Trackman

by Catriona Child

  I don't even know if I need to leave it. I can still commit to being the Trackman without the disappearing act. How do I explain it to Susan in a few scribbled lines? It's not fair, after all she's done for me. I can't just fuck off without an explanation.

  The police had been in there searching. They'd been respectful, but something had changed. It was a waste of time too, they hadn't found anything.

  I have to leave something for her and Pammy.

  Davie left the note for Alfie on the counter next to the kettle. He was bound to come in for a brew at some point.

  Alfie, I'm going away for a bit, a kind of road trip thing, but without a car. Sorry for being a dick. Maybe see you again sometime. No hard feelings. Davie.

  He didn't have much time to write it, if he'd had more time he would have put more thought into it. He'd been tempted to put in some shitty comment about Astrid, but then he felt guilty. Davie didn't want some sarky comment to be the last thing he ever said to Alfie, just in case he never saw him again.

  Mummy says you should never go to bed angry.

  Jamesy and Davie waited outside the flat until they saw Alfie leave. They had to make sure they were in and out before he came back. Davie threw a few things into a bag then wrote the note. If he'd had more time, he would have written something better.

  That's what he kept telling himself. Deep down he knew that if he'd had hours and hours, he'd still have come out with something shite. He'd never been good at saying what he felt. He blamed it on being Scottish. Scottish men didn't do emotions or feelings very well.

  Davie had planned to post the flat keys back through the letterbox but he was halfway down the street before he remembered. In the end he posted them through a post box instead. It was only after he'd let go that he noticed the faded graffiti. A warning in silver marker pen.

  ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE

  Hey, Jamesy, this is where I nearly got rid of you. Aye, I know. What a dumb thing to do. I can't believe I nearly dumped you. Man, where would I be now?

  Davie stroked Jamesy with his thumb and Jamesy purred back at him.

  I can't think of this as a goodbye anyway, if I do I might chicken out. Not go through with it. We're just going on tour for a while, taking the show on the road.

  I'm scared. I'm fucking terrified.

  Right, better get this over with. I open Susan's gate and crunch my way up the driveway. I open the letterbox and post the letter through.

  Can you hear something? I put my ear down towards the letterbox. I think there's someone in there?

  'Hello?' I shout into the letterbox.

  The hallway was in darkness, and nobody answered him. Lewey, it's me, LEWEY LEWEY, come on, stop fucking about. Let me in.

  Did you hear that? There's someone in there. I'm sure there is. I walk round the side of the house but the curtains are closed. I turn the corner to the back of the house when something hits me on the shoulder and I fall forwards onto the gravel.

  I flip myself over, but with my rucksack on I'm like an upturned turtle, limbs flailing. I can't get myself up.

  Colin is standing over me. His face is red and his hair is all stuck to his forehead with sweat.

  'What are you doing here?' I ask.

  'Saying goodbye, not that it's any of your fucking business.'

  'Get away from here.' The saliva dries in my mouth and I can hear my words clicking as I speak.

  'Are you going to make me?'

  'Aye,' I scramble to my feet. My hands and knees are stinging.

  'Come on then,' he pushes me in the chest and I slide in the gravel. Now that I'm standing up, I realise just how much bigger than me he is. Fuck sake. The veins in his neck and upper arms are bulging.

  Susan had met Colin at the gym. He was a fucking bodybuilder.

  Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

  Fright.

  Help me, Jamesy, what do I do?

  Do I keep my thumb in or out when I punch?

  One finger, one thumb, one finger, one thumb.

  'Come on you wee fucker,' Colin pushes me backwards, 'you're nothing, nothing.'

  I lunge at him but he grabs me and gives me a push so I go flying past him towards the front gate. My Converse slide and the weight of the rucksack topples me over into the side of the house. The house is pebble-dashed and as I scrape down the wall, white stones chip off and scatter around my feet. Before I have a chance to even close my eyes, his fist connects with my face and a warm pain soaks through me. It's like someone's emptied a bucket of hot water over my head. My glasses hang off one ear. It's all a blur and the driveway is spinning, spinning, spinning, but through one side of my glasses I see him coming at me again. I duck as his fist swings towards me.

  'I'll fucking kill you, you wee prick,' he shouts.

  I know he means it. Something inside forces me into action. I need to get the fuck away from here. Flight, you idiot, flight. Now. I stumble towards the garden gate. I need to get away.

  Sweat and tears sting my eyes. Is that blood? Am I bleeding? I don't know, I don't have time to check. I swing open the gate and run. He's still shouting at me as I take off along the pavement. I don't turn round. Just run.

  sky.

  ET on the bikes. Pavement, Pavement, pavement,

  onearmonelegonearmonelegonearmonelegonearmoneleg

  He doesn't follow. Thank fuck, he doesn't follow. I keep running though, just keep running.

  Davie watched from the front garden as it reached the end of the road, then he was out the front gate and on his way to Paul Johnstone's house.

  My teeth hurt. It feels like the blood has drained right out of my gums. Are they falling out?

  He ran his tongue over her teeth, feeling for the gap.

  Her tongue stud tapped against teeth. His or hers?

  Fuck, I need to stop. I can't breathe. I'm at the beach, I've run all the way to the fucking beach.

  I hold my front teeth between my fingers and shake them, test them for wobbles. I slip my arms out of my rucksack and head down to the edge of the water. Now that I've stopped running, I can't stop shaking. All my muscles are in spasm.

  I step into the sea. The water's freezing and soaks through my Converse. The cold is good, extreme. It takes my attention away from my face. I'm cut all over. My hands and knees are throbbing. I kneel down and splash water over my face, swirl my glasses around and put them on properly. The water is foamy and doesn't look very clean but it's salty and it stings, so it must be doing some good. I can taste salt but I don't know if it's the water or my sweat. It nips my eyes.

  My teeth still hurt, so I pick up a stone from under the water and bite down on it. Is that my teeth or my jawbone cracking? Did he break my face?

  His head cracked every time he opened his eyes, like ice being dropped into cold, fizzy juice.

  I gag as the stone hits the back of my throat and I spit it out. My mouth is full of dirt and grit, so I spit again. I cup my hands and fill them with seawater then swirl the water around in my mouth. It tastes disgusting and I spit it out.

  He felt like he'd been out drinking or something; something more sordid than standing in a book queue.

  What adrenaline I had has left me and I'm starting to collapse. Fuck. Fucking hell. That Colin is fucking mental.

  In a parallel universe, I take him out with one punch.

  I spit again. This time it's a Han Solo kind of a spit. My hidden scoundrel emerges but it's too late. It's the kind of cool arrogance I could have done with against Colin, but which of course deserted me.

  Just be his fucking luck to end up playing Luke Skywalker.

  I try to whistle but it hurts too much and no sound comes out.

  They say if you whistle at the sea, you're mocking the devil. Can you believe some coastal town up north banned Roger Whittaker?

  What do you think, Jamesy? I think we just met the fucking devil back at Susan's house.

  He didn't have a good time growing up, his dad used t
o hit him and slap his mum around.

  Sand and grit sticks to the bottom of my jeans as I head back up the beach towards my bag. I drag it alongside me. I'm drained. I don't even have the power to lift it onto my back.

  Are you ignoring me, Jamesy? Embarrassed by what a pussy I am? I bet you're sorry you chose me. I wouldn't blame you if you took off. Maybe you can catch up with Colin?

  There's a car park up ahead of me. A row of bushes blocks it from view. A path leads through the bushes further down the beach, but I can't be bothered walking down there, so I just plough on through.

  I'm cold now. My feet are numb and I can feel it spreading upwards, all the way through me.

  There's nobody about, so I walk towards the nearest car and try the door handle. Locked. I try the next one. Locked. The next one. Locked. I try them all, one by one. One finger, one thumb.

  He tried the front door but it was locked. He kept walking until he found another. It was locked too. So was the next one. And the next. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked.

  Until, amazingly, I find one that's not been locked. What fool doesn't lock their car? Someone like Colin? Oh, no doubt, Jamesy, no doubt.

  I leave my bag lying outside the car and get in the passenger side. I play with the seat. Slide it backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Recline it up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

  I wish I knew how to hotwire the car, just so I could turn on the heating, but I've not got a fucking clue.

  I swivel round and notice an apple and a bottle of water on the back seat. The apple is really shiny, polished like lip gloss.

  Her lips glimmered with lip gloss and she played with her tongue stud, rolling it left and right, left and right, along her bottom lip.

  The sort of shine I thought was only possible in Snow White. The car smells of dog and there are wiry, grey hairs all over the upholstery.

  I open the glove compartment and a bag of sherbet lemons falls out. The sweets spill across my lap and floor, shedding their flimsy wrappers as they fall. I pick one up and pop it in my mouth, suck on it. I roll it against the roof of my mouth, wear down the criss-cross pattern on the sweet until it's smooth all over. Like a pebble being worn away by the sea.

  Up in the mountains, whole pools are formed by one pebble. The pebble gets caught in the tumbling eddy of a waterfall, swirls around in a vortex and erodes the rock into a hollow pool. If you dive down to the bottom of the pool, you'll find one smoothed out pebble.

  Aye, see I'm not such a dumb-fuck as you think I am. I know some stuff. That's how I feel a lot of the time. Like I'm swirling around in a whirlpool. Stuck in this never-ending cycle that I can't get out of, because I'm not smooth yet. I'm all sharp edges and angles, knees and shoulder blades and elbows.

  I move the sweet around with my tongue, don't swallow any saliva, so it's all frothy and wet inside my mouth.

  His or hers?

  There's a sharp edge to the sweet and it cuts the roof of my mouth. I crunch down on it, let the sherbet explode inside me. The fizz bursts and bubbles.

  I'm tired and cold. I close my eyes. I could just sleep here. It's comfy. It's warmer than being outside. Jamesy nudges me, tickles me. Okay, okay, I'll get up, I'll get up.

  I reach into the back seat and take the apple and the water, then I leave the car. I carry the rucksack along next to me, and head out of the car-park.

  Davie took the Mars Bar and slipped it up the sleeve of his jacket. His hands were shaking as he walked towards the shop door.

  You're turning me into a criminal as well as a superhero, Jamesy.

  What do you think Colin was doing there? He was inside the house. Fuck, I just ran away and he was inside the house. We need to go back. In case he's done something. He could have done anything. What if Susan and Pammy are in there? What if he got to them before they left for Australia? I swing my rucksack on my back and start to jog back towards Susan's.

  Onefingeronethumbonearmonelegonefingeronethumb

  onearmonelegkeepmovingkeepmovingkeepmoving

  Is he still there? Are you sure? He's definitely gone?

  The front gate is still hanging open. Jamesy and I go in and circle the house. The gravel on the driveway's scrambled at the place where I fell over, I kick it back, spread it out more evenly again. Cover up my beating.

  The blinds are drawn in the kitchen window at the back of the house, but the window looks weird. It's all steamed up.

  Fuck, look at that, Jamesy. The back door's been kicked in. How come nobody heard, nobody noticed? Why hasn't the alarm gone off? Fuck sake, I thought Susan's neighbours were meant to be looking after her house while she's away. Good fucking job, Mary. Christ, I hope she really is away.

  What if she's in there? What if I go in and. I can't. Not again.

  Davie dropped the orange juice.

  I don't think I can. What if?

  You sure? Okay.

  I'm the Trackman. I'm the Trackman. I'm the Trackman. I'm the Trackman.

  Trackman Trackman Trackman Trackman Trackman Trackm

  'Susan? Pammy?' I push open the back door and step inside the house. I'm shaking again. Nobody answers me. I can hear the sound of water running. I follow it to the kitchen. When I push open the door, I'm hit by a wall of steam. My glasses cloud over and it feels warm against my battered face. I pull my glasses off and fight through it to the kitchen sink. My feet are still wet from the sea, but I can feel warm water ooze between my toes. That fucker. I turn off the hot tap and plunge my hand into the sink to pull the plug out. Fuck, the water's hot and it burns me. It's spilling out over the top of the sink. The floor is sailing with it. I open the kitchen window to let some air in, try to get rid of the steam so I can see what I'm fucking doing. That cunt. I can't believe he would do this. Actually I can, because he's a cunt. He must know they're away. Thought he'd trash the house and leave Susan with a nice, hefty gas bill when she came back.

  Saying goodbye, not that it's any of your fucking business.

  Fucking prick.

  I try to unravel the kitchen roll but it's soggy and falls apart in my hands. I pull open drawers until I find one with dishtowels in it. I spread them all over the surfaces and floor, soak up the water.

  It was so slick, like a dance move.

  Man, I want to kill that fucking dick.

  Condensation drips down the walls nearest the sink and falls from the ceiling. I climb up on the counter and wipe it all off. There are boxes of cereal on the windowsill, but when I touch them the cardboard boxes disintegrate in my hand. The tap can only have been on for a couple of hours and already the room's pretty fucked. It takes me a while to clean everything up, but I can't get rid of the damp smell. It clings in the air even when the steam has evaporated.

  What if I hadn't been here? What if it had been left the whole time Susan was away? Good job I was here, that I thought to come back. I helped, Jamesy. I helped, and it didn't even involve being the Trackman.

  I head through to the living room and crash out on the sofa. Fuck, what a day. A beating and a triumph.

  It's dark when I wake up and the streetlights cast shadows on the wall. The drawstring from the blinds hangs down one side of the window.

  The looped string.

  It looks like a noose.

  The shadow swayed on the wall.

  Fuck. I sit up suddenly and fall off the edge of the sofa. What time is it? Where am I? I need to get out of here. Why didn't you wake me?

  Come on, Jamesy, we're going. One finger. One thumb. One arm. One leg. I grab my bag and head for the back door. Fuck, I can't leave it like this. The fucking door's been kicked in, that's why. Think, think, think, think, what should I do? But, what if they think it was me? They'll want to speak to me about it? Anonymous is just going to make them think I'm involved. It's suspicious. Maybe I should go next door and explain? Aye, aye, you're right. They weren't much fucking good when he was breaking in, were they? Do you think calling the police is the
right thing though? Will they not wonder why I'm phoning from Susan's house? It doesn't make sense. Aye, okay, you're right, we need to get going. What is the number for the police anyway? I can't phone 999, it's not an emergency.

  Ambulance. My brother.

  They're not going to see it that way. Okay, okay. 999 it is.

  'Police, please. I think there's been a break-in at 43 Hunter Street, Prestonpans. The lady who lives there is on holiday but I'm pretty sure I saw her ex hanging about.'

  I don't know what else to say so I hang up. Come on, let's get the hell out of here before the polis show up. It's going to look fucking suspicious. We shouldn't be here when they turn up. I've seen enough sirens and blue flashing lights.

  The ambulance driver didn't even bother with the lights or the sirens as it pulled away.

  Right, one more thing to do and I'm all yours, Jamesy boy.

  23

  Long Time Dead

  He needed to get some water, or better some juice, vitamin C and all that shite, that should help. He didn't bother with the kitchen light, just went straight to the fridge. His face was illuminated when he opened the door and he took out the carton and unscrewed the lid.

  Davie dropped the orange juice.

  'HEY, LEWEY,' I SAY, as I sit down next to him, 'can you remember what page we got to?'

  I flick through the pages of the Harry Potter book, trying to work out what I've already read. Shut up, Jamesy, I'm trying to think. No, we hadn't got that far yet, I think it was around here, aye, this looks right.

  The book rubs against the rectangular scars on my palms, but they don't hurt anymore. I think I've killed all the nerves.

  There was a rectangular scar on each palm, like he'd been burnt by something and the shape of it had melted onto his skin.

  Not like my face, still aching from where Colin hit me. Jesus, I don't think I've ever been hit properly like that before. Does it make me more of a man? Being punched is some sort of rite of passage?

  Come on, Davie. You're here for a reason. To finish that fucking book. I start reading. The final push. I will finish this book, finish this series for Lewis. Make good on my promise.