The New Neighbours (24 page)

It seemed to her that now was the time to say nothing, just to be there—so she stayed still, kneeling uncomfortably on the floor, her cheek against Annabel's, clasping her tightly in her arms.

“I'm sorry, Mum.” Annabel's whisper was so low, it was little more than a breath, and then Angela felt Annabel's tears wetting her cheeks, and her own sprang at once to mingle with them.

“Come on,” she said, “come on, darling, let's sit on the bed and be comfortable.” She got up and pulled Annabel over to the bed, then sat down beside her and took her hand. “Now then, start from the beginning,” Angela said.

There was another silence as Annabel assembled her thoughts and decided exactly what and how much to say. She'd already realised that she couldn't keep her secret much longer and had been considering how much she would have to reveal. Now the moment had come she was almost ready with her story.

“There was a guy I was meeting after school… end of April, beginning of May. We only did it once—had sex I mean and then I didn't see him again.”

“You mean he dumped you when he heard you were pregnant,” Angela said flatly.

“No,” Annabel answered sharply, as if in his defence. “No, he doesn't even know.”

“So, why isn't he… about?” Angela finished the question lamely.

Annabel shrugged. “I don't know. He just stopped coming round.” She glanced up, trying to assess how her mother was reacting, what she was thinking. Would she accept this rather feeble explanation, “he just stopped coming round”? It sounded feeble in Annabel's own ears, but nothing would induce her to change it, to give her mother any inkling as to the real reason for Scott not being there, not knowing. Having got the confession of her pregnancy off her chest after so many days of trying to pick the right moment, she felt almost light-headed with the relief of it.

Angela was still holding her hand, but was staring into the middle distance as all the questions, all the consequences of Annabel's bombshell, surged through her mind in confusion. What would they do with the baby? Who would look after it? Would Annabel want to keep it herself? What about adoption? What would the school say? What about her exams? What would Ian say? How would they manage with her working full-time? A new baby, time-consuming, demanding. And Annabel must say who the father was. He ought to be told, ought to face up to his responsibility in this and contribute to the care of the baby… his baby for God's sakes… except they were probably better off without him, whoever he was, using her daughter and dumping her once he'd got what he wanted. She knew she was being a touch melodramatic, but she felt melodramatic, damn the man… whoever he was.

In the silence that enfolded them, Annabel was equally far away, remembering, re-living yet again, the day it had happened; the day that stood out above all others in her eighteen years.

It was the Saturday when she had been on her way to admit to Avril that she hadn't done any of the promised research on their history project. Scott had drawn up beside her in the van, and with relief at putting off the interview with Avril, Annabel happily climbed in beside him.

Immediately she could tell he was different. All he said was, “Hi Bel,” as she clambered into the passenger seat, and pulled out into the Saturday morning traffic, but there was a tenseness about him. Normally he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other elbow resting on the open window, but today both hands gripped the steering wheel and his eyes were constantly flicking to the mirrors, darting sideways at intersections.

They cleared the city centre and finally pulled into the car park at Belmouth. He drove to the far end, away from other parked cars and parking looking out across the slate grey expanse of sea, Scot switched off the engine. Keeping his hands on the wheel, he straightened his forearms, pushing back against the seat, staring out through the windscreen. Silence enveloped them, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine.

At last Bel said tentatively, “Scott…?”

He turned his head and looked at her. “Got a job to do this morning, Bel?” he said. “Wanna help?”

“Sure,” Bel shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”

“Drive,” he replied and got out. Bel slid across to the driving seat and Scott got in the passenger side.

“I've got to collect something. Drive back into town.”

They headed back into Belcaster and joined the sluggish Saturday morning traffic.

“Keep in the left-hand lane,” Scott instructed, “and drive right round the one-way system.”

Bel did as she was told, concentrating on the heavy traffic. Scott was wound up like a coiled spring, and his tension clamped Bel as well, so that her movements felt awkward and stiff.

“Keep going round until I tell you,” Scott said, glancing quickly at his watch before scanning the traffic yet again. At last, he said, “Turn left here.”Bel turned into a narrow one-way street that served as a twisting short cut from one side of the one-way system to the other. It was called Bells Street, and wound a tortuous route round the back of the cathedral and the Sovereign Shopping Centre, before emerging once again on the Belmouth side of town. Fifty yards down on the left was Bells Yard, a narrow dead-end alley, serving the back entrances of the shops on the main road.

Scott glanced down the alley and said, “Stop here, back up into the alley.”

There was no one behind her, and Bel manoeuvred the van expertly into the mouth of the yard.

Scott looked across at her. “Wait here,” he said. “Just going to collect some stuff. Back up to the door when I wave—and keep the engine running—I shan't be long.”

He got out of the van and went round to open the rear doors, then he walked swiftly to one of the service doors. Above it, Bel could see a red and white sign proclaiming it as “Belcaster Computers Ltd”. She watched through the open back of the van as Scott produced a key from his pocket, and, after one more quick glance round the yard, opened the door. He disappeared inside for a moment and then reappeared and signalled to Bel, who eased the van backwards to the door. Even as she put the brake on, he was heaving boxes into the van, boxes of different shapes and sizes, some light and easily handled, others obviously heavy and awkward. The speed at which he worked told Bell all she needed to know. She stopped watching Scott and glued her eyes to the open end of Bells Yard.

More and more boxes thudded into the back of the van, and then Bel saw him; a policeman alone on foot appeared on the corner of Bells Yard and looked down towards them. Scott was manhandling a large cardboard crate into the van and Bel, turning sharply, hissed “Scott! Police!”

He glanced up and with a quick nod slammed the doors of the van shut, closed the shop service door, sauntered round to the passenger side and climbed in.

The policeman, meantime, had turned into the yard and was walking unhurriedly towards them.

“Drive!” Scott hissed, “and whatever happens, don't stop!”

Bel slammed the van into gear and it leapt forward. The policeman held up a hand, but she ignored him and kept going, so that he had to jump out of the way. He lost his footing and fell clattering against some dustbins. At the end of the alley, she had to wait for two cars to pass and should have waited for a third, but Scott craning out of the window saw the policeman back on his feet and running after them, and shouted “Go! Go!” so Bel went, forcing herself in behind the second car and causing the third to ride up on to the pavement to avoid her, his hand blaring the horn.

“Shit!” breathed Scott. “Keep going, he's using his fucking radio. Just drive.”

Bel did as she was told, following the two cars ahead as they wound their way round the cathedral. As they approached the one-way system, the Saturday traffic was still moving sluggishly and they heard the wail of a siren.

“Shit!” Scott's voice rose. “Right! Turn right!” and immediately Bel wrenched the wheel round, into another narrow street.

“I'm going the wrong way!” she shrieked. “It's a one-way street.”

“Keep going!” yelled Scott.

There was a car coming towards them, the driver flashing his lights furiously to warn them they were in a one-way street. Bel flashed back and adrenaline took over as she accelerated towards him. Realising she wasn't going to stop, the driver, pale-faced and swearing, yanked his wheel over and mounted the pavement, giving Bel just enough space to squeak past him. She reached the end of the street and turned out into the traffic. There was no real gap and more angry horns blared as drivers hit their brakes to let her in.

“Left-hand lane,” snapped Scott, and then they heard the siren again.

“Police car's coming up behind us,” Bel shouted.

“Stay cool!” ordered Scott. “Change lanes.”

Bel veered across the traffic and raced across the lights, just turning amber against her. The police car was now in hot pursuit, headlights flashing, blue light flashing, siren wailing. It jumped the red light and continued close on her tail. With her hand on the horn, Bel swerved in and out of the traffic.”

“Right!” shouted Scott. “Turn right!”

Bel swung round a traffic island and accelerated down a side street. There were cars parked on either side, narrowing it to one lane wide where it had a right-angled bend to the right. Bel had to slow to negotiate the bend and in the mirror she saw the police car turn in behind her.

“Sharp right into the lane,” yelled Scott. She only just saw the opening in time, another alley serving high street shops, but curving sharply, so that the moment they were into it, they were invisible from the street behind.

“Slow down,” said Scott, and Bel eased to a walking pace. They heard the siren note change as the police car sped past the end of the alley.

Scott got out of the van, and pulling a pair of number plates from under the seat, quickly changed them for the plates on the van. Those he buried in a skip outside one of the service entrances. From the glove compartment, he stuck a huge snowboarding sticker across one of the back doors and then went round to the driver's side and opened the door. He jerked his head. “Shove over,” and as she did so, he took Bel's place at the wheel. From under the dashboard, he produced a pair of fluffy pink dice which he hung from the mirror. Then he looked across at Bel and grinned. “Cool, huh?” he drawled and then added, “Let your 'air loose.” Without a word, Bel pulled the scrunchy from her hair and, shaking her head, let her hair fall over her shoulders. Scott nodded his approval and, turning the van round, they emerged cautiously on to the street. There was no sign of the police car. Scott eased his way into the traffic and then cut across to the Belmouth Road. From there it was two minutes' drive before they were lost in the maze of a housing estate, and within five they were in a little yard outside a row of three lock-up garages. The yard was empty, and there was no sign of anyone taking the remotest interest in them. Scott backed the van up to the door and between them they quickly unloaded the boxes. As the last box was safely stowed, he pulled the garage door down and locked it carefully.

Suddenly Bel found she was shaking, her knees wouldn't hold her and she slumped against the van.

“Stay cool, Bel,” Scott said, “and get in.”

Bel pulled herself into the van and Scott drove to the dunes outside Belmouth. Then, hidden in a hollow surrounded by buckthorn and maram grass, he pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her. Her response was instant and passionate.

“Get in the back,” Scott said huskily, and together they clambered over into the back. The he kissed her again and Bel knew that this time it was It. He held her against him and for the first time she could feel him erect and strong, pressing against her, needing her. There was no time for condoms, raspberry-flavoured, studded or otherwise. After the excitement of the chase, the excitement of each other was demanding, consuming, entirely uncontrollable. They pulled at each other's clothes, their mutual need leading to an aggressive, almost violent coupling. As Scott pumped inside her, Bel thought, “This is it. I've done it.” She knew a moment of pain and then a small flowering of pleasure, before, with one final gasping groan, Scott collapsed over her, panting. She lay there, half-smothered by the weight of him, and thought, Now I really am his woman.

After a few moments Scott heaved himself up on to one elbow and said, “You was great, Bel, really great.” But she didn't know if he meant the escape or the sex, and she didn't dare ask. She wanted to try the sex bit again, more slowly this time, but when she reached up to touch his face, Scott moved away and said, “Better get sorted, Bel,” and began to pull his clothes on. She did the same, but her disappointment was somewhat lifted when he said, “We'll go back to my place.”

He had never taken her there before, had always refused to tell exactly where he lived, so it cheered her to realise she must have passed some sort of test; that after today and her reaction to their morning's work she had been elevated to a new level of trust.

She tested it by asking, “What was in the boxes, Scott?”

“Computer stuff,” he replied casually.

“But how did you know it would be there?”

“Mate of mine works there. They always have a delivery on a Saturday morning, see, but they're too busy usually to do more than stack it downstairs. He give me a key.”

“But won't they suspect him?”

“Why should they? He'll have been working hard in the shop all morning. I told him I'd come at twelve, see, and he could make sure he was seen all the time, serving customers, nothing to do with a hit on the storeroom.”

“But they'll know you had a key,” Bel pointed out anxiously.

Scott shrugged. “I was supposed to give the lock a bash before we left,” he admitted, “but we left in a bit of a hurry. Still, they can't prove nothing.”