Follow the Leader (12 page)

She was drinking her second mug of coffee when she heard Joe’s car pull into the drive. She raced to the mirror to check her appearance. God, she looked good. She smiled at her reflection, then pouted. Maybe this could be an ideal time to have some make-up sex: she only had a couple of nail appointments today and they were both booked in for late afternoon. She rushed back to the breakfast bar just as he appeared in the doorway.

He took a few steps towards her and pulled a bouquet of red roses from behind his back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘For which part?’

‘All of it.’

‘You said some horrible things to me.’ She conjured tears ready to fall.

‘I didn’t mean any of them.’ He held out the flowers for her.

Tentatively, she took them from him.

‘I panicked when I saw the police,’ he explained.

‘Did you go to see Jayden?’

‘Yeah, I stayed chatting to Kelvin for ages.’

‘It’s a good job you get on so well with him.’

‘I know. It was Suzi who caused the friction.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

‘I’m sorry too.’ Rhian stepped closer to him and pressed a
finger
to his lips. ‘It’s in the past, yeah?’

He pulled her into his arms and she buried her face in his chest, hiding the grin spreading widely across her face. God, he was such a pushover. He might have a temper every now and again, and clearly she had to watch what she was doing, but she could handle him. And what she needed to do right now was keep him sweet until she found out more about what he had really been doing on Wednesday evening.

1984

Patrick jumped from sleep and sat up in bed, the bass tone of the music reverberating through the floorboards. Elvis Presley began to sing of being lonesome tonight. Rubbing at one eye, he presse
d t
he button at the side of his cheap digital watch to illuminate th
e time: t
wo thirty-three a.m.

The house was cold and he snuggled back under the covers. He heard voices, low mumbling. Who had Ray brought back with him this time? Sometimes it would be a man to have more drink with. Sometimes it would be a woman and he’d hear them, having sex. It was disgusting. Sometimes there would be a few people and he’d cower in bed, praying that the door wouldn’t open.

But then he heard a woman giggle. It was followed by heavy footsteps, taking the stairs in four jumps. The handle on his bedroom door dropped, the door flying wide open with the kick of a bo
ot. I
t bounced back off the wall, causing Ray to stagger slightly as i
t kno
cked him off balance. Patrick sat still as a stone in the dark, watching his father’s silhouette against the light from the hallway, and hoped he wouldn’t piss himself again

‘What are you doing in bed, you idle fucker?’ Ray slurred, swaying towards him across the room.

Patrick prayed that Ray had drunk enough booze to collapse when he got to his bed. Maybe he’d sink to the floor in a drunken stupor, like he’d done last week, and he could sneak past him and go to sleep on the rickety settee downstairs.

No such luck tonight. The duvet was yanked away and thrown to the floor like a discarded Durex. Patrick curled up in a ball, skin and bone beneath his pyjamas, bracing himself for the onslaught of punches that was bound to come. Fresh bruises atop of ones that hadn’t yet healed from his last attack.

Ray grabbed his arm and dragged him out of bed. ‘Come on, downstairs!’ he demanded. ‘It’s party time.’

Eleven years old, undernourished and weak, Patrick wasn’t strong enough to protest. From above, he could smell Ray’s rotten breath as he kept a firm hand on his arm.

At the living room door, he pushed him forward. ‘I have a surprise for you, short-arse.’

The woman sitting on the settee reminded Patrick of his English teacher, Mrs Martin. She always had long hair tied in a ponytail and red lipstick. But she was never dressed in a short skirt, with a fake-fur jacket that looked like its owner, a little worse for its years. And she always smelled nice. This woman smelt like Ray.

‘Hellooooo,’ she slurred, beckoning him over to the settee. ‘Come and sit down next to me.’

Patrick stayed rooted to the spot until Ray put his fist in his back and pushed him forward again. He perched at the other end of the settee as far away as he could get.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked, making a big show of moving towards him.

‘Patrick.’

‘Patrick!’ She burst into raucous laughter.

Patrick didn’t think his name was funny.

‘So, this is your old man, then?’ She held out her hand and Ray came over to them. ‘I wonder if he takes after you, Raymond.’ She gave Ray’s bicep muscle a quick squeeze, laughing again.

‘This is Molly,’ Ray told Patrick. ‘And she wants to have some fun tonight.’

‘Yes, with both of you.’ She turned to Patrick, running the tip of her tongue across her top lip. She reached over for him and he moved back as far as he could go.

‘What’s wrong?’ She came nearer still, until she was an inch from his face. ‘Don’t you fancy me? We could have some fun.’

‘Stop it!’ Patrick grabbed hold of the collar of his pyjama top, pulling it close to his neck.

Molly took hold of his chin. Then she puckered her lips. ‘Come on, little fella. Let’s see what you’ve got for me.’

Patrick closed his eyes tightly, hoping the vomit would stay inside his throat.

‘Open your eyes,’ she told him.

When he refused, she squeezed his chin harder.

‘Open them!’

Patrick did as she asked.

She peered at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing again. ‘The look on your face, you big numpty,’ she cried. ‘I don’t want a boy, I want a man.’ She turned back to Ray, who had his trousers unbuckled in readiness. ‘I just wanted someone to watch.’

Patrick shivered. ‘I don’t want to.’

Ray glared at him. ‘I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t want to do. You’ll do as I say.’

Patrick made a run for the door.

Ray blocked his way. Pushing him down into the armchair, he clouted him across the head. ‘Now, son, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. The hard way will be just as much fun for m
e, s
o . . .’

Patrick pressed himself into the back of the chair, pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. Maybe he could just pretend to watch and then they would both fall asleep.

Ray kissed Molly for a few moments, hands all over her breasts. Then he bent her over the settee, slid his hand inside Molly’s skirt and, a few seconds later, entered her roughly from behind. He grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched back her neck as she laughed again.

‘Whore,’ he hissed, his breath coming in short bursts. ‘Filthy, stinking whore. No one else would have you. No one else would want to fuck you. You’re lucky to be with me.’ He pushed her head forward again. ‘Don’t look at me, bitch.’

Patrick covered his ears while they were too busy to notice him. He’d never be rid of the images of Ray pumping her and grunting like a pig.

All at once it was over. Ray thrust hard one last time and they collapsed together on the settee.

Patrick sat there for what seemed like an eternity. He wanted to leave the room, go back to his bed and put his head underneath the covers. Escape from it all. But if he did that, one of them might see him. They might come up to his room; he couldn’t allow that. It was his sanctuary – he didn’t want that tarnished too.

Fifteen minutes later, when his father’s breathing had slowed, he watched as Molly inched her way from beneath him. Slowly, she slid to the floor.

‘I need the toilet,’ she said to him. ‘Where is it?’

He pointed upwards.

She winked at him. ‘You can go now, you little squirt.’

Patrick tiptoed out of the room and up the stairs. When he was back in his room, as quietly as he could, he pulled on clothes and trainers and got under the covers. If Ray came to get him again, he would have enough time to leg it out of the front door and come back when he was sober.

Chapter Fifteen

On the outskirts of Hanley, Frank Dwyer stumbled out of The Sneyd Arms pub, pulled his collar in close and tucked his hands in his pockets. Ignoring the police car with its lights on disco alert, the scream of a woman as the man she was with was arrested and held against a wall by two police officers, he continued past. He sniggered to himself: just another happy night out for someone.

The bitter wind caught his breath, stinging his cheeks as he pushed against it along Milton Road. At least the whiskey chaser with his last pint had warmed him up. Close to midnight, he started to sing under his breath. ‘Oh, Spanish eyes.’

A few minutes later, he pushed open a rickety gate. Staggering down the path to his house, he caught his foot on the slab the council had yet to fix. Almost falling, he steadied himself. He stretched out an arm and hit the door running, with a bang. He laughed: that’ll wake the nosy cow next door, like he gave a shit.

After a lot of cursing, he finally opened the door, pulled the key out of the lock again and slammed it shut with his foot. He threw his keys down onto the tiny table behind the door, pulled off his shoes and threw them down too. Swaying slightly, he waited. But all that greeted him was the silence ringing in his ears.

Frank had lived in Queens Road for over twenty years. As the middle house in a row of town-houses, it wasn’t much to look at – it had certainly lost its flair soon after Mario had moved out ten years ago – but it was safe and home, and all he had. Yet, even after all this time, he hated coming home to an empty house. Why he’d had to fall out with the man, accuse him of seeing someone on the side, he would never know. Over the years since, he’d had a few flings but it was hard at sixty-seven to find places to pick up blokes.

Next to come off was his jacket, which he hung over the banister; the same too with his shirt. In trousers and an off-white vest, he shuffled through to the tiny kitchen at the back of the house, where he poured himself a large whiskey and knocked it back quickly. He banged the glass down on the worktop, sat down at the table and poured another.

He spent a lot of time here rather than in the living room, not minding the scum that surrounded him. The wall units would have been white if they had seen a cloth in a while; the small worktop to one side was littered with piles of newspapers, junk mail: catalogues for women, leaflets for guttering, Bargain Booze flyers, cheap food at Farm Fresh. Every day there was something new delivered; every day he just added it to the pile. Sometimes, he’d clear them away, shove them in the bin and wait for the mountain to grow again. Tonight, they were at a moderate height that a gust of wind would have great fun with.

There was a knock at the front door just as he was debating whether to pour another whiskey. Peering up at the clock, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why couldn’t Danny realise that no meant no: why did he insist on coming round to visit? He hadn’t been into young boys for a long time.

Ever since he’d made the mistake of letting him and his friends in one night, Danny had been coming back like a boomerang. It wasn’t as if Frank didn’t like having him around but evil thoughts had resurfaced – thoughts and feelings he’d tried to keep hidden for years. The first time he’d come alone, Frank had sat and watched television with him before throwing him out as he’d wanted to grab a pint. Danny had said he’d be fine staying there by himself, was annoyed when Frank refused, but he still came back the next evening. He wasn’t a bad kid, but Frank didn’t want to see him all the time. Danny was sixteen years old. Mud sticks – Frank knew all about that. All that trouble he’d got himself into over that bloody boy at Reginald Junior School – and he’d only touched him the once.

He shuffled back to the front door and slung it open. ‘If it’s food you’re after, I don’t have much in,’ he said not even moving to look who it was before going inside again. But when no one followed him, he went back towards the door.

A man dressed in black stood in the doorway, a thin cardboard box in his hands.

‘Yes,’ said Frank.

‘Someone ordered a pizza, mate.’

‘Not me. You must have the wrong address.’

‘Thirty-four Queens Road, right?’

‘Yeah, but I . . .’ Frank laughed. ‘The little twat.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Danny. He must have ordered it. Hang on a minute.’ He searched out his wallet from his coat. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Who the fuck is Danny, Frank?’

Patrick stepped inside and closed the door quietly. When he noticed Frank’s eyes dart into the corner of the hallway, he spotted the cricket bat standing in the corner. From where he stood, he knew he was blocking him from reaching it.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ said Frank. ‘Get out of my house. What the hell do you want?’

‘No time for questions, Frank. I think your takeaway is getting cold. You wouldn’t want to eat it any other way than piping hot.’ Patrick flicked open the box, picked up the pizza and, before he could react, rammed it into Frank’s face.

Frank let out a yelp. He took a step backwards, pulling at the dough base and rubbing the hot sauce from his face. The pizza slid to the floor. His words were muffled as he wiped at his mouth.

Patrick kicked him in the groin this time.

Frank dropped to his knees with a grunt. Then a fist smashed into his face. He fell backwards, smacking his head on the floor behind him, the thinning carpet providing no protection.

‘What do you want?’ He put an arm up to protect his face. ‘I don’t have any money.’

‘I don’t want your money.’

‘What do you want, then?’

Patrick dragged him back up to his feet, pushed him up against the wall. ‘We’re going to have some fun,’ he said. ‘Let’s play a game.’

‘No! Get the fuck away from me.’

Patrick tutted. ‘I think you need to learn some manners, Mr Dwyer. Boys should be seen and not heard, isn’t that right, Frank? That’s what you told me, all those years ago.’

Frank frowned.

‘Yes, that’s right. Take your mind back to 1983 – I would have been ten.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, I think you know
exactly
what I’m talking about. You were my P.E. teacher.’

Frank’s shoulders sagged. ‘It was a mistake. I paid for it,’ he said. ‘I lost my job, my livelihood – everything!’

‘Not because of me. You touched Charlie too. He told his parents, who told the headmaster, and THEN you lost your job. He was listened to, Frank. Whereas me? I had no one to talk to. No one to tell what you did to me that day, what you forced me to do to you.’ He took a little satisfaction as panic began to set in for Frank. ‘Do you recognise me now?’

Frank nodded.

‘So, who am I?’

‘I . . . I . . . I can’t remember your name.’

‘I’ll never forget yours.’ Patrick removed the knife from his pocket. ‘After what you did to me, you sick FUCK! Have you any idea what you put me through?’

The tip of the blade that now rested on Frank’s chin rendered him speechless.

‘I’ve used this knife twice already this week.’ Patrick stared at Frank, dark eyes shining with menace. ‘Mickey Taylor – you remember him? I stabbed him in the stomach – and then the heart and then, who knows?’

Frank whimpered.

‘And Sandra Seymour – Sandra Slagbag I called her when I was at school, even though she had small tits at the time. You should see them now – false but huge!’

‘Please, don’t hurt me.’ Frank pushed his head into the wall behind to get away from the blade. ‘I changed – I’ve never touched any boys since then. I just look at pictures, images, anything to stop the urges coming back.’

Patrick brought his head down, relishing his own pain as it connected with Frank’s face.

Frank screamed out as blood erupted from his nose, dripping into his mouth.

‘Shush, baby.’ Patrick’s voice now was calm and soothing.

Frank spat in his face.

Patrick roared and raised the knife in the air, bringing it down swiftly into the side of Frank’s neck. He smiled manically as Frank struggled, no match for him now. He pulled the knife out, stood still for a moment.

Frank clutched hold of his neck. He dropped to the floor, blood pumping out of the wound. Finally, he flopped forward.

While he waited for Frank to take his last breath, Patrick pulled out a handkerchief, wrapped the knife in it and pushed it deep into his pocket.

A minute later, his move in the game played out, he stepped over Frank’s body and let himself quietly out of the house. At the gate, he turned right and began to run.