Instead, he hauled the red-head towards the edge of the brook. Before rolling him in, he checked all pockets. The black mobile, a week-old bus ticket into town, a fragment of foil – unfortunately nothing else for a snort - and a used scratch card. He scrunched them up and chucked them in after him. So far so good.
The black water was much deeper here because Wrecker's Brook ran into it further up. Almost six metres, so he’d heard, and because this particular body was much heavier than the dog, Louis reasoned the mud underneath would soon claim him.
This had to be the right place.
Once the last lick of red hair had vanished, he raced back for the green bike. With no-one around, he half-pushed, half-rode on the sharp saddle to beyond the underpass. To any rubbernecker, he was just another aimless lad tooling around. Then, having dismounted, he hurled the machine into the brook. It was soon gone, save for the chrome end of a handlebar, too far out of reach to shove out of sight.
He didn't stay to watch. He had his D&T folder and blazer to collect, plus the knife box. Besides he'd need to exit the wood into Scrub Lane. The long way round.
As for the dead perv, he could stay where he was. Enough people had wanted to waste him. That wasn't the problem. Returning home unseen and looking normal was.
*
He undid his satchel and placed his blazer and the box inside, forcing the clasps to not close properly. He then ran through the thick screen of chestnut and hawthorn, ignoring the savage little cuts on his skin, until he broke through into Sallow Drive alongside the Old Soldier. The estate's only pub.
He re-joined the footbridge to Meadow Hill, practising his normal voice. With Jez gone, he, Pete Brown would now have to find someone else who'd show him more respect. More fear. Or maybe not. As he walked home, he weighed up the pros and cons of going solo. Of tricking the cops and those in authority. Those who'd let him down.
By the time he’d left the footbridge, he realised he didn't need anyone else. Hadn't Jez Martin always been late? Less than reliable? Louis smiled. Things were really much clearer now, and all he had to do was keep cool, stay one step ahead.
He ducked into the edge of Dingle Wood by the Zeller's fence and, having torn the old PE shirt into strips and buried them along with his glasses, changed back into his green shirt complete with the AD LUDORUM tie. Thus he emerged once more as a typical North Barton Boys’ School pupil.
14
"Stop indoors, you." Rita Martin yelled at her daughter who'd fetched her own yellow plastic spade and was advancing down the patch of garden. "And keep an eye on Freddie."
"'E was my doggie," whined the eight year old. "I wanna see 'im one last time." Kayleigh hung her head, sneaking a look as her mother pressed her Doc Marten boot down yet again on the borrowed spade and swore.
"This ground's like a bloody rock."
And so it was. Burnt by the sun without the intrusion of weeds or the benefit of shade - the only spot away from where the kids played and the washing line sagged between two makeshift posts. The one job Frank Martin had done before he'd left six months ago.
Now she’d no choice. For Jip it was either here or the vet’s to end up as zoo meat. That's what she'd been told about dead dogs, and he deserved better than that. She tried again and this time the spade end found a crack which reached deep into the ground. Her wiry strength forced a clump to come loose and she dumped it to one side before attacking the rest.
As the hole deepened so her red hair grew dark with sweat, sticking to her forehead.
And all the while Kayleigh stood there. Watching her every move.
"I said, go in,” Rita reminded her. “God knows what Freddie's up to. And Jez for that matter." She didn't know why she'd added that. Just something about the way he'd left her after the Zellers to go to Homework Club. She'd expected him to be more upset about Jip, but no. He'd been determined to get back to school.
The eight year-old finally obeyed. Her lime green socks padded away through the scrubby grass up the stained steps to the kitchen door.
At least they had a garden, Rita thought, seeing one of the Ishmael's curtains moving. The odd couple who never emerged from their flat without two black umbrellas opened low over their heads. Who seemed frightened by daylight, frightened by everything, in fact.
A fly from the dog's corpse settled on Rita's nose. She batted it away and rested a moment, aware of sweat gliding down her cheeks. Instead of dwelling on Jip's back paws protruding from a tear in the bin liner, she tried getting Our Father in the right order. By the time she'd reached "and forgive them our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us," the grave was almost ready and her tears dropped and dried instantly in the ground.
No, she reminded herself. There'd be no forgiveness for who'd done this. Not for as long as she lived.
Suddenly a piercing cry issued from the kitchen.
"Oi, Mum, Freddie's shat isself! 'Es disgusting!"
Rita sighed and downed tools, leaving the bundled corpse angled awkwardly half in, half out of the hollow. Jip's nose was straining the polythene at the front. Now another leg had appeared from nowhere and stuck in the air like a charred twig.
There was never a moment these days, she thought. Not one single second in fact, where she could just get one task done. No wonder the washing machine was wedged full of dirty clothes. No wonder the lino hadn't had a clean since Easter, and she'd been daft enough to think about getting a job.
"Jesus!"
Her youngest was in worse than a mess. He'd not only soiled himself but managed to eat some of it as well. Poo lined his lips and lay in caked lumps on his cheeks. Through it all came a cherubic smile, his sharp blue eyes alight.
"Freddie’s a good boy," he chuckled. “Good boy.”
"Freddie’s a bad boy who’ll be back in nappies again," she sighed.
What was the point of slapping and yelling? she'd often said to the other Mums at the Club. Life's too tough as it is, and who knows when you're old and on your own, your kids are all you've got...
The water ran cold into the bowl as the heater hadn't worked for over a week. The Housing Department seemed to have forgotten them, and every time she'd called Mr Little on the mobile, was told he was out of the office. As she peeled off her son’s vest and pants, Rita wondered about Jez again, unable to shift that Pete Brown from her mind. The way he'd taken her on in the alley. That spooky look in his eyes as if he'd been enjoying himself. She glanced over at Kayleigh who was busy dressing her Barbie doll in a nurse's outfit.
"Go to Bessie Rice quick. She'll be off on duty soon. If she sees Jez she's to tell him to shift his butt home. OK? Now shoo and no stopping to talk to anyone, and cross over by the bogey man's place."
Kayleigh tied her trainer laces and trotted off. The lollipop lady in Sallow Drive always gave her a handful of liquorice comfits whenever she called and last birthday bought her the Barbie doll who now lay half-dressed on the table, limbs akimbo. Bessie Rice had also helped Rita and Pat Molloy distribute the Protest Book about Malcolm Wheeler. The sort of man she reckoned had horns sprouting from his head and something even more diabolical from between his legs.
"Now then," Rita plonked Freddie in the bowl. "Let's get you sorted..."
*
"Hey, guess what? I've just seen Dad." Kayleigh announced ten minutes later as she pushed her way through the door. "Comin' out of the boozer." She began playing pretend boxing with her brother who was now in his high chair - plastic bib at the ready. She was laughing, her teeth darkened by liquorice.
"You sure it was him?" Rita rinsed out the bowl then dribbled in some disinfectant.
"Course. And 'e had..." Here the youngster hesitated, biting her lip.
/> "Come on. You can tell your Mum."
"'E had that tart wiv 'im. Denise. You know, Monkey's sister."
Rita stopped, the bowl poised in mid air, dribbling green Value Pine Fresh from its corner. Kayleigh bit her lip as if expecting the worst, but the silence which followed was even more surprising. Her mother was trying to summon up some yearning to have him home again, to help restore what Pat Molloy had termed a ‘proper’ family. Even some curiosity as to why the hell Frank was in the area at all, but nothing came. Just like in Poundstretcher, when she'd actually avoided him, praying he wouldn't see her. The truth was, she'd come so far without him and there was no going back.
"Mum?"
"Yes?"
"It's OK." The little girl hugged her. "You got us. Me an' 'im." She freed an arm to point at Freddie, frowning his confusion. "And Jez..."
"I know. Did you tell Mrs Rice, like I said?"
"I did."
Kayleigh was bright - almost too bright for her year at Primary school where boredom fuelled her already rich imagination. She was also a mimic, picking up people's intonation, their turn of phrase as if she'd known them all her short life.
"And?"
"She said will do, not to worry."
Rita checked her watch. 3.44p.m. Bessie always came back for her tea at 3.30 having seen most of Scrub Lane Comprehensive School across the road. Then she'd be in position again until 5.15 for the Homework Clubbers. Rita had done a deal with Jez only last week. Instead of Sunday school, he'd volunteered for extra Maths which is what he'd need to be a teacher, and, although she'd waved him away from Wort Passage with a swelling sense of pride at his improved attitude, a niggling doubt had lingered in her mind.
He'd plans to go to College. Wanted a decent job, not like his Dad who'd never stuck at anything and, as they'd left the Zellers barely two hours ago, he'd announced that one day he'd buy a house like theirs for her, Kayleigh and Freddie.
But why hadn't she quite believed these good intentions? Why was something not quite right? And who was Jez was always whispering to on the mobile when he thought she wasn't listening? There was no way of checking for calls received were always purged and only her regular numbers had been stored.
She searched his bed and his cupboard for the phone, but now, when she urgently needed to phone his school, even that vital piece of equipment had gone.
"Dammit."
Rita looked out through the open kitchen window at the unburied dog, the white heat of the afternoon. 5.30 was too long to wait. The school just too far. She then had an idea.
Having sat Kayleigh down at the table with her doll and given Freddie a dummy, she grabbed her bag. "I'll be five minutes, that's all. Don't you two dare move for anyone. Promise?"
"Promise."
Rita checked in her purse for change then put on her old puffa jacket. No way was she showing her tits to the street, however boiling it was. No way was she having school kids staring at her the way Pete Brown had done.
"You seen Jez anywhere?" she asked the Clark girls. Twins, taking their cat for a walk on a lead. They went to Jez’s school, but as First Years.
"Nah. Not our sort."
"Cheeky madams."
She shortcutted off Gorse Way towards the Old Soldier where the only public phone stood at the start of the underpass. The whole place was too quiet. Unnaturally so, she thought, quickening her pace, the puffa jacket like a furnace on her back. Most kids were home from school by now. Most kids...
The booth door was jammed. She pulled with all her sweaty strength, thinking of Kayleigh and Freddie on their own.
“Move, will you?” she muttered, for someone had run a line of white glue along its edge which now stretched and tore like skin as she finally pulled the door open. Some of the stuff stuck to her jacket and stayed there as she got out her purse and dug amongst the coppers for the only ten pence piece.
However, the coin slot was stuffed with a torn scrap from a porn mag and when Rita picked up the receiver, she noticed fresh pee in its hollow. She looked down to see she was standing in the rest.
"Hello? Hello?"
But the line was dead. Panic immediately touched her heart.
She pushed her way outside, only to see Jamie Monk, known as ‘Monkey’ lighting up by the pub. He chucked his fag packet on the ground, but now wasn't the time to mention litter or quiz him about Frank and Denise. She needed him. And quick.
"I've got to ring Jez’s school,” she began. “Can I use the pub's phone?"
Monkey shook his breeze-block head.
"Sorry mate. More than me job's worth. Emergencies only, the boss says."
"This is an emergency."
"Oh yeah?" The six-footer checked her over top to toe in two seconds flat. The way he'd been trained.
"I need to check he's there."
Jamie Monk foraged in his jeans pocket and passed her his mobile, still warm from his body. Rita saw the monkey tattoo above his watch strap. How its tail curled under his wrist.
"'Ere, use this," he said.
"Thanks." She punched the keys aware of her heart still pounding.
There was no reply - just the dialling tone.
"Give us a go, then."
Rita handed it over and dictated the number. She bit her lip hard. It was now 4 o'clock. Bessie should be passing on her way to the school. But where the hell was she? Rita tried to think rationally as Monkey returned the phone to his pocket with a shrug. Either the woman had forgotten or Homework Club had been cancelled.
She began to jog, like in the old days when she'd first started her hairdressing course at College, before falling pregnant. Days when she'd sensed a future. Now she was running in fear down into the murky underpass beneath the hell of tyres on tarmac where the fumes and heat had coalesced into a choking mix. Into daylight again, with Black Dog Brook just visible through the scraggy trees.
Rita peered ahead at Scrub Lane Comprehensive School. The low, redbrick building was deserted. No lollipop lady outside it. Nothing, not even a single parked car on the usually overcrowded premises, while the playground gates had been secured with three giant chains and padlocks.
Her head began to ache. She'd been too long away from home already. On her way back to Wort Passage via Sallow Drive she noticed the chrome tip of a bike's handlebars poking through the sludge of Black Dog Brook, winking in the sunlight. Someone else's junk, she thought. What a waste...
When she reached Bessie Wright's flat, she rang the bell too hard, too long, and the woman who answered looked none too pleased.
"There ain't bin no 'Omework Clubs all week 'cos the Deputy 'Ead's bin poorly." Bessie Rice filled her front door, her head studded with huge pink rollers. "Look, I gotta get a bus at four thirty. Me sister's 'ad a bad fall."
"So why didn't you tell Kayleigh when she came round?"
The big woman shrugged.
"Too much on me mind most like. You know how it is."
Rita didn't stay to hear the rest and hot tears blurred her eyes as she reached home.
The kids were exactly where she'd left them, but two where there should be three. And in her heart of hearts she knew tomorrow would be no different...
15
Number 14, Meadow Hill’s front door was wedged open by one of The Fawn's empty sandals. Louis knew by the fresh, dark drops on the path that she’d been watering the flower tubs. He waited until she re-appeared, feeling the sun burn through his green shirt.
Her mouth gaped open. The watering can tilted in her hand and its contents dribbled on to her feet. "Don't frighten me like that, Louis!" She snapped. "Especially after last
week."
Apparently the replacement window cleaner had made lewd comments about the size of her bed, and while she'd paid him, had scrutinised her breasts.
"That wasn't my fault." Her son retorted, seeing little Claire Smith wobble out of number 9's garage on her pink bike. Her white panties showed whenever her legs lifted up to pedal, triggering a surge of excitement. "Maybe some blokes can sniff easy meat."
Toby Lake had taught him that expression only yesterday.
She tried to ignore him, sensing yet another war brewing. But it was far too hot and besides, a people carrier had almost rammed her Honda Civic on a roundabout coming home. "You're cut all over," she said instead. "What in Heaven's name have you been doing? And your shirt's all creased."
"Someone in school reckoned my real Dad was in the slammer. So I couldn't let that go, could I? Anyhow, it's no big deal," he shrugged, having lit the blue touch paper.
"Your real father is not in prison, Louis. How many times do I have to tell you?" She looked up and down the development to check no-one was snooping. Only the Smith girl looping the loop in the road, her brakes squealing. "He's leading his own life, that's all..."
"All? All?"
He wanted to say that Jez's Dad had at least been seen in Poundland in the Mall, but stopped himself. "And where's that, for fuck's sake?" Aware of the Smith kid positioned at the end of their drive, listening intently.
Jacquie ushered him inside then slammed the door on her. "Louis, your language is..."
"The pits?" He brightened, enjoying himself again. "Go on, say it. See if I care."
She was his overgrown puppet on a string. Her stupid red face, her big hands. Maybe when he had time to spare, he should find another name for her. "Well, if you don't tell me," he barked, "everyone's going to be making up stuff, like he was queer or a tart who never wanted kids."
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