Thorn In My Side (19 page)

Bending down,
Gary opened the letterbox. 'I’m going to push my number through. If
you hear from her, phone me, OK?'

Listening, he
heard a faint 'Yes' from somewhere in the bowels of the house.

Hastily, he
wrote his number down and posted it, as Liam said, 'Do yer think
she’s telling the truth, Gary? Only she seemed a bit nervous to me,
like.'

'Yeah, she was
a bit off for my liking, an’ all. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s
hiding something… We’ll be back though, we’re not giving up until
we find our Shelly.' He turned to Danny. 'We’ll drop you at home
and we’ll be back in the morning.'

They went back
to the car. 'I can walk from here, you know. It’s not that far,'
Danny said.

Gary started
the car. 'Get in.'

Danny quickly
obliged. When they reached Evan’s flat, he said, 'Er... do you
think I should report Shelly missing? It’s been forty-eight hours
now.'

Gary glared at
Danny in disbelief. '
What?
You mean to tell me that yer
haven’t reported her missing yet?'

Danny licked
his dry lips 'The coppers know all about her. Didn’t they think it
was her who was dead?'

'It’s gotta be
official, yer stupid dickhead. Don’t yer know it’s all form-filling
these days?'

'Oh right, I’ll
get straight onto it, then.' Danny quickly nodded his head.

'You do that.
We’ll be back in the morning.' It was the look in his eyes, and
what Gary
didn’t
say, that made Danny shudder.

He got out of
the car and went up to Evan’s flat, finding the sitting room and
small kitchen empty. Pleased to see that Alicia’s folks had gone,
he tapped on Evan’s bedroom door. 'You in there, Evan?'

'Yes,' came a
flat reply.

'You all
right?'

Evan didn’t
answer.

Shit. Of
course he’s not all right. What the hell do I say?
Sighing, he
came up with the only thing he could think of. 'Want a cuppa and
something to eat, Evan? Toast? Sandwich? I think there’s some
corned beef in the fridge… How about a can of lager? Or I could go
down to the chippy. A nice fish, eh? Some chips and mushy
peas?'

He patted his
back pocket.
Shit, no cash.

'No.'

Relived that
Evan hadn’t wanted anything from the fish shop, Danny said. 'All
right, then… Do you want to talk?' Waiting for Evan to answer, he
fidgeted with his belt loops, not knowing what else to say or do.
Should I go in, maybes give him a man hug?

But Evan’s
answer was a final, flat, 'No.'

'OK. OK.' Danny
backed away from the bedroom door. There was nothing else he could
do. He had never had anyone close to him die before, and was lost
as to how to help Evan. He wandered around aimlessly for a few
minutes, switched the kettle on, then switched it off, slouched
back into the sitting room and flicked the telly on.
Nothing on
there
again,
he thought, staring at the blonde woman
announcer. Something about floods further down the country. He
stared at the terrible mess of people’s homes, not really taking it
on board. The trouble was, everywhere he looked, all he could see
was Alicia’s dead body.

It was on his
third visit back from the kitchen, with a piece of cold, soggy
pizza in his hand, when he noticed the red blinking light on the
telephone.

'It’ll just be
someone wanting to tell Evan how sorry they are,' he murmured.
'People are kind like that.' Nodding to himself, he sat down
opposite the TV.

He tried to
concentrate again, this time on some sort of murder mystery. But he
couldn’t figure out what it was about, or what the hell the bad guy
had done, or even if the bad guy was a guy. The repetitive blinking
light that he could see out of the corner of his eye kept
distracting him. Laying his head back, he sighed deeply. His heart
weighed heavy inside him for Alicia, for Evan, and for Shelly. He
looked up at the ceiling.

Where is
she?

Where the hell
is she?

Why don’t
you phone, Shelly? For God’s sake, just phone me. You
know
I’ll be worried.

He starred at
the blinking light again. 'Should I?' he murmured.

Aunt May let
herself in through the back door. The first thing she spotted was
Tiny. The first thing she heard was Tiny snoring his huge head
off.

'Dear God,' she
muttered, then shouted through into the sitting room, 'Hello? Has
the Monster from the Black Lagoon been out tonight?'

'Do you mean
Mike or Tiny, Aunt May?' Smiler shot back.

Not being aware
of having given Smiler permission to call her Aunt May she
nevertheless smiled. He seemed a canny enough kid, and God only
knew what he’d been through. No doubt, in time, if Smiler didn’t
tell her all about it, then Mike would. He did seem terribly busy
at the moment, with one thing and another.

She walked to
the connecting doorway between the two rooms, and said with a
laugh, 'It’s hard to tell one from the other, but if they’ve both
been out, I’ll be happy.'

'Job done.'

' Well done,
son. Fancy a chicken sandwich?'

Tiny snorted
loudly, and raised his head. 'Not bloody you!' Aunt May curled her
lip at him. 'Been all the same if I was a burglar. I could have
been in and out with half the house by the time you woke up, stupid
bloody mutt.'

Tiny wagged his
tail at her, just as Smiler came into the kitchen. 'Let me make us
the sandwiches, Aunt May.'

'Hmm, why not.
Be a change to put me feet up. Two sugars, there’s a good lad.'

'Count me in,'
Mike said from behind Smiler. 'I’m starving.' He came into the
kitchen, headed for the fridge, and took out a can of lager.
Looking at Smiler pointedly, he went on, 'No tea for me thanks, got
my own liquid refreshment.' He winked as, smiling, he passed them
both, went back into the sitting room, and claimed the seat by the
log fire which, although set and waiting only for a match, it was
far too warm a night to light.

Ten minutes
later, they were all seated and tucking into roast chicken
sandwiches. Aunt May looked approvingly at the triangular,
crustless sandwiches, while they all pretended not to see Tiny
slowly wending his way in from the kitchen.

Mike hid a
smile. Everything was working out the way he’d hoped. Aunt May
seemed to have taken a shine to Smiler, and Tiny was working on
her. Mike worried about her being on her own in the winter months,
and these two seemed the perfect solution.

'I’ve been
thinking,' Aunt May said, interrupting his chain of thought.

'Hope it didn’t
hurt too much,' Mike put in, before she could say any more.

Pursing her
lips, she looked at Smiler. 'See what I have to put up with from
the cheeky monkey?'

Smiler nodded
solemnly. He was experiencing something he’d never had, a sort of
family camaraderie that gave him a warm feeling inside. And he was
basking in it.

Mike laughed.
'OK, spill it. What have you been thinking about, Aunt May?'

'Well, I’m not
sure if I want to go on this walk thing.’

'What walk
thing?'

'I told you all
about it,' she tutted. 'These bloody people, them strangers, they
turned up a while ago and started getting everyone riled up about
the Lindisfarne Gospels, saying they should be back on the island
where they belong. But I don’t like them… I did tell you about it,
Mike, I’m bloody sure I did.'

Mike looked
perplexed. He was convinced it was the first he’d heard, but he
played along. 'OK, tell me again.'

'I just
did.'

'Right. Why
don’t you like them?'

'Well,' she
sniffed, 'a couple of them are foreigners.'

'That’s no
reason not to like them!'

'I know that,
silly. I have met some nice foreigners, you know. That Greek couple
who come every year, they send cards at Christmas. Then there’s
that other couple from France, they bring their three kids with
them. Very well behaved they are, as well. And a very nice pair of
young men from Florida, who come every spring. Actually,' her voice
fell to a whisper, 'I think they’re gay.'

Mike laughed.
'They can’t hear you, darling. Florida’s a long way from here.'

Smiler tried to
hide a grin as Aunt May went on, 'I know that, clever bugger. But
those up at the castle aren’t nice men like the Florida guys. They
rent some rooms up there at the castle, and look down their noses
at the locals, and they order the staff around as if they were
nothing but bloody slaves. Sally-Anne told me, she’s worked there
for years, and says she’s never seen the like. Strut around like
they own the bloody place. And they wander around with those metal
detector things… Sally-Anne swears she saw them tapping walls in
the castle. Actually, when I think about it, it must have been Tony
I told, ‘cos he asked me all sorts of questions about them when he
phoned the other week.'

Mike frowned.
He was about to speak when Aunt May screamed. Tiny had put his cold
nose on the back of her neck and was now trying to lick it.

'Get back, you
bloody great filthy beast!' She pushed him, but gently, and
couldn’t help but chuckle as Mike and Smiler erupted in gales of
laughter.

Further down
the street was a far less cosy scene, as Jill Paterson and her
daughter Jayne were at each other’s throats yet again.

'But I can’t
see why you won’t let me sleep at Uncle Billy’s, on nights when the
tide’s in. I’m like a prisoner here. I hate it. You know I hate
it.' She stamped her foot, which only made Jill all the more angry.
'It’s your fault we live on a stupid island, of all places.' Jayne
waved her arms around in frustration. 'I mean, Mother, get real.
Who wants to live on an island? Not cool!'

'Yes, we live
on an island and you were mad keen to come here at first. Why
change your mind now? And really, you know fine well you can change
everything to suit the tide. It’s hardly that bloody damn
restricting.'

Jayne stamped
her foot again as she shouted, 'Isn’t it? You don’t get it, do you!
We could just move to Berwick. At least there’s more life there. I
hate this place.'

Jill retorted,
just as loudly, 'No, we can’t just flaming well move to Berwick.
When you are eighteen, then you can stop out on tide nights, and
not until. I don’t want to hear another word on the subject right?'
She slammed a plate of spaghetti Bolognese in front of her. 'And
you can get that muck washed out of your hair tonight, it’s a right
mess.'

Jayne jumped
up. 'No, it’s not and it won’t wash out, see? It’s a dye, not a
rinse… And I’m not hungry. And I hate spaghetti Bolognese. That’s
why you made it, isn’t it? ‘Cos you know I hate it. And… and I hate
you as well. No wonder Dad left, I don’t blame him. You eat this
pile of shit.'

She pushed her
plate across the table. Jill caught it just in time as it wobbled
on the edge. Knowing she’d stepped way over the line, Jayne turned
and ran from the room, leaving Jill staring angrily at the plate of
food.

'She didn’t
mean it, Mum.' Cassie got up from the chair where she’d been
sitting, with her hands over her ears hoping to block the row out,
though with little success. She put her arm around her mother’s
waist, and laid her head on her chest. 'I love it here, Mum. It’s
much better than where we used to live.'

Staring at the
door, Jill muttered 'But she loves spaghetti Bolognese. That’s why
I made it, you know she does.'

Jill was hiding
the real reason why she was so upset. Her daughter telling her that
she was to blame for her marriage break-up had really stung.
It’s so unfair, but how do I
explain it all without
coming across as the bad guy in the whole sordid mess?

Blinking
rapidly to get rid of the tears in her eyes, she squeezed Cassie.
'You really do like it here, don’t you, love? I know you’re bound
to miss your old friends, but you’ve made some new ones… Maybe
that’s what’s wrong with Jayne, she’s missing her friends. Speaking
of which,' she held Cassie at arm’s length, 'have you met any of
her new friends yet?'

'Well…'

'Well, what?'
Jill looked suspiciously at her daughter.

'There’s this
girl called Maria, I don’t like her very much.' She looked up at
the ceiling, as if to check that her sister wasn’t spying on her,
then whispered, 'She has loads of rings in her face, and I think
she’s drunk most of the time.'

'Most of the
time!' Jill was shocked. 'How many times have you seen her?'

Cassie started
to squirm, torn between loyalty to her mother and her sister. 'A… a
few times… She waits outside of school some days. Her and Jayne
walk in front of me, and they whisper all the time. She’s got hair
like our Jayne has now, long and black. I think it's her who made
our Jayne dye hers.'

'Made?'

Cassie
shrugged. 'You know what I mean.'

'No… what do
you mean? Did she force her?' Jill was frowning at Cassie . 'Did
she force your sister to dye her hair? Tell me the truth,
Cassie.'

Squirming,
Cassie said. 'Not like, she held a gun, sort of forcing. She’s been
pestering her for weeks, though.'

'Is there
anything else I should know?'

Cassie shook
her head, trying to look away from her mother’s piercing stare.
'Don’t know what you mean,' she mumbled.

'Anything,
Cassie. Like, have you seen our Jayne drink with this Maria person?
Does Maria hand the bottle over to Jayne? I need to know,
Cassie.'

'No. Maria does
keeps handing her the bottle, but Jayne refuses… They keep
whispering about the brothers, but I can’t make out what they say
because they hurry up and leave me behind. I think they must be
Maria’s brothers.'

Jill and Cassie
fell silent at the mention of brothers, remembering a five-year-old
brother and son, dead because a father and husband decided he had
to see one of his harem on the way back from picking him up from
school. A case of the wrong place at the wrong time. A drunken
driver who served a mere year before he was back out on the
streets, armed and ready to kill again.