Moth Girls (18 page)

Mandy felt embarrassed. It was an odd time for someone to be out. She couldn’t explain why she’d gone there.

‘I was shocked to see the house wasn’t there any more. Stunned when I saw you walk out of the shadows.’

A car beep sounded. Mandy looked towards the entrance of the park. There was a car idling by the gates. Standing next to it was the woman who had answered the front door earlier. She was wearing a long coat and she had her arms folded in a belligerent way. Petra stood up and began to fiddle with the zip at the bottom of her jacket, trying to fasten it. She walked a couple of steps. Mandy got up and followed her, taking her arm to stop her going any further.

‘You’re leaving?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right now? This minute?’

‘I can’t take the chance …’

‘You think I’ll tell the police?’

‘Would you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Mandy, I just can’t take that chance.’

Mandy stared at the woman and the car. She imagined hastily packed suitcases in the back of it. That must have been what Petra had said to her in Polish. ‘Pack everything and we’ll leave,’ because Mandy couldn’t be trusted.

‘You never liked me, did you?’ she said.

Petra sighed. ‘Not much. I might have got to like you …’

‘I was lonely. I needed a friend.’

‘So you pushed your way between me and my friend,’ Petra said, an edge of anger to her voice. ‘Tina was everything to me and you prised her away.’

‘You were always her number one.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, softening. ‘You spent a lot of time with her during those weeks. She talked about you. I knew she liked you.’

The car beeped again. The woman shouted something towards her.

‘What do you think happened to Tina?’ Mandy said.

‘She must have been taken by someone. I don’t think she’s alive any more.’

Petra’s eyes had glassed over. Mandy pulled Petra towards her. She gave her a clumsy hug and then released her, stepping away.

‘I have to go. Goodbye, Mandy. Please don’t tell anyone about me.’

Mandy watched Petra walk towards the woman and the car. The woman stood on tiptoes and gave her a hug. They got into the car and moments later it drove off.

Mandy pulled the postcard out of her pocket and thought of The Red Roses. Mandy would have made a good member of the group. Petra had been wrong about that.

When Petra shut the side gate of number fifty-three Princess Street her heart was racing. Tina was standing beside her, centimetres away, rubbing her hands together with the cold. Petra turned and faced the overgrown path round the side of the house. In the dark it seemed to go on a long way, like a tunnel. She walked on, trying not to show any hesitation. Something scuttled across the path in front and Tina reached out and grabbed her arm.

‘It’s just a mouse,’ Petra said.

It had sounded bigger though – maybe a rat? She moved her feet about, hoping to scare it off.

‘What you doing?’ Tina said.

‘Nothing.’

‘This is horrible.’

‘I know. We can’t go back now though. Not after telling Mandy we were going in.’

In the daylight the garden had looked wild but vibrant. Now the bushes appeared to have merged into one solid shape that loomed up against them. It was silent too, the noises from the street cut off by the side gate. It felt like they were in the middle of a wood. Petra reached the corner of the building. Tina was close behind. The back garden spread out before them, deep and indistinct. The big trees that Petra remembered arced over the rest. Somewhere, in the middle of the garden, hung the old swing, but Petra couldn’t make it out.

They went towards the back door, Tina sticking close to the wall.

‘I’ve got to find the key,’ Petra said.

She began to feel the wall to the right of the door. The ivy was thick and tightly wound. She tried to visualise the exact spot that she’d seen it the time they’d come into the garden. Her hand sunk into the bristly foliage, feeling an unpleasant sharpness. Seconds later she felt the hook. The key was there. She slipped it off and felt around for the lock. As quietly as she could she opened the back door of the house.

‘Come on!’ she whispered.

‘I don’t think I want to go in there. There might be a ghost,’ Tina said.

Petra sighed. She turned and stood close to Tina, putting her mouth to her ear.

‘There are no ghosts. You’ll have to trust me about this but I know the old man who lives here is going to get robbed by someone. That’s why I’m going in there: to
warn
him. There were never any ghosts.’

‘Oh.’

‘We can go in and come out in less than five minutes. Tell him to ring the police. He won’t know who
we
are but it might stop him losing his money.’

And it might stop Dad committing a crime.

She took Tina’s hand. They should go in there
now
before she completely lost her nerve. She stepped inside, pulling Tina a few steps along with her. They were standing in a kitchen. Her eyes got used to the dark and she could see that it was a big room with a large table in the middle. Around the side were cupboards and there was a sink by the window. The door into the rest of the house was half open and there was a faint sheen of light coming from further up the hallway. She looked round to see Tina’s face frozen, her mouth in a straight line. She squeezed her hand and walked forward.

There was a sound, a
thump
. Low and muffled, as if someone had punched a cushion. She felt Tina’s hand gripping hers. Then there was a bang like something dropping from a height.

She felt Tina twist and pull her hand away. Without a word she backed off until she was at the door to the garden. She paused for a moment and stared at Petra, her face screwed up with worry. She shook her head rapidly then turned away. A second later the doorway was empty and Tina was gone. Petra was on her own. She felt unstable, light-headed. She wanted to run after Tina but she’d come here to do something and it was important that she stayed. Maybe the noises she’d heard were made by the old man, dropping things.

Her legs felt weak but she walked forward and stepped into the hallway. Opposite were the stairs. To her left the living room door was partially open and threw a strip of light onto the hall floor. It was perfectly quiet. She tiptoed across the lit floor and into the dark stairwell by the front door. A hat stand was there, heavy with coats. There was a narrow space between it and the front door and she slipped into it. Now she could see a sliver through the opening of the living room door but not much else. She glanced up the stairs. It was black. She would catch her breath and then go into the living room and face Mr Merchant.

There was a sudden movement from the living room. A set of footsteps seemed to go from one side to the other. Then there was the sound of a different set of footsteps.

Mr Merchant wasn’t alone.

She stayed still and quiet, hardly drawing breath. A voice sounded.

‘We just want what’s owed! That’s all. Why are you being so secretive? It’s not even your money, old man. It belongs to someone else.’

A voice mumbled something but Petra couldn’t quite catch the words. There were footsteps. There was definitely more than one person moving around. A figure came to the door. It opened fully and the light fell into the hall and stairwell. Her chest contracted. A man was standing with his back to her. She sunk in beside a coat and pulled the front of it across her body and face. It was thick with dust and smelt. She closed her eyes and heard the sound of talk.

‘How long are we going to keep asking him? Constantine wants his money now! How long?’

There was a reply from somewhere else in the room. She opened her eyes and peeped out of the side of the coat. She knew the voice immediately. It was her dad. Fingers tightened inside her chest. She’d known he was involved but she hadn’t wanted to actually
see
him there. If she could just slip away, get out. She was too late to do any good for Mr Merchant. The robbery would go ahead and she was stuck behind the coats. The first man turned round then, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and pressing buttons. The sight of him gave her a start. His face was covered with a balaclava. Only his eyes and mouth could be seen. It made her feel sick. It suddenly felt dangerous. He was listening to someone talking and saying, ‘Yeah, I know. Yeah … I know …’ Then he went back into the living room.

She saw Mr Merchant then. The old man was tied to a chair. There was a belt fastened around his chest and arms, and his legs were held with strips of cloth. He looked weak, his head lolling. He was wearing a shirt and tie as he had been on the day he waved to her through the window. The collar looked tight and his skin was puckered up around it. He appeared bewildered, as if he had no idea what was happening. Her dad was standing beside him. He was also wearing a balaclava but she’d have known him anywhere. The old man’s face turned from her dad to the other man and back again.

Petra wanted to shout out but her throat was clamped tight.

The man on the phone said something and her dad seemed to sigh or shrug. Then he knelt down beside the old man and began to speak right into his ear. Petra couldn’t hear his words but she saw that one of his hands was resting on the old man’s chest as if he was about to pat him gently. Petra looked away. Something was in the air, something terrible. The front door was beside her. What if she opened it and ran out and cried out for help? She saw then that it was bolted at the top and bottom and she wouldn’t be able to reach.

Her dad’s voice got louder, angrier.

She could run along the hallway and out through the kitchen. There was too much light though. She would be seen and she might not even get very far. Her dad would rage at her. She looked back to the living room and she saw her dad’s hand move closer to the throat of the old man. She felt faint, as if she might fold up on the spot. The other man spoke.

‘Just tell us where it is! Just open your mouth and say the words. It’s only money! And it’s not yours! Otherwise he will hurt you! Why would you want him to do that?’

Mr Merchant’s head seemed to slump. Her dad swore loudly. Then he took the sides of the chair and pushed it away from him. Petra watched in terror as the chair fell over, dragging Mr Merchant with it. It lay on its side on the floor, the old man still attached. He was facing away from her but she could see his head falling to the side. Her leg moved as if she would step out of her hiding place and go and help him, show her face so that her dad would stop.

She couldn’t move though.

Her dad walked round the other side and she could see him pull a strip of material out of his pocket. He knelt down and tied it round Mr Merchant’s mouth. Then he stood up and aimed a kick at the chair, making it skewer off. There was a gurgling sound coming from Mr Merchant but Petra couldn’t watch any more. She crept out from the coats, stepped round the beam of light from the living room and up the stairs, taking them two at a time until she was three-quarters of the way up, out of sight. She sat down and huddled into the bannisters, her arms around her knees as she stared through the gaps. She heard banging and scraping. She pressed her thumbs against her eyelids because she didn’t want to picture the chair being dragged around the room. There was shouting and thumping and she made herself as small as she could, shrinking into the corner of the stair. She was trembling with fright, her hands shaking in front of her face.

Then it stopped and there was silence.

A voice spoke. Petra didn’t want to hear so she put her fingers in her ears, but it didn’t block the sound out.

‘Did you have to do that? Now we’ll never find the money.’

‘You said to make it real. To scare him.’

‘I didn’t tell you to kill him. He’s no good to us dead.’

There was swearing. Her dad was mumbling, his words unclear as if he was far across the room.

‘OK, let’s trash the place. We might find it ourselves.’

‘No, no … Let’s get out …’

The other man appeared at the door and went down the hallway below where Petra was sitting. Her dad came to the door. He pulled his balaclava off and she saw his face. He looked hot and flustered, like someone she didn’t know. He walked along the hall. She heard the footsteps go through the kitchen and then the back door slamming. When she was sure they’d gone she stood up and walked down the stairs. She went to the door of the living room. She gasped when she saw Mr Merchant lying under the upturned chair, his head at an odd angle, his face turned away from her.

This was her dad’s work.

There was blood and she turned away from it, not wanting to look at him. She saw the room of an old sick man. Her eyes took in the single bed along the wall and beside it the oxygen tank, its feeds and mask still attached. Opposite the fireplace and television was the red velvet armchair that she’d heard Nathan Ball talking about. Behind it was wooden panelling that had been pulled away. She felt her head drop with shame. If she had come in earlier, this afternoon, when she first saw Nathan Ball hanging around, she could have told Mr Merchant. He would have rung the police and none of this would have happened. But she’d left it until it was too late.

There was a noise.

It was the sound of the back door opening. They were coming back.

She looked round the room in panic. She couldn’t let them find her here. She stepped across to the red velvet chair and knelt down behind it. Footsteps came up the hallway, hurrying. Her dad came back into the room alone. He was mumbling under his breath. He went across to Mr Merchant’s body and squatted down.

‘You stupid old man,’ he whispered.

Was he checking that he was really dead? Was he ashamed and going to try to help him in some way? She could see he was struggling with the belt that had been fastened around the old man’s chest. It came free and he pulled it out inch by inch. Mr Merchant fell forward. Her dad stood up and began to thread the belt through the loops on his own jeans. She’d seen him do that at home. When she’d been ironing his shirt and he’d been getting reading to go out. ‘How do I look?’ he’d said. Now he did up the buckle and looked round. His eye paused on the place where she was hiding.