‘Put the torch on and I’ll show you.’
Kai did so, the illumination of their surroundings sudden, painful and stark.
‘There,’ said Kyle, pointing. ‘The bed frame’s propped against the wall. It should hold in that position. Now point the torch up there.’
Kai did so. The ceiling showed a sheet of corrugated, rusted metal pulled across the entrance to their oubliette.
‘There’s . . . that’s a big gap between the frame and the top.’
‘Yeah,’ said Kyle, ‘I know. I tried to reach it and fell. But there’s two of us now. If you climb up first, I’ll hold the frame still. That way we can put it flush against the wall and we should be able to reach the top. Or rather you can. Your ankle’s not fucked like mine is. Then you get out and I climb up. There’s rope up there, they use it to lower the bucket. Throw that over for me and I’ll attach it round my waist. Then I’ll climb to the top and you pull me out.’ Kyle allowed himself a smile. ‘That sound like a plan?’
Kai nodded, his eyes hooded, rendered dark and unreadable by the angle of the torch.
Kyle felt like laughing. They were going to do it. They were going to escape. When he spoke he couldn’t keep the excitement and joy from his voice.
‘Let’s go, then.’
31
Lila opened her eyes. The morning had arrived hard.
The caravan’s curtains and nets didn’t stop the light getting through. The room was bathed in washed-out grey. But she believed that was the caravan’s natural colour. The boys didn’t seem to mind, but then they were just kids, really, playing at being gangsters. They didn’t know any different. Lila felt apart from them, not just through experience but also outlook. Temperament.
She turned over. And froze.
Danny was lying next to her. Asleep.
Her heart stopped, then began again, hammering so fast and loud she could hear it in her ears. Danny. Questions pinballed through her head. How? Why? What? She tried to think back to the club the night before. She had been sitting with Danny. Made a play to take over the gang. Danny was up for that. Told her she could do it. Gave her his blessing, his encouragement. He would tell the gang tomorrow, he had said. In the meantime, we celebrate. And she had stayed on Coke. Not wanting to lose control.
And that was the last thing she could remember. Until waking up now.
She checked her body. She was naked. Looked round the room. Her clothes were on the floor by the bottom of the bed. That dress Leon had bought her. She never wanted to see it again. Made her feel nauseous just looking at it.
She sat up. And Danny stirred. Opened sleep-fogged eyes, heavy with the previous night’s excesses, looked at her. Smiled.
‘Hey,’ he said.
Lila didn’t know how to respond. Should she start asking him questions straight away? Should she just be polite and smile back at him? She sketched the ghost of smile around the corners of her lips and moved to get up. She took the top sheet, gathered it round her body.
‘You don’t need to do that, hon.’
She turned. He was propped up on one elbow, watching her. Smile even broader now. She could see from the outline of the sheet that he had an erection.
‘Come back to bed. Got somethin’ for you . . .’
She stayed where she was. Stared at him. ‘What happened last night?’
That smile reached his eyes. Like a wolf or a shark, she thought. Getting off on her question.
‘You had the time of your life, girl.’ His smile changed. ‘Don’ you remember?’
She didn’t. That was the thing. She said nothing.
‘Come back to bed . . .’ He began to move the cover down his body.
‘I’ve got work to do,’ she said, turning away from him once more.
‘Nothin’ that won’t keep.’
She stopped once more. ‘You said I was in charge now. That still right?’
‘Business later. Pleasure first.’
‘Business now,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady, hoping he didn’t catch the rising note of hysteria. ‘What happened last night?’ She hadn’t meant to ask the question for a second time, the words just came out on their own.
He laughed. ‘You had a great time. That’s it.’
She dropped the sheet, stared at him. ‘How come I don’t remember it, then?’
He ran his eyes over her naked body. So intensely she felt like he was penetrating her. It made her feel violated. Grabbed the sheet, covered herself up again.
He pulled a mock hurt face. ‘Hey, that’s an insult. I was pretty fuckin’ good. You don’ remember, you don’ remember. Dunno why.’ Dismissively, like the conversation was over. ‘Got some stuff in the fridge. You know what I mean. Go get me it.’
Anger swelled within her, mixing with the uncertainty, the hysteria she was already feeling. ‘I’m not your fucking slave. Get it yourself.’
She didn’t see him move, didn’t think he could have moved so quickly, not after the night he had had. But he did. Suddenly right beside her, grabbing her wrist, twisting it. Eyes right on hers. Morning breath with a sour chemical undertone.
‘I ask you to get somethin’ you fuckin’ get it. Right?’
Another twist. She gasped. Nodded. Got it.
‘Good. Get my stuff from the fridge.’
Pulling the sheet tightly round her, she left the room.
She walked into the main body of the caravan. Josey was staring at the TV. He didn’t seem to have moved for hours. He barely glanced up as she entered. Leon was gone, already at work. Ashley and Aaron were just waking up.
She opened the fridge door. Saw a bottle of champagne. Where had that come from? Something else to join the list of things she couldn’t remember. She took it out, shut the door. Was ready to return to the bedroom when she felt the other two staring at her.
She looked at them. They looked away. Faces filled with shame, embarrassment. She just stared at them.
‘What the fuck happened last night?’ She hadn’t intended her voice to be so loud, shrill.
Neither of them answered. Both looked away from her.
‘I said what happened last night?’
Aaron looked up. ‘Ask Danny.’
Ashley nodded beside him. His usual swagger gone. ‘Yeah. Danny.’
An idea was forming in her mind. A dark, ugly idea. She hoped it wasn’t what she was thinking. She really, really hoped it wasn’t.
She took the champagne back into the bedroom. Danny had resumed his position in the bed, lying there like nothing had happened. He patted the side of the bed next to him.
‘Anything come back to you yet?’ he asked, a smirk splitting his features.
She stared at him. Nothing but contempt in her eyes. She knew what he had done to her. That smirk said it all. She could barely keep her hands steady as she held the champagne bottle.
‘Yeah,’ she said, once again struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘You put something in my drink, didn’t you?’
He held his hands up, gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘Did I?’
‘What was it, roofies?’
Another shrug.
‘And then you –’ Her voice, breath, deserted her. She tried to keep calm, controlled. ‘You . . . fucked me.’
‘Yeah.’ Another shrug. ‘But I don’t remember you arguing.’
‘I don’t remember anything about it . . .’ The words screamed at him.
He blinked, surprised by her ferocity. She kept going.
‘You . . . you drugged me, knocked me out. Then . . . then . . .’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. The one word she had to say to get what had happened to her in perspective. That would make it real. And that could change her life for ever, define her as someone else. A person she didn’t want to be. ‘You know what you fucking did . . .’ Screamed once more.
He moved slowly out of bed, came towards her, arms out in a consoling manner. Smiling all the while. ‘What was I suppo
sed to do, babe? You weren’t coming across for me. And man, you looked hot. In that dress. Like, proper hot. Had to have you, gorgeous. Had to be done.’ He laughed. ‘An’ I know you enjoyed it too. Don’t pretend you didn’t.’
She closed her eyes. Splinters of memory glistened in the darkness of her mind.
Fragments: the club swirling round her, arms holding her upright. Being able to collapse but not fall. Someone keeping her up.
Then blackness.
Another fragment: cold night air. Walking, her feet not touching the ground, legs not working properly.
Blackness.
Then: someone breathing on her heavily, face in her face, body jumping up and down. Wanting it to be over so she could slip back in blackness once more.
She opened her eyes. Danny was right beside her now. Arms snaking round her body, pulling the sheet off.
‘Come on, baby, don’ be mad at me. Come on. We had fun. It was—’
The bottle hit him in the side of the head before she even realised she had swung it.
He staggered away, hand to his head. Reeling like a drunk or a concussed boxer. When he took his hand away, his fingers, palm, were red with blood.
‘Wha . . . what you do that for?’
She didn’t answer him. Couldn’t answer him. Just swung the bottle once more, connecting with the same spot.
He hit the floor. Groaning, trying to touch his head, his hands moving in slow motion, like his battery was winding down.
Lila stood and watched. Expressionless.
The bottle slid from her hand to the floor.
Danny stopped moving.
Lila just stared.
32
Tom had never been to Newquay before. He often found that out-of-season seaside towns possessed a kind of melancholic beauty, a sort of run-down gothic charm. Not this one. The fuzzy grey TV static of the falling rain left it looking washed out and near-abandoned, the heavy clouds made the purgatorial time between the fag end of winter and the glimmer of spring seem oppressive and never-ending. Or maybe it was just the mood he was in. Whatever, he hoped his business here went as quickly as possible.
He sat in his car, watching the pawnshop on the opposite side of the road. He knew what those kinds of shops were usually referred to as, and he saw a steady stream of people going in and coming out. It wasn’t hard to pick out the ones who were dealing in stolen goods. Dressed as though they lived on the streets – which they may have done – carrying equipment there was no way they could afford. But coming out happy.
There was something else going on too. Some of the customers exiting seemed to have been directed to a light-skinned black youth, hanging about on the street corner, trying not to draw attention to himself and therefore drawing even more attention to himself. Tom knew immediately what he was. Dealer. And not a very adept one at that. He was trying to practise various surreptitious moves to place product into the punters’ hands but he just ended up looking like a terrible magician, showing how it was done the whole time.
Tom wasn’t bothered about the business ethics of the place or the kid on the corner. They could do what they liked. He just wanted to find Lila and get his stuff back.
He wondered which approach would work best. The kid, or the shop? Since Pirate John had given him a name and address, he would try the shop. He locked the car, pulled a new coat around him, made his way across.
Inside was exactly as he had expected. All electrical gear and dyna-bright strip lighting. Another black youth stood behind the counter. His demeanour changed when Tom walked in. He wasn’t the usual clientele. He knew the kid thought he was trouble.
Good.
He walked up to the counter. ‘I’m looking for Conroy.’
The youth looked surprised, and a little scared. He tried not to let it show.
‘What’s it about?’
‘Between me and him.’
‘D’you know him?’
‘Nope.’
‘Conroy doesn’t see people he doesn’t know.’
Tom smiled. He hoped it wasn’t pleasant. ‘Tell him there’s no such thing as a stranger, just a friend you haven’t managed to piss off yet.’
The guy made up his mind. ‘Wait here.’ Disappeared into the back of the shop.
Tom waited. But not for long. He soon re-emerged.
‘Conroy says to come this way.’
Tom walked around the counter, followed the youth down a corridor. The decor became drab, functional. Conroy’s office was exactly as he had imagined it would be. And there sat the man himself in a broken-down armchair. Like a fat spider welcoming his prey into his web.
‘Thank you, Leon,’ he said, dismissively.
Leon left. Conroy gave Tom his full attention.
‘One of the boys in blue I don’t know about?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘You look like a copper. Smell like one, if you know what I mean.’ He gave a loud sniff, as if he was just about to exhale phlegm on the filthy floor. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken. But I’m not police.’
If Tom thought his words would have relaxed Conroy, he was mistaken. The man remained on guard. ‘Who are you, then?’
‘My name’s Killgannon. Tom Killgannon.’
Something sparked behind Conroy’s eyes. He tried to hide it, but Tom had seen it.
‘Ring a bell?’ Tom asked.
Conroy attempted a shrug. His body made oily ripples as he did so. ‘Not really.’
‘Not really? So it might have done?’
‘I meant no. I don’t know you. I don’t know your name.’ He sighed, tried to seem impatient. Tom wasn’t fooled for a second. He had confronted better liars than this one. ‘Now if you want something, tell me. I’m busy.’
Tom glanced at the TV screen. A porn film played silently. ‘So I see.’
He moved slowly towards Conroy. The seated man didn’t like that. Squirmed, looked uncomfortable.
‘Just stay where you are. Where I can see you.’
Tom ignored him. Stood right over him.
‘I’ll come to the point. I recently lost something. Something very personal. It was stolen from me. I have reason to believe it ended up here.’
Conroy tried a smile. ‘Reason to believe? You even talk like a copper. What thing? What reason? And who told you?’
‘Credit cards mainly. Few other things. Passport. As to who told me to come here, that’s none of your business.’
‘I think it is.’ Conroy had picked up a stick from the side of the chair. Dark, heavy wood, heavy metal globe on the top. Tom would have wagered money on him using it more as a weapon than a walking aid. ‘If someone’s giving out my name for . . . well, something that sounds like criminal practice to me, I should know about it.’
‘Look, Conroy, cut the bullshit. I know a fence when I see one.’ Conroy began to protest. Tom ignored him, kept talking. ‘And I haven’t got all day. Just tell me where my stuff is, give me it and I’ll be away. You’ll never see me again.’
Conroy just stared at him. His little raisin eyes looked almost black as he tried to scheme his way out of the situation. Tom could see him weighing up the odds, deciding what the best approach would be. How much money he could make for himself.
Eventually he spoke. ‘Yes, I recognised you. Yes, I’ve seen your passport. And your cards. A girl brought them in here. Tried to sell them to me.’
Tom felt a thrill run through him. Tamped it down. Kept focused. ‘So where are they?’
Conroy attempted another shrug. His body, not given sufficient warning, protested and it didn’t last long. ‘Who knows? Maybe she tried somewhere else.’
‘Newquay is a small place. I doubt there’s many other people who would deal in the stuff you deal with. So where are they?’
Another silence, another calculation from Conroy. He smiled. ‘I could get them for you.’
‘When?’
‘Later today.’
‘If you know wh
ere they are, if they haven’t been used, why don’t you just get them for me now?’
‘Oh, it’s not as easy as that, Mr . . . Killgannon? Is that what you said your name was? Is that your real name? Just out of interest.’
Tom felt a shiver of unease. Conroy knew. Or at least suspected.
‘Just give me them back. That’s all. And I’ll say no more about it.’
Conroy laughed. It was the sound a bullied kid makes when he inadvertently manages to gain power over his abuser. A victim’s victory.
‘So what is it, then? New identity? On the run? Is that it? Or are you some kind of spy?’
Conroy’s words were getting too near the mark. Tom snatched the walking stick from Conroy’s hands, held it at the fat man’s neck. Conroy gurgled, choked. Tom pushed harder.
‘Just give me the fucking cards back . . .’
Conroy’s face, red to begin with, was turning purple. Spit and dribble appeared at the corners of his mouth, his eyes bulged. Tom kept pressing. Stared at him.
‘You going to give me my stuff back?’
Conroy nodded.
‘Sure?’
Another nod.
Tom took the cane away. Conroy’s hands went to his throat, massaged his wounded chins.
‘I’ll have to get them for you.’ His voice sounded like it was bubbling up through oil and water. ‘Come back later.’
‘When?’
‘Later. When the shop shuts.’
Tom didn’t want to leave the shop, didn’t want to let Conroy out of his sight. But he knew he had no option. ‘You’d better not be fucking me about. You’ll be sorry if you are.’
‘When my shop shuts. Come back then.’ He gave a smile. It looked like the kind of grimace a condemned man on Death Row would make. ‘I give you my word.’
‘You’d better. Because I wouldn’t like to be you if you disappoint me.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr . . . Killgannon.’
Tom left the office.
*
He got back into his car, sat there thinking. He didn’t trust Conroy at all. Didn’t have any faith that the cards would be there when he said they would. Didn’t even believe Conroy would be there. He knew he was going to be crossed in some way. He decided to just sit there, watch the shop. All day if necessary.
The Old Religion Page 15
