by C. L. Taylor
As he navigates his way back down to the road and up the muddy track to the barn he chatters away about nothing in particular – the weather, the flooding, the news. I nod and shrug but I’m not really listening. I can’t stop staring at his face. He’s forty-nine now and his hair is more grey than black, but it’s still thick and wavy, cut short above the ears and at the nape of his neck. Deep lines stripe across his brow and fan out at the corner of his eyes. He looks old and tired.
I was afraid that all the feelings I’d had as a teenager would come flooding back and overwhelm me, but I don’t feel love or desire. Not even hate or fear. What I feel, as I look at his long, thick fingers curved over the steering wheel, is revulsion.
‘Here we are then.’ He pulls on the handbrake and turns off the engine. We’re in the yard. Parked up outside the barn.
‘In here is it?’ Mike says, gesturing at the barn, as he gets out of the van. It’s raining heavily now and there’s an air of impatience in his voice. Am I keeping him from something? An illicit meeting with Chloe perhaps?
‘That’s right.’
He doesn’t say anything as he lollops past me – there’s definitely something wrong with his left leg – but his head turns sharply as he opens the barn door. He’s spotted the cages.
‘Got dogs, have you?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘They were—’
But he’s not interested. He’s already halfway across the barn. He grunts as he squats to pick up Dad’s green armchair. He was the strongest, fittest man I knew eighteen years ago. Now he’s unfit and wheezy, with a stomach that hangs over the belt of his jeans.
‘Mike, before you put the chair in the van you need to—’
He grunts again as he lifts the chair up. ‘I’m a bit pushed for time at the moment, but if you need to book in another job give Joy a call and she’ll sort something out.’
‘It’s not about a job.’
The expression on his face switches from friendly to irritated as he takes a step towards me. ‘I’m sorry, love, but I haven’t got time for a chat.’ He pauses to take a breath. ‘I have to be somewhere after this.’
‘I’d rather you stayed, Mike. And it would be in your best interests to listen.’
I’m not going to let him walk away without hearing me out.
‘Look,’ he sighs heavily, ‘I don’t know what this is about but this is heavy and—’
He’s interrupted by the tinny sound of a mobile phone ringtone. He lowers the chair to the ground, reaches into his pocket and presses his phone against his ear.
‘Hello Chlo, are you okay?’
I stiffen at the sound of her name. I was right. He was trying to get away so he could meet up with her. The sick bastard.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ Mike says. He’s lowered his voice but I can still hear every word. ‘Take a deep breath. All right … now tell me what’s going on.’ He pauses. ‘What? Oh no. Oh, Chlo, there’s got to be a mistake. There’s no way you would …’ He pauses again. ‘What woman? What did she say?’ He turns, almost in slow motion, and his eyes meet mine. He scans my face, his eyes clouded with confusion, as the tinny voice in his ear rattles on. The confidence I felt less than a minute ago vanishes. Why is he looking at me like that?
‘Mike,’ I say as the confusion on his face is replaced by shock. ‘Mike you need to—’
He holds out a hand, silencing me.
I don’t breathe a word. Instead I take a step backwards, towards the door. I shouldn’t have done this.
‘I’ll give you a ring back in a bit, Chloe. Okay? Stay where you are and I’ll come and get you. It’s going to be okay. I promise.’
I take another step back. My heel catches on something and I have to steady myself on the wall.
‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ Mike says, looking straight at me as he hangs up. ‘You fucking bitch.’
Chapter 13
Lou
It all happens so quickly. One second Mike is on the other side of the barn, the next he’s speeding towards me, a look of absolute fury on his face. With no time to run, all I can do is raise my hands in self-defence and brace myself. In a heartbeat he’s right next to me but he’s unsteady on his feet and I’m quicker and fitter than he is and, as his fingers grasp at my hair, I swerve out of reach. Before he can regain his balance, I shift my weight to the left and kick out with my right leg. The sole of my trainer smashes into Mike’s bad leg. It’s like felling a tree with a single axe blow, the way he lurches to one side, his left leg crumpling beneath him. I kick out at him again, this time landing my foot square in his chest. The force of the blow sends him reeling backwards and through the open door of one of the cages. His arms flail at his sides as he tries and fails to weave his fingers through the metal bars, then SMACK, the back of his head makes contact with a pile of bricks stacked up next to a bucket.
He’s not moving. His eyes are closed, his neck tilted to the left, his head propped up on a brick, his fingers unfurled and slack at his sides. Across the barn the armchair lies on its side; Mike’s mobile phone is half-buried in the straw beside it. I reach into my back pocket for my mobile. No reception.
‘Mike?’ I take a step towards the cage. My heart is beating so hard I feel sick. When his head hit the brick it sounded like a watermelon being hurled at the floor. If he’s not dead he’s badly injured. I need to call an ambulance.
I move towards the entrance to the barn, hesitate, then walk back to the cage. I should lock it. Just in case he comes round and tries to find me. Mike’s eyes are still closed and he hasn’t changed position.
‘Mike!’ I shout his name. ‘Mike, wake up!’
When he doesn’t stir, I cross the barn and pull a bamboo stick from a pile propped up in the corner. I push it into Mike’s leg. He doesn’t so much as twitch. I prod him harder. Nothing.
I step into the cage, not taking my eyes off his face as I crouch down and reach for his wrist. His eyes remain closed, his lips slightly parted as I extend the first two fingers of my left hand and feel for his pulse. If he’s got one, I’ll lock him in and ring an ambulance. If he’s dead, I’ll ring the police.
My hand is shaking so much I can’t hold my fingers still against the thin skin of his wrist. I try again, wrapping my thumb around to anchor them in place, but I can’t feel anything. I’ve only ever taken my own pulse before. Rain is battering against the roof of the shed and the wind is whistling through the open door. Was that a dull throb I just felt beneath my fingertips? I close my eyes to concentrate. Yes, there’s a pulse. It’s strong and deep and—
A scream catches in my throat as Mike’s arm twists beneath my hand, his fingers close around my wrist and he looks straight at me.
‘It’s you.’
It’s not the tone of his voice that makes me scrabble to my feet, run out of the cage and slam the door shut. It’s the hate in his eyes.
I grab at the padlock, dangling from the catch, but I’m shaking so much I drop it. As I crouch down to pick it up, Mike presses his hand to the back of his head and rolls onto his side. He groans as he gets to his knees.
‘Lou! What the fuck are you doing, you stupid—’
He slams up against the door and tries to grab my hand through the bars but he’s too slow.
Click.
I squeeze the lock shut and jump away from the cage.
Mike grabs hold of the bars and shakes the door. All six cages rattle and shake and, for one horrible moment, I think the whole thing is going to tip over and pin me to the ground, but it holds firm. It must be bolted to the floor.
‘Open the fucking door!’ Mike shouts. He reaches a hand behind his head, then looks at his fingers. They’re slick with blood. There’s blood on one of the bricks in the pile in the corner too. He sees me looking and picks one up.
‘The police are going to have a field day with you,’ he says as he walks back to the door. ‘Assault and imprisonment. Five years is nothing compared to what you’re going to get.’ I inch to my left, pr
eparing to run. He’s going to push the brick through the bars and try and smash the lock off.
But the brick won’t fit between the bars, no matter which way he turns it. The gap is too small.
‘Fuck’s sake!’ He takes two steps back, then hurls the brick at the door. It bounces straight off, narrowly missing his foot as it lands.
Mike launches himself at the door. SMASH! He drives his shoulder into the bars. The padlock swings back and forth, but it doesn’t open.
‘Open the fucking door!’ He grips the bars and shakes the cage. ‘Lou … Louise … what are you fucking doing? Just open the fucking door.’
I’m as far away from him as I can get, backed up against the barn wall, my hands pressed against the wood. Rough, spiky splinters scratch at my fingertips.
‘Lou, please.’ He softens his tone. ‘Just open the door. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. I promise,’ he holds up his hands, palms out, ‘I won’t lay a finger on you. I’ll just get back in my van and go home. Neither of us need ever mention this again.’
‘You’ll go to the police.’
‘I won’t. I swear. I know what it’s like inside. I wouldn’t put you through that.’
‘Yes you would.’ I’m surprised to hear myself laugh.
‘I really wouldn’t …’ he tails off as he looks me up and down. His eyes linger on my small breasts, then drift southwards. ‘You’ve changed.’
‘So have you.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Haven’t forgotten your karate though, have you?’
‘There are some things you never forget.’
Mike falls silent, but his eyes continue to search my face. I can’t bear it, the creeping sensation on my skin as though he’s physically touching me.
‘That’s my phone,’ Mike says as I pick up his mobile, nestled in the hay. He reaches a hand between the bars. ‘Give it to me.’
‘No.’
‘Come on, Lou. I told you I wasn’t going to call the police. I just want to go home and forget this ever happened.’
‘Liar. You want to see Chloe.’
‘What?’ He starts at the mention of her name.
‘Chloe. Your girlfriend. That’s what you call her, isn’t it? The child you’re grooming.’
‘I’m … I’m not … Lou, I don’t know who’s told you that, but I’m absolutely not—’
‘You kissed her. I saw you, Mike. In the garden centre.’
‘That was you? That sent the police round my house?’ A tendon pulses in the side of his neck. ‘Chloe was upset. She’s had a crush on me for a while and she tried to kiss me. It didn’t last more than a couple of seconds. I pushed her away. If you saw the kiss you will have seen that too.’
‘Funny how that keeps happening, isn’t it, Mike? Teenagers throwing themselves at you. What was it Chloe’s dad told me? You only went to France with me because I was running away from my alky dad and you wanted to keep me safe.’
‘Alan said that?’ He raises his eyebrows, pretending to be shocked. It’s like an acting masterclass with Ralph Fiennes. If Ralph Fiennes was a really, really shit actor. ‘Then he’s a liar. I never said that. We were in love, Lou. I never denied that. I loved you.’
‘Stop.’ I shove his phone into my back pocket then press my hands over my ears. His voice, his tone, his words, they’re so insipid, so insidious, so carefully crafted, I feel as though tiny insects are crawling up and down my spine each time he pauses for breath. ‘Just stop.’
‘But—’
‘Just stop I said.’
‘Where are you going?’ Mike shouts as I turn and walk out of the barn. ‘Lou!’ he tries as I shut the door behind me. ‘Lou, where are you going? Let me out! Lou, let me out!’
A clanging sound follows me across the yard and into the garden. He’s throwing himself at the door again.
Chapter 14
Chloe
Chloe looks at her phone. 7.45 p.m. and she’s only got 17% battery life left. Where is Mike? It’s been over an hour since she called him to pick her up. He said he’d be straight there. So where is he? He knows she’s too scared to go home and face her dad. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him about the weird woman who stopped her on her way to school and called him a paedophile. He’d sounded angry then. Was that a mistake? Mike always told her that they shouldn’t have secrets from each other.
She shivers, despite her blazer, and runs her hands up and down her arms. The sun is still in the sky, hovering above the houses on the other side of the park, but the light and heat are fading. Other than Chloe, there’s just one lone dog walker doing loops with his terrier. If Mike turns up now he’ll have to park down the street because the gate to the car park has been lowered. Maybe there’s been an emergency. Or a delivery he forgot about. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Doubt gnaws at Chloe’s heart. She wants to believe that he loves her, but there are some days, like today, when she struggles. She’s thirteen years old. She’s not good-looking and she’d rather die than wear a swimming costume in public. None of the boys at school fancy her. She’s not clever. She’s not funny and she can’t do banter. Mike told her it was her ‘sweetness of spirit’ that made him fall in love with her, whatever that means. He’s said a lot of nice things to her over the last couple of months. She’s had more compliments than she’s had her entire life.
13%.
The battery icon on her phone has turned red now. If she’s not going home tonight she needs to ring someone. She tries her best friend Eva first. Eva doesn’t know about Mike, none of her friends do (he’s forty-nine, they’d just laugh at her), but Eva knows about the garden centre job and the fact that Chloe helped herself to a few things. But Eva doesn’t answer her phone, or the text messages Chloe sends her. She tries Freya next. Freya answers but says that Chloe can’t stay over. Her brother’s got a sleepover with his annoying mate Tyler which means Freya can’t have anyone to stay. Panic rises in Chloe’s chest as she calls Kirsteen. If Kirsteen says she can’t stay over, she’ll either have to sleep rough or go back and face her dad. Tears prick at her eyes when Kirsteen gets back from speaking to her mum and says that yeah, she can stay over.
‘I had to lie though,’ Kirsteen says, ‘and tell her that your parents had to take your little brother to the hospital. She would have been suspicious otherwise.’
Chloe thanks her friend over and over until her phone runs out of battery. Then she shoves it into her bag, slings it over her shoulder, takes one last look round to check that Mike hasn’t appeared, and starts to run.
Chloe scoots up next to Kirsteen on the bed, dips her hand into the bag her friend is holding and shoves a handful of crisps into her mouth. At the far end of the tastefully decorated black and white bedroom is a huge 40" TV showing a romantic comedy Chloe has never seen before.
‘I heard your mum on the phone,’ Chloe says. ‘As I was coming out of the loo. You don’t think she was ringing my dad, do you?’
‘Why would she? She believes me.’
‘But she seemed a bit suspicious when I turned up at the door on my own.’
‘No she didn’t.’ Kirsteen gives her a dismissive look then shoves her hand into the crisp packet. ‘You’re just being paranoid.’
‘I dunno. She definitely gave me a funny look.’
Kirsteen laughs. ‘Para … para … paranoid,’ she sings the words in time with the chorus of Coldplay’s ‘Paradise’ as she whirls her forefinger in circles near her temple.
‘Para … para … paranoid.’ Chloe joins in, initially because she doesn’t want her friend to think she’s a headcase, but then the rhythm of the song seeps into her bones and she bounces up and down on the bed as she shouts the words. It’s great being at Kirsteen’s house. Her mum’s really cool and laid-back. Her dad too. She’s never heard Kirsteen complain about her parents, other than when they wouldn’t let her stay at a party until midnight. She even gets on well with her little sister Sophie. But it’s more than that, there’s a nice atmosphere at Kirsteen’s house.
It feels relaxed, just like the people in it. An idea pricks at the edge of Chloe’s brain as she reaches for her can of Diet Coke on the bedside table and takes a sip. Maybe she could ask Kirsteen’s mum if she could live with them? Kirsteen’s room is big enough to fit a second bed in. She’d sleep on a blow-up mattress on the floor if she had to. They could do their homework together and hang out watching films and stuff at the weekend. She can’t imagine her own family objecting to the idea. They’d probably be glad to see the back of her.
‘Kirst,’ she says, but her friend is engrossed in the film and doesn’t acknowledge her. ‘Kirsteen,’ she says again. ‘I had an idea. What do you reckon to me—’
‘Girls, I’d like a word please.’
Chloe and Kirsteen both start as Rebecca Crowley appears at the bedroom door. Her hands are on her hips and her eyebrows are raised.
‘Turn that off please.’ She tilts her head towards the TV. The two lead characters freeze mid-kiss as Kirsteen presses a button on the remote. ‘Right.’ She looks from her daughter to Chloe and back again. ‘I just had Chloe’s dad on the phone, frantic with worry because his daughter didn’t come home after school. Would one of you like to tell me what’s going on?’
Chloe and Kirsteen share a terrified look and, in an instant, the comfortable bubble Chloe’s been living in for the last two hours pops. Fear grips at her chest. She’s going to be in even more trouble now.
‘No?’ Rebecca says. ‘No one got anything to say for themselves? You’re lucky it’s me talking to you about this and not the police. Alan was on the verge of calling them.’
‘Mum, I’m sorry, I—’ Kirsteen starts, but her mum interrupts her.
‘I don’t want to hear it. I’m too angry. Consider yourself grounded. And no Wi-Fi for a fortnight.’