‘She can come and get her own bloody bowl of food,’ he’d said. Now, after Faith had finally come back downstairs to look for a shoe, the argument was about what time Faith should be allowed out till. They were both heading to the fair, and Michael knew that his own curfew was nine o’clock. Next year it would be later, but to be honest, he’d usually run out of money by nine anyway.
The house was a small terrace and there were few places to find privacy. Faith was on the phone to Sadie and they squealed together, making Dad wince. Michael rolled his eyes. He just didn’t get girls. To him they were giggly and dramatic. He’d had two girlfriends this year already, but they’d both dumped him live on Snapchat, so he’d made a promise to himself that he was off them for now.
‘How are you doing, Michael?’ his mum asked. He was completing maths homework and so he needed little help, if any.
‘Good,’ he said.
‘The difference between girls and boys!’ She often said this, but it was true. Faith caused so much drama.
His dad tutted and agreed. ‘Boys are so easy.’
Michael thought the phrase unfair and felt a pang of guilt. Faith was always getting it in the neck from both parents, but they mostly left him alone. It was true that she was stroppy and often annoying, but he still felt like she wasn’t that bad, for a sister. Faith ignored them all and continued to look under chairs and piles of ironing.
‘In my day, she’d be down here making her own tea, not having it delivered,’ said his dad, as if she weren’t in the room.
‘Was that the sixteenth century, Dad?’ Michael quipped. Both parents laughed and looked at one another, resigned to the fact that they would soon have two teenagers to handle.
‘Clever dick,’ his dad said to him.
‘You said dick.’ Michael giggled and blushed. Faith disappeared upstairs again.
‘Can’t say anything these days!’ His dad shook his head and went back to watching the news.
When Faith came downstairs ready to go out, her eyes were firmly attached to her phone, and so she didn’t notice her father’s face. Michael saw his dad glare at his sister and hoped there wouldn’t be trouble. Faith got on Dad’s nerves, or that was how he put it, and Michael felt sorry for her, because he himself didn’t seem to get on anyone’s nerves. But Faith was brave and so clever, while he didn’t really speak up for himself unless he was asked. She had an opinion on everything and he watched and took it all in, fascinated by where she learned all this stuff about human rights, famine, poverty and the government. But it drove his dad insane. Once, she’d called him a bigot and a Tory, and Michael had had to look them up. It had led to her being grounded and sent to her room.
‘Faith, put your phone down. We need to talk about tonight.’ Their father looked stern and Michael knew what was coming. ‘Faith!’ he shouted. She jumped and dropped her phone.
‘What? For God’s sake!’
‘Don’t you for God’s sake me!’ Their father was now on his feet and Michael thought about going upstairs.
‘Colin.’ It was their mum’s role to intervene and pacify the situation. This was how it usually went: Faith pissed their dad off, he lost his temper, their mum calmed everyone down and they all carried on as normal. Until the next time.
‘She’s only looking at her phone.’ Their mum turned to Faith. ‘No talking to strangers.’
‘Mum, I’m not seven years old!’
‘It doesn’t matter. These predators have all the tricks: pretending to be into whatever you’re into, luring you away from friends …’
‘At Keswick fair?’ Faith said sarcastically.
‘You are this close to being grounded! Listen to your mother!’ Dad’s voice was becoming louder, and Michael put his head in his hands.
Faith tutted and rolled her eyes.
‘She’s not that stupid!’ Michael couldn’t help himself, and they all looked at him as though, previous to his interjection, he’d been invisible. ‘I’m just saying she knows what a paedo is.’
‘Same goes for you, Michael,’ his dad said.
The situation defused, Faith went to get her jacket. Michael thought his parents underestimated both of them, but also that Faith didn’t handle it well. If only she’d keep her mouth shut, she’d get away with a lot more.
‘How do you know what a paedo is?’ his dad asked him.
Michael sighed. ‘Everyone knows, Dad! It’s called the internet.’ Sometimes his parents behaved like dinosaurs, but then given their childhoods, which they had described in laborious detail over the years – no mobile phones, no internet, no bloggers, no reality TV – that was what they were.
Faith and Michael soon lost interest in these conversations, although they did find it fascinating that there was once a time when no one had a mobile phone. The concept of not being reached: that was interesting.
‘You’ll catch your death in that.’ Mum was now focused on Faith’s choice of top. It was rather short. She’d only started wearing stuff like that because of Sadie. Michael knew that Sadie was called a slut at school, but she didn’t seem to mind. He had a pretty good idea what a slut was, and they usually looked like Sadie Rawlinson. He’d heard their mum quizzing Faith about her best friend, and it never sounded positive. Everybody knew that Sadie took drugs regularly, but this never came up in the house. Michael reckoned that half the stuff kids got up to now would floor his parents. Apparently when they were younger, people only did drugs at raves.
‘Mum! Who uses expressions like that?’ Faith was laughing. ‘What does catch your death even mean?’
Even their dad was smirking.
‘I’m going,’ Faith said.
‘You can’t go without something to eat!’ their mum protested.
‘I’ll get a burger at the fair. And candyfloss. We agreed I wouldn’t have tea tonight.’ Faith gazed pleadingly at her mother. Colin gave his wife the ‘you’re so weak’ look and went to check on Michael’s homework. Maths was his strong point too.
‘Who are you going with tonight?’ he asked.
‘Ethan and Adam.’
‘Adam Pearson? I’m not keen on that kid.’
‘I know you’re not, Dad. He’s all right.’
‘God, you’re worse than the thought police! Chill out.’ It was Faith’s departing shot before she put on her coat and checked her phone again, ready to leave.
‘I’ll pick you both up dead on nine thirty, outside the Royal Oak.’
‘Nine thirty!’ Faith was outraged. Her curfew had been nine thirty last year too. But arguing about it was futile and she knew it. Michael watched as her shoulders dropped. She was defeated.
Their father wasn’t finished. ‘And change your top.’
Michael watched Faith glance at Mum, trying to put her in the middle. It almost worked, but on this occasion, Mum agreed with Dad. Faith rolled her eyes, ripped her jacket off and stomped upstairs, returning wearing a long green jumper instead. She grabbed her jacket and was gone.
‘Nine thirty!’ his dad shouted as the door slammed behind her.
Chapter 8
‘The fair? Really? Why on earth would you want to go there?’ Johnny was studying a Lakeland map that was spread across Kelly’s dining room table. It had been there for two days and he’d made notes on it in different-coloured pens. He didn’t look up as he answered, and she was irritated. She needed something to take her mind off work. She looked at the map and contemplated hiding it.
‘Oh come on! It’ll be different. You’ve been poring over that map for days; we need to get out. I need to get out. I don’t mean to go on the rides; I just think it would be fun to have a look at the Christmas market, maybe pick up some presents, something for Josie? We could get a pint at the Dog and Duck. Please?’
Kelly widened her hazel eyes and feigned sadness, making herself difficult to resist. She went to him and put her arms around his chest from behind, resting her face on the crease between his neck and shoulder. He stopped looking at the map and soften
ed, and she moved closer.
‘You smell good,’ he said. She was wearing the Lancôme perfume he’d bought her for her birthday, and her auburn hair fell on his shoulder. It was still faintly kissed at the edges from the summer sunshine, but had darkened elsewhere since the end of that glorious season. She had grown it longer only recently, and the golden streaks looked more pronounced when it was down about her face. She knew when she had him cornered.
‘What are you doing anyway? You know these hills like I know the Penrith and Lakes NHS goddamn Trust.’ She nodded to the table. ‘You hardly need a map,’ she added.
He gripped her arms, enjoying her strength; she, in return, refused to let go.
‘I’m mapping the route for the race.’
‘I know you are, I’m just saying that it’s months away and you really don’t need to.’
Johnny had planned to do the race last year, but the surprise visit from Josie had scuppered his plans. The Lakeland 100 was the type of race that needed to be prepared for like the D-Day landings: nothing could be left to chance, and in the end he’d decided he wasn’t fit enough. And Josie was too important to lose again.
‘You’re losing too much weight. I don’t like it.’ Kelly squeezed her hands together across his chest and pressed against him, feeling the hardness of his body. He’d been training for months. He was conditioned anyway, from the fells and ridges over which he scrambled daily to reach casualties, but lately he’d become what her mother would have called fitter than a butcher’s dog.
‘You’re disappearing. It makes your face look gaunt; you look older.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’
‘Tell me what you really think.’
‘I will.’
Johnny ran his hands through his dark hair, silvery round the temples. Next year he’d be fifty, but he didn’t look a day over forty-five. The mountain air halted the ageing process in the Lakes like it did for Peruvian goat herders.
‘Do the race with me,’ he said.
‘No way! Not a hope in hell. Why would I put myself through that when I can drink a bottle of cheap wine and eat a curry?’
He smiled. ‘You don’t mean that; come on, you need a challenge.’
‘No I do not!’ Her indignation was an act and Johnny saw straight through it: he could tell that she was tempted.
‘What do I get if I agree to take you to the fair?’ he asked.
‘Ah, it’s blackmail now, is it? I might let you keep your map on my table for another day.’
He squeezed her. ‘It’s freezing out there,’ he said.
‘You think it’s cold now? Wait until you’re on your fortieth mile of the Lakeland 100, freezing your nuts off with just your torch and a whistle to keep you warm.’ She said ‘Lakeland 100’ with dripping resentment, as if the race had become his bed partner in preference to her, and in a way, it had. Where once, on a Sunday morning, they’d eaten bacon and eggs and contemplated an afternoon run to recover from a hangover, now he was up at 8 a.m. preparing for the week’s mileage test. This morning had been a twenty-miler, and he’d been out for three hours. Kelly wouldn’t admit to it, but she’d needed him. She’d wanted him in bed, not out on the fells setting records.
‘Are you having a mid-life crisis?’ she threw at him.
‘It’ll happen to you one day.’
Kelly understood the attraction of self-flagellation; she appreciated the need to commit, and to sacrifice, but that didn’t mean she approved of his chosen method. He’d earned his stripes five times over and didn’t need to keep proving his own resilience and limits. But she knew why he did it. It was only when he pushed himself that he could be at peace. She was the same, but her quests usually took on a different form. Catching a lowlife wasn’t quite the same as a hundred-mile race ascending some nine thousand feet, but it felt like it sometimes.
She softened, and he saw it.
‘Did you never go to the fair when you were a kid? The rides, the lights, the smell of fags and burnt cooking oil?’ she asked.
Johnny laughed. ‘Glamorous.’
‘I know.’
She had to admit it was warm inside her lovely cottage, and it would be easy to not venture out. But she spotted a chink in his armour and wrapped a cashmere scarf around her neck on top of the knitted sweater, adding to her cosiness.
‘Come on, they pack up tomorrow, and then I’ll sulk for a whole year. I haven’t been in ages. I think the last time was when I was fifteen. Nikki and I hung around the waltzers eating chips and candyfloss, waiting for this dodgy-looking guy that she fancied. I think he took her behind the Ferris wheel and showed her his greasy pole.’ She giggled.
‘You have such a dirty laugh, Kelly Porter. All right! Bloody hell. I’ll come for an hour. Then we come back and relight the fire, agreed?’ He turned towards her and smiled.
‘Agreed,’ she said.
She pulled herself away from him and went to find her hat and gloves. It was minus three outside, but it felt colder. Still, she had no doubt there’d be plenty of girls in short skirts and strappy dresses hanging about the fair, waiting for attention. The fairground workers had never appealed to her, though she saw the allure: the risk, the temporary high, the unknown and the dark lured the girls in a steady queue. All Kelly saw was the ingrained dirt, the stink of lorry fumes, the bleary eyes and the lack of anything tangible. Always the copper, she didn’t trust any of them.
Johnny pulled on his North Face coat and tied a scarf tightly around his neck. He stomped his feet and clasped his hands, like a toddler affirming its annoyance at being asked to wrap up warm for a bracing walk. Kelly smiled.
‘You won’t feel the benefit of all that if you put it on now,’ she said. He rolled his eyes and undid his jacket, opening his hands for her approval. Kelly grabbed her bag and keys.
The night air assaulted their exposed faces and their breath escaped in vast clouds around their heads. They jumped into her car and Kelly started the engine quickly, turning up all the heating dials. The windscreen was misty, and she wiped the space in front of her to see better.
‘Is there still time to talk you out of it?’ Johnny asked.
She smiled at him and switched on the headlights.
‘Not a chance.’
Chapter 9
As they drove away from the small house in Pooley Bridge, snow began to fall, as predicted. It was a week before Christmas, and it looked as though the fells would be covered for the festive season. It was a double-edged sword: while it made the peaks a picture of pure awe and wonder, it also filled the mountain rescue with dread because of the predictability of casualties, and the increased difficulty in finding them.
Johnny shivered dramatically. ‘I can’t believe I’m leaving the house on a night like this when I could be lying in front of the fire with you, drinking moderately expensive red wine.’
Kelly smiled at him. The holiday season had begun to work its magic, and there was the luxurious feeling of everything stopping, even if for only one day: no shopping, no work, no traffic; just being. It was like travelling back in time to a more peaceful era when families sat and played games, and cooking smells wafted on the air; relatives visited and Christmas carols told of peace on earth and all things virtuous. Of course, the reality was nothing like that. Christmas was in effect one long battle to buy food, booze and stocking fillers that lay discarded after the big day. It was like a hotly anticipated date with a hunk who’d wowed with his profile picture, only for it to turn out that he had bad breath and a small penis.
For Kelly, there was no holiday really; not if the past was anything to go by. Some drunk always ended up in A&E having been glassed, or worse, and figures were on the up. By and large, the poor coppers unfortunate enough to be on duty over the break dealt with the pissheads admirably, but occasionally an incident went further and the detective on call would be hauled in. This year, it was Kelly’s turn. She didn’t much mind; after all, it was just another day.
&n
bsp; ‘How’s Nikki?’ Johnny broke into her reverie, and Kelly bristled, as she always did. She also knew that the subject couldn’t be avoided.
‘You’d know more about that than me. Are you still helping her to get counselling?’
Nikki’s PTSD came and went. Kelly thought it more bipolar, but all the experts agreed that she’d had a tough time recovering from her abduction over eighteen months ago by one of the Lake District’s most famous residents: a serial killer nicknamed ‘the Teacher’. Even Wordsworth had become insignificant during the search for the crazy fuck who left poetry on his poor victims. Nikki had had a lucky escape, but not so her mind.
‘I haven’t spoken to her in ages,’ Johnny said. ‘I put her in touch with a mate of mine who works for an army charity specialising in PTSD, but he said she went cold on him.’
‘I’m not surprised. She likes the attention initially, then gets bored. I’m sure she’s OK, or Mum would have said something.’ Kelly hadn’t spoken to her sister for some time either. Finding out that they were only half-sisters instead of full ones had removed some of the angst and guilt surrounding their tempestuous relationship. It seemed less important now; getting to know her real father was Kelly’s priority, and the last thing she needed was Nikki ruining it.
‘Nikki doesn’t know about your dad, does she?’ It was as though Johnny could read her mind. ‘Are you going to tell her?’
Kelly gripped the wheel. ‘I’m torn. Half of me wants to scream it out so she leaves me alone for good. The other half wants to keep it to myself because I know she’ll try to make life very difficult for Ted.’
‘Assumption is the mother—’
‘Oh, please! Don’t preach to me. She really doesn’t deserve to know. You keep seeing this chink of humanity in her that I don’t – that I’ve never seen. I let her in last year after her horrendous experience. But come on, she loves the attention! Did you know she said that you’re too hot for me?’
Johnny raised his eyebrows.
Bitter Edge Page 4
