Throwaways (8 page)

“Rise and shine, Private Kerr.”

Light screamed into the bedroom as the blinds were hauled open.

“What?”

It was a struggle to get the word out because I was groggy with sleep. Tommy’s arm, once draped over mine, had moved away and he’d turned to face me. There was a mischievous look on his face that I might have found comical if the clock hadn’t been flashing 5 a fucking m.

Eric’s short, stocky figure stood over the bed, body ramrod straight, encased in army regulation trousers, trainers and a hooded top. Usually I find Eric interesting, mainly because he hardly speaks a word and so is a mystery to me, but at that moment, he was a visitation from hell, his Freddie Mercury moustache twitching as he barked orders at me to get out of bed.

What the hell?

This had to be a bad dream. So, I closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep until Eric hit me with another barrage of commands and I realised, even in my disorientated state, that this was real.

“What’s happening?” My voice sounded strangled.

“First day of training, Kerr. Now hop to it.”

Tommy snorted with laughter as he nudged me out of bed. “Better not keep the sergeant waiting. Last soldier who did that ended up cleaning the latrines with a kid’s toothbrush, wearing nothing but a pink, frilly apron and their army boots.”

Normally I’d have laughed at the image, but I was in no mood for laughing, not when my eyes stung from being dragged from sleep without having time to wake up properly.

Tommy was wide awake and grinning at me. He was damn well enjoying this.

“You knew about this?”

He chuckled in reply.

“You could have warned me.”

If he had, I’d have booked myself into a hotel where Eric couldn’t find me and I wouldn’t have told Tommy where I was.

“What?” said Tommy, levering himself up in the pillow with one muscular arm. “And lose the element of surprise? How would that be fun?”

The swine
, but I’d get him for this later.

Five minutes later, with Eric standing sentry in the living room, I’d emerged from the shower, wet hair tied up with a scrunchie and wearing one of Tommy’s sweaters that drowned me and a pair of leggings. The shower had done nothing to revive me: the last time I’d been this tired I’d woken up in a psychiatric hospital, doped up to the eyeballs, with a head like a stuffed cushion and no memory of how I got there.

With me fuming away in the passenger seat, Eric drove us to the park in his Range Rover. The park was miles away, which was just as well; if it’d been any closer I suspect my new sergeant major would have made me run all the way. We drove without speaking; whilst I sulked Eric whistled an irritatingly happy tune. At one point, I reached for the radio, but he swatted my hand away.

The park was deserted when we got there. Daylight was making its way through the clouds, casting the park in an eerie light, reminding me of a charcoal sketch. It was only as we got out the car that I noticed Eric had a whistle around his neck. Great, not only was he going to bawl at me, he was going to go whistle crazy just like Miss Wilson in physical education. How I’d wanted to ram that whistle down her throat until it came out the other end. I didn’t find out she was doing naughty gymnastics with married deputy head and pillar of the community, Mr. Allen, until years after I’d left or I could have used that to dodge her lessons instead of hastily forged notes
from my mum.

Without speaking, Eric parked the car at the entrance and I traipsed behind him as we headed into the park.

“I need to get an idea of your fitness.” Eric pointed to the sodden grass – last night it’d poured with rain and the grass was spongy. “Get down on the deck. Give me 20.”

“20 what?”

I knew what he wanted but I was just being difficult as payback for being dragged out of my bed at 5 a bloody m. Last time I checked, I hadn’t enlisted.

“Not 20 what, Kerr. 20, what, Sir,” he barked. “And, remember why we’re doing this,” he said, as I managed two measly push ups before I collapsed face first into the muddy grass. At least I’d get a facial out of this.

“Because you’re a sadistic bastard, Sir?” I spat out the last word.

A wry smile twitched under Eric’s porn star moustache. “No, because you’re a weak, worthless piece of shit, Kerr, who needs toughening up.”

My hands balled into fists. The cheek of him.

Right then, I wanted to spin my foot round and drive it hard into his groin. But I knew he was right. I needed toughening up. Those men in the van could have killed me if Tommy and Eric hadn’t intervened. Knowing that scared the hell out of me because I didn’t want to be helpless ever again.

I worked like a fiend for the rest of the session just to spite him.

By the time we were almost done, joggers and dog walkers were turning up in the park. One woman, who was being dragged around by her two basset hounds, marched over to Eric as I lay flat out on the grass, struggling to get my breath back and demanded to know if “the man” was bothering me.

“You could say that,” I said, as I leaned into her as though we were sorority sisters sharing a secret. “He’s my personal trainer.”

Her face changed from controlled anger to mischief. “My, you are a lucky girl. Looks like Tom Selleck that one.”

With a friendly wave, she trotted off.

“That’s us done,” Eric announced as I flopped my sweat drenched body down on a bench. “You did alright, for a first session. But we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

His features relaxed and a smile twitched at the corners of his moustache.

I assumed he meant we were finished for the day, that I could go back to my own place and have a well earned snooze, but Eric had other plans. He dropped me off at Tommy’s, telling me he’d be back for me at “eleven hundred hours.”

“What for?” I’d sniped as I’d hauled myself out of the car. Every bone in my body ached like I’d aged a hundred years. The only aerobic workouts I’d been getting recently were with Tommy.

Before he dropped me off, Eric ditched the drill sergeant routine and his eyes locked onto mine. “You got your backside kicked, Nancy. Without Tommy and me, you could have been dead in a ditch somewhere. Tommy’s lost enough as it is without losing you too on his watch. So, you better shape up or forget this whack job idea of yours finding those girls, because the next one to go missing could be you.”

He paused to let his words sink in. “In the afternoon, I’m gonna teach you some basic self-defence.” He stopped to glance at his watch. “Be ready at eleven hundred hours.”

This time there was no sarky comment from me, because I needed all the help I could get. That guy with the beer gut could have killed me. What use had my taser and pepper spray been when I couldn’t even get to them?

Tommy wasn’t there when I got in. The place was Stepford Wife tidy and there was a note on the counter saying he’d gone to speak to his police contact.

Before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep on the stool at the kitchen
table in front of a lumpy plate of porridge. And, I’d have stayed that way if I hadn’t been torn from my rest by Eric who’d retuned wearing tracksuit trousers and a t-shirt. He must have had a key because he’d let himself in.

“Let’s head for the sports centre, Nancy. Time I taught you some self-defence.”

“Oh goody,” I muttered.

For the second time that day, I reluctantly got in Eric’s car.

* * *

“When someone’s got you from behind your first instinct is to pull away.”

No, it’s not I’m thinking; it’s to boot him in the balls. It’d worked pretty well for me in the past.

We were in the gym surrounded by thick blue cushioned mats and Eric was in his element.

Eric gave me a stoic stare. “Or, to aim your knee backwards to catch him in the groin area.”

Damn, he gets me.

He spotted the smile curling at the edge of my lips. The man misses nothing.

“This isn’t a joke, Nancy. What I’m telling you could save your life.”

I try to look suitably serious as he carried on. “As I said, your tendency is to struggle, to pull away. But that’s the worst thing you can do. Instead, you should lean in against your attacker and go limp. It’s much harder to control someone when they do that because you can’t use their own weight against them.”

“Now, let’s try it,” he said. “I’ll grab you from behind and I want you to do what I told you.”

“Okay.” I pretended to be walking along and he grabbed me from behind, putting one hand across my windpipe and using the other to try and drag me along. I was going to do what he’d
said, honestly I was, but I thought I’d have some fun instead.

Throwing my head back in one fast, fluid movement, I heard a squelching noise as my head connected with his nose.

“Fuck,” he hissed and the hand across my throat fell away.

When I turned round, he was holding his nose, his hand covered in blood.

Shit
, I’d only meant to surprise him. Show him I wasn’t a poor, defenceless woman.

“Shit, Eric I’m sorry.”

I’d known that I would catch him, maybe stun him a bit, but I hadn’t expected to break his nose.

When he removed his hands from his face, there was no anger on his face; just a look of surprise and something else, admiration.

“It’s okay. It’s no broken.”

The words were spoken the way you tell someone when the next bus is due.

Digging into a pocket, I took out a hanky and handed it to him, suppressing a smile when I realised it had flowers on it. It was the only ones the corner shop sold. He took it and used it to stench the flow of blood from his nose.

“Where did you learn to do that? I’ve never had someone stick the head in me like that.” He sounded impressed.

Shrugging my shoulders, I beamed. There was a wee flutter in my chest; Eric was proud of me, which made me feel funny because I hadn’t even realised I was seeking his approval.

“Aw,” I said, “it was just instinct.”

“Well,” said Eric. “Keep using that instinct. That’s what’ll keep you alive. In a fight for your life, you’ve gotta learn to fight dirty, use everything you have at your disposal and never think you’re going too far.”

For the rest of the time in the gym, I did things Eric’s way.

By the time we were done, I was confident that I could handle myself under most circumstances. But Eric had chilling words
for me.

“Sometimes there’s nothing you can do, Nancy. You’ll be hurt badly, or you will die.”

A cloud passed over his eyes and wherever he was, it wasn’t in that gym with me.

Diane had no idea where she was. She’d no memory of being brought here. The last thing she remembered was getting into that car. The punter had seemed okay. He was old; at least 40. When he offered her a drink, she took it. She needed something to take the edge off
.

Taking that drink was a big mistake, because it was the last thing she remembered. It must have been drugged. How could she have been so dumb? The teachers at her school were right – she was a dunce
.

Was it even still summer outside? Alone in this room, lying on a filthy child-sized mattress, the stone cold floor chilled her feet and the scratchy blanket he’d given her did nothing to stave off the cold that gnawed at her bones
.

She wanted to cry, but she’d no tears left. All she had was a golf ball sized lump in her throat over the thought of never seeing her little girl again. Closing her eyes, she pretended to be in bed at home. Any minute now, Kyra would climb into bed beside her, crying about seeing “monsters” and she’d tell her that monsters weren’t real, despite the fact that she knew only too well that they were
.

I was making my way back from the gym after yet another punishing session with Eric where amongst other things he’d taught me how to deal with a knife-wielding attacker, when the tall, dark figure of Michael appeared.

Although he and Tommy were both tall and dark, that’s where the similarities ended. Where Tommy’s hair was curly, Michael’s hair was poker straight and if he didn’t get it trimmed at his favourite salon every six weeks, he ended up looking like one of
The Beatles
– after they’d been marooned on an island. He had delicate features, including a snub nose whereas Tommy had strong, manly features and a nose that had been broken twice.

A phone call and a meeting; that was a lot of effort for him.
What the hell did he want?

“How’s Donna-Marie?”

The words stuck in my throat, but I managed to get them out because “how’s that predatory, back-stabbing bitch” might have come across as confrontational.

Michael gazed at his shoes. “She’s fine, busy building a nest, you know. Obsessed with baby things.”

The look I gave him could have melted steel. “She’s pregnant.”

Whatever I’d expected it hadn’t been that. This was the guy who didn’t even have fish because they needed “too much looking after.”

“Uh, huh,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. He didn’t look too happy about it, but then he wouldn’t be happy about anything that stopped him from being the centre of her world.

His unease made me giggle. The thought of a baby puking and pooping all over his designer furniture, including that damn Charles Rennie Mackintosh coffee table, made me happy.

“For goodness sake, Nancy can’t you be an adult for once instead of a bitter bitch.”

He spoke to me as though he was the aggrieved party. It took all my restraint not to slap him. Not one of those girly, light slaps across his face, but in a Zorro motion; every slap like the slashing of a blade.

“You’re one to talk. You left me in a nuthouse. Left me for fake blonde hair and torpedo tits.” Despite my simmering rage, I spoke clearly and calmly as nearby an old woman in a duffel coat fed the pigeons who squabbled and gobbled down bread as if it were their last meal. She turned her head in our direction, but I doubted she could hear us above the cooing of the birds. “Do
not
lecture me on being a grown-up.”

Michael took a step back and eyed me with concern. Maybe deep down a part of him was sorry for how he’d treated me, but it was probably more to do with the fact that his actions had ended up with him becoming a dad. Throughout our 4-year relationship, the only time he mentioned children was when he was complaining about “snivelling brats” ruining his meal at a restaurant.

“I know,” he swallowed, “I’ve been a right bastard. That’s why I want to make amends.” He paused. “I’ve heard you’re with someone else.”

My hackles were up. “Yeah, I am, although I fail to see what that has to do with you.”

“I still care about you, Nancy.”

Yeah, right
. You cared so much you jumped into bed with someone else.

The vein in my forehead started to throb. “What do you want to tell me?”

Michael squinted up at the sun then made a small play of looking behind me, as though what he was going to say was top secret and he was worried someone could hear. Then his gaze rested on me. “It’s that guy you’re seeing.”

“That’s got nothing to do with you.”

Michael frowned. On him, a frown looked like it belonged to
a toddler who’d been told by his mammy that he couldn’t get any more sweets.

“He’s not what he seems. He can’t be who he says he is. Tommy McIntyre’s dead.”

My whole body stiffened. Was he for real, telling me this crap?

“You are un-fucking believable. Your Barbie doll’s up the duff and you’re annoyed that her main priority won’t be you any more. So, you’ve come up with this pathetic lie to screw up my life. Honestly, you’re pathetic.”

As I turned to leave, he put a hand on my shoulder and I shook it off. The touch I’d once longed for repulsed me.

My face flushed. “Just leave me alone,” I snapped, but something made me stop, to turn around and face him. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m looking out for you, Nance.” His gaze met mine. He believed what he was saying. Or, did he? Knowing him, this could be a lie to get back at me for moving on.

“What? By concocting this lie?”

He held me in a steady gaze. “It’s not a lie. Why would I make this up?”

“Because you think I’ll come crying back to you.” As I said it, I realised how ridiculous it sounded. Michael had left me. He didn’t want me any more.

Staring at him, looking for any evidence that he was spinning me a line, I asked, “How do you know this?”

“You remember Kyle?”

Unfortunately I did. He was one of Michael’s circle of pals, a flash git in a designer suit who’d put his hand on my knee at one New Year’s party we’d all gone to and nearly got it broken off. Kyle Cafferty was chief reporter for the
Daily Scot
newspaper and the most arrogant man on earth. When I thought about it, a lot of Michael’s pals were like that: brash, loud and arrogant and loaded. They loved to flash the cash and talk down to people. That’s why I’d positively encouraged their boys’ only nights – I
wanted to spend as little time as possible in their company.

Michael carried on talking. “He did a story on the brother who was killed, Sammy McIntyre. He remembered speaking to the mother. Sammy McIntyre was killed in the line of duty. He was a policeman.”

Tommy had told me all of this; this wasn’t news.

“Anyway,” added Michael, “he remembered the mother telling him that she’d lost both her sons. He compared it to
Saving Private Ryan.”

What? That couldn’t be right
.

“Her other son, died in Iraq or Afghanistan. I can’t remember which. He was blown up by a roadside bomb.” The throbbing in my head gave way to nausea. “This guy you know. That you think you can trust. He can’t be Tommy McIntyre because Tommy McIntyre is dead.”

I searched his face for any sign that it was a lie. My impression was that he believed what he said.

“Could he be wrong?” I spoke calmly despite the tightening in my chest; the droplet of sweat making its way down my back. “Maybe this woman had three sons?”

Michael looked sorry for me. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “She had only the two.”

Suddenly I felt the need to vomit.

When Michael put a hand on my shoulder I wanted to rip it off. “Leave me alone,” I spat, directing all my anger at him. Why had he cornered me like this? Was he getting a sick sense of satisfaction out of doing this?

Without saying another word, I started walking back in the direction of my apartment. I’d some thinking to do.