by Emmy Ellis
“…three…two…one…and go!”
Everyone bolted at the same time. Mum and Benny shot out of their respective doors, Mum closing hers, Benny leaving his open for Will. Trev and Len jumped out of the back, and Will dropped down to the road last. He left the rear door ajar so there was no fumbling later, then ran to the driver’s side and dived in. By the time he’d turned the key in the ignition, the engine idling, the door closed, his foot hovering on the accelerator, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear stick, the others had disappeared.
The hit was on the armoured van around the left corner—or more specifically, the driver and the other man who’d currently be carrying the takings from Spangler’s Casino to the van. The nightclub around one hundred metres behind the van must have fully emptied, as ahead, people stood far down the road at Kebab Shack, their bodies specks, too far away to be of any help if an alarm went off, buying the gang time.
The plan was for Benny to deal with the driver, Trev and Len to sort the other fella and steal the money case, and Mum standing there with her machine gun to threaten anyone else leaving the casino, sending them on their way with a, “If you even think of phoning the police, we’ll come for you.”
Bile nipped up onto the back of Will’s tongue, and he swallowed it, wincing at the sour-tasting burn. All was clear on his side of the bargain, so unless shit hit the fan, they should pull this off and be away before an alarm was raised.
A shot rent the air, and Will jumped. “Fuck. No, please, no…”
A shout, a scream, and a woman streaking across the street from the left, her posh dress flapping. She vanished down an alley on the right between two shops. Trev and Len came belting around the corner, and Will readied himself, his heart banging away, his ears ringing, mouth dry. Who’d been shot, the driver? The man carrying the cash? Or had an innocent person been gunned down, Mum getting a bit too happy toting her gun?
His brothers dived into the back, breathing hard, the van rocking. Will turned momentarily. Len slung the money case on the floor, and it skidded beneath the bench Will had sat on.
“Who got shot?” Will faced forward again, adrenaline pumping, and eyed them in the rearview.
Len panted. “Fuck. Fuck!”
Trev placed his head in his hands. “You bloody dickhead!”
“What’s going on?” Will shouted, panicked.
“Never you mind. Concentrate on your part,” Len said.
Benny appeared, dragging Mum beside him, her gun hanging on her shoulder via a strap. She clutched her left arm, her mouth wide in the balaclava hole, teeth bared. Everyone at the kebab van had scattered, freaked-out ants darting in all directions in the road. Benny hauled Mum into the back and slammed the rear door.
“Go, go, go.”
Will sped off. “Get out of the fucking road,” he muttered.
People ahead didn’t seem to see the Transit bearing down on them. He clipped someone’s hip, sick to his stomach at hurting them, and glanced in the rearview. They were down on the tarmac, others crowding around them, and oh God, he’d fucked up again by doing that, but someone else had fucked up more if Mum had been shot. She must have been, holding her arm like that.
No one spoke, so he belted to their next destination, scrubland in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees, where Benny had parked a stolen Fiat. Will screeched up to it, and they were out of the Transit in seconds, everyone ripping their balaclavas off and throwing them into the van. Len and Trev dived into the back of the Fiat, while Mum, still clutching her arm and groaning, managed to get in the passenger side. Will joined his brothers, wedging himself beside Len, and they all stared out of the side windows.
Benny climbed into the back of the van and came out with the money case. He placed it on the ground then poured petrol from a can into the back of the Transit, striking a match, lighting a rag in a bottle. He threw it inside, grabbed the money, and ran, a forearm over his head, and the van went up with a frightening whoosh. Benny jumped into the driver’s seat, threw the case at Len, and roared off through a gap in the trees and out onto a country road, headlights on low beam.
“Are you all right, Mum?” Will asked. Why did he care? She wouldn’t if the situation were reversed, not that it ever would be, because they didn’t trust him to do anything except drive them away from the scenes of their crimes.
“Think she’s having a heart attack, is our Kath,” Benny said, “so we’re off to the hospital.”
“You’re not shot?” Will breathed out slowly to stop himself from throwing up.
“No,” she said and gasped.
“Who was then?” He shook, thinking of the poor sod bleeding to death on the pavement.
“The bloke with the money,” Len said. “And I shot him because he wouldn’t fucking give it up—he’s probably dead, I got him near the heart. Mum crapped it, got chest pains. Now shut your mouth, that’s the end of it.”
Ah, so it was the end of it when he did wrong. I see you, Len. I see who you really are.
“It’s easing,” Mum said. “The pain. Might just be a panic attack. Don’t bother with the hospital, Benny, continue with the plan.” She sighed. “If it doesn’t let up, once we’re home we can ring an ambulance from there. It’ll look like I woke you all up and we’ll be in our pyjamas, more authentic.”
“Right.” Benny turned left at the next junction, travelling for a while until he reached a factory that was as black as the sky, dark Lego bricks standing on their ends.
He parked in the staff area, and the rest of them got out and transferred to one of his own vehicles—no CCTV here, so he’d said, and no one around for miles to take any notice of the Fiat once it was on fire. Benny torched it, dumped the money case in the passenger footwell by Mum’s feet, then drove them to that creepy house he’d bought, the one he’d taken Will to earlier.
Inside, Mum declared she was fine and they should continue as usual. While she looked a bit pale, she still barked out orders, everyone stripping out of their clothing down to their underwear. She bundled it up and took it to the ancient furnace, Benny showing her how it worked.
Will got dressed in the usual trackie bottoms and T-shirts Benny always supplied, as did Len and Trev. No one spoke, which was normal, each of them processing what they’d done, their part in it. Len stared out of the back door in the kitchen, his reflection in the glass faint, seeing as only the little strip light was on under the cupboard.
Len had possibly killed a man. Trev had also taken a life before. Rebecca had killed, too.
How long before Will did the same? Or had Will killed that person just now when clipping them with the van?
I have to get out of here. I can’t do this anymore.
“Um, I need some fresh air,” he said. “All right to go out the front?”
“Yeah.” Benny helped Mum feed clothes into the lit furnace, the flames waiting to scoff them up, burning all the evidence.
Will walked down the seventies hallway and out onto the front step, dragging the summer air into his lungs, telling himself to calm the fuck down. He pulled the door to and took his phone out, switching it on, the screen so bright in the darkness it hurt his eyes. He browsed the news site, waiting for a headline to pop up about the shooting, then a text bubble covered the middle of his screen, the number he’d stored in his head on display.
Rebecca. What was she doing up at this time?
Thankful his message alert was on silent, so none of the others would come nosing, he nipped down the side of the house and opened the text. He sucked in a breath, amazed at how life sometimes coincided with his thoughts. Will sighed, tears itching his eyes, and blinked so he could read it again: I need you to come to London, ASAP. Can you get away? And don’t tell anyone where you’re going. R xxx
He responded: I’ll get the train down in a couple of hours. Let me know where to meet later. And no, I won’t be telling anyone, believe me. I have to get away from this shithole.
No need to tell her what he was do
ing up in the early hours.
She’d know.
Chapter Nine
Justice Road had the air of expectation about it, all eyes focused on Mrs Didders’ front door. The police and some other important-looking people had been in there for a while, so surely something would happen soon. People talked in hushed tones, some of them from the side of their mouths, shoulders tense, faces with that hardness about them, expressions frozen with the tautness of anxiety, of a day interrupted by misfortune.
Mr Shariff had said he’d planned on washing his windows, and this spectacle had stopped him; he felt it was disrespectful to continue while something had happened to Mrs Didders.
“No more disrespectful than us standing here staring,” Milly Proctor had said.
Rebecca listened to it all.
“What are they doing in there?” Mr Shariff muttered. “I mean, how long does it take to sort a dead body out?”
“The police have to make sure it isn’t a crime scene first. Don’t you watch the telly?” Milly sighed.
Mr Shariff gave Milly a sideways glance. “Not the sort of thing you watch. I’m more into gardening programmes and the like. Nice and gentle. Ooh, bugger me, something’s happening. That poor woman…”
The back of a man filled Mrs Didders’ front doorway, and he stepped down. The end of what he carried came into view. Another couple of steps, and there she was, the lump of Mrs Didders on a stretcher, a big bag covering her body. Well, at least Rebecca assumed it was her. Who else could it be?
She watched from the street with Will, clutching his hand. More neighbours streamed out of their homes now something was happening. As always, a tragedy brought many a Pinocchio out to play, speculation rife, the truth far from spoken, which meant they were lies, and Nan, had she been here, would have said, “Their noses are growing, look. Playing at the guessing game, they are, fibbing away.”
Mrs Florin stood close, her withered arm across Rebecca’s shoulders, and she sobbed quietly, a manky tissue up at her cheek to catch the tears. “She was my best friend.” It sounded like she’d hiccoughed it, the words escaping on hitches.
Rebecca felt bad about that, the best friend bit, especially because she’d given Mrs Didders the powder that had probably killed her, but if she hadn’t, she’d have been in so much trouble with Mum, Benny, and Anthony. She was more afraid of those three than the police.
“Can’t you find another best friend?” she asked the old woman. That was what Rebecca did if she fell out with anyone at school—or more likely, they fell out with her because their parents said she was scum—she picked a different one, although if Louise, her proper best friend, ever left her, she’d be well upset, same as Mrs Florin was now. Louise didn’t go to the same school, her parents sent her to the posh one a mile or two away, but they’d known each other from small, meeting at the park.
Will kicked at a little stone, his black trainer scuffed on the front. He’d have a hole there soon, and his toe would poke out, everyone calling him scabby. “There aren’t any other old ladies in this street to be friends with.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rebecca said, “you can be best friends with anybody.”
Mrs Florin laughed, although it came out unsteady. “That’s true. There’s Beryl at bingo, I suppose. She’s good for a cup of tea and a biscuit or two, although I’m not a fan of those Bourbon things she has. Give me a Fig Roll, and I’m happy.”
“What do old ladies do with their friends anyway?” Will asked. “It’s not like you can play football, is it.”
And so it went on, a conversation about mates while Mrs Didders was loaded into the back of a van, until Anthony came up behind them and ruined it all.
“Your mum said you need to go home.” He poked Rebecca in the back in his usual mean way, hurting her.
Rebecca sighed—there’d be a bruise there later. They’d slipped out while Mum and Anthony had been talking at the kitchen table, about the golden dog, and Mum must have noticed they’d gone. Maybe they’d get a smack when they went inside, Mum angry at them.
“Come on,” Rebecca said to Will and pulled his hand.
Anthony nodded to the elderly woman. “Do you need help with your cleaning? I’m sure Beck wouldn’t mind now she can’t go to Mrs Didders’ place.”
Did that mean Anthony knew Mrs Florin had money under her mattress, too?
“No, dear.” Mrs Florin smiled. “My daughter comes once a week, but thank you for the offer, very kind of you.”
Rebecca was pleased about not having to help her. She didn’t want to give Mrs Florin the powder so she died, too. She tugged Will along the pavement, and rather than worry about being hit by Mum, she rushed down the hallway and into the kitchen to get it over and done with. It’d only sting for a little while if Mum used her hand, and if she got the slipper out, well, Rebecca had managed before. She’d just had to lie on her tummy, that was all, instead of sitting to watch telly.
But she had a way to circumvent an attack and blurted, “We were out earwigging for you to see if anyone mentioned the mattress money or the dog.”
Mum stood from the table and folded her arms. “Hear anything?”
“No, they were just gawping at her body on the stretcher.”
“Right, well, don’t do anything without telling me again,” Mum said. “You know the rules Benny sets: we have to inform each other at all times, and that applies here, too.”
So why hadn’t she told Benny about the dog?
“But it was a good idea, I’ll give you that.” Mum came over and bent to speak—Len and Trev were probably upstairs, so it must be something to do with the golden dog. “Anthony’s going to London tonight, telling Benny his aunt’s not well, so be good and you’ll get some money. Now piss off out of it so I can think about what to do for dinner.”
She wouldn’t have to think too hard. Mum wasn’t much of a cook and provided limited meals, although many a time Rebecca had spied dirty Chinese takeaway trays in the bin where Mum must feast when they’d all gone to bed.
Rebecca legged it upstairs, Will close behind, and they scrabbled onto her bed in the room she shared with him, lying side by side and staring at the ceiling. Trev and Len were in—music came from the room next door, them singing loudly.
“What will you buy with your money?” Rebecca whispered.
“Sweets, loads of them. What about you?”
“Comics—and I’ll ask Mum to get you new trainers with some of hers.” She thought about her next job. She had to go two streets over later and call for Louise, stealing car keys out of the wooden box on the wall. Benny would nick the car later and sell it. “But I wish I’d kept the dog so we could buy a new life.”
Will giggled and slapped her belly. “You can’t buy a life, dafty.”
“I bet you can.”
One day, she’d do that. When she was bigger.
They chatted for a while, exchanging their dreams, and Rebecca imagined them working together, a doctor and a nurse, helping to save people. All too soon, the time came to eat dinner—fish fingers and dry oven chips, overcooked beans on the side—then go round Louise’s.
She ran down Justice Road to the bottom and kept going past the entrance to Fairdale Street and then into Clerkendale Avenue with its rows of trees on the grass verges beside the pavements. A man worked on a car outside Louise’s, but Rebecca wasn’t close enough to make out who it was. She slowed her pace and squinted. Oh, it was Louise’s dad, Keith, and the car he tinkered with was the one Benny planned on stealing.
What should she do? Go home and tell Benny? And were the keys even in the box now?
She stopped beside the front bumper and peered at the exposed engine. The open bonnet reminded her of the time Benny said he’d slammed one down onto a mechanic’s head when he’d overcharged him for an MOT, whatever one of those was.
“Is it broken?” she asked.
Keith glanced across and smiled at her. “Nah, just topping it up with oil. All done now. What are you doi
ng round here?” He closed the bonnet and moved to the driver’s side to lock the door, then he picked up a bottle of oil, some of it smeared on his finger and settling in the grooves of his skin.
“I came to see if Louise wants to go to the park.”
“Right.”
He walked up the garden path, and she followed him around the back—that was where she always had to knock. Mum said it was the tradesman’s entrance because they didn’t think Rebecca was good enough to be allowed in via the front.
Keith ambled to the shed and put the oil away, returning to her and ruffling her hair. He went inside. She waited on the step, pleased he hung the keys in the box.
“I’ll just go and get her,” he said.
He disappeared upstairs, and Rebecca took the keys, wincing at the tinkle as they swung against each other, and she slipped them in her pocket, curling her hand around them to stop any more noise.
“She’s got homework,” Louise’s mum, Linda, said. Her voice was faint from up there. “And I don’t want her hanging around with the likes of her anyway, I’ve told you this before. She could get our kid into all sorts of trouble.”
“It’s only to the park.” Keith sounded tired.
“Yeah, and look at what happened there last week. Teenagers doing graffiti.”
“That wasn’t Rebecca, though.”
“No, but it was that Len and Trev, and they’re related, so she’s just as bad in my book. Evil in the blood.”
“Makes no sense to me, that way of thinking.”
“Well, that’s your trouble, you never think.”
Rebecca went outside.
Keith came back down and offered her a sad smile, one hand on the newel post, the other at his brow. Maybe he had a headache. “She’s got homework, love, sorry.”
Rebecca shrugged, making out what she’d overheard didn’t bother her, but it was usually the same wherever she went, her tarred with Len’s and Trev’s brushes, and Mum’s, Benny’s, and Anthony’s.
“That’s all right.” She walked away, thinking there wasn’t any homework because they were on summer holiday and Linda must have lied, and Keith had, too, by passing it on. More Pinocchios.
