Cruel Summer

by James Dawson

  ‘Mr Wallis’s.’

  ‘Oh, he’s such a pervert!’ Alisha cried. ‘He’s always leching at Year Eleven girls.’

  ‘And he failed my coursework because I was five minutes late handing it in,’ Ben said. ‘Payback time.’

  The limo slowed to a crawl. ‘Are you ready?’ Greg opened the sunroof. He rested the egg box on the seat and took two eggs out. Ben also grabbed a couple. The pair squeezed through the sunroof, wobbling as the car continued to move.

  Ryan pushed the button to lower the window. ‘I gotta see this.’

  Mr Wallis’s house was an unassuming bungalow not far from where Alisha and Greg lived.

  ‘Ready?’ Greg shouted. ‘Go!’

  The missiles flew at the house. One cracked against the wall, another fell short on the garden path. The next hit the front door, but Ben’s second egg really found its target with the lounge window. The egg shattered, but made a clang against the pane of glass. The noise seemed to echo down the entire street.

  Both boys threw themselves to the floor of the limo. ‘Drive, man, drive!’

  Tyres screeched as the limo sped away and everyone fell about laughing. All except Janey, who wore an unimpressed pout. Alisha could hardly breathe. The eggs were pretty funny, but the look of terror on Ben’s face was even better.

  ‘Did he see us?’ Ben wiped a tear from his eye.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Ryan. ‘He didn’t even come out.’

  ‘Amazing!’ laughed Alisha. ‘Genius.’

  ‘Oh, baby girl, that was only the warm-up,’ said Ryan, and Alisha noticed a cruel glint in his eye.

  Their second stop was at the home of Kyle Norton, a weasel who had given Ryan grief since day one of Year Nine. Norton had called Ryan every homophobic name under the sun. Alisha wasn’t sure, and didn’t care, if Ryan were gay. Although he and Janey had dated for a while, Alisha did get a certain vibe. Either way, Kyle had just got a dog turd through his letterbox by way of a parting shot.

  After they sped away from Kyle’s house, they left Telscombe Cliffs altogether, driving away from the coast. The guys wouldn’t tell Alisha where they were heading this time.

  The limo eventually stopped about a mile and a half past the school. It was darker out here, no streetlights and no milky moon shining off the sea. The tyres crunched on gravel as the limo made its way down a dirt track off the main road. Alisha leaned past Ryan to get a better look out of the window. A crudely painted sign hung on a wooden gate: CROWE FARM – NO TRESPASSERS. Beyond the gate stood a blocky, run-down-looking house. Alisha could just about make out a tired weather vane creaking on the roof and a scarecrow slumped on a pole, his head hanging on by a thread.

  ‘Guess who lives here,’ Ryan said.

  ‘Satan?’ Alisha quipped. Her head felt light from the cava she’d downed on top of the alcohol she’d consumed earlier. ‘Where are we?’

  Greg chuckled. ‘This is Mrs Finching’s place.’

  ‘Oh, well, that figures,’ Janey sighed. ‘I knew that woman was a witch.’

  ‘I know, check out the haunted house,’ Ben put in. ‘Finding it took some serious espionage. I had to nick a letter out of her handbag to get the address.’

  ‘Ben!’ Janey slapped his arm. ‘Are you deranged? Why are you hell-bent on spoiling prom night? We only get one in our whole lives! One!’

  ‘This woman has made our lives miserable since Year Seven,’ Ben protested.

  ‘I’m not denying she’s an überbitch, but, seriously! Stealing her mail?’

  ‘I put it back after I’d looked.’

  ‘Can you remember what she said to us in that detention?’ Greg asked Alisha.

  She gasped. ‘Oh, my God, yes! I’d forgotten that.’

  ‘What happened?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘OK, well, a whole load of us got detention for messing around in English. You know what she was like, always keeping half the class in for no reason,’ Greg explained with a scowl. ‘Anyway, we were in over break and, after ten minutes, she let everyone go except me and Lish.’

  ‘OK . . .’

  ‘She told us that before we could go we had to clean the carpet – get all the bits out. And then she said, and this is the best bit, “It’s what you darkies are good at.”’

  ‘No way!’ Ben exploded.

  ‘It’s true,’ Alisha confirmed.

  ‘That racist bitch!’ Ben’s face had actually turned red with anger.

  ‘Oh, my God, did you tell someone?’ Janey, conversely, had turned pale with disgust. ‘Mr Cunningham would have fired her arse for sure.’

  ‘We never did,’ Greg admitted. ‘We were, what, thirteen? At first I thought I’d heard her wrong – like, how could someone say that to our faces? It was only when Lish and I talked about it later that we realised we’d both heard the same thing.’

  ‘We thought people might think we were making it up,’ Alisha sighed. Sadly, as she’d got older, she’d encountered racism again – most of it casual, from ignorant people who didn’t even realise that what they’d said was wrong. None of it had been as savage as the English teacher’s comment all those years ago.

  ‘So what?’ Janey said. ‘Have we got eggs for Finching, too?’

  ‘Oh, God, no.’ Ryan shook his head. ‘We’ve got something much better lined up for that hag. When I was in Year Nine, I entered a Halloween writing competition and, I’m pleased to say, came third. So I submitted the same story as English coursework and Mrs Finching gave it a D. She said it wouldn’t scare a child.’

  ‘OK . . . and?’ Janey’s interested was piqued.

  ‘Time to bring the story to life!’ Ben declared. From the carrier bag, he pulled out what looked like two old potato sacks. He handed one to Greg and kept one for himself. With a wink, he pulled the sack over his head.

  It was horrible. They’d cut crude eyeholes into the sacks and drawn on leering grins in rough black marker pen. They looked like something from a nightmare.

  ‘Oh, my God, they’re horrible.’ Alisha grimaced. ‘Puppets, clowns and scarecrows are the worst.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ryan said. ‘See? Scarecrows are scary, whatever Mrs Finching said.’

  ‘It gets better.’ Greg’s muffled voice came from inside his sack.

  Ben slipped his iPhone out of his pocket and fiddled with it for a second. Then he slipped it under the hood and spoke. But the voice that emerged wasn’t his. It echoed around the back of the limo, distorted and deep, each word sounding like it was being dragged from the beyond. ‘Hello, Janey. What are you wearing?’

  Ryan cackled with glee. ‘Awesome!’

  ‘What is that?’ Janey asked in awe.

  Ben held the phone away from his mouth. ‘Voice changer app.’

  Greg rocked back in his seat. ‘Man, she is gonna properly freak out.’

  ‘You’re gonna ring her?’ Alisha asked. ‘How did you get her number?’

  ‘You know Mel Sheridan in Year Twelve? Her dad is Mr Sheridan – I gave her ten quid to get the number from his phone,’ Ben said.

  ‘This is really mean.’ Alisha finished her cava and poured herself another flute full. ‘Finching must be, like, a hundred years old!’

  ‘She has it coming,’ said Ben. ‘It’s only a prank call. She’ll get over it.’

  ‘Ben, you can’t ring her.’ Janey, uptight at best, strung-out at worst, put her foot down. ‘She’ll one-four-seven-one your arse and call the police.’

  Greg pulled his hood off. ‘We’re not completely stupid, Janey. We’re going to use my phone and I’ve turned off caller ID.’

  ‘Oh, whatever!’ Janey knew she was outnumbered. ‘If we get caught, I’m saying it was all your idea. My dad would ground me for a month.’

  ‘Come on, let’s do it,’ Ben said.

  The limo driver had already turned the engine and lights off. Greg and Ben pulled their masks back on and slipped out of the car, crouching low like commandos.

  ‘Are you coming to watch?’ Ryan asked, getting ou
t of the other side.

  Alisha sighed. ‘Why not? Shame we won’t be able to see the look on her face.’ She swung one leg out and then the other, trying to dismount the limo like Kate Middleton might. It wasn’t successful; Ryan had to pull her upright. She staggered on the uneven track.

  Behind her, Janey hoisted up the folds of her dress and climbed out of the car. ‘Well, I’m not sitting in there by myself,’ she said huffily.

  ‘You guys hide back here where she won’t see you, or we’re screwed,’ Greg said.

  ‘You ready?’ Ben asked Ryan.

  ‘I sure am,’ Ryan replied.

  Ben handed him both his and Greg’s phones. ‘Make it scary.’

  ‘Bitch, please. I was born to do this.’ Ryan crouched in the shadows, Alisha and Janey alongside.

  ‘Hurry up, it’s chilly,’ moaned Janey.

  Greg and Ben took up their positions on the vast lawn in front of the house. An outside light glowed inside a dirty glass porch and a TV flickered from one of the downstairs rooms. Other than that, the farmhouse was quiet as a crypt.

  Ben and Greg stood like scarecrows in the middle of the grass, arms hanging at disjointed angles. In the light from the house, they cast long, awful shadows across the lawn.

  ‘Here we go,’ Ryan muttered. He scrolled through Greg’s phone until he found Finching’s number. While it was ringing he held Ben’s phone – the one with the app – in front of his face. ‘This is going to be so— Hello? Margaret Finching?’

  ‘Yes. This is she.’ Alisha could hear the old cow’s demented bark from where she crouched by Ryan’s shoulder. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘I have so many names . . .’ With the app, Ryan sounded demonic.

  ‘What? Who’s there?’

  ‘You’ve been a bad, bad girl, Margaret—’ Ryan stopped abruptly and looked at the phone. ‘Uh, she hung up on me.’

  ‘Are you surprised? It sounded like a dirty phone call!’ Janey giggled.

  ‘Call her back.’ Alisha poked Ryan in the ribs.

  Ryan did so and waited. ‘If you hang up on me again, Margaret, you’ll be sorry!’

  ‘Whoever this is, stop it, right now! I won’t hesitate to call the police.’

  ‘The police can’t catch me, Margaret. Look out of the window.’

  ‘I will do no such thing.’

  ‘We’re coming for you . . . We’re coming to take you away.’

  Alisha had to clamp her hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling. Ryan was so into the role, his sinister tone never faltering.

  ‘Go to the window,’ he said. ‘NOW!’

  A net curtain twitched. A sour-lemon face and a cloud of white hair appeared in the window. On cue, Greg and Ben staggered forwards using jerky, zombie-style movements.

  Finching immediately pulled away from the window. ‘What are you doing?’ she shrieked.

  ‘It’s time for you to pay, Margaret. All those children you’ve been so cruel to . . .’

  ‘I’m calling the police!’

  ‘It’ll be the last thing you do.’

  Ben and Greg had reached the downstairs window. They clawed at the glass, groaning.

  Ryan looked at Greg’s phone. ‘She’s gone. Quick.’ He stood up, hitting his head on a branch. ‘Ow! She’s calling the police,’ he hissed loudly at Ben and Greg.

  The masked scarecrow zombies didn’t need telling twice. They turned from the window and sprinted over the lawn.

  ‘We gotta get out of here!’ Greg yelled.

  Alisha took Janey’s hand and they helped each other up.

  Greg stood next to the limo and pulled his mask off. ‘Will you two get a move on?’

  ‘Do you wanna try running in five-inch heels?’ Alisha demanded.

  ‘I can barely walk,’ Janey groaned. She almost fell into the back of the limo and Greg shoved her in the rest of the way. Alisha scrambled onto the back seat, Greg right behind her and Ben climbing in last.

  ‘Mate, just drive!’ Ben said.

  ‘Go!’ Ryan added, banging on the partition.

  The limo, as glamorous as it was, wasn’t the ideal getaway car. The three-point-turn out of the drive was agonising. It occurred to Alisha that the lads’ master-plan might not be exactly airtight.

  ‘Hurry it up!’ Ben fidgeted in his seat.

  Alisha looked back at the house. A shadow moved in the farmhouse window. ‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘How fast can the police get here?’

  ‘Not fast enough,’ Greg said, laughing. ‘Man, you should have seen her face!’

  ‘Quick, she’s coming out!’ Alisha cried as the front door opened.

  The limo swung back into the country road with a jerk. Greg and Alisha were thrown back into the seats, while Janey and Ben toppled forwards onto the floor.

  They’d done it, though. The limo tore down the lane and back onto the main road. Ben whooped and high-fived Greg, and then Ryan. ‘Job well done.’

  ‘Dude, that was too close,’ Ryan breathed, holding his chest.

  ‘That was awesome!’ Ben kissed Janey fleetingly on the lips. ‘Now to the ball! See? Best night ever!’

  Alisha’s heart was still racing so she helped herself to more cava, despite a frown from Greg. She sipped it, and threw him a what are you gonna do about it? look.

  Ryan handed back the phones. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Ben. ‘J, can you put this in your handbag?’

  ‘Sure.’ Janey took the phone and slipped it into her purse.

  ‘So that was Ben’s big mistake,’ Alisha said, stroking Katie’s hair. Her friend lay sleepily across her lap. ‘If he’d just held onto his bloody phone, it never would have happened.’

  ‘It was an epic fail,’ Ryan added. ‘If Ben—’

  ‘If Ben what?’ Ben asked, sticking his head round the door.

  ‘Nothing,’ Alisha said, perhaps too quickly. ‘We were just talking about Rox.’

  ‘Where is Miss Dent?’ Ryan asked. ‘Selling drugs or trafficking kids or something?’

  Ben smiled, although Alisha could tell his heart wasn’t in it. ‘I think she’s by the pool.’

  There was no way Alisha could tell the next part of the story with Ben present. She faked a yawn. ‘I might get an early night.’

  Ryan looked disappointed, but he must know they couldn’t talk about this in front of Ben. ‘Me, too. Come on, Benjamin, let’s tell ghost stories like in the olden days.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ Ben sighed. ‘You girls OK?’

  Katie could only manage a sleepy nod.

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ Alisha said. She wondered if she should leave Ben and Katie to it, but Ben was already out the door.

  Ryan turned back and hissed, ‘Don’t you dare carry on without me.’

  Alisha smiled. ‘To be continued.’

  SCENE 15 – ROXANNE

  Roxanne sat by the swimming pool, dragging deep on a cigarette. She thought it was fitting. Bad girls always smoke – it’s one of the ways you can tell they’re bad. Her hands shook. It seemed no amount of nicotine would calm her nerves tonight.

  What have I done? Her heart was still pounding. The walk on the beach had done nothing to help. She was a ball of crackling tension, her knuckles white and her fists balled. There was no going back now. She’d done it. She’d actually done it. Before arriving at the villa, she hadn’t been sure she’d have the strength to see it through. As it had turned out, stage fright was no match for her.

  So what was this coldness in the back of her skull? It felt like doubt was drilling into her head. It was possible she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life – and she’d made a few. What she had just done was criminal. She was now a criminal. This wasn’t like when she’d used Google in the French exam; blackmail comes with a jail sentence. She stubbed out the cigarette on the tiles and held the smoke in her chest for as long as she could before exhaling.

  That was the end of her friends, anyway. Maybe that was why she felt so lousy. She had just screwed them ov
er royally. It served them right. They’d had it coming – did they really think she hadn’t heard all their bitchy comments about her? Roxanne’s a fake. Roxanne’s a bitch. Roxanne’s a slut. That hadn’t bothered her so much – everyone loves a good bitch behind their friends’ backs. No, what had really annoyed her was how they’d all pretended to be so lily-white, when not one of them was anything like innocent.

  There was something in her, though, that had just wanted them to like her. Everyone wants to be liked and there was something mightily appealing about that group – their love for one another seemed so unconditional; with all their little in-jokes it was like they were speaking a foreign language half the time. She pulled back her hair. So weak – no one ever got anywhere through being nice. She had to learn to be ruthless. She was a shark, not a dolphin. What good was it having friends that had never liked you in the first place? Make some money and get the hell out of this villa – that was what she needed to do. Frankly, she could buy some new friends. These were worthless. She was going to be so much bigger than them. One day, they’d look back and regret the way they’d treated her, she knew it.

  Without warning, the pool lights went out. The water – aqua-blue one second, black the next – was now a pond of rippling ink. Roxanne sprang off the lounger and looked back towards the villa. There was no one in sight. The terrace doors stood open. There was a dark six-inch gap.

  The lamps along the terrace stairs snapped off next. Roxanne flinched. There was now only the moon and the pale ghost of the moon on the sea.

  Roxanne heard the terrace doors slide further open, followed by light, cat-like footsteps. ‘Hello?’ she called, and felt slightly ridiculous. ‘I was just having a fag.’

  A black shape descended the stairs. Nothing more than a shadow – a shadow which seemed to pour down the steps towards her.

  Roxanne swallowed hard. She’d seen this coming. You can’t blackmail people and not expect a backlash. ‘Is this about earlier? I’m not going to change my mind. You can threaten me if you want, but it won’t change anything.’

  The figure advanced. She still couldn’t see who it was; they stayed in the darkness of the palms and shrubs.