by Tom Grieves
He’d gone to friends, thieves and grifters, hoping to start the see-saw game of debt again, but they all laughed in his face, aware of his debts and knowing he could never pay them back. He’d sat on the pavement, head between his knees, knowing that there was nothing he could do. He had no money, and while he might be able to do stings and deals to raise the money in a month or two, the day was closing and so was his luck. Desperate now, he followed a man in a suit home and then tried to barge his way in as he opened the front door, hoping he might find cash or valuables inside. Instead he found five other men and was easily caught, arrested, and banged up in a cell. He was bailed the next day by a magistrate and returned home, expecting to find men in his flat, ready to smash him to pieces. He couldn’t stop thinking about that hammer.
Sam hit him hard and fast about the face – three sharp punches that sank him back into the bloodied snow.
But when he returned home, the flat was empty and untouched. Jed stared out of his window, amazed that everything was normal. Foolishly, he’d wondered whether they had been empty threats. He wondered idly about the other part of the conversation, the chatter at the front which had duped him into thinking there had been an easy way out of that basement. The talk of his nephew and niece and of the extravagant presents he’d bought them. He’d told the story to show he was a good guy, that they couldn’t blame him for frittering some of his money on children. He’d overdone it a bit, for sure, going on about how great they were, how rich their parents were and what a dutiful uncle he was. He had no one else in his life, after all. But he had just been trying to play them by giving them a sob story. Mary-Ann had laughed at his stories and encouraged him to tell more anecdotes about them.
We’ll hurt you in ways you cannot imagine. They were words from a bad film, he thought, and chuckled to himself.
Punch followed punch and Jed’s skin broke and bled.
Then the news came in. Arthur and Lily had vanished and he knew that all of his stories were just information so that they could do the job properly. He went to the loo and puked until his stomach was empty, then puked some more.
Yes, they’d made their point alright. But it didn’t matter that they had Arthur and Lily, he was simply unable to find the bloody money. He did all he could, slowly scrimping and dealing away, but by the time he had anything like enough, the news came through that Arthur was dead. Every night he curled up and sobbed alone in his caravan.
A kick, a stamp, a smashed fist. Over and over.
When he was told that he had three more days to find the cash or the girl would disappear for ever, he decided that the only chance he had was to break into Sarah and Tim’s house and take what he could. He’d remembered rich trinkets and fancy jewellery, and arranged to pass them on straight away to a fence in Newcastle. But when he got in and searched the place he realised that posh paintings and sofas were not going to solve this, and that Tim had safely hidden his most valuable belongings. And then the snow came down and trapped him.
He was trying, willing to do anything to save his little Lily, he sobbed.
Sam punched him again.
He punched him and felt a rib pop.
He pulled him up to his feet then knocked him back down again.
A dead boy, utterly innocent, because of his stupidity and greed.
Jed tried to get away, clambering across the stream, and it gave Sam the excuse to hit him again. His fists crashed into his nose and jaw, shattering it.
This stupid man, this disgusting clown. He hit him with a combination of punches and felt Jed’s body soften as he lost consciousness and flopped down, out.
Sam stood over him, panting.
He was the cause. He had started it all. Sam had done his job. The girl was safe. He had Jed. It was done. It was over.
A thin line of white cloud had drifted across the sky and enveloped the sun. Sam stared down at his fists and slowly unclenched them. His arms hung at his sides but the blood had congealed and clung tight to his skin. He felt it on his face and neck, and saw the mud that stained his clothes from head to foot. He was a monstrous sight.
He was lost and empty. Finished.
Sam stared up at the bare sky, his feet wet from the stream, and howled.
SIXTY-NINE
Zoe found Jed handcuffed against the rails of the boathouse, and her emotions lurched. As she approached, she saw blood smeared against the metal railing where he sat, redolent of a butcher’s shop. He sat sagging on the steps, crumpled and broken like the building itself. He heard her approach and started to shudder, clearly thinking she was Sam. He recognised her and calmed down, but still he was still unable to speak or make eye contact. His right eye was so swollen and his right cheek so badly sunken that he looked ghoulish.
He reminded her of Eli Robinson.
Jed had no idea where Sam was and muttered feeble, barely comprehensible words. She left him where he was, calling in once more to the local station and letting them know where to pick him up. Instead of waiting, she followed the neatly marked footpath signs, each carved into sturdy wooden posts, which pointed to the fell above. She looked around, called out for him, but saw no one.
She took the path out from the forest and up a steep incline. It was extraordinary, the way the land could rise so suddenly, almost vertically, from nothing. Her legs hurt, but she pushed herself up, hoping, ever hoping. Ahead of her, a little higher, were two giant boulders through which walkers would have to pass in order to continue their way to the top.
She thought she spotted something, and when she pulled herself up, Sam was indeed there, sitting on one of the rocks, staring out at the view below. He had blood all over him, but she knew that none of it was his. He was a terrible sight.
She thought of Malcolm and of the matey jokes that he and Sam would share. She thought of Helen, waiting for her to destroy her career. All of them, all pushing her, all using her to their own ends. Even Sam.
He looked at her and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
‘Come on, boss. Case closed. Sun’ll be going down soon.’
He said something else – a hoarse croak that made no sense.
‘Say what?’
He shook his head and she went over to him and dropped down by his side.
‘What is it, boss?’
She took in the view: Lullingdale to the right, picturesque like a model; to the left were the woods with steep hills opposite, and in the middle, pride of place, the lake. As always, it was majestic, immovable, and utterly unaffected by man’s progress and intrusions. The wind swept waves across it.
Zoe spotted the roof of Bud’s bungalow. A small plume of smoke billowed from the chimney. She was about to tell Sam that this was where Lily now was, but she felt him move and realised that he was crying. He looked at her and tears poured down his bloody, mud-stained face.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
*
I’m sorry. The clouds danced above him and he remembered his wife.
I’m sorry. The wind shook tree branches and he thought about the way he had grabbed at Sarah. He remembered the cruel intentions and desires that he’d let fester.
He noticed the tiny cracks and etches in the stone below him, thousands of years old, and he wept for his daughters and the ways that he had failed them.
Andrea, his heart yelled, Andrea I love you and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, so, so sorry.
He thought of his betrayal of Ashley, of his murderous rage at Helen Seymour, and he wept at the poor, broken women who he had demonised into witches and demons. A put-upon housekeeper, a schizophrenic nanny, all re-imagined as monsters.
He put his hand on the boulder, it made him feel weak and tiny. Zoe, next to him, felt like a mountain.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he said again and again.
Zoe pulled him to her and he crawled into her embrace like a small child. She hugged him tight and stroked his hair and soothed him.
The sun slipped downwards through the s
ky, but Zoe held Sam firm. Clouds darkened overhead. She held Sam close to her, kissed his cheek and whispered promises in his ear.
*
Eventually she helped Sam stand and led him down to the car. They drove to the hotel, where she managed to get him inside via the back entrance without anyone seeing. There, in his hotel room, she washed the blood away and helped him change. They left together, her leading the way.
And then, last of all, she drove him back to the lake.
Although it was dark, the full moon lit the water. It remained just as it always had: remote and imperious. They stared at it together for some time before Zoe left him, going down to the lake by herself. It seemed right that she was alone here now. She gazed over the still water and took it all in. It held no fears for her now.
Zoe reached into her bag and pulled out the tiny tape that had recorded Helen’s confessions. She ran her finger over it, and then hurled it out into the water. The lake swallowed it whole. The tiny ripples soon vanished, and order was restored.
Zoe watched it all. She saw everything now.
A little later she left the lake behind and drove Sam back to the city, leaving Lullingdale for the last time. Up the steep hills, through the valleys and out again, back towards the electric light of the city.
She sped forward, ready for the fight.
*
As she drove, Sam stared out at the sky above. Before they had set off, Zoe had called home and told the girls that their father had finished the job, before handing the phone over to him. He had heard laughter and delight at the news of his return. He wondered if it had always been there. He shared the joy and made new promises that he now knew he could keep. He was going home. He stared out of the car window, and for the first time, as his eyes scanned that vast, perfect black canvas, he finally saw nothing but the night.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Huge thanks to Jane Wood and her excellent colleagues at Quercus Books, but especially Katie Gordon whose editing skills finessed the novel at every stage. Thanks also to Jonny Geller and all at Curtis Brown. Last, but never least, my beautiful love, Ceetah, who is my first reader, sternest critic and finest inspiration.