by Mark Tufo
‘What then?’
Michelle paused again, knowing she shouldn’t say anything, but also knowing Jackie was right. This wasn’t her burden, why should she have to carry it? ‘Scott and I had a fight,’ she said, still unsure. ‘Can’t even remember what it was about now. Anyway, he got wound up and left the house in a temper.’
‘And...?’
‘And he had an accident. Kid just walked straight out in front of him and he hit her.’
‘Jeez...’
Michelle was shaking her head. ‘She was only six. They said it was her fault, that she shouldn’t have been out on her own. I mean, Scott was cleared and everything, but I still can’t help thinking...’
‘... that if you two hadn’t been fighting, it might not have happened?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Shit, Chelle, I’m sorry.’
‘Problem is, most folks aren’t so forgiving, especially those who knew Scott and knew what he’s like. They decided he was guilty before he went to court, and even afterwards they still blamed him. We had bricks through the window, graffiti on the garage door... That’s why the business went under, Jackie, and that’s why we’re here.’
Sophia, Jackie’s little girl, waddled over to her mother and handed her a remote control. It was sticky. Jackie wiped it clean on her dressing gown. ‘Beebies,’ Sophia said, and Jackie switched on the TV, thankful of the interruption.
‘Thank Christ for children’s TV, that’s all I can say,’ she said to Michelle.
‘Tell me about it. George watches the same two DVDs over and over. It does my head in, but it’s worth it. I’d never get anything done otherwise. It’s the only time he leaves me alone.’
‘Aye aye,’ Jackie said, pausing as she flicked through the TV channels, fighting off Sophia who tried to get the remote control back so she could put on the channel she’d asked for. ‘Look at this. We’ve made the news.’
Jackie’s television was too big for the room. It dominated one corner and, once it was on, its size demanded it be watched. There was an aerial shot of the train line on screen, pictures taken last night before the track was reopened. The police were out in force again with their garden gazebos and protective suits, unspooling miles more ‘do not cross’ tape. It reminded Michelle of the footage they’d been watching the other night, when they’d found that poor woman in the woods. Maybe Potter had something to do with that too? ‘It’s a terrible thing.’
‘From what Dez says, I don’t think Ken Potter was the type.’
‘Is there a type?’
‘Who knows. You never really know folks though, eh? Just goes to show.’
‘I guess,’ Michelle mumbled, distracted by something she was reading at the bottom of the screen. ‘Another body?’
‘What?’
‘They’re saying there’s more of them, look. Potter, the girl in his back garden, the woman in the woods last weekend, and two more.’
‘Shit, really?’
‘Look. Some guy in a village last week, and another one found between Falrigg and Potter’s house. Jesus, your man’s been busy.’
‘Someone in the shop was sayin’ last night that Ken Potter used to go walking out on Falrigg. I heard the woman there was killed the same way as the girl in his garden. They’re saying he did the same thing to both of them, apparently. Messed with them... mutilated them. Loads of blood, I heard. Nosy old cow in the post office said he sliced them up and left them to bleed out. Said it was sexual...’
‘Careful, Jackie,’ Michelle said, lowering her voice and nodding at the kids. ‘You never know what they’ll pick up on.’
Jackie nodded, but continued anyway. ‘You heard what he did, didn’t you? Threw himself in front of a train, apparently. I tell you, Chelle, it’s properly rattled some folks round here. They don’t know what to do with themselves.’
‘It all feels so close,’ Michelle said. ‘Too close.’ She watched the TV footage of the police operation; helicopter patrols, house to house enquiries, support drafted in from other forces... ‘Back in Redditch everything felt like it had some distance, you know? There was always hundreds of other people around to cushion the blow. Always some space between you and the rest of the world. It’s not like that here.’
‘Beebies!’ Sophia screamed, and Jackie changed channel, the perma-happy presenters and brightly designed sets of children’s TV immediately replacing the grim reality of the Thussock murders. It was a relief, and for the next few hours Jackie and Michelle drank coffee, ate junk food, and alternated between kids’ programmes and banal daytime TV. Michelle revelled in the mediocrity, feeling herself beginning to properly relax for the first time since arriving in town.
Chapter 60
‘There’s a cinema in Thussock?’ Tammy said, not sure how she’d managed to miss something like that. ‘What’s on?’
‘Don’t know. I heard about it yesterday,’ Michelle explained as Scott parked the car. ‘It’s around here somewhere. Let’s go and have a look.’ Before anyone could say anything else, Michelle was up out of her seat. She ushered Phoebe out onto the pavement then leant inside and plucked George from his booster. She moved with far more conviction than the rest of her family. ‘Come on,’ she said, looking back at them, ‘what’s the matter with you lot?’
‘We’re coming,’ Tammy said. ‘Jesus, what’s the hurry?’
Michelle took the handle of George’s buggy from Scott then lowered her son down and strapped him in. ‘No hurry, I just want us to have a nice day out together, that’s all.’ She was off before any of them had a chance to respond.
They were looking for bright lights and neon, and so walked past the cinema twice before they found it. It was little more than an entrance between two shops, barely signposted and hardly lit. Three white steps up into a small, dark foyer, it looked more like an office than a cinema. Tammy’s heart sank when she saw it. She cursed herself for getting her hopes up. She should have known better by now. ‘This it?’
‘Guess so,’ Scott said as he and Phoebe studied the ‘now showing’ poster.
‘Any good films on?’ Michelle asked hopefully.
‘Film,’ Phoebe corrected her, ‘not films. There’s only one screen.’
‘You’re kidding me,’ Tammy said, moving closer and running her eyes down the listing. This was like one of those fleapit cinemas she’d seen when they’d been on holiday to the coast: single daily showings of films which had done the rounds months ago in Redditch. ‘Seen, seen, seen,’ she said, ‘don’t want to see...’
‘Well this is a bit of a let down,’ Scott said. ‘I’d got myself all psyched up to see something decent.’
‘Any kids films on this afternoon?’ Michelle asked hopefully.
‘No films on this afternoon,’ Phoebe told her. ‘There’s a horror movie on at eight tonight, and some historical rubbish on tomorrow.’
‘No films on a Saturday afternoon?’ Scott said, barely able to believe it. ‘How can they expect to make any money when they’re not showing films at peak times? It’s a bloody joke.’
‘Maybe it’s not about making money,’ Michelle said. ‘Look around, love, there’s hardly anyone here. I think it’s got more to do with not losing cash.’
‘Great,’ Tammy said, feeling herself getting wound up again. ‘What now then?’
‘Food,’ Michelle replied quickly, determined to keep her family positive and occupied. ‘Follow me.’
Jackie had given Mary’s café a tentative seal of approval yesterday, though it had more to do with the lack of alternatives in Thussock than any great culinary recommendation.
‘I’ll drive us somewhere else,’ Scott said when they reached the café.
‘Why?’ Michelle replied. ‘What’s wrong with this? We live in Thussock now... we need to start giving places like this a chance. Besides, George is cranky. He needs to eat. Jackie said it was okay here.’
‘Jackie? Who the hell’s Jackie?’
‘Just a friend.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since I met her at the toddler group. I did tell you.’
‘You said you’d been to a group, you never said anything about any friend.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes, it matters.’
‘Please don’t argue,’ Phoebe groaned. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘It’s Mary’s or nothing,’ Michelle said.
Tammy leaned against the window of the café and peered inside like a miserable tourist on a wet bank holiday weekend. ‘I’ll go for nothing then,’ she said. A sideways glance from her mother shut her up.
‘Not an option. We need to eat and I’m having a day off cooking.’ She looked around at their miserable, long faces. ‘Come on you lot, stop being so bloody negative all the time. I’m making an effort, so you can too. Anyway, this place might be good. You might be surprised.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Phoebe mumbled as she followed her inside.
‘They might struggle to fit us in,’ Scott said sarcastically as he looked around at all the empty tables.
‘Stop it,’ Michelle said. ‘It’s only just turned twelve. It’ll get busier.’
The café looked as trapped in time as the rest of Thussock, perhaps even more so. The uncoordinated décor was a collision of out-dated fashions left over from different decades: part fifties milk bar, part eighties greasy spoon café, part something else entirely. They heard a dog yapping somewhere in the building. ‘A dog running wild in a café,’ Scott grumbled. ‘Not a good sign...’
They sat near the window. The interior of the café wasn’t particularly large – optimistically overcrowded with too many tables, Michelle thought – but she wondered if they might have picked the wrong seats when a large-hipped woman burst dramatically through a dated beaded curtain and made a big deal about getting all the way over to them, weaving clumsily around the furniture. Michelle cringed, but she relaxed when the woman broke into a broad and genuinely friendly smile. This, she decided, had to be Mary McLeod. She certainly fitted the description Jackie had given her: very heavy makeup, stacked-up hair, barrel-shaped.
‘Afternoon. What’ll I get for yous all?’
Scott studied a dog-eared laminated menu card. The pictures were faded and the prices had been adjusted for inflation in ballpoint pen. The choices were limited, but he’d expected that. No specials today, he thought, just ordinaries. Typical straightforward, unadventurous meals with bugger all in the way of flair or garnish. He was initially disappointed, then relieved. He didn’t want much, actually, just a good, hot, cheap meal to fill him up. No pretentiousness, just decent food. ‘I’ll have an all day breakfast with a side of chips,’ he said, pushing the boat out.
‘The same but without the chips,’ Phoebe added quickly.
‘Lasagne,’ Tammy said, choosing the least dodgy-looking dish she could see.
‘Chicken nuggets and chips for George, and I’ll have a baked potato with cheese and beans, please.’
Mary scribbled furiously, concentrating hard. ‘Drinks?’
‘Three teas, one coke and an orange juice,’ Michelle answered automatically, without needing to think or consult the others. Mary nodded and scribbled some more. She was about to walk away when she stopped and turned back again.
‘You the new family?’
‘We just moved here...’ Michelle started to answer before Mary interrupted.
‘The grey house?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I thought as much. I could tell from your accents that you weren’t local, and I’d heard you’d two girls and a boy.’
‘Jesus,’ Scott said. ‘There’s no privacy in Thussock.’
Michelle glared at him. Mary didn’t seem to mind. ‘News travels fast. Anyway, it’s lovely to meet yous all. I’m sure you’ll be very happy here.’
‘Why does everyone call it the grey house?’ Phoebe asked, waiting for some mysterious explanation. Mary just looked at her.
‘Because it’s grey.’
‘It’s quite a change from where we were before,’ Michelle said, desperately trying to build bridges, not burn them. ‘It’s going to take a little time to get used to things, but we’re liking it here so far.’
‘That’s just grand,’ Mary said, her wide smile revealing nicotine-stained teeth behind lipstick-scrawled lips. ‘But you’ve had quite the first week of it by all accounts, haven’t you?’
Scott looked up. She was looking directly at him. ‘What do you mean by that...?’
‘Ah, don’t worry,’ she said, resting her hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re not all gossips here. It’s just that when you live in a place as small as Thussock, word gets around whenever anything out of the ordinary happens. Warren from Barry’s yard comes in here most mornings for something to eat. He said Barry had given you some work, and then, of course, he told me about all that terrible stuff going on with Ken Potter.’
‘It’s not been the best of starts,’ Michelle agreed, getting in quick before Scott could say anything.
‘Things’ll calm down for yous all, I’m sure,’ Mary said, looking round the table at the faces looking back at her. She ruffled George’s hair. ‘Right then, lets go get your food sorted...’ and with that she disappeared back through the beaded curtain into the kitchen.
There was an awkward silence around the table. ‘Seems friendly enough,’ Michelle said.
‘I’m not having people knowing my business,’ Scott said angrily. Michelle tried to calm him. She reached for his hand but he snatched it away. ‘It’s a frigging joke,’ he hissed. ‘Who the hell do they think they are?’
‘Don’t get angry, love, they don’t mean anything by it.’
‘I’m not having it. It’s like living in a bloody horror film round here... people getting killed and everyone knowing your business.’
‘You’re too cynical, suspicious of everybody.’
‘I’ve got every bloody right to be. I’ve been let down too many times. I don’t like people sticking their noses in. It makes me feel uneasy. I don’t know anything about anyone here, but they all seem to know a lot about me.’
‘But that’s only to be expected, isn’t it? We’re a large family from way out of the area, and we’ve moved into the middle of a small, tight-knit community.’
‘Inbred, more like,’ Tammy said, listening in.
Michelle sighed. ‘You’re as bad as each other. They don’t know about us. All they know is that we’ve moved into the grey house, as they all insist on calling it, and they know what happened with you at that chap’s house this week.’
‘I’m going to paint that bloody house next summer.’
‘I’ll help you,’ Tammy said, surprising them both.
‘You serious?’
‘Anything to get rid of the grey. It’s like living in a morgue.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Michelle said, lowering her voice again as Mary returned with their drinks. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Here we go,’ she said, handing the drinks around and getting them right. She put the orange juice down in front of George. ‘You’re a big strong lad, aren’t you?’
George just looked at her, then looked at his mother. ‘It’s your accent, I think,’ Michelle explained. ‘He has trouble understanding us sometimes, never mind anyone else.’
‘Ah, he’ll get used to us,’ she laughed, ‘and we’ll get used to him. Won’t be long with your food now.’
‘See,’ Scott whispered, ‘it’s like the bloody Wicker Man.’
‘The what?’ Phoebe asked.
‘The Wicker Man. It’s a horror film. A policeman moves into a place like Thussock, and it turns out they’re all a bunch of screwed-up devil worshippers.’
‘What, a bit like Hot Fuzz?’
‘Sort of. The Wicker Man came first though. The original’s a classic. In the last scene the policeman is—’
Michelle put her hand on his. ‘Come on, love, this place is nothing like that. I don’t think Phoebe wants to k
now about horror films.’
‘I do,’ she protested.
An elderly couple came into the café and sat down at a table nearer the counter. Mary’s voice drifted out from the kitchen. ‘That you, Edie?’
‘Aye, that’s us,’ a decrepit-looking, grey-haired woman replied.
‘The usual for yous two?’
‘Aye.’
‘Be a few minutes, love. Got a big order on.’
‘There’s no rush, Mary. We’ve all day.’
At least that was how Michelle thought the conversation went. It was difficult to make out. The locals’ accents became broader and harder to decipher when they were talking to each other. ‘You do realise that’s how George is going to talk, don’t you?’ Tammy said. ‘Did you think about that when you dragged us all up here? He’s going to end up with a Scottish accent.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Michelle said, though she wasn’t entirely sure how it made her feel.
‘Not if you’re Scottish,’ Tammy added unnecessarily.
The food was good. In fact, it was better than good. The only person who’d left anything on his plate was George, and his dad was now finishing off his few remaining nuggets and chips.
The café was getting busier. A group of lads had appeared, making more noise than the rest of the diners combined. Michelle noticed the way Tammy tried not to make it obvious she was watching them and, at the same time, how they were gawping at the girls. ‘You know them?’ she asked. Tammy sank into her seat, embarrassed at being seen out with her family. It wasn’t cool.
‘They’re from school,’ she replied. ‘The cocky one’s Jamie. I’ve been beating him off all week.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Scott. She just glared at him.
‘You think? Look at the state of them.’
‘That’s a bit harsh.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Want me to have a word, tell them to back off?’
‘Don’t you dare,’ she said quickly. ‘I’d die. I can handle myself, thanks. The last thing I need is you getting involved.’
‘Yeah, but if they’re causing you problems.’