by Ben Cheetham
The door clicked open. Julian went to shove the diary back under the pillow, but with his hands tied he wasn’t fast enough. Mia appeared in the doorway, holding two mugs. “Hey, what the fuck you doing looking at that?” she said. “Put it down right now.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…I just…” stammered Julian.
“Just what? You just wanted to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, that’s what.”
“Who’s Mr Ugly?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“Is someone…hurting you? Is a man hurting you?”
Mia laughed contemptuously, as if to say, no man could hurt me. “Just get out.” All the softness was gone from her voice. Her eyes burned like blue flame.
“Please, Mia, you can tell me. I can help.”
“What makes you think I want help from you or anybody else?”
“Your Facebook photo.”
Mia thought for a moment, then realising what Julian referred to she said, “You mean what I wrote on my wrist. That was a joke. I was just fucking around.”
“It didn’t look like a joke.”
“Yeah, well it was. Now go on. Fuck off out of here.”
Julian rose, holding out his hands which were tingly from lack of circulation for Mia to untie. The corners of her eyes and mouth curling with mischief, she shook her head. “We don’t want you molesting any schoolgirls on your way to your car now, do we?”
A flush rose up Julian’s throat. “That’s not fair and you know it.”
Mia’s eyes flickered as if she realised she’d gone too far, but she didn’t untie Julian. Sighing, he made his way downstairs and out into the street. He found a low brick wall and sawed the stocking against its edge, conscious that it wasn’t the kind of neighbourhood where a stranger could loiter without causing curtains to twitch. It took him a good ten minutes to work his hands free. Stuffing the stocking into his pocket, he returned to his car. He felt bad about the diary, but it occurred to him that Mia must’ve known there was a good chance he’d find it. Perhaps on some level, conscious or subconscious, she’d wanted him to find it. Perhaps, like her Facebook photo, it was a call for help – help she desperately needed, but was too proud to ask for. He released a heavy breath. Perhaps he was just an idiot for reading it. Still, he couldn’t shake the image of Mr Ugly from his mind. He had no doubt that Mr Ugly was one of the ‘bad people’ Mia had referred to. But who was he? Did he even exist or was he just something produced from her mind, a representation of her troubled psyche? Julian shook his head. That face had displayed a sordid cynicism of almost inhuman proportions. Sure Mia was cynical, but that wasn’t all she was. Beneath her cynicism, he knew now, there was a tender heart. But that heart was being eaten out of her by bad people. And when the last bite was gone, Mia would be gone too, gone like Joanne Butcher.
Henry greeted Julian with a bark as he entered the house. Stooping to scratch behind his ears, he made his way through to the kitchen. Wanda was preparing the evening meal. “What’ve you been up to?” she asked.
Julian expelled a breath of irritation. “Not you as well. Always questions, questions.”
Wanda’s eyes grew stern. “Don’t get offish with me, Julian. If we ask questions it’s not because we’re trying to pry into your life, it’s because we’re worried about you. Would you rather we just ignored you and let you get yourself into a worse mess than you’re already in?”
“Who says I’m in a mess?”
Wanda made a who are you trying to kid face. “I’ve seen you like this before, Julian, when you were having those nightmares. You’ve got the same look in your eyes now that you had then.”
Julian dropped his gaze from Wanda’s. “Where’s Mum?”
“In bed. All this upset has wiped her out.”
A twinge of guilt tugged at Julian. “I’m taking Henry for a walk.”
As he headed for the back door, Wanda said, “All we want is for you to be happy, Julian.”
He hesitated, glancing a smile at Wanda. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping.”
Julian made his way through the woods to where the path forked. He took the fork that led straight on. The police were gone now. The only sign that they’d ever been there was some torn strands of yellow-and-black plastic ribbon dangling from tree-trunks where he’d found the body. He thought about Joanne Butcher, about the way she’d looked alive, about the way she’d looked dead. He thought about Mia. “How much is enough?” he said to himself. “How much is enough for what?”
Chapter 8
When Julian returned from his walk, he went to bed. He wasn’t particularly tired, but he was eager to see if the dream returned. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Sleep came on, and with it the dream. He jerked awake, trembling with disgust and rage. Catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he snatched up a mug and hurled it at his reflection. The mirror cracked with a loud pop. The distorted, fragmented face that stared at him from it seemed like the revelation of his inner being. There was a knock at his door.
“Everything okay in there?” asked Christine. “What was that noise?”
Julian slung a shirt over the mirror, before opening the door and smiling at his mum. “I just dropped something, that’s all.” He studied his mum’s face. The lines were perhaps a fraction more deeply etched, the shadows perhaps a shade darker than when he’d first arrived home. “Listen, Mum, I realise I’ve been behaving in a pretty shitty way the last few days, but I want you to know, well, I…the thing is…” He faltered. He’d meant to lie to her, tell her there was no need to worry about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. The lie was too big for utterance, even if it was to protect her. She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. He couldn’t lie, and neither could he tell the truth. All he could do was hide behind silence, staring awkwardly at the floor.
To Julian’s relief, the sound of the front door opening and then approaching footsteps attracted his mum’s attention. His relief dissolved into a fresh wave of apprehension as his dad burst out angrily from the living-room. “Julian, if you’re in, I want to talk to you.” Robert emerged into view flushed and frowning. “You’re a bloody liar. I phoned the university today, spoke to your personal tutor. There’s no study-break. You haven’t attended class for nearly a fortnight. You’ve been playing us for mugs.”
Julian glanced at his mum, then quickly back to his dad. Anger he could deal with, but not the disappointment he saw in her eyes. “What do you think you’re doing, checking up on me?”
“I’ve got every right to check up on you, Julian. It’s my money that pays for your studies.”
“I never asked for your money.”
“Only because you’ve never had to. You’ve never really had to ask for anything your whole life.” Robert nodded with a sardonic twist of his mouth, as if he’d hit upon some minor revelation. “Maybe that’s the problem here. Maybe if we hadn’t just given you everything you wanted, you wouldn’t think this kind of brattish behaviour was acceptable.”
“Yeah, and maybe if you showed some trust in me, I wouldn’t feel the need to behave this way.”
“Don’t try to turn this back on me. I’m not the one in the wrong here.”
Julian raised his eyebrows. “Oh no, you’ve never lied to anyone about anything, have you?”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Robert demanded to know, his anger flashing higher.
“You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the-”
“Don’t change the subject, Julian,” Christine interjected. “Why did you lie to us? Why are you here and not at university?”
Julian hesitated to look at her. He knew his defensive indignation would crumble under her calm, forceful, yet gentle gaze. She repeated his name. He looked at her, eyes pleading understanding. “Because, well, because I don’t know if I want to be at university anymore.”
“I knew it, I bloody knew it,” exclaimed Robert. “Julian, there’s absolutely no way you’r
e dropping out of university. Do you hear? No sodding way.”
Streaks of red blotched Julian’s face and neck. “And here was me thinking it was my choice.”
“Not if you don’t have the maturity to make the right choice for your own good.”
“Who says it’s not the right choice?” retorted Julian, his face growing more alike to his dad’s the angrier he got.
“I bloody do.”
“You never even went to fucking university.”
“Calm down, both of you,” put in Christine. She looked searchingly at her son. “What’s brought this about, Julian? You seemed happy enough at university last week. What’s changed since then?”
Julian thought about Joanne Butcher, about her short, brutal life. “Nothing…except…” he began hesitantly, struggling to put his feelings into words.
“Except what?”
“Well, I guess I was happy enough just drifting along until now. It kind of didn’t matter that I wasn’t enjoying the course, as long as I could go out and have a laugh with my mates and stuff. But this thing with Joanne Butcher, it’s made me think, what’s the point?”
“The point is that you’re learning to live independently,” said Robert.
“No I’m not. Like you said, I’m just living off you in another place.”
“I don’t understand,” said Christine. “What’s Joanne Butcher got to do with anything?”
“Well, I suppose it’s made me realise that all I’m doing is wasting my time, delaying the inevitable.”
“So what’re you going to do instead?” asked Robert. “Because if you think you’re going to hang around here, sleeping all day and partying all night, then you can think again.”
“Oh, so you’d rather I did that at uni and flunked out at the end of the year, would you?”
“I’d rather you knuckled down to some hard study. You don’t seem to realise how lucky you are, Julian. My parents couldn’t afford to send me to university. When I was your age, I was working two jobs-”
Julian rolled his eyes, hissing out a breath. “Jesus, here we go again.”
Before Robert could shoot back another angry retort, Christine asked, “What do you mean, delaying the inevitable?”
“I mean that sooner or later, I’m going to end up working at the factory. So I was thinking I might as well start now.”
Robert let out a harsh, almost mocking laugh. “What makes you think I’d employ a university dropout?” He turned to Christine, hands spread. “You see. This is what I was talking about, he’s had it so easy he doesn’t think he’s got to work for anything.”
“But I am willing to work for it,” protested Julian. “I’ll work on the production line, sweep the floors, make cups of tea, whatever. I’ll do like you did, work my way up from the bottom.”
Robert wrinkled his nose as if he’d sniffed something nasty. “You’re studying so you don’t have to do like I did. Do you really think I’ve worked so hard all these years so I can watch my son struggle like I had to?”
“But you just said I’ve had it too easy.”
“Don’t twist my words to your purpose, Julian.”
“I’m not, I just want the chance to prove to you-”
“No.” Robert made a cutting motion in the air. “I’m not discussing this anymore. Tomorrow you’re going back to university and you’re going to buckle down to hard work, and that’s all there is to it.”
“And what if I refuse?”
“Don’t push me, Julian. I’m warning you.”
For a full thirty-seconds Julian faced his dad over the wheelchair, neither flinching from the other’s stare. Then he gave his mum an I’m sorry look and, keeping his head down, pushed his way past his dad. “Jul-” she started to say.
“Leave him, Christine,” Robert cut her off.
Julian didn’t get into his car. He needed to walk off the frustration that made him feel like pounding his fist into his face. Without thinking about it, his feet led him to the suburb where Mia lived. It was several miles’ walk to the semi-detached house, and he felt calmer by the time he got there, but anger bubbled not far beneath the surface of his mind. There was a car in drive and lights in the downstairs windows. He knocked and a tall man – presumably Mia’s foster father – came to the door. The man, Julian noted, looked nothing like Mr Ugly. Even so, there was something unpleasant about his face. A small brown moustache perched over a mouth pursed into firm, disapproving wrinkles. Pale, almost colourless eyes peered down at Julian as though he was an insect that needed removing.
“Is Mia in?” asked Julian.
“You’re the boy my daughter saw with Mia earlier today, aren’t you?” said the man.
Julian remained silent, suddenly put on his guard by the man’s demeanour.
“You do realise that statutory rape is a serious offence.”
Eyes widening, Julian held up his hand, palm forward. “Whoa, hold on, you’ve got totally the wrong idea.”
“Really. My daughter tells me Mia didn’t return to school after lunchtime. So what were you doing alone in the bedroom of a fifteen-year old girl all afternoon?”
“Just talking.”
“Just talking,” the man repeated dubiously. “About what?”
Julian gave a little shrug.
“What’s your name?”
“Julian.”
“Julian what?”
“I…Tell Mia I called, thanks,” stammered Julian, backing away.
The man stepped after him, taking a pencil and notebook from his pocket. “I want to know your full name and home address.” Julian turned away, quickening his pace. “Luring underage girls into kinky sex, that’s what you get your kicks out of, is it?” the man continued.
Julian paused to glance back at him, face arched into a deep frown. “What?”
“You like being tied up.”
Realising a neighbour must’ve seen him leave the house, Julian shook his head. “I already told you, you’ve got the wrong idea.”
“I don’t think so. And I don’t think the police will think so, either.”
“Talk to Mia, she’ll tell you.”
“Oh I intend to, when I see her.”
Julian continued walking. The man stood, arms crossed, at the end of his drive, watching him until he was out of sight. He wondered if the man would really contact the police. Even though he’d done nothing wrong, it gave him a headache thinking about having to explain himself to them. From the man’s parting words, it was apparent Mia was out somewhere. Julian headed to The Cut, but she wasn’t there. He considered checking out the bridge, but it was a good five miles away and he didn’t have enough money for a taxi. He heaved a sigh. He still really needed to talk to someone, try and get his feelings straight. But who? Definitely not Kyle. There wasn’t much use trying to get any sense out of him anytime, but especially not after eight o’clock. No, there was only one person he could talk to. He scrolled down the contacts on his mobile-phone until he got to ‘Eleanor’. His call rang through to her answering machine. He hung-up and redialled. This time she picked-up. “I don’t even know why I’m answering this,” she grumbled, berating herself more than him. “What do you want, Julian?”
“Just to talk.”
There was a pause, then, “Well, I’m waiting. Let’s hear it.”
“My head’s in a mess. I just had a big-time argument with my dad about university. I told him-”
“Hang on,” interrupted Eleanor. “I thought when you said you wanted to talk, you meant you were going to explain why you stood me up, not dump your problems on me.”
“I guess you could say my problems are part of the reason I stood you up. Look, can I come over?”
“No.”
“Well, can we at least meet up? Please, Eleanor, I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed someone to talk to.”
More silence. A sigh. “We can talk on the phone. That’s the best I can do. Okay?”
“Okay.” Julian was unable to keep the d
isappointment out of his voice. “Thanks for this, Ellie. I knew I could count on you,” he added quickly, not wanting to risk irritating her into retracting her offer. After all, talking on the phone was better than not talking at all. He told her about the argument with his dad.
“You want to quit uni,” Eleanor said, taken aback. “No wonder your dad’s angry.”
“Yeah, but like I said, what’s the point me wasting my time and their money doing something I don’t want to do?”
“But you don’t really want to work at the factory, either, do you?”
“No, but I’ve got no choice in that.”
“Why? It’s your life. You can do what you want with it.”
Julian sighed down the line. “You don’t understand. The factory is Dad’s life’s work, his legacy. He’s always dreamed of passing it down to me someday, and of me passing it down to my children. He’s got this whole big thing about giving future generations of our family the kind of security his parents couldn’t give him. If I told him I didn’t want to take it over, he’d be…Oh, man, I don’t even like to think about what he’d be.”
“And if you let him mould you into something you’re not, what will you be?”
Julian knew the answer to that – he’d be miserable and resentful, and end up hating himself and everyone around him, his dad most of all. He also knew that knowing that made no difference whatsoever. “If this was just about my dad, maybe I could say no. But this isn’t just about him, it’s about my mum too. And, no matter what, I can’t risk upsetting her.”
“How do you know she’d be upset?”
“Because she wants what Dad wants.”
“Are you sure about that? I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit, Julian. I know your mum, and I’m certain that what she wants more than anything is for you to be happy.”