‘I don’t. I don’t!’ She stared up into his face. ‘Do I?’
Poor Mum. She feared losing her memory because her father lost his. It started with small things and gradually got worse. He turned into a broken old man when he wasn’t even old. She used to say he rotted away.
‘You’re secretly relieved they’ve gone,’ said Robert. ‘You know you are. Admit it.’
Sam had an awful, awful thought. Snoops and Bouncer weren’t loafing on the hearthrug. He put Maggie off his lap and ran outside into the darkness, pulling on his wellies in the porch. He ran all over the yard in the rain, calling for his friends. They weren’t in their favourite rainy-day spot—the hessian sacks in the tractor shed. They weren’t in the barns. Their kennel doors were hanging open. No dogs.
He started to cry, stumbling back into the kitchen without taking off his wellies, tracking mud and wet leaves across the floor. He was panting with so much running and shouting and crying.
‘Where are they?’ he demanded.
Mum looked at Robert as though it was his job to answer. He smiled down at Sam. Big smile.
‘Mate, they’re working dogs.’
‘No, they’re not. Bouncer is retired and Snoops is scared of sheep.’
‘Well, I have a supplier at Jackson’s who’s farming sheep and beef organically. He came and collected them first thing this morning. They were born and bred to work. They’ll be much happier.’
‘Bring them back!’ yelled Sam. He kicked off his left boot and it flew across the kitchen, scattering mud. Maggie grabbed it and started chewing.
‘It’s okay, Sam,’ said Mum.
‘It’s not okay! Bring them back, bring my dogs back!’ He was shrieking at the top of his voice. It left him hoarse. When he kicked off the second boot, it spun fast and low and hit a cupboard door, right next to where Robert was standing. It only just missed his leg.
‘Hey, hey! Steady!’ Robert was still smiling. Santa devil. He looked at Mum. ‘Are we going to let him act like this?’
Sam lost it. He grabbed a kitchen chair and—crash—hurled it at the ground. Then another one. He heard Mum pleading with him to stop, but there was nothing in his head except the need to smash things. He spotted a paper packet of flour on the table, along with sugar and cocoa—Robert’s bloody cooking, they always had to be so bloody grateful—so he grabbed it in both hands and hurled it onto the floor. The bag burst, flour billowed out across the tiles. Then the sugar—wham—then the dark brown cocoa—bam—and all the time he was screaming as though someone had stabbed him. He had Robert’s very posh electronic kitchen scales above his head and was ready to smash those too when Robert grabbed him, took the scales away and grasped both his arms really hard. It hurt. Robert was muttering in his ear, Oh no, you don’t, you little bastard.
The mess was shocking, even to Sam. Flour and sugar and cocoa and mud. Mum was crying. Sam was crying. Maggie squatted down and peed in the cocoa powder, a yellow stream spreading through all the other chaos.
‘Pleased with yourself?’ asked Robert.
Mum ran into the laundry. He heard the whoosh of taps, the clunk of the tin bucket they used for mopping.
Robert bent down to Sam’s level, looking him in the eye.
‘Why do you do this kind of thing, Sam? Why? You’re making your poor mum sad.’
‘I’m not! I’m not, you are!’
‘Listen. Can’t you hear her? She’s crying her eyes out. You did that.’
‘She’s sad because you sold Snoops and Bouncer.’
‘I tried to do a nice thing. It’s your reaction that’s made everything go wrong. You are the problem. You could have been pleased with such a sweet puppy, you could have just behaved like a normal child and played with Maggie, you could have made your mum happy. But you chose to be a selfish little twat.’
‘I didn’t.’ But Sam wasn’t so sure now.
‘You’re ruining her life. You’re making her ill. Is that what you want?’
No, he didn’t want to make Mum ill. If she was ill she might die. All he wanted was his dad back, his dogs back, everything back—just the way they used to be. What he got was Robert’s craggy face six inches away. What he got was Mum, who always tried to be so cheerful, crying as she blundered about in the laundry. He felt as though she hated him. He felt as worthless as he ever had in the whole eleven years of his life.
Robert took Maggie back to Georgia that same night. They never had a dog again. The house seemed lifeless and lonely without any animals, and it was all Sam’s fault.
After that day things went from bad to worse. Sam was the problem. Sam was always the problem.
•
The homeless guy. The scientist, teacher, gambler. He said he was going outside to look after the dogs, but as the seconds pass the truth dawns on Sam. Half the Met will be right outside that door, armed with assault rifles, or submachine guns, or whatever. That’s why they’ve turned out the streetlights. Neil has opened the door for them; he’s made it easy. Right now, he’ll be telling them exactly where Sam is standing. He’s fallen for it hook, line and sinker.
This is it, then. He faces the door, raises the gun to his shoulder. It’s over. He’s living the last seconds of his life. The safety catch is on and his finger is nowhere near the trigger—hasn’t been since this morning—but they can’t know that. Whoever is first through that door will be a brave person, someone’s father or mother or son or daughter. When they see him ready and aiming at head height, they’ll shoot him dead. They’ll have to. They’ll have no choice. Saves him finding the courage to do it himself.
He can hear Mutesi and Abi beating a hasty retreat down the back of the café, like people do when you’re lighting fireworks. From the sound of their footsteps he’d guess they’re heading into the toilet. They’re not stupid. They know what’s coming and they don’t want to be caught by a stray bullet. Good. He’s glad they’ve had the sense to get clear.
He can hear Neil chatting away to the dogs, out in the darkness and rain. Chatting, chatting. It’s part of the ruse. They’ll have told him to keep talking while they get into position. Still, Sam likes the kindness in his voice.
‘Go on, you two,’ he says. ‘Get out of here … no, that way, you daft animal. You too, little fluffball, go on. Bye bye. C’mon Buddy, let’s get you inside. You’re all wet, you poor old boy! That was a long cup of tea, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, mate.’
Sam hopes they finish him off fast with a volley of shots, like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. That brilliant final freeze frame shows them in the split second before they die. They’re still whole and young and alive, fighting their way out of trouble, immortalised in a bright moment of hope. They won’t ever grow old or face the long dark days of failure. They’ll never be prisoners. Sam wouldn’t mind an end like theirs.
The street door is opening inwards now. Sam clamps his teeth together, forcing the stock into his shoulder to keep the barrel under control. He’s waiting for the shouts and smashing of glass, the fusillade of bullets. He’s committing suicide at last.
But there is no onslaught. Just Neil’s quiet voice.
‘It’s me, Sam. Okay? Yeah? It’s Neil. For God’s sake, don’t shoot me, will you? I’m coming back in now.’
Slowly, slowly, his bearded face inches around the door until he’s looking straight into Sam’s sights.
‘Mate,’ he says, almost without moving his lips. ‘That makes me pretty nervous.’
As soon as Sam has lowered his gun, Neil slides back inside, leading a dog by the collar. ‘C’mon, Buddy, it’s okay, you’re allowed.’
It’s that grey dog Sam glimpsed this morning. Enormous paws. Perhaps he’s got some Irish wolfhound in him. He’s holding his tail low and sticking very close to Neil’s legs, nearly wrapping himself around them. Both man and dog are dripping wet.
Sam breathes again, though his pulse is roaring in his ears. He can’t quite believe he’s still alive. Neil has shut the door again
. He’s trying to lock it too, but his fingers are trembling and he fumbles at the bolts, so Abi comes running to do it for him. Then she helps him to push the tables back into place. Everything is done in silence.
The dog gives himself a shake—droplets flying—looking up into Neil’s face. Bouncer and Snoops used to gaze adoringly up at Dad like that. Time is playing tricks on Sam today. He’s in a kaleidoscope, jumbling past and present, tumbling memories into crazed new patterns.
‘Thanks, Abi.’ Neil drops his hand onto her shoulder. ‘Whew. Lordy, lordy, that was a mission. Everyone, meet Buddy.’
These words are greeted by cries of welcome from the two women. Mutesi brings a towel from the bathroom, and Abi throws herself on one knee to dry the dog’s wet fur. ‘Hi, Buddy, aren’t you gorgeous? Were you cold out there, hey, were you?’
It’s all a bit over the top, a bit unreal. Abi doesn’t strike him as the gushing type. Probably never behaved like this before in her life. He reckons it’s relief, because she and Mutesi were braced for World War III to break out. There’s a shimmer of hysterical celebration in the air, and he’s being carried on it. He can’t believe Neil walked out of here, got his dog, came back alone and barricaded the door again. He didn’t have to come back. Why did he do that?
Mutesi has filled a plate for Buddy: sausages and ham sandwiches. Food—and tea, of course—is that woman’s go-to, fix-it remedy for every problem. Sam’s ready to bet the old folks in her care are never hungry for a single minute. He bets she force-feeds grieving relatives sugary tea and biscuits when their dad or mum dies. He bets they love her for it. He wishes she’d been with him when he heard his own mum had died.
‘Is he allowed these things?’ she asks Neil.
‘Mutesi, my friend—’ Neil gives a gentle little tug to Buddy’s ear ‘—this fella eats out of dustbins. He’ll worship you like a goddess if you give him a feast like that.’
He’s right. The dog wolfs up his meal in double-quick time and licks the empty plate, shoving it around with his nose.
‘Are they out there?’ asks Sam.
Neil blinks innocently. He really is a terrible liar.
‘Um, who?’
‘A load of guys with rifles.’
‘Oh, right,’ says Neil, rubbing his nose. ‘Nah, I didn’t see anything like that. They’re down the street. Police cars and things. Pretty sure I could smell burgers too; they’re making a night of it. They’ve got lights set up. Those other two dogs headed for them.’
What a whopper. Sam’s guess is that Neil was able to signal to somebody much, much closer, maybe even have a quick conversation. Makes it all the more amazing that he came back.
‘Thanks,’ he says, and then he finds he’s swaying, because some kind of a reaction is setting in. He grabs a chair, sits down hard. The room’s spinning. He can’t stop his teeth from chattering.
‘Now you know how it feels!’ That’s Abi’s voice, and she doesn’t sound at all sympathetic. ‘Thinking you’re about to get a bullet in the face. Not nice, is it?’
‘Tea,’ says Mutesi. She’s already pottering off to make some.
Buddy ambles over, and Sam reaches down to rub his neck. It feels comforting. He’s missed having a dog. He sits for a long time, just touching Buddy’s damp fur.
‘This should have charged up a bit by now,’ says Abi, picking up the café phone. She presses buttons and soon they’re all listening to a flourish of electronic music as it fires up, followed by the single ping of a text.
‘Message from Eliza,’ says Abi. ‘Those two dogs Dixie and Bella are safe and well, already reunited with their ghastly owners. I can picture the scene. Renata will dine out on this for months.’ She keeps reading. ‘And Eliza wants to know how you’re doing, Sam. I think she’s hinting that she’d like you to call them back.’
He doesn’t want to start talking to Eliza again. Later he will, but not quite yet. He feels overwhelmed by what’s just happened—facing what he thought was certain death, and finding himself still alive. He needs a bit of time to get his head together. He takes the phone from Abi, typing a short reply as best he can with his shaking fingers.
All ok here will call soon
Mutesi brings him the promised mug of tea. Then she sinks into a leather armchair nearby, pulling her cardigan close around her, complaining that the room is getting colder.
‘What did you mean?’ Sam asks her. ‘About the men who killed?’
She cradles her own mug close to her chest. ‘Oh, just some men.’
‘Who though?’
‘Leave it, mate,’ warns Neil.
‘I only—’
‘No, really,’ says Neil. ‘Let it go. I don’t think you’ve got any idea what you’re asking.’
There’s an edge to his voice, a bossiness that doesn’t match the way he keeps getting tearful. Sam can see the school teacher in him now. What’s he fussing about? Mutesi is just a cuddly grandmother, for God’s sake. She’s wearing a cardigan, she sings gospel hymns and fusses over people’s little cuts and bruises. She makes endless pots of tea. How disturbing can her memories be?
Neil lays his hand on a radiator.
‘You’re right, Mutesi! This is cooling down. The café would normally be closed by now, and the central heating will be on a timer. I’ll have a look in the back kitchen, shall I? See if I can find the override. I should be out there in the rain selling Big Issues at this time of day, freezing my bollocks off.’
As Neil mentions the back room, he glances at Abi. Fleetingly, Sam wonders whether he could be trying to communicate something—but, no, that’s impossible. Abi and Neil have never met before today, so they can’t have any dark secrets. Sam has been into the back kitchen; he helped install some equipment when Mum and Robert first bought Tuckbox. He’s certain there’s no outside door or window.
‘Go on then, Neil,’ he says. ‘Crank the temperature right up, let’s make a sauna in here. Robert’s estate can pay the electricity bill.’
There are crow’s feet around Neil’s eyes, and they deepen when he smiles. He heads off with Buddy padding alongside him. That old dog is not going to let his master out of his sight again. They shouldn’t be sleeping rough, thinks Sam. It’s wrong.
Once they’ve gone, Mutesi stretches out her legs and starts humming under her breath. He likes being near her. Some people make him jittery, others are just naturally calming. Mutesi’s one of those. He can feel his heartbeat slow down just because she’s sitting there, blowing on her tea and humming to herself. She’s … what’s the word? Sturdy. He doesn’t mean physically. She’s certainly not wasting away, but it’s not what he means. She’s sturdy to her core.
‘Sam,’ she says. ‘Your mother. Did she pass away not long ago?’
‘She did.’
She murmurs eee, and does her tongue-clicking thing. To Sam, this seems to mean more than just sympathy; it’s expressing disapproval of what a complete bastard life can be.
‘Sorry.’ She sighs with her whole body. ‘Sorry, sorry.’
‘Thanks.’
Mum seemed fine when he saw her last. Well, not fine. She was heartbroken because her husband and her son were almost coming to blows. Sam didn’t know about the cancer then; he didn’t know there was an evil alien growing inside her. Robert showed him the door, told him never to come back. Ever. So two evil aliens took his mother away.
‘I didn’t say goodbye,’ he tells Mutesi.
‘That is bad.’
Over by the counter, Abi’s working out how to drive the coffee machine, turning knobs and frowning at dials. Neil and Buddy are back. The heavy fire door groans shut behind them, but it hasn’t closed properly this time. Sam suspects the hinge is stuffed. Not his problem.
‘Success!’ Neil does a little jig and high-fives an imaginary person. ‘Prepare for a sauna.’
‘And an espresso.’ Abi shoves a cup under the machine, flicks a switch, and—hey presto—there’s a stream of something that looks and smells like coffee. H
er green eyes light up.
‘Mwah!’ She’s kissing her fingers like an Italian chef. ‘I am a genius! Want some, Neil? Anyone?’
‘No thanks,’ says Neil. ‘I’m about to taste my first ginger beer in years.’
Buddy’s claws click on the concrete floor as he walks. Mutesi leans from her chair to stroke the dog’s ears, crooning quietly to him while Abi brings her coffee and sits on the edge of the booth, facing outwards. She’s not much older than he is. She’s scary and impatient—and funny, and ballsy, and somehow angry. He thinks perhaps she and he could have been friends, if only he hadn’t met her today, of all days. He feels as though he’s known her for years.
He likes all three of these people. In fact, he’s wondering whether he’s got some kind of Stockholm syndrome but in reverse. It’s him aligning with them, not the other way around. He certainly didn’t foresee any of this when he drove away from Tyndale in the darkness this morning. He never dreamed he’d be having a mad tea party in an empty café with three complete strangers and a dog called Buddy.
He knows this time of peace can’t last. It’s an illusion. Killing someone is irrevocable. These people aren’t his mates, they’re his hostages. He keeps forgetting that. His head could be in some sniper’s crosshairs right at this moment.
Well, so be it. I hope they get a clean shot.
‘Um, Sam, this bloke Robert.’ Neil has fetched himself a bottle of ginger beer out of a fridge, and is prising off the cap. ‘He married your mum. Am I right?’
‘Yep, he married her.’
‘And then what?’
‘It’s complicated.’
Abi claps her hands together, startling everybody.
‘Oh, come on, Ballard! We’re none of us going anywhere, are we? And you’ve royally fucked up our day. All three of us had somewhere better to be. Except Neil, come to think of it. He would’ve just sloped off to the bookies and lost his shirt again.’ She smiles at Neil. ‘Anyway … I think you owe us an explanation.’
‘I’m with Abi,’ says Neil. ‘That man over there on the floor? He died in my arms. The least you can do is tell me why.’
The Secrets of Strangers Page 20
