Follow the Leader (5 page)

Allie would stop at nothing until they had justice for him too. Because she never gave up thinking that one day her sister’s attacker would be caught. One day, he would get exactly what he deserved.

And she hoped, more than anything, that she would be there to see it.

1989

‘What do you think, girls?’ Sandra Seymour pouted and looked at the group before her. ‘Don’t you think I’m the best looking out of all of you?’

‘You’re so full of yourself!’ Johnno laughed at her.

‘I was joking,’ she retorted.

‘Yeah, right.’

‘You weren’t supposed to be listening.’ Sandra prodded him in the chest. ‘But if you must know, we were having a competition to see who had been out with the most boys. Surely that proves who is the best looking, then?’

‘More like who is the biggest tart.’

‘Why, you cheeky bugger!’

Johnno grinned. ‘That can’t be right anyway, because you haven’t been out with me – and I only go out with the best.’

‘Ha, as if. Who’d want to go out with you?’

‘Yeah,’ Karen Baxter shouted over. ‘Who would want to go out with you?’

‘Well, you, for starters, Kaz.’

‘In your dreams.’ Karen huffed and folded her arms. ‘You’re so full of yourself, Johnno. I’d rather shoot myself in the head.’

‘You’d go out with
me,
though, wouldn’t you?’ Mickey took Karen’s hand.

Karen pulled it away quickly, blushing furiously. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

‘Ooh – ooh.’ A chorus rang up from the boys.

A few feet away from them but hidden safely indoors, Patrick listened through an open window of the corridor. The gang were in the upper school playground, congregated around the doors to the main building, the low-walled flower borders a perfect place to sit. It was where the cool kids hung around – and where anyone who wasn’t cool kept out of their way.

He heard everything – all their flirty comments, all their putdowns with the double-entendres. He glared at them.
If
they ever spoke to him, they meant every one of the spiteful things they said to him. There weren’t any jokes, just nasty comments that held true meaning.

He’d stayed behind after the last lesson to chat with the teacher. History – he couldn’t get enough of it and they were learning all about the Industrial Revolution. But now he was late to get to the playground, and he’d have to walk right through the people he hated the most. He was safer in here, although he was pushing his luck to be inside during a break.

A minute later, his luck ran out when Mrs Turner, the arts teacher, came round the corner.

‘Come on, Patrick,’ she said, beckoning him over to the door.

‘Don’t feel very well, miss,’ he fibbed. ‘Feel a bit sick.’

Mrs Turner nodded. ‘Get some fresh air. It’ll make you feel
much better.’

Dragging his feet, Patrick went outside and found himself in the middle of the group. They all turned to see – Johnno sportin
g t
he biggest grin as he caught his eye. He grabbed Sandra’s hand and pulled her near.

‘Can you settle a problem for me, Shorty?’

Patrick wouldn’t look at them, kept on walking down the steps.

‘You reckon I should go out with Karen or Sandra?’ Johnno said loudly. ‘I thought I’d ask you, seeing as you’re the one that every girl in the school wants to go out with.’

‘I don’t want to go out with him!’ Sandra pointed rudely at Patrick. ‘I have a reputation to keep up. It’s not going to get wasted on some smelly, creepy swot that daren’t say boo to a goose. I want a man, not a mouse.’

‘But you’ve just been going on about how many boys fancy you.’ Johnno swung Sandra round by her hand until she was in front of Patrick. ‘I reckon you should kiss him.’

Sandra baulked. ‘You have to be joking!’

‘I’m not. Kiss him.’

‘No way!’

Patrick tried to get past but Johnno pulled him back. By this time, the group had crowded behind him. Johnno pushed Sandra towards Patrick but she tried to squirm out of his reach.

She screwed up her face. ‘No!’

‘Leave me alone.’ Patrick tried to push through them again but this time was stopped by Mickey.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said.

With Johnno holding on to Sandra, and Mickey blocking Patrick’s way, the two were pushed together as the chants around them deepened.

‘Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him!’

Soon Patrick had someone holding on to each of his arms. As Sandra was pushed towards him, she squealed in dismay. Johnno, still behind her, held her wrists tightly down at her sides. Screwing up her face, she turned it to the side. Patrick did the same as he saw her getting nearer. He pulled back his head but they were pushed together all the more. Behind the group, he could see more kids laughing, more coming to see what was going on.

‘Shorty has a crush on you, everyone knows that,’ said Johnno, snidely. ‘Kiss him.’

‘No!’

When she was an inch from his face, Sandra drew back her foot and kneed him in the groin.

Patrick dropped to his knees, then onto his side, groaning as he rolled around the playground. He felt a kick in the back, at the base of his spine, that made him groan even more. He couldn’t see who it was. Another two kicks and then a shout.

‘Mr Stewart’s coming over!’

The crowd dispersed as quickly as it had formed. Patrick gasped as he tried to ignore the pain between his legs. She’d done a proper job, had Sandra Seymour.

‘Right, you lot.’ Mr Stewart clapped his hands. ‘Nothing to see now. Come on, move along!’

From the ground, Patrick watched Johnno run to catch up with Sandra, who had marched off in a huff. Watched as he whispered something in her ear, heard her laughing. She glanced back at him for a moment before pushing Johnno playfully. Then Johnno slung his arm around her shoulders and they continued to walk away.

No one else gave a backward glance.

Chapter Seven

Suzi Porter opened the front door, entering the house with the same foul mood that she’d left it with that morning. She’d had to get up at the crack of dawn to make sure she was ready and in the studio in Manchester for eight o’clock. She’d been planning on going out to dinner in the white shirt she’d been wearing: damn the clumsy make-up artist for squirting foundation all down the front of it. Suzi was sure she’d done it deliberately after she’d caused a fuss about not wanting to cover her clothes with a robe. And damn the incompetent stylist for bringing her the wrong size clothing so she’d had to resort to wearing her own top in the first place – she was a size twelve, everyone knew that, not a ten. Bigger sizes could always be pinned to suit. Not that it mattered too much, for minutes later it would be whipped off for more revealing photographs. It was all just bloody politics.

It was just before six p.m. on Wednesday afternoon when her driver dropped her off. The journey back via the motorway had been horrendous. An accident had blocked two lanes, causing two miles of tailbacks. Now her head was pounding with the stress of sitting around doing nothing.

Seeing her husband’s car parked in the drive, she shouted to him as she went through to the kitchen.

‘Kelvin?’

‘Up here!’

Suzi flipped off her heels, left them where they dropped in the middle of the floor and tiptoed over marble tiles to the fridge. Reaching inside for a half-empty bottle of wine, she poured herself a large glass, gulped it back greedily and poured another. Even the taste of it did nothing to alleviate her mood. She could feel a migraine coming; her arms were aching after the photographer had insisted she have them up in the air while she draped herself around a pole, and her right eye was beginning to puff after the wrong sort of cream had been used to remove all the paraphernalia needed to make her look half-decent. Shit, what she put herself through to earn a decent crust.

She lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, moving to stand at the back door before Kelvin caught her smoking in the house. She let go of the smoke with a sigh; the cool air blasting in did nothing to invigorate her. God, she was knackered, and she had another shoot tomorrow. At least she didn’t have to worry about picking up the kids. Ollie and Jayden were staying over with Kelvin’s mum and dad that evening. She sighed again as she blew more smoke out. That was, if Kelvin wasn’t still sulking after their argument last night.

When Kelvin came into the kitchen minutes later, she was
sitting
at the table, wine glass in her hand.

‘Don’t knock too much of that back if you’re coming over to me later,’ he said.

‘It’s only my first!’ Suzi lied.

‘You’d better make it your last. It’s at least a double measure.’

‘Stop nagging. You don’t have to start on me the minute I get in.’

‘You don’t have to grab a drink the minute you get in.’

Suzi prickled. ‘Look, I’ve had a shit day so I’m in a mood already. Don’t make things worse.’

Kelvin scoffed. ‘When are you ever
not
in a mood?’

‘Is this still about last night?’ Suzi pinched the bridge of her nose.
‘I said I’d make amends by going out with you this evening, didn’t I?’

Kelvin had wanted to take her out last night but she’d fallen asleep as soon as she’d come home. When he’d finally rung from the club to see what time she would be there, thinking she was already on her way to him, it had been too late to take the boys to their gran’s. He’d come home fuming, hence the row.

‘You make it sound like a chore,’ he cried. ‘Is it too much to ask that you spend some time with me?’ Kelvin leaned on the table as he stared at her. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why I bother.’

Suzi noted the change of clothing and the smell of fresh aftershave, a clean white shirt. Kelvin always looked handsome in a rough and rugged way – round face, bald head, deep-set eyes and a boxer’s nose. But right now, she was too irritated to care.

‘Do you want me to come over to the club later or not?’ she asked, eyebrows raised.

‘As long as you don’t start an argument. We can do that here for free.’

‘Here we go,’ she sighed. ‘Making excuses up because you don’t want to spend any money. You’re such a cheapskate.’

Kelvin’s face contorted. ‘Don’t ever call me a cheapskate.’

‘But you are. Most men whose wives earn a lot of money would just enjoy the fact, but you,’ she leaned closer and pointed at him, stopping very close to his eye, ‘you just wallow in your own
self-pity.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Yes, you do.’

Kelvin glared at her for a moment longer and then reached for his car keys. ‘I’m going back to work, before I say something I’ll regret. I’m not staying to listen to your garbage.’

Suddenly realising he was about to leave, Suzi relented. ‘Don’t go, Kelvin.’ She grabbed his arm as he walked past. ‘I’m sorry. I was only having a laugh.’

Kelvin shrugged her hand away. ‘Too late. I’m gone.’

‘Kelvin!’ She followed him quickly to the front door. ‘Wait!’

‘I’ll be back around ten. Entertain yourself until then because I certainly don’t want to.’

Before she could stop him, he was gone.

‘Well, fuck you,’ she muttered under her breath. She went back into the kitchen and poured another drink, whiskey this time. Now that tasted much better.

The doorbell went a few minutes later. Suzi knocked back the drink and stormed back to it, yanked it open. ‘If you think you can –’ She stopped when she saw it wasn’t Kelvin. ‘Yes? What do you want?’ she added, half expecting the man standing there to thrust some handheld electronic contraption at her so that she could sign for a parcel.

‘Hi!’

Suzi didn’t reply.

‘You don’t remember me?’ The man feigned hurt.

‘Should I?’ She peered at him.

‘It’s me, Matt – Matthew Thompson.’ He raised a hand in greeting.
‘We went to the same high school, were in the same class, actually.’

Suzi paused. There had been a Matthew Thompson in her class at school but she would have remembered if it was him, wouldn’t she? He’d been one of the nicer-looking boys at Reginald High. Or would she remember him? Look at how different she looked nowadays with her fake breasts, lifted eyes and Botoxed forehead and lips. Images change through the years, as well as people.

As he stood there expectantly, she decided to play along rather than look stupid.

‘Matt!’ She smiled, beckoning him in. ‘Come on through. How the hell are you?’

‘I’m good, thanks.’

‘I didn’t recognise you at first,’ Suzi looked embarrassed.

‘Well, I suppose it has been a while.
You
don’t look any different, though. Still as gorgeous as ever.’

She laughed coyly. ‘Still the joker, I see!’

Suzi closed the front door, and led him into the living room. As she watched Matt taking in the expensive décor and furniture, she couldn’t help but get a warm feeling. Not many of the gang from school had made anything of themselves and, despite earning her money glamour modelling, she had used her assets wisely – even if they had been enhanced to double D cups.

She stood in front of the fire, leaning on the marble surround to steady herself. Christ, that wine had gone straight to her head; she could almost hear a tune beating inside it. She checked the time: six thirty. If she didn’t offer Matt a drink, she could get rid of him quickly. Then she could get ready to go out that evening. If Kelvin was at the club, then she wasn’t going to wait around for him. She’d call Tom: he would always have time for her. She gave Matt a faint smile: she’d give him twenty minutes, half an hour at the most.

‘So . . . ?’ she raised upturned palms.

Matt pulled out a framed photograph from a plastic supermarket carrier bag. The photo was of three rows of children in school uniform – the back row standing, the middle one sitting on a bench and the children at the front sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Suzi stared at the photo. ‘Ohmigod,’ she shrieked, ‘is that us?’

Matt nodded, his eyes crinkling up. ‘Ugly-looking bunch, weren’t we?’

She studied the rows of faces, boys and girls she’d grown up with but hardly ever saw now. Suddenly, she brought the picture frame closer, eyes widening as she recognised herself.

‘That’s me, there, with the pigtails!’ she laughed, pointing at a girl in the back row.

‘Yes, that’s you.’

‘How old were we – about twelve?’

‘Yes.’ He moved closer. ‘Can you tell which one I am?’

Suzi stared again, sliding her index finger along the row of faces. She
could
remember Matt from school, although, glancing at him now, nothing about him seemed that familiar. He seemed a little shorter, his eyes were dark, miserable-looking even, and h
e w
as very lean, almost puny. Mind, after the surgery she’d had, who was she to question appearances? Everyone changed with age and once men lost hair, like Matt had, it was hard to tell one from the other, especially after so many years.

She pointed to a boy on the photograph. ‘Is that you?’

He shook his head. Smiling, he pointed to another boy.
‘That’s me.’

‘Really?’ Suzi looked again, then let out a gasp. ‘Is that Mickey Taylor?’

‘Yeah, terrible news about him, wasn’t it?’

‘I couldn’t believe it, still can’t. I mean, what’s the chance that you’ll know someone who was murdered? It gave me quite a shock, I can tell you.’

‘Yeah, me too. I hope the police catch the bastard who did it. They don’t seem to have many leads though.’

Suddenly having found a common ground, Suzi didn’t feel threatened by Matt anymore. Since leaving school and becoming famous, she often had people contact her, mostly through social media as it had become more popular over the years. Maybe he’d liked her Facebook page and was a fan of hers but didn’t want to say.

‘Do you fancy a glass of wine?’ she offered, the thought warming her. ‘You’re not in a hurry, are you?’

‘That’d be great, ta. I’ll sit myself down, then, shall I?’

Minutes later, Suzi came back into the room with two glasses of wine, handed one to Matt and then sat down in the armchair opposite him. She curled her feet up to her side.

‘Can you remember much about him?’ she asked, taking a sip.

‘About who?’

‘Mickey Taylor.’

He shook his head. ‘He wasn’t around much when I was there.’

Suzi grinned. ‘Yeah, that’s right. He was always getting into trouble for skiving off. I can’t believe he was so successful. I always thought he was a bit of a thicko.’

‘You shouldn’t always judge a book by its cover.’

‘I suppose not.’ Suzi paused. ‘I used to go out with him,
you know.’

‘Did you?’

Suzi nodded. ‘Well, I had a few dates with him, until that bitch Kath Clamortie got knocked up by him. Imagine if she hadn’t. Me and Mickey, we could have earned a fortune together. We’d have been like Posh and Becks round here then, both having done well for ourselves. The golden couple!’

‘Maybe, but he did okay without you anyway.’

‘But imagine how much
more
successful he would have been with me behind him too! I must admit, he never gave the impression that he had it in him to run something as good as Taylor Made Pottery Factory. I had no idea it belonged to him until I heard it on the news. It’s a huge place. Fair credit to him – he did well for himself clearly.’

‘You sound a bit annoyed.’

‘Do I?’ Suzi sighed. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘I bumped into Patrick Morgan a couple of weeks ago – can you remember him?’

Suzi frowned while she searched her memory. ‘Patrick Morgan. Patrick Morgan. Oh, wait! Yes, I remember him now. He was the class punch bag.’

‘What?’

She giggled. ‘You know – the one that got punched from every direction. Everyone made his life hell, poor bloke. Us kids could be so cruel. How was he?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Patrick. How was he when you saw him?’

‘Oh, doing well. Married, three kids, big house. He has his own company now too. Loved telling me how rich he was.’

‘Well, I never would have thought.’

‘Why? He was clever too.’ He cleared his throat. ‘From what I can remember.’

‘But not clever enough to give Johnno what he wanted.’ Suzi shook her head. ‘The times he took advantage of him, stealing his homework and either spoiling it so Patrick had to redo it, or copying it off as his own. The English teacher – God, what was her name? – kept fobbing him off as clumsy with all the excuses he came up with.’

‘He showed us up, though, didn’t he?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Not many of us went on to make anything of ourselves when we left school. But Patrick did okay for himself.’

‘I did okay for myself too,’ Suzi snapped.

‘By stripping and showing everyone your tits?

Suzi gasped.

‘I’d hardly call that setting the world on fire with your intellect and skills.’

She stood up unsteadily, putting her glass down on the
coffee
table with a bang. ‘I think it’s time you left,’ she retorted. ‘My
husband
will be back soon.’

He stood up too. Suzi didn’t have time to move before she felt the sting of his hand across her face. Her head reeled to the right. Cold eyes stared at her, almost hypnotising her. She couldn’t stop the fist that crashed upwards into her nose, then into the side of her mouth. Disorientated, she staggered backwards, flailing as she fell onto the floor, crashing into the coffee table. In a second, the room disappeared into blackness.