Lucas

by Kevin Brooks

  Great, I thought. A postcard …

  Wish you were here …

  I ran a comb through my hair, jammed a sun hat on my head, and told myself to forget it. He’s gone. Forget it. It was nice while it lasted – whatever it was. But it’s over now. It’s done. Finished. It’s time to move on …

  Crap, crap, all bloody crap.

  It was nice, damn it. It was fun. It was exciting. It was miserable. It was hard. It was terrifying. It was heartbreaking. It was alive. It was true. It was all there was.

  And now …?

  Now all I had to look forward to was a long hot day with Simon and his mum selling Save the Beach badges and drinking cans of warm Coke.

  Do I really want that? I thought. Do I?

  I stared at the mirror.

  Does it make any difference what you want?

  Does it mean anything?

  The girl in the glass looked back at me with a blank face and empty eyes – she was no help at all.

  I sat there for a couple of minutes feeling sorry for myself, then I went to the bathroom, had a quiet word with the moose, scooped all my RSPCA stuff into a carrier bag, and set off for the village.

  The Hale Summer Festival is held every year on the second Saturday in August. It’s not the most thrilling of events but it’s always been a pretty good day. The main part of the village is closed to traffic and by nine o’clock the High Street and surrounding sidestreets are lined with all kinds of stalls: local charities, arts and crafts, tombolas, bric-à-brac, plants, clothes, jumble … everything you’d expect from a small village festival. The pubs are open all day. There are ice cream vans, burger vans, vegetarian stalls, people selling home-made cakes and buns. There’s usually a brass band somewhere, and a local pub group playing on the back of a lorry, one of those two- or three-piece bands with drums and an organ and a middle-aged woman singing lively old tunes that get the old folk clapping along when they’ve had a few drinks. And throughout the day the streets ring out to the sounds of jugglers and clowns and open-air theatre shows. It gets pretty busy, especially when the weather’s fine. The local population is swelled by an influx of visitors from the mainland, and by the middle of the afternoon the streets are usually packed.

  When I arrived it was still quite early and everyone was busy getting their stalls ready. I knew most of them, at least to say hello to, and as I headed up towards the RSPCA stall outside the library I was greeted with a chorus of friendly nods and waves that went some way towards lifting my spirits. The street was a hive of activity, with people bustling about unloading things from vans, laughing and shouting and singing along to radio music. There was an expectant buzz about the place. But there was also something else in the air, something unspoken. There was an edge to things. Narrowed eyes, frowns amid the smiles, furtive glances …

  It’s Angel, I thought as I approached the RSPCA stall. Everyone’s heard about poor little Angel and the monster who attacked her. First Kylie Coombe, and now this – what is the world coming to?

  ‘Morning, Cait,’ Mrs Reed said. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  I looked up and smiled.

  Simon’s mum is one of those women who don’t care what they look like but who always look pretty good anyway. In her mid-forties, with shoulder-length pale blonde hair and a nice fresh face, she was wearing a plain white dress, no jewellery, no shoes, and no make-up. Her eyes shone like jewels.

  ‘Here,’ she said, reaching for my bag, ‘let me take that. You look hot. Do you want a drink?’

  She put my carrier bag on the counter and passed me a can of economy-brand Coke. I didn’t really want it but I thanked her anyway. I looked over at Simon. He was stapling posters to the back wall.

  ‘Hello, Simon,’ I said.

  He smiled at me. It was a genuine smile, and I was relieved to see it. After what happened the last time we met, I wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t want anything to do with me. He turned back to the poster and finished tacking it up, then put the staple gun in his pocket and spoke to his mum. ‘Can you manage on your own for a couple of minutes? I want to have a word with Cait.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Don’t be long, though. There’s a lot of work to do.’

  ‘Five minutes,’ he said, signalling for me to follow him.

  We walked off down the High Street and turned into a quiet lane that leads up behind the library. I still had the unopened can of Coke in my hand. As we sat down on the kerb I offered it to Simon.

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t know why she buys it. I can’t stand the stuff.’

  He was wearing a heavy black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, faded black trousers, and black boots. The darkness of his clothing accentuated the paleness of his skin. He looked almost anaemic. Apart from that, though, he seemed happy enough.

  ‘Have you heard?’ he asked.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Angel Dean – someone attacked her.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘They think it was that boy, you know, the one who—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘There’s a rumour going round that he’s been seen in Moulton—’

  ‘Simon,’ I said, giving him an impatient look, ‘I really don’t want to talk about it. OK?’

  He stared at me for a moment, looking a bit puzzled, then flicked at his fringe and lowered his eyes.

  We sat there in silence for a while, just staring awkwardly at the ground. My mind wandered back to that Saturday afternoon two weeks ago when I was standing at the bus stop waiting for Bill, reading the Village Events poster. Saturday 29 July – Jumble Sale in the Village Hall. Sunday 30 July – Free Concert in the Country Park, Brass Bands + Moulton Majorettes. Saturday 5 August – West Hale Regatta: Family Fun Day. Saturday 12 August – Hale Summer Festival …

  It had all seemed so harmless then.

  ‘We’d better be getting back,’ Simon said.

  ‘OK.’

  As we headed back to the stall I tried to apologise for my behaviour on Wednesday, but Simon just brushed it off. He was either being kind or he really hadn’t noticed how unpleasant I’d been. I preferred to think he was just being kind. Because if he wasn’t, if he truly thought my behaviour was acceptable … well, that was just too pitiful to think about.

  By mid-morning the festival was in full swing. The band had started up, jukeboxes blared from the pubs, and the streets were absolutely jam-packed. I’d never seen it so busy. We were rushed off our feet. It was incredibly hot, and as the day wore on the heat intensified. People stripped down to bare chests and bikinis and the air was thick with the smell of perfume and suntan lotion. I suppose it was the heat that brought out the crowds – that and all the juicy rumours flying around. Everyone had their opinion – customers, locals, stallholders, even people from the mainland – and as I worked I could hear a constant stream of mixed-up comments – damn gypsies … nearly killed her, apparently … people like that need putting down … mind you, they’re used to it – it’s the inbreeding, you know … disgusting …

  No one had anything rational to say about anything. It was as if the heat and the noise and the crowds had driven them all mad. Even people I knew to be level-headed and intelligent were suddenly talking absolute rubbish.

  Hell is others, someone once said. I’m not sure who it was, but I bet he lived on an island.

  Even though I knew he wouldn’t show up, I kept my eyes open for Lucas. It was stupid, I know, but somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice wouldn’t let go: he could disguise himself … he could send a message … he might be watching from the cliffs …

  Yeah, I thought, and he might come riding in on a big white horse and sweep me off to Wonderland.

  But I kept a look-out anyway. Once or twice I even thought I saw him – a distant flash of green at the end of the street, a mop of blond hair moving in the crowd, a lone figure walking on the cliffs – but it was all in my imagination.

  * * *

/>   Around midday, I had a bit of trouble with a funny-looking kid in glasses who wanted to buy a poster of a starving dog. It wasn’t for sale, of course, it was one of those pictures the RSPCA uses to show how people abuse their pets. But when I told the kid he couldn’t have it, he started crying. I showed him some novelty erasers, trying to calm him down, but he didn’t want to know. He kept pointing at the skinny old dog, going, ‘That one, that one, that one …’

  Then someone said, ‘Give him what he wants, for goodness sake.’

  I looked around at the voice, about to lose my temper, only to see Dad standing there with a great big grin on his face. Dominic was standing to one side of him, and across the road I was surprised to see Rita and Bill Gray.

  ‘Hello, John,’ Mrs Reed said.

  ‘Hello, Jenny,’ Dad replied. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Hectic. You wouldn’t believe how busy it’s been.’ She smiled at me, then looked back at Dad. ‘We couldn’t have managed without Cait.’

  ‘I hope you’re working her hard,’ Dad said.

  ‘Well, it’s all for a good cause.’ She glanced at the kid I was serving. He was still crying. ‘Simon,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you look after this little chap. Cait can take a break while her family’s here.’

  ‘I don’t mind—’ I started to say.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Go on, off you go.’

  As I went to leave, Simon reached up and started taking down the dog poster.

  ‘You can’t give him that,’ I said.

  ‘Why not? He wants it.’

  ‘He’s just a kid – it’ll give him nightmares.’

  ‘So?’

  I shook my head and left him to it.

  Outside the stall, Dad pushed through the crowd to meet me.

  ‘How’re you doing?’ he asked. ‘Everything OK?’

  I nodded. ‘I’m hot.’

  ‘That’ll be the sun,’ he grinned. ‘It’ll do that to you.’

  He put his arm round my shoulder and steered me across the road. ‘We thought we’d go to the Dog and Pheasant. How does that sound?’

  ‘Yeah … fine.’ I glanced across the road at Rita, Bill, and Dominic. ‘Did you all come together?’

  ‘Me and Dom were just leaving when Rita drove down and asked if we wanted a lift. You don’t mind do you?’

  ‘No – why should I?’

  ‘God knows – I’ve given up trying to work out what’s going on around here.’

  We joined the others and headed off towards the pub.

  Bill looked a lot different to the last time I’d seen her. Her hair was back to its natural colour and she was dressed quite simply in a summer skirt and a plain white vest. Apart from a light covering of lip gloss, she didn’t seem to be wearing any make-up. Her eyes were hidden behind dark glasses and she looked tired, as if she’d been through a lot of sleepless nights. But at least it was a natural-looking tiredness.

  At the pub, the others stayed inside with a tray full of beer and sandwiches while me and Bill took ice-cold Cokes out into the beer garden. It felt pretty strange being with her, kind of good and bad, easy and uneasy, all at the same time. I couldn’t work out what I wanted. I wanted to talk to her … I didn’t want to talk to her. I wanted to go inside and talk to Dominic … I didn’t want to talk to Dominic. I wanted to know what was going on … I didn’t want to know. Most of all, I think, I wanted to see Lucas. But I wasn’t even sure about that any more.

  The beer garden was packed with lots of noisy drinkers and children chasing ducks around the pond, but we managed to find a relatively quiet spot at the end of the garden where a mossy old wooden bench overlooked a dried-up stream. We sat down and sipped our drinks, smiling awkwardly at each other. The sun was hotter than ever and the sounds of the festival drifted distantly in the air.

  ‘So,’ I said tentatively. ‘How are you?’

  Bill shrugged. ‘I’ve been better. How about you?’

  ‘Could be worse.’

  She grinned. ‘How’s the stall going?’

  ‘Hot. Busy.’

  ‘Is Simon all right?’

  I looked at her, searching for any sign of maliciousness in her face, but all I could see was a flicker of nervous tension.

  ‘He’s about the same as he usually is,’ I said.

  ‘Irritatingly nice?’

  Without meaning to, I laughed. It wasn’t much of a laugh, no more than a quick snort, but it left a dirty taste in my mouth. Christ, I thought to myself, why are you so damn weak all the time? Why can’t you be a bit more unforgiving for once in your life? You’re supposed to be angry with Bill. You’re supposed to be avoiding her, not having a civilised chat and laughing about Simon with her.

  What the hell’s the matter with you?

  I took a deep breath and tried to relax. The cool odour of beer wafted out from the bar, reminding me of the balcony garden at the rear of the town-centre pub … the traffic groaning up and down the dual-carriageway below … Trevor and Malcolm sitting at a plastic table in the shade of a plastic umbrella …

  ‘You think I’ve been a stupid little cow, don’t you?’ said Bill.

  I looked at her. I didn’t know what to say.

  She sighed. ‘You’re probably right. I have been. But I’m not going to apologise for it.’

  ‘It’s up to you what you do,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t know what I do.’

  I shrugged.

  ‘I’m not a tart, Cait. I just want a bit of fun now and then.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That’s all it is – a bit of fun. There’s all kinds of people out there and I want to see what they’re like. I want to know what they’re doing. I want to enjoy myself, that’s all.’

  ‘And are you?’

  She flicked a mosquito from her face and stared into the distance. I sipped cold Coke and watched a dragonfly darting over the pond, its body flashing a sheen of metallic blue. It hovered for an instant on invisible wings then dipped its head and shot off silently across the pond like a strange and beautiful spacecraft.

  I turned back to Bill. ‘I hear you went to a party at Lee Brendell’s?’

  She shrugged. ‘It wasn’t really a party, just a bunch of people and a load of booze. I saw Dominic there …’

  ‘I know.’ I looked at her. ‘Are you and him …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know …’

  ‘What – me and Dominic? You must be joking.’

  ‘I thought—’

  ‘Well, you thought wrong.’ She shook her head. ‘God, Cait, when are you going to grow up? There’s a world of difference between flirting and fancying and actually doing anything about it. Just because I like someone doesn’t mean I’m going to drop my knickers whenever I see them.’

  ‘No?’

  Her face broke into a grin. ‘Well … not unless I really like them.’

  I couldn’t help smiling. Bill shook her head again, still grinning, and we exchanged glances, neither of us quite sure if it was all right to be joking or not. It didn’t feel right to me, but it didn’t feel wrong, either. To hide my confusion, I reached for my Coke and took a long drink. Bill did the same.

  ‘So,’ I said, putting my glass down. ‘This party on Brendell’s boat – was it any good?’

  She laughed. ‘Not really. They’re all the same, that lot. Once you’ve got over the initial excitement it’s all pretty boring. Drugs and booze … more drugs and more booze …’

  ‘Been there, done that,’ I said sarcastically.

  A look of anger flashed across her face. ‘At least I’m making an effort to grow up. You can’t learn everything from books, Cait. You can’t wrap yourself up in cotton wool and pretend that everything’s how it used to be. We’re not little girls any more. Things change. Sometimes you’ve got to get out and do things for yourself.’

  ‘Oh, right – slumming it with Jamie Tait and Lee Bren-dell, swanning around in Jeeps and speedboats, snorting coke and getting drunk … that
’s growing up, is it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you got any idea what Jamie Tait is really like?’

  ‘Yeah, I told you. He’s boring. He’s a stuck-up little prick—’

  ‘And what about the rest of them? What about Angel?’

  ‘What about her?’

  I hesitated. ‘Do you still think she’s all right? You think she’s a good laugh?’

  Bill sniffed. ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Look, she might be a bit on the easy side, she might flash it around a bit, but underneath it all she’s just the same as you or me.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘All right, so she’s not quite the same. And maybe she gets a bit too close to the edge now and then. But that doesn’t mean she deserved what happened to her. No one deserves that.’

  ‘I didn’t say she did. All I meant was, that’s what can happen when you start messing around with the bad stuff, when you take your fun too far.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Cait. How can you blame her? What happened to Angel could have happened to anyone. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all. If you’re going to blame anyone, blame the ones who let him out in the first place.’

  ‘Let who out?’

  ‘The gypsy – who else? They had him, didn’t they? The police already had him for what he did to Kylie Coombe, but then they let him go. If they hadn’t let him out he wouldn’t have attacked Angel.’

  I looked at her. For a brief moment I couldn’t tell which Bill I was looking at. Her face seemed to shimmer between two separate personalities: the old Bill, the one I used to know so well; and the new Bill, the one that repelled me. They were two distinct people, they were the same, they merged together, half and half, melting into each other and then melting apart again …

  I shook the illusion from my head.

  ‘I don’t understand you,’ I said wearily. ‘I really don’t. One minute you’re talking some kind of sense and the next you come out with stuff like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You saw what happened at the regatta, Bill. You were there. You saw it with your own eyes. How can you lie to yourself?’ I sighed. ‘I think you’ve spent too much time with the wrong kind of people.’