Dead Stock

by Rachel Ward

  ‘That voice, it’s the same guy you saw in the pub, Bea. The one who’s been in Costsave. Barbour Jacket Man.’

  ‘He works for the local hunt, you know,’ said Bea. ‘I saw him in a video online.’

  ‘Of course!’ Jay said. ‘He’s one of their men. He’s a right bastard. So, what’s he doing at the farm?’

  27

  Jay’s eyes were burning brightly. He had an intensity about him that Bea found exciting. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘this changes things. Something’s kicking off on Saturday. It’s gotta be dog-fighting, hasn’t it? They’ve been using the cats out at the farm to bait the dogs with.’

  ‘Dog-fighting?’ said Bea.

  ‘Yeah, you know I told you they practise ripping them apart, encourage them to bring out their aggression. Well, they need stuff from the vet – painkillers, antibiotics, all that stuff – to keep the dogs going when they get injured. It all adds up.’

  Ant put his last chip back in the plastic tray. ‘God, that’s sick,’ he said. ‘Puts you off your food, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does all add up, though,’ said Bea. ‘If it’s true, we’ve got to stop it. I guess we should go to the police. Shall I do it? Shall I just call Tom or the other one, Shaz?’

  ‘You could do,’ said Jay, ‘but we’ve only got circumstantial evidence so far. We need hard proof. We need to catch them at it.’

  He was leaning on his forearms, against the edge of the table. His eyes were shining in the stark strip light. It was quite different to his normal laid-back style. Bea liked it. There was passion there.

  ‘Sneak up on them?’ said Ant. He was looking animated too.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And then what? Break it up?’

  ‘I don’t know if we can break up a fight meeting,’ said Jay. ‘They’re rough buggers that go to those things and there’ll be loads of them there. I could get my sab mates to come, safety in numbers, but I don’t know if they’d do it. After dark, lots of them, not so many of us. We could disrupt it, I guess.’

  ‘It’s risky,’ said Bea. ‘I reckon it should just be us. We could take pictures, or ring the police once we’re there.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jay, ‘that sounds like a plan.’

  ‘Except—’ said Ant.

  ‘Except what?’ said Bea.

  ‘Well, are you sure you want to come? If it is dog-fighting, and if we get spotted, it could turn nasty.’

  Bea sighed. ‘Ant, mate. I may only be five foot five, but I’m pretty sure I could punch harder than you. And there is no way on earth you two are going without me.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Ant. He formed a fist with his right hand and held it across the table, inviting Bea to bump it back, which she did. ‘So, we’ll meet up at Jay’s tomorrow and agree the operation, shall we?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Jay. ‘In the meantime, get some dark clothes ready, black or camo, a balaclava, or a dark hat and a torch. I’ve got some spare if you haven’t got any.’

  Bea felt a little thrill of excitement ripple up her spine. From sitting at a checkout at Costsave to direct action with camouflage and torches. Life was definitely taking an interesting turn.

  Outside the shop, they prepared to go their separate ways. They were just saying goodnight when they heard someone shouting. ‘Ant-o-ny! Hey! Look at me!’

  ‘Sounds like Ken,’ said Ant. ‘Where is he?’

  They all turned round towards the civic centre, the little precinct that contained the library and the local council offices.

  ‘Oh, Ant. He’s on the clock. Look!’ There was a modern clock tower on the corner of the precinct, a metal-framed structure with artwork panels reflecting the history of Kingsleigh. Ken was about twenty feet off the ground, clinging to one of the metal corner struts.

  Ant, Bea and Jay checked for traffic and then ran across the road to stand at the base of the clock.

  ‘Jesus, Ken, come down!’ Ant called up to him.

  ‘Woohoo! It’s fucking ace up here!’

  ‘Okay, but it’s time to come down now. Come on, mate. Can you climb down?’

  ‘I don’t need to climb, bro, I can flyyyyy!’

  He let go of the support with one hand and stretched his arm out into the night air, flapping it like a wing.

  ‘No!’ The three watchers shouted together.

  ‘Ken! You can’t fly! You need to climb down,’ shouted Ant. ‘Turn round and face the clock and then feel below with your foot.’

  Jay had peeled away from them. Now, Bea watched as he took a run up and launched himself at the tower. He was a very skilled climber and was within a few feet of Ken in seconds. He pulled himself up again and was next to him. He started talking quietly to Ken. Bea couldn’t hear what either of them was saying, but soon Ken turned his back on them and started feeling his way down. Jay stayed level with him, coaching him all the way.

  When he got within reach, Ant put his hand on Ken’s waist, and helped him back onto terra firma.

  ‘Jesus, Ken. I don’t know whether to batter you or hug you.’

  ‘What’s the problem? It’s all good, Ant. I was just admiring the view.’ Ken was unsteady on his feet. He reeled towards Bea and she saw that his pupils were enormous.

  ‘Ant,’ she said. ‘He’s on something.’

  Ant gripped Ken’s shoulders. ‘Ken, what’ve you taken?’

  But he couldn’t or wouldn’t answer.

  ‘I can’t get any sense out of him. I’ll take him home and try and get him to sleep it off.’ He turned to Jay and patted him on the back. ‘Thanks, man. I owe you.’

  ‘It’s cool. Do you need any more help?’

  ‘Nah, we’ll be all right.’

  Bea and Jay watched the two of them lurch off towards their estate.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Bea. ‘Ant’s got his hands full, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah. No harm done this time, though. How old is Ken?’

  ‘Fifteen? Sixteen? He’s got GCSEs this year.’

  Jay blew air out of his mouth. ‘That’s young. He needs help now, doesn’t he? Before it’s too late.’

  ‘Yeah, but who can help? It’s all down to Ant, as far as I can see.’

  Bea and Queenie were pottering round the kitchen, as part of their end of evening routine. Bea hadn’t told Queenie about Ken. Sometimes it felt better feeding her an edited view of the world.

  ‘How’ve you got on, Mum?’ she said.

  ‘Fine,’ said Queenie. ‘I wouldn’t say Goldie and Arthur are best friends, but they’re okay with each other. And guess what, Bea, I took Goldie out on my own this afternoon.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Just onto the rec and up to the shops.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. Did you feel all right?’

  Queenie refilled Goldie’s water bowl. ‘Yes. I did actually. I didn’t feel like I was on my own, not with this one by my side. There’s a sign up at the launderette. They want someone to do a few hours, a couple of days a week. I was thinking maybe I could give it a go. Since my benefits stopped, I’ve felt dreadful letting it all fall onto your shoulders.’

  ‘A job?’ said Bea. ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, it’s not far. I know I can get there and back now, and if I panic or anything, I can always come home. I might go back tomorrow and ask about it.’

  ‘Wow. That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you, Mum. I really am.’

  Queenie smiled. ‘I’m proud of me too. But really I’ve got this old gal to thank for it.’ She leaned down and gave Goldie a good shoulder rub. Goldie responded by rolling onto her back and squirming, legs in the air. To Bea’s astonishment, Queenie knelt down on the floor and tickled Goldie’s tummy, talking to her like she was a baby. ‘Oh, you like that, don’t you? You like that? Yes, you do. Yes, you do.’

  Smiling to herself, Bea got on with making a pot of tea. ‘I can’t believe you two,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know why we didn’t get a dog ages ago.’

  Bea decided that it was most tactful to say
nothing and certainly not to point out that for six long years Queenie had been unable to even talk about leaving the house without getting hysterical.

  ‘Bob was right. A dog really makes a home. Did you see him today, Bea?’

  ‘Who? Bob?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Yeah. Not really to talk to. He was there, just like normal.’

  ‘Oh. I texted him, inviting him for tea, but he didn’t reply. Perhaps the text didn’t go through.’

  Or perhaps he was keeping his feet warm at Dot’s fire this evening, thought Bea. Another thing best left unsaid. ‘Why don’t you ask him for tea tomorrow?’ she said. ‘I’m going out, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Somewhere nice?’

  ‘Just round to a friend’s.’

  Queenie raised her eyebrows, and Bea knew she wouldn’t get away with such scant information.

  ‘The new guy on the checkouts. He’s called Jay.’

  Queenie smiled. ‘Date, is it?’

  ‘No, Ant’s going as well, and his little brother, if he can keep hold of him.’

  Queenie got up from the floor and sat at the table. ‘I worry about that young man,’ she said.

  ‘Who, Ken?’

  ‘No, Ant. He’s got a lot to cope with. Difficult home life.’

  ‘Yeah. He came with me and Goldie on our walk this morning and he was talking about his dad. He still loves him, despite everything he’s done. I hadn’t the heart to tell him he shouldn’t. What his dad did, breaking into people’s houses, was disgusting.’

  ‘Yes, but whatever he’s done, his dad is still his dad and always will be.’

  They were both cradling their mugs of tea now, sitting opposite each other at the table.

  ‘I was lucky, wasn’t I?’ said Bea. ‘Having Dad as my dad. Even though it was only for fourteen years. They were the best years and he was the best dad ever.’

  Queenie reached across and put her hands around Bea’s. ‘He was. And husband. We were both lucky.’ She gave Bea’s hands a little squeeze. ‘But don’t think your best years are behind you, love. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You’ll never forget him, I know that, but, for you, the best is yet to come.’

  ‘And for you too, Mum. You’ve got years ahead.’

  Queenie developed a wistful look. ‘I wouldn’t have agreed with you until recently, but, you know, I think you’re right, love. Things can change. It only takes someone special to come into your life, doesn’t it?’ They both looked down at Goldie, now resting her head on her front paws, eyes closed, but Bea felt a sharp pang at the thought of her mum’s vulnerability as she wondered if it wasn’t the dog that Queenie was talking about, but someone else altogether.

  ‘Forgot to say, there’s post for you,’ said Queenie. ‘I put it on the side there.’

  Bea got up and fetched the envelope. It was a white, businesslike one with her name and address printed out on a label.

  ‘There’s no stamp,’ she said, turning it over and starting to pick away at the flap to open it up.

  ‘No, it came at a funny time of day too. Halfway through the afternoon. Goldie barked when it came through the door, but I didn’t see who it was.’

  Bea had the envelope open now and drew out the single sheet of paper inside. ‘Oh, it’s the vet’s bill for Arthur. Jeez. Sixty-four quid.’

  ‘Have you got the money?’

  ‘Just about. In my savings.’ Bea had been putting money aside when she could, a few pounds here and there. She badly needed some new hair straighteners. ‘I’m never going to get those GHDs, am I?’

  ‘If I get that job, you will. You can have my first wage, all of it. I’d love to treat you.’

  Bea put the letter down. ‘Don’t be daft. That’ll be your money.’

  ‘Yes, and I’d like to spend it on you.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but we’ll make a deal. We’ll spend it together, you and me, girls’ shopping trip to the High Street, or even get a bus into the city.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Queenie, and Bea thought she was going to retreat into her shell again, raise objections, think of reasons it couldn’t happen. But she looked into Bea’s eyes, and her gaze was steady and confident. ‘Right. It’s a deal.’

  Bea smiled. ‘Brilliant.’

  They decided it was too risky shutting Arthur in with Goldie in the kitchen overnight, so left him free range in the rest of the house when they went up to bed. Bea had just switched off her bedside light and snuggled down under her duvet when the bedroom door was nudged open and a thin wedge of light came in from the landing.

  Lying on her side, Bea watched as Arthur padded in. He strutted up to her bed and looked up.

  ‘No,’ said Bea firmly. ‘No cats on beds.’

  With a little miaow he dismissed her words with the contempt they deserved and jumped up by her feet. He circled round a couple of times and settled down. Bea turned onto her back and prepared to wiggle her feet around and unseat the beast, but at that moment Arthur started purring. The noise triggered something in her, a feeling of peace, warmth, relaxation. Why was this sound so soothing? She lay back and closed her eyes, and soon started to drift off to Arthur’s lullaby. In the warm, confused moments before she slept she thought about Arthur, the vet and the bill.

  The bill. Hand-delivered by someone who knew where she lived. She opened her eyes.

  The bill led to the vet’s. The vet’s led to Arthur. Arthur led to the farm and to Deano and Tank. And something – something – was kicking off there on Saturday. If she could trace the thread one way, could they, whoever they were, trace it the other way? Had they done so already? Was the bill actually a threat – we know where you live?

  There was another thread, too, but she couldn’t catch hold of it. It was like a strand of spider silk, blowing away in the breeze. Something to do with Ken and this evening’s antics. How did that fit in?

  She chased her thoughts round and round, until they became even more muddled and she drifted into a fitful sleep.

  28

  Arthur had vacated her bed by the time Bea woke up. She opened her eyes and faced Friday not with the feeling of threat from the vet’s bill, but with a sense of possibility at the evening’s dinner date at Jay’s house. Okay, not date exactly, because Ant would be there too, but it was a step in the right direction. But what do you wear to dinner at a student house? She wanted to look nice, but not too try-hard. Normally, she’d reach for her biggest megalashes, but Jay was more of a hand-knitted, crystal deodorant, natural fibres, kind of guy.

  She was still pondering this as she went downstairs. Arthur wove in and out of her legs as she headed for the kitchen door. When she opened it, Goldie and Arthur looked mildly surprised to see each other, and then seemed to remember that neither was a threat and both got on with the business of shadowing the human who was likely to give them breakfast.

  ‘Walk first,’ said Bea, firmly, ‘and you need to stay indoors.’ She shut Arthur out of the kitchen so that he didn’t escape through the back door, then put on her duvet coat and clipped Goldie’s lead onto her collar.

  When she opened the back door it wasn’t a bright, frosty morning, but cold and grey and damp. She and Goldie walked round to the front of the house intending to head for the rec.

  He was standing in the road opposite, feet apart, hands by his sides, staring at the house. A mountain of a man. Tracksuit and trainers. Hood up.

  Tank.

  He didn’t move as Bea approached, just kept staring as she got nearer. She shortened Goldie’s lead, keeping the dog close to her, and crossed the road.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said, trying to keep her voice low and steady.

  ‘You’ve got something that belongs to me. I want it back.’

  ‘The cat?’

  ‘Yup. Go and fetch it now.’

  He was at least a foot taller than her and standing on the kerb, while she was still in the road. He towered over her. Bea bit her lip, hard, and felt a metallic zing
on her tongue as blood oozed out.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I can’t do that.’

  He seemed to gather himself, growing taller, bigger. ‘I wasn’t asking you, Bea. I was telling you.’

  Bea stood her ground. ‘You said it wasn’t your cat. Anyway, I think you’d hurt it.’ His eyes flicked away and then flicked back, and Bea sensed weakness for the first time.

  ‘You don’t know anything about me.’

  ‘I know more than you think. I’ve been asking around. You don’t have any pets.’

  ‘And that’s your problem, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘You ask too many questions. You poke your nose in. I warned you about that, didn’t I?’

  He dug into his pocket and Bea felt a bead of sweat trickle from her hairline down the side of her face.

  ‘I know you’ve got a knife,’ she said, ‘and if you pull it out on me, I’m ringing the police. I’m not messing.’

  Tank snorted. ‘I don’t carry a blade. I don’t need to.’ He pulled his hand out of his pocket and blew his nose on a rather small tissue. Again, Bea noticed the cuts on his hands.

  ‘Why don’t you turn yourself in? It can all be done quietly and calmly. It’ll go in your favour.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  It was there again, that flick of the eyes. And now he was jiggling one of his legs.

  ‘Tank, why didn’t you knock on my door?’

  ‘I didn’t want to wake your mum up.’

  His leg was still jiggling and he was flexing and closing his hands.

  Bea’s face softened. ‘You see, you’re a not a bad person. But people get in a muddle sometimes. Things get out of hand. We can stop it. Together. You can get the help you need. You’ll be safe.’

  ‘Safe,’ Tank echoed. For a moment, his movements stopped and Bea held her breath. ‘Safe,’ he repeated.

  Then, something changed. He balled up his fists and stepped towards her. ‘I’m not going to the cops, and I need you to keep quiet. About the cat. The farm. Everything.’

  Bea stepped back, keeping an even distance between them, hopefully beyond the range of his long, powerful arms. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said, ‘I think you’re a decent person, who’s taken a wrong turn. I’m going to give you twenty-four hours to do the right thing.’