The Child Across the Street: An unputdownable and absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Kerry Wilkinson

  ‘How far would you have to travel to find similar work to what you do now?’

  ‘Maybe an hour – but that would be assuming I could get a similar job anyway. Factories aren’t hiring any more. I’ve been applying, but nobody gets back to you. The job centre wants to send me off to pound shops to stack shelves. I’d be going backwards. You spend your time gaining all these skills, working your way up, and then it’s gone. You’re back to earning minimum wage and you’ve wasted twenty years of your life.’

  I take my seat again and listen in as Kevin pours his heart out to the guy I assume to be a reporter. When he talks, it doesn’t only feel like something happening to him, but something happening to everyone who lives here.

  After a while, the reporter stops reporting and asks Kevin what he wants to drink, before heading off to the bar. I’ve not touched my second drink. I’m considering downing it and leaving when Holly appears in front of me, as if she’s materialised from nowhere.

  ‘I was going to go to the funeral,’ she says, somewhat breathlessly. ‘But I figured it might not be what you wanted, after everything.’

  ‘You figured right.’

  Holly sits on the stool across the table from me. ‘I heard you’d gone to the pub afterwards. I checked three others before I found you here.’

  ‘News travels fast in Elwood.’

  ‘Always has – and that was before mobile phones.’

  ‘True. Unless there’s a kid in a coma – then nobody knows anything about who put him there.’

  Holly doesn’t take the bait.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask. ‘On Dad.’

  I’m already reaching into my bag for more cash when Holly waves it away. She’s drumming her fingers on the table and fidgeting her legs.

  ‘Did you see Jo on TV this morning?’ she asks.

  ‘No,’ I say, not wanting to talk about it.

  ‘It was weird. Like watching another person. I’ve known her all these years but never seen her so… focused.’

  It’s a strange choice of word, probably an odd thing to notice, but I know precisely what Holly’s talking about. There was something not quite in character about the way she was in front of the camera, especially given the manic way she’d behaved in accusing Stephen of being the driver not long after.

  ‘Ethan could’ve died,’ I say. ‘I guess that gave her strength…?’

  Holly doesn’t seem convinced.

  ‘Did you talk to Rob yesterday?’ she asks.

  I’m sitting in the sun that’s beaming through the glass behind me. The abrupt change of subject jars and, despite the warmth, a chill flicks along my arms as I realise why she’s really come to find me. It’s not for a chat about Jo, or the funeral.

  Holly’s fingers stop drumming on the table and, though I don’t look up to her properly, I can feel her staring.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘He was asking about uni.’

  ‘Why? You never went.’

  Her tone has changed and I can sense that barely concealed fury that I recognise all too well. I know what’s coming.

  ‘You’d have to ask him,’ I say.

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I don’t remember completely.’

  ‘What do you remember?’

  ‘I think I encouraged him to go.’

  Holly screws up her face into a snarling picture of indignation. ‘That’s funny,’ she says. ‘Because he said you told him to go and never come back.’

  I can’t meet her gaze. I wish I could disappear under the table and not be seen. ‘I, um…’

  ‘You’ve been sneering since you got back,’ Holly says, getting louder.

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Just because I don’t drive a big car or own a big house, doesn’t make you better than me.’

  ‘I don’t own any car.’

  ‘I run my own business, but when I mentioned that to you, all you could do is turn your nose up.’

  I swallow the vodka and Coke, wait a moment, and then finally let her have my gaze. ‘It’s a pyramid scheme,’ I say. ‘I wish it wasn’t, but you don’t own your own business. Nobody gets rich except the people at the top.’

  ‘Oh, and you’d know, would you?’

  ‘Type the name of the product into Google,’ I say. ‘You don’t need me to say anything. I’ve seen it before.’

  ‘Have you?’ She doesn’t sound convinced.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  Holly shuffles backwards on the stool slightly and, as I look past her, I realise everyone is watching us. It’s not often this type of free entertainment is on offer on a Friday afternoon. I wonder if, deep down, Holly knows what she’s mixed up in. Whether this is why she’s angry about Rob and, I suppose, me.

  ‘You should mind your own business,’ Holly says.

  ‘I know.’

  She pushes herself up until she’s standing. ‘You’re the one who left. It’s twenty years on and we’re all in the same town. How does that make you better than anyone?’

  ‘I never said it did.’

  Holly lunges forward and knocks my bottle onto the floor. The lid wasn’t secured fully and the liquid pours onto the sticky wood-grained floor, pooling underneath the seat. ‘You’re turning into your dad,’ she says.

  ‘I’m not.’

  She leans in, so that we’re almost nose to nose. Her gaze rages. ‘You’re not better than me, Abigail Coyle.’

  There’s a moment in which I think she’s going to slap me, perhaps a moment in which she thinks that herself. Her hand goes back, but then, before crashing forward, she steps away instead.

  ‘Leave Rob alone,’ she says. ‘For that matter, leave me alone, too.’

  ‘Hol—’

  She turns and strides towards the door. I should let her go but try to follow, only succeeding in tripping over her stool and scrambling across the floor. My hands are covered with grit and grime and I get to the front of the pub just as Holly throws herself into her car and drives off. I watch her go, in case she decides to stop for some reason. There’s no question I went too far in what I told her son, even if I believe it.

  Back in the pub and everyone spins away, almost in unison, pretending they weren’t watching.

  The barman eyes my grit-flecked hands and arms and nods towards the toilets.

  ‘Are you going to be okay?’ he asks.

  ‘I will be after another drink.’

  Twenty-Eight

  I only realise the day has gone when the sun stops creeping through the window behind. Kevin and the reporter are long gone, as are most of the other people who’ve drifted in and out of the pub over the course of the evening. There is a haze around the edge of the room and I know I am right at my limit.

  The quiz machine makes yet another whooshing series of dings, which it does roughly every minute. I’ve heard it hundreds of times over the afternoon and evening. It’s enough to drive a sane person into an asylum.

  The barman stops in front of my table and crouches to pick up my empty glass.

  ‘Can I have another?’ I ask.

  ‘We’re closing.’

  I pluck a twenty-pound note from my bag. ‘I can pay.’

  ‘We’re still closing.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  He takes a step away and then turns and perches on the stool where Holly was sitting hours before.

  ‘Do you remember me?’ he asks.

  I try to take him in, but everything is rough around the edges.

  ‘You seem familiar,’ I say, which is the truth. I thought as much when I first saw him.

  ‘Colin,’ he replies. ‘We were in the same maths class years ago. You sat behind me.’

  I rub my eyes, but it doesn’t bring him into focus any more clearly.

  ‘I remember,’ I say, even though I don’t. Nobody wants to be told they’re forgotten and forgettable.

  ‘Maybe you should go home,’ he repl
ies, kindly.

  ‘My dad’s funeral was today.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s all the more reason to go home…?’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t think I have a home.’

  Colin stands and disappears to the bar with my glass. He clears a few more from the surrounding tables and then returns to my table with another vodka and Coke.

  ‘On me,’ he says, sitting on the stool once more. As best I can tell, it’s only us left in here.

  I’ve been around long enough to know what he’s thinking as he glances me up and down while trying to pretend he isn’t.

  ‘I saw him, y’know…?’

  I’m speechless because I was so certain I knew what he was going to say. It was only when he came out with whatever this is that I realise how disappointed I am.

  ‘Saw who?’ I ask.

  ‘Ethan. Before he was hit. I was on my way here and he was on his bike. He was riding on the pavement and cut right in front of me. I didn’t think anything of it, then I heard a kid had been hit by a car while I was working here. One of the blokes came in and said there were police everywhere. I didn’t put it all together until the next morning, when I realised where it happened. I must’ve seen him about two or three minutes before he was hit.’

  My head swirls. I was hoping for… something else – but here we are talking about Ethan instead.

  ‘I saw him, too,’ I say.

  ‘When?’

  ‘I was the one who found him in the gutter. His arm was mangled underneath his body. There was blood and dirt and…’

  Colin goggles at me and I know I’ll be sleeping alone tonight.

  ‘I thought he was dead,’ I say.

  ‘Oh… and then you’ve had your dad’s funeral…’

  The mention of my father stops me because, despite everything that’s happened in the past four days, the two things aren’t linked in my mind. What happened to Ethan is appalling. What happened to my father was as inevitable as night following day. The biggest surprise was that it took this long for his liver to bid him cheerio.

  Colin nods along, out of his depth. It’s not like it’s a competition, but I trumped his story of who saw the victim last.

  ‘Did you see a car?’ I ask.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When you saw Ethan. Was there a car nearby?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’ve thought about that every day since – but I can’t remember. What about you?’

  ‘I saw the car that hit him, but I don’t remember anything about it. I think it was dark, maybe black, but I wouldn’t be able to say for sure.’

  We sit in silence for a moment and there’s still a part of me hoping I didn’t misread his thoughts after all.

  ‘Are you going to drink that?’ he asks, nodding to the vodka and Coke.

  ‘I’ve probably had too much.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  I laugh and then pluck the glass from the table and down the contents. ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ I say, trying to sound alluring, though instantly wondering how hurling a drink down my throat can possibly be seductive.

  He glances off to the side. ‘I’m married. I’m flattered, but…’

  ‘No, um, that’s not what I meant, I…’

  Neither of us can look at the other and I’m ready to go. I’m tired of making a fool of myself.

  Before I can move, Colin speaks again. ‘Do you think it’s someone around here? That’s what everyone’s saying.’

  ‘Ethan’s mum thinks it is. Do you know Jo?’

  ‘Not really. I remember her from school. You were friends, weren’t you?’

  ‘A long time ago.’

  Colin isn’t listening. He’s already thinking ahead. ‘My mum’s convinced it’s a local. She’s been going on about it non-stop, saying it must be someone who lives in the streets around where Ethan was hit.’

  I don’t reply. The word ‘local’ sounds creepily ominous.

  Colin continues, oblivious. ‘She says it’s only a matter of time until someone cracks.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Mum reckons they’re bound to. Nobody can keep a secret like this forever. Whoever hit that kid must’ve either told someone already or they’re going to.’

  I wonder if that’s true. People live with all sorts of secrets, whether it’s cheating on husbands or wives, or any number of awful things. Is this any different?

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask.

  Colin shrugs. He says, ‘One minute,’ before disappearing off to the bar.

  He returns a few moments later with another vodka and Coke for me and half a pint of lager for himself. He places both drinks on the table, then we pick them up in unison and exchange a ‘cheers’, before each taking a mouthful.

  ‘I don’t think anyone will come forward,’ he says.

  ‘No?’

  ‘That’s it for them, isn’t it? Forget the police, forget any charges. Forget prison. That’s almost irrelevant. It’s maybe a couple of years in prison? I don’t know – but it’s over for whoever it is. They can never live here again. It probably is someone who lives here – but we both know most of the people who live here have always lived here. It’s not like there are loads of people moving in and out. Say someone holds their hand up and says they did it – they’re done. Not just them, their entire family. They can never live here again – but they’ve probably been here their entire life, so where are they going to go?’

  I picture the graffiti on Stephen’s door and his smashed window. That was on the basis of a rumour, let alone anything concrete. Colin is right. If someone ever admits to being the driver of the car that hit Ethan, that person will never again live in Elwood.

  Colin is on a roll, getting out the thoughts that have likely been plaguing him ever since he saw Ethan riding his bike. ‘In some ways, this is worse than a murder,’ he adds. ‘At least with that, there would be a motive. Some people would reckon you had a point, or a reason. With this, the driver left a kid to die.’ He clicks his fingers. ‘A split-second choice to drive away and your life is done. The only way out is saying nothing. That’s why I don’t reckon the driver will ever be found. Not unless they left some sort of evidence. Who’d admit to doing it? You’d be mad.’

  It might be because I’m tipsy but, perhaps for the first time since I found Ethan, it feels as if I understand what’s going on in this town. Colin’s correct in every way. Of course the driver isn’t going to come forward. It’s nothing to do with morality and everything to do with practicality. This isn’t a big city in which someone can move from one side to the other and lose themselves. Whoever did this had two choices. The first was to get the hell away from the scene and hope life can continue as normal; the second was to lose everything.

  Colin sups his pint and then nudges my half-full glass with his. ‘I have to clear up,’ he says.

  I take the hint and finish the drink.

  ‘Do you need a taxi to get home?’ he asks.

  ‘I think I’ll be all right.’

  He stands and takes the glasses. ‘Was good catching up. My day off is Sunday, but I’m in every other day if you’re in the mood. You should—’

  I push myself up and it feels like I’m underwater. There’s a glossy mist to the room and, though Colin continues to speak, I can’t make out the words. The final two drinks have pushed me over the edge.

  ‘See y’around,’ I say, or try to. I think that’s what comes out.

  I hover for a moment, but Colin is on his feet and starting to collect glasses. When he fails to turn back to me, I head for the door. It feels like my body is a step or two ahead of my thoughts. Or, perhaps it’s behind?

  It’s still warm outside, despite the blackened sky, and I stumble into the wall of the pub as I try to figure out which way will take me back towards Dad’s house. The sound of someone’s drunken singing clings to the breeze in the distance. The phantom warbler is doing a terrible job of banging out a Meatloaf track.

&nbs
p; I walk on autopilot in a way I never did when I lived elsewhere. In a city, there is always another route to get home; always another alley that seems to have appeared from nowhere. Here, even with the new housing estates, it’s like I have an implanted homing device to know where I’m going.

  As I get to the park, I realise that, while I’ve spent the day in the pub, other people have been working hard to set up the site for tomorrow’s fete. They have finished erecting a huge marquee off to the side, close to the tennis courts; plus there is a long row of stalls along the side, where the bonfire was burning the other night. Red, white and blue bunting is looped around the corner of the park, strung to the lamp posts and trees – and there’s a large sign reading ‘Welcome to Elwood’ that’s been hung from the park gates.

  The park is seemingly deserted as I drift my way through to the far side, emerging close to where I found Ethan. The flowers and footballs almost seem to be breeding, with the covering now stretching out from the verge and onto the roadside itself. There’s a shadow of a figure standing underneath the lamp post, someone lithe and lean, head bowed in a hoody.

  I must make a noise because the man turns and looks along the street towards me. We stare at one another and it feels like I’ve been recognised, even though I have no idea who the figure is.

  In a flicker, the man turns and hurries away, hands in pockets, head dipped. It could be one more person wishing Ethan well – and yet it feels like something more. There was something about the way he was hovering that didn’t feel right. Something morbid.

  Or it could be my muddied mind playing tricks.

  As I take the turn for Beverly Close, a shiver creeps across me. I turn and squint into the darkness, though there’s nobody there. Nobody I can see, in any case.

  I round the corner where Dad’s house sits and then hear a scuffed movement from behind. I spin quickly, staring towards the shadows close to the alley that runs along the back of the house.

  ‘Hello?’

  Nobody appears. Nobody moves.

  ‘Chris…?’

  Helena’s drive is clear and Chris’s car isn’t on the street. I’m not sure why I think it’s him, but he’s appeared in a lot of places around me since I got back to Elwood.