‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ he panted, drawing up alongside Frankie.
‘Only been waiting here the best part of a fucking hour,’ Frankie said, putting a huge hand on Rob’s shoulder and squeezing.
‘I said by the café,’ Rob replied, trying not to wince as his shoulder was crushed. ‘Why would I want to meet you down there? That’s where all the druggies and muggers hang out, Frankie. Jesus, mate.’
‘Freezing me bleedin’ nuts off,’ Frankie continued, as if Rob hadn’t spoken. ‘Colder than a fridge out here today. Some bloke over there with his kid giving me funny looks an’ all. Like I’m some nonce or something. Nearly went over to him and asked him what the fuck he thought he was looking at. Would have done an’ all except I didn’t want to frighten the kid. Right little cutie she is, in her red dress and hat.’
Rob nodded but kept his mouth shut, thinking the sight of Frankie Ferrari coming for you would terrify anyone, not to mind a little kid. His size itself – six foot seven, weighing at least twenty stone – was enough to give a child nightmares. Then there was his face, which looked as if wars had been fought and lost in it.
They were standing near the empty playground, cold weather driving families indoors, out of the biting wind. Apart from a group of park-keepers throwing dead branches into a trailer, there was no one else around.
On days like this, the park was a depressing place to be. Rob regretted the impulse that had made him suggest they meet here. The park, of all places, where he used to come with Molly and where he mostly avoided now because it was unbearable to be here without her.
Jesus Christ, he thought. His throat was dry as sand and he had a stinking headache. It wasn’t fresh air he needed, it was a pint.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll buy you a pint and tell you why I wanted to meet.’
Four pints later and Rob was starting to feel better. Frankie had mellowed as well, to the point where Rob thought it was safe to bring up the reason for the meeting. So far, Frankie hadn’t offered to buy a drink but Rob wasn’t bothered. What he needed from Frankie was worth more than a few pints. Much more.
‘See, the thing is Frankie,’ he began, after he’d got another round in. ‘The reason I wanted to see you. It’s to do with my Molly.’
‘They found the fucker that done that yet?’
Frankie lifted his glass and swallowed half the pint in one go. ‘I tell you, Rob, they ever get that bastard, we’ll pay him a visit. Just you and me, fella. What do you think?’
‘I know who he is,’ Rob said.
Frankie slammed his glass down on the table, so loud the noise made Rob jump.
‘Well what we doing here then?’ Frankie roared. ‘Why aren’t we out there teaching him a lesson?’
‘Take it easy, Frankie,’ Rob muttered. The big man was already standing up and Rob put his hand on one of Frankie’s huge arms.
Frankie glared at him. For a second Rob thought he was about to be whacked. But Frankie sat down instead.
‘Just hear me out,’ Rob said quickly.
Frankie nodded but didn’t say anything. Just sat looking at Rob, breathing deeply through his flattened nose.
As briefly as he could, Rob told Frankie about his visit from the policewoman and then from the journalist and what he’d learned about Kevin Hudson.
‘So what you’re telling me,’ Frankie said when he’d finished, ‘is that this psycho’s already hurt one kid and they let him back out so he could do the same thing again to someone else?’
Rob shrugged. ‘Looks that way to me.’
Frankie was doing that funny breathing thing again and holding onto his glass so hard, Rob thought it might shatter. He remembered what Vera, his neighbour, had said about him.
‘He’s still not right in the head,’ Vera said. ‘Poor Maggie is at her wits’ end. Blames herself, see? Says she should have known what Ian was like. You can see her point. I mean, didn’t take a genius to work out that he was no good, that bloke. No good at all. She says prison’s made Frankie worse. Says he was bad when he went in but he’s worse now.’
Vera had leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘The other day, Maggie came home from the shops and found Frankie out in the garden, banging his head against the wall. Like he was a proper loony. You ask me, that boy should be locked up.’ She paused and sniffed. ‘It’s not right letting people like that out when they’re in that state.’
Thinking of that now, Rob could see the fresh scars on Frankie’s forehead, presumably from where he’d smashed it against the wall. A memory flickered through his head. Him and Frankie as young kids.
‘We used to play football.’ He surprised himself by saying this out loud. Hadn’t meant to. The beer was kicking in.
Frankie looked surprised. ‘That’s right, fella. In the park across the road there. You, me and Aidan Potter. He was good, Aidan. I remember that.’
‘Not as good as you, though,’ Rob said. ‘My dad always said you were good enough to turn professional. Here, didn’t you try for Palace once?’
It was like Frankie just shut down. His face sort of closed up and he picked his pint up and drained it, eyes looking at something far away. Rob knew whatever Frankie was looking at, it wasn’t anywhere here in The White Hart. Made him regret he’d ever said anything and he cast around his drink-muddled mind for a different topic of conversation.
Except it was like everything else had faded away and no matter how hard he tried, the only thing he could think of was Frankie Ferrari, aged about ten years old, chasing a ball that had been kicked high in the air by Aidan Potter. The ball flew across the green playing field with little Frankie chasing after it, his legs moving so fast it looked like they were engine-powered. And then, as the ball started to drop, Frankie was right there beneath it. At the time, Rob remembered this clearly, it was like Frankie’s head and the ball were connected with some sort of invisible thread. The ball drifted down as Frankie’s head rose. Then, and this was the beautiful thing, Frankie’s head tilted sideways and jerked forward, hitting the ball and sending it flying forward again, this time in the opposite direction.
And then Rob and Aidan were running forward, already screaming and roaring with joy as the ball seemed to hang in the air for an impossibly long moment before dropping right into the back of the goal, behind Rory Abbs, the goalie who just stood there looking as if he didn’t know what the hell had just happened.
In the distance, he could hear Frankie’s voice, asking if he was all right. Then Frankie’s damaged face was in front of him, and his big, meaty hands were on his shoulders shaking him.
‘Rob, mate? You all right?’
He tried to say something but he couldn’t because he was crying, tears streaming down his face, his nose running, salty slimy snot in his mouth and smeared across his face.
Frankie there in front of him, and in his head, a little boy running like the wind after a football as his friends cheered him on.
21:30
Helen was sitting at the kitchen table. In front of her, a photo of Jodie in a silver frame. Beside that, a glass of white wine. Judging by Helen’s face, it wasn’t her first drink of the day.
‘Where’ve you been?’ she asked, putting emphasis on the ‘you’ like it was a dirty word. Like the very thought of him filled her with disgust.
She picked up the photo, examining it. As if, if she looked hard enough, it would offer up some clue to Jodie’s whereabouts.
Kevin went and stood behind her. He wanted to reach out and stroke the back of her neck. She’d got her hair cut short last year. He hadn’t liked it at first but he’d got used to it and that bare spot at the back of her neck, just below the hairline, never failed to move him. It reminded him, in a way nothing else did, of her vulnerability. Her skin there was so soft, like a child’s.
He didn’t reach out, of course. She would have brushed his hand away if he’d touched her. Instead, he turned and went to get himself a glass of water.
They’d ma
rried after he was released from prison. Helen’s idea. He knew she blamed herself, believed somehow that if she’d moved as he’d suggested, all that business with Harris would never have happened.
She’d done her best, though. Tried everything she could to get Cassie’s parents to come forward. And afterwards, when he was inside, she visited at every opportunity. Even though it couldn’t have been easy for her, not with him the way he was.
Naïvely, they’d both believed they could put it all behind them. That they would marry, move on with their lives and things would return to normal. How stupid could a person be?
‘I asked where you’ve been this past two hours,’ Helen said.
‘Out walking,’ Kevin said. ‘Nowhere in particular.’
Behind him, Helen said something he didn’t catch. He was distracted by what he could see through the window over the sink. Finlay in the back garden, kicking a football against the wall, again and again.
Helen stood up. She staggered sideways and fell against the table, knocking over her glass. Ignoring it, or possibly not even noticing, she grabbed the phone.
‘Gonna call Abby,’ she said. ‘Ask her what she’s playing at. She went out to get me something to eat. Doesn’t take this long to go to the chippie and back. Stupid cow’s probably gone off doing something else.’
‘That’s not a good idea.’
Kevin grabbed the phone from her hand and held her to prevent her from falling.
‘Gimme that!’ She lashed out at him and tried to wrestle the phone from him. Her fist hit him in the chest and he fell back, shocked by the power behind the blow. For someone who could barely stand up, she was well able to pack a punch.
‘Helen,’ he lowered his voice and tried to wrap his arms around her. She was crying now, her face all crumpled up and tears rolling down it. When she cried she reminded him of Jodie and he couldn’t bear it. He just wanted to hold her and stroke her hair and tell her that everything would be all right.
‘Give me the phone!’ she screamed. Her fists were pummelling into him now, two hard little hammers beating against his shoulders and chest. A punch landed in his stomach and he grunted as the air rushed from his body, leaving him light-headed and desperate.
He was starting to panic. Couldn’t breathe, could barely see. Blood pumped in his ears, merging with the other sounds in his head – men chanting as fists and feet punched and kicked him.
Get him, get him.
Helen’s angry face kept going in and out of focus, like he was looking at her through a camera. The noises in his head grew louder and he felt his legs giving way as the blackness descended and her face disappeared entirely and all that was left was her punches raining down on him and the men’s voices, growing louder and louder in his head.
Get him, get him.
‘Kevin?’
Hands on his shoulder, someone shaking him. He opened his eyes and saw Helen.
‘Oh Kevin,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry, love. So sorry.’
He struggled to sit up, get away from her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. But she didn’t try to stop him when he scrabbled backwards out of her reach, and he was grateful for that. He sat up, pulling his legs up so his chin was resting on his knees, and wrapped his arms tight around himself.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. His tongue felt thick in his throat, making it difficult for him to get the words out. ‘Not your fault. You hate me. I don’t blame you. I hate me too. It’s my fault. All of it. I know that.’
He tried to say more but he couldn’t get his mouth to work at all now and before he could stop himself, he was crying, sobs ripping through his body. His face was wet from tears and snot and he tried to wipe it dry with his sleeve but it was no good. He couldn’t stop. He kept thinking of Jodie, how angry he’d been with her that morning. And all for what? Because he’d thought there was something more important he should be doing. His mind so focussed on revenge he wasn’t thinking straight. Wasn’t concentrating on what was important – Jodie. Rushing her like that, as if he couldn’t wait to get her out of his sight.
‘I thought I was doing the right thing,’ he gasped. ‘I never knew this would happen. I’d never have done it, Helen, I swear, if I’d ever thought …’
She sat down beside him on the floor and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
‘Don’t.’ He tried to pull away. ‘Please, Helen, just leave me.’
She didn’t move, though. Instead, she pulled him tighter and held him as he sobbed into her warm, soft body. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a ball banging as it was kicked against a wall, again and again. The sound was soothing, something reassuring about the steady repetition of the rhythm, like it might keep going forever, long after everything else around it had ceased to exist.
22:00
I hate him.
But I’m going to try to be nice to him. I’m thinking if I try really hard, he might let me out of this stupid pink shed. He might even let me go home.
He gets really cross sometimes. Like when he asked if I liked the videos and I said they were a bit babyish. And I didn’t say it in a mean way or anything, but he got this look on his face and I got really scared so I said they weren’t really and I was sorry and it was okay after that.
Even though it’s not really okay because the videos are so stupid. A load of stupid people and their stupid animals all living on a street that’s on top of a stupid rainbow somewhere stupid. How old does he think I am?
Oh God. He’s coming. The pain in my tummy gets worse when he’s here and it’s starting now. All tight and hard and sore. Quickly, I switch on the TV and press the Play button on the video machine. The music starts up and makes my tummy worse. My friends would slaughter me if they ever saw me watching something this stupid.
I’ve started sucking my thumb again. Mum will go mad but I don’t care.
The door opens and he’s in the room now, looking down at me. ‘I brought you some supper.’
Stupid f-word Brian. I hate him.
I pull my thumb out and try to smile. ‘Thanks.’
I can’t look at him, so I keep watching the TV. He sits down beside me. The fat man and the dog are playing a game of Snakes and Ladders. There’s a cat as well. She’s saying something mean to the dog, but I can’t hear her because stupid, f-word Brian is speaking.
‘Coco Pops.’
He’s pushing a bowl onto my lap. I love Coco Pops. There’s too much milk and some of it spills onto my hand and my school skirt, but it doesn’t matter. The skirt is filthy already. And me. I probably smell as bad as he does. I thought about asking him if I can have a bath, but then I got this picture in my head of him in the bathroom with me and it made me feel a bit sick so I haven’t said anything. And now I’m thinking of it again and my tummy’s so bad, I don’t know if I can eat the Coco Pops.
Except he’s staring at me. With that funny look he gets, like he’s in love with me, or something.
I lift the spoon and chew a few Coco Pops. They don’t taste of anything and they’re all soggy and disgusting.
‘They’re nice.’ I’m such a liar but I don’t care. I know it’s what he wants me to say.
The little girl who owns the animals is on the TV now, but I don’t know what she’s doing because I’m not really paying attention. All I can think of is Brian, sitting beside me, watching me.
Oh God.
He shifts closer and the bed shakes and I can feel his breath on my face and it’s hot and wet and disgusting and I want to scream at him to go away. Except I wouldn’t even say go away I’d say something worse. A swear word.
‘I thought you liked Coco Pops.’ When he speaks, little bits of his spit land on my cheek.
‘They’re lovely. I’m just trying to watch this.’
‘It was always your favourite,’ he says. ‘Old man Ted and his family of pets. And cheeky little Annie. She’s a right monkey, hey? Imagine if we ever spoke to Daddy the way she speaks to Ted!’
Oh thank you God. He sounds all happy now. I take another spoonful, really piling the spoon up this time. It’s nearly at my mouth when he touches me. It sends this shock right through me. I jump away from him and the bowl falls out of my lap and there’s Coco Pops and milk all over the pink rug and he’s shouting – Marion, Marion – and then he’s down on the floor trying to clean it all up and I can’t stop crying and telling him I’m sorry.
I’m trying to hide in the smallest corner of the room. There’s nowhere to hide. And he’s here now, standing over me like one of those giants in Jack and the Giant Slayer and that’s all I can think of. Those giants and what they did and Brian is saying something but it’s all mushed-up sounding and I can’t understand any of it.
And then it’s later and we’re sitting on the bed again and there’s another video playing and Brian is speaking to me.
‘Where did you go?’ he asks.
He doesn’t look like a monster now. More like a sad gorilla, with his big head drooping and his hands hanging down.
‘What do you mean – where did I go?’
Oh God. His eyes are all wet. Again. And I know the crying will start in a bit. I really hate that.
‘When you left here, Marion. Where did Daddy take you? It was awful, you know. I promised Mam I’d take care of you. No matter what happened. And I was doing that. I was going to get us out of here. I was going to get a job and everything. Save up money and get us both out of here. Except you were gone before I could do any of that.’
And now he’s off. Wah-wah-waaaaah. His big body shaking so bad the bed rocks like a boat. I should probably do something to make him stop but I don’t know what, so I sit there, watching him cry and listening to that horrible sound and wishing my mum was here.
When I get out of here, I’m going to be with her forever and ever. And I’ll probably never even have to go to school again, or anything. Just live at home with my mum and spend all my time with her and never think about this place ever again.
Hunting Shadows Page 19