Thorn In My Side

by Sheila Quigley

  Staring straight in front of him, not daring to meet Mike’s eyes, he nodded as the car drove off.

  'Thanks, mister.' Rita held his hand out as he rubbed his bruised chin with his other hand. 'I owe you.'

  Mike took the offered hand, noticing the red manicured nails. What the hell, he thought shaking Rita’s hand, if this is how Rita wants to live, then it’s up to Rita.

  After leaving messages again that he would be on the nine o’clock train to Newcastle in the morning, this time he was greeted with promises from all of them that they would go seek Smiler out. He tried a couple of other places, leaving more messages with a lot more people that they promised to deliver if and when they saw him.

  As a last resort Mike tried the hospital. The doctor on duty was the same one he’d met to talk about Smiler.

  'Hi,' Mike said when they met up in the corridor. 'I was wondering if you’d seen Smiler lately?'

  'No, not for a while. I’m told he popped in a few weeks ago and read some stories to the kids. Everyone was so pleased at how well he looked, actually putting a bit of weight on… I believe we have you to thank for that.' He smiled.

  Mike shrugged. 'Well, actually we had a bit of a falling out today, and I have to go away tomorrow. I would hate for him to think I’ve just sort of abandoned him. So if he does happen to call in some time, just tell him I’m sorry. And if he ever needs me, he knows my number.'

  'Of course I will. You’ve done so much for him that I can’t see him turning his back on you over a row, he’s probably gutted that you’re leaving… So take care.'

  'Yeah, you too.' Mike nodded then turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As Mike was finally putting his head down for a few hours sleep, three hundred miles away in a nightclub a young girl gasped, frightened. She left the nightclub in a frenzied hurry, the bouncer, (usual issue, medium height, muscles bulging, bald head, dressed in black) said a pleasant, 'Good night.'

  She ignored him, moving as quickly as her huge amazingly thin heels would let her, sweat breaking out on her brow in tiny little beads. Her hair whipping around her face, and full blown panic waiting in the wings, she tottered down the road.

  Tonight was not a good night!

  Tonight she’d heard the whisper.

  Amongst the crowds, in the dark, bodies pressed and heaving against each other, the flashing neon lights turning every move into a jerking, old-fashioned cartoon motion.

  Then in the midst of the jumble, a voice she didn’t know had spoken softly in her ear, a breath, a kiss, a dire warning.

  The brothers were coming for her.

  Fear in her eyes, she’d looked around. It could have been anyone of the dozen or so closest to her, but no one was looking her way. And she daren’t ask, couldn’t ask, fear had sealed her mouth. She’d barely been able to breathe, never mind speak.

  Heart pounding, she reached the corner of the badly lit street. Which way… Which way to go. Left? Right?

  Think… Think… For God’s sake, think.

  She chose to go right, not because she’d thought it through -- her mind was a mess of panicked jangled thoughts, thinking straight was virtually impossible. It was slightly better lit, though, and would lead to a place she could take sanctuary in. Five yards on and the heel of her left shoe caught in the crack between the paving stones.

  'Bastard,' she screamed as her foot twisted. Teetering forward she fell crashing to the path, taking the skin off her palms as well as her knees. The pain made her yell again, even though she knew she should be quiet. How am I ever gonna escape them making so much noise? Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears she thought it was going to burst at any second.

  Grabbing the shoe with both hands, her fingers slippy with blood and rain, she pulled as hard as she could, but the shoe stubbornly refused to budge. She pulled and twisted but it was stuck fast.

  'Shit, shit, shit.' Tears of frustration and fright were streaming down her face now.

  Why did I ever got involved?

  Stupid… Stupid idiot that I am, thought I was so cool. Get in, get a story, get out.

  There was only one thing she could do. Flicking her black hair out of her eyes with an irritated gesture and kicking off her other shoe, she jumped up, ignoring the pain in her scraped knees. Tattered strings of flesh dangling and blood running down her shins, she legged it as fast as she could.

  She was of small build but had been a good runner at school. That was eight years and God only knew how many fags ago though, and long before she had inherited this terrible debilitating disease.

  Fifty yards along the deserted street, the pavements shining with the rain that seemed to have been falling for weeks, and she was fairly feeling the strain. Chest heaving, her breath rising in clouds before her, she knew she had to slow down.

  She couldn’t stop though.

  She daren’t stop.

  To stop would be the death of her.

  She cut her foot on a rusty bottle top, the jagged edges going in deep. Each step she took drove the bottle top deeper and deeper into her flesh, but in her utter panic she felt no pain. She felt nothing but sheer dread. She knew what was coming for her, what the consequences would be. Terrified, she pounded along the pavement towards Mary Street.

  Why the hell had did I choose Berwick-on-Tweed of all places to run away to?

  Why didn’t I run to London or Edinburgh, like just about everybody else does?

  People have rows all the time, say things they don’t mean, sometimes out of sheer pig-headedness trading insults, they run away. Families, who bloody well needs them!

  She’d come up with a grand scheme to make money, when she’d heard the story. Oh yes, hadn’t I just!

  I should have ignored it, gone down south, that was the first plan. Why the hell did I listen to the drunken ramblings of a fool?

  Only the fool had been right!

  Warned to keep the secret, told what would happen if she didn’t, she ignored the warnings and went about everything the wrong way, trusting the wrong people.

  Now she would pay, and pay with her life if they caught her.

  Get the story, sell it to the papers, that had been the plan. She would make a good life as a journalist, show them at home a thing or two, a dream come true. Move to London, a bigger paper, a grand life. That would definitely show them.

  Huh, some dream. I couldn’t even get a job washing friggin' teacups on the local rag, not enough qualifications.

  Wow! Like what qualifications do you need to wash a bloody tea cup?

  Nothing in the last year has run true.

  She was running now, though. Running for her very life.

  A car turned into the top of the street. 'Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus.' She was so frightened that she lost control of her bladder. Terrified and ashamed, she stood there shaking with terror, a cornered creature, knowing there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

  Then she gasped, a tiny flame of hope lit in her heart. It was a taxi.

  'Thank you, God.'

  A chance, a lifeline had been thrown her way.

  'Help,' she yelled, moving quickly into the middle of the road. 'Stop… Stop.' She frantically waved her arms up and down, refusing to move out of the road.

  The taxi slowed to a halt. Very near fainting with relief, she jumped in, gave her address to the driver, an oldish grey-haired man who looked like a kindly uncle, begged him to be as quick as he could, then collapsed back in the seat.

  She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. She would be all right now, she would get away from here, as far away as possible.

  Everything will be fine.

  I will never even think about the brothers.

  Never again!

  They will be dead to my mind.

  And what I know will die with me.

  I am going to be fine.

  She opened her eyes a few minutes later and gasped, 'Oh my God.' They were heading in the wrong direction.

 
'Is he fucking stupid or what?’ she muttered.

  'No, no… It’s the wrong way,' she said loudly when she realised they were heading for Sallyport, the last place she wanted to be. 'Turn round, turn round.' Her voice rose with every word.

  But the driver either couldn’t hear her or was deliberately ignoring her.

  The last was unthinkable.

  She pounded on the glass partition with her fist, shouting now, straining her throat, that he had to turn, go back, go the other way.

  'Turn around,' she yelled.

  The driver increased his speed. She was flung into the corner, her face pressed up against the side window. The panic she’d felt before was coming back with a vengeance. Spotting four youths in regulation hoodie’s walking up the street, she banged as hard as she could on the window, screaming, 'Help… Help me. Please help me.'

  Of the four, two laughed and pointed at her, a third was so far gone he was on the moon, and the other grinned evilly at her. 'Enjoy,' he mouthed as the taxi sped past them.

  At the port the taxi finally stopped. She squashed herself into the corner, eyes wide and staring, her whole body trembling as the door opened and an arm reached in.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Evan Miller looked at his watch. 1.30 am. He glared at his friend across the round metal bar table, which was really silver plastic in disguise. The music was loud enough to deafen even the strongest pair of ears, so loud that he could feel the bass vibrating through his body. What was even more annoying were the stupid repetitive lyrics. He hated coming here. What was the point of a night out when you couldn’t even talk to your mates without shouting? And the place stank of stale beer. The smoking ban had caused that, just shows how much the smoke used to mask the smell.

  But something was wrong with Danny. He’d been mates with him long enough to know when something was bugging him, which really could be anything from a glass of spilt milk to England’s shores being invaded by every country on the planet.

  The very first day at infant school was when he’d met Danny. A lot of the other kids had shied away from him because his skin was a few shades darker than theirs, but not Danny. Danny had come bouncing over, an exact replica of the Milky Bar Kid with his white- blond hair and face full of smiles. Over the years Danny’s hair had darkened to a dull gold, but he smiled just as much and still had the gift of the gab.

  Evan sighed. He’d bet every thing he had that he could probably guess just what was wrong this time.

  Evan counted. One, Danny was half cut by nine o'clock.

  Two, he’s had a face like a slapped arse all night.

  Three, he only wants to come to this dive when he doesn’t want to talk.

  Four, put money on it, the daft sod’s had a major row with Shelly.

  Evan tutted under his breath as he watched Danny down the remains of his drink then stand up and stagger dangerously to the bar for a refill.

  Bet he’s even forgotten that I’m here!

  'Knew it,' Evan said a few minutes later, as Danny, with the exaggerated care of a drunk, put one drink in front of his own seat.

  'What?' Danny slurred, practically falling into the seat. Struggling to sit up, watched by a frowning Evan, he said again, 'What?'

  Evan raised his empty glass, 'Drinking on your own, like?'

  Shrugging, Danny put his hands in his pockets and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his right foot over his left and staring glumly at the floor.

  'That’s it, I’ve had enough.' Putting his glass down on the table, Evan jumped up and hoisted Danny out of his chair.

  'Oi, what do you think you’re doing?' Danny slurred, as he struggled with Evan.

  'We’re going outside for a walk until you tell me what the hell’s eating you.'

  'But, but it’s… it’s pissh… pisshing down.'

  'Good, you’ll sober up that much quicker.'

  'Really don’t wanna go,' Danny protested, slowly shaking his head as Evan practically dragged him to the door.

  Outside the rain had eased off and the fresh air hit Danny like a shock wave from a bomb blast. 'Oh, oh, gonna be sick.'

  'Not over me you’re not.' Quickly Evan spun him round so that he was facing the gutter.

  Danny emptied the entire contents of his stomach into the drain. Then, head still spinning and muttering under his breath, he allowed Evan to steer him back into the nightclub where, thank God, Evan thought, the toilets were near the door.

  Fifteen minutes later they were back outside. Danny was semi- sober and feeling lousy. Evan had practically drowned him under the sink taps, and now he was starving. 'Kebabs?' he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  'Ahh… How could you, sicko? I can still smell the bloody garlic you had at tea time, even though most of it's on the way to the North Sea, or wherever the hell it goes to from the drains.' He held his hand up. 'And really, I’m not that interested before you get into detail.'

  Danny allowed himself a small smile, before sighing deeply and saying, 'She didn’t come home last night.'

  'Thought it was something like that. Had a row?'

  'Sort of.'

  'Sort of?'

  Grimacing, Danny headed towards a wooden bench. When they had both sat down he went on slowly, still slurring his words now and again. 'Well, you know what it’s like. It’s these new people she’s been hanging around with, filling her head full of nonsense, babbling on about the Lindisfarne Gospels and how much more important they are than people realise. She said I wasn’t interested in anything she does… Don’t listen enough.'

  'Do you?'

  'Do I what?'

  'Listen to her, thicko.'

  'Not when she’s babbling on about that bunch of raving loonies, and spending most of her time on bloody Holy Island.'

  Evan winced. It was his girl friend Alicia who had introduced Shelly to those weirdoes, as Danny so nicely called them.

  Not feeling inclined to remind Danny of this, he fell silent as a group of drunken youths appeared, all of them carrying cans of beer and swigging from them as they walked, the noise they were making preceding them. They had been amiably laughing their way along the street when they suddenly started arguing. Within moments the arguing changed to fighting. Danny felt Evan tense beside him. He put a restraining hand on his friend, who all their lives had seemed to have a compulsion about helping people. All well and good but not if it puts you in danger, was Danny’s motto.

  'Leave it,' he hissed at Evan.

  For a moment Danny thought Evan was going to let it go. There were after all plenty of them to sort it out amongst themselves, and it looked like they were going to do exactly that, as one tall, thin lad, his blond hair spiked a good three or four inches out from his scalp, stepped forward. 'OK, Jase, he didn’t mean it, come on. It’s been a fucking good night….'

  Suddenly Jase, who had another boy pinned on the ground with one foot on his chest and was about to kick him in his face, spun round. Before Blondie knew it there was a knife at his throat, and most of his friends, including the one on the ground, had melted away into the night.

  'Hey,' Evan shouted, jumping up from the bench.

  Danny groaned loudly. 'You just had to, didn’t you? Eh, just leave it alone. Evan, come on.'

  Ignoring Danny, Evan moved closer. 'Calm down, mate, and let him go.'

  'You talking to me, mister?' The boy with the knife snarled, his features twisted in a drug-induced rage. 'Well, fuck you, and I ain’t your mate…'

  Suddenly he jumped back dragging the other boy with him. Planting his feet in a boxer’s stance he yelled, 'Come on,' as he gestured with his left hand for Evan to move closer. 'Come on.'

  Even though he felt nervous, Evan’s voice was calm and slow. 'Yes, I’m talking to you, and OK, I’m not your mate but he is and I’m sure if you think about it that you don’t really want to hurt him.'

  'What’s it to you? Hu, fuck off and mind your own business, prick face.'

  Evan moved forward, his empty hands outs
tretched in front of him, as Danny, agitated with worry that the druggie might do something stupid, shouted, 'Come on, Evan, leave it.'

  'Yeah, Evan, leave it or you’re next.' Grinning he dug the blade into his friend’s neck -- not hard enough to do any real damage, just a nick, but big enough to cause Blondie’s blood to flow.

  Ignoring the danger, Evan shook his head and moved closer. 'Just let him go, man. Come on, don’t be daft -- he can’t be worth a life in the nick.'

  'Evan, come on, leave it. The bastard's drugged up to his eyeballs, he’s a friggin’ psycho nut.' Danny was becoming more nervous by the second. After all, he thought, you hear every day of someone stopping to help people and getting their heads kicked in for their bother. And their lives are never the same again.

  The extra adrenalin rushing through his system had certainly fully sobered him up and he was now thinking straight.

  Evan knew Danny was right, but Blondie’s eyes were pleading with him to help. He couldn’t walk away and leave the lad on his own, not with this crazed fool. He’d never be able to live with himself if something happened. His heart beating a little faster, he moved closer.

  That was the moment that Psycho Nut chose to slash out with his knife.

  Side-stepping neatly, Evan jerked his body to the side, but the blade caught his arm, ripping it open nearly to the bone.

  'Bastard!' Danny screamed, rushing forward to defend Evan who was clutching his arm in shock. The youth, his blood lust fulfilled and in shock himself when it sank in just what he had done, backed off, then, turning quickly, ran away. His blond friend, hand pressed over the cut in his neck, followed him.

  'See, see what happens.' Danny was agitatedly bobbing about. 'I’ll get you, crazy fuck bastard!' Shaking his fists in the air, he screamed at the retreating figures.

  He led Evan over to the bench, whipped his blue T-shirt off and pressed it against the wound. 'Sit down and don’t move, promise you won’t move, mate.'

  Evan nodded, his eyes glazing over in shock.

  'I’m gonna get help, phone from the club.'