Their diaries testified that several of them had heard screams in the dead of night. Shawn Loosemore had patrolled with a torch and a pellet gun. Its for rabbits, he wrote, but it would blow a hole in your face if you put it rite up close. Craig Hunter had hitched a ride home with a weerd man with half a beerd, Essie Littlejohn said she’d found the dead woman’s shoes in a hedge, and even Ruby Trick had entered the fray …
If she was hichiking then she was just asking for it.
It was straight out of the Dave Marshall school of sexual liberation.
Even in the staffroom, the teachers crowded around Melanie Franklin, whose husband was Jody Reeves’ cousin. From her they gleaned every possible detail about the deathly phone call – using tea and digestive biscuits as sly leverage – while Dave Marshall himself stood on the fringes and said loud, pointless things like ‘I know what I’d do to the bastard,’ and ‘Just give me five minutes alone in a room with him,’ which guaranteed a no-risk return on his empty machismo.
Miss Sharpe would love to have granted Marshall his wish of five minutes alone in a room with a serial killer. She believed she could have sold tickets.
She sighed and turned to the window to watch the children at play. In the tarmac yard beyond the staffroom window, games of tag and football and hopscotch were in full flow. Kids bickered and laughed, and a black and white ball rang against the brick-wall goal. Ruby Trick’s red hair drew her eye. She was alone, as usual, but as Miss Sharpe watched her crouch on the tarmac to re-draw the blue chalk squares melting in the drizzle, her reflection relaxed into a more familiar smile.
She had done the same thing when she was that age. In identical long white socks.
Things changed, but things stayed the same.
Feeling encouraged, her eyes drifted across the playground. She became aware of a pattern emerging in a group of children near the school gate. It was mostly 5B, she noticed – all playing some rough game of pushing and pulling and running away screaming, then back in, laughing. A boy would grab a shrieking girl around the neck and hold her, while the others scattered. Then one of them would speak urgently with their fist at their ear, then the others would rush in, release the girl from the boy’s grip and wrestle him roughly to the ground with his hands behind his back.
Then the whole thing would start again.
For a moment Miss Sharpe just stood there, trying to make sense of it. Then gooseflesh skittered up her arms as she realized that they were playing murder.
She put down her mug with a sloppy bang and elbowed her way past the ghouls. She stormed out of the staffroom, down the short corridor and out into the rain.
The playground air was filled with the shrieks and chatter of a giant aviary, and although Miss Sharpe shouted ‘Stop!’ three times, she was almost on top of the children before they looked up. Connor quickly dropped his arm from around Essie’s neck and the giggling child hitched her coat back into place.
Miss Sharpe was shaking. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘What are you playing?’
Nobody answered. Her eyes drilled into them one by one. ‘This game is sick. Do you understand?’
Their faces said they sort of did, sort of didn’t.
‘Two young women are dead,’ she snapped at them. ‘And that’s not something you laugh about in a playground and tell lies about in your diaries! It’s something very, very serious!’
Connor laughed and then stopped. The other children stood and looked uneasy and didn’t make eye contact. Essie and Amanda Fitch started to cry. Good, thought Miss Sharpe. Teacher’s pets, the pair of them, and not used to being yelled at.
‘If I see anyone playing this game again, you’ll be coming to Miss Bryant’s office with me. The whole lot of you. And your parents will get a letter. Do you understand?’
Rose Featherstone, who was on playground duty, wandered over and said, ‘What’s going on here then?’
‘Nothing,’ said Miss Sharpe, and brushed past her to walk briskly back inside. As she did, she felt tears start to spill from her eyes. She’d been wrong: things did change; they got worse. And there was no innocence. Not any more.
‘All right?’ said Dave Marshall as she passed the staffroom doorway.
‘Fine,’ she said curtly, then shut herself in the staff toilet and cried until the bell rang for the end of break.
Little children playing murder.
Ruby Trick’s well out of it, she thought.
Nanna and Granpa came round with a copy of the paper and a bunch of bananas for Ruby, as if she were a pet chimp.
‘What do you say, Ruby?’ said Mummy.
‘Thank you, Nanna and Granpa,’ said Ruby, appalled.
‘Full of potassium,’ said Nanna to Mummy. ‘And at least it’s good sugar. She’s still a bit tubby, isn’t she?’
She said it right in front of her! Like she was deaf or something. Ruby hated Nanna, with her high voice and her chicken neck and her poppy eyes. She was glad Mummy always said No, thanks when Nanna and Granpa offered to take care of Ruby on the nights Daddy was out and she had to work – even if it did mean she was alone.
‘It’s puppy fat,’ said Mummy. ‘She’ll grow out of it.’
Nanna made very high eyebrows, then she shook the paper at Mummy. ‘Did you see about this other poor girl?’
‘Yes,’ said Mummy, glancing at Ruby.
‘He made her call her mother while he did it!’
‘Ruby,’ said Mummy, ‘go and put the bananas in the bowl in the kitchen.’
Ruby knew Mummy didn’t want her to hear about the murder, but she knew anyway, because of school and Mr Preece’s headlines. It was scary, but it was exciting too.
Ruby went through to the kitchen and put the bananas in the fruit bowl. The bowl was always full of keys and old pens and shrivelled-up apples, and the bananas looked too bright in there.
‘You want me to cut one of those up for you?’ said Granpa behind her.
‘No, thank you,’ said Ruby.
‘You sure, maid? Chopped-up banana with a little bit of cream on it?’
That didn’t sound much better. A banana was a banana. But Ruby pretended to think about it for a while so as not to hurt Granpa’s feelings.
‘No thanks, Granpa.’
He winked at her and lowered his voice. ‘I know. Bananas. Ugh.’
Ruby laughed.
‘But they’re full of potassium,’ he said in a high whisper with an exaggerated shrug.
He was being Nanna. It was pretty funny.
Then he said, ‘Is there any cake?’
‘No,’ said Ruby wistfully. She looked at the door to make sure nobody could hear them. ‘But there are biscuits.’
‘Good,’ said Granpa. ‘Where are they?’
‘I don’t know. Mummy hides them.’
‘Your Mummy can’t hide anything from me.’ He winked.
They looked through all the cupboards together. He even looked in the pedal bin, which made her giggle.
‘What about on top of the cupboards?’ he said, stepping back to see.
‘Maybe.’
‘You want to see what’s up there, maid?’
‘OK,’ she said and reached for a kitchen chair, but Granpa said, ‘Don’t bother with that—’ and picked her up under the arms.
‘No!’ Ruby hadn’t been picked up for years and she didn’t like it. She stiffened and Granpa’s fingers dug into her armpits, and Granpa regretted it too, because he muttered ‘Jesus!’ and almost dropped her before plonking her down on the kitchen counter with a huge puff of air from his red cheeks.
‘I’m not as young as I was,’ he chuckled, but his whole head had gone so red that Ruby could see it through his ginger hair. She went red too, at the embarrassment of nearly killing Granpa from being fat. But it was his own fault; she told him not to pick her up.
He stood for a moment, getting his breath back, and Ruby checked the doorway to make sure nobody had heard them. While they were quiet Ruby could
hear Nanna, still talking about the dead girls.
‘What that poor woman must be going through. Not being there when her daughter needed her most…’
‘Get up there then,’ Granpa said, and Ruby got to her knees and then her sock-clad feet on the counter so she could feel along the top of the cabinets. Granpa put both his hands on her bottom in case she fell.
‘Careful now, baby girl,’ he whispered as she shuffled along. He gripped her a bit tighter to hold her steady.
‘There’s nothing up he—’
‘What are you doing?’
They both jumped and Ruby nearly fell off with fright. Mummy was in the doorway.
‘Nothing,’ said Granpa.
‘Granpa wanted a biscuit,’ said Ruby.
‘Get down from there.’ Mummy came over, took her hand roughly and made her clamber down quickly on to the floor.
Nanna tutted and said, ‘The last thing she needs is biscuits.’
‘Just leave it will you, Mum!’ said Mummy, and Ruby knew it was serious. Her face was all tight and her lips had gone white. About biscuits!
‘Go to your room,’ she said.
‘What did I do?’ said Ruby.
‘I said go to your room! Now!’
‘It’s not fair,’ said Ruby. ‘I only—’
‘NOW!’
Ruby made as much noise as she possibly could going upstairs to show everyone it wasn’t fair. Then she got out last week’s Pony & Rider and flicked through it angrily.
Nanna and Granpa left soon afterwards, and she heard their big fancy car start up on the cobbles and drive slowly up the road. Their car was red and in the boot there was a carpet that was nicer than the one she had in her room. In the boot.
She listened to Mummy clearing up downstairs and then the creaking of the wooden steps. If Mummy was still cross with her she was going to be rude. She was going to tell her it was all their fault. Nanna with her stupid bananas and Granpa wanting a biscuit.
But instead Mummy came into her room with a glass of milk and a custard cream and said, ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you, Rubes.’
It took all the angry wind out of Ruby’s sails and she said, ‘OK.’
Mummy sighed. ‘Nanna really winds me up sometimes.’
‘I know,’ said Ruby. ‘She winds me up too.’ She put down her magazine and nibbled the end of the biscuit.
Mummy smiled and touched Lucky on the head.
‘Where did you get this?’
‘Adam gave him to me. His name’s Lucky.’
Mummy picked Lucky up carefully and touched the lettering on the sledge. ‘I thought Granpa might have given it to you. You know, as it comes from Clovelly.’
‘No,’ said Ruby. ‘Adam walked all the way there and all the way back and it rained the whole time.’
‘Well, that’s nice,’ Mummy said. ‘Why is he pulling a potato?’
‘Because we didn’t have carrots.’
‘Aah,’ said Mummy, and laughed. Then she went over to the little window, where the tree outside pressed right up against the glass.
‘Daddy should cut back these branches,’ said Mummy.
‘I don’t mind. Except for the scratching.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to see out properly?’
‘I don’t really care.’
Mummy stared between the leaves at the dense forest beyond. ‘I’d like to be able to see out,’ she said, but then she drew the curtains anyway.
The few Gunslingers who had bothered dressing up and coming out that Friday night were in a sombre mood.
A second murder had knocked all the swagger out of them – as though their disapproval alone should have been enough to stop it happening twice. A photo of Jody Reeves stared at them accusingly until Daisy Yeo turned the Gazette face-down with a short, disgruntled moo.
A posse was a joke, a rope was not enough.
There had been some vague notion that they might find a watering hole of normality together, but it had dried up in the face of their own impotence, and staring into the dust of their failure was no help.
They didn’t have much to drink or much to say. Chip and Shiny played a desultory game of cribbage where they lost score halfway through and didn’t care. Nobody even thought to put money in the jukebox, and they sipped their ciders and nursed their shorts to the upbeat jangle of ‘Barbie Girl’.
They didn’t stay late, and when Hick Trick said he was off, they all left together.
Which was how they all discovered at the same time that some son-of-a-bitch had kicked in the front right headlight of each of their cars.
25
THE HEADLIGHT WAS only a bit of old plastic, but when Daddy told Mummy about it over breakfast, she cried.
Ruby had seen Mummy cry before, but never so openly. Before, she’d always tried to hide it; this time she cried like David Leather had cried when Shawn threw his violin on the toilet-block roof – with the tears running out of her eyes and down her face in shiny rivers, and making a proper boo-hoo noise, and the air going all wobbly whenever she took a deep breath.
It made Ruby uneasy.
‘Stop it, Mummy,’ she said, but Mummy didn’t.
‘Come on, now,’ said Daddy. ‘It’s only an old headlight. I’ll get one from the scrappy. And it’s just the one. I can still drive it.’
‘You can’t,’ sobbed Mummy. ‘The police will pull you over and give you a ticket and then I’ll have to pay for that and the headlight!’
Ruby looked anxiously at Daddy, who pursed his lips and spread out his palms. ‘It’s not my fault,’ he said. ‘Someone did all the boys’ cars while we were in the George.’
‘I know,’ said Mummy. ‘I know it’s not your fault. But it’s always somebody’s fault and I’m the one who always has to pay for it!’ Daddy got up angrily. ‘It’s always about the bloody money with you!’ He picked up his keys, then strode through the house to the front door and Mummy didn’t even try to stop him, so Ruby ran after him.
‘Can I come?’
‘No,’ he said and slammed the door behind him.
Ruby stared at it for a long moment, waiting for him to come back and say she could really.
When he didn’t, her nose tingled with hurt and anger. Why did Mummy always have to make Daddy feel so bad?
She started to pull on her coat and boots.
Mummy darted out of the kitchen, wiping her eyes and nose on a piece of screwed-up tissue.
‘Ruby! Where are you going?’
‘To the swing.’
‘Why don’t you play indoors today?’ Mummy was trying to stop crying fast. Trying to smile. ‘There are lots of fun things you could do right here,’ she went on. ‘Maggie can come round for tea if you want. I’ll do fish fingers. You could make a den in the garden.’
Ruby was suspicious. Usually her mother couldn’t wait to get her out of the house. She was always going on about fresh air and exercise and things being good for her. And the garden? She hadn’t played in the garden since she’d learned to walk.
‘Why?’ she demanded.
‘I just don’t want you running about in the woods all the time. It’s so wet and muddy, Rubes. Wouldn’t you rather be indoors? Where it’s s— dry?’
She’d been going to say safe.
Now Ruby understood: Mummy was scared of the killer. She wanted Ruby to be safe. She wanted something from her – and Ruby sensed an opportunity.
‘If I play indoors, can I have a biscuit?’
Her mother hesitated. Ruby knew what she was thinking – they’d only just had breakfast, and she wasn’t supposed to eat biscuits at all before teatime …
‘Just the one,’ said Mummy.
Ruby ate her biscuit while she tried out cushions for the next posse. She chose the blue tapestry one on the easy chair. It was small and hard, and would give her lots of extra height.
Then, when Mummy went upstairs to strip the beds, she sneaked out anyway.
Ruby sat on the damp bench next to the swing, and
picked the bark off two new guns.
Beside her, Maggie painted her fingernails bright red. She had already done her toes, and now she sat with her dirty bare feet tucked up on the bench, spotted with scarlet, while her flip-flops lay empty in the mud.
‘You going to the Leper Parade?’ Ruby asked, even though Maggie was only seven, so it didn’t make any difference to Ruby what she did.
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ve got a sack to wear,’ said Ruby. ‘And I’m going to have bloody scabs all over.’
‘I’m going to be a fairy,’ said Maggie.
Ruby screwed up her face. ‘You can’t be a fairy. You have to be a leper.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Maggie. ‘I got the costume. It has wings and everything.’
Ruby made a noise that meant that Maggie was an idiot, just like all the girls at school with their secret lipstick and their pop-star crushes and their pencils topped with pink fluff. She must remember to tell Mummy to get Rice Krispies to make the scabs.
‘Look!’ said Maggie, and spread her left hand for Ruby to see. ‘Like a lady.’
Ruby grunted.
‘Mine,’ said Em, snatching at the nail polish. ‘Mine.’ She had only just started to talk but had already mastered all the useful words. No. Shut up. And, just lately, Mine.
‘No!’ said Maggie and slapped Em’s hand away. ‘You want me to do yours, Ruby?’
‘Nah. My Daddy says girls who paint their nails are slags.’
Maggie shrugged. ‘Just a thumb then?’
Ruby shook her head and Maggie started on her other hand. This one wasn’t even as good as the first. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby watched Maggie’s left hand bend and twist awkwardly as she tried to control the little brush. The polish splodged over the edges of her nails and smeared down her fingers. Some even dropped on to her dress.
‘Shit,’ said Maggie.
‘Shi’,’ said Em. ‘Shi’ shi’ shi’.
Maggie laughed as she painted. ‘Listen to her! She only knows bad words, don’t you, Em? Shit and fuck. Shit and fuck.’
‘Shi’ an’ fuh!’ said Em, and then shoved a finger so far up her nose that Ruby had to look away.
The Facts of Life and Death Page 12