Breakers

by Doug Johnstone

  ‘Nowhere,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you’ve got to be somewhere, cunt.’

  ‘Just out walking.’

  Barry was sniffing down the phone, permanently coked. ‘They killed Kelly.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The police told me.’ Tyler thought about what Pearce said. Kelly had been beaten and stabbed, tortured and choked. He felt his own breath catch in his throat, tears coming to his eyes. His hand shook, rattling the phone against his ear. He felt his legs become unsteady, the trees towering over him, wavering on the edge of his vision. She had never been much of a sister to him, but Christ almighty.

  ‘Cunts had me in for two hours, as if I did something wrong,’ Barry said. ‘As if I was to blame.’

  Tyler let that slide. If he said anything Barry would rip his head off.

  ‘I want you back home,’ Barry said. ‘Now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’ve got a job to do.’

  Tyler’s heart was a rock in his chest and he felt bile rising in his throat. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just fucking get here.’

  Click.

  Tyler felt dizzy as he looked around, his legs weak. He put a hand out against the wall next to him, then doubled over and puked against a lamppost. His eyes watered and his nose ran as he spat and tried to breathe. Eventually he straightened up, saw an old woman passing with her small dog, giving him a look of revulsion. He didn’t belong around here.

  Barry had the Skoda engine running in the car park outside Greendykes House. Tyler craned his neck and wondered about Angela up in the flat. Behind him the diggers on the building site were throwing mounds of earth around, making the ground quiver under his feet. The crash and roar of it filled his ears.

  Barry jumped out of the car. Tyler had never seen him as bad as this, coke sweat drenching his forehead and arms, his eyes tiny black holes, arms and legs jittery.

  ‘Get in,’ he said.

  Tyler got into the car. There was a baseball bat and a can of petrol in the footwell in front of him. Ant and Dec were slobbering and pawing at each other in the back seat, the feral stink of them filling the car. Barry got in and screeched off, burning rubber, the acrid stench of it mingling with the dog smell.

  ‘Fucking cunts,’ Barry said under his breath. ‘Deke Holt thinks he’s God. Fuck him, fuck his ugly wife, I should’ve finished her off when I had the chance. Fucking snobby pricks think they’re too good for Niddrie, fuck’s wrong with them, no sense of community, abandon the place as soon as they have a few quid. Dirty fucking Holt bastards.’

  It was a psychotic mantra. He was winding himself up more and more as he muttered and shouted, barely looking at Tyler. He drove like a maniac through a red light on Niddrie Mains Road and round the roundabout at Cameron Toll. Tyler prayed for an accident, imagined a delivery truck smashing into the side of them, pushing them off the road into the trees, anything to take the terrible momentum out of this. He pictured himself reaching over and pulling at the steering wheel, but he didn’t move.

  Too soon they were past Kings Buildings and into Blackford. They’d robbed houses around here for years without thinking, without consequences. Not anymore.

  ‘We’re going to their house?’ Tyler said eventually.

  Barry grinned. ‘What do you fucking think?’

  ‘They’ll kill us.’

  ‘Not if we kill them first.’ Barry lifted his T-shirt to show a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  ‘Christ,’ Tyler said.

  Barry frowned and pointed at the bat on the floor. ‘Just back me the fuck up.’ He tilted his head to the dogs in the back, their breath steaming up the windows. ‘Maybe I’ll let these guys have a go.’

  ‘Where did you get a gun?’

  ‘What do you care? Fucking goody two-shoes.’

  ‘This is insane.’

  Barry was still driving recklessly, cutting in front of oncoming traffic, swerving up Kilgraston then into Strathearn Road. He pulled the gun from his waistband and pointed it at Tyler, the barrel pushed into his cheek. Barry’s other hand was on the wheel, his gaze switching between the road and Tyler.

  ‘Just back me up,’ he said.

  Tyler edged back in his seat, away from the barrel. ‘Take it easy.’

  They were there, St Margaret’s Road. Barry pulled up in the street outside number four. There was no car in the driveway, no obvious sign of life. Tyler tried to breathe, tried to stop his hands from shaking.

  Barry handed the bat to Tyler then skipped out of the car and let the dogs out the back. They clambered over each other and tumbled out, ready. Tyler followed with the bat hanging down by his side. He watched as Barry rang the doorbell.

  ‘This is your plan?’

  Barry sniffed and smiled. ‘They won’t expect it.’

  Tyler was either going to get killed or be an accessory to murder. He thought about running, but pictured Ant and Dec chasing him down the driveway, ripping him apart in the middle of the street in front of passers-by.

  Please no one be in. Please.

  Barry rang the doorbell again.

  Tyler imagined the neighbours’ curtains twitching, thought about CCTV in the street. This was too exposed. He prayed that a neighbour didn’t come out and get involved. He just wanted this to end one way or the other.

  ‘Fuckers aren’t in,’ Barry said. He was almost dancing on the spot like he was barefoot on hot sand. He scratched the side of his head with the gun and Tyler imagined it going off, spreading his brains and skull across the lawn and the gravel drive.

  Barry stuck the gun back in his jeans and grabbed the bat from Tyler. He turned and smashed in the bay windows of the front room, the crash of it excruciating, making the dogs jump and act even more jittery. No alarm went off because they had no alarm. If they’d just had an alarm in the first place their house wouldn’t have been a target and none of this would’ve happened. Tyler remembered being here that first night, the shotgun under the bed, the money clip, Monica Holt lying in the hallway staring at him. Kelly stepping past her body, Barry already out the door. He felt a twinge about Kelly and wondered how long it would be until they were all dead.

  Barry went to the car and lifted out the petrol can. He came back, unscrewed it and poured petrol in the smashed windows, over the rugs inside, splashing it onto the nearest furniture. The dogs recoiled at the stench of the fuel. Tyler wondered if anyone was upstairs sleeping, maybe Monica was already discharged from hospital, resting up with painkillers and sleeping pills. Barry led a trail of petrol away from the window frames and into the driveway then got a lighter out.

  Tyler looked at the house then back to Barry who was smiling like he’d just won the lottery. He lit the petrol trail and it whooshed into flame, tearing along the gravel and up into the window frames, the curtains catching the fever and spreading it inside the house.

  Barry watched for a moment then turned towards the car and clicked his fingers for the dogs to follow. He turned to Tyler and pointed at the flames in the living room.

  ‘Don’t fuck with the Wallaces, eh?’

  36

  Bean clattered up the rough stone steps in her school shoes and disappeared around the corner of the spiral staircase.

  ‘Come on,’ she shouted.

  Tyler and Flick gave each other a look and followed, disappearing into the gloom themselves, the narrow slits for archers throwing slivers of light into the tower. Halfway up the steps Tyler felt Flick take his hand, and a trill ran up his arm straight to his heart.

  They hadn’t paid entry to Craigmillar Castle, it was easy to sneak past the old woman at the front gate, just walk through the field further down the hill, reach the cover of the trees, then you could pop up at the side wall and clamber over.

  Tyler had persuaded Barry to let him out of the car at the high school, telling him it would look less suspicious if he attended a couple of classes this afternoon. He hadn’t gone to cla
ss, obviously, just walked through the woods at the back of the school until it was time to pick up Bean from primary. Just as he was standing waiting in the playground Flick had called, keen to meet up, and he couldn’t think of a reason not to.

  So here they were like a bizarre family, mum, dad and little daughter, exploring the medieval ruins at the top of Craigmillar Hill. Tyler remembered being here at night with Flick – how long ago was that? He was losing track of the days, drowning in time, unable to get a clear view of a future.

  Halfway up the tower they came out into a great hall, high ceilings and a ten-foot wide fireplace. Bean stood in the fireplace, stretched her neck and shouted at the narrow chimney slit way above. She came out and darted off to the side, found another staircase and steps. Tyler and Flick smiled and went after her. They found her in a smaller room down some steep steps, a sign on the wall saying it had once been a prison. From here the prisoners could’ve heard the sounds of partying from the main hall, would’ve smelt the roast boar. Tyler thought about prisons as Flick pretended to lock Bean inside and throw the key out of the window.

  Then Bean was off again, up and up until they were at the top of the tower, where Flick had kissed him that night.

  Flick was holding his hand again by this time. Bean noticed, smiled and took Flick’s other hand. But she had to let go when they scrambled up the last battlements and round to the front of the ramparts overlooking the city.

  Tyler looked west, searching for smoke in the air, but he couldn’t see anything. He hoped that meant the house hadn’t gone up, the flames had somehow stopped spreading, or someone had got there in time and doused the fire.

  ‘This is amazing,’ Bean said, running up and down the narrow path cut into the rampart. Like Tyler, she’d lived in the shadow of the castle but had never been here. It was amazing what could be right in front of you the whole time that you never even noticed.

  There was an information sign about how rival armies used to try to take the castle, and how the people inside would fire arrows at them, pour boiling oil down on advancing soldiers. Flick read it out to Bean, who grimaced and laughed, acted out getting burned alive, gargling and giggling. Tyler thought of Kelly and grabbed the handrail to steady himself against a gust of wind. He would have to tell Bean that Kelly was dead. She hadn’t been a big part of Bean’s life, Tyler had shielded her, but she was still her half-sister, it still mattered. But he didn’t want to break this fragile moment between him, Bean and Flick. He tried to imagine the three of them heading off somewhere together, a remote cottage in the Highlands or a small apartment by the sea in Greece. But he couldn’t picture it. Couldn’t see them any place where Barry wasn’t lurking in the shadows, where the Holts weren’t looking to take him out.

  ‘You OK?’ Flick said.

  Bean had run off to the adjacent wall of the tower, singing a song under her breath as she trailed a hand along the stonework.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You look worried. Is it your mum?’

  He thought about Kelly and Barry, how to explain it all. He thought about the Holts, and what Pearce had said at the station, that whoever was helping him and Bean was putting themselves in the firing line too. When Flick had called him, he hadn’t had the strength to say no. Now he was regretting that, wondering if somehow the Holts were watching them, closing in on Flick and Bean.

  The wind whipped round from the west and Flick pulled a strand of hair from her mouth. She was still in that bright-red uniform, unafraid to show people where she was from. He admired that confidence, wanted some of it for himself.

  ‘I was at the police station earlier,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  He looked out to sea. Inchkeith hiding out there, shrouded in fog.

  ‘Kelly is dead.’

  ‘Oh my God, Tyler. I’m so sorry.’

  She hugged him. He tensed up at her touch, then tried to relax. Eventually he pulled away. She was looking in his eyes, so he had to turn away to the view of Arthur’s Seat and the Crags.

  ‘What happened?’ she said, watching him.

  ‘She was murdered.’ He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the details.

  ‘Is this to do with Barry? Why your house wasn’t safe?’

  She looked over to where Bean was pretending to have a sword fight with an invading knight.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You can’t go back there,’ Flick said. ‘You and Bean can stay in Hope Terrace as long as you like.’

  ‘But your parents.’

  ‘They won’t be back for months. We can work something out before then.’

  Tyler shook his head. ‘We can’t impose on you like that.’

  She touched his arm. ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘This is crazy, we’ve only just met.’

  She held his other arm too now, as if she was going to shake him. ‘Tyler, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years.’

  He frowned and turned away.

  ‘I’m serious,’ she said.

  ‘All I’ve done is bring you trouble.’

  ‘That’s not true, you saved me from Will.’

  ‘Then you saved me from him.’

  ‘There you go, we’re perfect for each other.’

  Tyler looked at Bean, who looked over and waved. He waved back. Behind her was the hospital, the clutter of white rooftops in the hollow of the land. Rainclouds were sweeping in from that direction, they’d get wet here soon.

  ‘My mum is at our flat.’

  ‘They let her out of hospital already?’

  ‘They needed the bed.’

  ‘Then bring her to the house.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Of course you can. There’s plenty of room.’

  ‘She’s…’ He didn’t know how to end that sentence.

  ‘She’s your mum,’ Flick said. ‘And Bean’s mum. That’s all that matters.’

  Tyler stared at her. She was so much more together than him.

  ‘Let’s go and get her now,’ Flick said.

  Tyler frowned. ‘You take Bean back to the house, I’ll bring her.’

  ‘Why?’

  He didn’t want Flick anywhere near Greendykes House, the Holts might be waiting there. Or Barry. And even if they weren’t there, Angela would take some persuading, if she was in any fit state to be persuaded.

  ‘Just do it, please,’ he said.

  Bean ran towards them and Tyler stepped back from Flick to accept a hug from his sister. He looked up and Flick was smiling at him, just as he felt the first drops of rain on his face.

  37

  He walked home looking for signs, waiting for a car to screech up beside him and the Holts to bundle out. The noise from the building site was monstrous today, the ground shaking under him as diggers fussed over huge piles of dirt, guys in hard hats and ear protectors shouting at each other. One day this would all be beautiful new family homes, too expensive to live in, then in another fifty years they’d be old and get knocked down and something else would be thrown up in their place, and over and over until we were all dead and the last houses crumbled into nothing and the animals and plants could reclaim it all for themselves.

  It was raining steadily now, the stench of wet earth rising from the piles of rubble and dirt beyond the razor wire to his left. The cloud was low and pressed down on him, sucking light from the sky. He had his hood up, felt the gentle patter of raindrops against the material, imagined the drops driving through his scalp into his skull.

  A car swished past from behind and he tensed up, half expecting it to swerve onto the pavement and take his legs from under him, push him into a whole new future of pain.

  At the tower block, nothing seemed suspicious. Maybe the Holts hadn’t worked out where they lived after all. Maybe they hadn’t traced the stolen car, or the rest of the fenced stuff. Maybe Kelly hadn’t said anything as they beat her. He felt sick at the thought of that.

  Tyler went up the stairs so that the mechanism
of the lift wouldn’t sound in the hallway on their floor. He wondered if Barry was in there with the dogs right now, or out somewhere plotting more insanity.

  He opened the stairwell door at the fifteenth floor and crept across the landing to the flat. No dog noise from Barry’s flat. He slotted in his key and opened the door, slipped inside and closed it behind him. Pushed his hood down and took a second to acclimatise. This place felt like someone else’s home already. He’d only spent one night at Flick’s house with Bean, but he’d already become used to the luxury, the space to stretch out, a bedroom with enough floor space for a dresser, a whole room used as a study. That’s what money bought you, space. Space made all the difference, gave you the chance to escape into your own world for a moment, gave you inner peace. That’s the reason he’d started breaking into people’s houses on his own in the first place, the opportunity for space, time and emptiness. Things he never got in normal life.

  He expected Angela to be crashed out, either in bed or in front of the TV, maybe even OD’d again. But he opened the living-room door and she was standing in the kitchenette with a spread of ingredients in front of her, eggs, mushrooms, milk and ham.

  She looked up.

  ‘You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs,’ she said, cracking a shell and emptying the contents into a bowl.

  It was corny and she knew it, but she was clear-eyed and functioning, no sign of booze or drugs in her face. By the look of it she’d even washed her hair.

  ‘Do you want one?’ she said.

  ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘There’s plenty.’

  He walked to the kitchenette, placed a hand on the worktop. ‘Mum, we need to go.’

  She frowned as she whisked the eggs. ‘Go where?’

  ‘A friend’s house.’

  ‘What are you talking about? This is our home.’

  Tyler took a breath. This would’ve been easier if she was stoned out of her head and unable to comprehend. Tyler felt guilty for that thought.

  ‘It’s not safe here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’