by David Mark
“You’ve paid for what you’ve done. You were taken away from us. From me. And I never really got you back again.”
“You paid too. You paid too high a price.”
“You did it for us. You were ill. She was whispering in your ear. I know how it is to be addicted to something that’s killing you, Owen. Something dreadful but mesmerising.”
“She was the only one who understood…”
“I would have understood if you let me in. You were my big brother. And after the accident, you just…”
“It’s all in the past now, Kerry. Think of our happy times…”
“I think of them before I fall asleep and it makes me feel like you’re here.”
“Sometimes I am. Sometimes when you feel there’s somebody else in the room, watching over you, listening to you breathe, it’s because there is.”
We lie in silence. I can hear the lady’s voice, telling me of St Peter, denying his Lord three times before the cock crowed. She is angry and hurt, and I shake her away.
The CD downstairs changes to something harder, and the volume cranks up. I strain to hear the words. Placebo, I think. Something about friends in need and friends with weed. Couldn’t agree more.
“I got a bad feeling last night,” she says, gently, as though the words are coming from far away. She’s talking in washed-out watercolours. “After we spoke. You sounded…”
“Sounded what?”
“Like you used to. Sort of, you know, empty. Hollow. Waiting to be filled up with something you could use as fuel. I thought you might hurt yourself.”
I shush her with a kiss, and stroke her cheek. “It was a bad night. It’s a bad time. I think about things too much, you know that. I still want to bury my head in mud to stop the noise of my brain. That hasn’t changed. Pills don’t change that. Nothing changes that.”
“You are still taking them, though. You have to. You know what happens…”
“I’m cool, baby. I’m your big brother, remember. Fucking invincible.”
“Those things I said last time, Owen. About not needing you anymore…”
“You were out of it. I’m amazed you even remember.”
“Sometimes my head gets like yours.”
“Nobody’s got a head like mine, mate. I’m blessed.”
Silence again, broken only by somebody else’s music, and the gurgling in our bellies. After a while, the stomach rumbling becomes funny.
“Peckish?” I ask, laughing.
“Sick with it.”
“Pass my phone.”
Kerry slides down my body and slithers onto her knees.
I hear Kerry rummaging through my pockets.
Coat pocket.
Shit.
Fucking gun.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Kerry suddenly shuffling back, into my arms as I kneel on the bed, falling back with me, phone in hand, giggling.
Me, laughing with relief.
I breathe deeply, pain in my sinuses, heart pounding. Flip the phone open. Switch it on. Girly jingle as it chirrups into life, then searches the sky, starts to ring.
“This is the Vodafone voicemail service. You have two new messages.”
“Owen, it’s Lenny again. Listen I know we had words before but I’m getting really worried. She’s still not home. I believe you if you say you didn’t see her, but that means she could be anywhere. Look, please give me a call. I’m sorry about how I spoke to you. I know things aren’t easy for you at the moment and you miss her, but… oh I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Please give me a call. OK? Bye.”
Message left at 9.37 p.m. To return the call, press 5.
“How do, mate. Tony. Sat in the Tap like an arsehole. You coming? I’m struggling a bit, to be honest. Desk don’t want to go in too deep on the gangland shit but they’re going to have to if this Petrovsky starts making waves. Anyway, might see you in a bit. There’s a press conference at Priory Road tomorrow so I’ll see you there if not tonight. Take it easy, mate. Laters.”
Best not think about it. So I don’t.
Kerry rolling a cigarette in the dark.
Me, scrolling through my phone for the number of a pizza place. Ordering a large ham-and-pineapple without being asked. Give the address. He doesn’t get it first time, so I spell it. Tell him in Italian instead. Doesn’t help – he’s Tunisian. Couple of cans of pop as an afterthought.
Hang up, snuggle down.
I pull Kerry close, taking the cig from her and breathing deep.
“Fifteen minutes, he reckons. Pizza man.”
“Cool.”
Silence again. Comfortable. CD player drifting into uncharted territory; something I don’t recognise. Feeling old.
Kerry playing with her hair, moistening her lips and spitting bits of tobacco.
“You’re such a lady.”
“And you’re a gent.”
“If the girls at pony club could see you now…”
“They’d be jealous. I’m in bed with you.”
“People will talk.”
“They always did.”
“Fuck them.”
“I always did.”
“I remember. Vicky liked you almost as much as her horse.”
“Neigh, lass.”
We laugh, gently.
“I haven’t killed those brain cells yet. The ones from when we were little.”
“Me neither. They sometimes get a bit lost in there, but I know we were happy once. You without smack, me without, well without whatever the fuck it is I take to get by. It’s a sensation, somewhere inside me, floating around like a dust mote in the sunlight.”
“I love it when you talk like that. You should never have stopped writing. Proper writing I mean.”
“And you should never have stopped being you. Christ, princess…”
“Don’t. I know.”
“But you’ve fallen so far, and you’re still in there, just trying to break out…”
“I can’t do it, O. I can’t live and not be numb. Neither can you. I need the veil. I need this.”
“But Kerry…”
Cold fingers, clamping over my mouth, shushes in my ear. I deflate, and hold her close.
“One day,” I start to say, and trail off.
“One day we’ll both get there. You’re not exactly on the right road either.”
“But I hide it better.”
“You think so?” Incredulity in her voice, toes rubbing my bare shin.
“Better than you. You just need an old greyhound and a can of Special Brew and you’ll be all you ever wanted to be. Is there a fucking school for you people? Fuck, it’s a good job Dad’s too far away to see this.” I sound angry, but I’m not.
Kerry tenses in my arms, thinks about what I’ve said, and sags. It’ll be a few hours before she needs another hit, but already she’s feeling itchy, and I sense her fingers start to scrabble at her thin arms, then the rustle of her fingernails in her pubes.
“Yeah,” is all she can say. She shrugs, lying down, distance between us.
I let out a half laugh, feeling bad. “Sorry. Tough love.”
She reaches out for me. “I like it when you love me hard.”
“You’re not allowed to say that anymore,” I say, disconsolate, turning her lunge for me into a cuddle. “What about this dreamy new guy, the man who’s going to make it all better? Whatshisname. Beatle?” The name is like a piece of shit in my mouth that I have to spit out, and Kerry notices.
“He’s got something. Plans. He’s a lot like you.”
“Fuck off.”
“No, really. He’s got a bit of style. Ambition. And he wants to take care of me.”
“He’s a dealer, darlin’. He can’t take care of himself.”
“He’s more than that. And anyway, he’s not a proper dealer. He just gets bits of stuff here and there.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot his main occupation. Signing on.”
“You’ve never liked my boyfriends. Beatle’s di
fferent. Honestly. You should get to know him. He would make a better impression. He knows what you mean to me.”
“I’d kill him.”
“No, Owen. You’d get on. He’s really funny, and he’s like, got this infectious laugh, and enthusiasm. Sometimes I’m high with him before I even shoot up. That has to be a good thing.”
“You’re in love with him? It’s only been a few weeks.”
“No. Well, maybe.” She sounds shy, like a schoolgirl talking about a boy in chemistry class who saw her knickers when the wind blew. “He says he loves me.”
“What can he offer you, Kerry?”
“He says he’s going to give me the world.”
“Well it’s mine and he can’t fucking have it.”
“He’s better than you think, Owen. He looks after me. He wants me to quit this shit as well. And he’s strong, despite what you’d think to look at him. Couple of days ago we were down Princes Ave and these lads in a Land Rover pulled up and one of them tried to drag him in, and he got away from them. Stood up to them. He wasn’t even bothered. Said it was just some people trying to scare him over some little deal, and they could fuck off if they thought he was scared. Just let it wash over him.”
“Oh he sounds peachy.”
Then: “What have you told him?”
“About what?”
“You know, Kerry.”
“Nothing, Owen. The past’s the past. I would never tell a soul about that. About you. We’ve fallen far enough, I swear.”
Silence again.
Me, thinking about it.
Frowning in the dark.
“Where is he now, then? This Beatle? Is it with an A or an E, by the way? Is he a bug or a walrus?”
“I think it’s with an A, but I think it’s actually supposed to be an E, the way it’s meant. He’s out. Busy bee. Just taking care of a bit of business. That’s what he says. I think he likes to say it.”
“Deal business?”
“Business business.” Her voice cracks, and I realise she’s missing him. Might even be concerned. I make a concession to human decency and don’t push.
“Do you remember that game, Kerry?
“Which one?”
“The gun game. When we were little.”
“You mean the bullet game? Yeah.” Kerry is smiling again. “You’ve got a gun with two bullets in it and you have to decide who to shoot and why. Yeah. I still play it.”
“Me too.”
“I remember you always used to say if you had two bullets you’d shoot Ms Start twice, just to be sure.”
“Yeah, I hated science.”
“Then there was the doctor. Finnegan. You wouldn’t even waste a bullet on him, you said. And if you did, you’d insert it manually.”
“Lovely idea,” I say, laughing gently.
“And that bus conductor who was mean to Mam. And Mam, sometimes.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. The bullets would bounce off.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Laughing, then wistful. Both in a rainstorm of memories and regrets.
“It’s not so easy, you know, princess,” I say, under my breath, deadening the words on the fuzzy crown of her head. “You don’t get many shots in this life. Shots to change your world. Two bullets in your gun is simple. It’s specific. It’s two wankers who’ve pissed you off. A hundred bullets and you climb a tower and just start taking pot-shots. Law of averages, innit? Throw a rock in the air and you’ll hit someone guilty. But imagine six. You’ve got this chance. It’s a lottery ticket. Three numbers come up and you win a tenner but you’re almost regretting your good luck cos it isn’t good enough. How do you decide? How do you take those shots and take them right? You find yourself not wanting to waste them. So you don’t. You bank ’em, and you bash somebody’s brains in with a rock or you strangle the bastard, and you keep your gun in your pocket for when you need it. Or when you want to use it. And as long as you’ve got it, you know you’re untouchable.”
Silence.
Said too much. And not enough.
Me tense, waiting for reaction.
Body taut.
Kerry breathing heavily again.
Asleep on my chest.
Rat-tat-tat-rat-tat-tat.
Knock at the door. Business-like, practiced.
Pulling on my trousers, throwing the scarf over Kerry.
Rummaging in my coat pocket.
Gun in my hand, soothing the panic.
Upright. Deep breath.
Holding the gun behind my back as I open the door a crack and the light of the hall throws a frame around me.
I look into the face of Detective Superintendent Doug Roper.
26
He’s changed his clothes since this afternoon. Black suit, now, with a barely visible purple pinstripe. Black shirt, open neck. Neat row of surfer-style beads around his throat. Black leather jacket, with barely a raindrop on the lapels. Had a shave, too. Widened the divide in his moustache and pointed the bit beneath his chin.
Young copper from this afternoon behind him, holding an umbrella, giving a wide smile of recognition.
TV crew behind, crowding onto the landing. Black lad holding the boom. Cameraman obscured beneath a giant leather trilby and a hiking coat. Filming merrily.
Five in total.
Bullet to spare?
File the thought.
Roper’s face rippling as he sees me, like he’s sucking a lemon or about to come.
Words dying in his mouth.
Wheels turning in his head as he tries to figure it out. Why. Why I’m here, bare-chested, raising an eyebrow in his face.
“Owen?” Taken aback and not liking it. “You live here?”
“Evening Doug. Y’alright?” Nod to the others. “No, mate. Sister’s place. The fuck you doing here?”
Keeping it light. Laughs in our voices, like two old friends bumping into each other somewhere unexpected.
Then, softly: “You after me?”
Roper shaking himself cool. Pupils expanding, like ink dropped in water.
Runs a hand over his mouth and deposits a half-smile.
“No, no, I’m looking for a Lee…” stops as realisation dawns. “Ah. Small world.”
“I’ll say.”
A painful, drawn-out pause. It’s all a little awkward.
“What for?” I ask, confused.
“Best we come in.”
Roper can’t decide if he wants a scene. Would make good TV. Already he’s rehearsing his lines in his head. Probably got a script in his pocket. Been practicing his menacing glare and compassionate tilt of the head all day.
“No, tell me why you want her.”
“Is she in, Owen?” A touch of steel to the voice.
Kerry’s hand suddenly around my waist, her face poking over my shoulder. Wearing my shirt and pulling it down.
“What do you want?”
Him, flipping a switch labelled ‘charm’.
“My name is Detective Superintendent Doug Roper,” he says, fixing his eyes on hers and attempting to smoulder. “I’m with Humberside Police. Just ignore these people behind me. I need to…”
“Cut! Christ, sorry about this but it’s much more realistic if you don’t mention that we’re here. Just act as though we’re not. Do what you would normally do and we’ll just blend into the background.” An arm on Roper’s elbow as she makes her point.
Roper rolling his eyes, giving me a wink to show he knows this is all bullshit, then turning back to Kerry.
“Sorry about that. Yes, as I was saying…”
“No, Doug. This is fresh. First time. You’ve just knocked on the door. Laddo’s opened it, sister’s come out, you break the bad news…”
“Flora!” he says, disappointed.
“What? Oh, sorry.”
Roper’s head in his hands. Turning to Kerry with a shake of his head. Dismissing any further instructions from the camera crew with a wave of his hand.
/> “Ms Lee, it really is best if we come inside. I’m investigating two murders and I think you may have some information which could prove useful. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”
“What’s going on?” Me again, squeak in my voice, like a finger rubbed on dry teeth. Goose pimples on my flesh. Breathing fast. Kerry’s hand tightening around my waist.
Both of us stepping back to make room.
Retreating back to the bed.
Gun in my fucking hand!
Looking down at it, then up at Roper.
He hasn’t noticed. Eyes everywhere but here. Drinking in Kerry’s life then burping up assumptions.
I drop the gun gently. Push it under the sofa. Have to give it some welly, as its progress is impeded by a dead body.
Kerry shuffling back on the sofa-bed. Face pale.
Rubbing her arms.
Me perching on the edge, blinking as the young cop switches the light on and we’re bathed in nasty light.
TV crew squeezed in the doorway.
Roper sitting down next to Kerry. Surreptitiously checking he doesn’t sit on anything nasty, then giving her his full attention.
“Ms Lee…”
“Kerry.” Automatic.
Smile of gratitude. Nod. “Kerry, do you know a gentleman called Darren Norton?”
A second’s puzzlement. “Erm…”
“You might know him as Beatle?”
“Oh.” Big smile. It freezes. She’s torn now, a dutiful drug dealer’s girlfriend and a well-raised gymkhana champ who once won a rosette for growing a sunflower. Not knowing which is the right answer. The right persona. Looking at me and getting a shrug. “Yes? Yes. He’s my boyfriend.”
“Kerry, I’m sorry to tell you this but Darren Norton’s body was discovered in the Humber Bridge Country Park this morning. He’d been shot. I’m investigating his murder, along with that of another man, who was found at the same time. I need your help to try and get justice for Darren.”
My eyes two perfect smoking gun barrels.
Kerry’s searching for mine. Filling with tears. Fingers instinctively clutching at the crook of her arm, longing to fill it with delicious poison. Cake crumbs under her skin.
“What? No! He can’t be…”
“His brother positively identified the body this morning, Kerry. I’m very sorry.”
