by David Moody
The phone box smelled bad. It was an ugly metal and glass box, not one of the old traditional red ones. The glass was covered in graffiti, names and tags and Christ knows what else scratched onto every panel. She couldn’t make out any of it. She didn’t know why she was bothering to look.
Do I put in the money first or pick up the receiver? It took her a while to remember the order of things. She dialled Dad’s home number from memory (she thought it made sense to try his landline first – less expensive), then hung up and dialled again when she realised she hadn’t dialled the area code. She was so used to them all living within the same few miles radius...
A pause which dragged endlessly, then the click of connection and the phone finally started ringing out. She’d often phoned Dad around this time on a Sunday afternoon before. Although he was out of the country most weeks, he didn’t usually leave until late Sunday or early Monday. He’d had an agreement with his employers to spend weekends at home so he could be available for her and Phoebe. When he and Mum had first split up and the atmosphere between them had been at its most volatile, reassuring weekly phone calls on a Sunday afternoon had been the norm.
Connected.
‘Hello...’
‘Dad, it’s me, Tammy. I just wanted to—’
‘... you’re through to Jeremy. I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number after the tone, I’ll do my best to get back to you...’
The realisation she was talking to an answering machine, not her dad, hit Tammy like a punch to the gut: the sudden elation she felt at hearing his voice disappearing in a heartbeat. For a moment she felt embarrassed, then frustrated, then angry. She waited for the message to finish, listening to her father’s voice for as long as she could, before unloading after the high-pitched tone as instructed. All her emotion, all the pent-up frustrations... everything came pouring out. ‘Dad, it’s Tammy. I need to talk to you. Please pick up if you’re there. I’ll try your mobile in a minute but I still can’t get a decent signal in this crap-hole so I’m calling from a phone box. I need to talk to you, Dad. I need you to come and get me. I can’t stand it here. I feel... I’m really...’ She stopped talking; a brief pause to try and regain her composure. Don’t get upset. ‘Dad, I’m really not happy here. I know it’s only been a week and I know you said I needed to see how things were after a month, but... but I really want to come home.’ She stopped again, the word home making her feel desperately sad and empty. She was trying hard not to cry again, but once she’d started it was impossible to stop. The tears came so hard and so fast it was difficult to keep talking. She didn’t know if he’d even be able to understand her. ‘I can’t stand it here, Dad. It’s so backwards... so weird. The people are strange. It’s like being stuck in the past. I don’t like the school, can’t do all the courses I wanted to, and there’s all kinds of stuff going on around here. I bet you’ve seen it on the news... It’s not safe here, Dad. We’re not safe.’
She didn’t know how long she had before the recording ran out, but she kept talking anyway. ‘Scott’s acting like a jerk as usual. He’s been fighting with Mum again. I don’t trust him. I don’t like being around him, Dad. I never know what he’s going to be like. One minute he’s fine, the next he’s—’
Something slammed up against the door of the phone box behind her. Her heart racing, still holding onto the phone, desperate to stay connected, she slowly turned around.
She screamed out loud when she saw him.
It was that oddball Graham from the Co-op, all wild hair and staring eyes, and he was leaning up against the glass, masturbating. His lips and tongue left greasy drooled smears, as if he was trying to French kiss her through the glass. Tammy screamed again and dropped the phone, cowering back in the corner, but Graham wasn’t going anywhere. She locked her arms and held the door shut, stopping him getting inside. He remained completely unfazed, leaning against the phone box with one hand, stroking his cock with the other. She tried to look anywhere but at his dribbling erection and ginger pubes.
Their eyes met again. He was just staring at her... lusting after her. The initial shock began to fade slightly and she was left feeling... Christ, she didn’t know what she was feeling now. She wanted to get out and run, wanted to slam his cock in the door... But he was all right, wasn’t he? It wasn’t his fault. He was just a bit simple...
Stop. What the hell are you thinking?
He wasn’t so bad. He was still wanking in front of her in broad daylight, of course, but so what? Graham wasn’t the brightest spark, but then again, she didn’t really know him... didn’t know anything about him. He probably didn’t mean her any harm, he just wanted to hold her, to be held himself. Poor guy. It had probably been a long time since anyone had shown him any affection, if ever. She looked into his hazel eyes again, magnified by the lenses of his glasses, and she wondered if she’d misjudged him. He had a lovely face actually... kind and gentle, innocent... She wondered if he’d ever kissed a girl like her and—
—and then he was gone.
In a flurry of barely-controlled movement, someone rugby tackled Graham, sending him flying across the pavement. The two men came to rest in a tangled heap against the wall of a pharmacy. Immediately brought crashing back to reality again, her head all over the place, wondering what the fuck she’d just been thinking and why she hadn’t panicked and run, Tammy continued to hold the phone box door shut. Could this horrifically fucked-up place possibly get any worse? The scratched glass, almost opaque with graffiti in places, now covered with Graham’s semen and drool, was difficult to see through. Who was out there? Was it Heather’s boyfriend, Chez? Was it Jamie? That creepy guy Dez again? She felt relieved and disappointed in equal measure when she spotted Scott’s car parked across the street, the door open and the engine still running. Without hesitation she ran over and climbed in, pulling the door shut behind her.
On the pavement outside the shop, Scott grappled with the pervert who’d been flashing at his step-daughter. He already had a distinct height, weight and strength advantage over Graham, but he wasn’t holding back. He wanted to teach this sick little bastard a lesson. On top of him now, pinning his arms down with his knees, one hand wrapped around his throat, he threw punch after undefended punch at Graham’s face. Scott’s hand stung but he kept pounding, splitting Graham’s lip and breaking his nose, blood all over the place. When the pain in his hand became too much to stand, Scott stood up and staggered away, panting hard. Graham lifted himself up onto one elbow, struggling for breath, blowing bloody bubbles from one nostril and from the corner of his mouth. Scott ran back at him again and kicked the sick fucker in the gut, feeling real satisfaction when the tip of his boot struck bone. ‘You stay away from my family, you dumb cunt, understand?’
Graham was crying... whining... but still trying to get up. Scott grabbed his collar and lifted him ’til their faces were just inches apart.
‘You understand me?’
Graham nodded. Scott spat in his face, then dropped him back down.
Where the fuck was she?
Scott looked around and panicked when he couldn’t see Tammy. He couldn’t see anyone, thankfully. Then he spotted her sitting in the passenger seat of his car and he ran over.
She was sobbing. ‘I’m sorry... I just wanted to talk to Dad...’
Scott wasn’t listening. He turned the car around in the road, bumping up the opposite kerb, missing Graham’s outstretched foot by just a few inches, then accelerated hard.
‘You stupid, selfish little bitch. Your mum’s been going out of her mind. What the fuck did you think you were doing?’
‘I’m sorry...’
‘You need to sort yourself out, you hear me?’ No response. ‘I don’t give a shit who you think you are, I’m in charge here. Got it?’
‘I get it,’ she said, her voice barely audible over the noise of the straining engine.
#
Once she was sure the car had gone, Mary McLeod un
locked the café door and went outside. She’d seen everything. Graham had had it coming to him, silly bloody idiot, but that had been a hell of a beating he’d just taken. She’d been too scared to get involved. By the time she thought about phoning the police, that horrible, miserable man from Birmingham had gone.
She looked up and down the street. There was no one else around. Just her and Graham.
She tried to pick him up and help him walk, but he was too weak. He was really in a bad way, and the silly sod still had his trousers around his ankles. ‘What are we going to do with yous, Graham? You’re in a real mess, lover. Let’s get yous over the road and get yous sorted.’
She pulled him close and tried to pick him up again, but she couldn’t cope with his weight. He groaned with pain, his mouth next to her ear, his breath tickling the side of her face. She liked that. ‘What would your old mum think? I kept telling her when she got ill that you’d be all right, and you had been ’til now. What d’you have to go and do that to that girl for, love?’
Mary didn’t have the strength to get him into the café, but she couldn’t leave him here. She didn’t want to leave him, didn’t even want to let him go for a second. In a series of hefts and grunts, she managed to shift his bulk up onto the front step of the pharmacy, the sunken doorway giving them a little privacy.
And she sat him there with his back to the door, one side of his face a mass of purple bruising, blood dripping from his nose, trousers still around his ankles, his hard penis still upright and erect. She kissed him and ran her fingers through his mop of hair. ‘You poor love.’
And he looked up at her with wide, staring eyes, and he pulled her even closer.
12
Scott had barely spoken since he’d got back to the house with Tammy. It was late now, almost eleven, and he was still hammering in the kitchen. Michelle had learnt to keep her distance at times like this, and though the circumstances tonight were wholly different, there had been plenty of times like this before now.
Phoebe and George were, thankfully, managing to sleep through. Michelle crept upstairs to check on Tammy. They’d talked – argued – when she and Scott had returned from Thussock. Tammy had accepted she’d been way out of line, but Michelle understood her daughter’s frustrations. She was feeling them herself. She gently knocked on Tammy’s bedroom door, then let herself in. ‘You still awake, love?’
Tammy was lying in bed with her back to the door. The curtains were open, moonlight flooding in. Michelle tiptoed around the room and crouched down. Tammy’s eyes were wide open and she clutched a tissue in her hand. She continued to stare into space before slowly looking over at her mother.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
Michelle shook her head. ‘What’s done is done. That’s not why I came up. I just wanted to see if you were okay.’
A pause. The noise downstairs had stopped. They held their breath and waited until it started again.
‘Of course I’m not okay,’ Tammy answered, sniffing back more tears. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be okay here.’
‘You’ve got to stop talking like that, love. We are—’
‘—where we are. I know. Give it a rest, Mum.’
Michelle sat down on the bed, her legs tired from crouching. She stroked Tammy’s long hair. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What have you got to be sorry about? You haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Doesn’t feel that way.’
‘It’s not you... it’s him.’
‘Please don’t...’
‘But you should have seen him. You should have seen the way he attacked that bloke, Mum. He scared me more than anything else.’
‘I know Scott’s got a temper, but—’
‘He just kept punching him and punching him... there was blood everywhere.’
‘No matter what you think about what he did, Tam, it was for the right reasons. He was trying to protect you, trying to keep you safe.’
‘But I don’t feel safe. Not around Scott.’
‘You have to keep things in perspective. Think about how he was feeling, how worried we both were...’
Tammy sat up, held her mother’s gaze. ‘This was different, Mum. It was like he’d gone insane, completely lost it. It makes me wonder...’ She allowed her voice to trail away, not sure if she should continue.
‘What, Tammy?’
‘It makes me wonder about the body he found in that garden, that’s all.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘It just makes me wonder if he’s as innocent as he makes himself out to be.’
‘That’s just rubbish...’
‘Is it? Hell of a coincidence. All this stuff happened since Scott got here.’
‘You can’t talk like this, Tam.’
‘Why not?’
‘Just listen to yourself. You’re saying Scott’s a serial killer? Seriously?’
‘But you know better than anyone what he’s like, what he’s capable of.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I don’t want him to hurt you more than he already has, Mum. You need to do something because next time might be too late.’
Michelle got up fast, her head full of thoughts she didn’t want to think, certainly didn’t dare vocalise. This was too much. On top of everything that had already happened, this was just too much...
The hammering downstairs had stopped. She rushed back down to Scott.
13
Not even six o’clock yet. It was barely even light. Scott had hardly slept. His arms felt like lead from all the work he’d done yesterday, he had to go to work in a couple of hours, and now some selfish fucker was banging on the front door at this hour. Michelle rolled over onto her back and groaned something he couldn’t make out. ‘I’ll get it, shall I?’ he said. Fucking useless family.
Scott grabbed yesterday’s dust-covered T-shirt and jeans off the floor and put them on again. The noise at the door continued. If they wake George up, he thought, I’ll have this fucker’s balls. He felt in the mood for a fight. Another fight.
He fumbled with the chain and the lock, then yanked the door open. The man on the doorstep surprised him. They’d met before at Kenneth Potter’s house. ‘Scott Griffiths?’ Sergeant Ross asked. Scott didn’t immediately respond with anything other than a bemused mumble and a nod of the head. The officer spoke again. ‘Scott Griffiths, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Graham McBride. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say will be noted down and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’
Scott looked at him, blank. Was this a joke? ‘Who the fuck’s Graham McBride?’ he said, then realisation dawned. Last night. Tammy. The pervert outside the phone box with his dick out. Scott’s legs weakened. ‘Shit...’
‘Do you understand, Mr Griffiths?’
‘I understand,’ he said, still not sure he did. ‘Murder? But I didn’t... It wasn’t my fault. He was exposing himself at my step-daughter and I just...’
‘I need to remind you that you’re under caution, sir.’
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Michelle demanded. Scott looked around to try and explain but he couldn’t speak, could barely even begin to process what was happening. His mouth was dry. ‘Scott?’ she said. ‘Scott, what’s this about?’
He just looked at her, then looked at the police officer, then shook his head. He felt numb inside... didn’t know what to do, what to say... Had he killed a man?
Sergeant Ross moved aside to let one of his officers cuff Scott. Scott didn’t resist. Didn’t do anything. ‘Get him in the van, Hamilton,’ the sergeant ordered before turning his attention to Michelle. ‘Mrs Griffiths?’
‘Yes...’ she said quietly, watching in stunned disbelief as they led her husband away.
‘We’ve witnesses who’ve identified your husband as being involved in an altercation with Mr McBride yesterday afternoon, during which Mr McBride sustained serious injuries. I’m sorry to have to inform you he’s since died f
rom those injuries.’
The sergeant continued to talk, and Michelle continued to listen, though nothing she was hearing was making any sense now. She wanted to protest but what could she say? Scott had been in a fight yesterday, but he’d told her he’d just knocked the other man about a bit... just enough to scare him. Then she remembered how Tammy had described the incident. Jesus, exactly what had Scott done?
George was crying now. Tammy was downstairs. She was at the bottom of the staircase, just behind her mother. ‘Mum, what’s happening. Are they—?’
‘Go and see to George,’ Michelle interrupted, screaming at her daughter to move. But it was too late. Phoebe already had George and they were all crowded into the hallway now, watching Scott being bundled into the back of a police van and driven away.
The sergeant told Michelle in no uncertain terms to stay home and wait for news. All she could do was watch as the convoy of two patrol cars and the van turned right out of the drive and headed for Thussock.
Tammy shut the door. Michelle leant against the wall, then slid down to the floor and stayed there, feet sticking out across the hallway. Numb.
‘What’s going on?’ Phoebe asked.
‘They took Scott,’ Tammy started to explain.
‘Took him where?’
‘Where d’you think? The police station.’
‘But why?’
‘You tell me. You never know with Scott. I think he—’
‘He’s there because he tried to protect you,’ Michelle screamed at her.
‘I’m sorry, Mum, I just...’
‘This is your fault. If you hadn’t disappeared yesterday, none of this would have happened.’
Tammy’s visible shock turned to anger. ‘It’s not my fault. How is any of this my fault? Come on, explain it to me... I had to get out of the house because I was sick of the noise and the atmosphere – not my fault. The local pervert decides to flash his dick at me – not my fault. Scott decides to beat the crap out of him – not my fault. You marry a fucking idiot who makes all our lives hell, treats you like shit and knocks you about, then drags us the length of the country away from anyone and anything that matters to us when he fucks up – that’s not my fault either.’