by Emmy Ellis
Amaryllis blew out a shaky breath. “I have no idea how long Craig has been watching me. I didn’t feel like anyone was, so he’s good at hiding in plain sight.”
“We’ll soon find out, especially as you said he lives on our estate.”
“So Ollie said, but he lies, so…”
“Fucking mug.” George sent a WhatsApp to Rod Clarke, their copper, to get him to run a search on McFadden. George hadn’t expected to go to the warehouse tonight, but life had a funny way of changing course on you, didn’t it, so he’d go with the flow, get his paddle out and sail on. “Don’t you worry about him. We’ll get to the truth of it.”
Greg sniffed. “What about the rounds we were meant to do?”
George gave him a filthy look. Was he taking the piss? “Fuck the rounds. This is more important. Get Will to nip and do them, send him a message. It’s only giving people a nudge to stump up late cash anyway, nothing major. Someone up there’s looking out for the tardy payers. They’ve got themselves a reprieve until we manage to get round there.” He stood and picked up his empty cup, ready to put it in the sink.
Amaryllis looked up at him. “What are you going to do?”
George smiled. “What needs doing. If this Craig’s taken snaps of those pictures like you think, we’ll get it out of him, and if he did do that, it means he’s up to no good. He’ll be right in the shit.”
She patted her bun. “What about Ollie?”
“What about him? We can sort him an’ all, if you like.”
“No,” she said. “Even though he was outside tonight, I don’t think he’ll do anything.” She explained about the blood flecks she’d kept in a baggie. “I’ll just let him know I have those if he turns up again.” But will that stand up in court?
“You won’t be here if he does. You’re coming to ours, don’t forget.”
“But I haven’t packed all my stuff.”
“Like I said, our blokes will be round, they’ll do it.” George nodded. “And seeing as this Ollie knows where you work now, if he rolls up there, the minute it smells like trouble, ring one of us. I’m not pissing around here. We don’t put up with men like him harassing our residents—and you are one, so that’s that.”
Greg seemed to come alive, find his path again. “We should kill him just for murdering Amanda.”
George grinned. “Now we’re talking.”
Amaryllis shook her head. “What if it comes back on me? Won’t the police look my way? He gets released from the nick, then gets killed.”
“Who’s going to know he’s dead?” Greg stood and walked round to place a hand on her back. “We chop them up into slices and dump them in the river. It’ll be a case of him going missing. You said he’s got no family left. Who the fuck’s going to report him as absent? No one.”
She rose, shaking. “I’ll go and sort an overnight bag.”
“You do that, love,” George said. “We’ll take care of you now.”
Chapter Seven
This was Jenny’s fifth rave, and she was Ollie’s official girlfriend now. She couldn’t believe it. Him and her together? Some people she knew in passing at The Roxy had laughed when she’d told them, like Jenny being with Ollie was something to scoff at, it couldn’t possibly happen, and she was lying. Jenny felt the same to be honest. Not about the lying bit, but the rest. She couldn’t get over it even now, but she wasn’t a pity date, he’d opened up to her, and ever since that first rave, they’d seen each other every night.
It was the stuff of dreams.
She felt like she’d known him for years, not weeks. They’d talked about so many things, and each meeting they got closer, sharing their thoughts and fears, sometimes chatting utter rubbish. At last she was in a relationship where she wasn’t ridiculed or treated like a second-class citizen. Ollie really liked her, she could tell by the way he acted with her. He was kind, attentive, and always cheered her up if she was down.
He’d asked her out properly two weeks ago; he hadn’t kissed or touched her in that way until after she’d said yes. She thought he was a gentleman for that, although that term didn’t exactly suit a twenty-eight-year-old man who looked like trouble, scruffy around the edges, dealing Es and weed on the side, something she wasn’t chuffed about, but this was Ollie, the bloke she’d fancied for so long, so she put his shifty activities to the back of her mind.
What she didn’t see couldn’t hurt her, and what she did see was a nice fella.
Despite how she felt about him, she wouldn’t be taking him home to Mum and Dad, not in his Stones T-shirt and those jeans with the rips in the knees. He’d come across as a lout, a lazy dole sponger as Mum would put it, but he had a good job at the factory, worked hard. And anyway, how could she explain he needed to spruce himself up a bit before she introduced him? It was a bit rude. Wasn’t that saying he had to change to fit in with their ideal? That they wouldn’t accept him as he was (because they wouldn’t)?
She didn’t like that idea, would be upset if he asked her to change so his mother looked upon her favourably, but thankfully, he’d made no mention of popping in to visit her parents, so that was a bridge to cross in her future, nothing to think about now. They knew she was seeing someone, that she went to stay in Landerlay every weekend, and she’d fobbed them off with the excuse that it was early days and she didn’t want to have him round until she was sure he was The One.
Mum had nodded, satisfied with that, as if Jenny was being sensible, then bustled off to make a cuppa for Dad, who hadn’t said much other than, “He’d better have a firm handshake, show me some respect when we meet, that’s all I’m saying on the matter.”
Jenny hadn’t met Ollie’s mother either, so they were on a level playing field there. He said he wouldn’t inflict that sort of woman on her, that Jenny was precious and ought to be shielded from his mum’s sharp tongue and eyes that peered into your soul, seeking out your secrets. Jenny was glad, happy with it just being them two, to be honest, no outside pressure apart from the mean girls in The Roxy. Ollie said he’d shagged a couple of them and they were jealous, take no notice, but instead of his words soothing her nerves, they worsened her jealousy. She hadn’t known he’d had sex with them, but why should it matter anyway? She’d seen him go off with so many in the past, and that hadn’t affected her. But she was his girlfriend now, so it was different. Those girls seemed to think they were his type more than Jenny, like they could snatch him off her if they wanted to.
Maybe they could.
The music sounded so loud tonight. She’d swallowed an E half an hour ago and danced like no one was watching, and in reality, they weren’t. Everyone was doped up to the eyeballs, too engrossed in their own dancing to care about hers, but she hadn’t quite reached the top level of not giving a toss, so her self-consciousness was still hanging around. Ollie was beside her, never far away, as if he couldn’t leave her alone. He’d said as much last week, going a bit red in the cheeks at the admission.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” he’d said. “I just want to be with you all the time.”
She’d laughed—he had to be joking—and told him she felt the same. And she did. She thought about him when they were apart, and once they met up for pub grub in The Flag, she relaxed, happy in his company.
He’d talked about murdering again. His mother had threatened to kick him out after a spat. She didn’t know he had the Landerlay bedsit, and Ollie said if she did, she wouldn’t have said what she had. She liked to mess with his head, apparently, dangle things over him: “If I kick you out, you’ll have nowhere to go.”
Jenny didn’t understand how you could want to upset your child like that, and for someone to hate their mother, that mother had to have done something to set them off. You didn’t just detest your mum for no reason, did you.
Like Ollie said, people didn’t know the half of it and thought he was mean for bad-mouthing the woman who’d given birth to him, but they only saw what she wanted them to, not what she’d put him throu
gh, which had all been done behind closed doors. Plus they imagined their own mother, a good mother, and couldn’t fathom detesting her.
Walk a mile in his shoes, then say he wasn’t justified in wanting to distance himself from her. Just because of who she was, didn’t give her the right to treat him how she did. Jenny understood his reasoning. Sharing blood didn’t necessarily equal unquestionable loyalty. It wasn’t your right if you were a cunning bitch in wolf’s clothing.
At last, Jenny tipped over the edge into what she called Free Oblivion, where nothing mattered apart from the music and dancing, and Ollie, how she felt. Everything else faded, didn’t mean anything, and it was as if her soul flew, free and without burdens. She drank water as she danced (Ollie had warned her to keep hydrated on an E) and laughed for no reason, smiled for no reason, and enjoyed herself.
The comedown happened two hours later, not gradually, but a great big shove into reality, as if she’d plummeted through an invisible veil between one existence and another. Gone was the happy, floating void, and in its place was an itchy feeling in her brain and the sense of claustrophobia. Too many people, too close. Now she knew Heaven on Earth existed in the form of a magic pill, she hated being thrust back into life, and even though she wasn’t exactly in proper life at the minute—she was at a rave after all—her insecurities came rushing back: What was Ollie doing with her? What did he see in her? Why did he fancy a Plain Jane?
“You’re not a Plain Jane,” he’d said once. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”
He seemed to notice her switch from euphoria to the doldrums, and he handed her an upper. She took it, no question, and soon she was flying again. Not as high as before, but enough to kiss the sky. Strobe lights flickered over the heads of three thousand or so dancers, adding to the psychedelic trip, and she laughed hard at how she’d been afraid of drugs before, how silly she’d been to think she’d end up dead from taking them. Ollie had been right: If she kept drinking water, she’d be fine.
Time passed in a blink; she had no idea how many songs she’d danced to since she’d popped the last pill, how many bottles of water she’d downed. The sky was dark, so the rave hadn’t seeped over into the early hours yet, but suddenly she’d had enough. A switch had been flicked, and she needed to get away. Her legs and feet ached, and she wanted to go back to the bedsit, sleep the sleep of the dead. Remove herself from all these people pressing in around her. Other people’s skin touched her bare arms, sticky from sweat, and their body heat felt like fire.
“Ollie,” she shouted.
He was beside her in a second, his arm around her waist, his mouth by her ear. “Want to go?”
She nodded, studying his face for signs of his state. Was he too fucked to drive? It was stupid, him using the car to get here then back to Main Street, but taxis were well expensive because the raves were a couple of miles out on the edge of Landerlay, and loads of people did the same, kipping in their cars until the sun came bursting through the windscreen, waking them, sending them home.
Someone screamed, and Jenny jumped. A scuffle broke out nearby, and Ollie steered her closer, his eyes wide. He looked manic with excitement at the fists flying, the crowd parting to form a circle around the scrappers. Red, green, and blue lights flashed on his face, and his eyes glittered from a white streak that pulsed to the beat of the music.
A man jostled Ollie, so Jenny was shoved into the person on her left, and that person went into the next, creating a domino effect. She held her hands up to apologise: It wasn’t my fault! The girl waved her off as if it didn’t matter, eyes glassy, then went on her tiptoes to watch the action.
Two men fought on the grass, rolling around trying to land punches. The inner circle converged as one, as though someone had sent out a silent command, and in the throbbing, multicoloured light, they appeared hungry for blood, a rabid pack moving forward to join in by kicking the fighters and jeering. Jenny didn’t like it. Scared, she glanced around for Ollie. Rose onto her toes to peer around people.
Wedged between two women with their backs to her, Ollie gave someone in front of him a low punch. Jenny called out for him to stop, and he whipped round, maybe in search of her. Over the heads of two other girls blocking Jenny’s path, he was smiling, his eyes massive, and he elbowed forward to get to her.
He spoke in her ear. “Got to go. Now.”
He grabbed her hand and barged through the melee, which thinned out a hundred metres or so ahead, ravers so wrecked from drugs they weren’t even aware a two-man fight had erupted into a mass brawl. They continued dancing, off in fairy land. Security would be along in a minute, seeing as the raves were organised events, and Jenny wanted to distance herself from the hassle in case the police were called. She picked up her pace along with Ollie. Near the edge of the partygoers, he put a hand into his pocket then brought it back out. What was he doing, getting his car keys?
The music wasn’t as loud here but still too noisy for talking. They weaved through the parked cars until his came into view. A man and a woman were arguing beside a VW camper van that had PEACE and LOVE stencilled on the side as well as round-petal flowers. She was crying, begging him to take her home, but he said she was a slapper and he couldn’t trust her, so she could fucking well walk.
“A slapper,” Ollie said to Jenny. “Loads of them about.”
The boyfriend got into the van and drove off, leaving his missus screaming after him, “You fucking bastard!”
Jenny’s heartrate scattered. She’d never liked fights or rows. Mum and Dad muddled along nicely, never a harsh word spoken, at least not in her presence, so she’d never experienced anything upsetting unless kids at school fell out.
“Going to Landerlay?” Ollie called to the girlfriend.
Another woman popped into Jenny’s peripheral, getting into her car, watching them as she sank into the driver’s seat. Jenny felt under the microscope, as if the driver was imprinting Jenny’s features in her head.
The girlfriend turned. “Yeah. Can I bag a lift? My dickhead of a boyfriend’s pissed off and left me.”
“Yeah, we can drop you off,” Ollie said. “No problem.” Quietly, to Jenny, “Fucking slapper.”
The girl smiled, relief lowering her shoulders. “Thanks. You’re a star.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Amanda.”
“Amanda what?”
“Cutting.”
“All right, Amanda Cutting, you can get in the back.” Ollie clicked the locks and opened the rear door for her, doing his gentleman thing again. “Just got to tell my girlfriend something a sec, then we’ll get going.”
Amanda smiled and shut the door, wiping her drying tears then peering out of the back window as if she expected her bloke to have calmed down and he was coming back to get her. Maybe they’d planned to spend the night in the van, cuddling on the bed in the back. Jenny liked the idea of that, a home on wheels, going places every weekend, but she’d always want to return to London during the week.
Ollie took her hand and led her away, stopping a few cars down. “You okay about this? Giving her a lift?”
“Well, we can’t just leave her here. Poor cow.” She thought about the other woman who was now reversing. Should she stop her and ask if she could help Amanda instead? Ollie being hung up about Amanda being a slapper chafed on Jenny’s brain.
“That’s what I thought.” Ollie laughed, a tad manic. “Listen, I’ve got something to tell you, and you’re going to love it.”
She couldn’t see his face too well now they were away from the strobes. “Go on then.”
“I just stabbed someone.” He held one hand up.
“What?” She stared at it, made out dark patches on his skin. Was that blood? She felt sick. Panicked. Her body went cold, and she had the urge to bolt. Get away from him. Never see him again. “Fucking hell, what did you do that for?”
“I wanted to see what it was like, didn’t I. The blade went in well easy. And blood’s pret
ty hot when it gushes out, Jen. For some reason, I thought it’d just be warm.”
How could he sound so casual?
“He deserved it,” he went on. “He was eyeing you up.”
“We have to tell someone. What if he…?”
“It was only a nick. He’ll be fine, and someone else will get the blame, what with the fight.”
“But you said the blood gushed.” The world seemed to spin. Ollie had stabbed someone for looking at her, and that was…excessive, too much for her to handle at the minute.
“I’m exaggerating. Come on, let’s get this slag home. Forget I said anything, all right?”
She nodded, unsure what to do, worried he might stab her if she said she wanted to go home to London. No, he wouldn’t do that. He’d said he loved her. But she could get the train once they were back in Landerlay if he didn’t want to go with her.
Frightened of what might happen, what could be happening to whoever he’d stabbed—the man she thought he’d punched?—she followed him to his car, working out how she could get some space, some time alone to think about what he’d done and what it meant for their future. You didn’t just stab someone, did you. That was weird. Wrong. What had he been thinking? Had the E sent him nuts?
Jenny got in the passenger side, her teeth chattering despite it being a warm August night. She rubbed her bare arms, chilled to the bone, that chill pure fear, and wished she were anywhere but here. Home with Mum and Dad. At work with Gail and the others. Somewhere.
“Are you okay?” Amanda sounded concerned.
“Yes. Just cold.” Jenny’s legs shook, her knees knocking together. She pressed her feet into the footwell to stop it.