Joe agreed with relief. Nell was so matter-of-fact that she made Eidolon’s appearance seem manageable. He would tell her his plan this evening, and she would make it even more effective. They’d work together and once they’d gotten rid of Joe’s nemesis, he would take her on a long trip to some island paradise with no Smokey, no cocaine and no boars. They’d lie on a beach and drink stupid cocktails and maybe she’d let him kiss her.
This rapturous reverie occupied him through the rest of the afternoon, carrying him through another monotonous lesson. But he didn’t fall asleep, which was a major breakthrough. The thought of Nell wearing a bikini and a warm look in her eye was more than enough to keep him awake.
Once they’d collected Liesel, they went to the bus stop.
One bus had come, but there were seven or eight stragglers, mostly year nine kids. Dusk was eroding the edges of the day, and the streetlights were beginning to fizz into artificial life. It seemed appreciably colder, perhaps because for the first time in days, the sky was cloudless. Nell looked up into the deepening blueness.
“There can’t be a heaven. There’s nothing else out there, just emptiness scattered with a few stars. Just darkness. At night, that’s when you know there’s nothing more. When we’re turned away from the sun, we can’t keep up the illusion that there is something more,” Nell mused.
“That’s a bit deep,” said Liesel.
Joe grimaced. Speculation of this sort made Liesel uncomfortable. She preferred dealing with concrete realities like how to do a pas de chat and Sylvie Guillem’s latest hair color. Joe suppressed the urge to snap at her. She was only a kid.
“How long till the next bus comes?” A prosaic question, but Joe was chilled and the thought of Dolon on the prowl made him jumpy.
“Ten minutes.” Nell was wearing a thin coat and no gloves. She must be even colder than he was.
“We could walk to the next bus stop. There’s time.”
Despite Liesel’s protests, they started off, Nell and Joe taking long strides, Liesel skipping to keep up with them, their bags banging against their backs.
Even though they were warming up, Joe regretted the impulse almost immediately. The next bus stop was down a street lined on one side by hedges and on the other by the ten-foot wall of a bakery, which channeled even the slightest breeze into a force ten gale. Local people avoided walking there if they could because thumping gusts of wind came from nowhere to buffet you as you walked or stood.
They reached the empty bus shelter and sat there miserably, gazing at the pavement. The bus would come any minute. It was too cold to talk much.
An asthmatic rumble from the road made Joe turn sharply. It was just a diesel lorry rattling past. As he looked back, he noticed that there were now five pairs of trainers grouped around the bus shelter. He raised his eyes. Five boys were wearing the shoes—and navy tracksuits and baseball caps and hoodies. Before he could react, one of the boys had yanked Liesel to her feet and was holding her by the ponytail, long and honey-brown, exposing her narrow neck. Joe thought it was a guy called Steve—Steve Foster? Forrest?
The boy standing behind Steve asked, “You want your sister?”
Joe might have known. Charlie Meek, but not in meek mode at all. Slowly, carefully, Charlie pulled a hunting knife out of his sleeve. Liesel whimpered. Nell was standing too, eyes narrowed into enraged slits, mouth tight, taut as a diver on the high board.
“Leave us alone, Charlie. Go home and leave us alone.” Joe strove to keep his voice level.
“I don’t think so. I want a piece of the Knightleys. Now which of you is going to give me a piece?” He held the knife against Liesel’s neck. “Maybe a nick of the little ballerina’s ear—or one of your fingers.”
“Charlie, are you crackers? You can’t expect Joe here to hold out his hand and let you cut a finger off.” Nell could not conceal her contempt for their assailant. Charlie closed in on Liesel, and Joe saw that his eyes were dilated and his mind closed to reason. His four goons were also out of it. They wanted to do something nasty, and the opportunity had presented itself to them as unwittingly as a Christmas turkey allows itself to be slaughtered.
“Keep out of it, boffin girl. Go home and do your studying. Maybe you can learn how to be a surgeon and stitch up your friends here.”
Nell and Joe exchanged glances. “Go, Nell. Go on.” Their only chance was if Nell could get away and find help. Joe stood up. “Please, Nell, just keep out of this.”
She bent down to pick up her bag. She twisted the handle around her hand then grasped it firmly. She straightened. Then she whirled and swung out, knocking two of Charlie’s friends into each other. Their heads cracked together, but Joe did not wait. He hurtled at the guy nearest to him and nutted him, knowing that his right arm was still too weak to cause any damage. The guy holding Liesel loosened his grip.
Liesel reclaimed her hair and began hooting and screeching louder than the school fire alarm system. Nell was still swinging her book bag around her head like a warrior running amok. Joe got behind the boy who was now wrestling with Liesel and reached for his face, poking at eyes, ears, scrunching at his hair. He got one, then two fingers in the boy’s nostrils and yanked. The boy let go of Liesel and yowled at the sudden and intense pain. The fifth boy took in the carnage and scarpered. Charlie, bemused, was still brandishing his knife as Nell yelled at him, “You want a piece of the Knightleys? How about a piece of me, Charlie? How about it, you cretin? Come and get me, Charlie.”
Joe saw the two boys she had first felled staggering to their feet, one holding his mouth, the other his head, bleeding at the temple. He glimpsed Charlie’s face, distorted into a demonic grimace.
“Nell, no. He’s out of his head, stop taunting him.” By the time Joe had finished his sentence, Charlie had lunged at Nell, and it was too late. Joe grabbed for his arm and deflected the second stab, but the first blow had driven deep and blood was welling at her neck. She had an utterly astounded expression on her face. Joe hauled at Charlie’s arm, twisted him around and thumped him. Charlie crumpled to his knees, the knife still in his hand, and he retched, winded. Liesel was on the ground cradling her head. Nell was falling. She staggered against the bus shelter and put one hand out against the glass, the other at her neck. Joe went to Liesel.
“Give me your scarf, quick. You’ve got to be brave, Liesel. Nell’s really badly hurt. Flag down a car. Get some help, please, I’ve got to look after Nell.”
Liesel tried to stifle her sobs and watched with great shocked eyes as Joe took her pink fleece scarf and folded it up, then pressed it against Nell’s neck. Nell leaned against him, and her knees gave way. She couldn’t talk. Her mouth opened but no sound came. Joe held her and eased her down so that he was kneeling behind her, propping her up. Liesel went into the road. The bus finally arrived. When the driver saw the little girl, tear-streaked, frantic and saying someone was hurt, he switched on the hazard lights. A woman sitting near the front pulled Liesel on to the bus and tried to comfort her while the driver called for an ambulance.
The driver clambered out of his seat. Joe looked up at him, tears running down his face, then looked back at Nell. He didn’t dare move. His fingers were wet and sticky. The scarf was crimson, but Nell’s face was white. Her eyes were closed and her face was peaceful, as though she’d just fallen asleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Aftermath
Sirens whooped in the distance. The ambulance arrived first, then the police car. The paramedics checked Nell’s pulse. They tried to ease her out of Joe’s arms, but he tightened his grip and they left him cradling her as they went to get a stretcher. The policewoman ushered Liesel off the bus and into the police car. The policeman got contact details for the passengers and the bus driver. The paramedics loosened Joe’s grasp, lifted Nell out of his arms and laid her gently on the gurney. There was no urgency to their movements, just a steady calm with occasional comments to the policeman who’d come off the bus. They didn’t zip her into a bag
. Joe had been afraid they’d cover her face. The bus pulled away and more police cars arrived. There were men positioning striped tape, taking samples of things and muttering into their radios and mobiles. One came over to Joe and knelt beside him and the paramedics.
“Look, son, we need to get you to hospital, and we need to contact your mum or your dad. Can you stand up?”
Joe came to. He looked down and saw that his coat and hands had blood on them and that he was kneeling in blood.
The two men helped him to his feet.
“Liesel?”
“Your little sister?”
Joe nodded.
“She’s already in the patrol vehicle with WPC Cartwright. They’ll follow us. We’ll go in another car. You need to be cleaned up, otherwise you might frighten your little sister even more. Okay?”
Joe continued nodding like a toy dog on the rear ledge of a car. His breathing was labored, and the tears kept coming. They eased him into the back seat of a small van where he sat, trying to stop his face crumpling and to suppress sobs. “I don’t want her to be dead. She shouldn’t be dead. Please don’t make her be dead.”
The policeman came round the other side. He strapped himself in and Joe remembered to do likewise. The mundane action helped him. He said softly, “It was Charlie Meek. He had four other guys with him, but he was the only one with a knife. I think they’d been taking something. He was mental.”
“Thanks, son. Let me just get a team to track down this Charlie Meek. You’re absolutely certain?”
“Yes. We’re all at the same school.”
“Lyndhurst?”
Joe nodded again.
“And what’s your name?”
Joe told him, and explained who Nell was. The policeman forwarded the details to the station. When he’d finished talking on the phone, Joe asked, “Where are we going?”
“The hospital. We’ll check you and your sister out there, then we’ll have to take statements from both of you. Will you be able to cope, do you think? Both of you?”
Joe twitched his shoulders. “I suppose so.”
“We’ll get your mum there. We need her permission before we take any statements, and she can stay with you while you give your account of events.”
Joe was convinced that he’d be examined by Dolon and spent the rest of the journey to the hospital trying to work out how to avoid being left alone with him. But of course, Dolon was nowhere to be seen once they reached the accident and emergency unit. It was quickly established that neither of the Knightley children was physically hurt, although a doctor did notice that Joe was bruised and stiff. They took away his coat and trousers and shirt and brought him some clothes that someone had borrowed from one of the male nurses. Before he was allowed to take a shower, a nurse took a DNA swab and a hair sample and a policeman fingerprinted him. They showed him a bathroom. He stood numb under the jet of water, watching as swirls of pinkening water sluiced away—the last he’d ever have of Nell. He closed his eyes tightly and pressed them with his palms to stop the tears, even though under the running water, it didn’t matter.
Then he and Liesel were put in a small office along with the policewoman to await the duty psychiatrist.
Susan Knightley arrived before the doctor. The door to the office opened, and she was standing there, then hugging both Liesel and Joe to her as if she were glued to them. Liesel burst into tears of relief. She calmed down again and all three of them sat there under the gaze of the policewoman.
“What happened? All I was told was that there had been an incident at the bus stop and that you were here. What’s been going on?”
“Mum, Nell Brennan… She’s been stabbed.”
Mrs. Knightley recoiled, her hand at her mouth. “But she’s going to be all right? They’re treating her now, are they?”
Joe shook his head. Finally, he gave way to the mounting pressure within him, and the tears came again. Hiccupping through the sobs, he managed to get out the words, “Mum, it was all my fault. If we hadn’t gone to the other bus stop, she’d be alive. I said we should walk to get warm, but we’d have been safe if we’d stayed outside the school. Mum, what have I done?”
“Oh, Joe, you haven’t done anything. You didn’t stab her. You didn’t attack her. You didn’t do anything. It’s not your fault, darling. It’s not your fault.” She took him in her arms and rocked him as though he were a toddler recovering from a fall, and the tears flowed down her cheeks as fast as his.
The policewoman held Liesel close. As Joe continued to blame himself, she said quietly, “Your mum is right, you know. You didn’t do this. You mustn’t beat yourself up about it. You saw who did it. You’ll be asked to give a statement, then you’ll be able to go home.”
“Who did do it, Joe?”
Joe explained about Charlie Meek and somehow, going over the whole appalling sequence of events calmed him down. When he’d finished explaining to his mother, he asked if Mrs. Brennan had been told. The policewoman wasn’t sure.
The duty psychiatrist came in. He was a plump, matter-of-fact man with very little hair and pudgy fingers. He spoke directly to Joe and Liesel, almost seeming to ignore the policewoman and Mrs. Knightley. He acted as if traumatized teenagers who’d witnessed a murder were his daily bread and butter. He talked to the two of them about flashbacks and panic attacks, about recurring dreams and a sensation of numbness or detachment. Then he turned to Mrs. Knightley.
“May I have a word with you?” He held the door open for her. He left it ajar but took her across the corridor so that neither Joe nor Liesel could make out what he was saying. He spoke at some length to their mother, who was listening intently and nodding in response.
Then Mrs. Brennan came up. She said to Joe’s mother, “Can I talk to him? I just need to know how it happened. That’s all. I just have to know how it happened.”
The psychiatrist reached out. “I’m not sure that’s entirely wise.”
But Joe saw Mrs. Knightley look into Mrs. Brennan’s eyes. What she saw there made her nod and say, “If Joe doesn’t mind.”
So Joe found himself taking those same steps to the bus stop once more, sitting there with Liesel between Nell and him, seeing Charlie’s shoes, Nell refusing to go home, swinging out with her bag, taunting Charlie, falling back, falling down, falling.
“So stupid. So, so stupid,” Mrs. Brennan was murmuring.
Another policewoman came up and said, “Mrs. Brennan! I wondered where you’d got to.” Then she took in what was happening and stopped.
“Niamh, what are you going to do now? Do you have somebody to stay with you? Who’s going to look after you?” Mrs. Knightley couldn’t bear the idea of this woman being left alone.
“My mother’s there. She’s got Kieran. She’s looking after him. We’ll manage. Thanks, Susan.” Mrs. Brennan reached out for Joe, and he went to her and hugged her. “Thank you for telling me, Joe. Just so long as they get that monster. Just so long as they get him and lock him up once and for all.” The policewoman accompanied her as she walked down the corridor.
Another policeman appeared with a laptop. He asked if Joe was ready to give his statement. Joe nodded. They sat, and the policeman typed as Joe spoke, unprompted, retelling the story for the third, or was it the fourth time? He’d lost track, but it didn’t matter because the story was playing and replaying itself in his head over and over. There was no room for anything else in Joe’s mind. Then the man asked to take Liesel’s statement. She spoke slowly but definitely, and she named the boys who were with Charlie—Barry Hunter, Dean Dearborn—the two whose teeth and head had collided—Glen Carter, who’d run away and Steve Forest, whose nose Joe had yanked and who had been holding her when Charlie took his hunting knife out. She was clear about the length of the knife, and she was equally clear about how Charlie’s face had creased with hatred before he went for Nell.
The policeman thanked the children and turned off his laptop. They were free to go now, but they should stay at home for the next
few days, and they needed to be aware that there was likely to be media interest in the story. The press might be at their house already. These things had a way of getting out.
They should also know that Charlie was claiming that it was Joe who had stabbed Nell, a story that had so far been corroborated only by Steve Forest, who was receiving treatment for his nose.
“He needed stitches. I’d have done the same if it had been my sister, I tell you. But you stay at home. I mean it. Don’t try to leave your house. Not for a few days. Once there’s been a charge and a trial date set, things will calm down,” said the family liaison officer.
“Will Charlie Meek get bail?” asked Mrs. Knightley, bristling at the thought.
“Absolutely not. He’s staying on remand. The statements I’ve got here, and the state he’s in are more than enough to ensure that he’s regarded as a danger to the community. He’d taken methamphetamine. I reckon he’s been a user for some time. Things are messed up in this world, but not so messed up that some story an addict has invented will stand up against statements that are as complete as these ones.”
The policewoman added, “I’ll probably be called as well. Joe’s told a completely consistent story every time he’s had to talk about this, and Liesel’s statement verifies every word he’s said. We all know what really happened, and that will come out in court. Believe me.”
Mrs. Knightley said wryly, “I’m a solicitor. I know what can happen in a courtroom if he gets the best counsel going.” Neither of the police knew what to say to that. They’d both seen enough cases where defense barristers had run rings around the prosecutor and got some lowlife off without any official stain on his character.
The Knightleys reached home around nine. Ben and Zahid were there. They’d cooked but no one felt like eating. Mrs. Knightley took Liesel to bed. Joe was slumped on the sofa. Zahid sat in an armchair, but Ben was restless and guilt-ridden.
“I shouldn’t have made him look such a fool in front of the school. I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t think it would put you and Liesel at risk.”
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