by Kate Bradley
She took another bite. More thoughtful chewing. ‘Lots of people?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you like it?’
‘The killing or the army?’
She shrugged. ‘Both. Neither.’
‘No one enjoys killing, Destiny.’
Her eyes narrowed and she returned to her burger. It was only when it was gone, and I thought the conversation was long behind us, that she added, quietly, as if to herself, ‘Some people do.’
Friday
19:03
Jenni
I watched her finish her apple pie before checking my watch. Seeing the time, I felt a thump of disquiet: we still had another hour of driving to do. ‘Are you clear where your aunt lives?’
She nodded.
‘Good. Have you spoken to her yet?’
‘She’s messaged me back and says she can’t wait to see me.’
I breathed in, relief relaxing my shoulders. As she confirmed she could stay, I was confronted with what many would think was obvious: what would I have done if she hadn’t been allowed to?
Everyone has their strengths. Mine is that when I have a mission, I go, go, go. And then I go some more. And then when everyone else is falling by the wayside, I keep going. But I do know that thinking things through can be a weakness.
My focus served me in the army. The only time I lost it, I lost my army career, my self-respect and my only friend.
I vowed I would never lose my focus again.
So when Destiny had wet herself, spoke her strange code name into her phone and I saw the man with the gun, I had all the focus I needed. But that meant that I had been concentrating on one step at a time: get Destiny in the car; throw off the van; change destination; conceal her identity; feed her. Only now I fully considered quite how serious a situation I would’ve been in if her aunt hadn’t been able or willing to take Destiny in. That would be bad. Very bad.
‘We need to set off. Do you want the loo?’
Destiny was already up. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, calling back over her shoulder. She’d taken me by surprise. I’d wanted to go with her – I didn’t like her going off on her own. She was my responsibility and the weight of it felt heavy.
And now she was off and I couldn’t see her. I tried to relax, but the earlier feeling of being watched suddenly crackled like electricity. My antennae might not be good at picking up emotions, but it was better than most at picking up danger. I looked around. The family had left, as had the trucker. The man with the paper was also leaving, tipping his rubbish into the bin.
A large group of students had taken over the three tables nearest me, their loud voices disorientating.
I suddenly needed to be out of there. I didn’t like Destiny being out of sight.
So I followed her.
Friday
19:11
Jenni
A large influx of people suddenly made the services busier; the current was against me, with everyone flowing towards me. I had to push against them. It felt like they were all conspiring against me getting to Destiny. I put my head down and was bullish in my determination. I knew that if people were unable to make eye contact with me, they were more likely to get out of my way. I bumped into one or two people and had an unfortunate incident with a young child, forcing me to deal with an angry parent, but it only slowed me for a few moments, so I made good time.
I found the loos and went in. Several women milled around the sinks, but there was no queue and several cubicle doors were open. The air was hot and smelt of poo. Several hand dryers were going and a baby in a sling screamed as her flushed mother washed her hands. The noise was disorientating as was the lack of Destiny: I’d expected to see her at the sinks. I felt my heart rate quicken.
‘Destiny?’ I called out and everyone turned to look. She didn’t answer. I pushed against the closed cubicle doors, some giving way. When they didn’t, I knocked and called out, ‘Destiny, are you in there?’ Each time a different woman would answer no. I could see people watching me, concern on their faces.
I bit my lip; I’d never had anyone to lose before, I was unsure how to proceed.
I decided to go back out to McDonald’s to see if she’d returned to our table. Perhaps I’d pushed right passed her. I trailed slowly, looking about carefully now, trying to spot Destiny browsing magazines in WHSmith or choosing makeup in Boots. But she wasn’t there. In the food hall, I could see clearly that she wasn’t back in McDonald’s either.
My breathing was controlled. I was focused; I would find Destiny.
I never doubted it.
Others would be disorientated by fear, immobilised. Instead, this was me at my best.
I made a quick assessment of the situation. If she wasn’t here, then the gang must have found her. There was no time to enlist the help of the management and put her name over a tannoy or wait for the police. If she wasn’t in here, then she was already outside. I had perhaps seconds before she was in the van and away. I would only be able to guess at their direction after that.
Therefore I understood: as soon as she was in the car park, I would lose her for good.
I began to run – not jog – full pelt, towards the entrance. Someone fell to the floor as I pushed them out of the way.
Then I saw her.
A man had her by the hand and was leading her towards the entrance, dragging her away from me.
Friday
19:12
George
George yanked his handbrake with the determination of a man who had decided upon his last actions and had the conviction of them being right. He locked his car, pocketed his key and walked across the car park towards the services.
His stomach rumbled. He’d have a McDonald’s after making the call. Perhaps he could even enjoy it a little – it would be a true treat because since his emergency surgery, Sal would never allow him to eat a burger and fries. The thought of it being his last meal almost brought – and it would have if it hadn’t felt so bloody accurate – a sad smile to his face. The moment passed but he did wonder whether if he kept the burger in mind, it would help him get through what were about to be some very difficult conversations.
Inside the services, the crowds were thick. A group of Japanese tourists headed towards him, manners making him stand aside. It hurt him to wait. The anxiety of knowing he had to call the police felt like a pressing burden. He wanted it done. Never more had he resented himself for not doing something and he needed to right that wrong.
Several miles back, he’d decided the moment when he had gone wrong was when Jenni had driven past him by the railway crossing. There, right on the corner, was a telephone box. If he’d turned off his car engine – precisely like the signs requested that waiting cars at the crossing did – he could’ve reached for his mobile phone right then and tried to call the police. He would’ve found the battery dead. But then he could’ve got out, run to the telephone box and made the call. He could’ve described the car and given her name and let the police do the rest. He would’ve done the right thing. He could’ve even made his meeting with Steve Wichard.
He was waiting patiently as a mother pushing a pram with three other children passed him when he looked up and saw her – a girl who looked just like Destiny. No wait – it was Destiny.
Destiny walked right by him, led by a man.
He was a shortish, thickset man with a shaved head. Destiny was trailing after him, pulled by her hand.
What was Destiny doing here?
Who was he?
And where on earth was Jenni?
Friday
19:19
Jenni
I fixed my sights on her and cut through the crowds. I was a woman on a mission. I felt the tension in my thighs like I feel at the start of a new Ironman race.
Adrenalin coursed through my body. My mind was focused. I was locked on goal. I will win. This time I would save Bil— Destiny . . . I would save Destiny.
They stepped out of
the automatic doors and out into the evening daylight.
I stepped out and was upon them in seconds.
I grabbed Destiny’s hand, the one held by the man’s, yanking it from his grasp. He turned. I saw surprise in his blue eyes. It was the man with the gun. I couldn’t pause – I could only act. I punched him once, twice, hard, straight in the face. All my weight, thrown through my shoulder, through my fist. Bang. Bang.
I felt a crack – heard the crack on the second time. I saw his eyes flash first in shock, then with pain. I had been planning on a third, but when I felt the grind of splintering cartilage finding new, unnatural places against each other, my work was done.
In the pause where he fell back, hands flying to his face, I moved fast. Without even looking at Destiny, I surged forward, still holding her hand. As if her hand were a grenade and my job was to remove it from the crowded area, I clenched it to my chest and powered forward.
I must’ve hurt her as I yanked her. But I was a hero again, back in another war situation. I ran her out of danger. As she faltered in the centre of the car park, I helped her by placing my hand behind her back, only then glancing back when I was certain I could.
Blood poured through the man’s fingers, a crowd stopping to look at him, look at me. No one attempted to follow us. In my pause, Destiny’s shock had rooted her to the floor. I pushed against her, realising we had only seconds. I helped her to run towards the car. Her steps became easier once she saw it.
No one tried to stop us. I realised how it would look, a woman hitting a man and then taking the girl. Perhaps they thought I was Destiny’s mother; perhaps they thought he was her father or boyfriend. Either way, I again had the advantage of trust. With a steady hand, I found my keys and used the remote to open the car. I opened the passenger door and helped Destiny in.
She was crying with the shock of being snatched. I heard her say through gasping breaths: you saved me; you saved me; you saved me. Her reaction reminded me of how young she was; how frightening this must all be to her. For some reason, I remembered Jordan taking the piss, saying I was like a Dalek. Well, I might be, I thought, but sometimes ruthlessness and determination are what’s needed to get the job done.
And I had got the job done.
I turned the key, knocked the gear into reverse and flattened my foot to the floor.
Forget Jordan.
Right now, the only thing that mattered was to get out of here fast – they would be after us, and now they wouldn’t only want Destiny, I knew that now they would want me too.
Friday
19:22
Aleksander
The blood from my nose ran down my throat. It was all over my shirt. Ralph fucking Lauren. The rage of that ruined shirt alone would’ve been enough, but I knew that bitch had broken my nose. And she had taken Destiny. I had been so close – she had nearly been mine.
Rage and pain overwhelmed me as I whirled around. Everywhere people. Old people, young people, kids. All staring at me.
I couldn’t believe that the teacher – that woman – had done this. I clamped my hand over the mess of my nose. Gary stared at me, slack-jawed. Dumb cunt. Even he thought I looked stupid.
I couldn’t breathe. I saw a man hefting his way towards me. He was a normal guy, grey hair, longer on the sides, balding on top, boring, old. He walked towards me, sweaty, red-faced, staring at me with his brown puppy eyes. I expected him to stop, to ask me if I was all right.
Instead he grabbed my arm. ‘Where were you taking Destiny?’ he demanded.
Destiny? How did he know her? We were miles from anywhere where someone might know her.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ I yelled at him, shaking myself free, the pain in my face infecting my brain with hot, white anger. I could barely see.
‘You are not taking her.’
He said it quietly. I could hear the bang of my heart in my ears. This man from the crowd, who was he? He was a nobody. I shook him free.
He grabbed my arm again. ‘You are not taking her,’ he repeated.
I could only stare at him for a long moment. I was amazed that such an old guy, so clearly unfit, would dare to challenge me. Me!
The blood from my nose pulsed through my fingers. I’ve broken my nose before, but it wasn’t like this. That bitch had smashed it good and now she had gone. I could feel my heartbeat in my face and it hurt like hell. I took another step. I became fixated on the old guy in front of me – I didn’t like the way he looked at me too closely – it was almost as if he saw the old me, the helpless me.
A woman in the crowd stared at me, her eyes suddenly rounding with understanding. She pulled on the man’s shirt. She murmured something, perhaps, come away.
I felt the heavy gold of my father’s ring and remembered the smell of back home: the smell of the forest that drifted in every morning, warmer now in the spring. My dad did the same; I grew up watching him turn the ring, once, twice, then the punch, always at my mother. I never saw my father raise his fist to anyone outside of the family. Perhaps he did; people always paid their bills on time. I grew up to be like Pavlov’s dogs: he would turn the ring, once, twice, and then I would run to her in a childish attempt to protect her.
Until the chain. I don’t know why I think of that now, but I do. It is my soft underbelly, my shame. It bothers me still: when the chain came out, I ran in the other direction. I hid in the yard, my face turned to the woods so the birdsong would cover the muffled screaming.
My fist clenched. ‘I’m going to fucking kill you.’ My rage flashed with supernova heat, burning it from white to ash.
Gary stepped forward, touched my right shoulder. I came back to the smell of the exhaust, heavier in the still of the summer evening. He said my name. It was the worst thing he could have done. I hated that he’d identified me there. I hated that. I swung a punch round at Gary. It was a slow, easy punch, weighted not from my shoulder, but from my fist. It landed with an easy plant; he reeled, even though it wasn’t the real thing. It was the kind of punch you’d give a child – enough to hurt them, enough to get them to shut the fuck up, but not enough to do any real damage. His hands came up in defence. He took a step back out of the way. If Ollie and Jay were here, they’d haul me off, but they would be able to do that, Gary couldn’t.
Then I looked at the fucker in front of me. Projected the pure beam of my hate at him. I liked the way he stepped in front of me, held his ground. He must know Destiny, I realised. He must’ve have been with them; perhaps he was another teacher. He said, ‘She is only a child.’
‘You motherfucker.’ I spat at him, blood splattered against his grey shirt. Credit to the dude, he didn’t even look down. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’
He stepped sideways so that he blocked my path.
Somewhere, someone in the crowd, gasped. A woman with two young boys grabbed them firmly by the hands and led them away, the oldest one protesting, wanting to watch because he scented blood. A young man next to the old man, said to him quietly, ‘Mate, come away – for your own good.’
The old man shook his head, never once taking his eyes off me. ‘She’s a child,’ he said again, more to me than to the crowd. He knew it then, that it was too late for him, but he said it anyway.
I admired him.
Then I turned my father’s ring, once, twice.
Friday
19:25
Aleksander
My first punch hit him in the eye. He reacted badly; he didn’t think about defending himself, he only thought about the pain. Big mistake.
My knee connected with his balls. As he doubled over, I cut him with a left upper hook. Bang. I felt his nose shatter. Good, you fucking scum, feel my pain, feel it with me, let’s be in this together. I gave him a right hook – that was the stinger, that was my full power. I hit him square in the ear and the impact was huge. He went down. Like his fall was a stone dropped in water, the crowds rippled away.
It was now us, us and us alone.
He lay on th
e ground. I kicked him with full force in the face. His face exploded; I’m sure he lost teeth somewhere in that blood. His head flew back. I went again, two fucking hard kicks to the stomach.
He was coughing into the ground. I smelt sick. I was going to fucking kill him; I felt it now, like a calm peace. I came down, both hands together, hitting his head against the paving slabs, but not full force, I wanted to make it last. He made a gurgling sound, his throat thick with blood.
‘Boss,’ Gary said, his voice low but clear.
I understood I didn’t have much time.
I kicked the old man in the jaw. It was bad. He curled into a ball. I heard the cry of the crowd. This was me at my worst. I knew that I would keep going.
Perhaps he didn’t deserve death. I didn’t care. Most people don’t deserve the shit they get, but they get it anyway. Take it like a man, that’s how I grew up. I could smell the forest of home again, it was so close.
My father didn’t take it like a man.
He cried when he knew I was going to kill him.
He only stopped when I did.
Crouching down, I hauled the old man up from the pavement. The crowd spilled into the car park, but I barely noticed them. He was bleeding heavily from his damaged mouth, his swollen ear, and a cut from under his eye. He was moaning and covering his face. I held him close; we were tied together in our pain. I could hear the laboured sound of his breathing. I held him steady. I was caught between the concrete of my present and the forests of my past. Underneath the constant hum of traffic on the motorway, somehow I could hear the knock, knock of a woodpecker. In my confusion, I even told him: take it like a man. It’s always better to say it rather than hear it.
I dislike that I look like my father. I look in the mirror and I see him in me. But I am different. I wear his ring to remind me that I am different. I have never hit a woman. If I rage, it is only for business. He loved alcohol and I never drink it. He was the bottom of the pile, a pleb fixing tractors in his shed. I am richer now at twenty-nine than he ever was – than he could’ve ever dreamt he could be. I am like the rising phoenix tattooed on my back.