by Paige Toon
‘That’s a lie!’
‘I know.’
‘She said he was concussed. They’ve kept him in overnight for observation.’
‘Joe!’
He looks up from his hospital bed and sees me and I barely register the bandages wrapped around his head because we’re in each other’s arms before I know it.
‘Alice,’ he breathes into my hair. I pull away and touch the bandages, tears in my eyes. I try to keep my anger in check.
‘What did he do to you?’
He looks past me to my dad, standing at the foot of the bed.
‘Are you okay, son?’ Dad asks abruptly.
Joe nods. He’s in a ward with seven other people, but the curtain has been partially drawn around his bed so he has some privacy.
‘What happened?’ I ask, speaking quietly, so as not to disturb the other patients.
‘He smashed me on the back of my head with a bottle.’
My dad breathes in sharply. ‘Your mother said you’d fallen down the stairs.’
Joe meets his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. ‘I’ll wait outside in the corridor,’ Dad says, turning to leave. Joe looks at me once he’s gone.
‘You went to the pub?’
‘Yes. Dad went inside.’
‘Did you see Dyson?’
‘He was out at the back.’
He looks relieved.
‘I met Ryan.’
The look on his face . . . Horror, fear, anger . . . ‘What did he say to you?’
‘Nothing.’
He pushes me away. ‘I’m going to kill him.’
‘Stop it!’ I snap. ‘He didn’t say anything to me!’
He glares at me, but I know his fury is not directed at me. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘He called me beautiful . . .’
Joe tenses.
‘. . . and then laughed at me when we left to come and find you.’
He regards me. ‘That sounds about right.’
‘He didn’t know who I was at first.’
‘But now he does?’
I nod, warily.
He makes to stand up. ‘I’ve got to get out of here.’
‘No, Joe.’ I try to push him back down. ‘Stay here until they say you can go.’ A thought occurs to me. ‘Wait.’ I look at him hopefully. ‘Have you told the police what he did?’
He shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘But you have to! This would land him back in jail!’
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can!’ I say fervently. ‘You must!’
‘I can’t!’
‘Why not?’
‘He said he’d kill Dyson if I breathed a word about it.’
I put my hand over my mouth. Another thought comes to me. ‘But he wouldn’t have a chance if we went to the police now. They’d go and arrest him.’
‘No. My parents would deny it. They’d say I’m delusional. They’ve done it before.’
I stare at him, lost for words.
He gets up, and this time I don’t stop him. ‘Will your dad give me a lift to the pub, do you think?’
‘You can’t go back there!’ I exclaim, my speech returning.
‘I have to get Dyson.’ He’s adamant and I know I won’t change his mind.
‘Okay, but we’re staying with you.’
Joe insisted we drop him off at the pub and not wait for him. My dad wouldn’t have wanted Dyson in his car on the return journey anyway, so I agreed to go back to the cottage and wait on the bench. But after a while I think, ‘What am I doing?’ and set off across the field instead. I don’t relax until I see Joe and Dyson – tiny specks in the distance. We run the rest of the way to each other – just like you see in the movies – and then we stand in the middle of that green, green field, breathing hard into one another’s shoulders as we clutch each other tightly. Finally we turn and walk back towards the cottage, hand in hand. My parents are standing anxiously outside on the dirt track, looking left and right. Then they spot us and I can see their relief from here. I wave as if to say, ‘It’s okay,’ but they don’t wave back.
‘We were worried about you!’ Dad snaps when we’re in earshot.
‘I went to meet Joe,’ I explain.
‘I can see that.’
Joe looks awkward.
‘Come inside.’ Mum bustles us into the cottage. Joe leaves Dyson on the driveway. ‘Let me have a look,’ she says, turning to Joe. He sits on a kitchen chair and she carefully unwinds his bandage. I stand by, watching, and flinch as the deep wound is revealed. The doctors have had to shave off some of his hair.
‘Your hair will grow back and cover the scar,’ she assures him. ‘Go through to the living room and I’ll make some tea.’
I take Joe’s hand and lead him to the sofa. I automatically snuggle up close, half draping my knees across his lap. He edges away slightly.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘Your parents,’ he mumbles.
I move away so he doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Mum brings through a tray laden with tea and biscuits. Dad is still looking disgruntled. Barely two minutes go by before he starts with the questions.
‘What are you going to do now?’ he asks Joe.
‘Dad . . .’ I frown. It’s too soon to be pressing him to make a decision.
‘It’s fine,’ Joe tells me. ‘I don’t know,’ he replies to my dad.
‘Well, you can’t go back to the pub,’ I interrupt heatedly.
‘I can’t stay here.’ Joe gazes at me calmly.
‘Yes, you can! Can’t he?’ I turn to my parents. They both avert their gaze. ‘What, you’re going to send him back to that hellhole? He could be beaten to death!’
‘Of course you can stay here tonight,’ my mum interjects quietly.
‘Marie—’ Dad starts.
‘Thank you,’ I say forcefully, looking pointedly at both of them.
‘You can sleep on the sofa,’ Mum adds.
My dad gets up and walks out. Joe looks after him, warily. We hear the front door slam.
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Mum says. She follows Dad out.
Joe breathes a heavy sigh and looks at me. ‘I can’t stay here.’
‘Of course you can!’
‘No, Alice, it’s not fair on your parents.’
‘Bugger them! They’ll deal with it! You’re not going back to the pub.’
‘I’ll be okay,’ he says softly.
‘No, Joe. No, you won’t. You’re staying here.’ I’m adamant.
‘I could stay at a hotel.’
‘No, you need your money. Anyway, it’s the middle of the holiday season – most places will be booked out and everything else will be overpriced and awful. We’ve only got to get through the next week and then we’ll be out of here.’
‘Maybe I should just go now.’
‘No!’ I exclaim automatically, before asking, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I could go to London.’
I instantly feel crushed. ‘I hoped you’d come to Cambridge,’ I say in a small voice.
His face softens as he regards me. ‘I’m not sure I could do that to you. I’d cramp your style.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I want you there! I don’t want to go without you!’
He smiles sadly. ‘If you want me there I’ll be there. But I can’t stay with your parents until you leave, Alice. I’ll have to meet you there, somewhere down the line.’
‘What? No! Come with me! I’m not going alone.’
He sighs and puts his arm around me, pulling me close. He kisses my forehead, but I’m tense and overwrought with anxiety. What does he mean, he’ll meet me there, somewhere down the line? I’ll talk him into it, I promise myself. I’m not going to Cambridge without him.
My dad hurries into the room and we both jump apart from each other.
‘Joe! Your dad’s outside.’
Joe leaps to his feet and stumbles in the direction of the kitchen. He winces and puts his hand to his head. I grab his
arm to hold him steady.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
‘Got up too quickly,’ he mutters, pulling away and following my dad to the door. Dad tries to block my exit, but I push his arm away roughly.
‘Move!’
‘Alice, I do not want you going outside,’ he says sharply. Mum pulls me back firmly, then Dad goes out of the door. Mum and I hurry to the kitchen window.
My dad stands protectively on Joe’s left, facing his big, beefy father. His hair is still gelled and black, and his tattoos ink out from underneath his tight grey T-shirt. It’s not a warm day, but he doesn’t look like the type to complain about the cold. He doesn’t look angry, or sorry. Considering the events that have led to this point, they have a surprisingly unanimated conversation. Finally they turn away from each other and Joe comes back inside, closely followed by Dad. Joe’s dad turns and walks out through the gate.
‘Ryan’s done a runner,’ Joe says miserably. ‘He wanted to know if I’d seen him.’
‘Oh.’ So he wasn’t checking up on his younger son, asking him to come home. ‘Was he okay with you? Did he seem threatening?’
‘No,’ Joe replies. I look at my dad for confirmation. Dad shakes his head in response. ‘Maybe I should go back home,’ Joe says.
‘You can’t!’ I can feel myself getting worked up again.
‘Look, stay here tonight,’ Mum butts in. ‘See how you feel tomorrow.’ She glances at Dad, who nods.
‘That seems like the best idea,’ he replies. I look at Joe and smile. He doesn’t smile back.
It’s clear that night that Dad is not going to go to bed until I do, so finally I give in and say goodnight. It’s ridiculous.
‘I’ll bring Dyson in,’ I say, yawning.
‘Bring him where?’ Dad halts in his tracks.
‘To the kitchen,’ I respond.
‘No,’ Joe quickly cuts in. ‘He’ll be fine outside.’
I stare at my dad, but know he’s not going to give in. Not a dog person. ‘Right, that’s settled, then,’ he says, turning towards the stairs. He pauses at the bottom and looks back at me.
‘I’ll be up in a minute,’ I tell him firmly. His eyes dart between Joe and me and he leaves, realising that, in this small way, he’s not going to be the victor.
He creaks his way up the stairs slowly. I wait until he’s inside the bathroom before going to Joe, who is still sitting on the sofa.
‘Let me help you make up your bed,’ I say, lifting up the sheets that Mum brought down. We do the job together, then he glances at me awkwardly.
‘Night,’ he says.
‘Are you sure Dyson will be okay outside?’ I check.
Almost in response, Dyson starts to bark manically. Joe and I meet each other’s eyes for a split second before rushing to the door.
‘DYSON!’ he shouts, running out into the darkness. I follow him, and as soon as my feet touch the driveway I hear a loud yelp. Then: silence.
‘DYSON!’ Joe shouts again.
‘DAD!’ I scream into the house. ‘DAD!’
Joe runs out of the gate.
‘JOE!’ My voice sounds off into the darkness. ‘WAIT!’
My dad bursts out of the kitchen door, then reaches back inside to grab a flashlight.
‘JOE!’ I scream again.
‘DYSON!’ I hear him shout.
My dad holds me back behind him as we rush through the gate. Then we hear Joe to our left.
‘Dyson . . .’
I will never forget the tone in Joe’s voice. My dad points his torch up the track. Joe is crouched down over a hairy lump, tenderly holding his dog’s head. ‘Dyson . . .’ he says again. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, good boy . . .’
Dad quickly flashes the light around to scan the scene, but there’s no one to be seen. He returns the light onto Joe. I break away from my dad and run to him.
‘He’s still breathing,’ Joe says, tears pouring down his distressed face. Dyson judders under his touch and his tail twitches in a feeble attempt to wag. Dad reaches us and shines his light at Dyson. His black scraggy hair looks stark and bright under the flashlight’s glare. The light moves to his head and I reel away. There’s huge gash to his skull and blood is pouring from it, all over Joe’s hands.
‘It’s okay, good boy,’ Joe whispers tearfully, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels.
Dad’s light moves to a large, blood-splattered rock nearby.
‘We’ve got to get him to a vet,’ Joe says.
‘I’ll take Mum’s car,’ I tell Dad.
‘I’ll drive you,’ he says.
Joe gingerly tries to lift Dyson, but he’s too heavy to carry alone. Dad takes over from me and I run on ahead to get Mum’s car keys and tell her what we’re doing.
Joe sits in the boot, tenderly cradling his dog.
‘How’s he doing?’ I ask from the backseat as Dad navigates the bendy country roads.
‘He’s still breathing,’ Joe replies and a tiny spark of hope hits me. Maybe it will be okay . . .
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.
He doesn’t answer me, instead murmuring, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ over and over again as he strokes Dyson’s head. Tears continue to pour down his cheeks, but he’s keeping his sobs in check.
‘Alice!’ Dad gets my attention from the front seat. ‘You’d better call ahead to warn them.’
He hands me his mobile phone and I ring directory enquiries to locate an emergency number for the vet on night duty.
My dad waits in the waiting room, while I go into the consultation room with Joe. The vet glances with curiosity at the bandage wrapped around Joe’s head, but he doesn’t comment. He’s a tall slim man with short, sandy blond hair and a kind – albeit tired – face. He helps Joe lay Dyson out on the table and quickly checks him over.
‘What happened?’
‘We found him like this,’ Joe replies numbly. ‘There was a rock nearby.’
‘Did you see who did it?’ the vet asks, his eyes once more darting to Joe’s bandage.
I’m about to interject, but Joe quickly shakes his head. ‘No.’ He gives me a direct stare and my mouth closes.
‘Can you operate?’ Joe asks.
‘There’s little chance he’ll survive,’ the vet tells him gently.
Joe looks down at Dyson.
‘The kindest thing would be to put him out of his misery.’ He gives Joe a sympathetic look.
I gulp back my tears and put my hand on Joe’s arm.
‘No,’ Joe says and it’s like his throat is closing up because he can hardly get the word out. ‘Try.’
The vet indicates the door.
We wait outside for an hour, me gripping Joe’s hand tightly as he stares at the vinyl floor. Finally the door opens and the three of us jump to attention.
‘He’s alive,’ the vet says and Joe’s face lights up. ‘But it’s not good.’ Joe’s smile freezes on his face and then fades. ‘I don’t know if he’ll make it through the night.’
Joe nods. ‘Can I stay with him?’
The vet shakes his head. ‘I’m afraid not. He’s in safe hands. You can come back in the morning.’
‘What time?’ Dad asks.
‘Call me first thing.’ He hands over a card. Joe takes it and stares at it in a daze.
‘Come on,’ I say gently.
It’s a long, long night. Dad trundles upstairs to bed as soon as we get back to the cottage. I can hear him talking to my sleepy mother in the room above our heads. I stay with Joe on the sofa and there are no complaints. I rest my head on his chest and he stares up at the ceiling, too upset to speak or sleep.
‘Do you think it was Ryan?’ I ask carefully, lifting my head to look at him.
Joe hesitates before nodding.
‘Why didn’t you tell—’
‘I don’t know,’ he interrupts.
‘Why do you feel loyal to him?’ I try to keep my frustration under control. ‘After everything he’s done to you?’
&nb
sp; ‘It’s not loyalty,’ he says. ‘It’s like I’m bound by him.’ He keeps staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought. ‘Silence is almost second nature to me now.’
I press my face to his chest. The next thing I know, Joe is edging himself away from me. I come to, groggily. Dawn is spilling under the curtains.
‘I need to call the vet,’ he tells me quietly. I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes as he delves into his pocket for the vet’s card.
I dig out my phone, but I’m out of credit and I forgot to top up. ‘I’ll see if I can borrow Dad’s,’ I say.
‘No.’ He pulls me back. ‘Don’t wake him. There’s a payphone down the road.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I snap.
He furrows his brow with annoyance at me. It’s the first time he’s looked at me like this and it makes me feel wretched. ‘I’ll go to the payphone,’ he reiterates firmly.
‘Okay. I’ll come with you.’
We reach the payphone and Joe goes inside. I stand against the door, holding it open. It’s sickening, waiting for someone to answer, but eventually they do.
‘I came in last night,’ Joe tells the person on the other end of the line. ‘With my dog.’ Pause. ‘Sorry,’ he says, and I think he’s being chastised for calling too early. ‘Please could you check on him now?’ he begs. ‘Thank you.’ He looks across at me. ‘She’s going to check.’
‘Is it not the vet from last night?’
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘I think it might be his wife. She said he’s still in bed.’
‘They must live at the surgery.’
He nods. I notice his knuckles are white from clutching the phone so tightly. Suddenly he perks up.
‘Yes?’ he asks. My eyes widen with anticipation. ‘Oh, no,’ he says quietly. Blood rushes into his knuckles as his hand goes limp. I step into the booth and take the phone from him.
‘Hello?’ I speak into the receiver.
‘Hello?’ the woman at the other end replies.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘He didn’t make it, I’m afraid.’ She sounds apologetic.
Sobs well up inside me. I turn quickly to look at Joe. He’s hunched over at the side of the road.
‘What would you like us to do with the body?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know.’ I stare in shock at Joe.
‘Can you come in at around ten? We can discuss it then.’