by DS Butler
Over the years, the taunting lessened because Junior had learned not to respond.
Instead, he ignored it at the time, but he got his own back later … and when he got his own back, he made sure it was brutal.
Word spread around the school and bullies were no longer a problem.
The kids his own age might not bully him anymore, but that didn’t mean they were friendly. They kept their distance.
Sometimes he felt lonely, but he managed to make friends with some of the younger kids. At least he thought he had.
At first, they’d been in awe of him. Junior had a reputation, and they thought it made them look cool by association. Stupidly, he’d thought they had liked him… When would he learn?
“What is he wearing? His trousers are skintight! Don’t bend over, Junior. You might split them!” They laughed at him.
Junior tried to picture how their faces would look after he had doled out their punishments, but it was no good, he could only see their faces dimpled and flushed, laughing in cruel delight.
“You better start eating salads for lunch, Junior. If your trousers split, the girls will see your bits.” One boy cackled with laughter, and the others joined in.
If Junior was fat, then the boy taunting him had to be obese. He was definitely many inches wider than Junior. The difference was, he had school trousers that fit him.
It was stupid to get upset over trousers that were a little too small. They were made to fit ages eleven to twelve, and Junior was nearly fourteen. Mother said she would get him some new ones … When she had the money.
“Maybe he wants the girls to see his bits. Eh, Junior, is that what you want?”
“That’s the only way a girl will look at them.”
As they all dissolved into laughter, Junior imagined grabbing a handful of the first boy’s hair and smashing his face into the wet cold pavement again and again… Until he sobbed for his mother and begged him to stop. But Junior wouldn’t stop. He would grind the boy’s face hard against the grit until it was bloody and raw and…
The sharp sound of a whistle made all the children jump.
Mrs. Gower, the teacher on playground duty, approached them. “What’s going on here?” she asked. “I hope you’re playing nicely.”
“Yes, miss,” the younger children said in chorus and ran off, leaving Junior standing there.
Mrs. Gower studied him. Her gaze focused on his exposed ankles and then travelled upwards, to take in the hole on the arm of his jumper. As Junior looked up into her face, he saw pity in her eyes, and he hated it.
“Are you okay, Junior? They weren’t bothering you, were they?”
“Hardly,” Junior said scornfully. “They’re just kids.”
From the way Mrs. Gower looked at him, Junior knew she didn’t believe him.
Junior shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, and as the bell rang out to signal the end of break time, he headed back to the school building, leaving Mrs. Gower and her good-for-nothing pity behind him.
62
KATHY CLENCHED HER TEETH. She was absolutely fuming. If Mitch didn’t get back soon, Kathy couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. She carried Mrs. Horrocks’ tea back to the kitchen. Apparently, it wasn’t strong enough for the old witch.
It didn’t surprise Kathy that Tim Coleman left as quickly as he had. Mrs. Horrocks really was impossible. She poured the tea into the sink and watched it gurgle down the plug hole. She rinsed the cup, switched on the kettle again then folded her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. She glanced at the clock. Mitch had only been gone for fifteen minutes. It felt so much longer.
Kathy wasn’t sure she could take much more of Mrs. Horrocks. No wonder Mitch was so bloody miserable all the time. She’d been too hard on him. She’d be miserable too if she had to live with Mrs. Horrocks.
This time, Kathy left the tea brewing in the pot for ages, and used a teaspoon to squeeze the teabags. Kathy smiled with satisfaction as she looked down at the stewed brown liquid. That should be strong enough for the old bag.
She added a dash of milk to Mrs. Horrocks’ cup and gave it a quick stir. She replaced the milk in the fridge and shut the door with her elbow.
Kathy picked up the cup, ready to present it to Mrs. Horrocks for inspection. No doubt there would be something else wrong with it this time. She opened the kitchen door, and as she stepped into the hall, her foot connected with a red plastic bucket.
At first, Kathy just stared down at it. Who had put that there? It hadn’t been there a moment ago when she entered the kitchen.
Her first reaction was to move the bucket out of the way. But when she bent down, she saw that the red bucket was half filled with a colourless liquid. Kathy pressed a hand over her mouth as she gagged. It smelled awful. A horrible foreboding crept over her. There had been gossip after Syed’s death - talk about how chemicals had been mixed in buckets to produce the toxic gas.
But that was ridiculous. She was just being paranoid. Perhaps the bucket had been put there to catch drips. Kathy looked up at the ceiling, searching for a damp patch. But there was nothing.
Kathy turned to look down the hallway. There were more buckets …
Kathy snatched her hand away from the bucket, and the tea cup clattered to the ground. The dark brown liquid stained the carpet, but Kathy barely noticed. She didn’t like this. It felt all wrong.
Someone had put the buckets outside the kitchen while she’d been inside.
Kathy took a step backwards.
She needed to get out of here. Fast.
“What on earth are you doing out there?” Mrs. Horrocks’ shrill voice carried through from the sitting room. “Have you broken one of my cups, you stupid girl?”
Oh, God. How on earth was Kathy going to get Mrs. Horrocks out of here? She couldn’t just leave her.
How long did they have before the gas overwhelmed them?
“Answer me, girl!”
Mrs. Horrocks’ words jolted Kathy into action. She skirted around the bucket and dashed down the corridor back into the sitting room.
“How can I get you downstairs?” Kathy asked.
Mrs. Horrocks looked at Kathy as if she were mad. “What are you talking about? I don’t go downstairs.”
“There are buckets in the hallway. I think there is some kind of chemical in them… Like at the newsagent’s. Can you smell it?”
Mrs. Horrocks swallowed and gave a single nod. “All right, but I can’t walk. I can’t get out of this thing.” She slapped her hand against the armrest of her wheelchair.
“I’ll help you,” Kathy said.
Mrs. Horrocks removed the tartan blanket from her legs and Kathy could see how terribly wasted and skinny they were.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
“You should get yourself out,” Mrs. Horrocks said. “Go on, leave me.”
Kathy ignored her and knelt down beside the wheelchair. She lifted up the foot rests, leaving Mrs. Horrocks’ feet dangling above the ground.
Kathy looked up at Mrs. Horrocks. “Ready?”
Mrs. Horrocks’ face was pale, and for the first time, Kathy felt a pang of sympathy for the woman.
“Come on,” Kathy said, putting her arm around Mrs. Horrocks, preparing to lift her up. “We’ll do it together.”
Mrs. Horrocks’ watery eyes focused on Kathy, and her claw-like hand gripped Kathy’s arm. “I don’t think I can do it.”
“Of course, we can. I’m stronger than I look,” Kathy said, and she hoped it was true.
Kathy pushed the wheelchair to the staircase and took a deep breath. “Just lean on me.”
Mrs. Horrocks couldn’t support her own weight. Kathy had to half-drag the old woman out of her wheelchair. Mrs. Horrocks winced in pain.
Kathy tried to be gentle. If she wasn’t careful, she could end up dislocating the old woman’s shoulder.
Mrs. Horrocks’ legs dangled beneath her. They brushed against the carpet as Kathy took the first step.
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After a few more steps, Kathy paused. “The smell is getting fainter. That’s a good sign, don’t you think?”
Mrs. Horrocks was too traumatised to reply, her eyes were fixed on the downstairs landing and her hands clutched Kathy’s jumper.
By the time they reached the middle of the stairs, Kathy was shattered. Who would have thought a little old lady could weigh so much?
Kathy’s arms and legs were shaking. She worried that if she attempted the rest of the stairs, they might fall. Perhaps she could do it sitting down. They could slide down the stairs on their backsides.
Kathy lowered Mrs. Horrocks to the ground, then she heard the sound of a door slamming downstairs.
Both Mrs. Horrocks and Kathy shrank back, and Mrs. Horrocks’ fingers dug into Kathy’s shoulder.
A low whistling tune drifted up the stairs.
Mrs. Horrocks released her grip on Kathy’s shoulder. “That’s Mitchell.” Mrs. Horrocks called out, “Mitchell get up here, now!”
Mitch Horrocks appeared at the foot of the stairs, sweaty and carrying two plastic supermarket bags. He stared up at them in disbelief, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.
He dropped the shopping bags. “What the hell are you doing, you stupid woman?”
Kathy guessed he was talking to her. “I –”
“Why have you taken my mother out of her chair?”
Before Kathy had a chance to explain, Mitch was charging up the stairs two at a time.
“There are buckets upstairs,” Mrs. Horrocks said. “Did you put them there, Mitchell?”
Mitch’s bushy eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead in a deep frown. “Buckets? No, of course not. I’ve only just got back.”
“You’ve heard the stories about the man in the black gas mask,” Kathy said, edging past Mitch. “He used buckets at Syed’s. I think whoever killed Syed is trying to gas us.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Syed committed suicide.”
“Can’t you smell it?” Kathy asked.
Mitch raised his chin and sniffed the air. “Well, now you mention it, it doesn’t smell too good, but – ”
“Don’t just stand there looking stupid, Mitchell.” Mrs. Horrocks slapped Mitch’s arm. “Help us get outside.”
Mitch blinked a couple of times and then did what he’d been told. He squatted down and scooped his mother up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.
Mitch carried Mrs. Horrocks down the creaky stairs and Kathy followed.
As they rushed through the cafe towards the exit, Mitch nodded to a chair. “Bring that chair out, Kathy. Mum will need a seat.”
The heavy wooden chair hit Kathy twice on the shins as she carried it outside. She set it down on the pavement, and Mitch lowered his mother onto the chair. Then he looked up at Kathy, accusingly. “This better not be a practical joke.”
Kathy ignored him and shut the door firmly behind them.
Mrs. Horrocks leaned back in the wooden chair, arranging her skirt to cover her skinny legs. She stuck a bony finger in the middle of Mitch’s flabby stomach. “Stop belly-aching boy and do something useful. Call the police.”
Mitch stepped back a little so he was out of the way of his mother’s prodding fingers and pulled out his mobile.
Mitch raised the phone to his ear. His eyes narrowed as he looked past Kathy. “That’s all I need,” he said as he dialled.
Kathy looked around and saw Tim Coleman striding along East Street towards them.
Tim Coleman’s eyes widened in disbelief when he saw Mrs. Horrocks sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the pavement. “What’s happened? Are you taking her to the hospital?”
Mrs. Horrocks straightened up in the chair. “No they are not. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Pity,” Tim mumbled under his breath.
“Anyway, what are you doing here? Come to beg for your old job back?” Mrs. Horrocks sneered, obviously feeling better and back to her normal nasty self.
“I’ve come to pick up the money your son owes me,” Tim said, then wrinkled his nose. “Christ, what’s that awful smell?”
Mitch pressed the button to end his call to the emergency services. “They’re on their way,” he said. “And you,” he said, pointing a finger at Tim Coleman, “can think again if you’ve come here to get money out of me.” He turned to Kathy. “Come on we better move away from the building. It stinks.”
Kathy carried the chair and followed Mitch as he carried his mother across the street. She let the sound of Mitch and Tim Coleman’s bickering wash over her. Her heart rate was slowly returning to normal. The rain had stopped, but the wind had picked up even more and whipped Kathy’s hair around her face.
The traffic on East Street rumbled past them, oblivious to the potential danger. Kathy wondered if she should go and warn the other shops in the row. She turned away from the others and looked back at her own salon. There was a figure standing by the front door. Kathy’s heart rate spiked and she took a step back, stumbling and almost falling into Mrs. Horrocks’ lap.
“For goodness sake, girl,” Mrs. Horrocks said, flapping her arms. “Watch where you’re going.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mitch said and looked in the direction of Kathy’s salon. “It’s just your brother.”
Kathy blinked. The wind was making her eyes water.
Mitch was right. It was Stuart. Thank God. Kathy called out to him and Stuart turned.
He strode towards them. “What are you all doing out here?”
“I think that masked man was trying to gas us in the cafe. Mitch had asked me to keep an eye on Mrs. Horrocks and…”
“He asked you?” Stuart narrowed his eyes and looked at Mitch.
Kathy bristled. She might not like Mitch exactly. But Stuart couldn’t think much of her if he thought Kathy wouldn’t help a neighbour out in an emergency.
Mitch shrugged. “I ran out of bacon, and I didn’t want to leave mum on her own.”
Kathy shivered. It wasn’t from the cold. She imagined the masked man creeping about the house while she had talked to Mrs. Horrocks.
She felt Stuart’s arms wrap around her and crush her into a tight hug. Kathy breathed in the comforting scent of leather from Stuart’s jacket.
Tim Coleman tried to tend to Mrs. Horrocks as she slapped his hands away.
“For goodness sake. I’m trying to help,” Tim said. “I want to make sure you’re not hurt.”
“I told you there’s nothing the matter with me,” Mrs. Horrocks said. “Keep your hands to yourself!”
Mrs. Horrocks was a prickly, spiteful old woman. And Mitch was a miserable grump, but why would anyone want to kill them?
Kathy had to believe Mitch and his mother were the ones the masked man wanted to target because if they weren’t… It meant he wanted to kill her.
63
IT SEEMED LIKE THE emergency services arrived almost immediately. There were two fire engines, two ambulances and four police cars surrounding the entrance to Mitch’s cafe.
Within half an hour all the residents in the flats opposite and all the shops in East Street had been evacuated.
Kathy, Stuart, Mitch, Mrs. Horrocks and Tim had been taken to a temporary incident room, which was a large trailer the police had set up at the very end of East Street, opposite the Catholic Church.
They’d had lots of curious looks from nosy residents as two uniformed officers had escorted them along the road and up the steps to the trailer.
They sat huddled in a circle, sitting on hardback chairs, waiting for someone to come and tell them what was going on. They hadn’t even had confirmation that it had been poisonous gas.
Kathy wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t stop shivering. What the hell was going on? Had she completely over-reacted? Maybe she had panicked after what had happened to Syed. But somebody had put the buckets there.
They’d all been checked out by the paramedics. A cheerful paramedic, who told them his nam
e was Teddy, tried to persuade Mrs. Horrocks to go to hospital. For an awful moment, Kathy was afraid Mrs. Horrocks would hurl her cup of tea in his direction. But luckily, Teddy soon backed off when he realised Mrs. Horrocks was not a typical sweet old lady.
A uniformed PC stayed in the room with them at all times. Every now and then he’d look up and smile at them in a way he probably thought was reassuring, but Kathy didn’t find it particularly comforting.
Kathy, Stuart, Mrs. Horrocks and Mitch all sat in silence. Stuart leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands. Mitch sat back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head, showing off the wet patches at his armpits. His stomach hung over the waistband of his jeans.
The only one who wouldn’t sit still was Tim. He paced the small room, huffing and puffing, making sure everyone knew how frustrated he was.
“How much longer are they going to keep us here?” Tim asked for the fourth time. “I have to get to work.”
“For crying out loud,” Mitch said. “It’s not like you’re a bloody brain surgeon. I’m sure they’ll cope without you for an hour or so.”
Tim narrowed his eyes and turned to face Mitch. “People actually rely on me. My job is slightly more important than serving up egg and chips.”
Tim turned his back on Mitch and the rest of them and strode up to the PC.
The PC shifted in his chair, looking a little uncomfortable. “They are working as quickly as they can,” he said. “There’ll be someone with you shortly and they’ll be able to tell you exactly what’s going on.”
Tim rolled his eyes and looked away.
Kathy thought he was being unfair. It wasn’t the PC’s fault. He probably didn’t have any more idea of what was going on than they did.
Someone had handed Kathy a blanket when they were outside. She’d been in such a daze she couldn’t remember who. Probably one of the paramedics. She gripped it tightly, glad of the extra warmth. She couldn’t stop shivering, but it wasn’t anything to do with the cold.
Tim resumed his pacing.