The Rule

by David Jackson

  On the busy main road, he felt the eyes of other pedestrians on him. As though they were thinking he’d committed a terrible crime.

  Like killing a man.

  Anxious to escape the crowds, he hurried onto Marlborough Road. It was quieter here, and he was able to think, but actually he didn’t like the thoughts that were racing through his mind. They frightened him.

  He was so preoccupied, he forgot to cross over before he reached Dirty Man’s house. The man’s dog – a small, scruffy amalgam of fur and teeth – ran straight out at Daniel, yapping and snarling, and Daniel had to hop out onto the road to avoid it, even though he knew it was a dangerous thing to do, but probably not as dangerous as the dog. Dirty Man was in his doorway, leaning against the jamb, a cigarette in his hand. He was grinning, and Daniel could see the glint of one gold tooth.

  As he marched more quickly down the street, his heart pounding furiously, all he could think about was Perry – the dog that had frightened him that other time, the dog he had killed – and that made him even more upset.

  He turned right onto Pickford Avenue. Mrs Romford was out again today, cleaning her car. She was bent over, her head inside the vehicle as she ran a hand-held vacuum cleaner over the driver’s seat. Daniel decided to walk straight past. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to get into a conversation with her today.

  He was only a couple of metres ahead of the car when the vacuum cleaner was turned off and Mrs Romford called out to him.

  ‘Yoo-hoo! Daniel!’

  Daniel halted. He knew he couldn’t keep walking because that would be rude and it might upset Mrs Romford and it would be just another bad thing for him to think about.

  He turned and said, ‘Hello, Mrs Romford. How are you today?’ And he said it in the brightest, breeziest way he could muster because he knew that it usually made people happy, even though it hadn’t worked on the bus earlier.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, Daniel. And how’s your dad?’

  Daniel opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as he considered and rejected replies. His immediate urge was to say something like, Well, my dad’s not very happy because he had to get rid of a dead body and I think he might have chopped him into pieces and now the dead man’s brother wants money from my dad, and he hasn’t got any. He didn’t say any of that because his parents had made it clear that they didn’t want him to tell people, but at the same time he didn’t want to lie to Mrs Romford, and so he said simply, and after a long delay, ‘He’s very busy.’

  ‘I’ll bet he is. And what about you? You must be very excited.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because a little bird told me that it’s someone’s birthday soon.’

  This puzzled Daniel for two reasons. First, he didn’t understand how a bird could tell her anything, and second, he’d already told her that it was his birthday very soon. He distinctly remembered doing so when she was polishing her letterbox.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’ll be having chippy chips.’ He’d already told her that too, but her memory didn’t seem to be working very well.

  Not that he was particularly looking forward to chippy chips at the moment. Or even his birthday, for that matter.

  ‘How old will you be?’

  ‘I’ll be twenty-three.’

  ‘Twenty-three? My, you’re in your prime, Daniel. You’ll have all the girls after you soon.’

  ‘I hope not. They teased me on the bus.’

  ‘That’s probably because they liked you. Girls do that kind of thing.’

  ‘No, I think it’s because I had a sticker on my back that said “I’m Stupid”. Laurence put it there.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, I’m sure they’ll come calling for other reasons soon. Wouldn’t you like to have a girlfriend?’

  He gave it some thought. It wasn’t something he’d really considered before. He quite liked the idea of having someone to share his problems with. Someone to walk with and hold hands with and maybe hug and kiss and play games with and . . .

  And then he remembered The Rule, and knew it was impossible. He would never have what everyone else took for granted.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t want a girlfriend.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Mrs Romford said. ‘We’ll see. You’ll change your mind one day.’

  No, he thought. I won’t change my mind.

  ‘I have to go home now,’ he said. ‘My mum will be waiting.’

  ‘Okay, then. You do that. Tell your dad I said hello.’

  He turned and continued on his journey home, but his legs seemed heavier, and everything inside him felt tight.

  Erskine Court loomed into view. Probably for the first time ever, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go home. But then he remembered all the things that went wrong whenever he was out in the world, having to deal with other people.

  He had a sudden premonition that the schoolboys would appear again, and that they would throw their football at him and call him names, and he wondered whether he could stop himself from hurting them, because that’s what he seemed to do now, and even if he could rely on Adam-9 to intervene he wasn’t certain that would be any better.

  He wanted to swear, but he didn’t because he knew that swearing was a really bad thing. Instead he ran. Despite his heavy legs and the tightness in his chest and the fact that he didn’t want to be around parents that argued or lied to him or chopped people up, he ran home, craving the safety of his bedroom, where he wouldn’t have to worry about The Rule and how he was possibly going to get through the rest of his life without breaking it again.

  32

  To Scott, the flat seemed filled with tension, as though everything and everyone in it were connected in a web of taut elastic, one wrong move having the potential to cause it all to snap and fly around in a maelstrom. Gemma was standing in the centre of it, as if afraid to set it off.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m surviving. About all I can do until this is over.’

  ‘Where’s Daniel?’

  ‘In his room. Again.’

  It was said with regret rather than accusation, but Scott couldn’t stop the feeling of responsibility rearing inside him.

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Not really. He has his problems, Scott, but he’s not an idiot. He knows when something’s going on.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s going to be okay. Seriously. It’ll all work out.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. Non-committal. Scared.

  He pulled the envelope from his backpack and placed it on the dining table.

  Gemma stared at it. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The money.’

  ‘In there? How much?’

  ‘Just over four thousand, three hundred.’

  She sat down and opened the envelope. Pulled out the bundles of cash.

  ‘It doesn’t look a lot, does it?’

  ‘I suppose not. But it’s all relative, isn’t it? To us, that’s a hell of a lot of money. I’m hoping I can get Ronan Cobb to see it that way.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  Scott had no answer.

  ‘If he doesn’t, Scott? What then?’

  Scott’s phone rang. He took it from his pocket and looked at the screen. An unrecognised number. He knew who it would be.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘It’s me. You get the money?’

  Scott stared down at the pitifully inadequate sum on the table. ‘I got it.’

  ‘Good. Then we need to meet.’

  ‘Okay. Where?’

  ‘Get a pen.’

  ‘Wait.’ Scott went to the sideboard and pulled out a pen and notepad. ‘Go ahead.’

  He listened and wrote down the directions. The route took him out of town, at least a twenty-five-minute drive.

  ‘When you get to Shiverton Lane, call me back. I’ll tell you the last bit then.’

  ‘Why not tell me now?’

  ‘I’m making sure you don’t try to do anything stupid. I’ll be able to see everything
you do from there.’

  ‘I’m not planning to set any traps if that’s what you mean. I just want to get this over with.’

  ‘Fine. Let’s do that. You clear about where you’re going?’

  ‘I think so. What time are we meeting?’

  ‘Midnight. On the dot.’

  ‘Midnight?’ He saw the alarm on Gemma’s face. ‘Why so late?’

  ‘Because I say so. Be there, alone.’

  He hung up. Scott lowered his phone and stared at Gemma. She turned the notepad towards her.

  ‘Where the hell is he sending you?’

  ‘Miles away. Middle of nowhere.’

  ‘And you’re going? In the middle of the night?’

  ‘What choice do I have? He’s calling all the shots.’

  ‘Not if you don’t let him. Call him back. Tell him he needs to come here for the money.’

  ‘He won’t agree to that. He’ll think it’s a trap.’

  ‘Then tell him you want to meet somewhere more public.’

  ‘I can’t do that either. It’ll piss him off. Just . . . let me do this, okay? Let me pay him what we can afford, and then we can get on with our lives.’

  ‘Well, then I’m coming with you. That little shit doesn’t scare me.’

  He looked at her, and knew that she was definitely scared, just as he was.

  ‘I wish you could, Gem. I’d like nothing better than to watch you kick the crap out of the little bastard. But you know we can’t do that. He said to come alone. Besides, you need to be with Daniel.’

  She hesitated for a few seconds. ‘You said something before. About a trap.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why can’t we do that? Set a trap. We go to the police and we tell them everything. We get them to follow you, and then they catch him red-handed.’

  ‘It won’t work, Gem. He said he’ll be watching me when I get to – what’s it called? – Shiverton Lane. He’ll be able to see everything I do. Do you really trust the police enough not to fuck everything up? And what if they do catch him? What then? You think we’ll be safe? You think his family or one of his druggie friends won’t come after us? And, to be honest, getting to us probably won’t be all that difficult when we’re sitting in a prison cell for the things we did to Ronan’s brother.’

  He stopped when he realised how loud he was getting. He leaned towards Gemma and lowered his voice. ‘This is our only option. You know that. Let me try.’

  She turned shimmering eyes to his. ‘I know it’s our only option. Deep down, I know that. I just thought . . . I was hoping one of us might come up with another way out.’

  ‘Me too. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I don’t have any other answers.’

  ‘It’s not fair, is it? We do everything by the book. We work our fingers to the bone. We do what we can for Daniel. Why do these horrible things happen to us? Why can’t they happen to someone evil?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some people always have it harder than others. It’s just the way it is. Maybe it’ll make us better people.’

  ‘I don’t want you to go, Scott. I don’t want you to meet that man.’

  ‘I know. I don’t want to go, either. But I have to.’

  She jumped into his arms then. Straight out of her chair and into a fierce embrace. Held him like she never intended to release him again.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  This from Daniel, standing in the doorway.

  Gemma turned away, both to hide her upset and to scoop the money furtively back into the envelope. Scott forced a smile onto his lips.

  ‘Hey, bud! How were things at the centre today?’

  ‘Okay. I didn’t do much. Just some drawing.’

  His spirit was clearly low, his frame sagging. It tightened a noose around Scott’s heart.

  ‘Hey, suppose we have bacon and eggs and beans for tea? Fancy that?’

  ‘With waffles?’

  ‘We can have waffles. Are you up for that?’

  Daniel nodded. ‘That would be nice. Can I put the telly on?’

  ‘Sure. Go ahead.’

  He watched his son lumber to the sofa and fiddle with the remote, then he turned to Gemma again.

  ‘Go and sit with Daniel,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the tea on.’

  He watched her drift away. There was nothing left to discuss.

  The evening came and went, but the tension only increased. Untasted mouthfuls of a meal were separated by perfunctory snippets of conversation. When Scott packed Daniel off to bed, he broke The Rule and hugged him, knowing that he might never get a chance to do so again, but at the same time telling himself not to be so melodramatic, that it would all work out. Daniel seemed confused, panicked by the cocktail of emotions in himself and his parents.

  After that came empty hours in front of the television, Scott and Gemma together but separate, each cocooned in their own solemn thoughts. He kept checking his watch, and was aware that Gemma side-eyed him each time.

  When it seemed she could bear it no longer, she said, ‘I’m going to bed.’

  ‘It’s only ten o’clock.’

  ‘I don’t want to see you leave. I want you to go out quietly, and then come back to me and climb into bed and tell me everything has been sorted out.’

  ‘Gemma, don’t worry. It’ll be okay.’

  ‘I do worry. I haven’t stopped worrying since you brought Joey Cobb into our home. I need it to stop now.’

  She leaned in to kiss Scott long and hard, then stood up. ‘You stay safe. No heroics. No stupidity. I don’t care about the money. I just want us all to be together again.’

  He watched her disappear, and felt lonelier than he ever had in his life, the weight of what was to happen sitting heavily on his shoulders.

  33

  Rather than trust the directions he had hastily scribbled down earlier, Scott used a navigation app on his phone to direct him to Shiverton Lane. He was truly out in the sticks now. The occasional cottage or farmhouse, but mostly fields of cows and sheep, ghostly statues in the silver moonlight.

  He slowed the car and pulled onto a grass verge, then took out his phone and called Ronan. He answered immediately.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’s me. Scott. I’m on Shiverton Lane, like you said.’

  ‘Okay, good. Have you seen a sign for Hamley Mill yet?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’ve pulled over.’

  ‘Start driving again. Put your phone on speaker and keep the line open. Look out for a brown sign.’

  Scott did as he was told. He drove slowly, his eyes peeled. A Mercedes zoomed up behind him and then overtook, disappearing within seconds. After that, there was no traffic.

  ‘You’re getting close,’ Ronan said. ‘Slow down.’

  Braking to a crawl, Scott wondered how it was possible for Ronan to see him. Where the hell was he hiding?

  ‘I see it now,’ he said. ‘You want me to take the turn-off ?’

  ‘No. Drive about another hundred yards, then pull in and turn off your engine.’

  Scott took a wild guess at the hundred-yard distance, then found the most level piece of verge he could before stopping the car.

  ‘Perfect,’ Ronan said.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Get out of the car.’

  Scott picked up his backpack and phone from the passenger seat, then climbed out. He turned off his phone’s speaker and put the device to his ear.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘You should see an entrance to a pathway on the other side of the road.’

  ‘I see it.’

  ‘Then start walking. I’ll be waiting for you. Don’t forget the money.’

  Scott locked up the car and slipped his arms through the straps of the backpack. It was overkill for all it contained, but he didn’t want Ronan suspecting the truth before he’d had a chance to talk things over with him.

  He crossed the lane and started up the path. To his right were tall hedgerows. On his left, b
arbed wire bordered a huge field. In the far distance he could just make out the lighted windows of a house – the nearest signs of civilisation and a possible sanctuary if he needed it.

  The path became ever steeper. After a few minutes, he paused and looked back the way he had come. He saw now that anyone up here would have an excellent view of car headlights on the lane. It would have been impossible to bring along a posse of police officers without being spotted. Ronan had done his homework.

  A heavy snort made Scott leap away. He landed in a ditch, dropping his phone.

  ‘Shit.’

  He looked up and saw a horse staring at him over the hedgerow, a glint of amusement in its eyes. He wondered if the nag made a habit of alarming people like that.

  He found his phone, but it was only after dusting himself off that he became aware of a tinny voice emanating from it. He brought it to his ear again.

  ‘Scott! Are you there?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Where the hell did you go? All you’ve got to do is follow a fucking path.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’m here.’

  ‘All right, then. Have you seen a stile on your left yet?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A stile. A set of wooden steps.’

  ‘No . . . Wait. Yes. I see it.’

  ‘Climb over it, into the field.’

  ‘Okay. Done.’

  ‘You see the hill? With the big tree on top of it? Look in that direction.’

  Scott looked. He saw several brief flashes of a torch.

  ‘I see you.’

  ‘Walk towards me.’

  Scott began walking again. The ground itself was fairly dry and firm, but he grimaced every time one of his feet sank into what was presumably a huge cowpat. He wished he’d worn wellington boots.

  The hill was much steeper than the path, and his breathing became heavier as he ascended. Ahead, he thought he could see a figure stepping out from beneath the canopy of the ancient tree. He started going over the lines of dialogue in his head – the words he’d been shaping and rehearsing all day. The words that might just save his life, and the lives of his family.