Throwing the duvet back, Jack eased himself across the bed and sat on the edge. He pulled his pants on as he stood up, noting the time on the bedside clock – 07:15. He groaned. On numerous occasions he had told his mother never to darken his doorstep before eight o'clock. Yet here she was again. Trying to break down his door, from the sound of things.
'I'm coming!' Jack shouted. 'Hold your horses, will you!'
He finished dressing, slipping into his jeans and pulling on a red t-shirt. Then he went downstairs to let his parents in.
'Well, it's about time,' Brenda said, sweeping past him, into the hallway. 'What took you so long? Me and your father have been outside in the cold like fools for the last five minutes. Heaven knows what the neighbours must think.'
'I don't care what the neighbours think,' Jack said, giving his father a nod as he entered. 'I've got more important things to worry about, as I'm sure you can appreciate.'
Richard gave him an apologetic look, then noticed the door's shattered lock. 'What's happened here, son?' he asked. 'Have you been broken into?'
'Yes,' Jack said. 'But don't worry; I'm fine. I was out last night when it happened.'
He wanted to calm Brenda before hysteria set in. The colour started to fade from her face, though. Like the blood was being sucked from her body. Here we go, Jack thought. Cue the dramatics. He edged away from her.
'Oh you poor, poor thing,' she said, closing in on him. As if you haven't had enough bad luck and now this. I suppose we should be thankful you weren't here. Heaven knows what would have happened to you. Heaven only knows …' She shook her head, perishing the thought.
Cornering Jack, she tried to pet and fuss him. He batted her affections away.
'Mum, please,' he said, holding her at bay. 'I really don't need this.'
'Does you face still hurt?' she asked, doing her best to worm free of his grasp. 'I bet it does, doesn't it? You should try moisturising; I'm sure that would help. Oh my poor little boy, look at what they're done to you. I've got moisturiser with me. Here, I'll put some on for you.'
She unzipped her handbag. Pulled out a small tub of Oil of Olay. Unscrewing the lid, she scooped cream out with her finger and went to apply some to Jack's cheek.
'This stuff works wonders,' Brenda declared.
'Not on my mug, it won't,' Jack said, fending her off. 'Mum, will you leave me alone. Can you tell her, Dad? Please! I'm going to head-but the wall in a minute, at this rate.'
Richard took her by the wrist. Coaxed her away. 'Can't you see he's stressed?' he said to her. 'Give him some space, dear. Let him breathe.'
'Well I'm sorry for being concerned,' Brenda said. 'But it's a sad state of affairs if a mother can't care for her only son.'
Wrinkled her nose, she batted her mascara-ladened eyes in indignation.
'Just go in there, both of you,' Jack said, shepherding them into the living room. 'I'll make some tea.'
Once they were seated on the settee, he went into the kitchen. Switched the kettle on. While it was boiling, he put everything that was needed on a tray.
'Did they get away with much?' Richard called out. 'Have you called the police?'
'No, they didn't take anything,' Jack replied. 'As for calling the police, what's the point? They're useless. Couldn't catch a cold, never mind a burglar. If I'd had valuables taken, I'd report it. Those burglars must have been so disappointed when they broke in here. Wish I'd seen their faces.' Their faces, he thought. Their faces. 'Switch the telly on, if you want.'
'You should let the police know,' Richard said. 'I agree that they're useless, but those burglars might try and hit someone else in the area. If you report it, extra patrols might be put on, which can only be good for you.'
'I'll give them a buzz in a bit,' Jack said, to satisfy him.
He heard the TV blare to life and Brenda exclaim: 'Put the news channel on, Richard. The weather report should be on … Oh-mi-gosh, rain! In this country, who would have thought it!'
'A dark cloud should be our national mascot,' Richard said. 'Sums up the mood of the country, I say.'
By the time Jack had finished making the tea, the weather had given way to headlines. The TV's sound was low, so he couldn't hear what the newsreader was saying as he entered the room. Pulling the coffee table over to the settee, he placed the tray on it. Began pouring strong tea into two cups. Sergeant Major Strength Brew, as Richard liked to call it.
Jack read the text scrolling across the bottom of the screen: Two convicts still at large after attack on police convoy.
'That Armstrong guy is probably out of the country by now,' Richard said. 'And that other nutter – the Face Book weirdo – is being chased by police across the county, last time I checked.' He focused his attention on Jack. 'Have you been watching the news?'
Brenda put a hand over her mouth. Shifted on her seat to look away. 'Switch it over!' she bleated, shuddering. 'I don't want to hear anything about that man. Turn it over, before I faint!'
Jack forgot about pouring tea. Focused his attention on the TV. 'Turn it up,' he said to Richard. 'I want to listen to this.'
Richard fumbled with the remote, trying to figure out which button did the job, so Jack took it from him and raised the volume.
The Newsreader was in full flow:
'… escaped after a convoy transporting him from Edgemont Prison to Boxford Central was attacked, resulting in the death of eleven officers. After a lengthy pursuit through Darkness Woods, Ward was cornered in a farmhouse on Saddlewood Road. Here, he took pensioner Mildred Curshaw hostage in a car ...'
'Oh,' Brenda said, standing up, swaying from side-to-side as if she were about to faint. 'Turn it off! I can't cope with the thought of him being on the loose, Richard. I just can't bear it! Turn … it … off!'
Getting up, Richard took her by the arm. Steadied her.
'Sit down,' he said. 'Before you collapse.'
Jack continued watching the TV. The newsreader was now talking about Luke Armstrong:
'… still has not been apprehended and police have no idea regarding his whereabouts. Many believe that his gangland associates are responsible for the attack ...'
'Of course they're responsible,' Richard said, seating Brenda back on the settee. 'Doesn't take a genius to figure that out. Armstrong is nearly as bad as that Charles Byron fellow, if you ask me.'
Brenda took deep breathes. Wafting her hand in front of her face, she made an attempt to cool herself.
'Byron's a nasty piece of work,' she said. 'Not one to cross, by all accounts.'
'Where does he live?' Jack asked, looking from his mother to his father.
'On Costock Road,' Richard said. 'On the outskirts of the city. You can't miss his mansion, perched up on that hill. The place is like a fortress. Got better security than a military base, that place.' His eyes narrowed slightly as he weighed his son up. 'Why do you ask?'
'Just curious,' Jack said. 'That's all.'
Brenda took the remote from him. Began flicking through channels.
'Let's see if we can find something a little less depressing, shall we,' she said. 'Ah, yes, here we are: The Antiques Roadshow, look.'
'Thrilling,' Richard mumbled. He focused his attention back on Jack. 'Is everything okay? Are you coping all right?'
'Yes,' Jack said. 'I'm fine, considering.'
He finished making the tea. Handed Brenda and Richard their cups.
'Lovely,' Brenda said, taking a sip. 'Brewed to perfection. As ever.'
Richard gulped tea down. 'We rang the hospital and they told us you'd left early. We knew you wouldn't answer your phone, so that's why we came calling. It was your mother's idea to turn up at the crack of dawn. Sorry about that.'
'You shouldn't have left early,' Brenda said. 'The doctors still had checks to do. I'll call them. Tell them you'll come back in for those checks. It's for your own good, so don't look at me like that, sonny.'
'If I don't feel right, I'll contact them,' Jack said. 'You need to stop trying to run my
life. I'm twenty-eight now, Mum; I'm grown up, in case you hadn't noticed.'
Richard said, 'It's only because she cares.'
Brenda rolled her eyes indignantly.
‘I appreciate that you care and I love you both to pieces, but I really do need space so I can begin to come to terms with my disfigurement,’ Jack said. ‘Sometimes it’s better to be on your own. This is one of those times.’
'Do you want us to go?' Richard asked, standing up.
Seeing the hurt on Brenda's face, Jack couldn't bring himself to say yes.
'No,' Jack said. 'But can we talk about something that won't depress me and make me want to jump off a tall building? Any subject will do, as long as it doesn't involve my face, doctors and hospitals, or what might or might not be good for me.'
'What you need is cheering up,' Richard said, 'and I think we can help you there.'
He reached into his pocket. Produced a set of keys. He dangled them in front of Jack, who recognised them for what they were. 'We're getting a new car, so you may as well have our old one.'
Jack held a hand up, palm out. Shook his head. 'Whooa!' he said. 'That Astra is still worth a few thousand. I can't accept it as a gift.'
'Nonsense,' Brenda said, sipping tea with a raised pinkie. 'It's yours now and that's that.'
'You can't afford to give that car to me,' Jack reasoned. 'You could do with the money from its sale.'
'You'll need a set of wheels now the Beetle's gone,' Brenda said. 'Can't believe the cheek of that woman. Taking that car as though it was hers and hers alone.' She tutted.
'Her dad did pay for it,' Jack pointed out.
'We'll, I think you're better off without her anyway,' Brenda said. 'I always thought she was a toff-nosed snob. Now you can find a nice girl. You deserve someone nice, that'll treat you right.'
'With my boat race,' Jack said. 'You've got to be kidding me.'
'What's happening about the house?' Richard asked. 'The furniture?'
'Her dad's coming round with a van in a few days,' Jack said. 'Going to clear me out. Leave me without a pew to park my backside on, from what Eleanor was saying. And before you slag her off, just remember it was her dad that decked this place out.'
'Do you want me to call him and have a word?' Richard asked. 'See if I can get him to leave you with at least the TV and a seat to sit on. Failing that, I'm sure me and your mother can help. We've got spare furniture you can have.'
Brenda said, 'There's an old armchair in the garage. We've been meaning to take it to the tip. Your more than welcome to it, dear. Granted, it's a bit moth-eaten and worn, but beggars can't be choosers. As for any other necessities, we'll get those from charity shops. Let us know what you need.'
'I appreciate your help,' Jack said, 'I really do, but don't telephone her father. I'll talk to him when he comes. He's a decent bloke – unlike his wife – so I might be able to convince him not to take essentials.'
'After he's been,' Richard said, 'give us a shout and we'll sort you out.' He downed his tea in one gulp, then jangled the car keys in front of Jack again. 'Now, how about you take your new ride for a spin? She's filled with petrol and ready to go. Give us a lift home, if you like?'
'You can't afford to give me that car,' Jack reiterated.
'Yes we can,' Richard assured him. 'We've got cash saved for a new one. Something cheap and cheerful will do. Something that's economical. We're not as rich as Eleanor's parents, but we're not exactly broke, either. Just take the keys, son. Because you're having the Astra whether you want it or not.'
Jack took the keys. 'I'll pay you back for this,' he said. 'When I've got the money. No matter how long it takes, I'll pay you back.'
'Don't worry about it,' Richard said, beckoning him to lead the way.
As they made for the front door, Brenda noticed the mail on the kitchen sideboard. Detouring, she snatched a letter up. Opened it. Perused its contents, eyes widening.
'You owe five hundred and eighty-seven pounds in Council Tax,' she said to Jack. 'How have you fallen so badly behind with the payments?'
He took the letter from her. 'That's private,' he said. 'You shouldn't be looking at my mail, Mum; I had enough of that when I lived at home.'
'Who else do you owe money to?' Brenda asked. 'I take it the Council aren't the only ones.'
She went to grab another letter, so Jack threw them on top of a cupboard. Out of reach.
'They can put you in prison for not paying your tax,' Richard pointed out.
'I know,' Jack said. 'If I had the money, I'd give it to them. But I haven't got it, so …' He shrugged. 'Bollocks to them.'
Brenda gasped. 'Language, please,' she said. 'I did not bring you up to be foul-mouthed.'
'We can help you out,' Richard said to Jack. 'All you need to do is ask.'
'I can sort things,' Jack said. 'Who knows, Eleanor's dad might pay a lot of things off. Most of our debts are joint ones, in both our names. He won't want bailiffs knocking on his door. If they come here, I'll send them to the Greys' household. Might even go with the bailiff, just so I can see the look on Camilla's face. David won't be able to pay up quick enough.'
There hadn't been much for Jack to smile about recently, but the thought of Camilla choking on her cornflakes when some burly guy knocked on the door made him grin.
'This really isn't funny,' Brenda said.
'I know it isn't,' Jack said. 'Look, let's just go for a ride in the car. Get you home.'
He opened the front door. Put one hand on his mother's shoulder and the other on his father's. Marched them outside.
'How are you going to secure this place?' Richard asked. 'You can only bolt it from the inside. While you're out, anyone could walk in. You need a locksmith to sort that.'
'Which will cost money,' Jack said. 'Money I don't have. Besides, what is there to nick? Apart from the telly and laptop, there's nothing worth taking.'
Richard produced fifty pounds from his pocket. 'Here you go,' he said. 'And don't even bother saying no.'
Hesitating, Jack went to take the notes, then changed his mind.
'Take it,' Richard said. 'Otherwise me and your mother aren't going anywhere. We'll stay here all day and bug you.'
Jack took the money and said, 'Thank you.'
The Astra had been well-maintained. It was eight years old and there was no rust on it. The colour suited Jack's mood: black. For the first time in a long while he had something of worth to his name. Something he could call his own. This did nothing to brighten his mood, however. As Richard showed him around the car (go easy on the brakes, son, they're a bit spongy), Jack kept replaying in his mind what the newsreader had reported about the Face Book Killer's escape.
‘After you’ve dropped us off,’ Brenda said to him, ‘you want to clean that house. It’s a tip. When was the last time you hoovered? It’s unhygienic to live like that …’
Her words sailed past Jack as though she didn’t exist.
####
Most people know a man like Spencer Rogers. He’s the guy that can get you something. Anything you want, he can obtain it (within reason). A fifty inch plasma, a blue-ray player, an Ipad, laptops, high-tech stereos, a kilo of Colombian Black, a new set of wheels … even a gun, if you like. All off the back of a lorry. And at knock down prices, too.
Derek and Chris had bought a lot of stuff from Spencer. Their most recent purchase: cues for twenty pounds each. Proper ash ones, worth a hundred quid retail. As ever, Spencer had told them to come back if they needed anything else. So here they were again, on his doorstep, with three more of his regulars. Spencer’s flat was at the end of a narrow alley in the centre of Redskill. This was Derek and Chris's home town: a thirty minute drive from Boxford. Chris knocked on the door.
‘Think he’ll have what we want?’ Jevon said. ‘Or will he have to order ‘em in?’
‘Dunno,’ Derek replied. ‘We’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Of course he’ll have ‘em,’ Nelson said. ‘Man, if Spence ain’t g
ot it, then it ain’t worth having.’
Chris knocked again.
‘Maybe he isn’t in,’ Willis said.
They heard a voice shout out, ‘Hold your horses out there! Sad world we live in when a guy can’t take a shit in peace!’ Then the sound of deadbolts being thrown back.
Spencer opened the door, looking grumpy. But his mood changed when he saw who it was. He greeted his customers with a wide, toothy grin, showcasing his pearly whites.
‘Hey!’ he said, swishing his dreadlocks back with a quick flick of his fingers. He opened his arms wide. ‘Well, if it ain’t my favourite bunch of Negroes.’ He embraced them in turn, finishing with Derek. ‘So what brings you to my place, brother? You need more cues? Those ones I sold you are all right, aren’t they? Tell me you’re a happy customer. Tell me you’re not here for a refund.’
‘We don’t want a refund,’ Derek assured him. ‘The cues are fine.’
‘Sweet!’ Spencer said. ‘What can I do you for, then? Or is this a social visit?’
‘I wish it was,’ Derek said. ‘Can we step inside? I’d rather we talked behind a closed door.’
Spencer looked down the alley, then stepped aside. Beckoned them to enter.
‘Come into my office, people,’ he said. ‘I’m intrigued to know what you want.’ Once they were inside, he bolted the door. ‘Pays to be safe, especially around here.’
Willis checked out the hallway they were now in, amazed by all the boxes stacked against the walls. One of them was filled with Sanzano F10 phones.
‘These things are shit-hot,’ he said to Spencer. ‘How much are you knocking ‘em out for?’
‘Seventy-five. But you can have one for fifty.’
‘Sold!’ Willis said, selecting one. He pulled notes from his pocket.
‘They are real, aren’t they?’ Spencer asked, reaching for the money, then hesitating. ‘Not fake, are they? I don’t do fakes.’
‘They’re real, man,’ Willis said, offering the notes again. ‘Take ‘em.’
‘Sorry,’ Spencer said, snatching the money, making it disappear. ‘Didn’t mean to offend.’
‘Can we get on with this,’ Derek said.
Face Book: A disturbing novel full of shocking twists Page 13
