The Special Ones (29 page)

On my desk, my old laptop starts to whir loudly. I glare at it pointlessly, and reach out to close the screen. ‘Tess,’ says Harry, and I pause, hand midair, waiting for him to continue. His breathing is loud, shallow, and I know he’s battling his desire to see me with his desire to keep me safe. I’ve no intention of making it easy for him. ‘It’s not a good idea –’

‘Please, Harry. Just for a few minutes. To say goodbye.’

I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing I am. Remembering how it felt when we were pressed together on the bike. How everything had to stop before it even began. He must feel that same longing.

We’ve never even kissed.

But saying goodbye is not the real reason I want to meet him. A plan has started to form in my head.

He gives a long, slow exhalation, one that tells me I’ve won. ‘But where would we meet?’

‘There’s a park not far from my house – just around the corner,’ I say, speaking rapidly. ‘I could meet you there – near the fountain in the middle.’

I’m half out of my chair, leaning on the laptop screen, almost rigid with the tension of waiting. But this time the pause isn’t so long. ‘Now?’

Through my open window I hear the front gate’s mechanical whine as it opens, followed by the scrunch of tyres on gravel. Dad’s home with the pizzas. ‘No, later. When it’s dark.’

‘Around ten?’

‘Perfect. See you then.’

I slam down the laptop screen, cutting out the fan, feeling victorious but also unsettled. Harry has let his heart make the decision rather than his head. It’s what I wanted him to do, to give me a chance to convince him of my plan. Once again, I get my way. But for some reason it’s put me on edge.

At dinner, I force down a slice of pizza and then tell my parents I’m having an early night.

‘Oh no – really?’ my mum says, disappointed. ‘I thought we could watch a movie or something. Like we used to.’

Poor Mum. I know she wants things to go back to how they once were, long ago. Impulsively I go over and hug her, and her face flushes with pleasure. ‘Oh, that’s a nice surprise,’ she says.

‘Tomorrow I’ll watch a movie with you guys,’ I promise. ‘I’m just really tired tonight.’

My bedroom has its own bathroom and I go straight in and lock the door. I need to prepare. I take a pair of scissors from the drawer and quickly begin to hack at my hair, letting it fall to the floor in long strands around me. It’s only when it’s all gone that I even think to look in the mirror. I got so used to not having one on the farm that I still often forget to use it.

I stare at my reflection, barely recognising the girl I see. My face has changed in the two years since I left home. It’s thinner, my skin as pale as porcelain. Now that my hair has gone my eyes suddenly dominate my face. The look in them is strong. Determined.

Back in my bedroom I dress as if I were a jogger or a cat burglar: black leggings, black hooded top, sneakers. Leftover clothes from a former life.

Quietly I open my bedroom door. Down in the lounge I can hear the hum of the TV. I slip back into my room and out the window, keeping as close as I can to the wall as I make my way around to the back of the house. There are fewer media trucks camped out the front these days, but I’m not giving the ones left a scoop.

I can’t tell if I’m shivering from nervousness or from the cool evening air. When I reach the back fence I climb over it as quickly as I can, terrified that someone next door might choose this moment to step outside. But no-one does and I land on the ground with a quiet thud. Scrambling to my feet, I dash down the side of the house until I reach the main road, and then I slow my pace just a little, controlling my movements so I look more like someone exercising and less like someone trying to escape.

There is a trickle of people in the park when I get there – joggers and a dog-walker and a couple trailing along, holding hands. There’s a bright-yellow van parked near the entrance and I see a delivery guy organising boxes in the back of it. No-one pays any attention to me.

My pace picks up as I start to jog through the park, impatient now to reach the fountain at the centre. I round a bend and see it, a large white circle with a twisted central stem like some kind of strange plant. The spout has been turned off for the night and the water in the pool is completely still, shining in the moonlight.

I sit on one of the benches to get my breath back. It feels so familiar, waiting to hear Harry’s footsteps approaching, but of course this time it’s different. This time we’re both on the outside, and no-one is watching.

I’m excited but also nervous. What if he’s changed? What if he doesn’t recognise me? What if it doesn’t feel like it did the last time? Worst of all – what if he doesn’t turn up?

But even as I think this there are footsteps, quicker than I remember them but still familiar. My head turns, almost of its own accord.

It’s Harry, it’s definitely Harry. Thinner than I remember, with an expression that’s wary and sad in a way that makes me ache, but when our eyes meet, his face breaks into the broadest, most Harry-ish of smiles.

‘Tess.’

I had vowed on the way here that I would try to maintain a little dignity and poise. No crying, definitely no throwing myself at him. But the moment I see that smile, I’m on my feet, running over to him, and suddenly there we are. Together.

His arms encircle my shoulders and mine fold across his back, pulling him close. I press my head against his chest for a moment, breathing in his smell of sunshine and grass, hearing the rapid beating of his heart within his chest. Can he feel mine? Surely he must, it’s pounding so hard.

I lean my head back and look into his eyes. Neither of us says anything. We just look. Three seconds. Four. Ten. It’s like we’re under a spell. Like we’ll be this way forever and visitors to the park will find us here tomorrow frozen in place, like two new statues.

Harry’s hand slides slowly up my spine to the back of my neck, making me shiver as he pushes his fingers gently into my short hair. ‘You cut it,’ he says.

I pull a face. ‘It’s ugly, isn’t it?’

‘Nothing about you could ever be ugly.’

Impulsively I lean forward and press my lips to his. I had thought that it might feel strange to kiss Harry. Strange and dangerous and wrong after all that time when we couldn’t even look each other in the eye for more than a few seconds. But it doesn’t at all. It feels perfect and also familiar, like it’s happened a thousand times before.

We stand there, pressed together for a very long time. And then I can’t hold it in any more. ‘Harry, don’t go to the police,’ I tell him in a rush. ‘Not yet. We’ve got to catch him first.’

I have it all worked out. Harry knows more about him than anyone, so together we can track him down. Capture him. And once we’ve handed him over to the police, Harry’s name will be cleared. The world will have to apologise and finally they’ll see him as I do.

Harry shakes his head. ‘Tess,’ he says softly. ‘I’ve been trying, believe me. I can’t find him anywhere. It’s just better if I tell the police what I know. Work with them. I want to do things the right way from now on.’

I frown. ‘But the police are never going to catch him. He’s too smart. We’ve got the best chance – especially if we work together.’ I had planned to lay this out for him in a logical, unemotional way, but the kiss has dazzled me, pushed me off-balance. The words come out in a rush, more pleading than decisive.

Harry strokes my cheek. ‘Oh, Tess,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to be the one to catch him. You’ve done enough. You need to focus on other things. Finish school. Make new friends. Go to university, or travel – something like that. I’ve always imagined you doing something amazing with your life. I used to think about it all the time when we were on the farm – what you might do one day.’

I begin to cry. There’s another vow broken. ‘I don’t want to
make new friends
and I’m not interested in going to uni. What’s the point?’

Harry grips my hands very tightly and looks intently into my face. ‘The only way I’ll be able to live with what I did to you is if I see you get past it.’

‘But you didn’t
do
anything! You were a prisoner too, in your own way,’ I say, my voice thick. ‘If you hadn’t been there, things would’ve been a lot worse for us.’ And then I blurt out something I haven’t admitted to anyone else. Not to the police or my parents because I know everyone would think I’m crazy. ‘Sometimes I actually miss being on the farm. And the reason I miss it is because you were there.’

Harry says nothing. He simply pulls me close and we kiss again because we both know there’s nothing else we
can
do now. Nothing either of us can say will change the other’s mind. I close my eyes, fold myself into the moment. Try to hold it for as long as possible.

I don’t remember hearing a bang. What I do remember is the sound Harry makes – a kind of surprised gasp. His eyes fly open and he looks at me, face frozen in shock and lips still holding the shape of a kiss. His hand goes to his shoulder and a dark stain blooms beneath it, spreading slowly across his shirt. I grab him as he staggers forward.

‘Harry? What’s happened?’ My voice doesn’t seem to belong to me at all. There’s a sharp burn in my arm and when I touch it, my hand comes away wet and sticky.

What’s going on?

Harry crumples from me. ‘Tess. Run!’ His voice comes out in a strangled gasp. But I’m not leaving him. No way. My whole body is shivering; my teeth chatter as if the temperature has suddenly dropped. I can only think in short bursts.
Call for help. Phone? In my backpack.

It’s as I lift my head that I see a guy wearing a bright yellow delivery uniform, standing behind Harry. He’s holding something, pointing it directly at me. Something gleaming and metallic.

A gun. He’s got a gun.

I’m too shocked to be afraid. ‘You shot him!’ I say, crouching down protectively next to Harry. ‘We have to call an ambulance!’ Harry is silent, but his face is contorted in pain, his eyes squeezed shut.

The delivery guy takes a step towards us. ‘He’s not important, Esther. We’re done with him.’

I know that voice. Harry knows it too. His eyes have opened and are fixed on mine, full of horror.

‘Stand up, Esther.’ I look up to find myself staring directly into the barrel of the gun. ‘Stand up or I’ll shoot Harry again.’

I hear a noise from Harry. He’s trying to talk but his voice is weak. I make out one word.
Run
…

But if I ran, how far would I get before I was shot? Before Harry was shot again too? No, I’m not running away. This is a chance to get even. Get my revenge.

‘Come on, Esther. Let’s go.’

It’s a terrible thought, once again choosing to leave with this –
person
– but it’s what I need to do.

He
steps up beside me, lips parted in a thin smile as he presses the gun into the small of my back. ‘Good girl. My van is on the street.’

My hands are slick but my mind is strangely sharp, despite the pain in my arm.

‘Let’s walk.’

I take a few steps forward and then turn, hoping that Harry is looking my way, hoping that he can see in my face that I’m not really deserting him. Behind me,
he
stops abruptly and for a moment I wonder with a stab of fear if I’ve accidentally said my thoughts out loud. Then I feel the gun slide away from my back and I know that something terrible is about to happen.

I whip my head around to see that he’s pointing the gun at Harry again. ‘No!’ I scream, and shove at him, ‘No!’ but he stands firm and fires.

Harry, who has somehow staggered back to his feet, slumps to the ground.

‘He was just a fill-in anyway,’
he
says, dismissively.

The pathways are all empty now. The joggers and dog-walkers have gone, the strolling couple too. There’s no-one to scream to for help. The worst thing – way worse than being caught like this – is the thought of Harry lying alone on that dark, cold path, his blood slowly pooling around him.

I’m forced along the pathways at a rapid pace, the barrel of the gun ever present in the small of my back. His breathing flickers with excitement. We reach the road, which is also frustratingly deserted, and he directs me towards a van. It’s the one I passed before, cheerfully yellow and so ordinary that it’s hard to believe it’s connected with
him
. The back door squeaks as he opens it with one hand, the other still training the gun on me.

‘Get inside, Esther,’ he says in his flat, unemotional voice.

My muscles tense. If I could just make it around the corner … Just get into someone’s driveway … But I’m starting to feel weak now. Dizzy. The wound in my arm pulses and throbs.

Harry is dead. Is Harry dead?
I don’t believe it. It can’t be true.

He pushes me with the gun and I stumble into the van. The door slams closed behind me.

The sound of the engine and the smell in here – musty, airless – triggers a memory. The sensation of lurching from side to side. Darkness. A fog-filled head. I’ve been in this van before, when he took me to the farm, clouded with medication. But the difference is that last time I wanted to be here, believing I was heading for a better life. This time I definitely do not.