by Kevin Brooks
Dad had sounded really strange on the phone, and I didn’t understand why. I knew why he was angry with me, and I knew he was under a lot of pressure, but the rest of it – his reluctance to tell me anything, his insistence that I didn’t talk to anyone else, even the police – I just didn’t understand it. It was almost as if he was trying to protect me from something…
Or maybe he was protecting himself?
I lay on my bed, stared at the TV, and thought about it.
∗
I was still trying to think about it an hour or so later when my mobile rang. I answered it quickly, hoping that Mum wouldn’t hear anything, and I kept my voice low.
‘Hello?’
‘Pete?’
‘Hey, Nicole. How are you –?’
‘Have you heard about Stella?’ she said quickly.
‘Yeah…’
‘I’ve just seen it on the news. Christ, Pete… what the hell’s going on? Why do they keep showing that bit of film from the fair? Have you seen it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Shit… it makes me look like I’ve got something to do with it.’
‘No, it doesn’t –’
‘Of course it does. Stella’s gone missing, and there’s me staring at her like I want to kill her or something… I mean, shit, how can they do that? That’s me on the film… they can’t just keep showing it without asking me or anything, can they?’
‘I don’t know, Nic…’
‘Shit,’ she said again, and I heard her lighting a cigarette. ‘What do you think’s happened to her, Pete?’
‘I don’t know –’
‘Do you think Raymond’s got anything to do with it?’
‘No.’
She hesitated for a moment, puffing on her cigarette, and when she spoke again her voice seemed a little bit calmer. ‘The police are going to want to talk to us, aren’t they?’ she said.
‘I expect so –’
‘What have you told your dad?’
‘About what?’
‘Last night.’
‘I told him what happened.’
‘Everything?’
‘No, not everything… but he knows most of it.’
‘Did you tell him about the den?’
‘No, I just told him that we went to the fair.’
‘What about after the fair?’
It was my turn to hesitate now, but as I wondered how much I ought to tell Nic, and how much she already knew, I realized that I’d already told her too much anyway, and that simply by talking to her I was doing exactly what Dad had told me not to do. Don’t go anywhere, he’d told me, and don’t talk to anyone. But this wasn’t just anyone I was talking to, was it? This was Nicole. And it felt OK. And I needed to feel OK.
‘I went back to your place after the fair,’ I told her.
‘Yeah?’ she said cautiously
‘After I’d looked everywhere for Raymond, I stopped off at your place on the way home. I thought he might have gone back there.’
‘What time was this?’
‘I don’t know… pretty late. There was no one in.’
‘Yeah,’ Nic said, ‘I don’t think Eric got back until about three or something –’
‘I was there at three o’clock.’
She sniffed. ‘Well, maybe he got back at half past –’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I fell asleep on your step. I was there all night. Eric didn’t get back until at least six in the morning.’
I listened to the silence on the line, wondering what Nic was going to say. Did she know that Eric had lied to me, or was she simply repeating what she’d been told?
‘Does your dad know?’ she said quietly.
‘Know what?’
‘That you were at our place all night. I mean, did you tell him that Eric wasn’t there?’
‘Yeah… yeah, I think so. Dad was home when I got back, and he asked me where I’d been all night.’
Nic sighed. ‘Look, Pete… Eric was just embarrassed, that’s all. He only lied to you because he was embarrassed.’
‘Embarrassed about what?’
‘You have to promise not to tell anyone.’
‘I can’t do that, Nic. If the police start asking me questions, I’m not going to –’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant, you know… don’t tell anyone else. Don’t go spreading it around.’
‘Spreading what around?’
She sighed again. ‘Eric… well, he got a bit drunk last night, and he ended up spending the night with someone.’
‘So?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Well, it was someone… someone he shouldn’t have spent the night with… an older guy. I mean, he wasn’t that old or anything, you know, he wasn’t like some dirty old man, he was only about twenty-five or something… and he was perfectly OK, you know… it’s just that Eric would never have slept with him if he hadn’t been drunk, if you know what I mean.’
Yeah, I thought to myself, remembering the waltzer guy. Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.
‘He made a mistake,’ Nic said. ‘That’s all it was, Pete. A mistake. He slept with a guy for the wrong reasons. He knows it was wrong, and he wishes he hadn’t done it, and now he feels really bad about it.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Do you know what I’m saying?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I think so.’
‘So, you know… that’s…’
The signal started breaking up then.
‘Nic?’ I said. ‘Are you still there?’
‘… if anyone… hello?’
‘Can you hear me?’
‘Hello? Pete?’
The line went dead.
I tried ringing her back, but her phone was engaged – I guessed she was trying to ring me. So I cut the connection and waited for her to call, but nothing happened. I gave it a couple of minutes, then rang her again, and this time I couldn’t get a signal.
So I gave up and just lay there, thinking about what she’d said, and I wondered again why Eric was lying. I mean, this thing about sleeping with some older guy, and being really embarrassed about it – it just didn’t make sense. Even if it was true, and Eric had been embarrassed – which, knowing Eric, I very much doubted – that still didn’t explain why he’d lied to me. He could have just told me he’d spent the night with someone. He needn’t have told me who it was, and he must have known I wouldn’t have asked, so there wouldn’t have been anything to be embarrassed about.
So why lie?
And why was he with Wes Campbell last night at the fair?
And Stella, I thought about Stella…
And Pauly.
But most of all, I thought about Raymond.
Raymond…
His face, his smile… his loopy eyes.
His parents – too many troubles, too many misunderstandings.
His moments of light – the star’s going out tonight.
His future: the death card.
Is someone going to die?
Life is not life without death.
My mind started drifting then, and after a while I suppose I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was opening my eyes to a darkened room, and the air was hushed with the sounds of the night. I was sweating, shivering. Hot and cold. I was awake. But not quite awake. I wasn’t asleep, and I knew I wasn’t dreaming, but I felt as if I was. My head was floating, my mind disconnected. My senses didn’t seem to belong to me any more. The darkness had a strange silver light to it, and in the dark light I could see the shapes of things shifting. The TV was still on, shimmering with 3d colours. My CD player was smiling at me. My skin was velvet, the air was white. The ceiling above me was a million miles away, another universe. It had mountains, rivers, valleys, roads.
Children were laughing up there.
A fairground organ was playing.
And the porcelain rabbit on my chest of drawers was a horse… a horse
with a frown… a necklace of flowers… and a moustache.
The flowers were dripping blood.
The horse was a rabbit, twitching its porcelain nose…
Whispering to me.
Black Rabbit was whispering to me.
Take me home… bring me home…
‘Raymond?’ I heard myself mutter.
Bring me home.
‘Where are you?’
Nowhere.
‘Where are you, Raymond?’
Everywhere…
‘What happened to you?’
Nothing. It doesn’t matter.
‘Raymond? What’s happening?’
He was changing now, looming over me like a great black giant…
Pete…?
… with a giant head and a giant mouth and a giant hand, reaching out for me. ‘Peter?’
The giant voice was deep and slow and without a point of origin. It was distended, everywhere, nowhere. It was terrifying. I cowered away, whimpering like a baby, covering my eyes with my senseless hands…
‘What’s the matter, Pete? What are you doing?’
The voice was suddenly soft.
And familiar.
And when I opened my eyes and blinked away the sweat, everything was back to normal again. My room was just my room. There were no smiling CD players, no talking rabbits, or horses with moustaches. There were no black giants with giant heads and giant hands. There was just my dad, standing beside my bed, reaching out gently towards me.
Fourteen
I don’t think Dad really believed me when I told him there was nothing to worry about, that I’d just been having a nightmare, but I don’t think he wanted to believe anything else either. I mean, he might have thought I was crazy, or delirious, or whacked out of my head on drugs or something, but he didn’t want to believe it. So he just stood there for a while, quietly watching me as I sat up on the bed and wiped the sweat from my face, and then, after a minute or so’s thoughtful silence, he sighed to himself – putting his doubts to one side – and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he said.
‘Yeah…’
‘You don’t look all right.’
I smiled at him. ‘It was just a nightmare, Dad. Really… I’m fine.’
I wasn’t, of course. I was nowhere near fine. I felt heavy and numbed, as if someone had injected lead into my veins. My limbs were tingling, my eyes were too big, and my head…
God, my head felt so weird.
‘How come you’re dressed?’ Dad said.
‘What?’
‘It’s not even eight o’clock yet.’
I looked around, rubbing my eyes, suddenly confused as to what time it was. I’d assumed it was around midnight or something, but now Dad was saying it was eight o’clock, which didn’t make sense, because it wouldn’t have been dark if it was only eight o’clock in the evening… but then, as I looked over at the window and saw the sunlight streaming in, I realized that it wasn’t dark any more… of course it wasn’t dark. It was eight o’clock in the morning.
It was Monday morning.
I’d been asleep for God knows how long.
I couldn’t believe it.
I looked at Dad, trying to hide my surprise. ‘I was tired,’ I told him. ‘I must have fallen asleep watching TV.’
He glanced over at the television. It was still tuned to Sky News. They were talking about stocks and shares.
I said to Dad, ‘Have you just got back from work?’
He nodded. ‘About half an hour ago.’
‘I thought you were coming home yesterday? You said on the phone you’d be back in a while –’
‘Yeah, I know, but things started happening… I couldn’t get away.’ He looked at me. ‘We need to talk, Pete. And we don’t have much time.’
‘What do you mean?’
He paused for a moment, looking into my eyes. Then he took a deep breath and said, ‘One of my colleagues is coming round here in about half an hour to talk to you about Raymond and Stella. I don’t know if he’s actually going to take a written statement just yet, but he’s going to want to know everything that happened on Saturday night. And I mean everything – do you understand?’
‘I’ve already told you what happened.’
‘You haven’t told me everything, though, have you?’
I shrugged.
He said, ‘Look, this is really important, Pete. I know it might be a bit difficult for you, but the police have to know what happened –’
‘Why can’t I just tell you?’ I said. ‘Why do they have to send someone else round to talk to me? You could take a statement from me, couldn’t you?’
Dad shook his head. ‘It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re involved.’ He took another deep breath, and as he slowly let it out, I could sense the exhaustion seeping out of him. ‘You were with Raymond,’ he said wearily, ‘and Raymond’s still missing. And you were both at the fair when Stella Ross disappeared.’ He looked at me. ‘You’re involved, Pete. And I’m your father. And that means that I can’t be involved.’
‘Why not?’
‘Conflict of interests,’ he said simply. ‘If anything ever came to court, and one of the witnesses turned out to be the son of one of the investigating officers… well, the case wouldn’t even get to court.’ He sighed. ‘So, as of seven o’clock this morning, I’m officially off the case. I shouldn’t even be talking to you about it really.’
‘But you are.’
He smiled at me. ‘I’m doing my best.’
I looked at him. ‘Is there any news about Raymond?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘What about Stella?’
He looked at his watch. ‘Look, we’ve only got about twenty minutes before…’
He stopped talking and listened as a car pulled up outside. I heard a car door open and shut – clunk, clunk – then footsteps moving towards the house. Dad got up and went over to the window.
‘Shit,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘He’s early.’
The doorbell rang.
Dad turned from the window and looked at me. ‘You know John Kesey, don’t you?’
I nodded. John Kesey was a detective sergeant who’d worked with Dad for years. They were friends outside work too. Good friends.
‘All right, listen,’ Dad said quickly. ‘I want you to tell John the truth, OK? Whatever he asks you, no matter how awkward you feel about it, just tell him the truth. Do you understand?’
‘Yeah, but –’
‘I’ll be there when he talks to you, but don’t think you have to hide anything from me.’ He came over and put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Look, I know about the bottle of wine you took, OK? And I know you got a bit drunk… and I expect you did some other things that you don’t want me to know about too. But it doesn’t matter. All right? Just tell the truth, and don’t hide anything. OK?’
‘Yeah…’
The doorbell rang again.
‘Right,’ Dad said, heading for the door, ‘let’s go.’
When we went downstairs, Mum had already let John Kesey in, and they were both waiting for us in the living room. Kesey looked pretty much the same as he’d always looked – kind of pale and sickly, as if he spent all his time in darkened pubs. He was about the same age as Dad, but he looked more worn out and stressed. He had tired eyes, nicotine-stained fingers, and his breath smelled of stale beer and mints.
He nodded at Dad as we came into the room.
‘John,’ Dad said, nodding back. ‘You’re early.’
‘Yeah, sorry Jeff, we couldn’t wait. You know how it is… I can wait in the car for a few minutes if you want –’
‘No,’ Dad told him, ‘you’re all right.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yeah.’
Kesey looked at me. ‘All right, Pete?’
I nodded.
He smil
ed at me.
Dad said to him, ‘Do you want some coffee or something?’
‘Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.’
Dad looked at Mum. ‘Do you mind, love?’
Mum glanced at me, smiled, then looked back at Dad. I thought for a moment she was going to say something to him, but she didn’t. She just looked at him for a few seconds, letting him see what she was thinking – whatever that was – then she turned round and headed out to the kitchen.
Dad said to Kesey, ‘Are you taking a statement?’
‘Not just now,’ Kesey told him. ‘The DCI just wants to put everything together first. We still don’t really know what we’re looking at.’ He looked at me again. ‘We just want to ask you a few questions, if that’s OK.’
I shrugged.
Dad said to him, ‘Any problems with me sitting in?’
Kesey shook his head. ‘As long as you don’t –’
‘Yeah, I know. I’ll keep my mouth shut.’
Kesey looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Jeff. I know this is really awkward for you –’
‘It’s fine,’ Dad said gruffly. ‘No problem. Let’s just get on with it, shall we?’
By the time we’d all sat ourselves down – me on the settee, Kesey in the armchair beside me, and Dad in another armchair by the window – Mum had come back in with two cups of coffee. She gave one to Dad, the other one to Kesey, then turned round and walked out without saying anything.
‘All right, Pete,’ Kesey said, taking a sip of his coffee, ‘all we’re going to do here is go over what happened on Saturday night, OK?’ He put down the coffee cup and opened his notebook. ‘This isn’t an official interview, and you’re not under caution or anything, we’re just making some preliminary enquiries and we need to know a few details. Is that all right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good… OK, well, I’m sure you know that Raymond Daggett has been reported missing by his parents, and according to your dad, you might have been the last person to see him. Is that right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And this was at the fairground on Saturday night?’
‘Yeah… well, it was Sunday morning, actually.’
‘OK, Sunday morning. So you and Raymond went to the fair together?’