Bones in the Nest (6 page)

A sign to York causes them to swerve onto a slip road, a lorry horn blaring behind them. On the smaller road, they drive some way in silence, careful now, taking the bends at a speed that the little Fiat can manage.

‘I saw it. His tag,’ Chloe finally says. ‘He was going up the steps at the Minster.’

‘I see,’ it comes out very quietly. ‘Did Emma see it?’

Chloe can’t decide what to tell her. ‘Don’t know.’

‘I’m going to pull over, I need to think.’

She swerves into a gap on the grass verge. They come to a standstill with the bonnet of the car inches from the gate to an empty field. Taheera turns off the ignition and they sit listening to the ticking fans cooling the engine.

‘I met him when I was teaching in a prison,’ she says slowly, as if each word must be selected and checked before she uses
it. ‘Nothing happened, I mean, nothing then. I decided to leave my job after he was released. The hostel job came up and I had the right skills, the right background. I mean, it’s not like he’s one of our residents,’ she hesitates. ‘I don’t think it’s against the law, but … Oh God, it’s really messy. I could be sacked if anyone found out and my parents—’ Taheera’s voice wavers and Chloe can see she’s trying not to cry. ‘I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about it.’

Chloe decides to leave her to it. She can’t believe she cared for this silly girl, with her shiny new car and wealthy parents. Someone who has all that, a degree and a job, and risks it all for a boy; it’s ridiculous. She gets out and walks to the centre of road. They are in the middle of nowhere, on a country lane raised up from the flat fields either side. Heat shimmers off the road. She feels the huge space all around her and holds out her arms, as if she could touch it. Someone knows she’s out. It was there on the front cover of the newspaper. If she’s lucky it’s just one local paper, not the nationals. But she doesn’t feel very lucky. Her arms fall by her sides.

Across the fields, the cooling towers of a power station fill the sky, soft cotton wool clouds of steam, hanging in the air around them. She looks up and sees a figure, balancing on the rim and falling into the steam cloud. She wants to call out to him.
Jay!
But her ears are filled with the roar of the wind, as if she’s the one who’s falling. Someone grabs her arm and pulls her back.

‘Chloe!’ Taheera screams above the sound. They thud against the side of the little cream car and Chloe feels her elbow crack on the metal. ‘That truck nearly hit you.’

Dust clouds billow around the rear wheels of an empty skip lorry, chains clang against its frame and the sound of an air horn hangs in the air, as it disappears out of sight.

‘What the fuck were you doing?’

Trying to die, Chloe thinks, but she says nothing. She closes her eyes for a few seconds and when she opens them again, she thinks she sees a blue BMW following the skip lorry, disappearing in its tail-cloud of dust. She blinks and it’s gone, as if it was never there.

They sit in the car outside Meredith House. Neither of them speaks. Chloe feels a bead of sweat run down between her shoulder blades. It was cooler when the car was moving but now the heat is rising. Taheera breaks the silence first.

‘Don’t tell anyone.’

Her tone has changed. She’s not confiding in Chloe any more, it’s an instruction.

‘I won’t,’ Chloe says.

‘And I won’t tell anyone where we went.’

That’s the final deal on the table. Chloe watches her own hand reach for the door catch. Thin and white like the bones of dead birds.

‘See you,’ she says.

‘Yeah, see you,’ Taheera replies without looking at her. She starts the car before Chloe has shut the door.

Chloe tries to go straight to her room, but Emma is coming down the stairs.

‘Hiya! Tough day?’

Chloe wonders how she can possibly know about her day.

‘Takes a bit of getting used to, doesn’t it?’ Emma carries
on. ‘I know I was on my knees after my first day at work. Got used to it, mind.’

‘Yeah.’

‘There’s an IT course starting tonight. In the dining room.’ Emma says. ‘Do you fancy it? It’s on three nights this week and it’s good if you’re not used to doing emails and going online and all that. I can show you how to get on Facebook, if you like.’

Chloe stands still, scanning Emma’s face, trying to work out what she knows. Is it obvious she was away for so long? That the Internet will be so different now? She never had a computer at home, just at school, and she wasn’t often there.

‘We get a certificate if we finish it. Some woman from the council,’ Emma says and her scar twitches in expectation. ‘Summat to do, anyhow.’

‘Go on then,’ Chloe says and watches the scar on Emma’s face pull back into a smile.

‘I’ve got a feeling in my waters. And still waters run deep,’ Gav said, resting his head back and drumming on the steering wheel with his thumbs.

‘What are you on about?’ Sean stifled a yawn.

‘It’s going to be a pleasantly uneventful night. That’s my prediction.’

‘Hope you’re right. I’m knackered. I can’t wait for the weekend.’

Even though his weekend came midweek, it was still something to look forward to. They would be back on the day shift after that, at least for the next fortnight, until the pattern switched again.

Sean hadn’t been back to his dad’s since the Clean Up Chasebridge meeting. Another run of nights had left him too tired to face it. He was annoyed with himself for not visiting the estate agent either. He’d settled back into a pattern of sleeping into the early afternoon and watching chat shows with his nan. Today’s offering was slightly more
challenging than most: a discussion about the death penalty for child abusers.

‘What d’you reckon to the death penalty, Gav?’

‘Don’t fancy it myself.’

‘On principle?’

‘No, just rather die in my sleep.’

‘Right.’

Sean flicked down the sun visor and checked his hair in the mirror. He was trying to grow it at the front, but it wouldn’t do what he wanted.

‘It’s a relief they’re not doing anything with that lad’s complaint,’ he said.

‘Saleem Asaf? Don’t worry about him. It’s his favourite game.’

Sean got his phone out and opened up a game of Tetris. ‘Keep him in our sights, though.’

‘Oh, aye. We’ll stick him with something one of these days. I can guarantee that.’

Sean wondered if Gav meant something legitimate, or maybe this was the sort of thing Wendy Gore had wanted him to listen out for. He didn’t have the energy, to be honest, although he couldn’t imagine himself telling her that. He was vaguely aware that the car was moving and stopping, moving and stopping. He tried to keep his eyes open, but it was so quiet, he couldn’t help himself. He was fast asleep by the time the call came through on the radio and he missed the beginning of what was being said.

‘The caller is on the first floor of Eagle Mount Two, top end of the Chasebridge estate. She says there’s been some sort of fight on the stairwell and someone’s been hurt. Ambulance
is on its way. We couldn’t get much else out of her, so can you go and take a look? There’s something not quite right about this one and we need a safe pair of hands. Tread carefully.’

‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ Gav said.

‘Do you think it’s a trap?’

Gav ground the gear stick around until he found first and put his foot down. ‘Fuck knows. Told you we were in for a quiet night.’

‘Funny.’

‘No, seriously, it’s gone five o’clock. It’s technically morning.’

Sean sat back and watched the town unfold around them. His heart sank at the thought of being pulled back to the Chasebridge estate in uniform. They skipped another amber light and were soon on the dual carriageway. Gav hit seventy, seventy-five. Sean wondered if they should have a blue light on, but he kept his mouth shut. They swung round one final roundabout and approached the estate along its west side where the four matching blocks of ten-storey flats were arranged round the square, like the upturned legs of a table. Beyond the blocks were the low-rises, with concrete walkways traversing them like shelves. They were empty for now, but the arrival of the squad car would soon bring an audience out to watch.

Gav lurched to the left without changing gear. Sean grabbed the door to stay upright.

‘It’s the second block from the main road, opposite the playground,’ Sean said.

The ambulance was already there; its crew got out of their vehicle as Gav pulled up on the pavement.

‘Gav, mate, the service door.’ Sean nodded towards the sheet metal door in the corner of the block. It hung a few inches open. ‘That’s where the stairs are.’

‘After you.’ The ambulance driver stood back.

Gav gave Sean the nod to go first. He peered into the gloom. There was no sound. He elbowed the door far enough open to get his head and shoulders through and switched on his torch. The beam picked out a pattern of brown marks on the concrete floor. He leant in further and saw the knees first: black jeans, narrow cut, and a pair of black Converse All Stars. He let the light play over the legs and up the torso. At first he thought the man was wearing a brown T-shirt, but as he held the torch steady, he saw he was covered in blood.

‘Gav!’ His voice resonated in the space and he heard a quiver of fear echo back at him. ‘Get the ambo crew in here.’

Sean flicked the beam up the stairwell to where the dawn was filtering through a murky window. Nothing moved. He edged closer, picking his way round the marks on the floor. There were three steps before the staircase turned and where the body lay, curled up like a sleeping child, one hand holding his stomach, the other resting on the concrete. There was blood everywhere, all over his hands and across the floor. His face was pale, but the underside of his cheek and neck were a dark purple.

‘Forget it, Gav. We’re too late. Way too late.’

He heard shuffling in the doorway and Gav telling the ambulance crew to stand down.

‘At least six hours,’ Sean said. ‘His skin …’

Post-mortem hypostasis, he’d learned about it at police college, even though he could never spell it. Gav was
breathing heavily in the doorway, holding out a pair of latex gloves.

‘Put these on. I’ll put the call in and get the place secure.’

Sean had been leaning forward, not daring to touch the handrail or the wall, hoping for some sign of life, which was never going to come. As he straightened up, a wave of light fluttered behind his eyes and he wanted to grab the metal banister and hold on, but the rules kicked in: don’t contaminate the scene or get any blood on your skin. He blinked to focus and looked about him. Wedging his torch between his knees, he fumbled with the gloves. Light danced across the victim’s shoes, where remnants of mud and grass were wedged in the pattern of the tread. From beyond the door, Gav’s voice was urgent on the radio, but inside nothing stirred.

It felt like a long time that he stood there, three steps below the body. He didn’t need the torch now. The light was getting stronger through the upper windows. A door banged somewhere in the block and occasionally the lift mechanism ground into action. He dared himself to go nearer, to see the wound that had produced so much blood, but as he peered over the hunched up legs, he wished he hadn’t. The man’s jeans were open at the fly and his crotch was dark with a mess of deep-red flesh.

‘Christ!’ Sean looked away.

A fire door from one of the upper landings opened and Gav put his head out.

‘I’ve taped up every door to this staircase. Thank fuck the lift works. No one here yet?’

‘No one,’ Sean said.

‘It’s all right, mate,’ Gav called down. ‘Stay where you are. I think I can hear the sweet sound of backup. I’m on my way down.’

Sean could hear it too, far away but getting nearer, several sets of sirens, out of sync, harmonising for a few seconds, then splitting again. For those last few moments before the mayhem began, Sean forced himself to look at the man’s face, trying to get a clear picture in his mind of him as a person, not just a slaughtered animal. He had Asian features, or maybe Turkish. He was slim and, although it was hard to tell, Sean guessed he was nearly six foot. He wore a thin gold chain which fell inside his T-shirt and although, the curve of his cheek was already swollen in death, Sean could see he’d been a good-looking lad.

‘Has anyone seen my phone?’

The laptops are set up in the dining room for the second night of the computer course. Taheera is standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips and her face like thunder. She’s looking directly at Chloe.

‘Has anyone seen my phone?’ she says again.

‘Um, I’m Kath, from the council,’ says the teacher. ‘IT trainer? I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.’

‘Taheera Ahmed, residential officer. My phone’s gone missing and I was wondering if anyone had seen it.’

Emma leans back in her chair, arms folded. ‘What you saying, T? That someone’s nicked it? We’ve been in here for the last hour. Haven’t we, Chlo?’

Chloe nods. She thinks about being in the car last night, tries to remember if the phone was there. She knows she didn’t pick it up.

Taheera is still staring at her. Seconds have passed.

‘I haven’t got your phone,’ she says.

She remembers Taheera texting before they got to her parents’ house, but not afterwards. There was a plate of Indian sweets, but no mobile phone. Chloe needs to tell her but they have a deal. A deal which says they can’t talk about yesterday.

‘Can I have a word,’ Chloe says, ‘in private?’

As she gets up, the other girls watch her. Perhaps they think she’s going to snitch on someone. Taheera is waiting in the hall.

‘So?’

Chloe is taken aback by her hostility, but she understands. They were not meant to get to know one another, step out of the roles they’d been assigned. Taheera has let herself be seen, shared a confidence, and now she’s closing herself in, trying to build up the wall between them again.

‘I haven’t got your phone,’ Chloe says. ‘I’m not a thief.’

‘Really? So where is it? I had it yesterday.’

‘I’ve never taken anything.’

‘How can you say that?’

It hangs between them. A life. She was convicted of taking a life. His name comes to her again. Jay. She doesn’t usually let it in, but yesterday she got so close. He’s whispering something to her now. Telling her to stick up for herself.

‘I didn’t see it after we left your mum and dad’s house. Maybe you left it there.’

‘Do you think I haven’t thought of that? I rang my mum and she’s looked everywhere. It’s not there.’

‘You can search my room if you want to.’

She turns and starts towards the stairs. Taheera doesn’t move at first, as if she’s deciding whether to give up, but then she follows.

Chloe opens her door and puts the light on. Her bed is made. Her clothes are folded in the drawers. She pulls the top one open and moves the few items of underwear to one side.

‘Look, here, look for yourself.’

Taheera shrinks back in the doorway. ‘It’s OK. I believe you.’

Chloe wants Taheera to say sorry, but she says nothing, just turns and lets the door snap shut on its spring. Chloe stands for a moment in the middle of her room and sees it as it is: bare and empty, no pictures of family on the walls, nothing to hint at a past and or a future. She feels weightless, like something untethered in zero gravity. Not zero gravity, Jay’s voice is saying, you know better than that. There is some gravity on the moon, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to stand there. They would have floated off into space for good. He’s right, she thinks. That’s not going to happen. The sound when the truck screamed past, every hair on her body raised, the feeling when Taheera slammed her against the side of the car, the knowledge that she hadn’t died, that she’d lived again; that’s what she has to hold on to. She looks at her face in the mirror on the back of the door and slaps her cheeks, hard. It hurts. It’s going to be OK. She’ll go back down to the IT class. She will listen. She might even take notes.

When she gets back, she’s missed something about Internet safety, but the teacher says she’ll fill her in later, right now she wants them all to look at the BBC weather site – it will remain hot for the next few days but some areas will receive occasional heavy showers – then the news. Chloe’s not interested in the national news. The website is the same as the TV news, but with more writing and even more boring.
The tutor’s telling them how to search for local news. Chloe senses Emma watching her.

‘Type in a place, and you’ll get the local news,’ Kath from the council says. She suggests they all type in ‘York’. ‘What can you see?’

‘Town centre development unveeled,’ Emma reads out.

‘Unveiled. Good.’

Kath is oblivious to the fact that she’s embarrassed Emma by correcting her. Chloe understands now how this works. While Emma is busy digging some imaginary dirt from under her nail, Chloe types ‘Doncaster’ into the box. She waits, expecting the headline from the newspaper in the shop and her younger face staring back at her, but the picture on the screen is all greens and browns and the bright colours of racing silks:
Residents’ Raceday and Family Fun Activities.
She clicks on a triangle and the picture comes to life with the sound of horses’ hooves and a man’s voice rattling out the commentary. The tutor is flapping her hands.

‘Not just yet, Chloe, we’ll get on to the video content next session. Can you mute that? Can you?’

Emma leans over and grabs the mouse. The BBC news screen disappears, but in Chloe’s mind the horses are still rushing by on the track, as if she were a little girl again, holding on to her mum’s skirt, and her mum leaning into a man, both drunk, the man ruffling Chloe’s hair, calling her ‘sweetie’. The lesson is over. The tutor is saying that she’ll be back next week. She’s forgotten all about Chloe’s Internet safety.