by Kevin Brooks
And an instant later a sickening pain explodes in his groin and he’s doubling over in agony, sinking to his knees, moaning and groaning, his eyes watering, his hands clutching desperately at his groin. Christ, it’s the worst pain in the world… it’s unbearable, it’s unbelievable. It hurts so much…
He’s down on his knees, his head in the dirt, and he’s howling and crying and moaning… and he can hear them laughing. Eric and Wes, Stella… she’s laughing at him, and he knows now that she always was.
‘Serves him right, dirty little bastard,’ he hears her say.
‘Yeah, nice one,’ Wes says admiringly. ‘What d’you do – grab his balls?’
‘No, just a little flick,’ Stella says. ‘Like this…’
Pauly looks up through his tears and sees her flicking her thumb, and it seems such a trivial thing, just a stupid little thumb-flick… as if that’s all he’s worth. And as he watches her walking away from him – like he’s nothing at all, just something to laugh at, something to flick in the balls – he realizes that she’s not even laughing at him any more. She’s already forgotten about him. He’s not even worth laughing at for more than a few seconds. And it’s that that tips Pauly over the edge.
His head goes black, blanking the pain.
He sits up.
His blood is hot, bursting in his veins.
No thoughts.
He gets to his feet, swaying a little, and looks over at Stella. She’s walking in slow motion, her body haloed in a shimmer of light. Her long legs are skinless, like raw meat hanging in a butcher’s window. Her hair is a nest of snapping yellow snakes.
Pauly runs at her.
Someone shouts, ‘No!’
Stella turns, sees Pauly coming at her, his teeth bared in a monstrous grin. She steps back, her eyes shocked. She loses her footing, stumbles slightly, and now Pauly is almost on top of her. A weird kind of howling noise erupts from his throat, and he raises his hands… and then Eric is there, barging into him, wrapping his arms round him, pulling him away from Stella. But Pauly is out of control now, his strength pumped up with madness and drugs, and with a violent twist of his body he rips himself free from Eric’s grip, grabs him by the shoulders, and shoves him violently away. Eric staggers backwards, his arms flailing wildly as he tries to stay on his feet, but he can’t see where he’s going. He can’t see where his feet are taking him. He doesn’t know that Stella is right behind him, struggling to get out of his way. He hears her crying out, but even as he looks over his shoulder to see where she is, he’s already losing his balance. And as he starts falling, his right arm whips up and catches Stella full in the face. She lurches back, clutching her face, and then it happens – she trips on something, or maybe she puts her foot in a hole, or steps on a brick… nobody really knows. Her feet just suddenly fly out from under her, and as she crashes heavily to the ground, her head cracks dully into the rusted hulk of a girder.
Silence.
No one moves.
Pauly, Eric, Wes. They all just stare at her, waiting for her to sit up. Waiting for her to groan, or to start crying. Or to roll over and start swearing…
Anything.
But nothing happens.
She just lies there, dead in the dirt.
Twenty-eight
As Pauly sat there telling me all this, everything about him seemed to shrink and wither away: his voice got weaker, his eyes dulled, his shoulders sagged… even his breathing got shallower. By the time he’d got to the end of the story, there was hardly anything left of him. He was just sitting there, staring emptily at the ground, drained of all emotion. It was like watching somebody die.
‘Whose idea was it to dump Stella’s body in the river?’ I asked him.
‘Uh?’
‘Her body… how did it end up in the river?’
He slowly looked up at me. ‘The river?’
‘Yeah… you put the body in the car and drove it down to the river, didn’t you?’
Pauly nodded. ‘Is that what Eric told you?’
‘Never mind what Eric told me –’
‘Did he say it was me?’
‘What?’
‘Did he say it was me that pushed Stella? I know he did. He’s a liar, it wasn’t me –’
‘What happened when you got to the river?’
Pauly stared angrily at me for a moment, then all at once his face went blank again. ‘It was Wes’s idea,’ he said dully. ‘He said if we took her clothes off, it’d look like a sex killer had done it. Eric undressed her. He took her clothes off.’ Pauly blinked. ‘I don’t suppose it mattered to him, you know… it’s not like he wanted to see her or anything. He just took off her clothes and then… I don’t know. I was pretty out of it by then. I didn’t know… I was just… I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t do much. Eric and Wes put her in the river. Wes torched the car… there was a can of petrol in the boot. And that was about it, really.’
‘Who put the blood on the caravan?’
‘Wes. There was some blood on Stella’s shirt. He wiped it on the caravan, chucked the clothes in the bushes.’
‘Why?’
‘Wes is smart. He knows what he’s doing.’
‘You reckon?’
Pauly shook his head. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with Wes. The whole thing… it was all about Eric and Stella. Wes was just trying to help.’
‘How did Eric’s necklace get in Stella’s pocket?’
‘What?’
‘The police found a bit of broken necklace in Stella’s pocket. They showed it to me. I think it was one of Nic’s that Eric had borrowed.’
Pauly frowned. ‘It was in Stella’s pocket?’
‘Yeah.’
He hesitated. ‘She must have snatched it off his neck when they were struggling –’
‘You never said anything about a struggle.’
‘Didn’t I?’
I shook my head. ‘Eric staggered backwards into Stella, whacked her in the face, and then she fell over and hit her head on the girder.’ I looked at Pauly. ‘That’s what you said, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah…’
‘So when did she snatch his necklace?’
‘I don’t know… maybe she grabbed it when she was falling.’
‘And when did she put it in her pocket?’
He shrugged. ‘After she fell, I suppose.’
‘You said she didn’t move after she’d fallen.’
‘Maybe I got that bit wrong…’
‘Right. So now you’re trying to tell me that she didn’t die straight away?’
Pauly stared angrily at me. ‘I was drunk, all right? I was fucked up… my fucking head, you know? I can’t remember everything.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ I said, trying to calm him down. ‘I’m just trying to get everything clear in my mind, that’s all.’
He was staring at the ground again now.
‘What about Raymond?’ I asked him.
‘What about him?’
‘Did he have anything to do with it?’
‘No.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘No.’
‘He wasn’t even there?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see him after you’d got to the fair?’
Pauly rubbed his eyes.
‘Did you see him, Pauly?’
‘See who?’
‘Raymond.’
Pauly shook his head. ‘You’re not going to tell anyone about Stella, are you?’
‘I don’t know…’
His eyes widened. ‘What do you mean? You said you wouldn’t… you said… you fucking promised –’
‘I was lying.’
His head started shaking from side to side. ‘No… no, no, you can’t do that… you can’t –’
‘All right, calm down. I’m not saying that I will –’
‘You crossed your fucking heart.’
‘Look,’ I said patiently, ‘if I don’t tell the police what happened, and they don’t find
out, they’re going to think that Raymond did it.’
‘So?’
I stared at him, momentarily speechless.
He stared back, his eyes bright with a frenzied hope. ‘I mean, it’s only Raymond, for Christ’s sake… who gives a shit? He’s probably dead anyway.’ Pauly grinned. ‘And even if he’s not… well, it’s not going to make any difference to him if he gets banged up for it, is it?’
‘Why not?’ I said.
‘Come on, Pete, we’re talking about Mental Ray here…’ Pauly grinned again, tapping the side of his head. ‘Once they find out how fucked up he is, they won’t even bother putting him on trial. They’ll just stick him in one of those psycho places and stuff his head full of drugs. He’ll be all right. I mean, shit, he’s not going to have much of a life anyway, is he? What’s he got going for him? No one’s ever going to give him a job, are they? He’ll spend the rest of his life living at home with his pissed-up parents, talking to his fucking rabbit all day… so, you know, he’ll probably end up in the funny farm anyway…’
I was trying very hard to contain myself now – breathing slowly, keeping still, telling myself to stay calm, don’t get riled, don’t let him get to you. And I knew I was right, I knew it was pointless getting angry. Pauly was an idiot. He was sick, he was stupid, he was selfish and weak. He couldn’t help what he was.
I knew all that.
But I still wanted to rip his head off.
I didn’t, though.
I just sat there in silence, staring at him as he jabbered away, letting my hatred sweat itself out. And as the dark feelings seeped out of my skin, I began to realize that not all of my hate was for Pauly – some of it was for myself. Because I’d always known what Pauly was like… I’d always known. But I’d never done anything about it, had I? And why not? Because he was Pauly… he was one of us. And we were all friends, weren’t we? Eric, Nic, Pauly, me… we’d grown up together. We’d done things together. We’d spent our summers together. We’d built dens together.
We were friends.
But had we ever really liked each other?
Maybe some of us had…
Now and then.
But that’s not enough, is it?
I mean, that’s not friendship – it’s just being together. Being one of us. And the only one of us who’d never been one of us was the only one who’d ever meant anything to me. And now that Raymond was gone, it was too late to do anything about it. All I could do was hate myself, and even that was a waste of time.
‘So?’ Pauly said.
‘What?’
‘Are you going to tell anyone what happened or not?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’ll have to think about it.’
‘Come on, Pete,’ he pleaded. ‘I told you it was an accident… I mean, it’s not like we did it on purpose or anything –’
‘I said I’d think about it.’
‘I’d do the same for you.’
‘No, you wouldn’t.’
‘Yeah, I would… I mean, we’re friends, aren’t we? We’ve always been –’
‘Shut up.’
‘All you’ve got to do is –’
‘Do you want me to call the police right now?’ I said, pulling my phone from my pocket.
He didn’t say anything, he just sat there staring at me like a hurt little boy. For a moment I thought he was going to start crying, and I almost felt sorry for him again. But I was all out of sympathy now.
‘Go home,’ I told him.
‘Yeah, but –’
‘Just go home, OK? I’ll think about what I’m going to do, and when I’ve made up my mind I’ll come round to your place and let you know. I won’t say anything to anyone else till then.’
‘What if the police come round for me?’
‘Are your parents home?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t open the door then. Just stay in your room and wait for me.’
‘You’ll definitely come round?’
‘Yeah.’
‘When?’
‘When I’m ready.’
‘This afternoon?’
I stared at him.
‘What?’ he said.
I sighed and turned on my phone.
Pauly looked confused for a moment, but then he realized what I was doing, and he quickly started getting to his feet. He lost his balance for a moment, almost falling over, but he managed to steady himself, and then – with a strangely prescient look – he turned round, lowered his head, and stumbled out through the door.
I was so tired now – my body so heavy and numb – that I didn’t want to do anything at all. I didn’t want to think about Pauly. I didn’t want to walk back home. I didn’t even want to stand up. I just wanted to close my eyes and forget about everything and fall into a dreamless sleep. And as the sound of Pauly’s unsteady footsteps faded away down the bank, I stared blearily at the phone in my hand and imagined myself calling Dad. I could tell him everything right now. I could tell him what Pauly had told me. I could tell him that Pauly was on his way home. I could tell him where I was, that I was sorry I ran away, that I was too tired to move and would he please come and get me…
There was no signal on my phone.
I put it in my pocket and forced myself to stand up.
My legs felt like stone.
My head was throbbing.
I breathed in a lungful of warm earthy air and shuffled wearily out of the den.
The sun was high in an electric-blue sky as I started walking along Back Lane, and for a second or two I seriously wondered if I had enough energy to keep going. The sweat was already pouring out of me from the effort of clambering down the bank, and now I was beginning to feel that foggy kind of sickness you get when you haven’t slept for a really long time. I felt like I was going to throw up, but not from my belly. I felt like I was going to throw up from inside my head.
But then, as I paused for a second and took a few deep breaths, trying to steady the nausea, I suddenly saw something up ahead that stopped me worrying about being sick.
At first I thought I was just seeing things – another juice-induced flashback – and for a timeless moment it was Saturday night again, and I was standing in the lane with Raymond, and he was staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed with fear…
Raymond?
You said he wouldn’t be here…
Who?
You said…
But I knew it wasn’t Saturday night now, it was Wednesday morning, and the bunch of Greenwell kids I could see standing in the lane up ahead… they weren’t a flashback. They were right there, right now, less than twenty metres away. A dozen or so skanky white eyes, staring the shit out of me.
I turned round and started walking back the other way…
And suddenly stopped again.
Staring at Eric.
And Wes Campbell.
And Pauly.
Eric was closest to me, about fifteen metres away, and Campbell and Pauly were just behind him. Eric looked haggard and drawn. He was just standing there, gazing wearily at me, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slouched. He didn’t seem aware of what was going on behind him, or maybe he just didn’t want to admit to himself that anything was going on. But it was. I couldn’t hear what Wes Campbell was saying to Pauly, but I could see the knife in his hand, and I could see the way he was leaning into Pauly’s face, baring his teeth, hissing and spitting into Pauly’s petrified eyes.
I saw Eric glance over his shoulder and say something to Campbell then. Campbell looked at him, glanced at me, and then – without so much as a final quick look at Pauly – he grinned and started walking towards me. As he passed Eric, Eric touched his arm and said something. Campbell paused for a moment, looking at Eric, and although there were no smiles, no obvious signs of affection, the intimacy between them was unmistakable. And now that I was aware of it, it was hard to believe I’d never noticed it before.
Not that it made much difference to me.
C
ampbell was walking towards me again now. Eric was right behind him, and Pauly was tentatively following along a few metres further back.
‘Piss off, Gilpin,’ Campbell called back, his eyes still fixed on me.
Pauly paused.
‘Go on,’ Campbell said dismissively. ‘Fuck off home.’
Pauly just stood there for a moment – his eyes blinking rapidly, his face pale and confused – then he turned round and walked off dejectedly in the opposite direction. I couldn’t see his face, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the look in his eyes… the loneliness, the darkness, the sadness…
But I didn’t have time to think about Pauly.
I looked over my shoulder. The Greenwell kids were still there, still blocking the lane up ahead. I had nowhere to run. Nowhere to go. I looked back at Eric and Campbell again. Campbell was about five metres away, smiling crookedly at me.
‘You’re on your own this time, Boland,’ he said. ‘Your luck’s just run out.’
I stared at him for a moment, looked over his shoulder at Eric, then I turned and started running towards the Greenwell kids.
I could see them grinning at me as I ran towards them – smiling at my stupidity, getting ready to have some fun. I could see their feet fidgeting, their shoulders twitching, their fists clenching. They knew they wouldn’t have much time with me before Campbell and Eric called them off, and I could see them moving towards me now, jostling for position, each of them trying to get to the front so they could get a few good kicks in while they had the chance.
But they weren’t going to get the chance.
I carried on running straight at them, running as hard as I could – my arms pumping, my legs pounding – and I didn’t make my move until the very last moment. Just as I reached the first of the Greenwell kids, just as he was slowing down and spreading out his arms to stop me, I leapt up on to the bank and started scrambling up through the undergrowth. There wasn’t a path here, just a thick spread of brambles and weeds and moss-covered roots, and the bank was a lot steeper in this part of the lane. It was almost impossible to stay on my feet, and I didn’t even try. I just crawled and slithered, scrabbled and groped, heaving myself up the bank. The brambles were ripping me to shreds, tearing at my clothes and gouging my skin, but I didn’t care. The Greenwell kids weren’t going to come up here and get their clothes messed up. I could hear them down below, laughing at me as the brambles got thicker and thicker, and my crawling got slower and slower. They knew I wasn’t going anywhere.