He had to make it all right. He had no idea how. Just beg her to forgive him. Tell her what a dick he was. Tell her how much he loved her, before she found out the truth and gave him the boot anyway.
Turning, he ran back to the house and through the crowds, searching, searching, searching for her. But she was nowhere to be seen.
* * *
It just went to show. You could have a perfect night in a perfect setting with the perfect moon by the perfect lake listening to the perfect music, but if you tried to do it with an idiot, it wasn’t going to work.
Lizzie wasn’t inside more than a few minutes when she bumped into Vince, who told her that the boss would like to have a drink with her.
“No, thanks,” she said. She went to sit in the loo for a bit to have a cry, and when she came out, Christian was waiting for her, with Vince by his side bearing a couple of very elegant-looking cocktails on a tray. She was so taken aback that she accepted one and ended up tucked away in a bay window in one of the reception rooms, while Vince kind of floated in the background, which she supposed was what servants did. She was aware that they were really rather hidden. What if Adam came looking for her? Well, let him look. He could find her if he tried.
* * *
Adam had not yet totally imploded into his own misery, but he wasn’t far off it. He should have been at home, grieving with his parents. Instead he’d tried to trick his girlfriend into giving him a future for free. Grief, betrayal, self-disgust, and an avalanching sense of failure were overwhelming him. He quickly gave up trying to find Lizzie, and was leaning against a wall, sinking fast, swigging beer from a can, when Julie passed by and spotted him.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “I thought you were off with Liz. Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
Julie cast an expert eye over the hopeless mess before her. “You’ve had a row,” she said.
Adam hung his head.
“Shit. Where is she?” Julie grabbed him by the arm and trailed him off to hunt her down. They found her eventually, trapped in a bay window talking to a weird-looking guy dressed up in fancy skateboard gear. Adam cringed back and glanced anxiously at Julie, who was staring openmouthed at them. She began to hiss in his ear.
“Shit, shit, shit. This is bad, this is bad. See that guy talking to her? That’s Christian Ballantine. He is completely predatory. I mean, the guy is a pervert, first class — and he’s rich. No one can lay a finger on him. We have to get her away from him.”
Adam shook his head. Julie ignored him.
“You go in this way, I’ll go round the other side. Pincer movement. You are such a dick,” she added in despair. “See the big guy in the suit? He’s a gorilla, trying to stop anyone getting near them. You have to sneak past him. You got me?”
Adam peered around the big man. “Does she want me to?”
“Of course she wants you to. She’s gone on you. She said. Go get her, tiger. Say sorry and get her away as fast as you can, before …”
“What?”
“Before he goes off with her and … interferes with her. She’s yours, isn’t she?”
Adam licked his lips. The pitiful remains of hope stirred sluggishly within him. He still had a chance!
“And don’t let the suit see you,” hissed Julie. She shoved Adam in the back and he went tottering off toward them, while Julie scuttled off to get around to Lizzie from the other side.
Jesus, she thought, talk about the cavalry. Christian was very rich, very weird, and very powerful. He thought he could do exactly as he wanted. There was a good reason for that: He could.
* * *
Lizzie was trying to work out how to escape again without being hopelessly obvious about it when Adam suddenly appeared at her side.
“Talk?” he said.
Christian twisted around and glared angrily at him. “Where the fuck’s Vince?” he demanded.
Adam tugged at her sleeve; Christian grabbed hold of her arm. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said.
Lizzie had had enough. The pair of them were manhandling her like she was some kind of sandwich filling. She yanked furiously away. Adam let go at once, but Christian tightened his hold. It hurt. That was it. Lizzie took a deep breath and did what she had been told years ago to do on these occasions: She stared Christian straight in the eye and screamed as loudly as she could.
There was a shocked and sudden silence. All around them in the crowded room, people turned to look, saw who was involved, and turned quietly away again. In the silence, Lizzie let out a brittle laugh. Then things moved very quickly.
Adam stuck a drunken fist out at Christian and, by sheer bad luck, caught him on the ear. Christian let out a howl and Adam disappeared backward. At the same time, Julie materialized, beamed at Christian, and pushed Lizzie roughly away into the crowds.
“What? What’s going on?”
“No. No, no, no, no, no,” said Julie. “You are so out of here.”
Adam, meanwhile, was on a short journey to the front steps, the back of his leather jacket clenched firmly in the huge fist of Vince. He carried Adam out of sight around the side of the house, dropped him onto the gravel, and gave him a short but expert beating; one blow to the head to knock him down, a couple as he collapsed, and three or four kicks while he lay on the gravel. Finally, he stamped on his head. Then he went back into the house. Shortly after, Julie came running out, pulling Lizzie by the hand. Lizzie was in tears.
“Just give me back my keys,” she begged.
“No, you’re not driving in that state,” said Julie. “Here’s Harold anyway, he’s going to give you a lift home,” she added as a car came up the drive.
“I wish I’d never come,” Lizzie groaned. The whole thing was so utterly humiliating. Messed about by Adam, mauled by Christian, pushed around the place by Julie … and now, to top it all, she was being sent home early.
“It’s your own fault, Liz. That boy is a wanker, a real wanker. And then you end up getting chatted up by Christian Ballantine of all people …”
“He wasn’t chatting me up …”
“Yes, he was! Your mum is right; you’re like a baby. Those people are gangsters! They’re dangerous. You don’t have any sense at all, no radar. You’re like a rabbit in the headlights. He spotted you limping into his territory a mile away.”
Lizzie blubbered helplessly. The car pulled up next to them, and Julie guided her into the backseat.
“I’ll get the car back to you tomorrow, OK? Don’t go anywhere. Straight home,” she ordered the driver.
“What about Adam?” Lizzie cried.
“I’ll sort Adam out,” said Julie grimly. “And, Liz — don’t see him again. He’s a tosser. You’re better than that.”
She shut the door, and the car pulled away. As it did, a figure staggered out of the shrubbery and ran forward.
“Lizzie!” screamed Adam, holding out his hands for them to stop. The car drove quietly around him and off down the drive. “Lizzie!” he groaned.
Julie came marching up and shoved him in the chest.
“You wanker!” she yelled. “You complete, total wanker. If I catch you anywhere near my cousin again I’ll have you beaten up properly, you hear me?”
“I’m sorry,” wept Adam.
“You are so pathetic. Just … fuck off.” She stormed back to the house.
“I don’t have any money to get back,” Adam called after her.
“God.” Julie rolled her eyes. She dug in her pocket and fished out forty pounds for him. “Don’t let me ever see you round here again,” she said, and disappeared inside.
Adam put the money in his pocket and went back to weep in the shrubbery for a while. Then he phoned for a cab home.
IN THE TAXI, ADAM CONTINUED TO CRY. THE FUTURE HAD been smiling at him only yesterday. Now it was leering at him like a rotting skull, stinking, filthy, and full of fear.
You thought I was yours? it leered. Well, I’m not.
W
hat had he done to deserve this? It wasn’t even his fault! If it was anyone’s fault, it was Jess’s. Jess, who had pretended to love his family. Jess, who had lived and died a whole other life without any of them knowing about it. Jess the liar, Jess the fraud. His parents had kept telling him just how important his brother was, but he had never really taken it on board. Now he’d gone, and he’d taken Adam’s entire life with him. Adam had trusted him, and he’d been let down. Suddenly he hated Jess with all his heart. He wanted to stamp him to a pulp, to kick him, hurt him, dig him up out of the ground and strangle him. Even more than that, though, he wanted to ask him — why? Why had he fooled them all for so long? Why had he lied? What had he been doing all that time?
Who on earth was he?
He would never know. Jess had pulled off the ultimate escape from all questions, all blame, all guilt, all pain. Perhaps the thing that made Adam angrier than anything was the fact that Jess had put himself so totally beyond reach, and there was nothing he could do about it.
His kidney ached. His ankle was swelling up and growing stiff, his face red raw from the gravel. He’d cracked a rib, too; it hurt every time he breathed. Lizzie was gone; he’d blown every chance he ever had. He found the little bottle of vodka that he had stolen off the table and swigged at it, ducking out of sight of the cabbie, who was already eyeing him suspiciously.
What next? Go home? What for? To begin his new life? What a laugh! He didn’t need work, he needed answers. Someone out there must know what Jess had been doing all this time — known him the way his family never had. But who? In all those years Jess had only ever had one girlfriend, a girl named Maryse who had disappeared to London when she was eighteen and never been seen again. There had been one or two school and university friends … Garry, for instance. He remembered Garry. Bearded bloke in a wheelchair. He’d even been around to the house a few times.
Now that he thought about it, Adam was sure he’d heard Jess and Garry going on about the Zealots a few times, years ago. Conversations and arguments with his dad, about how cool the Zealots were, how at least they were doing something. That sort of stuff.
He was a nice guy, Garry. Stuck in a wheelchair, but he never let it get him down. Played basketball.
And … Adam knew where he lived. Sort of. On the way back from a trip into town with Jess, they’d stopped by to see him. A dingy little place in Fallowfield. Him and Jess had been good mates for a while. Garry was in on it as well — betcha! If anyone knew what Jess had been up to, it was him.
* * *
Adam wasn’t sure exactly where Garry lived, only the street. Once he’d paid the cabbie and got out, he wasn’t even so sure about that anymore. The last time he’d been there was years ago.
But he was in luck. As he finished off the remains of the vodka and limped up the road a bit — there it was. He recognized the color of the drainpipe, which was painted purple.
There was a light on upstairs.
He tapped on the door. No reply. He banged. Nothing. He stood swaying outside for a moment.
Fuck this, he thought, I’m dying here.
“Garry!” he bawled suddenly. “Garry!” He began to weep again. No one appeared, but he thought he heard a noise at the window.
“Let me in!” he yelled. Above him, the curtains twitched. “Where’s my brother? What happened to Jess? Garry! Answer me! You know. I know you know.”
He kicked at the door and to his surprise it bent easily. It wasn’t much more than plywood. He leaned back and flung his shoulder at it. The lock broke through the thin wood and Adam stumbled in, gasping at the pain in his ribs. Upstairs, someone shouted in surprise. He was standing in a cluttered sitting room. There was a stairway with a stair lift through an open door opposite him.
“What the fuck’s going on? Jesus …”
He ran and looked up the stairs. Garry was on his way down on the stair lift. “Who the fuck are you?” he screamed. “What are you doing here? Get out of my house!”
Adam ran up to meet him. “I’m Jess’s brother. What happened to him? He’s supposed to have died with the Zealots. You know, don’t you, you know …”
There was noise above him. Someone else was up there. He peered up. “Who’s that?”
Garry was furious.
“You idiot, the police could be round. I don’t know anything, Adam — go away!”
Garry didn’t seem able to stop the stair lift, and continued past Adam and down. He grabbed out at Adam’s sleeve with one hand, fiddling with the controls of the stair lift with the other. Adam pulled away.
“You used to talk about the Zealots. Where is he? Who’s up there? Is that him?”
“No, of course it’s not him. Adam, come here, come down here and talk to me. Jesus, this fucking thing won’t work!” Garry leaned backward and snatched at him as the chair carried past on its way down. “Adam! How do I know what happened to him?”
“Who’s up there? What’s going on?” In Adam’s addled brain, everything that happened was about him and his brother. He pulled himself free and went tearing up the stairs, while Garry, howling in rage and frustration, continued down at a snail’s pace. Adam burst into the bedroom. Someone was on the bed, covered up by the duvet. Adam dragged it off. It was a half-dressed girl. She let out a wail, and ran out of the room and off down the stairs.
“Stella! Don’t go. Come back. Stella!”
Downstairs, the door slammed.
“Adam!” roared Garry.
Adam stood next to the bed looking wildly around him. He was certain Garry knew something. He began ransacking the room, looking for some sort of a clue. On the bed, on the floor, on the chair, on the table … He pulled open a cupboard by the bed and something spilled out. A bag of pills. He snatched them up. There was another roar behind him. Garry, flushed with rage, was clinging on to the door, his hairy face distorted in a fearful grimace.
“You stupid little fuck!” he screamed. He staggered toward him, grasping for the bag. “Give me that … Give me it …”
Adam danced out of reach. Garry was dealing drugs, was he? “Tell me what happened to him! What do you know?”
“I don’t know anything. What’s wrong with you?”
“You know what’s wrong with me!” Adam, to his shame, began to weep again.
“You little prick, Adam. Give me that! What are you doing?”
“This can pay for it — this can pay …” cried Adam. He pushed Garry out of the way, and the crippled man fell to the floor. Adam ran out of the room and down the stairs.
“Adam, no! You don’t know what you’re doing. Come back!”
But Adam was gone, out the door, on his way. Garry’s yells stopped abruptly. Adam ran on. He ran and ran and ran, until the adrenaline stopped and the pain in his ribs kicked back in. He bent over, gasping for breath. When he’d recovered enough to move on, he put the bag of pills in his pocket and crept home.
* * *
It was over a mile back, and every step was agony. Halfway, under a street lamp, he took the bag of pills out and had a better look.
They were unmistakable. Little white caps with a crude black image printed on each one. A skull and crossbones.
It was a bag full of Death.
But it couldn’t be. Death cost a fortune, everyone knew that. What was a poor man like Garry doing with this? There must have been fifty pills in there. They were worth … It was crazy! Thousands. Tens of thousands. Some sort of fraud? It had to be …
Adam put the bag back in his pocket and carried on home. When he got there, the house was still. He crept upstairs as quietly as he could and lay on the bed. He stayed still, trying not to think. He tried texting Lizzie.
I’m sorry. Please talk to me.
Nothing.
Please, Lizzie, please. I need you.
He stared at the screen, texted again. The same thing.
That was it. It was over. He was never going to see her again.
Adam took out the bag of pills and held one in th
e palm of his hand. He turned the TV on. It was an old film. A man and a woman kissed. She rested her head against his neck and sighed deeply.
Some kind of scam, those pills. Not real. But the news had said it was the Zealots handing the stuff out at Albert Square. If Garry was connected with the Zealots …
Could be. Maybe, maybe not. Who knew?
Adam popped the pill into his mouth, but didn’t swallow, just held it there. It was an answer, wasn’t it? One glorious week. What else had he got to look forward to now?
“We need a place of our own,” said the man on the TV. The woman reached up and kissed him again. She sighed.
He could sell the rest of the pills and have the time of his life. Why not?
The pill was dissolving in his mouth. It tasted acrid. Adam reached over to the glass of water by his bed, took a mouthful, and swallowed.
He lay there. What had he done? Not much, he thought. What had he got to lose? Not much.
A shit life.
He knew he should get up and stick his finger down his throat, but he didn’t. He lay there and lay there and waited to see if he would, but he didn’t. It was a relief, really.
Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
WHEN ADAM WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING, IT HAPPENED SO suddenly he was astonished. His eyes snapped open. He felt so clearheaded. His blood was fizzing. He was happy.
What’s going on? he thought — and there it was, the past few days laid out before his eyes with total recall, every second in high definition. The concert, the riots, Jess, the party, Lizzie, how bad he’d cocked it up, Garry, the girl, the stair lift … and then right at the end of it, like a car crash, smack into a brick wall … Death.
He’d taken Death.
Adam leaped out of bed and stared at himself in the wardrobe mirror. His eyes sparkled. His skin was flawless — even the little spots on his forehead had vanished without trace. He was going to die? Impossible! He’d never felt so alive.
But how come? There’d been a fight. He’d been pulped! He felt where his rib had been cracked. There was a small, sharp pain there. Last night it had been agony.
The Hit Page 6
