The One Safe Place (41 page)

"You're dead," Darren snarled, staring at his empty room. He should have taken care of Marshall while he had the chance. He ran to the bathroom in case Marshall was hiding in the bath, then to his parents' room. He kicked the bed to scare him out if he was under it, and dragged the sagging door of the wardrobe open far enough to see that it hid nothing but his mother's clothes with not a tit or arse in them. He heard his grandfather moaning. Though he couldn't imagine Marshall in there, he eased open the door to the old man's room.

The smell ought to have been enough to keep Marshall out, though maybe not now Darren had done for his head. Too much junk was piled against the wardrobe for him to have been able to get in there, and so the only place he could be was under the bed, unless the old man had enticed him into it. Darren plugged his nostrils with two fingers and turned his head to take a breath. As he stepped into the room the mound of his grandfather poked up its long white perished head. "Waking a man when he needs his sleep," it complained. "What's all the row? Where's this? Why's the train stopped?"

"They're changing the thingy, the engine."

The cracked eyes peered at Darren over their pinkish lids, which looked so weighed down by liquid they might have been about to peel away from the face. Darren thought the old man wasn't seeing him—was too busy trundling his tongue around his lips as if searching for his teeth—but as Darren took another step, the old man moaned, "I know you, you're Phil's lad. What are you trying to confuse me for?"

"That's right, granda, I'm Darren," Darren said, darting forward to kick up a corner of the quilt. "Has anyone been in except my mam?"

"Not even Phil's cow. Nobody ever. You go to war for them and could've got yourself killed and then they don't want to know. Might as well have died while I was out there, it'd have saved me coming back to this. You're a good lad," he said, patting the quilt beside him with the hand he was trying to use to prop himself up. "Sit with us for a bit and I'll tell you about your da when he was your age."

Darren dodged back, having seen that there was nothing except stains under the bed. "Not now, granda. Not while I'm alive either, you dirty old fucker." He ran downstairs and peered around the kitchen, and thought as he raced along the hall to look in the front room that he should have grabbed a knife. He'd just found nobody when his mother lunged out of the room with the loot in it and dealt him a back-hander, her knuckles missing his face by inches. "What are you trying to do, making all that row when I'm busy?"

"Granda wants his bed changing."

"He can want unless you're going to. I'll set fire to it with him in it one of these days. Where do you reckon you're going now?"

Darren pulled the front door open and let his gaze roam the empty street before answering. "Need some air after being with him."

"What are you making out, I don't look after him? I'd like to see anyone who'd do more than I do. He's your da's da, not mine, not that I'd have that drunken sod in the house after the way he treated my mam." Darren's mother peered out of the front door and grabbed his arm. "You've had your air now. Get in and shut the door."

"I'm going for a ride on my bike."

"You're going nowhere. I want you here where I can see you for a change."

"You and that Dick wanted me out before."

"So you wouldn't go starving now your da's got himself put away." She grabbed Darren's elbow with both hands and flung him along the hall. "You'd think this was a hotel the way you treat it. You'd think I was a landlady stead of your mam."

She'd never gone on like this before. She must be saying things her mother had said to her. Darren kicked up as many cigarette butts as he could while making for the back door. "My da got me that bike. He wouldn't mind me riding it."

His mother rushed into the kitchen and threw him against a flimsy unit, setting knives chattering in the drawer. "You do what you're told, you little shit," she screamed. "I don't want you getting in trouble and bringing the filth back. You keep your arse in this house or I'm telling your Uncle Bernard."

She was scared because there was so much loot in the house—scared she wouldn't get her cut for looking after it. Darren would have told her he had to find Marshall, except then she would go screaming to Bernard. At some point having captured Marshall had begun to seem stupid, more trouble than it was worth, and all Darren knew was he needed to shut Marshall's mouth. "Bernard's not my da and you aren't either. You can't tell me what to do."

"I'll give you who's your da," his mother yelled, and came at him with both fists raised. She must have seen he would kick her in the belly, because she caught hold of the key in the back door instead. Before Darren realised what she meant to do she'd dashed out to his bicycle, which was leaning against the shed, and unscrewed the caps from the tubes to let the air out of both tires. As the tires went flat she threw the caps over the fence. "See how far you get on that, lad."

"I'll fucking kill you for that, you bitch," Darren cried. He could hear the knives clattering around inside his head—it felt as if their points were. He was wasting time, he ought to be chasing Marshall, or mightn't he need to? Surely Marshall wouldn't be able to find his way back to the house or remember more than the first bit of Darren's name. Anyway, what could he tell anyone except that Darren had helped him? Maybe at that very moment he was walking in front of a bus. Darren needn't go out after all.

He wasn't having his mother think she'd won. "I'm getting one of them mucky videos to watch," he said—and then the doorbell rang, a quick dry choked trill followed by a long rattle as though whoever was outside couldn't let go of the push.

"That's you," Darren's mother screamed at him, almost slamming the back door as she rushed into the house. She blocked the slam by flinging out one hand, and turned the key and stalked at him, making her fingers into claws. "Get to that door and say nobody's in," she hissed. "Go and say they'll have to come back."

For a moment he thought she knew more than she did. She was afraid the filth were at the door, and so was he, but not for the same reason. They couldn't prove anything—Marshall hadn't seen what Darren had done to him. All the same, Darren found his footsteps dragging, grinding butts into the carpet as his mother slammed herself into the back room. He wiped her spit off his face and chained the door and clenched his fist around the knob of the latch, and twisted his face as he twisted the knob, then made his face relax into indifference. "My mam's not in," he would say. "I don't know when she'll be back." He was restraining himself from starting to speak until they asked him a question when the door reached the length of its chain, and his mouth sprawled open. Outside on the path was Marshall, all by himself.

One side of Marshall's face twitched, and a smile of relief and gratitude spread across his lips. Darren felt a very similar expression taking hold of his own face as he unchained the door, but his voice came out loud and sharp. "Where've you been?"

Marshall looked embarrassed—so much so that Darren had to nod his head behind the door to hide a snigger. "Trying to phone my mom."

Darren's fist tightened on the latch as though it was the bulge bobbing up and down Marshall's throat as he kept swallowing. "Did you get her?"

"Couldn't. One phone was smashed, and then..." Marshall's lips drooped and began to shake while his eyes darted from side to side, and Darren saw with delight that he was in as bad a state as ever. "Get in, lad," he muttered, jerking at the air in front of Marshall with his free hand. "You'll be all right in here."

Once Marshall ventured over the doorstep he had to be pushed out of the way so that Darren could shut the door and set about securing it. "Did you call her?" Marshall pleaded. "You said you would."

"If I did, why'd you go out?"

"Because I thought—I thought those people wouldn't let you come and tell me. I only wanted to know what she said." Maybe Marshall's voice was nearly inaudible from embarrassment, or maybe he was taking his lead from Darren, but then his voice jerked louder. "Is that them?"

"No, it's my mam." They'd heard the thud of her replacing the board over the hiding place in the floor, and Darren thought it was a good job Marshall wasn't the police. "They've gone. They're outside somewhere, so you'd better stay in here where they can't see you."

"Is my mom coming?"

"Not tonight." Darren shot the last of the bolts, which gave him time to think. "She said she'll come tomorrow. Doesn't want you out in the cold while you've got what you've got, she said."

Marshall's lower lip was pulling his chin up. "Was that all she said?"

"She said to tell you she's not worried now she knows where you're at." Darren's head had begun to ache with trying to think what else Marshall might want to hear. Then he knew, and it made him gag. "She said she lugh," he muttered, and covered his mouth, and tried again. "She said she loves you, fucking hell."

"I love her," Marshall immediately responded, and Darren thought that if he didn't at least spit on the floor he would throw up. Before he could do either, however, the door of the back room edged open. "Who was—" his mother demanded, and her voice grew teeth as she saw Marshall. "Who—"

Marshall must have been past hearing her tone. "Are you the nurse?"

As she stared at him, Darren realised she was hearing his accent. "He's never—"

"That's right, mam, you saw him on telly. Get in the front, Ma, and we'll fix you up. The front, lad, the front room."

If Darren was supposed to be the man of the house, everyone had to do as he said. To his amazement and delight, they did—at least, his mother kept quiet while Marshall let himself into the front room. He faltered on the threshold and turned to Darren's mother. "Will you bring me something?"

"She will or I will, Ma. Get in and shut it while I talk to my mam."

Marshall vanished into the room at once. He must think that the quicker he went, the sooner he'd be given some medicine to help him. Darren grimaced at his mother to herd her into the back room, where she hadn't pulled the carpet over the loose board, he saw. She oughtn't even to be in the room with the boxing posters and the bar with dancing girls painted on it—it was supposed to be for men. He closed the door behind him, feeling more in control than he could remember ever having felt, and then he saw that his mother was biding her time, not obeying him at all. She shot out a hand which thumped him on the forehead, and dug her nails into his scalp to throw him on a chair. "What've you been up to? What's he doing here?"

"Hey, don't you fucking—"

"I'll do anything I like to you, anything at all. I'm your mam in case you forgot, for all the thanks I ever get. I wouldn't be if your da hadn't left his Durex off." She dragged a chair in front of the door, the legs grating over spilled pet food, and raked the air within an inch of Darren's face as he made to stand up. "You stay sat there or I'll put you in the hospital. You don't get out of this room till I know what's going on."

His father's gun must be somewhere in the room. Had she put it back under the floor? Just being able to point it at her would make Darren feel in control again, the way he ought to feel after having captured Marshall. "Good one," he mumbled, ducking his head so as to squint about for a sign of the gun. "Go on, let him get away."

"I'll hear if he does anything, don't you fret." She tugged her dress down so that it hid the black lace at her crotch, and squeezed her legs together, and glared at Darren. "Out with it. What are you playing at, letting him in when you was told not to let anyone? He's never really who I thought, is he? What's up with him?"

She couldn't fit her brain around what was happening. Darren could still be the man in charge. "What do you think," he said.

"You never did it to him."

"It was me all right," he said, so proud of himself that at first he didn't react to her raising her voice. "Don't let him hear."

"You did that," she said lower, less like a conspirator than like a dog growling. "After all the bother we've already had with him and his da, you done that to him."

"It's all right, mam. He doesn't know."

"What are you arsing on about? How can't he know?"

"I put it in his drink when he wasn't looking. Didn't even know I was there, and nobody saw me do it."

"I just hope you're right, lad. If anyone comes after you because of him I know nowt about anything." Darren saw her begin to relax, and then she screwed her face up and shook her head as if she was shaking her brain awake. "If he's got no idea like you're trying to say, what's he doing in my house?"

"He doesn't know who we are, mam. He thinks I'm his mate and you're a nurse who'll give him some stuff to make him better. I waited till he was out of his head and went to him like I knew him from his school. Any shit I tell him, he believes it. He thought the bus coming here was taking him home."

"You crafty little sod," Darren's mother said, and Darren knew he'd done right, because for the first time since he could remember he heard her admiring him. That experience lingered until she shook her head again and stared hard at him. "Hang about. When did you bring him?"

"Before," Darren said, and saw that wouldn't be enough. "Before Barry and Bernard come. I was going to tell you, then they come. He was up in my bed thinking he was getting better."

"You're telling me he was here when—You want your sodding brain drilling, you do. You're sitting there on your arse and telling me you'd got him upstairs all the time Bernard and Barry were here, you stupid useless brainless little mong."

"Don't you call me that. He wasn't here all the time. He went to try and call his mam, but he couldn't get her."

"And now he's back, or hadn't you noticed? You're making out he doesn't know where he is when he's come back?"

"He can't know what they were doing in here or he wouldn't have come back, would he? He only came because he thinks we're going to look after him. We've got him and nobody knows where he is, and if he gets away again it'll be your fault."