Desire Line (10 page)

‘What?'

That flash of light and the rasping half-word… it had been a human voice. Of course there were other people here. Hadn't she been warned? She pressed her face close to his. If they were being observed it could pass for a kiss. ‘Someone's in there.'

Everything next came in double-time. He said nothing but as he jumped up she was almost sure a snatch of speech issued from a black mound of shrub that buttressed the hedge. Josh reached it and without a pause kicked out. His target must have been a couple of feet off the ground. There was a grunt… and then the branches seemed to explode in Josh's direction and her ability to distinguish his form against the background was gone. Nothing made sense to either vision or hearing; another noise that may have been Josh's had no words contained until an alien much louder voice shouted, ‘Fucker!'

Even shapes were obscure: it could have been a man (Josh) caught in a tangle of living branches and trying to get loose. But the branches also possessed vocal cords and lungs and muttered, ‘Right! Right you… fucker— you… right!' The combined creature, half-Josh, half something else lurched first toward the water's edge and then back from it like one single, huge inebriate.

Incomprehension left her static. What ought she do? Abandoning Josh was not an option and she did want to help, to protect him, she realised… but before anything practical came to mind, a second huge chunk of shade rushed out and launched itself at Josh's back. It had her screaming, ‘Josh… another one!' This extra being hesitated between them. For an instant the very air seemed to crackle and then Josh threw the thing he was wrestling with at it and after the impact, he came on instantly, kicking the nearest figure with a connection Sara heard as the sound of a clean-bowling on the University's Iffley Road ground. Very satisfying. Both fell. There was a howl, a string of obscenities… and the two figures on the floor separated. While one clambered to its feet the other stayed down, rolling and groaning. Now it seemed a real possibility that Josh might attack the standing man again, or be attacked himself. Was
she
in danger? The blood rushing through her ears and agony in the throat said so. She had never been so close to violence… and yet her fear was already lessening, changing… too quickly, she rationalised later. But then and there it was being overlaid by elation: because Josh will win! This told in the finishing-up, pushing off movement of his upper limbs and his barely-articulated dry
uh!
captive within the chest but pleasing for the maker. In any case he stepped away from both attackers and toward her. For an instant he actually seemed about to present them his back. She dodged to keep their whereabouts known, to maintain a line of sight for herself.

To the upright body Josh said, ‘Run. Now!'

There was a moment's pause before it started off at a lopsided trot. From the other prostrate thing was only a low grumbling: ‘You'll live,' Josh said. ‘If you can walk, it's your lucky night. If not—'

The dropped sack heaved itself onto legs and followed the first into the shadows, while Josh stood with fists clenched, breathing hard. The Jacobean dumbshow had concluded.

‘My God Josh!'

Several thumps of her heart passed before he muttered, ‘I know that pair,' sotto voce. He came over and lowered himself onto the bench. ‘The father's not even my age. He was the one I didn't kick, right? The son's an even more evil little… bastard or will be.'

So very
quick
… and it was to be wound up, now, just like that? Only Josh's murderous aura confirmed anything had happened at all. Her head swam as, instinctively, she must have stepped up her respiration rate to match his. ‘You
know
them? Who are they?'

Legs out in front of him, feet in heavy boots, he stared at the water. ‘They were the Murcotts, father and son. Ike has been a professional nuisance since he got here. Manchester connections but real low rent. These two, they're the end of the line stuck out in Taffyland as they call it, which says it all. With Ryan it's knives and drugs mostly. Just pills.' A massive sigh. ‘Too fucking dense to deal in anything you have to measure out and weigh, we reckon.'

‘He may have had a knife.'

‘Why d'you think I got that first kick in? If it's any good it tends to make you drop—'

‘We could have walked away.'

‘Yeah. We'd be sitting at home now, wouldn't we, if it wasn't for me?'

From the eastern edge of the lake an engine noise started, inadequately suppressed, powerful. Josh didn't move. ‘Don't worry. That'll be the Murcotts found where they left their bike. Took 'em long enough.'

‘A motorbike? They could come back this way.'

‘They won't.'

The exultant surge of spirits at his victory seeped out of her as quickly as it had arrived. She was trembling, her knees refusing to lock. ‘Please can we go?'

He shrugged and strolled off in the direction of the bridge leaving her to totter after.

These numerous crossings and recrossings were beyond dismal, as was the thought that she would be doing it again tomorrow. Laughter and shouts, a dressing of hot grease to the air, and a diffuse hostility all seemed to combine and come drifting along from West Parade. Josh said, ‘If you want to know about the Murcotts, how's this? Two old dears last summer, one of them has a little win on the bingo and they're making their way home into Wood Road,' he gestured over her head, ‘—made the mistake of stopping by the lake. She's knocked flat. He's chopped in the kidneys that hard one nearly ruptures. Everything they have on them's taken. His winnings.
Her wedding ring!
Wasn't worth buttons. They even took her bar of chocolate.'

‘So were they found guilty?'

He laughed. ‘Found guilty? Um—
no
.'

‘But it was them?'

‘Only they're stupid enough to take that ring. Probably ended up chucking it. So most likely them.'

‘Only most likely?'

‘What do you want me say, Sara? Yes? No? The prosecution's got no further evidence to offer in this case, M'lady.'

Eight hours later a sombre Josh drove away without reference to after dark alarums and excursions.

Her
apology could not be put off. In the absence of writing paper, two sheets carefully cut from a notebook, a message in themselves, would suffice.

Thursday

Dear Daddy and Fleur

I'm very sorry if, last night, I seemed to be making little sense and, also, that I upset, you, Fleur. Of course I had no idea that you had rung several times already and left messages. I must have convinced myself the call would be some terrible news about Eurwen. That's why I grabbed the phone from Josh before he could explain. We had just that moment entered the house, having been for a walk and this being an alien place, please put it down to my feeling out of my element. Mea culpa. But I'd be dishonest if I do not say that every call is a disappointment because it isn't Eurwen, isn't her voice telling me she is coming home. You and Fleur have only ever loved me so I'll have to fall back on hoping you understand and aren't too hurt.

Thank you for trying with the Fortun sisters. As I explained, we've had no word. Josh is convinced she is with other people, probably people she's met whilst here. On occasions there have been phone calls from both a female and a male and Eurwen has been evasive about who these people were. The fact that they were one of each gender seems reassuring although I have no idea why. Josh has promised that he will take me to meet all her contacts that he now knows about. A woman called Megan is one I met within the last twenty-four hours. (Megan Upton is from the stables Eurwen has been haunting. Eurwen sent Fleur a picture postcard of it last month?) A couple who are deeply immersed in animal rights (yes, I
know
, I see your expression!) have become friendly with her and she may have been drawn in. I'm sure with Josh's resources they can be found. This couple are not teenagers. Maybe they're sensible and can talk her into contacting her parents. I hope none of this is wishful thinking on my part. However Josh and I both agree it could be worse.

Another thank you for sorting out home and Mrs Ali. The Peppers next door are very reliable and Hugo works from home remember so there will be someone about during the day. I'm sorry for confusion over the alarm. I must have done something to it as I was leaving. Poor Mrs Ali!

On the subject of clothes, Fleur, I didn't ‘take nothing'. I
will
try to keep my phone charged in future and of course I'll pass on any developments.
Really
Daddy, sometimes… I can't know for how long, can I?

With my love to you both,

Sara

PS On the subject of that card, do you still have it? Could you put it into an envelope and send it here? I'm not exactly sure why but Josh thinks maybe something of use in it. Thank you, again.

And I was burning papers, Fleur. That's all. If Mrs Ali did what she was paid for they should have been cleared away.

Sheer exhaustion after the lake-side fracas had been responsible for what happened the moment she entered the hall and saw Josh pick up the phone. Eurwen! Not Eurwen! News of any denomination? Her parents at the other end became targets. Attempting to phrase an apology now, her face flushed… or
was
it all Mrs Ali's fault? Mrs Ali and the remains of that fire left cold and finished and yet still somehow
incomplete
, spewing from the study grate for Fleur to find.

Chapter 7

Forward Rhyl started life as a single open-plan room at the top of a turn-of-the-century building— with the promise of a move. By Wave Day it hadn't happened. Street level was unrecognisable on the Monday morning following, but our lookout was reached as usual by a sectional staircase bolted to the rear elevation. Because nobody said not to, we assembled at the bottom to make the climb. Our every recent improvement to Rhylites' quality of life lay under cubic metres of trash so the atmosphere wasn't buoyant. Glenn clutched his waterproof to his body to stop it becoming a sail. Omar, only with us a month, a tall good- looking Iranian who opted to be called Persian was already planning his escape, I decided. His normal five o'clock shadow look was a disguise in the making. He couldn't take his eyes off the Flintshire Foods vehicle buried to its cab in the side wall of the White Rose Shopping Centre on the opposite corner. A few courses of brick were intact above the hole, like an advertising stunt or something made for a film.
Everything
was unreal if you stopped to consider— but this was up close. And what had happened to the driver? Then someone somewhere decided to start a chain-saw up in the next street. Not reassuring. The noise gave us an extra buzz, an excuse to jump.

‘I cannot believe nobody died,' Omar said in an accent I always link with the South of England and private schooling, word endings like knapped flints. ‘Apart from the old couple.'

‘Another went off the bridge as well. He was young.'

Omar pulled a face.

Low down in what had once been the ground floor of the Westminster Hotel, windows were slimy inside and out. But one storey up there's a picture of optimism. In a small kitchen a MultiCook was dumped in an armchair which had then been heaved onto a table, all unmarked. But having made it to our creepily unchanged office with its cramped work stations, dissatisfaction set in and we jostled each other to stare out.

‘Cher-rist!' Even Glenn Hughes was lost for anything else.

It was a shambles. Familiar friends had gone and the absentees gave the sky extra volume. Only the grey-brown sea was intact and that was hitting a different beach. As we watched the tide inching in across our famous Golden Sands, Rhyl's Spring Festival could've just finished (we don't have one) or its refugee camp been overrun. The partygoers or inmates all fled, the spoilage
everywhere. No one who hasn't witnessed it can understand. And the smell from the open window was a mixture of river mud, hydrocarbons, human waste, rotting fish— and the rest. Even now any one of them brings back that morning and the shock I thought I was ready for but wasn't. Both Old Woolworths and Clubbers further along had collapsed— no loss, architecturally, this gave an improved vantage point to spectate from. The sun came out and polished up the sluggish breakers and it only got worse. Now it was highlighting every oily pool and stripped-off sheet of corrugated iron. Fine for the clean-up though! A bulldozer fleet like giant dungbeetles had congregated at the base of SkyTower, probably because it was still there. Slowly they pushed portions of debris along a West Parade whose existence you had to take on trust because there wasn't a visible square metre of tarmac.

‘Fuckin' 'ell,' Glenn said. If Tess had been standing next to him a baboon arm would've liked to snake across her shoulders. ‘This has gotta be the worst acid I ever dropped. Bloody robber she is, that Rhondda Jones, Leisure Services. When somebody puts the town back I'll be straight up there for a refund.' He was dressed in the striped sweater and pants I'd laundered for him. Although his entire wardrobe, unfortunately, would be saved, everything on the ground floor of his home is gone. Why? I wanted to know. Why not get what you could? Why all that walking around Rhyl, all that I-am-a-camera, asking to get yourself killed? Why are you at my house?