by Mark Tufo
‘Wassup with you?’ Jamie asked.
Joel struggled to breathe. ‘Another one,’ he panted.
‘Another what?’
‘Body.’
‘Grow up, Joel,’ Heather said. Joel shook his head furiously.
‘I swear, Hev, they found another body. Dead woman, this time.’
‘Where?’
‘Alderman Avenue. Right by your place. Neighbour found her this morning.’
‘Who?’ Tammy asked.
‘Angela sumthin’.’
‘No idea,’ Jamie said, but Heather knew who he was talking about.
‘She that woman with the weird name? Polish or sumthin’? The prossie?’
‘That’s her,’ Joel said.
‘So what happened?’ Jamie asked
‘Like that girl your dad found,’ he replied, looking at Tammy.
‘Step-dad.’
‘Whatever. Anyway, Mark says she was all fucked up like someone’d been messin’ with her. Fucking sicko if y’ask me.’
‘Who’s Mark?’
‘My mum’s boyfriend. I trust him, though. He don’t usually lie to me, not about stuff like this.’
‘Stuff like this? You make it sound as if it happens all the time here.’
‘Only since you got here,’ he said without thinking. ‘Shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to say you was involved or nothin’...’
‘I’m not.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Heather said.
‘Don’t get what?’ Tammy asked.
‘People were sayin’ Ken Potter killed that girl at his house then he did himself in.’
‘So?’
‘So if this Angela whatever-her-name-was is fresh—’
‘Fresh?’ Tammy said, puzzled.
‘If she’s only just been cut up, then maybe Potter didn’t do it?’
Bored of hanging around with the boys, Tammy and Heather later walked arm in arm along a footpath which ran parallel with the high street, tucked out of sight behind the buildings. To their left; open space, green and empty. To the right; the backs of shops and offices, wheelie-bins and cluttered yard spaces. Tammy hadn’t been down here before. With all the talk of murders and perverts round here, she thought they were taking an unnecessary risk. But it was worth it. Being hidden down here meant Scott would stand less chance of finding her.
They talked about nothing of any importance, and that suited both of them. A sudden stench took Tammy by surprise. ‘What’s that smell? That’s horrible.’
‘The brewery,’ Heather explained. ‘You get used to it. Depends which way the wind’s blowing. Sometimes in summer the whole bloody town stinks like that for days.’
‘Great. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better.’
The footpath dipped. A narrow metal footbridge crossed a small stream, then the path climbed again. They passed a bench under a lamppost, another popular place for hanging out, it seemed. Most of the seat’s struts were broken, the worn grass littered with cigarette butts. A wire-mesh waste bin was a third full of beer cans and bottles. The footpath curved right then ran parallel with a grey stone wall. ‘There’s a cut through in a minute,’ Heather said, checking her phone again. ‘Brings us out by the Co-op.’
Tammy followed her down a dingy alleyway. They emerged at the far end of the high street, close to the supermarket. Heather made straight for the shop. ‘I’ll wait out here for you,’ Tammy said.
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure. I’ve got no cash.’
‘Right then. Back in a sec.’
Tammy had been waiting at the side of the road for less than a minute when a car – just about the only car she’d seen apart from Scott’s – screeched to a halt in front of her. She’d seen it before. She’d seen the driver before too. Bloody creep. He wound down his window and leant across to talk to her. ‘You all right out here, love?’
‘I’m fine,’ she answered quickly. ‘And I’m not your love.’
‘Let me give you a lift home.’
‘No, thanks. Mum said never to accept lifts from strangers.’
He laughed then licked his lips. ‘That’s the thing, though, I’m no stranger. I know your mother. I met her this Friday just gone. She was at my house. My name’s Dez.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘I swear, that’s my name!’ he said, grinning at her now.
‘You know what I mean. You don’t know my mum. You saw me with her last week.’
‘It’s true, I tell ye. Come on, sweetie, let me give you a lift back. Looks like it’s gonna rain.’
‘Do you think I’m fucking stupid?’
‘I think you’ve a fucking foul mouth on ye.’
‘Leave me alone. Bloody creep.’
‘Ah, come on... don’t be like that.’
Tammy started to walk away. Dez followed in the car, crawling alongside the pavement, making her feel even more uncomfortable than she already did, like she was on the game. ‘Will you just piss off?’ she hissed at him.
‘I’m just lookin’ out for you is all,’ he said. ‘You can’t be too careful these days. I hear there’s been more trouble down on the estate.’
She stopped walking and bent down to talk to him, leaning into the window like the hooker he obviously thought – or hoped – she was. Thank Christ for those two slugs of vodka, she thought, Dutch courage. ‘Did you not get the message? Fuck off and leave me alone!’
She caught his eye – watching him watching her – and it made her feel sick. The way he looked her up and down, lingering too long on all the places he shouldn’t, licking his lips like she imagined he wanted to lick her... she’d had blokes back home who were way out of this lame fucker’s league; blokes with money and style, not some washed-up hillbilly prick in a grubby football tee and a knackered old car. ‘Last chance,’ he said, not giving up. ‘Like I said, just looking out for you.’
And then it struck her, and she pushed herself away from the car and staggered back. Was it him? Was he the one? Was this the sick bastard who’d done all the killing...?
‘Did you not hear the lady, Dezzie? Leave her alone or I’ll have a word with your Jackie when I see her next.’
Tammy spun around and saw a young man behind her. He was tall and relatively good looking by Thussock’s low standards, and he had his arm around Heather. She turned back when the pervert in the car sped away, his knackered exhaust filling the air with ugly noise. ‘This is Chez,’ Heather said, introducing him.
‘Hope you didn’t mind me butting in,’ Chez said. ‘That Dez is a frigging idiot. Fuck knows why Jackie puts up with him.’
‘I was fine,’ Tammy replied, indignant. ‘But thanks, anyway.’
‘You related to Scott?’
‘Unfortunately. He’s my step-dad. Why, you know him?’
‘I work with him at Barry’s yard.’
‘Lucky you.’
The conversation stalled. Chez and Heather exchanged less than subtle glances and Tammy knew what was coming. ‘Look, Tam,’ Heather said, ‘I’m going to head back to Chez’s for a while. Do you mind?’
‘You’re welcome to come,’ Chez said quickly, but it was pretty obvious she wasn’t.
‘No, I’m fine. I’ll head home in a while.’ Then she remembered something. ‘Is there a phone box around here? My mobile’s crap and I want to try and call my dad.’
‘Everybody’s mobile signal is shite here,’ Chez said. ‘You not got a phone at home?’
‘Don’t want everybody listening in.’
‘Fair enough. The nearest phone box is the only phone box. It’s by the café. You know it?’
Of course she knew it. It dawned on her that she’d been staring at the damn thing through the café window yesterday while they’d been eating. ‘I know it. Thanks.’
‘Sure you’ll be okay, Tam?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘See you at school tomorrow?’
‘Yep. See you then.’
Tammy watched the two of the
m drift away. They had a complete lack of urgency about them, like it didn’t matter where they were going or how long it took to get there. The way they walked across the main road without even bothering to check for traffic seemed to perfectly sum up the listless pointlessness of life in Thussock.
Tammy found the phone box without any problems, glad to be doing something positive at last, not just hanging around. This call was going to be difficult, but she was resigned to that. Hearing Dad’s voice would only emphasise how far from him she was but she had to do it. She needed reassurance that the old world she’d left behind still existed and that, maybe, she had a chance of getting back there. It felt like a fucked-up version of the Wizard of Oz, like she was stuck here trying to get back to Kansas. The place was full of munchkins, witches and other oddballs all right, but there was no yellow brick road running through the middle of this shit-hole.
She checked her pocket for change. Jeez, this felt so antiquated. She couldn’t remember when she’d last needed to use a phone box to make a call. Finding enough loose coins had been an ordeal in itself. She did all her shopping online or used her bank card, rarely ever used cash. In the end she’d helped herself to a handful of silver and a couple of pound coins from the change pot Mum and Scott kept on the kitchen windowsill. Scott had been so busy knocking seven shades of shit out of the wall he hadn’t even heard her take it.
The phone box smelled bad. It was an ugly metal and glass box, not one of the old traditional red ones. The glass was covered in graffiti, names and tags and Christ knows what else scratched onto every panel. She couldn’t make out any of it. She didn’t know why she was bothering to look.
Do I put in the money first or pick up the receiver? It took her a while to remember the order of things. She dialled Dad’s home number from memory (she thought it made sense to try his landline first – less expensive), then hung up and dialled again when she realised she hadn’t dialled the area code. She was so used to them all living within the same few miles radius...
A pause which dragged endlessly, then the click of connection and the phone finally started ringing out. She’d often phoned Dad around this time on a Sunday afternoon before. Although he was out of the country most weeks, he didn’t usually leave until late Sunday or early Monday. He’d had an agreement with his employers to spend weekends at home so he could be available for her and Phoebe. When he and Mum had first split up and the atmosphere between them had been at its most volatile, reassuring weekly phone calls on a Sunday afternoon had been the norm.
Connected.
‘Hello...’
‘Dad, it’s me, Tammy. I just wanted to—’
‘... you’re through to Jeremy. I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number after the tone, I’ll do my best to get back to you...’
The realisation she was talking to an answering machine, not her dad, hit Tammy like a punch to the gut: the sudden elation she felt at hearing his voice disappearing in a heartbeat. For a moment she felt embarrassed, then frustrated, then angry. She waited for the message to finish, listening to her father’s voice for as long as she could, before unloading after the high-pitched tone as instructed. All her emotion, all the pent-up frustrations... everything came pouring out. ‘Dad, it’s Tammy. I need to talk to you. Please pick up if you’re there. I’ll try your mobile in a minute but I still can’t get a decent signal in this crap-hole so I’m calling from a phone box. I need to talk to you, Dad. I need you to come and get me. I can’t stand it here. I feel... I’m really...’ She stopped talking; a brief pause to try and regain her composure. Don’t get upset. ‘Dad, I’m really not happy here. I know it’s only been a week and I know you said I needed to see how things were after a month, but... but I really want to come home.’ She stopped again, the word home making her feel desperately sad and empty. She was trying hard not to cry again, but once she’d started it was impossible to stop. The tears came so hard and so fast it was difficult to keep talking. She didn’t know if he’d even be able to understand her. ‘I can’t stand it here, Dad. It’s so backwards... so weird. The people are strange. It’s like being stuck in the past. I don’t like the school, can’t do all the courses I wanted to, and there’s all kinds of stuff going on around here. I bet you’ve seen it on the news... It’s not safe here, Dad. We’re not safe.’
She didn’t know how long she had before the recording ran out, but she kept talking anyway. ‘Scott’s acting like a jerk as usual. He’s been fighting with Mum again. I don’t trust him. I don’t like being around him, Dad. I never know what he’s going to be like. One minute he’s fine, the next he’s—’
Something slammed up against the door of the phone box behind her. Her heart racing, still holding onto the phone, desperate to stay connected, she slowly turned around.
She screamed out loud when she saw him.
It was that oddball Graham from the Co-op, all wild hair and staring eyes, and he was leaning up against the glass, masturbating. His lips and tongue left greasy drooled smears, as if he was trying to French kiss her through the glass. Tammy screamed again and dropped the phone, cowering back in the corner, but Graham wasn’t going anywhere. She locked her arms and held the door shut, stopping him getting inside. He remained completely unfazed, leaning against the phone box with one hand, stroking his cock with the other. She tried to look anywhere but at his dribbling erection and ginger pubes.
Their eyes met again. He was just staring at her... lusting after her. The initial shock began to fade slightly and she was left feeling... Christ, she didn’t know what she was feeling now. She wanted to get out and run, wanted to slam his cock in the door... But he was all right, wasn’t he? It wasn’t his fault. He was just a bit simple...
Stop. What the hell are you thinking?
He wasn’t so bad. He was still wanking in front of her in broad daylight, of course, but so what? Graham wasn’t the brightest spark, but then again, she didn’t really know him... didn’t know anything about him. He probably didn’t mean her any harm, he just wanted to hold her, to be held himself. Poor guy. It had probably been a long time since anyone had shown him any affection, if ever. She looked into his hazel eyes again, magnified by the lenses of his glasses, and she wondered if she’d misjudged him. He had a lovely face actually... kind and gentle, innocent... She wondered if he’d ever kissed a girl like her and—
—and then he was gone.
In a flurry of barely-controlled movement, someone rugby tackled Graham, sending him flying across the pavement. The two men came to rest in a tangled heap against the wall of a pharmacy. Immediately brought crashing back to reality again, her head all over the place, wondering what the fuck she’d just been thinking and why she hadn’t panicked and run, Tammy continued to hold the phone box door shut. Could this horrifically fucked-up place possibly get any worse? The scratched glass, almost opaque with graffiti in places, now covered with Graham’s semen and drool, was difficult to see through. Who was out there? Was it Heather’s boyfriend, Chez? Was it Jamie? That creepy guy Dez again? She felt relieved and disappointed in equal measure when she spotted Scott’s car parked across the street, the door open and the engine still running. Without hesitation she ran over and climbed in, pulling the door shut behind her.
On the pavement outside the shop, Scott grappled with the pervert who’d been flashing at his step-daughter. He already had a distinct height, weight and strength advantage over Graham, but he wasn’t holding back. He wanted to teach this sick little bastard a lesson. On top of him now, pinning his arms down with his knees, one hand wrapped around his throat, he threw punch after undefended punch at Graham’s face. Scott’s hand stung but he kept pounding, splitting Graham’s lip and breaking his nose, blood all over the place. When the pain in his hand became too much to stand, Scott stood up and staggered away, panting hard. Graham lifted himself up onto one elbow, struggling for breath, blowing bloody bubbles from one nostril and from the corner of his mouth. Scott ran
back at him again and kicked the sick fucker in the gut, feeling real satisfaction when the tip of his boot struck bone. ‘You stay away from my family, you dumb cunt, understand?’
Graham was crying... whining... but still trying to get up. Scott grabbed his collar and lifted him ’til their faces were just inches apart.
‘You understand me?’
Graham nodded. Scott spat in his face, then dropped him back down.
Where the fuck was she?
Scott looked around and panicked when he couldn’t see Tammy. He couldn’t see anyone, thankfully. Then he spotted her sitting in the passenger seat of his car and he ran over.
She was sobbing. ‘I’m sorry... I just wanted to talk to Dad...’
Scott wasn’t listening. He turned the car around in the road, bumping up the opposite kerb, missing Graham’s outstretched foot by just a few inches, then accelerated hard.
‘You stupid, selfish little bitch. Your mum’s been going out of her mind. What the fuck did you think you were doing?’
‘I’m sorry...’
‘You need to sort yourself out, you hear me?’ No response. ‘I don’t give a shit who you think you are, I’m in charge here. Got it?’
‘I get it,’ she said, her voice barely audible over the noise of the straining engine.
Once she was sure the car had gone, Mary McLeod unlocked the café door and went outside. She’d seen everything. Graham had had it coming to him, silly bloody idiot, but that had been a hell of a beating he’d just taken. She’d been too scared to get involved. By the time she thought about phoning the police, that horrible, miserable man from Birmingham had gone.
She looked up and down the street. There was no one else around. Just her and Graham.
She tried to pick him up and help him walk, but he was too weak. He was really in a bad way, and the silly sod still had his trousers around his ankles. ‘What are we going to do with yous, Graham? You’re in a real mess, lover. Let’s get yous over the road and get yous sorted.’