Dead of Night [Full Book]

by Paul J. Teague

  There was a time when she’d have smiled at him, her face glowing with health and vigour, and they’d slam their hands on the front door to show who’d got there first. He always let her win. She knew it, but he’d get his reward, either on the kitchen table, on the rug in the sitting room, sometimes in the bedroom, and even in the garden at the back of the house once. That passion seemed a long way off now.

  ‘You run, I’ll walk back. I’m tired. I’ll not be long.’

  Jack looked at Lucy and studied her face for a moment. He wasn’t sure how long they’d got left. He could see she was close to breaking point, but what could he do? If they lost the house, things would only get worse. It had seemed so idyllic living in a big house in the country before the company went bust. Now he just felt like an idiot.

  Jack picked up his pace, sprinting towards the house at great speed, craving the shot of adrenalin that it would give him. Maxine had spotted them coming along the road. She was obviously jittery, wanting to return home and get on with her studies. She was taking university very seriously, before it had even begun. What would they do when Maxine left? She’d been a great find. And there was Hamish, calm, happy and relaxed. He grew fidgety as Lucy walked up the garden path.

  ‘Hey Maxine!’ she waved, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  ‘Good run?’ Maxine asked, getting ready to hold out Hamish so that she could take the baby. Lucy didn’t respond to the cue. Maxine held him tightly, giving him a little squeeze. He began to gurgle happily again.

  ‘How about you take Hamie and I run Maxine back home?’ Lucy suggested. Seconds later she was inside the house and had come out with the car keys.

  Jack moved close to Maxine and took the baby from her. He sat Hamish on his hip as he stepped inside the door and fumbled through his wallet for a couple of notes.

  ‘Ten pounds, Maxine, is that right?’ Jack asked, holding out two fivers.

  ‘Actually, Mr Dawson, we’re ten minutes into a new hour. We did agree ...’

  ‘Yes, of course, Maxine, no problem,’ he replied, changing one of the notes for a tenner.

  ‘Watch the clutch, Lucy,’ he called over as his wife got into the car. ‘It’s slipping a bit at the moment, we’ll need to get it looked at – as soon as we can afford it.’

  ‘You creaky old bastard, you’re getting past it, you know.’

  Jack wouldn’t really describe Clive as a friend. He was more of a necessity. He’d bailed Jack out of a deep hole and got him the contract. He owed him, but that didn’t mean he had to like him.

  The whistle sounded on the platform and the train began to move. He daren’t tell Lucy that they were travelling First Class to Aberdeen. The first time he’d met Clive on the platform to travel up there, he’d assumed that Jack would be sitting in First, like him. Jack had kept his cool, pretended to go off to the buffet, and sorted out an upgrade with the conductor before he reached them with his ticket checking. After that, Jack booked tickets online, trying to get them in advance to make them as cheap as he could. Clive was not the type of person he wanted to admit his money problems to.

  ‘How’s Sophie?’ he asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Oh, you know, can’t get enough of me, wants to jump my bones all the time. I have to travel to Aberdeen to get a break from her. A man can only take so much!’

  Jack didn’t like the way Clive talked about Sophie. He’d only met her once in passing. It was when the company was flourishing and Clive was a much-valued contractor. She seemed nice, not the sort of woman you’d put with Clive. He was all testosterone and bravado.

  ‘Are you doing the run then? With Lucy? Or are you too chicken?’

  Everything was competitive with Clive: work, running, sex with your wife. He could never let anything go. And it irked Jack all the more because he was succeeding at none of them.

  ‘Yes, I think we will actually. Lucy’s been doing well with picking it up again. I don’t envy her, she’s been out of it for quite some time. I think it’s done her good though—’

  He stopped short. There was no way he was talking to Clive about his marital issues. It would be all over the office.

  ‘Sophie loves kids, she would come over and look after your little lad for the weekend. In fact, we could both come over, give you a weekend off. It might stop her trying to get me to fuck her so much. She’s desperate for a baby, you know. I can’t stand them – no offence.’

  ‘None taken,’ Jack replied, though he suspected it wouldn’t have made much difference if he had been put out by the comment.

  ‘How tough is the terrain? It’s Scottish lowlands, isn’t it – not one of those river and hills runs? Lucy won’t want anything too serious, it must be well over a year since we did anything competitive.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, it’s all fine. Lovely countryside and all that. And I’d love to meet Lucy, see how hot she is in her Lycra. My missus only goes to the gym when I’m away so I never get to see her in her gym gear. No offence like. About Lucy.’

  Jack wanted to punch the idiot, but he gave a non-committal smile. He needed Clive. As Jack’s company had been going to the dogs, Clive had moved on to bigger and better things. He was now working for the Pharmexus Corporation, a giant pharmaceuticals company with its UK base in Aberdeen of all places. Cold and isolated, the perfect place to work. And a bugger of a journey by train too.

  Jack didn’t know much about the pharmaceuticals industry other than that Clive was in a much more lucrative part of the business than he was. Jack was on the tech side, running software simulations for some project or another. He was comfortable with the code and programming, he didn’t pretend to understand the other stuff. He’d worked out that a lot of people in suits were getting excited. It was something to do with Alzheimer’s disease research and it seemed to be going very well. All Jack knew for sure was that once he’d delivered the modelling infrastructure for them, he’d be out on his arse again.

  It was Clive who’d got him into the GPS tracking. He liked it, he admired the engineering and technical achievement. He could go out on a run, wear his tracker, and all the time his route, his speed, his heartbeat – everything was there on social media for his running buddies to view. Clive even knew he’d stopped off for a piss in the hedge once. He could tell by the heart rate and duration of the change.

  ‘Stopped for a pee last night?’ he’d laughed. ‘I could tell. Your heart rate dipped for about a minute. You were away so fast you can barely have had time to shake!’

  There was always a wisecrack with Clive. And it was usually at somebody else’s expense. Jack tried to keep the conversation on neutral ground. Aberdeen seemed an awfully long way away.

  ‘Why don’t you and Sophie come around for dinner one night in the next fortnight? It would be good to get to know Sophie better and if you’re serious about looking after Hamish it would be good for you to meet him before you sign on the dotted line. I’ll speak to Lucy when we get to the hotel this evening. What do you think?’

  ‘I like it, mate, but don’t blame me if that wife of yours decides to leave you after she gets her eyes on Clivey. I may be forty now, but I’m still ripped and I’ve got buns of steel.’

  Clive started to scroll through his Facebook feed.

  ‘That bastard Simon beat my thirteen mile record. By seven minutes too. Shit, I can’t let that one stand. He’s far too fit for my liking. And he’s fifty-six. Imagine being like that at his age. Bastard!’

  Jack had had enough of Clive’s nonsense. They still had a couple of hours to go until they reached their destination, so Jack decided to call Lucy about the meal. And the run. He knew she’d say yes. Anything to get away from Hamish. What could he do? She’d had post-natal depression. Her mum was dead and his parents were too old to help. They just had to get on with it.

  He was as certain as he could be that she was okay now. He’d had a quiet word with the health visitor, checking that Hamish was safe to be left with her. It wasn’t like that, or at least
he didn’t think so. She’d been so down after he was born. They’d never really bonded. Hamish seemed to sense how uneasy his mum was around him. And poor Lucy, she associated the baby with a really shit time in her life. It didn’t help that he was out hunting for work when it happened too.

  ‘Luce? Hey, it’s Jack. Yes, everything’s fine. I wanted to run something by you before the phone signal dies. You know that run we talked about? Yes, the one at Loch Lomond. Are you up for it still?’

  For a moment, Jack thought it was going to be a no. He heard Hamish crying in the background. Lucy sighed then gave her answer.

  ‘What about a babysitter? Who’ll look after the baby? Hamish. Who’ll look after Hamish?’

  ‘Luce—’ Jack said.

  ‘I’m trying, Jack, honestly I am. We’re getting there. I’m trying.’

  ‘Clive says he and Sophie will stay and look after Hamie. I invited them over for dinner to meet you both. Are you up for it? We’d get some time away on our own. It would be good for us.’

  Hamish was getting increasingly unhappy, his whimpering was about to turn into a full-blown cry. Lucy sighed again.

  ‘Okay, let’s do it,’ she said. ‘You’re right, it will be good to do this together. We can drive up the night before then drive back afterwards. Will Clive and Sophie stay over?’

  ‘Yes, he seems pretty keen for me to do the run,’ Jack said, trying to conceal his joy at her decision. ‘I think he’d do an overnighter. Sophie loves babies, apparently. Clive, not so much.’

  ‘Okay, let’s do it! I’ll book online after I put Hamish to bed. You mean the half-marathon though, right? I’m not ready for more than that at the moment.’

  ‘Yes, great, the thirteen-miler. It’ll be fun. Like old times.’

  Jack finished the call and returned to his seat opposite Clive.

  ‘We’re on!’ he said, smiling. ‘It’s a goer. And you and Sophie can come around for dinner too. This Saturday okay?’

  Clive nodded. They’d all get to know each other and in three weeks’ time, he and Lucy would run the Loch Lomond half-marathon. It would give her something to aim for and give her a break from Hamish. He didn’t know then that he’d just committed them both to the worst night of their lives.

  2

  Jack was surprised at how much energy he had. He always had trouble getting warmed up when it was so cold, but now, running in that damp, oppressive fog, he felt as if he could run forever.

  Would the man die? He was badly injured, dazed and delirious. And there was something about him that bothered Jack. He churned over his own culpability. Was it dangerous driving? Careless driving perhaps? They were in the middle of nowhere, it was after midnight, who would expect a man to walk into the path of a car? Even if he’d needed to flag them down for help, he still should have stood at the side of the road. Only a fool would stand in front of a vehicle on a night like that.

  The police would need to get involved, there’d be an insurance claim, an investigation and a lot of paperwork. But Jack was no weasel. He’d hit a man. However blame was apportioned, whoever got the finger pointed at them, his first priority was to do what he could to help this man.

  Jack sped up slightly. Would there even be a phone box in the next village? He pulled out his mobile and looked at the screen. One bar flickered on and off. If he was lucky, the signal would get better as he neared civilisation, it wasn’t steady enough yet to make a call.

  Jack tried to visualise the man’s face as he ran along the side of the road dodging muddy puddles and potholes. It had been bruised and bloodied. He wore glasses, but they’d been broken in the accident, hanging off his ear by one of the arms. It was a daft thing to do, but it was the first thing that Jack had done when he stepped up to him as he lay in the road. He’d removed his broken glasses. They were thick and heavy, that’s what he’d noticed, thicker than Jack had ever seen anyone else wearing. Except one other man, a contractor he’d met at work.

  Yes, that was what had been bothering Jack. Could it be the same person? Could the man he’d hit really be employed in the same workplace? He’d never spoken to the contractor directly but he had clocked him as he moved around the building. If he’d been asked to describe him he’d have said ‘dark, greying hair with heavy, thick glasses’. He tried to picture the man who’d been lying in the road. He was the same sort of age, same build. What was his hair colour? Jack couldn’t remember, he’d had to rush off to vomit at that point. No, of course it couldn’t be him. They were miles from Aberdeen, that would be ridiculous.

  He jogged on at a steady pace. He shuddered. Suddenly a loud noise disturbed the silence. A gunshot. Then another one. Who could be shooting at this time of night? A gamekeeper? He thought not.

  The noise was definitely coming from behind him. He stopped and listened. There was one final shot. Jack stood panting at the side of the road. He’d left Lucy on her own with no phone signal and only an injured man for company. He turned back, running faster than he had before. As he rounded a bend in the road, he saw the bright headlights of a vehicle ahead. Perhaps a car had stopped to help Lucy and would raise the alarm for them.

  As Jack neared the scene of the accident, a flash of flames roared up into the night sky. He gasped. The hire car was on fire. Had they ruptured the fuel tank when they went into the ditch? Surely not. Those things were supposed to be impregnable.

  He felt a dark sense of dread. He hadn’t seen it before, but this was no random event. A man running into the road in the dead of night. The sounds of gunshot. A burning car. He had to get to Lucy.

  He ducked off the road and began to make his way through the trees to the scene of the accident. Two Mercedes crew vans were parked on the opposite verge and a group of men all carrying handguns were standing nearby, silhouetted against the flames from the burning vehicle. Jack counted eight of them. They’d come dressed for the occasion wearing boots and combat jackets. This was no late night poaching trip.

  He surveyed the scene, looking for Lucy, desperately trying to make out her figure among the shapes in front of him. Nothing. She wasn’t there. Had she run? A wave of panic engulfed him. What the fuck was going on?

  He looked at the burning car. There was a body sitting at the wheel, it was on fire. Lucy! Surely that wasn’t Lucy. Panic turned to rage as Jack considered the possibility that it might be his wife burning in that car.

  He’d have to risk being seen in the light of the flames. He had his hi-viz bib on, that would give the game away. Jack took it off and threw it into the trees. He thought about doing the same with his tracksuit top, but it was cold out there, so instead he turned it inside out.

  He crept through the trees towards the burning car. The heat was intense, the metal of the bodywork expanding and creaking noisily. He couldn’t see clearly enough. He would have to go into the road to get a proper look. He had to know if it was Lucy in there. The men seemed to be studying a map, planning their next move.

  Watching them like a hawk, Jack quietly made his way into the road. He was lit up entirely by the flames. If they turned round, there was no way he could stay hidden. He had to risk it. He had to get a good look at the burning body. It was charred already but he could see enough to know that it wasn’t Lucy. It was a man, it must be the man they’d struck earlier.

  He’d been spotted. First he noticed the hum of the voices changing, and then, out of the corner of his eyes, an urgent movement – focused on him.

  Suddenly there was a whoosh of petrol flames as the fuel tank exploded and the entire area was engulfed in a searing heat. Jack was pushed backwards into the middle of the road. He stumbled, struggling to keep his footing.

  He heard a shout from the approaching figures.

  ‘It’s him! Don’t lose him!’

  Jack did the only thing open to him. He ran as fast as he could into the dark, wet woodland.

  Lucy placed the small teddy bear at the side of the headstone and repositioned the tiny posy of flowers for the fifth time. Be
hind her, Hamish was stirring in the pram.

  She wished that Jack was there. His presence would give her strength. She couldn’t stop the tears. When would the pain subside? It still hurt so bad, even after six months. She craved the rawness to end.

  Helen. She had a name, even if she’d barely spent a day alive. They’d chatted for hours about having twins with names that began with the same letter. Was it a bit naff? Well, they wouldn’t get to use the names together now.

  Jack never came to the cemetery. He was always so tired when he got back from Aberdeen. They barely had time to catch their breath. They were dealing with a birth and a death. The child that survived still needed their attention, but Lucy was finding it hard to love him. How could she feel like that? What kind of mother was she?

  She dared not share her thoughts with the health visitor. In fact, she wished the woman would get out of their lives. Lucy felt so … so watched all of the time. She worried that any admission of resentment towards Hamish would get her banished to a psychiatric ward at the drop of a hat.

  As for Jack, he was too busy trying to keep it all going. Would it matter if everything collapsed? Lucy wondered if they might be happier.

  She wiped the tears from her face. There was a movement behind her. Someone was approaching cautiously, not wishing to invade her private moment but clearly wanting to speak. Lucy turned around. A middle-aged woman in a long dark coat and leather boots was peering into the pram at Hamish. Her black hair was threaded with grey.

  ‘They’re lovely at that age, aren’t they? They look so peaceful when they’re asleep.’

  Lucy didn’t want to talk about babies, but the woman persisted. She was intent on striking up a conversation. Lucy usually had the cemetery to herself during the week. She would stand in front of the grave silently weeping, recalling how she’d held Helen, her firstborn, and how elated they had been. She’d watched Jack holding Hamish, born eighteen minutes after his sister and demanding all the attention already. It was as if he’d stolen her air, as if he’d denied his own sister’s chance of life.