Mesmeris Page 12
‘Why were the kids there?’ I said.
‘I don’t know.’ He glanced over, sighed. ‘I really don’t know. That wasn’t a normal sabbat.’ He shrugged.
‘They gave them drugs,’ I said. ‘Lots of stuff – for nothing. Why would they do that?’
He didn’t answer, but I didn’t like the way his eyelids lowered, the way his mouth tightened.
‘Those kids are like me,’ I said. ‘It could be me in there – me and my friends.’
‘No, it couldn’t. You don’t do drugs.’
‘And that makes it all right?’
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. That nerve twitched in his jaw. ‘Makes what all right? You don’t even know what’s going on. You don’t know anything.’
‘I do though, don’t I? I do know.’
‘Leave it. They’re probably just recruiting them.’ He obviously didn’t believe that any more than I did.
‘If anything happens to them, we’ll be responsible. Can you live with that? Because I can’t.’
He shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’
‘What about the sacrifice?’ I said.
He glanced over, frowned.
‘The body,’ I said, ‘hanging over the altar? Throat cut?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t see a body.’
‘You did. You did,’ I said. ‘His blood was splashing . . .’ Was it? Really? Could I have even seen that, heard it?
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said.
He had seen it, because I remembered his face when he grabbed me, and dragged me down the stairs. He’d seen it, all right. ‘Stop the car.’
‘What?’
‘I won’t stay in the car with you. Let me out.’
‘No way.’
‘Then I’ll jump.’
‘Don’t be stupid. You’ll kill yourself.’
‘I don’t care. I will do it.’ I put my hand on the door handle.
‘Okay. Okay.’ He swerved across two lanes of the motorway and hurtled up the slip road. ‘Damn it! You’re insane.’
He turned left off the roundabout and pulled into a layby. He rubbed his face with his hands.
I picked up my phone.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t use your phone. Just - let me think.’ After a couple of seconds, he took a deep breath, started the engine, looked over his right shoulder and pulled out. He drove hunched forward over the steering wheel, eyes straining ahead.
I sunk back in my seat, convinced he was going to kill us both, as he raced through the countryside. He was livid with me. It didn’t matter. As long as we survived long enough to call the police, I didn’t care.
It seemed hours before he said it was safe to stop. He parked around the corner from a service station. ‘Walk in, keep your hood up. Phone and get out. They’ll have CCTV so keep your head down, got it?’
I got out of the car, ran up the road, then remembered and ran back. ‘I don’t know where they are.’
‘Hove. 28 Marchmont Avenue.’
‘Right.’
A sign outside the door said to remove all helmets and hoods before entering. I ignored it and kept my head down, as instructed. The phone was fixed to the wall in the middle of the shop. Two skinny, spotty lads crouched down below it, eyeing the cans of lager. My skin tingled with nerves. I wanted to scream at them to bugger off but instead, I hopped from foot to foot and waited. One of them looked up at me so I stopped hopping and looked away, at the shelf of tins, as if baked beans were the most fascinating thing ever. Eventually, they grabbed a six pack and wandered over to the till.
I pressed 999.
‘Emergency – which service, please?’
‘Police and – and . . .’ I kept my voice low, afraid that people would hear.
She started reading out the phone number to someone. I panicked. They were trying to trace us. ‘Just listen,’ I said. ‘There are kids in danger – Hove, Sussex, twenty – twenty . . .’ I couldn’t remember the bloody number. Fear gripped me. What was the name of the road? The woman was talking, asking questions, stupid questions. I talked over her. ‘Twenty-eight,’ I said. ‘Twenty-eight Marchmont Avenue. Get there – ambulance, too. Ambulances.’ I replaced the receiver and walked out of the shop.
‘Okay, love?’ the guy behind the counter said.
I didn’t answer.
Jack had the engine running when I got back. ‘We’re going to have to shift,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ I leaned over and kissed his cheek.
He almost smiled. ‘Let’s hope we don’t regret it.’
‘We won’t.’ I felt better, as if we’d rescued them from Papa ourselves.
He stopped the car in a residential estate somewhere near Swindon and got out. ‘Come on,’ he said, impatiently, as if I was supposed to know what was going on. He strode off down the road.
‘Where are we?’ I couldn’t see why he’d stopped – no pubs, shops, petrol stations, just identical, square, red-brick houses. He crouched down near a tatty black saloon and then we were in it and driving back towards the motorway.
I watched him fiddle with the controls. ‘That first car,’ I said, ‘the one we went to Brighton in. That wasn’t yours, was it?’
‘No.’
‘Do you even own a car?’
‘No.’
‘Right.’ I wasn’t really surprised. After everything else, a stolen car or two didn’t seem to matter.
We swopped cars again at a services on the eastbound section of the M4. It meant getting off at a junction, driving back east for a stretch, then getting off again and driving west but he seemed to know what he was doing.
‘They will be okay, won’t they?’ I said, when that nerve in his jaw had stopped twitching.
He looked over and smiled. ‘Yeah. Of course they will.’ And I believed him. It felt better that way, hurt less that way. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and sank into oblivion. I didn’t wake until the engine stopped.
A police car stood parked outside my house.
‘Shit!’ Jack said.
‘It’s probably my uncle,’ I said. ‘He’s always coming over.’
He nodded. ‘Right.’
We got out of the car and I hugged him. I nestled into his neck, kissed his warm skin, breathed in his smell and wanted to stay there.
He unclasped my arms from his waist. ‘We won’t be able to see each other for a few days,’ he said.
‘What?’ How was I supposed to deal with this without him?
‘Only a few days, until I know they haven’t traced us. If we don’t draw attention to ourselves, word won’t get back. No phone calls, texts, nothing, okay? No contact. It’s important.’
‘Right,’ I said.
‘If anything happens and you need me, and I mean need, as in your life’s in danger, come to my place. Make sure you’re not followed.’
‘I don’t know where you live.’
‘Yeah, you do.’ He climbed back into the car.
Spook, the garages, Jubilee Gardens. It was him then, him and his brothers who’d slit Spook’s throat. I wouldn’t think about that, must not think about that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
No sooner had I walked through the door than Mum appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Come in here’, she said, through clenched teeth, lips white. She didn’t look me in the eye - afraid, perhaps, of what she might see there. ‘You’re on your own, then?’
I shut the kitchen door behind me. ‘Jack walked me home.’
‘Very gentlemanly of him, I’m sure.’
I swallowed, thought of Jack. Maybe I smiled because Mum went crazy.
‘Glad to see you’re so pleased with yourself.’
‘Mum . . .’
‘Glad it amuses you to nearly kill your parents with worry. Glad you find it funny to keep them awake all night.’ Mum’s voice got louder with every word.
‘Glad you don’t mind me thinking you were DEAD all day.’ She sta
rted crying and had to stop to catch her breath.
‘What?’
‘I’ve been ringing you ALL DAY.’ She screamed and cried at the same time. ‘Did you not think about us, at all? We thought you’d been MURDERED.’
I looked at my phone. It must have run out of charge. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘DON’T. Don’t talk to me. I’m so angry, I could kill you myself - and as for that - coward!’ She shook all over, her fists clenched. I really thought she might hit me.
‘Don’t call him that, Mum. He’s not a coward.’
‘Is that right? How come he’s not here, then? Could he not face us?’
‘No. He had to go.’
Mum stopped crying. Her hands unclenched and her shoulders slumped. ‘How could you?’ she said, quietly. ‘How could you do this to me? What’s happened to you?’
I stared back at her, could think of nothing to say.
Someone knocked softly on the kitchen door and Dad poked his head in. ‘Is it safe to come in yet?’
Mum smiled weakly. ‘I think so,’ she whispered. ‘Sorry. Did Jim hear me?’
‘The whole town heard you,’ Dad said, with a smile. He walked over and lifted her chin. ‘It’s okay, Sweetheart, our baby’s safe.’ He kissed her gently on the forehead. Mum wept on his shoulder while Dad rubbed her back. ‘It’s all right, lovely,’ he said. ‘Everything’s all right now. Hush now, sweetheart, hush.’
I was appalled at how much I’d hurt them.
‘Pearl,’ Dad said, his voice cold, distant. ‘Jim’s in the study. He wants to talk to you.’
‘I don’t need to talk to Jim, Dad. This is none of his business.’ The thought of it made my skin itch.
Dad gave me a hard stare. ‘You will talk to him - and you’ll do it now.’
‘But this is ridiculous. I can’t believe you called him in. For God’s sake.’
‘It’s not all about you,’ Dad said, in a voice he’d never used to me before – sharp, clipped. ‘Jim’s here because the church has been desecrated, graves disturbed, filth scrawled everywhere. You just happened to turn up at the right time, okay? And I want you to talk to him. Is that too much to ask?’
‘Fine,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’ The disgust on his face almost made me cry but I didn’t. I held it together because I had to, for Jack’s sake.
I knocked at the study door.
‘Come in.’ Jim sounded as if it was his study. The door opened and there he was, full of himself, sitting in my Dad’s armchair. I pulled my hair to cover the bruise on my forehead.
‘Ah, Pearl.’ He took a good look at me and frowned. For once his eyebrows didn’t amuse me. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, thanks,’ I said. ‘Can’t wait to have a bath.’ I pulled my mouth into a smile.
‘Have a seat for a minute.’ He pointed to the chair next to the desk, the hard plastic one no one ever sat on. ‘Just for a minute Pearl, please.’
I sat down. Unease made me fidgety. Did he know anything? Could he have found out about the phone call so quickly? Could he possibly know it was me? I knew he couldn’t. My thoughts made no sense at all. I knew that, and yet I couldn’t stop them.
‘You know you frightened your parents half to death, don’t you?’
‘I don’t see what it’s got to do with you,’ I said.
‘Why so defensive?’ Jim raised his eyebrows and smiled.
‘I’m tired.’
‘I bet you are,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t keep you long.’ He sat back, folded his arms over his chest. ‘So, who’s the boy?’
‘Just a boy.’
‘Name?’
‘What?’
‘What is his name, Pearl?’
‘Why?’ I stared at him, my uneasiness growing.
‘I’m interested,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m always interested when something unusual happens. Call it copper’s instinct.’ He smiled at me but his eyes were cold and hard. ‘So, is it a secret?’
‘No.’
‘Well?’
‘Jack Cooper.’
‘There – not too hard, was it? And how long has this Jack Cooper been in Gloucester?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Well,’ he said, impatiently, ‘how long has he been in your school? How long have you known him?’
‘I don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘A week or so?’
‘A week.’ Jim tapped his finger with his pen, making an intensely irritating noise. He watched me with narrowed eyes.
Now I could see how good he was at his job. He was positively terrifying when you had something to hide, and I did have something to hide.
‘Where’s he from?’
‘I don’t know. Look, Uncle Jim, I’m really tired. Can we leave this for another time?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘I don’t know!’
It was obvious we both knew I was lying. He pursed his lips and looked around the room. ‘You don’t seem to know much about him, do you, considering you spent all of yesterday, last night and the whole of today with him? Am I to assume that you were too busy for talking?’
‘You can assume what you like.’
Jim smirked but his eyes were sharp. ‘I believe Matthew Tipper was on that trip to London.’
My stomach lurched. Sweet saliva rushed into my mouth. I swallowed it, hoping I wouldn’t throw up all over the carpet. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you see him at all, after the Tate Modern tour?’
‘No.’
‘Your dad said you had some trouble.’
‘Nothing to do with him.’
‘No?’
‘Girl stuff, Uncle Jim. Bitching, that’s all.’
‘Because Matthew had a serious accident.’
‘Really?’ I couldn’t think how to react. Every pore on my skin pumped out sweat. ‘That’s awful.’
‘Yes, Pearl, it is. No one has the right to do something like that to another human being.’
Don’t think about it, I told myself. Don’t even think about it. ‘I thought you said it was an accident.’ My underarms were soaked, my bum soggy on the plastic seat. A trickle of sweat ran down my temple. It tickled. I didn’t dare wipe it away.
‘I’m not convinced about that,’ Jim said. ‘To me, it looks like the work of a warped mind.’
I couldn’t look at him. My neck throbbed, as if the veins were too narrow for the blood being forced through them.
Jim sighed, heaved himself to his feet. ‘Let me know if you remember anything, Pearl, would you? I have a really bad gut feeling about this.’ He patted my head as he went past. ‘I’d hate anything to happen to you.’
After he’d gone, I stared into space, my brain numb.
Mum poked her head around the door. ‘I’ve run you a bath.’ She didn’t sound angry any more, just disappointed, which was worse. Still, disappointed was better than knowing the truth.
I dragged myself upstairs, muscles aching with fatigue and sank gratefully into the warm water. Multi-coloured bruises stood out against my clean skin, arrayed there in all their glory. I thanked the Lord Jim hadn’t seen them. I covered the one on my face and, dressed in my pyjamas and dressing gown, went downstairs. I pulled my sleeves down as far as possible, checked that nothing suspicious was visible.
Dad sat at the kitchen table, a glass of red wine in his hand. Mum was nowhere to be seen.
‘Sit down, Pearl.’ He sounded so, so weary.
I sat facing him, my trembling hands folded in my lap. I looked at them, looked at the table, looked everywhere except at my father. I didn’t want to see what I’d done to him.
‘Pearl, I know you’re seventeen,’ he said, ‘but this boy - you’ve only just met him. You disappear with him, stay with him all night. What were you thinking?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Even your friends were worried. None of us could get in touch with you. Anything could have happened.’
He waited.
My head full of murders, I could think of nothing to say to make him feel better.
‘Pearl,’ Dad said, ‘sweetheart, you can’t trust people. Boys, some boys, will say anything to get what they want.’
I almost laughed at his naivety, at his innocence. ‘Nothing happened, Dad,’ I said, nothing except attempted rape, assault, car theft, torture and murder. ‘Nothing at all.’
Dad smiled. An eerie quietness filled the house.
‘Where’s Lydia?’ I said.
‘We thought it better if she stayed at a friend’s,’ Dad said. ‘We weren’t sure, you know, how you’d be - or even if . . .’ His voice caught. ‘You wouldn’t believe the things that go through your mind. When we couldn’t contact you . . .’ His face suddenly looked so sad, so defeated.
‘Dad, I’m so sorry.’ I got up and went to hug him. ‘Really, I am sorry.’ And I was. I wanted to be his little girl again, wanted him to love me, be proud of me, instead of this awful disappointment. ‘And I’m sorry about the church too.’
‘Thank you.’ He drained his glass. ‘It’s been one of those days today. It’s not so much the graffiti. Suppose they think that’s clever – or funny – even though it’s neither. It’s desecrating the graves that . . .’ He shook his head. ‘No respect, even for the dead.’
I knew people who would do something like that without a qualm.
Dad patted my hand and smiled. ‘Well, at least you’re home now, and you’re okay, and you’re still our Pearl, so all’s right with the world.’
All wasn’t right with the world though, all was wrong. Tucked up in my clean, warm, comfortable bed in the dark, I curled up and cried for what I’d lost, for the person I used to be. Dad had been wrong. I wasn’t okay, and I certainly wasn’t their Pearl any more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When I awoke, for a few minutes it felt as if nothing had changed. My bed felt the same, smelled the same - clean, warm, comfortable. I was me, the old me, the one who had no secrets and no guilt. Then it began, the trickle of adrenaline that grew and spread. Everything felt wrong. Even the fire that spread through my body at the thought of Jack - his eyes, his mouth, his body - was wrong.