The Scorched Earth

by Rachael Blok

  Ana wonders when she will go back to not being afraid on her own. At which point will she stand on her own with a man and not feel as though she should know where her escape route is? Ben had given her that. Ben alone had taken nothing from her.

  ‘This is Jack. The one from the deal at work. The one who was with me on the Tube when I fell.’

  ‘The one accused of pushing you?’ Maisie comes out. She walks between Ana and Jack and puts her hands on her hips. ‘If you’re not gone by the time I’ve counted to three, we’re going to call the police. Ana, go and get the phone. One.’

  ‘But what else can I do? I just wanted to tell you it wasn’t me. I just wanted you to know…’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘This is ridiculous! Why would I push you under a train? For fuck’s sake!’

  ‘Three.’ Maisie takes the phone from Ana and presses the buttons, calling the numbers out loud: ‘Nine, nine, nine.’

  ‘Alright, I’ll go. I’m sorry.’ His shoulders sag in defeat.

  Ana would feel sorry for him, but for the fact that she’s sick of feeling sorry for men.

  ‘Ana, call me when this is done. Please. I’ll leave it for you to call me, but please do. This can’t be how it ends. I want you to know I wasn’t trying to hurt you.’

  As he disappears round the corner, Maisie’s shoulders drop a little, her head softens and she shrugs. ‘Loser,’ she says.

  ‘I don’t think he did it,’ Ana says.

  ‘No, I don’t either. But since when did how he feels about this become more important than how you feel? You’re the one who almost bloody died. And if it wasn’t him, then who was it? He wasn’t backing down there, not without a threat.’

  ‘Girls, you OK?’ their mum calls.

  ‘Yes, Mum, just coming,’ Maisie calls back.

  Ana squeezes Maisie’s hand. ‘Love you.’

  57

  Two Years Earlier

  June

  LEO

  ‘Are you there?’ Leo calls. The tent is zipped partway. The sun is falling and the colours of the sky are red, violet, blue, silver and gold.

  There’s a sound from inside the tent.

  Leo bends. Ben’s face is red with weeping. He sits in a ball, smoking. He hasn’t smoked for years.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Leo says, and this time he feels it. What has he done?

  Ben doesn’t speak immediately, the silence uncomfortable. Leo tries to read his face, to gauge where they’re at.

  It’s slow when he does speak. Ben’s voice is raw. ‘Mate, I’ve been thinking. I know how you get. I get that you two were best friends. I get it. I never thought it would be a problem.’ He takes a drag and blows smoke up and out, drinking from the beer that sits by his foot. ‘You know she’s never said a word?’

  Leo shakes his head. ‘She loves you, Ben. She loves you. It was stupid. We were beyond drunk. It wasn’t even real. I was a mess.’ He drops to the floor, crawling into the tent, tying up the flaps and letting in the night air, which drifts around them.

  ‘Did you tell her about Caitlin?’ Ben asks.

  Leo looks out over the sea. To be honest, he can’t even remember. ‘I think so. I think I told her what happened with the pregnancy. I don’t think I said who it was.’

  ‘Well then, no wonder. If she thought I’d told you to ditch your pregnant girlfriend, I can imagine how she might react. She probably hated me that night. I hate myself sometimes.’

  ‘You do?’ Leo is surprised. ‘I didn’t realise you thought about it.’

  Ben laughs, like a shout, like a car backfiring. ‘Of course I fucking do! You don’t think I blame myself? You were only fifteen, for God’s sake. What the fuck were you supposed to do? You came to me and I let you down.’

  Wrapping his arms around his knees, Leo tucks his chin on top, feeling fifteen again. ‘It was still me. It was still me who let it happen. I should have been better. You were thinking about protecting me. I should have been thinking about protecting her.’ She had been his first girlfriend. He’d held her hand nervously on their first date.

  Ben looks at him. He passes him the cigarette and Leo takes it, the sharp burn of smoke catching the back of his throat.

  ‘How do we move on?’ he asks, and Leo shakes his head.

  The sound of birds calling, of the trees moving with a sudden burst of wind – Leo listens as he thinks of the future. ‘Will you tell Ana what I’ve told you, that we slept together?’

  ‘She already knows, mate! You mean tell her that I know too?’ Ben’s laugh is sardonic. He shrugs. ‘Probably not. I need a bit of time. I need to let it settle first.’ He looks at Leo. ‘Just the once?’

  Leo nods. ‘Yes. It won’t happen again. It wasn’t about the sex.’

  ‘You still angry with me?’ Ben asks.

  The stillness of the evening is loud. It must be about 10 p.m. now. Leo nods slowly, like he’s confessing to theft. ‘Yes, I think so. I think sometimes I’m blind with rage. But it passes. It doesn’t last for ever. I can’t seem to shake it. I don’t know how to get rid of it.’ The last words are a whisper. He’s not sure Ben’s heard, but he sees his brother nod.

  He’d been fifteen, almost sixteen. Katie was about six months older and he thought maybe she was hung-over when he’d watched her vomit after school, when he’d held back her hair and asked her why she was so sick again.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she’d said between hurls, her skin clammy and her face grey. ‘I’m pregnant, Leo.’

  He’d dropped her bag and run home. Chased by the idea of a loss of future, of a vanishing youth. Ben had been in and he’d cried in the kitchen. He’d had a few missed calls from Katie but he’d just stared at the phone, frozen by fear.

  ‘What is it?’ Ben had said, coming in to get Coke from the fridge and opening the biscuit tin.

  ‘Katie’s pregnant,’ he’d said, before sitting at the kitchen table, his hands shaking.

  ‘Shit.’ Ben had sat down, pulling a chair round and sitting astride it. ‘It’s yours?’

  Leo had shrugged. ‘I guess so. I didn’t wait around to ask. Fuck, Ben, what am I going to do?’

  Ben had shaken his head, drinking Coke and tapping his foot furiously on the floor. ‘Fuck. Well, first of all, give her some space. Whatever you do, don’t go over there offering marriage or anything. You only did it once! Why didn’t you use a condom? I told you to use a condom!’

  ‘I did! We did!’ Leo was crying now. ‘I bought them from Boots. How can she get pregnant from one time, with a condom?’

  ‘Fuck, Leo. Did you fuck it up?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Leo had cried and cried. He’d ignored all of Katie’s calls for the next two days. He hadn’t gone to the disco that night. The whole school had gone and he knew Katie was still going. He couldn’t face her.

  Finally, after three days of feigning the flu, he’d imagined his baby. He thought of Katie going to a clinic on her own, and he’d called her, but it had gone straight to voicemail.

  He’d got dressed and headed downstairs. He had to face her.

  It had been then, just as he passed through the front gate, that their neighbour, Alice, had come running out of the house in tears. ‘Leo! Leo!’ she’d screamed. ‘Have you heard?’

  The dread that had hit him then hits him now. The idea of Katie, hanging in the woods. He’d killed her. He’d abandoned her.

  ‘I’ll get you a beer.’ Ben begins to crawl past him.

  ‘No, I’ll go,’ Leo says, suddenly needing the air. Outside, thinking of the guilt he can’t shift, Leo stares across the sea. The ocean is flat, unmoving, like time has stopped.

  There’s a shout below, and Leo shakes himself, forcing himself out of his reverie, seeing a cyclist fall from his bike, coming fast down the coastal path.

  The sea is flat and indigo. Long boats lie still on the edge of the horizon.

  58

  Wednesday 27th June

  MAARTEN

  Maarten taps the desk. The coffee
in front of him is now tepid, with a swirl of white forming across the skim of the surface. Although Transport has closed the file on Jack Thurbridge, with the CCTV not conclusive either way, some idiot who had been at the Tube station had given a press interview and had released Jack’s name. He’d heard it during all the furore. There would be questions soon. No one liked the eye of the media staring at them – the station would be under fire to either confirm or deny.

  Adrika had updated the team that morning: ‘We’ve got the identity on the body finally. Leo Fenton, as sure as they can be.’ There had been gasps, but they’d been expecting it since Norfolk. They just need the final pieces.

  Maarten isn’t sure if Thurbridge pushed Ana. But it still feels significant. The act of Ana falling was more than a coincidence. There is too much here, too many happenings for this to be an accident, a simple trick of fate.

  And the cyclist. They had got nowhere with it. The only person who had seen the cyclist was Ben Fenton. There are circles around his notes, doodles and question marks.

  ‘Adrika?’ He leans and taps the glass wall of his office, mouthing her name.

  ‘Yes?’ she says, walking in.

  ‘Do we have a photo of Jack Thurbridge? Not a police one, where he looks guilty, but any other one? One where he looks natural, like a cyclist you’d invite for a drink.’

  ‘He’s got a Facebook page. I could print one off, but he’s wearing some kind of hat dress-up – like a photo booth picture. It’s not great for ID. I tried to call earlier, but I can’t get hold of him. I tried his flat and his work. I hope he’s not taken himself off somewhere with all the press attention. Be useful to ask him for a photo.’ She purses her lips. ‘Wait a minute, Ana Seabrook sent something through. She’d shown Sunny a picture she’d taken of the trial group and he’d asked her to send it over. Hang on.’ She disappears.

  Maarten drinks the coffee. Why is it you can buy iced coffee and hot coffee, and they both taste perfectly reasonable, but lukewarm coffee tastes like bile?

  Sunny enters. ‘Alright, sir. Adrika says you want the photo of Thurbridge. Here we go. Seabrook showed it to me during her statement about her relationship to Thurbridge. I wondered if it would be useful.’

  ‘Sunny, you are doing really well at the moment. You’re going over and above. Could be time for you to think about your next set of exams.’

  Slipping his hands in his pockets, Sunny reddens under the praise. His blond hair flops forward as he nods his thanks and steps backwards out of the room.

  The photo is of a group of people in hospital gowns, with Jack Thurbridge in the middle. There’s also another man, the lawyer from Seabrook’s office, looking stiff and slightly uncomfortable, but Thurbridge is front and centre, smiling widely. It’s a great photo.

  ‘Sunny!’ he calls.

  Turning and coming back in, Sunny nods. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Fancy taking this up to Ben Fenton to ID first thing tomorrow? The drive’s not too bad. Could you get him to have a look at this? See if he recognises Thurbridge as the cyclist? It’s a bit of a long shot. Head home afterwards. No need to come back into the office.’

  ‘No problem.’ Sunny disappears and Maarten takes another sip of the coffee, gagging. He puts the mug down and looks out of the window. A vague theory forming in his mind.

  59

  Thursday 28th June

  BEN

  ‘Oi, why does he get out and I have to sit in this oven? Not fucking fair, innit. I’m only asking for what he gets. Fucking special is he…’

  Kiz’s voice rattles on as Ben is led down the platform, gradually fading as he moves further away. He can see over the barrier on his left, and Macca is down there, looking up at him. A sneer on his face, in his eyes. Ben is being watched.

  Ben doesn’t blame Kiz. The cell is hotter than an oven. There’d been an item on daytime television about how hot it needs to be in places of work before you should be able to be legally sent home. Apparently, there is no current limit but this heatwave has produced calls for a limit to be set. What about in here? They sweat and sit. Lethargy seeps in. Frustration, anger – both fermenting. Brewing.

  Ben is also pleased to be out of the cell just to be moving. The news that morning had reported a man allegedly had tried to push Ana under a train. He still hasn’t quite calmed down. He’d spoken to her over the weekend and she’d told him about the incident, but had played it down, said that she’d fallen only on the platform. But a murky phone-video has been released to the press. She’d fallen further than the platform. He burns with rage. That he’s stuck in here, and can’t go to her.

  ‘Police in here, Benny. Best behaviour, eh.’ Burke nods as he opens the door.

  A blond man in plain, dark clothes stands. ‘Hello, I’m DS Atkinson. I work with DCI Jansen, who you met last time?’

  Ben sits as the man explains he has a photo, that they have a possible picture of the cyclist. Is it him? Ben’s stomach growls like it’s hungry, his blood hot. His senses on red alert.

  He tries not to grab it as the photo comes into view over the other side of the table. He stretches out his hand for it prematurely, before the officer has finished speaking. Pulls it from him a little.

  ‘Here, is this him?’ The policeman nods to the photo on the table Ben holds. There’s a group of people, some look overweight, all dressed in their gowns, with their arms around each other.

  Looking down, he sees the face, and his pulse quickens further. His head shakes, his hands shake. He can see the policeman watching him. He tries to speak but it takes a moment.

  ‘Fuck,’ Ben says, lifting the photo to his face. ‘Fuck.’

  He goes to speak but the face… The face is burned in his brain, the whole night is branded behind his lids, pressed into his memory in hot reels on the end of a blacksmith’s iron.

  ‘That’s him. I’m sure that’s him. The cyclist. I mean, he’s quite distinctive, he stands out. It’s him.’

  ‘Really?’ The policeman pulls out his phone, pressing a number. ‘You need to be sure.’

  ‘Yes, I know him. The one in the centre of the photo. It’s not a face I’ve thought about, not on purpose, but it’s been in my dreams. I can’t shake those twenty-four hours. They just appear.’ He feels dizzy, but also alive. This must be it, this must be the thing that sets him free. No, he’d never really thought of it before, not from that angle. ‘And he’s the one who pushed Ana under a train? He tried to kill her?’

  ‘There’s an allegation.’

  The policeman smiles at him, then leans to the side. His phone is lit. ‘Adrika, it’s me. He’s confirmed. Can you let the guv know when you get the message? On my way back.’

  ‘You.’ Ben lifts it again, looking closely. He taps the centre of the photo, wiping a tear from his face, rubbing his forehead hard with the base of his hand. ‘But why?’ he asks, staring at the face. ‘Why would he do it?’

  60

  Friday 29th June

  ANA

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘Who?’ Ana says, smiling at the DI. It’s the one she likes, with the brown bob, who had dealt easily with Fabian.

  ‘Jack Thurbridge. The last sighting we have is his car heading towards Ayot, heading towards your pub.’

  Ana notes she’s not smiling today. She’s not angry, but she looks official. Less sympathetic than she has been. Ana is hot. She’s just back from a run and she hasn’t even had a drink. Her mouth is dry, and she’s sticky with sweat, her head light. She’s been running off the demons.

  ‘Oh, yes. He was here the other day. He came early in the morning. I’d been for a run…’ Ana lets the sentence trail away. The expression on the DI’s face is unchanged. She already knew he had been here. That hadn’t been the real question.

  Ana opens the door wide and stands back. ‘Do you want to come in?’ she says, thinking it seems like there’s something serious to say. Thinking she needs a drink, her throat parched.

  The DI looks left and right, like she’s
checking for someone. But there’s no one else here. She doesn’t move.

  Ana can hear Jess inside, putting the bucket away. The door to the cupboard under the stairs closes. Her footsteps sound on the stone floor.

  She tries again. ‘Look, the cleaner is just finishing. I’ll be on my own if you want to speak privately about something. Is it Ben? Is there news about Ben?’

  ‘All done,’ Jess says. She’s wearing a T-shirt with Wonder Woman on the front. She changes into her purple trainers beside Ana, putting her inside shoes into her bag. ‘I’ll be off, then.’

  It will be all over the village later, that the police were here again. That something’s brewing.

  ‘Thanks, Jess,’ Ana says, smiling, willing her to just leave. The DI has brought a tension with her and dread lies across Ana’s stomach. The DI hasn’t smiled once. If Ben were ill, surely she’d be looking sympathetic. It’s something else, but how many more things can there be?

  ‘Off to the hospital?’ she asks Jess.

  ‘Yes, looks like Aggie’s getting out today or tomorrow. Going to put her in a home. She can’t look after herself any more. Can’t face the prospect of any more home fires. At least I won’t have to make the trip to Stevenage any more. Costing me all my favours in lifts and spare change on the bus.’

  The DI steps back, allowing Jess to pass. They both watch her walk over the gravel, exit under the sign for the pub.

  ‘Please,’ Ana says, ‘what is it? Please tell me.’

  ‘Jack Thurbridge hasn’t been seen for a few days. The last known sighting we have of him is on his way here. You’ve confirmed his arrival. Ana, can you tell me what happened?’

  Ana can hear a buzzing in her ears, at first faint, but it grows louder. She rubs her right ear with her hand, batting away an imaginary bee. It grows louder still.

  The DI seems to take her silence as refusal to speak. Her face hardens further. ‘Ana, we need to get a full statement about Jack’s visit.’