Where There's Smoke

by Simon Beckett

  Kate glanced up and down the street. It was empty. She went up her path and had almost reached the door when something about the scene belatedly registered. She went back to the gate again. There was still no one in sight, but further along on the pavement, indistinct in the fading light, was the object that had struck a jarring note.

  She began to walk towards it. It had too many angles and edges to make sense, but as she drew nearer they began to resolve into distinct shapes. A square of cardboard on the kerb edge. Under it, a still, furry heap.

  Kate reached it and stopped. Four paws and a thick brush of tail stuck out from beneath the cardboard. On it, in what looked like lipstick, someone had written, SORRY.

  She bent down and lifted off the cardboard. Dougal lay on his side. He was unmarked, but his eyes were half open, and the tip of his tongue was sticking out between his teeth. His fur looked dusty. Pieces of grit were caught in it. His legs were crossed, as though he were running.

  "Is it your cat?"

  A little girl of about six or seven was standing nearby, watching with solemn interest. Kate nodded, looking down at Dougal.

  "A woman in a car did it this afternoon," the little girl said. "She ran over him and put him there. She was crying. Are you going to cry?"

  Kate didn't answer. Taking the piece of cardboard, she gently slid it under the cat's body. He began to roll off, moving with it. She tentatively steadied him with one hand while she pushed it the rest of the way underneath. The cat felt cold and heavy. The cardboard sagged in the middle when she stood up. She had to support it with both arms.

  "Are you going to bury it?" the girl asked. Kate didn't look at her.

  "Yes."

  She left the little girl on the pavement and carried Dougal back towards her flat. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and swung from her elbow, bumping against her legs, but she ignored it. She went through the gate and took a few more steps before coming to a standstill. The tiny garden confronted her with its covering of paving stones. Only the small hole where the rose bushes were choked in the centre had been left free. Kate looked at the slabbed ground as she stood holding her dead cat, and the first sob tore loose from her throat. She stumbled forward, chest heaving as she laid Dougal by the wall and blundered for the front door. Tears blinded her. She put the wrong key in the lock and struggled to pull it out before finding the right one. She clutched at the banister as she ran upstairs, not bothering to turn on any lights. In darkness, she groped for the phone and dialled by the glow from the answer machine.

  It rang four times before it was interrupted. When she recognised Lucy's recorded message Kate sagged with despair. Her stomach hurt with the force of her sobs, and she could barely wait until the recording finished.

  "Lucy, it's Kate, I'm sorry, please -"

  The phone was picked up at the other end. "Yes?"

  Lucy's voice was inflectionless. Kate struggled for composure. "I…it's me. Look, I…I know I shouldn't just call you but…oh, God, look, please, can I come over?"

  There was no answer.

  "Please!"

  Another hesitation. "Okay."

  Kate managed a choked thanks and rumbled the phone down. She stood for a moment, head bowed, and then dialled the number of a taxi firm from memory.

  She waited in the dark until the cab honked outside. The street lights had come on, throwing the area in front of the garden wall into deep shadow. The cat's body was invisible as Kate slammed the front door and ran down the path. It felt like someone else she had let down. She was about to get into the taxi when she remembered all her change had gone on the other cab. She dashed back inside and searched in drawers until she had scraped together enough money for the fare. The driver tutted, irritably, when she returned.

  Kate huddled in the back seat and watched a normal world go by.

  The nervousness didn't start until the cab had dropped her outside Lucy and Jack's. It seemed an age since she had been to the big house. She hesitated with her hand on the gate. I'm doing exactly what Lucy accused me of. Running to them now I'm in trouble. She didn't care how much contempt and blame Lucy heaped on her, though. Just so long as there was no rejection. She couldn't stand the thought of losing anyone else.

  Kate went up the path. She wiped her eyes as she rang the bell, knowing that she must look a mess. She heard someone approaching, and then Lucy opened the door.

  They looked at each other without speaking. In the background Kate could hear the chatter of the TV, see the cheerful spill of light from the lounge and kitchen. It silhouetted Lucy in the unlit hall. Kate couldn't make out her expression.

  Wordlessly, Lucy stood back so that she could enter.

  Kate couldn't look at her as she crossed the doorway. She retreated from her silence and made her way uncertainly towards the lounge. Lucy closed the door and followed her as Kate stepped around Jack's heap of boxes in the hall. The house smelt of food and dirty nappies. She went into the brightly lit room.

  The TV was blaring out some frantic children's programme. Jack and Emily were engrossed in watching it, their backs to Kate as they sat side by side on the settee. They didn't notice her go in. Angus was in his playpen next to them, which surprised her since he had outgrown it long since. He began to cry when he saw her, holding out his arms to be picked up, and Kate instinctively went towards him. The forced, bright greeting was already on her lips when she reached the settee and the words died.

  Jack and Emily's mouths were covered with brown parcel tape.

  The image registered, but Kate's mind refused to make sense of it. There was a sound from behind her. She turned.

  Lucy stood in the doorway. Her head was tilted up by the blade of the long kitchen knife held to her throat. Ellis stood close behind her. The hand not holding the knife was gripping Lucy's bare arm, fingers digging into the flesh above the elbow.

  "I'm sorry Lucy's voice was a whisper. Her face was puny and tear-streaked. Her eyes, as she looked at Kate, were terrified. "I'm sorry." No one moved. The moment stretched out, suspended, then burst with a silent pop of pressure.

  Kate stepped backwards. Ellis herded Lucy further into the room. He didn't take his eyes from Kate. They were bright and feverish, purple smears discolouring the pale flesh underneath. His face was gaunt, and his hair stuck up in matted tufts. There was a straggly growth of beard on his cheeks. He looked like someone Kate had never known.

  Lucy's chest was heaving. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, and now Kate took in her stained clothes and unwashed hair. She looked thinner. "He threatened the children Kate! He said if we didn't do what he wanted, he'd—he'd -" Her gaze flicked to Emily and Angus, agonised. "He'd got a knife. We didn't have any choice. We tried, Jack -"

  "Shut up!"

  Lucy fell silent. Her mouth was trembling. Her chin was still held high away from the knife, giving her a model's self-conscious posture. There was a muffled noise from Jack. Kate glanced at him and saw now that his hands and feet were also bound. There was a yellowing bruise on one temple, and the look he gave Ellis was full of violence. Kate saw him straining against the tape, but it was wrapped around him too many times.

  Beside him, Emily was similarly fastened. Tears were rolling down the little girl's face, and the sight of them filled Kate with outrage.

  "They kn-know you," he said. His mouth twisted. "They're your friends!"

  He stressed "your". His hand tightened on Lucy's arm, and she lifted her chin away from the pressure of the knife.

  Kate forced herself to stare back at him. She pointed at Emily. "She's a little girl, for God's sake!"

  She strode over to the settee. "Hold tight," she said, trying to smile as she took hold of the tape covering the girl's mouth.

  "D-don't!" Ellis said, as Kate pulled it off. The tape came free with a tearing sound, leaving the skin red underneath. Emily began to cry.

  "Happy now?" Kate demanded, glaring at Ellis. He looked confused, almost defensive. She went over to the playpen where Angus was also cry
ing.

  "L-leave him!"

  She took no notice. Augus's feet were taped together so that he couldn't climb out of the pen. She bent to pick him up.

  "I said f-fucking leave him!"

  Kate froze. Ellis's eyes were wild, his knuckles white knobs of bone on the knife handle. Its point made a taut depression in Lucy's skin. Lucy had closed her eyes.

  Kate straightened, slowly. "All right. I'm sorry."

  "G-get away from them!"

  She moved back into the centre of the lounge. "Look, I know you're angry with me, but don't take it out on them. They haven't hurt you."

  "Shut up!"

  "At least let the kids go."

  "I s-said shut up!"

  "Look at them, they're scared to death! They're only children, for God's sake! How can you do this to them?"

  "Because my child's dead."

  Kate flinched back from the shout. Ellis's face was contorted. But he didn't do anything else. She waited for her breathing to steady.

  "I lied to you," she said, as calmly as she could. "I didn't have an abortion. I only said it because -"

  "You're lying n-now!"

  "No -"

  "Fucking liar!" "Listen to me! I haven't had an abortion -"

  "Liar! Lying b-bitch!"

  His face was twisted. Kate recoiled, silenced by the hate in it.

  "He won't believe you." Lucy's voice was quavering.

  "Shut up," Ellis said, flatly.

  Tears rolled down Lucy's cheeks as she stared across at Kate. "I said—I told him you hadn't, but he wouldn't believe -"

  "Don't talk about me as if I'm not here!" Ellis screamed, and Kate saw his arm tense. No! she thought as he pulled back the knife, but the blade was unbloodied as he shoved Lucy towards her.

  Lucy stumbled forward and almost fell. Kate went to help her, but stopped when Ellis pointed with the kitchen knife, looking at Kate.

  "Sit over there," Ellis told her. "In the chair."

  Lucy did as he said. He turned to Kate.

  "Get the t-tape." He gestured to a roll of parcel tape on the coffee table.

  "Listen to me -"

  "Get the fucking t-tape!"

  She went and picked it up.

  "Wrap it round her ankles first, then her wrists."

  "Please, you can't -"

  "Do it."

  Kate looked at where Jack was sitting bound on the settee. His eyes stared at her over the brown strip, trying to communicate some message, but Kate didn't know what. Beside him, Emily's bottom lip was quivering. Only Angus was making a noise as he sobbed. Standing this close, Kate could smell the sour, unwashed odour of their bodies. On the floor around them were opened and empty tins of food, some furred with several days' worth of mould. Wadded up pieces of parcel tape lay among them, too many to count. Kate tasted bile in the back of her throat as she grasped the significance of what she was seeing. How long has he been here.

  "Ankles first," Ellis said.

  Kate knelt down in front of Lucy. It wasn't her moving. She was watching this happen to someone else. She pulled the end of the tape free with numb fingers, but stopped as Jack gave a muffled grunt. She looked up at him. He was staring at her with a desperate intensity. He shook his head, violently.

  "Now!" shouted Ellis, and took a step towards where Angus was snivelling in the playpen. She saw him shift his grip on the knife. With a last glance at Jack, Kate wrapped the tape once around Lucy's ankles. The red marks from earlier strips formed bands on her flesh.

  "Do it again. T-tight."

  She hesitated, then did as he said. The roll of tape dangled, still attached.

  Kate felt a weak hope. "I've nothing to cut it with."

  "B-bite it."

  The hope went out. She tore the tape with her teeth.

  "Now her wrists."

  She could feel the tremor in Lucy's hands as she bound them. There was no accusation in Lucy's eyes when they looked at each other, only fear.

  "Put a strip over her m-mouth."

  "What good -?"

  "Just do it!"

  Lucy shut her eyes, compressing her lips as Kate stuck a piece of tape across them. Kate straightened and threw the tape down.

  "Feel safe now, do you?"

  Ellis stared at her, then pointed to a corner of the room.

  "P-pick that up."

  Kate looked to where he was pointing, and felt as though she had been punched on the heart. Against the wall were materials for Jack's desktop publishing, a sprawling pile of cardboard boxes and containers. On top was a stack of posters. Seeing them, Kate felt events nudge into a final focus. She wondered, almost absently, whether Ellis had gone there with the intention already in mind, remembering all the conversations he'd had with Jack about printing and publishing. Or if the idea for the posters had only come later, with Lucy and Jack bound and impotent under the threat of his knife, and all the equipment he needed lying idle in the cellar.

  But it wasn't the posters that Ellis was pointing to now. Standing near them was a red plastic petrol can.

  She looked at Ellis, understanding now what Jack had been trying to tell her. "Oh, no." She shook her head. "No, you can't…"

  "P-pick it up."

  "Please -" She tripped over what to call him. "Please, just think what you're doing."

  "Pick it up."

  "At least let them go! You've got me here now, you don't need them!"

  He advanced towards her. She backed away, but he stopped when he reached Jack. He put the knife against his neck.

  "Pick it up."

  Kate slowly walked across the room towards where the petrol can waited. The sheaf of posters drew her eye. They were new ones. This time her smiling face had been planted on a journalistic photograph of a woman holding a dead child. It was black and white, obviously taken from some war zone, and flames had been clumsily superimposed to make it look as if mother and baby were on fire. KATE POWELL BURN IN HELL BITCH was printed across the bottom.

  She looked away. The petrol can was at her feet. Next to it was a shallow cardboard box filled with the small yellow tins of lighter fluid that Jack used as a cleaning agent. Beside that was a cluster of aerosol cans of spray adhesive. The "flammable" sign was printed on all of them.

  Kate reached down and took hold of the red container. It was heavy. A faint sloshing came from inside when she lifted it.

  "T-take the lid off."

  Kate did as she was told. It felt greasy. It dangled from a plastic strip when it was unscrewed. The smell of the petrol was a sickly, sweet taste at the back of her nose and throat.

  "P-pour it out."

  "Please, don't do this."

  Ellis took hold of Jack's hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat to the blade.

  Slowly, Kate tilted the can. Petrol glugged out of the wide spout. It splashed over the boxes and containers of ink, ran down into the carpet. It ran across the image of her face that smiled up from the posters, pooling over the cold likeness of the flames.

  "P-put some on the curtains."

  The heavy drapes were drawn across the french windows. Kate made throwing motions at them with the petrol can. The fabric stained dark where the fluid soaked into it.

  "Now the carpet," Ellis told her. His voice sounded thick and drugged. The stammer had almost gone. "Work your way over here."

  He stood back as she walked towards the settee and chairs, sloshing liquid from the can as she went. It was more than half empty now. The room reeked with petrol.

  "Now pour it over them."

  Kate shook her head, mutely. Ellis put the blade back to Jack's neck. His eyes were bright. Kate could see that his pupils were black and dilated.

  "Do it."

  Emily began to cry in lost little sobs, a counterpoint to Angus's huskier wails. The can felt slick in Kate's hands.

  "I can't!"

  Ellis's breathing was heavy. He held out his hand. "Give it to me."

  Kate didn't move.

  "I said f-fuck
ing give it to me!"

  There was urgency in his voice now. "P-please!"

  She backed away from him.

  He blinked, rapidly. "Remember what you said?"

  He was reaching into his pocket, moving away from Jack now. "They threw it in the incinerator, you t-told me. Remember?"

  He pulled out a box of matches. "I'll show you what suffering is," he said, and as he opened the matches Kate flung the petrol can at his face.

  It struck his upraised arms, a swirl of liquid hanging in the air behind it like a tail, and then Kate was running past him.

  She felt a tug on her arm, but didn't stop. She ran down the darkened hallway, careering into Jack's boxes and pushing them over behind her. She slammed into the front door. It was locked. Kate wrenched at it until she heard a noise from the lounge doorway, and turned to see Ellis emerging.

  She ran upstairs. The landing at the top was in darkness. There was a banister railing edging the open side where it overlooked the downstairs hall, and from it Kate could hear him blundering over the boxes. She pushed herself away, into the deeper darkness of the upstairs corridor. A pale square at the far end showed where the window was, and by its faint light Kate began to make out textures in the shadow that were the doors. They were all closed. Lungs burning, she ran past them, one by one. She reached the end of the corridor. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Kate opened the nearest door and went in. The room was even darker. She stood with her back against the door and faced the blackness. It was unrelieved by even a glimmer of light, but a sweetness of talcum powder and crayons told her she was in Emily and Angus's bedroom. A door was opened further along the corridor. Kate felt for a lock or bolt. There was nothing. She moved blindly into the room, hands outstretched in front of her. She tried to remember if there was anything she could use. Anywhere to hide. She jumped as she walked into a bed. Feeling her way along it, she came to the bookshelf. And the wall. She groped across its unyielding hardness. Her heart thudded when she barked her shins on the small table. She reached out to steady it and her hand hit a lamp, almost knocking it over. She grabbed at it, heart thudding. A second door was opened. She gently set the lamp upright and shrank back against the wall. She pressed herself into the cranny between the bookshelf and table, knowing the shelter was illusory. Her breath came in rasps. She tried to quiet it, listening for the sounds from the corridor. Another door opened, nearer. There was a dull ache in her arm. She reached up to touch it, and almost cried out at the sudden slash of pain. Biting her lip, she touched her arm again. This time she was more prepared when the petrol on her fingers stung the long cut above her elbow. She remembered the tug on her arm as she ran past Ellis, thought about the sharp length of the knife. She felt sick. The door of the next room along was opened. Kate squeezed her eyes shut. Bright flashes of light danced in front of her. The cloying stink of petrol was nauseating. She heard the scuff of a footstep from outside and folded her arms over her stomach. She could feel her heart beating, banging against her ribs, and thought of the smaller one keeping time with it, a tiny pulse of innocence. The door opened. It made a whispering sound of wood on carpet. Kate opened her eyes. She saw nothing, only blackness and fading sparkles of phosphene after-images.