by Freer, Echo;
‘What’s going on? Edie, are you OK?’ Gemma King appeared from the back door and shrieked at the sight before her.
Instantly she was joined by her friend. ‘Get him!’ cried Noush, reaching for a garden broom that was propped up next to the shed and handing it to Gemma before picking up a rake for herself.
‘Go phone the police, Edie,’ instructed Noush. ‘We’ll keep him here.’ Then she began prodding at Mickey as he clung to the pipe above their heads.
Mickey clutched harder and tried to climb higher up to avoid the wooden handle that was beating him about the ankles. He looked towards the front of the house; he knew he was wearing a balaclava but it was just over a week since he’d been out drinking with these two; the last thing he wanted was for one of them to recognise his face. He didn’t know what to do and he couldn’t see Harley any more. His bottom lip began an involuntary tremor and he stifled a sob of terror.
‘No, it’s OK,’ he heard Gemma say to her neighbour. ‘It’s only kids. Don’t go bothering the police. It’ll take them ages to get here anyway.’
‘Gemma! Are you mad?’ Noush exclaimed, putting down her rake in incredulity.
With the temporary respite from his foot-bashing, Mickey allowed his legs to relax slightly, but as he lowered them down the drainpipe, he felt a sensation like a judder. There it was again; a distinct movement under him and then a sound like a door creaking open.
He looked up. Just above his head was one of the original cast-iron brackets that held the soil pipe to the wall - only it wasn’t holding it to the wall any more; the bracket had come free from the brickwork and the whole pipe was beginning to move away from the house.
‘Aaaggh!’ he yelped as the pipe peeled off the wall and came to a momentary halt against Edie’s house, at an angle of forty-five degrees, with Mickey hanging underneath it.
‘Get him!’ shrieked Noush, taking up her rake with renewed vigour.
Once again Mickey felt a distinct movement beneath him as the seventy-year-old iron pipe objected to his weight. Deciding that his best bet would be to let go before it could break, he tried to swing his legs in such a way as to land on Edie’s side of the fence and make his escape through her garden to the car. Unfortunately, a well-aimed whack from Noush altered his trajectory and he landed, in excruciating pain, straddling the fence.
‘Owwwww!’ he hollered, before rolling off at Edie’s feet.
The pensioner took up where Noush had left off and began beating him with her bag of rubbish until it split and poured its contents all over him. Mickey scrabbled to his feet and, limping painfully, made his way down the side of her house to freedom.
When he eventually met up with Harley she was already sitting in the passenger seat of the stolen Astra.
‘What kept ya?’
Without replying Mickey opened the bonnet of the car. There was a spark of electricity as he hot-wired the engine and it started ticking over. He slammed down the bonnet again and opened the driver’s door.
‘I thought you was goin’ to fetch the car round,’ he moaned petulantly. ‘I’m in agonies ‘ere.’
Harley leant across and looked at him in disbelief. ‘I’m sixteen years old, Mickey. I can’t drive - durr!’
Mickey pulled off his balaclava, brushed away the tea leaves and potato peelings from Edie’s bin and sat down - very carefully! ‘It’s OK for you to blag a diamond dealer and nick Guide uniforms and burgle ‘ouses and try to rob dead bodies but you ain’t prepared to risk drivin’ under age! That is rich, ‘Arl, that is very rich.’ He watched as her eyes narrowed venomously, and was suddenly struck by the thought that he’d gone too far. In fact, he thought, he would probably rather undergo a napalm attack than what he was sure was coming. ‘Er... sorry, ‘Arl darl. Don’t know what come over me. Must be relief ‘cos we ‘ad such a lucky escape.’
‘Lucky?’ she barked. ‘Do you see a diamond, Mickey?’
‘No, ‘Arl darl,’ he replied, throwing the self-help book that he’d found in the car out of the window.
‘Well, there ain’t no two ways about it. That undertaker geezer told Opal that ‘e was gonna be away this weekend, right? So, there ain’t nothing else for it, Mickey - you gotta get back in there and search the bodies.’
‘Aw, ‘Arl darl!’
‘And don’t ‘Arl darl me, ‘cos the way you treated me tonight, I ain’t. You and me’s over till you start showin’ me some respect.’
They drove to Harley’s Chigwell home in silence before Mickey took the Astra on to Wanstead Flats and dumped it. Walking dejectedly back home, he knew exactly how the car felt.
Ten
By Saturday evening, Modesty was tired, totally fed up and feeling unbelievably sorry for herself. Having gone to bed early the previous night, after Beattie’s funeral, she had had no joy trying to sleep. Oz’s mother’s announcement that they were going back to Scarborough had gone through Modesty’s mind as though it were on continuous loop. Finally she’d given in and spent the night staring at the ceiling with a weight like a lump of concrete under her sternum.
The feeling had persisted throughout the day. She was finding it hard to focus on the film she was supposed to be watching; hard to focus on anything other than the heaviness in her chest and the phone in front of her that had not rung all day. She picked it up and checked it for the hundredth time - no missed calls. Maybe the network was down? She looked for the signal tone and sure enough, it was still at full, so she tossed the phone on the settee next to her and sighed.
Everything else that day had gone according to plan; Mortimer, Deirdre and Emlyn had been waved off to their conference that morning and, that evening, Glenys had been dispatched to offer dubious solace to the depressed and suicidal of east London without so much as a whimper of doom and gloom as to what tragedies might befall the girls in her absence. Shortly after Glenys had left, Grace appeared wearing a purple and black lace dress, backcombed hair with green streaks and heavy panda-like eye make-up.
‘I thought it was fancy dress?’ Modesty asked, attempting to muster some semblance of enthusiasm for her younger sister.
‘It is - durr! I’m going as a Goth,’ Grace retorted.
Modesty nodded, wondering what difference (if any) there was between what she was wearing as fancy dress and what she wore normally.
‘Ten thirty!’ she called as Melissa’s father drove away with Grace in the back seat trying very hard not to look excited.
Closing the front door, Modesty closed her eyes and sighed heavily; why hadn’t Oz rung? He’d said he would. Surely that couldn’t be it for ever. She mounted the stairs back to where Cerys was texting Midge. This was so not how she’d imagined her first Saturday evening without her parents would turn out.
‘Do you think you’ll be OK on your own?’ Cerys asked after receiving yet another text message. ‘Only Midge thought we might take advantage of having the place to ourselves.’ She nodded in the direction of her own house, across the forecourt.
‘Positive,’ Modesty replied truthfully. She was sick of putting on a brave face and trying to pretend that she didn’t feel as though someone had drained every ounce of life out of her. ‘Go and enjoy yourselves. If anyone phones, I’ll tell them you’re in the loo and then text you to come over - OK?’
At the sound of Midge’s car on the forecourt, Cerys grabbed her keys and was down the stairs before Modesty could even say goodbye.
Chewing her bottom lip, Modesty picked up her phone again, and debated whether or not to phone Oz instead of just sitting there like a plum waiting for him to ring her. What was he doing? she wondered. Was he home in Scarborough yet? Her fingers hovered over the buttons and then a thought occurred to her - what if he was out with Claire? She put down the phone again - far better just to snap out of it, accept that the whole Oz thing was never going to come to anything and be grateful
for the week they’d had together. But try as she might to convince herself of the latter, she still felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her world. She flopped back against the cushions and, dozy through lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion, found herself nodding off on the settee.
Suddenly she was jolted awake by the phone ringing. Her spirits soared in anticipation but, no sooner had she grabbed her mobile, than it stopped ringing. Bummer! She checked the missed call list and saw to her disappointment and annoyance that it hadn’t been Oz calling but Grace. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she squinted at her watch: it was quarter to eleven.
‘I’ll kill her,’ she groaned to herself out loud. Checking the face of her phone she was irritated to see that there was no voicemail message. ‘If she’s ringing to plead for an extension, she can think again,’ she mumbled, ringing back.
To Modesty’s increased annoyance, Grace’s phone was switched off. Her thoughts had now gone from a quick and simple killing of her sister to slow torture when she finally got hold of her. She tried again - still switched off.
All the disappointment that had been building all day about Oz came to an explosive head, which she vented on Grace’s voicemail. ‘Listen, Grace - what the hell do you think you’re playing at? I trusted you. So if at some point you decide to switch this thing on again, phone me.’
She tossed her phone down and then picked it up again and left another message. ‘On second thoughts - don’t bother - I’m coming to get you.’ Next she rang Cerys. ‘Will you come back over here as soon as possible? Grace is late and she’s refusing to answer her phone. I’m going to have to go and get her.’
Within seconds Cerys and Midge were out on the forecourt, where Modesty was already waiting for them. ‘Cerys, you wait inside and Midge, will you run me up the road to Jody’s where the party is. Honestly - there’ll be more life in a beefburger by the time I’ve finished with her.’
‘She’s not going to be happy, big sis bursting in and spoiling her fun,’ Midge teased.
‘She should’ve thought of that before she decided to stay late.’
Jody’s house was on the same estate as Beattie’s and Modesty couldn’t help but give a wistful look in that direction as they passed.
Her gaze didn’t go unnoticed by Midge. ‘Heard from him yet?’
Modesty shook her head. She was intrigued to see several lights on as they drove by. ‘The lights are on,’ she said, feeling a momentary glimmer of hope.
‘Yeah, those timers are brilliant for putting off burglars when you go away,’ Midge observed, shattering any illusions Modesty might have had about Oz not having left.
‘There it is.’ She pointed to a house on the corner with balloons tied to the gate. ‘You’d better stay in the car if you’re remotely squeamish.’
‘I thought you were supposed to be a pacifist,’ Midge chuckled.
‘I am - but there are limits,’ she replied tartly.
As she approached the front door of Jody’s house she realised that the place seemed very quiet. There was no music blasting out and no sound of people enjoying themselves; she hoped she’d got the right address. The door was answered by a man, whom Modesty presumed to be Jody’s dad, wearing a Dracula mask pushed up on to the top of his head and tomato ketchup down the front of his shirt to look like blood. He had a bundle of streamers in his hand and looked slightly perplexed to see Modesty standing on his doorstep. A woman in a witch’s hat was standing behind him picking up empty cups and paper plates and putting them in a bag. From the lack of music and the signs of tidying up, it was beginning to dawn on Modesty that the party had finished.
‘Hi,’ she said, tentatively, ‘I’m Modesty de Mise, Grace’s sister. I’ve come to collect her. Is she ready?’
Jody’s parents exchanged a glance of mild anxiety. ‘She’s gone, love.’ Jody’s father checked his watch. ‘Ooo, must be half an hour ago, now.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Who was it took Grace home?’
‘Melissa, I think,’ answered Jody’s mum. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine,’ Modesty replied, trying to control the sickening dread that was beginning to rise from her stomach. ‘You don’t happen to know Melissa’s phone number, do you?’
A call to Melissa’s home confirmed that Grace had been dropped off at a little after half-past ten - just as Modesty had stipulated.
‘No worries,’ she reassured the other girls’ parents. ‘I’ve been asleep, so I probably just missed her coming in. Sorry to have bothered you.’
Once back in the car she rang home. ‘Cerys, will you go up to Grace’s room and see if she’s sneaked in without me knowing?’ While she waited for Cerys to return, she spoke to Midge. ‘Drive really slowly, just in case she decided to walk back to the party or something totally ridiculous.’
‘Not even Grace would be that loony, surely,’ Midge remarked.
Modesty gave an irritated snort. ‘My sister takes lunacy to new levels at times.’
Cerys returned to the phone and gave Modesty the news she hadn’t wanted to hear. ‘No - no sign. I’ve checked the bathroom and kitchen too.’
‘Oh God!’ Modesty said, exasperated. ‘Thanks, Cerys. We’ll be back soon, I just want to drive round a bit.’
Midge trundled slowly along, Modesty’s eyes scanning the pavements and gardens at each side of the road as they drove. Her chest felt as though it had been encased in steel; she could barely breathe for the fear that was threatening to engulf her. Why the hell had she ever agreed to let her go to this stupid party anyway? As they approached the corner, Midge braked sharply.
‘Idiot!’ he screamed at a red Bentley that had veered out in front of him.
Modesty gasped as it screeched round the corner and disappeared from view. She was sure that was the same car that she’d seen Mickey Bigg’s dad driving, both when he’d come to arrange the Finlayter funeral and at the Town Hall. She wondered what he’d been doing round there at that time of night and then remembered the conversation she’d overheard between him and Laura Appleby. He’d probably gone round to see her again and been annoyed that they’d already left. She felt a flicker of sadness at the thought of Oz. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a shadowy figure moving close to the hedge.
‘Stop!’ she called out.
Midge braked hard. ‘Have you seen her?’
Modesty’s voice quavered with disappointment and fear. ‘Sorry - it’s just someone walking their dog.’
Midge put out a comforting hand and patted Modesty on the arm. ‘Don’t worry - we’ll find her.’
Modesty nibbled at her lip and said nothing - she just hoped he was right and wished that it could have been Oz sitting next to her and offering her support.
When they arrived back at the house, they found Cerys in a state of distress.
‘Moddy, your mum just rang and she wanted to say goodnight to you and Grace. I didn’t know what to tell her...’ Her words petered out.
‘What did you tell her?’ Modesty asked, with some trepidation. ‘Please tell me you didn’t say anything.’
Cerys looked pleadingly at her friend. ‘I told her you were in the bath.’
‘What, both of us?’ Modesty queried, incredulously.
The older girl shrugged. ‘What else could I say?’
Modesty sighed and picked up the house phone. ‘Don’t worry about it... Hi, Mum... Yes, thanks, I’ve just got out.’ She crossed her fingers, as though that made the lie any less dishonest. ‘No, Grace is in bed... I know, but she was with some friends and she’s exhausted.’ Modesty closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer of apology for the string of untruths that were issuing from her lips. ‘Glenys? Erm...’ She grimaced at Cerys, trying to assess whether or not her friend had told her mother Glenys’s whereabouts.
‘Popped home,’ Cerys mouthed.<
br />
Modesty nodded, relieved. ‘No, she’s just popped home for something. Would you like her to give you a ring in the morning?’
‘Nice one,’ Cerys whispered, giving her the thumbs-up sign.
‘OK then, Mum. What time are you back?... About seven o’clock tomorrow evening... Brilliant... We’ll see you then. Night, Mum!’
Modesty put down the phone, sank on to the settee and dropped her head into her hands. ‘What the hell am I doing? I should’ve told her.’ She looked up at her friend. ‘I just didn’t want to worry her but I don’t even know where to start.’ She looked from Cerys to Midge for ideas but they both appeared just as worried and confused as she was. ‘Do you think I should call the police?’
‘Yes,’ replied Cerys, without hesitation.
‘Let’s give her another half an hour,’ Midge suggested. ‘I mean, we know she was dropped off at just turned half past ten...’
‘Which is almost an hour ago,’ Modesty pointed out, picking up the house phone.
‘Yes, but you know Grace,’ Midge continued, ‘she could just be playing silly beggars for the hell of it. I think we need to have a thorough search of the whole place before you go calling in the heavies.’
Modesty played with the telephone, spinning it round and round in her hands as she weighed up Midge’s words. He was right - Grace was probably hiding in a coffin somewhere, getting an enormous kick out of the idea that her sister might be freaking out. That would be so typical of her warped sense of humour.
‘OK, we’ll give her half an hour,’ she agreed, replacing the handset. ‘Come on, let’s search the whole place from top to bottom.’
‘Whoa!’ Cerys put up both hands in a gesture of refusal. ‘There’s no way I’m going down there at night.’
Modesty stared at her in disbelief. ‘Why not?’
She shuddered. ‘It gives me the heebie-jeebies.’
Modesty let out a moan of irritation. ‘For heaven’s sake, Cerys - your dad’s an embalmer - he works with dead bodies every day.’