“Okay,” said Davie, “so what did he want?”
Frankie shrugged. “Fuck should I know?”
Davie looked at him and sighed. “I’m your brother, man. Tell me the truth.”
After a couple seconds, Frankie finally relented and let down his guard. “Okay, little bro, you’re right. He’s just some geezer I had to teach a lesson in manners the other night. I gave him some grief and he just came round to kick off about it.”
“You going to leave off now, then?”
Frankie laughed and patted Davie on the shoulder. “Hell no! Shit is only just getting started. Now get out my way, bro. This bitch needs a good seeing to.”
Michelle punched Frankie on the arm, but giggled as she did so. Davie got out of his brother’s way without saying another word. There was no point in arguing. Frankie would do as Frankie wanted; that was the way it had always been.
So Davie decided to descend the stairs instead. He entered the downstairs hallway, heading for the kitchen to get a snack. It was unlikely there’d be anything to eat – there never was – but stranger things had happened. The malodour of alcohol and weed was stronger downstairs than up and managed to permeate every corner of the lower floor. The sound of garrulous daytime television polluted Davie’s ears just as much as the smell polluted his nose (the additional noise of Frankie and Michelle now beginning to fuck loudly upstairs only added to the assault on his senses).
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” his mother asked him as tried to sneak past the living room door.
“Half-term,” he told her truthfully.
Davie’s mother stared at him, trying to work out if he was lying or not, oblivious to the fact that she should know his school schedule anyway. Davie stared right back at her and eventually she seemed satisfied.
“Okay, sweetheart,” she said. “Come sit with your old mum.”
Fantastic. Just about the last thing I want to do right now.
Davie smiled uncomfortably and joined his mother on the grimy settee. She pretty much lived in the tiny lounge, sprawled in front of the television like a rotting bug. Davie sometimes wondered whether her sweat-soaked flesh would someday fuse with the festering cloth of the cushions and keep her there forever.
His mum took a long swig of beer and followed it with a throaty belch. She looked at him with bleary eyes. “So whaya bin up to, son?”
Davie shrugged and stared at the television, not wanting to look at her. “Nothing really. Just hanging out with Frankie. I’m glad he’s back.”
She huffed and took another swig of beer. “Boy’s a bad un. Done nothing but embarrass me his whole life. All I ever did was try to raise him like a good mother. You need to stay out of his way, Davie. You study hard and make your old mum proud. That boy will only bring you down with him – drinking, drugs, sex. He’s no good.”
“He’s my brother. He just does what he has to.”
Davie’s mum laughed; a wet cackle that eventually became a hacking cough. Phlegm and spittle flew from between her cracked lips and settled on the grungy carpet. When she finally managed to get control of her lungs again, she took another swig of beer and said, “He tell ya that, did he? Bloody swine.”
Davie didn’t answer. He hated it when his mother started on about Frankie – it never ended well. There was a real, palpable hatred between the two of them and Davie was the unfortunate victim in the middle. He loved them both, but when it came right down to it, only one of them was really looking out for Davie – and it wasn’t his mother.
The sounds of sex from above grew louder and more frenzied, approaching a crescendo. Michelle cried out in orgasm, lacking regard for anyone having to listen. If the naked light bulb in the living room had a shade, it would probably be swinging.
Davie’s mother looked up at the ceiling and sneered, upper lip curling. “Goddamn whore! Where does Frankie find em? Regret the day I gave birth to that monster, I really do.”
“Mum, don’t say that.” Davie knew where things were going: same place they always did. “Just watch your TV show. Okay?”
Suddenly her demeanour changed. Her eyes turned dark and her expression exuded a deep and hateful bitterness. “Don’t you tell me what to do, you ungrateful swine. Who do you think you are?”
“Mum…”
She struck him across the face. Davie’s instincts almost made him strike her right back, but he managed to refrain from any retaliation. You never hit women, Frankie always used to tell him, those are the rules. So, instead, Davie stood up calmly to exit the room.
His mother shouted after him as he left. “That’s right. Get outta my sight. Devil-child, that’s what you are. You and your brother make my life a living hell.” She started to sob to herself. “What did I do to deserve this? I do my best…”
Davie ignored the rest of her comments; he’d heard them too often before to let them settle in his mind and flourish. He turned away and went back up the stairs, heading for his bedroom. Maybe he’d wile away the day with a videogame (not that he had any that weren’t ancient by now). Keep his head down and stay out of trouble. But, before Davie even got to his room, Frankie stepped out onto the landing to meet him.
“What that bitch say to you?” he demanded. “I heard shouting.”
“Nothing,” said Davie. “She’s just mouthing off at the television again. You know what she’s like when she’s been drinking.”
Frankie examined Davie’s face, trying to work him out. Eventually he nodded and said, “Yeah. It’s what she’s like when she hasn’t been drinking that I know nothing about. Old bag’s a waste of space. She should be on the Jeremy Kyle Show, not watching it.” Frankie stepped over to Davie and put a hand on his shoulder. “Go find your coat, bro. We’re going out.”
Davie frowned. “Where to?”
Frankie smirked, his twitch turning the expression into an alternating grimace. “To go and have some fun.”
Great, thought Davie, heading to fetch his coat. More fun…
Chapter Seven
Andrew was upset, frightened, angry, and a multitude of other unwanted states of mind. The amount of adrenaline coursing through his body had at one point driven him perilously close to full-blown panic. It was only thanks to a combination of deep breathing and the brisk walk home that he managed to keep his anxiety under control. Now that he was rounding the final corner to his house, Andrew’s predominant emotion had become anger.
Frankie’s attitude had been aggressive just like he’d expected it to be. But what he’d not expected was that the lad’s mother would be just as confrontational as her son. In many ways, it explained a lot – almost made the monster that was Frankie understandable and perhaps even forgivable. It didn’t make it alright, though.
Andrew had decided enough was enough.
Frankie was just a teenage boy, living with his mother and dating a school girl. Andrew was willing to bet his Accurist that the lad was all front and little substance. He’d only had the guts to throw a punch at Andrew the previous night because of a gang backing him up. People were only afraid of Frankie because of the reputation he worked so hard to cultivate. But things would be different if people fought back instead of buying into it.
Andrew was an averaged-sized guy, healthy enough to throw a punch if he had to (although he never had done so before). If Frankie wanted to try and victimise him then he was welcome to try. Andrew knew where the lad lived now and who his family were. They were on an equal playing field.
Andrew reached the path to his own house and started up it. He could see the shape of Pen and Bex through the net curtains of the front window and smiled at the thought of seeing them. He hadn’t expected them both to be home.
Is it dinnertime time already?
Andrew checked his wristwatch and saw that it was getting on for six-o-clock. As if in affirmation of the late hour his stomach began to grumble. Food was something he hadn’t thought about all day, but perhaps his appetite returning was a good sign – a sign that things
were no longer getting to him quite so much.
Andrew unlocked his front door and stepped into the porch. Then he kicked off his shoes, removed his jacket, and passed through into the hallway. Pen and Bex were on the sofa in the living room. The carpets were still a mess, but the smell was mostly gone now. They gawped at him as he entered.
“Where you been?” Pen demanded. “Have you seen what they’ve done to your car?”
Andrew set himself down in his armchair and released a weary sigh. “I know. I went to Frankie’s house to try and sort things out.”
Pen’s eyes widened. “Really? What happened?”
Andrew leant back into the chair’s cushion and shrugged his shoulders. “Not a fat-lot. The lad’s whole family is as bad as he is. Like banging my head against a brick wall.”
“So this isn’t over, then,” said Bex, beside her mother and still wearing her school blazer.
“Hopefully it will be, honey. Frankie knows I’ve seen where he lives and that I’m not afraid to confront him. Perhaps that will be enough to make him think twice. Either way, don’t let it worry you. Things will be okay, I promise.”
Bex seemed unconvinced. “How do you know?”
“I just do. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to us.”
“Okay,” said Pen. “Let’s just move on, then. We should put it all behind us.” She looked at Andrew and grinned. “I think we’re still owed an evening of fish and chips, though, so I think I’ll walk over to the shops.”
Andrew stood up from the armchair. “Don’t be silly. I’ll go.”
“You sure?”
Andrew nodded emphatically. “Yes, of course. There’s nothing to worry about. Last thing I thought you’d fancy is fish and chips, though, after last night.”
“Like I said, we should just move on as normal, and I don’t feel like cooking tonight. You sure you don’t want me to go fetch them?”
Andrew nodded. “Certain as can be.”
He left the living room and went to get his jacket from the porch. It was chillier now, with night falling, so he decided on a scarf also. Once he checked for his wallet and keys, Andrew left the porch and started down the front path.
The sight of the empty road ahead was comforting; the soft buzzing of the streetlights the only sound he could hear. Right now, the memory of being attacked by a gang of remorseless teenagers seemed impossible – a nightmare he had woken from long ago. Still, it would be smart to remain alert and Andrew wasn’t entirely confident as he ambled down the street. At least for now it seemed like things would be okay, that events would soon blow over.
What a day. Just when life seems to be routine and unexciting, something crazy can happen and turn everything on its head. It’s over now, though. A little grovelling at work and things will soon be back to normal.
Andrew didn’t notice the ambulance straight away. He was aware of the flashing lights at the edge of his vision, but was too lost in his own thoughts to recognise their immediate connotations. When he eventually realised that someone was injured, Andrew hastened his steps to join the gathering crowd up ahead.
The ambulance was parked outside the small group of shops that served the local estate. When Andrew realised the emergency vehicle was parked directly outside of the chip shop, his stomach twisted into knots. A sense of dread enveloped him like a shroud.
He rushed forward and looked for the nearest paramedic. Nearby was a young blond-headed man in a white shirt and green jacket. He was carrying a large holdall with blue and white NHS emblems.
Andrew started asking questions. “What’s happened? Who’s hurt?”
The paramedic pushed past him, not even making eye-contact. “Please move aside, sir.”
Andrew grabbed out at the man’s sleeve but missed. The medical worker hurried away before there was any chance to stop him. Several spectators stood around in various corners of the shopping area car park, gawping and cooing like hungry pigeons. Andrew examined the people one after another and eventually spotting a young girl wearing the same chip shop uniform that Charlie always wore.
He sighed with relief.
Thank God. That girl is obviously working tonight instead of Charlie. This is probably all down to some poor person having a heart attack or a funny turn.
“What happened?” Andrew asked the chip shop girl as he closed the distance between them. The girl’s eyes pointed at him, moist with recently-shed tears. It was obvious she’d witnessed whatever accident had befallen the poor soul in the ambulance. Andrew put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and got her attention. “I said what happened?”
For a brief moment it looked like the girl was going to faint, but she managed to refocus and look Andrew in the eye. “She…she got burned.”
“Who got burned?”
“Cha…Charlie.”
Andrew’s knees threatened to fold beneath him. His stomach felt light and somehow heavy at the same time. “Charlie is the one who got hurt?”
The grief-stricken girl nodded.
Andrew shook his head, hoping she was mistaken. “W-What happened?”
The girl gave no answer, just stared into space.
Andrew gave her a little shove. “Tell me!”
She snapped back to reality again. “I…I don’t know. She slipped into the fat-fryer. Got her arm all burned up.”
Andrew examined the girl’s expression closely. She was staring into space again as if she was in complete shock. Whatever happened must have been more traumatic than what she was telling him.
“Bullshit!” he said. The girl flinched, looked at him, but still said nothing. More tears began to expel themselves down her cheeks. Andrew put a hand on her shoulder again and squeezed gently. He looked her dead in the eyes and made sure she saw him. “Frankie did this, didn’t he?”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look, don’t be afraid. Just tell me what really happened.”
“Just….just leave me alone, okay?” The girl shrugged free of Andrew’s grasp and hurried away. She rushed inside the chip shop and locked the door behind her. Andrew shook his head and felt tears of his own welling up in his eyes.
So much for answers, he thought. But I know Frankie has to be involved in this.
The ambulance revved its engine and started to pull away. Andrew tried to get a look in through the back window, to see if Charlie was okay, but the glass was frosted dark and gave no opportunity to do so. He stood in shock for several minutes, praying to god that the poor girl on her way to the hospital was not hurt because of him. But a spiteful uttering in the back of his mind told him that that was wishful thinking.
As the initial shock diluted into Andrew’s bloodstream and eventually faded away completely, it was replaced by a fury so alive with hatred that it seemed electrical in nature, sparking through his system and making his flesh tingle. He started for home again, wondering how he would ever explain to his family that, for the second time this week, fish and chips were cancelled.
***
“What do you mean you’re going to the hospital?” Pen asked him.
“I need to go check on someone,” Andrew told his wife. “The girl from the chip shop. She told me where Frankie lives and I think he’s hurt her because of it.”
Pen almost spat out the red wine she was drinking. “He’s put a girl in hospital now? Jesus Christ!”
“And it might be my fault,” said Andrew, “which is why I need to go.”
Pen collapsed onto the sofa, almost spilling her wine. Not that it would have mattered with the carpet in the state it was. “Crazy! This whole thing is just…crazy!”
Andrew sat down beside his wife and put an arm around her. “I know, but perhaps the girl will press charges and Frankie will get put back inside. Lord knows he deserves it.”
“You want me to come with you?”
Andrew shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t be fair to Charlie. She probably won’t want to see me, let alone my family. You stay h
ere and look after Bex. I think she’s more upset about this situation than she lets on.”
“Okay,” said Pen. “Give this…Charlie…my best, okay?”
Andrew kissed his wife goodbye and left the house again. The hospital was five or six miles away so he would need to take his car to get there. Hopefully, now that it was dark, the graffiti written all over it would not as visible.
Andrew pulled out his car keys and pressed the alarm fob. The car’s lights flashed twice.
To the pedo-mobile, Andrew thought as he looked at the once-beautiful feat of German engineering. He pulled open the driver’s door and hopped inside, plonking himself down onto the leather seat. The ignition started as soon as he turned the key and the car was already moving when Andrew began fumbling for his seatbelt. His eyes were off the road only a few seconds while he looked back to retrieve the strap, but it was long enough to completely miss the person standing in the road.
The car hit at only 15mph, but it was quick enough to launch the stranger up onto the bonnet and back down to the pavement again.
Andrew stamped on the brakes.
The tyres squealed.
The car stopped.
There was a body lying in the road and Andrew could not believe it. His world kept getting worse with each passing second. He pressed the release on the seat belt and shoved open the door, then he stumbled out into the numbing cold of the frosty night.
The body in the road was a young boy, unconscious and bleeding. Glass covered the asphalt with wicked shards of glass which sparkled in the car’s headlamps like thousands of alligator teeth. Andrew rushed over to the boy and dropped down to his knees, ignoring the stabbing pains caused by the unforgiving tarmac. He shook the boy gently. “Are you okay?”
Stupid question.
“Everything is going to be okay,” Andrew said in a slow, clear voice. “I’m going to take you to the hospital.”
I was on my way there, anyway, Andrew thought glumly. To see another young kid that got hurt because of me.
I’m going to hell.
Andrew sprung up off his knees, went and opened the rear passenger-door of his car, then went back to the injured boy. Kneeling down, he threaded his arms underneath the boy’s armpits and hoisted him up. Thankfully the boy was pretty lean and Andrew was just about able to carry him over to the back seat of the car without running out of steam. He placed the boy down gently, bending his legs at the knee so that the door had room to close. But before Andrew had chance to shut it, the boy opened his eyes and started to moan.
ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror Page 6