by Jessie Keane
Ahead of her were more torchbeams, highlighting a horror. The grave of Polly James, the one at the top of the aisle in front of the altar, the one she knew so well, had been opened. Inside was Polly herself, the white wedding gown she’d been buried in turned yellow and crumbling with age. Polly’s skull was grinning up at them all as if in welcome.
Standing beside the grave was Jeb Cleaver, his fist wrapped around Blue’s string in a tight, choking grip. Blue’s muzzle was bound with gaffer tape. His eyes were frantic, pleading. Jeb pulled the string tighter and Blue whimpered in pain.
‘Don’t . . .’ said Claire, swallowing bile.
Then she saw the knife in Jeb’s free hand.
‘Don’t!’ Claire surged forward but strong hands held her fast. She looked back. It was the oldest Cleaver, Ciaran, his blind eye blank, the other one full of mockery at her weakness. She couldn’t move, couldn’t help. She looked back to Jeb. Her voice faltered. ‘Please don’t hurt—’
Jeb swiped the knife in one swift movement across Blue’s throat. The whimper turned into a choked cry of agony. Blood spurted. And Blue went limp. Jeb unwrapped the string from his fist, letting Blue collapse, dead, to the floor.
‘No!’ Claire shouted, her face twisted with anguish. ‘Oh God, what have you done?’
‘The same as we’ll do to you, if you don’t fucking well clear off,’ said Shauna Everett’s voice behind her.
Gasping in shock, Claire turned her head toward that voice. In the huddle of torchlit bodies, she could see Shauna standing there. Open-mouthed with disbelief, Claire stared at her.
Shauna’s dark gaze held Claire’s steadily. ‘I told you you’d be sorry.’
‘You bitch, you horrible cruel cow!’ cried Claire.
Jeb moved, grabbing Blue’s lifeless body by the front legs and tossing him in on top of Polly James. Ribs snapped and dust rose in the torchlight, mouldy and stinking of the grave, as Blue’s body thumped down on the skeletal remains.
‘You see that?’ said Shauna, pointing.
‘I’ll get you for this,’ said Claire, panting against Ciaran’s restraining bulk. ‘You bitch, you’ll pay for this.’
‘I said, do you see?’ said Shauna more harshly, grabbing Claire’s chin and directing her gaze to the grave.
Claire said nothing. Horrified tears poured down her face. They’d killed Blue.
‘Because that is what is going to happen to you if you don’t fuck off, Claire Milo,’ said Shauna. ‘This ain’t a joke. I’m not playing with you. I’m serious. You go – anywhere, I don’t give a shit – tonight, and you don’t come back. Not ever. You stay away from the camp and you don’t contact your folks ever again. I hear you’ve been in touch with your mum or dad, or that twat of a sister of yours or that mad old bat your Nanny Irene, and this is what’s going to happen to them. You got me? They’re going to get their throats cut, just like that damned dog of yours. You stay away from them all, and from Josh Flynn.’ A satisfied smirk twisted her face. ‘Good fight, wasn’t it? And he won, just like he said he would.’
‘How . . . ?’ Claire stared at Shauna and then, despite her panic and revulsion, she realized. ‘He wouldn’t tell you that! You been listening to us talking.’
‘Damn sure she has,’ said Ciaran. ‘And fucking good job, or we’d have lost a packet.’
‘The wedding’s off,’ said Claire, feeling nausea rising up to choke her, feeling literally sick with fear. But if they were talking about her going, then perhaps she was going to get out of this unharmed. And Shauna would be pleased with the news that the wedding was cancelled. That at least might make her see reason.
‘You what?’ It stopped Shauna in her tracks.
‘It’s off,’ gasped out Claire. ‘I hate the fight game and I wanted a big wedding. Josh loves to fight and he don’t want all the fuss, he . . . well, we couldn’t agree. It’s off. It’s over.’
Shauna was shaking her head. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s true.’
‘Nah, you’re lying. You’re lying. Listen – I want you gone. That’s all I want. You, out of the way, for good. Or you and your whole bloody family go the same way as that vicious mutt of yours. That’s a promise.’ Shauna reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. ‘Take this.’ She stuffed the notes into Claire’s skirt pocket. ‘You take this money – I got it out of your bottom drawer; your wedding savings, eh? – and you fuck off.’
Shauna went over to the wall of the church and snatched up a suitcase Claire recognized. It was hers. And of course it would have been easy for her to get into the Milo trailer. No one on the site ever locked their doors; there was no need.
‘I packed some of your stuff for you,’ said Shauna, dumping the case at Claire’s feet. She came in close to Claire, stared at her, nose to nose. ‘So you go tonight, you got that? And you never come back. I hear so much as a whisper that you’ve been in touch with anyone on the campsite, I’ll get them. And then I swear I’ll come and get you.’
Claire was trembling with terror. She nodded. Right now, with Blue dead in front of her, Ciaran Cleaver restraining her and Shauna looking at her like that, she would have agreed to anything. ‘All right. I’ll go.’
‘Good,’ said Shauna, and moved away down the aisle. Then she glanced back at Ciaran, at Jeb. ‘All yours,’ she said.
Claire watched her go for a moment, then suddenly she knew what was to happen next. Ciaran shoved her from behind. She sprawled forward and fell on to the hard flagstones, bruising her knees and her arm. Pain seared through her left wrist. Jeb came closer too. Panicking, Claire started to scrabble to her feet. Jeb shoved her back down.
‘No!’ she cried out, but Ciaran was on her in an instant, pinning her with his weight.
‘Hold her,’ he said to Jeb, and Jeb grabbed her flailing arms while Ciaran started pulling at her clothes.
Oh Christ, help me! thought Claire.
But no one came. No one helped.
Outside in the hot still air, Shauna heard Claire’s screams. No one else would, of course; the church was well out of the way. She heard Claire’s frantic cries, and she relished them.
Now, with that troublesome little cunt out of the way, the field would be clear. Josh Flynn would – at last – be hers. She would make sure of it.
12
When Shauna got back to the camp, she felt a guilty start as she saw a big figure moving across the clearing. He had a bag in his hand and was lit by bright moonlight, the dying fire and the fainter glow of the tilley lamps.
‘Josh?’ she called out, feeling her cheeks go red. She was thankful for the semi-darkness. Her hands were shaking and her guts churned up. She had committed herself to a great goal now, and standing right here in front of her was the prize at the end of it: Josh Flynn. She’d wanted him for so long, and now . . . She thought of Claire Milo down there in the dell, getting God knew what done to her by the Cleavers. She had caused that. And the killing of the dog. But this was all part of the plan and it was no good having doubts now. She had to press on with this.
‘Josh?’ she said again when he didn’t answer. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’
She was glad nobody else was about. And that her folks were out. They were always out, they’d been out nearly every night of her life. Even when she was tiny, they’d be off boozing or down the bookies, and they’d never given it a second thought, they’d just left her in her cot, alone. They were a cold pair. Maybe they’d made her that way, too.
Shauna couldn’t see Josh’s eyes, but his movements were slow and almost bewildered as she approached him. Shauna reached out, took one of his big hands in hers. ‘Josh? What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, sounding strange, his words almost slurring. He shook her hand off, went over to the Milo trailer and banged on the closed door. ‘Claire!’ he shouted. ‘Come on, Claire, open up. Let’s talk!’
‘Don’t she usually take the dog out walking late?’ suggested Shauna. ‘I don’t th
ink she’s in there, Josh. What’s up? You two had a row?’
His eyes turned toward her. He seemed almost to see her there for the first time. ‘The wedding’s off,’ he said.
Christ! So it was true, what Claire had said. Images flipped through her mind. Dark blood spurting from Blue’s throat as Ciaran cut it. Claire, her face white as snow as she pleaded with her. Those terrified screams, echoing around the dell.
‘That’s it. I’m through with all this shit. I’m clearing out,’ he said.
‘You’re doing what?’ Shauna choked out a laugh. Josh had been here all his life, just like she had.
‘I’m going, Shauna.’
‘Don’t be daft. Going where?’
‘Anywhere. Anywhere that ain’t here.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Now she grabbed his hand and held on to it. Despite the heat of the night, his flesh felt cold. ‘Come in for a mo, OK?’
She tugged and for a moment he resisted; then his shoulders slumped and he followed, meek as a lamb. She went up the steps to her family’s trailer and he went too. Then she closed the door behind him and went to where Dad kept his whisky. She slopped some into a glass and handed it to Josh as he stood there in the centre of the room, dwarfing everything around him.
Josh took the drink, raised it to his lips, drank the liquid down in one long swallow. He still held his bag in his hand. His face was bruised, his knuckles red.
Feeling nervous, Shauna flicked on the radio. Now it had come to the crunch, she felt unsure and she was wondering if she really could turn this thing to her advantage. Abba were singing ‘Waterloo’. Well, Claire Milo had for damned sure met her Waterloo tonight.
‘What you talking about going for, then?’ she asked, her smile covering her anxiety. ‘You’re a big man now, Josh. You beat Matty O’Connor.’
‘I wasn’t supposed to,’ said Josh, putting the empty glass aside. ‘I was supposed to throw the fight. Cloudy had it all sorted. But I didn’t do it.’
‘Right,’ said Shauna.
‘It’s all over – me and Claire. That’s all off,’ said Josh.
‘Why’s it off, Josh?’ she asked. Christ, this was a miracle. It was a bloody gift. Tonight her and Jeb and Ciaran had done things – bad things, she supposed – and maybe they hadn’t needed to even bother. But no. It was better – neater – this way.
‘Claire don’t like the fight game. She can’t take it. And after tonight, not throwing the match, I suppose I could be in the shit. So I’ll clear out and things will cool down.’
‘I saw her there tonight. At the fight.’ And later.
‘Yeah. She don’t like it, Shauna. She hates it.’
Shauna saw raw pain in his eyes. He’d been with Claire all his life, he loved the silly bitch. Shauna couldn’t see why. Josh was a king in the making; Claire? She’d never measure up to him, not in a million years. Shauna was the one he should be with. And now – if she played her cards right – he would be. Everything was falling just right.
‘So where will you go then?’ she asked.
‘Far away from here as I can. No point staying.’
‘If you keep fighting, drawing a crowd, all those that lost money on the fight will come after you.’ The Cleavers hadn’t lost a penny. She knew that. But Josh didn’t.
Josh shrugged. ‘Once they cool down, they’ll forget it.’
‘Josh, you can’t just go.’
‘Watch me.’
‘Then . . . I’ll come with you.’
Josh blinked, seemed to focus on her properly. ‘You what?’
‘I’ll come too. Keep you company.’ There was no way Shauna was letting Josh just vanish out of her life now. Tonight was a turning point for both of them. Claire was history. They – she and Josh – would be a great match. All she had to do was make Josh see that.
‘Don’t be fucking daft,’ he said.
‘I’m serious, Josh. I got nothing to stay here for. Only Mum and Dad, and they’re off out every night getting pissed, they’re never here. They don’t give a shit about me. And I don’t give a shit about them.’
Josh stood there, staring at her. Then he shrugged, indifferent.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘If you want. Pack a bag. And hurry the fuck up.’
13
It was gone twelve by the time Josh parked up outside a tatty-looking little B & B with a vacancies sign up, on the outskirts of Andover.
‘You’d better stay here, let me go in first,’ said Shauna, picking up her handbag and carryall. ‘They take one look at that beat-up mug of yours, they’re going to slam the door in both our faces.’
Not waiting for a reply, she went up the path to the house. She banged on the brass knocker. It was some time before lights were switched on inside the house and a sixtyish man in a dressing gown came to the door, opening it halfway.
‘What the fuck time d’you call this?’ he asked.
Shauna turned on her megawatt smile, hitting him with the charm offensive, tucking her left hand into her coat pocket.
‘I’m sorry it’s so late. We broke down on the road, got the car started again, and we just need a place to bed down for the night. When we saw your sign, my husband and me, we thought you might still be able to put us up. I know it’s late. I’m sorry.’
She could see the man thawing. He stepped back, running a hand over his dishevelled hair.
‘You come far then?’ he asked.
‘All the way down from Yorkshire,’ lied Shauna. ‘We’re visiting my husband’s parents in Bournemouth – his dad’s sick.’
‘Well . . . I’m sorry to hear it.’
‘You’ve got a room free then?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ll go help my husband fetch the rest of the stuff,’ said Shauna, and nipped back down the path before he could change his mind.
She threw open the car door. ‘We’re in,’ she said to Josh. ‘We’re a married couple and we’ve come from Yorkshire and we’re visiting my folks in Bournemouth. My dad’s ill. OK?’
Josh nodded, picked up his bag, and together they went into the B & B. The hallway was shabby, with a dusty grandfather clock gloomily ticking away the hours. There was a half-moon table against the wall with the day’s papers on it. One of them showed that London had had its hottest day in thirty-five years, and in Malaysia ten Japanese terrorists who took over the US Embassy had left for Libya. Shauna saw the B & B owner’s eyes open wide in alarm when he saw Josh.
‘What the fuck happened to you then?’ he demanded.
‘He had a fight with his brother. Boxed his ears proper for him. The brother didn’t want to come with us, his poor old dad on his deathbed too, I think that’s disgusting, don’t you?’ said Shauna. She was so convincing, she half-believed it herself.
‘Families got to stick together,’ said the man, stepping back as Josh and Shauna crowded into the hall.
‘That’s right,’ said Shauna. ‘That’s what we told him, but he wasn’t having none of it.’
‘I’ll show you up,’ said the man, and led the way up the dingy carpeted stairs.
He paused on a landing lit with a forty-watt bulb that cast a depressingly low light. ‘In here,’ he said, and opened a white-painted door, stepping inside and flicking on a stark circular fluorescent.
The bedroom was tiny, dominated by a double bed covered by an orange candlewick bedspread. There was a window with purple curtains pulled closed. It was hot as hell in here, stifling.
‘Bathroom’s at the end of the hall, my missus has the plug. You want a bath in the morning, ask her for it.’
Shauna stared at the man. Fuck’s sake! She’d heard of tight, but that was water tight, like a duck’s arse.
‘Breakfast is sharp at eight downstairs. And it’s twenty quid, all in. Money up front.’
It wasn’t exactly cheap, but at least it was a bed. Josh got out a twenty and it vanished into the man’s dressing-gown pocket faster than you could say knife.
‘Sleep well then,’ he sa
id, and went out the door, closing it behind him.
Josh put his bag on the bed and Shauna followed suit. There was nowhere else to put their things, except on the floor. No lamps by the bed, there wasn’t even room for a chair. She went straight to the window and flung it open, but there was no cooling breeze; the night air was humid as a damp flannel.
‘Well, here we are,’ said Josh.
‘Yeah,’ said Shauna, and suddenly she was nervous.
She’d wanted this for a long time – but now it was actually happening, she felt awkward. If she had ever daydreamed about her and Josh – and she had – the scene would go like this: Josh would fall on his knees and propose to her, say he didn’t know what the hell he’d ever seen in Claire Milo, that he’d kicked the dozy bitch aside. That he wanted Shauna, he always had. And then there would be wedding bells, blissful marriage, the works.
But . . . this wasn’t that. Josh was still in love with Claire. Shauna was here because she had insisted on keeping him company. She felt a stab of despair at the situation. But she was tough; she’d make the best of it. Now that drippy tart Claire was off the scene, he would come to see that Shauna was the right woman for him. He had to.
‘Better get some shut-eye then,’ said Josh, and took both bags off the bed and tossed them on to the floor. He threw back the covers.
Shauna looked dubiously at the purple nylon sheet. She sniffed, guessing that it hadn’t been washed after the last occupants of the bed had departed.
‘Jesus,’ she grimaced.
‘It’s a bed,’ he shrugged.
‘I’m not taking my clothes off to lie in that,’ she said.
‘Keep ’em on then,’ he said, his tone weary, and he kicked off his shoes and lay down.
Shauna’s mouth dropped open to rage at him for the insult. The clear message was that he didn’t give a toss whether she was buck-naked or fully dressed, but then she shut up. What was the point? This was a start, that was all. The rest? She could work on it.
‘Turn the light off,’ he said, yawning.
Shauna turned it off, stumbled over the bags in the darkness, cursed. She groped her way to the bed, took off her shoes, lay down, and tried to sleep.