Bleed Like Me

by Staincliffe, Cath

  Oh, please no, thought Gill.

  ‘Or join the army or leave home. You can’t stop me.’

  ‘I’m not trying to stop you doing anything. But sneaking off and lying, running away as soon as things get tricky, that’s no way to behave. You want to stay over at Orla’s – you let us know. That’s all I’m saying. Though I don’t think it’s a good idea when you’ve got college the next day.’

  He snorted. ‘You talk to me about how I behave.’

  She felt heat in her face. ‘Is this about Chris and me? You know what I’m hearing? Your dad. You sound just like him.’

  ‘I do not!’ He did not appreciate that comment.

  ‘You were fine with it,’ she said. ‘You told me that yourself, the first time you met Chris. I mean, I know the thought of either parent having sex is utterly gross but beyond that I have every right to make new friends, start a new relationship if that makes me happy. Your dad might not be able to handle it but you’re not an idiot, Sammy. Don’t be a stooge for him.’

  ‘It’s not just him,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Gill turned to look, saw him flinch and turned away again.

  ‘Some people at college. You know what they call it . . . you? A cougar.’

  She almost laughed but knew it would be the wrong thing to do. And there was a sting of annoyance that such pettiness was distracting him from the more important things in life.

  ‘Tell them to mind their own business. Jesus, Sammy, you don’t need to listen to tosspots like that. In the scheme of things,’ she bounced the edges of her hands on the steering wheel, ‘with everything that’s happening in people’s lives, this is just . . . trivia. I love you, kid, you know that, but I’m not going to let either your dad or a load of pimply teenagers with their tongues wagging have the slightest effect on how I live my life. Got it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Orla seems nice,’ Gill said.

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘Good. Right. You get yourself to college and if you’re staying here again any time, you tell your dad. And . . .’ she held up a hand as he opened the car door, ‘if you’re not going to talk to me about all the UCAS stuff, discuss it with him. Or Emma,’ she said, though it half killed her to acknowledge the woman.

  ‘Okay.’

  She watched him walk up the path, stooping slightly, and saw him knock on the door. Then she started the car and drove off. The events of the morning had left a nasty taste in her mouth, and the well-being she’d felt after Chris’s visit seemed to have evaporated.

  14

  The announcement came blaring over the radio, making Rachel’s scalp tighten. ‘Control to all units, stolen Hyundai Accent, registration sierra, six, one, zero, X-ray, bravo, Charlie, confirmed sighting Porlow.’ Rachel entered the coordinates into the map app on her phone.

  ‘That’s close, right?’ Janet, at the wheel, threw her a glance.

  Rachel watched the results load, the red circle showing the location of the car. ‘It’s a retail park,’ she said. She zoomed out to judge the quickest route, then looked out of the window checking that the next street on the left corresponded to what she had on the screen. Yes. ‘Down to the roundabout, straight over, then second left at the next one,’ Rachel said. More details were coming in over the radio. ‘All units requested to wait at the perimeter road.’ Rachel magnified the image, read the labels aloud, ‘PC World, B&Q, TK Maxx, Curry’s, Iceland.’

  ‘How far off are we?’

  ‘How fast are you going to go?’

  ‘Ha ha,’ Janet said sarcastically.

  ‘Ten minutes, tops,’ Rachel said. She studied the screen again, glanced up at the hedges and walls flashing past, the road ahead blurry because the rain was heavy again, a steady deluge that the wipers struggled to deal with.

  ‘It could be a decoy,’ Rachel said to Janet. ‘He dumps the stolen car, we’re all fannying around waiting for him to buy a new mobile phone or a fresh set of threads and meanwhile he’s running as far as he can in the other direction.’

  ‘He’d need transport,’ Janet said. ‘Another car.’

  ‘Train, coach.’

  ‘And how’s he get there from here with two kids?’

  ‘Might be on his own.’

  Janet swallowed, just as her phone went off. ‘Can you get that, see who it is?’

  Rachel took the phone and read the display. ‘Your mum,’ she said.

  Janet gave a sigh. ‘Leave it,’ she said.

  Rachel was happy to. Dorothy didn’t like her, Rachel could tell; looked down her nose at her. Even the way Dorothy spoke changed with Rachel: she put on a posher voice and acted all headmistressy and disapproving.

  ‘No, answer it.’ Janet changed her mind. ‘Tell her I’m driving and I’ll call her later.’

  Rachel pressed the green key, said, ‘Hello, Dorothy,’ but was cut off by the terrible screaming that came down the line. ‘Janet! Janet! Oh, God, Janet, help me, help me! It hurts.’

  Janet went white as chalk, shot a look in the mirror and pulled into the side of the road, the tyres skidding on the run-off water. She grabbed the phone. ‘Mum? Mum? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh, God, oh my God,’ Dorothy moaned, ‘I don’t know, oh, it hurts.’

  ‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ Janet said. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ She hung up. ‘Oh, fuck, Rachel.’

  ‘Ring the ambulance,’ Rachel said, ‘then you go. Maybe she’s fallen.’

  ‘She’s not that old,’ Janet said as she dialled, ‘not falling down old. God, the way she screamed.’ The operator answered and Janet spoke precisely. ‘I need an ambulance to 6 Waterfield Lane, Middleton, M24 7AP.’ The operator began to ask the routine questions but Janet cut in. ‘I’m not with the person, but she’s my mother, she’s just rung me in extreme distress, in great pain. I’ve no idea what’s wrong or even where she is in the house. I’ll try to get someone round to open the door. You may have to tell them to break in.’

  That wouldn’t be easy. Her mum had solid UPVC doors, high quality locks. She thought quickly. There was a phone in the living room, another in the kitchen and one upstairs. Given they were cordless her mother could have been anywhere.

  ‘Can I give you the number,’ she said, ‘and you can try to ring her back.’ She reeled it off.

  ‘Has she any health problems?’ the operator asked.

  ‘No, not really. Look, I’ve no idea what’s wrong. Please, just send the ambulance.’ She thought of the previous day, her mum feeling tired, off colour. Janet had dismissed it as a minor niggle. Oh, God. ‘You have my number,’ she said, ‘this number. Please make sure someone informs me when the paramedics reach her.’

  ‘Was the patient conscious?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve no idea if she is now.’

  ‘Is she taking any regular medication?’

  ‘Erm . . . statins and thyroxin, I think.’

  ‘Please hold the line.’

  ‘No, I need to get moving,’ Janet said sharply. ‘Just send an ambulance, now.’

  ‘The ambulance has been dispatched.’

  ‘Right. I need to see if my husband can get round there with a key,’ Janet said. She hung up. She knew there were sound reasons for the operator sticking to the script but on this occasion there was nothing Janet could tell them and she judged it more important to sort out access to the house.

  Ade didn’t answer so she left a message and then rang the school office and spoke to Claire, the administrator, who had been there nearly as long as Ade. ‘Family emergency,’ she said, after introducing herself. ‘My mum’s collapsed at home; there’s an ambulance on its way. I need Ade to go round there straight away with the spare key to let them in.’

  ‘Certainly. I’ll find him now.’

  Janet put her phone down and took a deep breath.

  ‘You go,’ Rachel said. ‘Just go.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Drop me at the lights. If you turn left you can get to the motorway tha
t way. I can walk from here. Bum a lift back later.’

  Rachel walked along the dual carriageway towards the retail park, wishing she had an umbrella or a hooded coat with her. By the time she’d come in sight of the turn-off to the stores, the rain had crept down the back of her neck and her hair was plastered to her head. She hurried on. Whatever lay ahead she did not want to miss it.

  At the entrance to the complex she could see two men in high visibility jackets, nothing to show they were police. They turned a car away, and as she got closer she heard one of them say to the next motorist, ‘Sorry, security operation under way, no access at the moment.’ And caught the replies to the ensuing questions. ‘Can’t say at the moment’ and ‘I’d leave it till tomorrow, if I were you.’

  Rachel reached the men as the car drove off and showed her warrant card. ‘Who’s in charge?’

  ‘Sergeant Ben Cragg,’ one of them said, and pointed. The man leading the operation was in plain clothes and was standing by a white van, the back doors open as though he was loading up. To the unobservant there was little to show that there was a significant police presence at work in the retail park. No squad cars or police motorcycles, no marked vans. All designed not to panic Cottam and increase the risk to the general public.

  ‘Are we sure it’s him?’ Rachel asked Ben Cragg after she’d introduced herself.

  ‘No. We’ve just got the car there.’ He nodded. The stolen vehicle, the red Hyundai with its broken driver’s window, was next to a silver Daewoo in the middle of the parking area outside B&Q. ‘Patrol making a sweep of the retail park called it in. The plan is to identify and apprehend the suspect as he reaches his car. Plain clothes officers already in situ. The Daewoo’s ours.’ Through the rain Rachel could just make out four figures inside. ‘And we’ve another unit on the park. Green Honda outside PC World. Squad cars around the back in the delivery area, out of sight.’ Cragg nodded towards TK Maxx. ‘Hostage negotiator is on his way, and a firearms unit. We’ve put down a spike strip close to this exit in case he does try to drive away. Other vehicles leaving will be diverted to avoid it.’ As he spoke she watched a bloke in dungarees and a work-stained coat speak to a woman leaving PC World, gesturing with his arms to show her how she should leave the complex. He was obviously a plain clothes officer.

  ‘So we’ve no idea if the kids are with him?’ Rachel said.

  ‘That’s right. Where’s your vehicle?’

  ‘My partner was called away – domestic situation. Said I’d make my own way.’

  Each time anyone emerged from any of the five stores ringing the car park Cragg stilled, gathering himself for action. Rachel watched, shivering slightly, the damp stealing through her. ‘Do we know where he’s shopping?’ she asked.

  ‘No idea. I’m hoping he’s like the rest of us, picked the nearest parking space.’ He nodded towards the DIY outlet. It was a huge store, the sort that had a garden centre and a section with heavy duty building supplies as well as a café and toilets.

  ‘If we can ID him, we wait until he reaches the vehicle, then block him in.’ The radio crackled. He spoke into a headset, said, ‘Your ETA?’ Frowned.

  What would they do if Cottam came out of somewhere before the armed unit arrived? Rachel had started to ask Cragg when she saw the automatic doors open at B&Q, but it was only a couple with a child. Grandparents by the look of them, grey-haired, the man pushing a trolley stacked with paint tins and a long item, one of those rollers for doing the ceiling. They were parked in the first row of spaces. The woman took the keys from the man and walked quickly to a black Fiat, the child trotting at her side to keep up. The woman opened the car boot. The man in the dungarees walked over and spoke to the old man, giving him directions for leaving the car park.

  A gust of wind sent rain splattering against the van, drenching Rachel even further. She shuddered.

  ‘If you want to get out of the rain you could join one of the squad cars,’ Cragg said.

  ‘Miss all the action?’

  ‘Thought you’d be equipped for it,’ he said. ‘Mancunian.’

  ‘We’ve webbed feet and all,’ Rachel said. She liked the banter, liked the look of him. In different circumstances she might be tempted to take it further. Sound out his availability.

  ‘I could go and buy an umbrella,’ she suggested. ‘See if I can spot him. B&Q do brollies?’

  ‘You are joking,’ he said.

  ‘Worth a try.’ As if they’d let someone wander around solo in the midst of a sensitive police operation like this.

  The toddler with the couple wanted to help, raising its arms for the paint tins, but the old man, no doubt concerned about the situation, was hurrying to load the car. Then the toddler was shouting, crying, kicking at the trolley. A tantrum audible even in the rain.

  Two women came out of TK Maxx and a single man emerged from PC World. ‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘Too young. Wearing a suit.’

  The toddler was now flat on his back, on the wet ground in the rain, kicking up as the woman bent over him.

  Movement at the DIY store caught Rachel’s eye. Her heart gave a kick. ‘He’s there,’ she said. Owen Cottam coming out of B&Q, jeans and a bottle green sweatshirt. A khaki hat on his head, the sun hat from Wesley’s car. Moustache visible. ‘That’s him.’ A carrier bag in one hand. No children with him. The toddler kept screaming.

  ‘Suspect in sight.’ Ben Cragg was speaking into his radio. ‘Stand by. Prepare to apprehend. Taser him if we need.’

  Cottam walked steadily towards his car, his head slightly lowered. Rachel heard the sound of a car engine start over to her right. Presumably from one of the other units. She was counting beats in her head, counting her pulse, her mouth dry as Cottam came forward.

  ‘Wait for it,’ Cragg said into the radio.

  Rachel watched Cottam; only ten yards now to the Hyundai. Beside it, the windows of the silver Daewoo were steamed up. The car rocked gently. Someone in there must have moved.

  Without warning Owen Cottam veered to his right and back towards the store.

  ‘Shit!’ Rachel said. ‘He’s spooked. He’s on to us.’ She set off after him. She expected him to go back into the shop but he ran towards the old couple, yelling as he reached them.

  ‘Keys! Give me the keys.’

  Rachel covered the ground quickly, wet hair whipping at her face, breathing hard. She saw Cottam push the older man over and turn on the woman. The child on the ground stopped crying, the wailing snapped off as though a switch had been thrown. Behind her Rachel could hear engines firing, vehicles moving.

  Cottam snatched the keys from the woman and ran round to the driver’s door of the black Fiat. The old man climbed to his feet shouting. Rachel pushed herself on, reached the car, running round in front as Cottam gunned the engine. Voices raised behind her, too confusing to take in.

  She slammed her hands on the bonnet, looking directly at Cottam. His face clenched, eyes blazing. She banged on the car with her fists, yelling, ‘Police! Stop the car. Get out of the vehicle.’

  He thrust the gear into reverse and drove back at speed, the boot still raised, clipping the trolley, which crashed over. Rachel lost her balance and tumbled forward, breaking her fall with her hands, jarring her joints and scraping her palms raw on the wet tarmac. Bastard! She scrambled to her feet. Watched Cottam reverse the length of the DIY outlet, ignoring the barrage of outrage coming from the old couple.

  Two cars were moving up towards the Fiat. The silver Daewoo and the green Honda. From the back of the parking area two squad cars squealed out, ready to box him in. With squad cars ahead of him and the Daewoo and the Honda approaching behind, Cottam swung the black Fiat round to the left and shot forward, heading for the exit. The Fiat hit the spike strips and travelled a few yards before the tyres collapsed, making the vehicle hitch like a bucking bronco.

  Cottam got out and ran back towards the shop, still clutching the carrier bag. Rachel saw that the shutters were coming down, almost closed. Someone had had the
foresight to instruct the retailers, who would have been alerted to the threat to public safety, to seal up all the units. Cottam whirled round. He switched direction. He was going back to the Hyundai, must be. Equidistant, Rachel ran, intent on beating him, struggling for breath.

  He got there first, started the car, drove forward. She ran to intercept him but he never wavered, forcing Rachel to leap out of the way. She pelted after him and he increased his speed, the engine whining, two wings of spray fluting up on either side of the vehicle.

  As the patrol cars raced in pursuit, one of them skidded and ploughed straight into a parked car. The other one swerved but not in time and ploughed into the rear end of the first. Instead of turning towards the other exit, Cottam swung the car right, towards the back of the shops. The delivery area. Rachel followed on foot, her heart thumping painfully, her windpipe sore. He fishtailed as he turned and then revved the engine. The Hyundai leapt forward with a snarl as Rachel rounded the building. The delivery area was empty apart from some recycling bins by the steel fencing on the left perimeter. Along the right was the back of the superstore and at the far end facing them a brick wall right across where the building supplies section was housed.

  He increased his speed and she saw. She knew. She yelled and hared after him. Watching as he accelerated, the noise of the engine climbing, howling, and the car smashed into the end wall. A clanging, crunching sound, the scream of metal on brick, a cloud of debris hurled in the air.

  Rachel reached the car and yanked at the door. The bodywork was crumpled, the door frame buckled. Petrol fumes stung her eyes. She pulled again, then put her foot up on the wheel arch to increase her leverage and rocked the door to and fro until it swung open. Cottam’s eyes were shut, blood all over his face and on the airbag.

  Ignoring shouts from the people running to join her, she reached in and worked her hands under his armpits and dragged him clumsily from the car. His heels snagged on the seat and she had to tug and shake him to release them.

  She fell back and landed with him partly on top of her and wriggled out from underneath. On her knees she straddled him and slapped his face, oblivious of the blood and the rain. ‘You bastard, you fucking, fucking bastard,’ she shouted at him. She thumped his chest, hearing only the roaring in her own head. ‘You call yourself a father? Call yourself a father? Where are they? Where?’ She hit his chest again and again, desperate for a response, shaking and white hot with an anger she could not contain. ‘Where? Tell me, you fucker, where are the kids? The boys, Theo and Harry? Where? Where?’