just like her mother, Tommy thought.

‘I've come to take you home,' he said. ‘Your mother sent me.'

She couldn't hear. His words were lost to the music.

He looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. Couldn't. Angered by this, he took a step towards her and tried again.

‘Come on, we're leaving.'

Suzanne collapsed to the floor, tried to scuttle over to the corner of the room. Away from Tommy.

He crossed towards her.

She opened her mouth to scream.

He held up his hands to quieten her.

And felt a thud on the back of his neck.

Tommy turned. Karl was standing there, blood running from his nose and mouth, fists bunched. Face contorted with violence.

Tommy knew the look. He had experienced it himself enough times.

The youth looked like Tommy at that age. It was like looking into the past.

Karl bellowed something incomprehensible and swung his right fist at Tommy.

Tommy dodged, feinted, punched Karl in the face.

Karl's nose split and he went down again, face a mask of sudden, wet, red.

Tommy turned again to Suzanne. She looked terrified.

A sudden pain hit him in the centre of his back. He crumpled to his knees, gasped in agony.

Karl had grabbed a heavy metal ornament, got to his knees, thrown it.