The New Friend
Page 1
The New Friend
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue 2021
2001
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
2020
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
2021
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
A letter from Alex
Acknowledgements
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
The New Friend
Alex Kane
This book is for my Dad. It’s been a tough couple of years, but we’ve got you. X
Prologue
2021
Being buried alive wasn’t something he’d thought would ever happen to him. He was the one who did the killing; he was the one who committed the crimes. But as he lay in his coffin, wrists and ankles bound by tight tape, his throat dry and scratched from screaming and crying out for mercy, he knew that this was the end of his life.
Maybe this was the way he was supposed to go; justice for all the awful crimes he’d committed. He had been responsible for many deaths. Even though he was on his back looking up at his own coffin, he didn’t regret his killings or his callous character that went hand-in-hand with being able to put a bullet in someone’s head, or a knife through their skin.
Grit and soil fell through the gaps in the wood and peppered his face. He closed his eyes to protect them. It would be the last time he ever did.
2001
Chapter One
The school playground was busy and as Arabella MacQueen looked down at her school shoes to see the tiny hole at the toe, her white sock poking through, so did her friends. She called them friends, but they weren’t really. They were the girls that the teacher had asked to include Arabella because she didn’t have any friends. She felt quite pathetic about that.
‘Oh my god, look at your shoes. Ew, tramp,’ one of the girls mocked.
Arabella bit her lip, trying to stop the tears as they threatened to well in her eyes. They burned as she tried to hold them in.
‘Trampabella MacQueen,’ another girl laughed. Erin, the school bully. She was forever picking on other kids. This time, it was Arabella’s turn.
Why were they being so cruel? It wasn’t her fault that her mum couldn’t afford to buy new shoes for her. Arabella had never owned anything brand new in her life. It was all second hand, hand-me-downs and charity shop finds.
But her mum needed the little money they had to buy food. At least that’s what she told her. Arabella might only be eight years old, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d been around alcohol her whole life, had seen what it was doing to her mum and to her. Unless Arabella made herself something to eat, then she went hungry. There was only so much she could make without having to use the cooker. Sandwiches, toast, cereal – and that was only if her mum had bought bread and milk. The only thing that was ever in the fridge at home was wine, vodka and a few bottles of Coke which Arabella wasn’t allowed to drink because it was for the vodka. The most humiliating thing for her was how she was always starving at school, and as well as finishing her own school lunch in a matter of minutes, she would often steal the leftovers from her peers too.
‘Shut up,’ Arabella spat.
‘Make me,’ Erin shouted, raising her hands and pushing Arabella so hard, causing her to stumble backwards. Arabella fell into the bin in the playground and already the other kids around her were beginning to chant.
‘Fight, fight, fight…’
Suddenly, a crowd had gathered around them and Erin was standing with her hands on her hips, a wry smile on her face.
‘Come on then, Trampabella.’
Arabella got to her feet and stood for a moment, staring at her. She wanted to punch her in the face but didn’t know if she had the guts to do it. She’d get into trouble. Although that didn’t really matter because even if the school did phone her mum, she wouldn’t care. So long as Arabella was able to pick up the juice on the way home from school so her mum had something to mix her vodka with then everything would be fine.
‘Oi, you deaf as well as a tramp?’ the girl shouted. Before Arabella had the chance to answer, she had to raise her hands to defend herself as the girl began to attack her. Her balled-up fists were small, but they hurt. Arabella didn’t want to fight; things were bad enough without getting into trouble from the teachers and bringing more unwanted attention her way.
The girl was relentless and continued to beat Arabella, who stumbled back and fell to the ground, tears streaming down her face. The girl stopped and began to laugh in her victory. She turned her back on a beaten and bruised Arabella, who noticed a stone lying next to her foot, the one encased in the holey shoe. It was the perfect size to clobber the bitch around the head with.
Reaching for it, Arabella picked it up and got to her feet. The girl turned back, saw the stone in Arabella’s hand and glared into her eyes.
‘No weapons allowed,’ the girl said over the shrieking chants.
‘Said who?’ Arabella said, before rushing forward and throwing the stone at the girl’s head. She fell to the ground and clutched the side of her head and Arabella dropped the stone before she began kicking the side of the girl’s torso.
The chanting grew louder and Arabella knew she should stop hurting her bully. What she was doing was wrong.
‘Don’t you ever call me Trampabella again, you hear me? I’ll fucking kill yo
u if you say it again.’
The crowd didn’t hear her, they were too loud. But she could tell the girl heard every word as she tried to defend herself.
Arabella had heard her mum say something similar to one of the men who’d been hanging around the house recently. He’d slapped her but her mum didn’t lie down and take it. She’d taken off her high-heeled shoe and skelped him over the face with it, shouting that if he touched her again, she’d fucking kill him. Her mum hadn’t known that Arabella had seen the whole thing. It was night time and she was meant to be in bed but Arabella had heard them arguing, had peered into the hallway of their flat and watched it all happen. She’d been scared but also proud of her mum for standing up for herself. That was all Arabella was doing now, wasn’t it? Standing up for herself?
A coldness washed over Arabella then. A silence that hadn’t been there before now. The chanting had stopped and Arabella relented. Stepping back in horror, she began to sob.
This was the kind of violence she’d been subjected to in her home life. Her mother’s endless stream of violent men, drunk men, men who made her feel unsafe or unwanted. All the years of abuse she’d witnessed, all the neglect, it came out in the attack.
Erin lay motionless on the ground. Arabella looked down at the beaten body of her tormenter, blood pouring from her face and head, and realised she was the bully now; she was the predator. She had never felt more ashamed of herself. She was just a child, trying to get through each day while fighting off hunger and bullies, and now things were worse than ever before.
That was when Arabella felt hands on her shoulders. A teacher, pulling her away, dragging her towards the school office as two others picked up the girl from the playground and rushed her away from the crowd of now crying children.
* * *
If Arabella had known that social services would turn up and remove her from her mum’s care, she’d never have smacked that stupid girl over the head with that stone. She’d never have retaliated.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Please, just take me back to my mum. She needs me. If I’m not there, she won’t eat anything. She’ll just drink the wine and make herself sick again.’
The woman, who Arabella understood to be a social worker, looked at her with a sadness in her eyes that made Arabella want to be sick. There was nothing in her expression to suggest that she would even consider letting Arabella go home.
‘Sweetheart, that’s why you’re here. Your mummy hasn’t been looking after you properly for a while. Your house was very unsafe. But I promise, someone is looking after your mummy.’
The woman’s voice was soft and Arabella wanted to believe her.
‘So I’ll get to go home when Mum is better?’
The woman smiled, but instead of answering her question, she asked, ‘Would you like something to eat?’
Arabella wasn’t stupid. She knew that if social services got their way, she would be looked after by someone else for a long time.
As the thought entered her mind, she immediately began to miss her mum. She drank too much and brought back various men on a regular basis, yes. But she was still her mum. Arabella thought back to a time before things had got really bad. Arabella had found a doll in a suitcase under her mum’s bed. It was old and a little frayed, but Arabella had thought it was beautiful. Her mum had come into the bedroom and smiled when she saw Arabella holding it.
‘It was your gran’s doll. She gave it to me when I was a little girl,’ she’d said.
Arabella gazed at it, amazed that it was once owned by the gran she’d never met. She’d died before Arabella was born – a long time before, according to her mum.
‘What’s her name?’ Arabella asked.
‘Oh, I named you after the doll. I’d always liked the name and when I found out you were in my tummy, I knew right away that you were going to be an Arabella.’
Arabella smiled at the memory, even though, at that precious moment between them, her mother had still had a glass of wine in her hand.
‘Can I have some water please?’ Arabella asked the social worker.
She nodded and got up to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge in the corner of the room.
‘Thank you.’ She opened it and took a tiny sip.
‘What were you smiling at just now?’ the woman asked, her voice soft.
‘I was thinking about my name. My mummy told me that she named me after a doll my gran gave to her. It’s my favourite doll.’
The woman smiled. ‘It is a lovely name. Do you get to see your gran often?’
Arabella shook her head. ‘No. She died before I was born. I think Mummy still misses her.’
The woman nodded sadly.
Arabella knew that her gran had died in an accident at home, she’d fallen on the wet kitchen floor and banged her head. She hadn’t chosen to leave her daughter. Even though Arabella was only eight years old, she understood that her own mum on some level had chosen alcohol over her. She loved her mum, but already she was beginning to wonder if she’d ever be able to forgive that choice. Because now Arabella was alone except for this stranger and she had no idea where her mum was or if she would ever see her again.
Chapter Two
‘If you walk out that door, don’t expect it to be unlocked when you come back crying that you got it wrong and that you should have listened to me.’
Roxanne finished packing her bag and zipped it up. She had her passport, cash and a one-way ticket. It didn’t matter what that cow said, there was no way Roxanne was staying in the shit hole she’d lived in her whole life, even if it was the only thing she’d ever been able to call home.
‘Oh don’t worry, I’m not even taking my keys,’ Roxanne said, throwing the bag over her shoulder and gripping the handle of her suitcase. ‘Do you think I’d really stay here and clean toilets in the local pub for the rest of my fucking life because you need dig money to survive? You can go and clean the bogs down the Hilly Bar yourself. And while you’re at it, I hear blowjobs are a fiver a go. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’
Roxanne’s mother looked at her in shock. But she didn’t get the chance to retaliate.
‘Aye, that’s right. I’ve heard the rumours. Sucked off nearly every guy in there for a free bevy. You make me sick and I’m not hanging around here to get tarred with the same brush. I’m out. There’s a world out there where I won’t have to lower myself to your fucking standards just to bring in a few quid.’
Roxanne took a breath. She couldn’t believe that she’d actually said it. She’d been building up the courage to stand up to her mother for years. They were all the same around the scheme – single mothers, alcoholics, drug addicts. Roxanne didn’t want to turn out like that. So she’d jumped at the chance to go away with her mate and forget about life in Glasgow, the shit hole that it was.
‘You can’t fucking speak to me like that,’ her mother began. ‘I’m your mother.’ Roxanne had to laugh at that one. The way her mother said it made it sound as though their relationship had been perfect up until now, when in fact it had been quite the opposite. The woman wouldn’t know the meaning of a good role model if it jumped up and slapped her across the face.
Without responding, Roxanne was already out the door, slamming it behind her. She could still hear her mother’s voice echoing in the close as she called after her. But Roxanne wasn’t listening. Finally, she was free from her alcoholic slapper of a mother. Now, she could start her own life. Now, she could finally live the way she wanted to, far enough away that she wouldn’t hear the rumours, the disgusting stories of old Mandy McPhail, the local bike.
Climbing into the taxi, she told the driver to go to the airport. He asked her if she was going anywhere nice.
‘Anywhere away from this shit hole is nice,’ she replied.
‘Fair point,’ the man laughed.
A short while later, Roxanne had checked her case, had a drink for Dutch courage ahead of the flight and was now sitting in her
seat, awaiting take off. This was her first time on a plane, her first time ever leaving the country and she’d had to get herself her first ever passport just for the occasion. She’d never stepped foot out of Scotland before. If Roxanne was being fully honest with herself, the drink at Departures hadn’t done its job. She was shitting herself; the whole situation was completely overwhelming. The idea of leaving all that she’d ever known behind to start a new life abroad was scary enough, let alone her first flight.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, our cabin crew will now give our safety demonstration. Please direct your attention to the crew for the next few minutes.’
The voice made Roxanne’s stomach flip. Safety demonstration? She hadn’t thought about safety when booking the flight. Turning her eyes to the woman dressed in a blue skirt and jacket, white blouse and hair tied so tightly at the top of her head she wondered if it hurt, Roxanne watched and listened as she demonstrated where the oxygen masks were, where the exits were and how to put on the life jacket.
‘First flight?’ An older man beside her asked. ‘I can tell by the look on your face. My wife was the same. Just take a few deep breaths and ask for the bottle of vodka when the drinks trolley arrives.’
He smiled, but Roxanne couldn’t even fake a smile in return. She felt utterly terrified that she would die in a plane crash before she even got to start her life. The man clearly saw the look of fear in Roxanne’s eyes, because his wide smile softened, as did his eyes.
‘Oh, don’t worry. They say you’re more likely to die in a car crash than a plane coming down.’
Roxanne closed her eyes and rested her head on the seat. If that was supposed to help, it really hadn’t.
Pushing the man’s voice out of her head, Roxanne imagined herself lying on the beach with a drink in her hand and her best friend by her side. As apprehensive as she was of flying, she knew it was a necessary evil. She had to put herself through it to get to her paradise.
The pilot introduced himself over the speaker, informing the passengers of the time it would take to reach their destination and that he would speak to them again soon. Roxanne hadn’t been listening properly; she was too busy looking out across the tarmac at the plane beside her as the one she was sat on began to taxi out to the runway.