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The Killer You Know

Page 23

by S. R. Masters


  “Yeah, well I don’t think so. There’s things about him I know that you wouldn’t like. Things he’s said to me.”

  “Oh,” he says, looking very worried now.

  From the footpath you could walk straight through the perimeter bushes into the back of one of the fruit farm’s orchards. The air is pungent: mud and wet straw. Running parallel to the footpath on the other side of the bushes are twenty tatty wooden boxes lined up in a row. Beehives. They’re like the filing crates in Mum’s back office.

  She kneels to place another gift box behind the fourth beehive along, the whole while remaining so nervous about that lip at the bottom. No bees leave or enter while she’s on her hands and knees, although they are close, she hears them buzzing nearby, in the trees and the grass.

  Once she’s made the drop she leaps to her feet and back to Rupesh who is waiting over by the gap in the bushes looking wary, not unusual for him, though this time he has a specific reason.

  “Jen, isn’t Adeline allergic to bees?” he says.

  “Oh, is she?” Jen says, allowing the actress to take over.

  “Will said she told you while I was away?”

  “Oh yeah, I remember.” Of course she does, that’s the whole reason she’s chosen this place. It’s only fair, after all. It had been Adeline’s thoughtlessness that had cost Rupesh his points in the first round—her saying she didn’t know is a load of rubbish. Surely she’d noticed Rupesh never came with them to the tracks? Now she’ll probably come last and Rupesh will come first—a good trade. “But yeah, like, I’ve got a cat allergy but I still have cats.”

  “Will said it was like My Girl,” Rupesh said. “That kid dies.”

  “Films aren’t real life, Rupesh. Don’t worry about it.” She walks past him and hopes he’ll follow. Would he care this much if it was anyone other than Adeline? If it were her? She hears his sceptical hum, his sound, like bees buzzing, but then she hears him jogging to catch up.

  It will be fine. There weren’t even any bees there.

  The two of them walk side by side at the edge of the maize field behind Steve’s house.

  They are counting the rows. One… two… three… four… five…

  There is still a light rain, and they are all going to get soaked going into the rows to retrieve the clue, if they weren’t already. But it’s too late to do anything about it now.

  Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen.

  They stand not far from where the base was that day.

  “You wait here,” Jen says. “Just shout when you can’t see me any more.”

  “Okay.”

  Jen enters the maize, her almost empty bag in hand. Thankfully the fibrous leaves are far enough apart on either side not to touch her, and they’ve prevented the ground from getting wet. It’s always eerie in here though, with the hissing of the maize and the forlorn calls of the crows above. She’s grateful Rupesh is nearby.

  “Stop,” Rupesh says.

  When she turns she is surprised at how far she’s come. She can’t see Rupesh either, but can just make out the light where the rows end. She reaches into the bag and pulls out the final box. It’s blue, the colour of the imaginary sky in all her planning. Ironic given the rustle of the stalks in the wind and the patter of rain on the leaves. She crouches, sets the box down on the soil, and checks one last time that the final clue is definitely inside.

  “What’s this clue?” a voice asks.

  She nearly screams. She loses her balance and falls onto her bum. It’s just Rupesh.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I thought you’d hear me coming. I forgot it’s impossible, isn’t it?”

  Agreeing, she hands him the box and he reads from the paper strip inside. She’s a bit embarrassed, and a bit annoyed.

  “Beware raptors,” Rupesh says.

  “We’re going to jump out at them,” she says. “We’ll hide and wait a few rows across. Tell me when you can’t see me any more,” she says and steps into the next row, then the next, then the next.

  “I can barely see you now,” he says.

  Jen sits down. “What about now?”

  “No, only if I really looked hard, or if I was crawling along the floor.”

  He comes through the row then, sitting opposite her on the dry floor, mirroring her, his legs crossed so that their knees are almost touching.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she says when the wind and the rainfall intensify in tandem.

  “I’d have been too scared to sit and wait in here,” Rupesh said.

  “I never planned to do it this way if you weren’t with me.”

  It’s the words, with me. They affect him, his posture stiffens. She’s chosen these words deliberately, too, hoping they would have that power, confident they might.

  He’s going to say something, she can read it in the uncharacteristic hardness of his expression, jaw tight, eyes askance.

  “Do you want me to read your fortune?” he says.

  “Maybe,” she says. “I don’t know. Does it hurt?”

  “No. Well, it’s not meant to. Depends what it says, I suppose.”

  He reaches and takes her hand, bringing himself closer. He runs his finger down the lines on her palm, and pleasure pulses up her arm and through her whole body, and after a few seconds another shiver runs up her back, this one so wonderful she can’t help but moan a little. It’s so embarrassing, and he feels her tense up, and asks if she’s okay.

  “This is your lifeline,” he says, the pad of his index finger sliding across a groove in her hand. “Yes, it’s going to intersect with your wealth line, which means you’ll come into some money at some point in the distant future. Just before your fiftieth birthday.”

  “Do you really know what you’re doing?”

  “Of course,” he says, and his fingers move to her wrists and the sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable. She fights the urge to drag her hand away. “And your fate line meets your lifeline here, which probably means you’ll meet the man you marry around the age of thirty.”

  “Oh good, plenty of time to get my career in place first.”

  “Your career line looks good, actually,” he says, and his smile gives him away.

  “Career line? You’re making this up.” She leaves her hand with him, though, and for a while he just continues stroking and doesn’t say a thing.

  She closes her eyes, moans again, then isn’t at all surprised when she smells his girly scent nearby, hears the creaking of his rubber coat, and feels his cold lips on hers. Inside she burns.

  They fall onto their backs, and kiss so much her lips tingle.

  They’re still kissing when Steve reaches the clue. They hadn’t noticed his approach, and Jen is still stupefied from what’s just happened. But Rupesh takes control, and jumps out at Steve when he takes the paper slip from inside the box.

  “Fucking hell,” she hears, followed by the sound of a scuffle.

  “Hey, it’s just me,” Rupesh says.

  “What are you doing?” Steve says, agitated. Jen gets up and steps through the rows.

  Rupesh is on the floor, the open box nearby. Steve stands over him ready to attack.

  “You okay?” Jen says.

  “Yeah,” Steve says, though she wasn’t asking him. Rupesh has a cut on his cheek.

  “Did you hit him?” she asks Steve.

  “Sorry. I just… It was just instinct.” To Rupesh he holds out a hand and helps him up, apologising. “You got here first then, Rupesh?”

  “Yeah,” Rupesh says. He is glaring at Steve.

  “That’s… good,” Steve says. “Well done. The comeback’s on, then.”

  Jen nods, then explains that they’ll have to set the box back up and wait for the next person to come.

  They don’t have to wait long before the next person arrives. Adeline. Ha. She knew that stuff about the bee allergy had been an attention-seeking lie. Here she is, no later than she would have been had she left the clue any place. Typical.

  The
y all pile onto her without mercy. Adeline screams. Jen accidentally knees Adeline in the side, and apologies. Adeline doesn’t even appear to have noticed. All four of them lie on the ground in a heap. The fact she’s here doesn’t matter now, she’s still only got two points.

  “You found the clue okay then?” Rupesh says. They get to their feet.

  “Yeah, it was right there at the entrance to the beehives,” she says, then looks to Jen, “which was good as I probably wouldn’t have been able to get it if it had been any further in. Did you forget?”

  “What?”

  “I’m allergic.” Adeline’s smiling, but her face reminds her of a fish caught on a line. There’s pain underneath. She’s annoyed her. Good. Fair is fair, at least she knows how Rupesh felt now.

  “Right,” she says. “I’m sorry, we did talk about that.” Then she realises what she’s said and quickly allows actress Jen to take control. “Rupesh and me did, the other day, didn’t we? But we thought it wasn’t serious, you know. It’s not like it can actually kill you…”

  Rupesh doesn’t back her up, instead he just makes that sound.

  “So hang on,” Jen says. “Steve, why was the clue not where I left it?”

  “I couldn’t let Adeline go in there with her allergy,” he says, his little smile directed only at Adeline. Ugh. “Have you not seen 999? That’s serious.”

  “So you helped Adeline?” Jen says. “Isn’t that a forfeit?”

  “When did you and Rupesh talk about Adeline’s allergy?” Steve says. “Were you discussing it with relation to the game? Because that’s not really allow—”

  “I didn’t mention the game,” she says quickly, overwhelmed by the sensation that Steve somehow knows about her plan with Rupesh. He couldn’t possibly, and yet, the way he is smiling now makes her think he does.

  A long time passes where the only sound is the rain on the crops. Then they agree they need to take their final places for Will, and Steve starts doing the game maths out loud: he and Jen are top with seven points, and Will and Rupesh are both on five points.

  They form two camps on either side of the fifteenth row, three rows across, waiting for Will to claim his one point.

  From where Jen and Rupesh sit they can hear Adeline and Steve whispering, giggling.

  “Did he really hit you?” Jen says.

  “Yeah,” Rupesh says, and laughs. “But it was instinctive.”

  She finds his laugh painfully lovely, and she reaches up to stroke his still bleeding cheek. Sometimes she hates Steve, even if his stupid schemes allow for things like this to happen.

  When she lowers her hand Rupesh clasps it in his. She leans over and kisses him again. She doesn’t want the others to get here. She wants to stay in the maize for ever, fuck the future, and her parents, and stupid sixth-form college.

  But no, it would end, wouldn’t it? Everything comes to an end, no matter how much you want a pause button or a drug that slowed down time.

  A melancholy like nothing she has ever felt before overwhelms her. And she clutches Rupesh’s hand so tightly in hers he says, “Ow,” and in irritation she throws it back to him.

  “Fine,” she says.

  “Just a bit tight.”

  She is getting cold now, her teeth are starting to chatter. Beads of rain collect at the end of her nose that she can’t be bothered to wipe away.

  After what could have only been half an hour but that felt like twelve, they give up and return to Elm Close. Will hasn’t shown. The rain has stopped finally, and outside Steve’s house they say their goodbyes. They are about to head their separate ways until the evening when Will emerges from Mr. Strachan’s house and starts down towards them.

  “What is he doing there?” Steve says.

  “Have I missed it?” he says when he reaches them.

  “Yes,” Adeline says. “We’ve been waiting out in the fields for you.”

  “We’re freezing,” Jen says, her voice a little shrill.

  Will’s gaze drifts down to where she and Rupesh are holding hands once again. She considers letting go, allowing him to find this out more gently. But then another raindrop falls from her hair and down her nose, making her itch. Now is as good a time as any.

  When he sees their hands something flashes on his face, some electrical pulse in his funny little head.

  He looks up and shrugs. “Soz. I lost the time, and when I found it again I realised I’d probably missed it all anyway. I’ll make it up.”

  There is a collective sigh, though Will and Steve are staring at one another now.

  “Why are you at his place?” Steve says.

  He shrugs.

  Jen can’t believe this. Will and Mr. Strachan? Where had this come from?

  “He was just showing me some stuff he’s got,” Will says. “He’s all right, to be fair.”

  “You know he’s probably grooming you?” Steve says.

  “He’s not like that.” Another shrug. “He’s all right.”

  “I just give up,” Steve says, and walks back to his house. “I’ll see you all later. Will, you get one point.”

  No one else knows what to say to him. Jen should be furious; he’s wasted her time with this round. Strangely she doesn’t care. That he sees her and Rupesh is enough. Without ceremony they drift apart, Jen holding Rupesh’s hand right up until the point that they will be visible from Jen’s house. When she turns back, she sees Will still standing there, watching them.

  Winter, 2015

  It was hard to tell from all the way across the road, and through the gap I’d made in the fogged windows of Steve’s car, but the lanky man exiting the end-of-terrace looked like it might really be Will Oswald. He was wearing a blue cagoule and a beanie, but the gait and height were a match enough for me. We’d been parked on the street opposite his house painstakingly going over our approach when Rupesh noticed him leaving.

  “What do we do?” I said from the passenger seat.

  “Follow him,” Steve said, sounding uncertain. “Or wait.”

  We watched Will walk to the end of the road and disappear down an alley.

  Steve took my phone from me and scanned the already-open Google maps. “We can try and drive on down the road, we might be able to catch up to him on the other side.”

  When no one offered a better plan, he handed my phone back and started the engine. He took the next left, then a right, getting deeper into the maze of conjoined houses.

  “What exactly are we doing?” I said.

  “Let’s just see where he goes,” Rupesh said.

  After almost ten minutes of keeping a distance, ducking in and out of car parking spaces, the man we were following arrived at a main road. When we reached the same junction in the car he was no longer visible, having turned right. Not much further down the road in that direction was a pub called The Centurion—the same name the pub in Blythe went under these days.

  “So if he’s in there, what’s our plan?” I said.

  “We’re just out for a curry,” Rupesh said, “and popping in for a quick drink before we eat. This is perfect, we can just accidentally run into him. It’s even better than my stupid locum story.”

  To me, the pub didn’t exactly look like the sort of place any of the three of us would voluntarily opt to enter on a night out, but on the inside it wasn’t so bad. It was quiet, and the few men propped up at the bar didn’t give us the Wild West eyes when we approached.

  I could see across to the far end of the room now and the man we’d been following, the man who was without doubt Will Oswald now he was out of his beanie and coat, sat at a table facing our direction but gazing down at his pint.

  “It’s him,” I said through my teeth. “It’s actually fucking him.”

  “I know,” Steve said. “Let’s just get the drinks in and be normal.”

  Once we’d been served we followed Rupesh to a table near Will, but before we could he looked up.

  “Hello, hello,” he said in a baritone untouched by time. He
appraised us without cracking a smile. Was that the look of a man surprised by the appearance of three old friends or the look of a killer working out what his next move should be? I swore I could see his fight or flight responses warring behind his flat expression.

  “Will Oswald,” I said.

  “I can safely say I didn’t expect this tonight,” he said, his brow creasing.

  Immediately I was decoding what he said, working out if this might have a double meaning.

  Then he addressed Steve, his expression a fraction more severe: “What are you doing here?”

  We sat at Will’s table without being invited. I held my wine two-handed and close to my chest, my shield. This was him, Will Oswald: the Holy Grail, the Ark of the Covenant, our fucking McGuffin. His hair was still blond and unkempt, his manner just as slow and indecisive as it was in my memory. So much was different, though: cheekbones jutting from skin so white capillary networks were visible, corneas waxy and reddened—the right eye in particular, which didn’t quite look out at us in the same way the left one did. Strachan’s legacy.

  “How have you been?” I said.

  “Better,” he said. Did he mean he’d been better, or that his life was better now than at some previous time?

  I began spinning him the story we’d settled on in the car. If he thought it odd he gave nothing away. We’d decided to bring up the visit to his parents, but not the trip to see The Geppettos, reasoning that Will would be more likely to see the former than the latter—it couldn’t have been him I saw in Manchester. And we didn’t want to make it obvious we’d been hunting him down.

  “How they all doing?” he said. “I don’t see them much these days.”

  “Yeah, they seemed good,” I said. “We weren’t there long, just popped in on the off chance while we were out walking. Your brother mentioned your music stuff to us. I had no idea you liked punk. You weren’t into it when we were friends.” Feeling brave, I added: “You were into, like, Nirvana and all those grunge bands.”

  “My crowd at sixth form, at Arden, were big into skating and weed and all that. They listened to a lot of punk so… I don’t remember much of that time, you know?” He laughed, the first crack in his icy front. “Maybe overdid it a bit.”

 

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