Lonely House

by Collins, James

  The gun was the problem. He heard Pete doing his best at the door and stalling them but there was no place to put the gun; no more furniture to hide it under, nothing to put it behind, none of the cupboards big enough. And then there had been the kitchen.

  Drover’s mind works fast when it needs to.

  He had taken the gun and had slipped out of the room, keeping close to the wall so as not to be seen from the front door. He had heard the birthday reference, whispered to Pete to tell them the old man was out at a birthday dinner, thought he could hit Pete over the head when he turned to look at him, giving him away, and then had dashed to the kitchen where he had been able to hide the gun and his bag of cartridges, kicked the broken glass under the back door mat, put the pile of whatever that was (but it certainly wasn’t sausages) back into the fridge, and chucked the sports bag under the sink. While doing that he had seen a pair of gardening gloves and had an idea. He had grabbed them and stuck them into his pocket so they hung out.

  Running back up the hallway he had heard someone mention phoning the old man and he knew that that was not an option. The old man was never going to answer a phone again. He could see that Pete was at a loss and imagined him blurting out the truth, but he reached the door just in time.

  Done.

  And now Drover’s finger is on the chain and his hand is on the door and Pete is beside him, vulnerable and scared, and Drover has to take a risk or run away. Fight or flight they call it.

  ‘I said, who are you?’

  Looking through the gap he sees a tightly drawn face, thin eyebrows, pulled back hair, a severe look, a trim, petite woman with a huge amount of anger in her eyes. Behind her is a taller man in a long coat, hopping from one foot to the other, trying to see in. The man looks like a thinner version of the dead guy and the woman looks like someone Drover used to know.

  Who? Why is her face familiar?

  ‘Hang on,’ Drover says, and closes the door.

  As the lock clicks into place his options sprint through his mind in a split-second dash, racing each other to the winning post.

  Leave the door shut, run back to the kitchen, grab the gun, the bag and head out into the gloom and off into the forest. They could keep running, miss out the next town or two, head to somewhere really far away and hope the whole things dies down. But the body would be found, he’s not had time to wipe fingerprints, and his are on record. A hunt would be on and sure enough one day he would be found. Prison. Game over.

  Or, take off the chain, open the door, welcome these people in, bluff them out and hope they go away. If they don’t, then he will have to make them. They can’t hang around here for ever. And, when they have gone, he can find a way to get rid of the body and dump it. He will have time to clean up any prints, any trace that they were here, and then they can head to somewhere far away. Okay, so he could still be traced to the scene but he would have bought a lot more time. There would be no evidence to show that he had shot the guy, any prints would be legitimate (as long as he can come up with a good reason as to why him and Pete are there, and his mind is still working on that one, but it’s getting there) and he would have time to get rid of the gun.

  That could work, as long as the family don’t find the body.

  Either way, they have both been seen at what will one day turn out to be the scene of a crime. Letting the family in looks a lot less suspicious than running away from them.

  He checks the gloves in his pocket, fixes the story in his head and looks at Pete. ‘Leave this to me and say nothing,’ he whispers.

  And opens the door.

  Ten

  PAM PRIDES HERSELF on being able to smell a rat at thirty paces, and the boy behind the door looks like a rat. William never has guests, he never has anyone in the house, and tonight of all nights there should surely be no one but family there.

  But that’s the thing that she is not sure about. That’s the reason she hasn’t phoned work and got someone over here. That’s the reason she has to tread carefully.

  She sees the young oik close the door in her face and resolves that if he doesn’t open it again immediately she is going to break it down. She would ask Myles to do it but that would just be wasted breath.

  The door chain rattles and the door is opened. She takes a step forward and stops. Something touched her shoulder and she turns to berate her husband. There’s no need for him to go first, she knows what she is doing. But Myles is not behind her. No-one is behind her. There’s just the gathering darkness, the gloaming, the forest, and the sky above now turning to amber and throwing long shadows across the drive and up the side of the house. But there’s something behind the shadows and she feels sure she saw someone standing out there, someone in the bushes.

  She stares, screwing up her eyes.

  ‘Pam?’

  Myles is waiting for her to enter the house and she turns back to the door. As she does so, she thinks she sees a swipe of movement, two tiny flashes of yellow in the darkness, perhaps a pair of eyes in one of those dark gaps between the trees. Animals, she thinks, and turns to look at the boy standing in front of her.

  Like the first boy, he too wears a filthy jacket of some sort. This one has dirty army trousers and boots, his hair is dark. In a second she has noted his features and her mind starts to flick through the Rolodex that is her memory of suspicious faces.

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ she demands as she walks into the hall. She heads straight to the cupboard under the stairs, removes her jacket and hangs it up. She takes Myles’ from him and does the same. ‘I am waiting for an answer.’

  The boy is looking pale, a bit drawn, he looks unwell and his face is filthy.

  ‘Liam,’ Drover says, and closes the door now that everyone is inside. ‘I’m Liam and this is Pete.’

  Sounds like he’s telling the truth, Pam thinks, but she’s got a long way to go yet before she is convinced. In her mind the Rolodex is put on pause as she opens a file full of questions.

  ‘And what are you doing here?’

  ‘Working,’ the boy says.

  Her eyes move to the slow and heavy boy. He is just as dirty and is the one who was clearly trying to keep them from entering the premises. She makes sure he registers the suspicious look on her face and then turns her attention back to the one who is obviously the more confident.

  ‘We was told not to let anyone in when… when he was out,’ he says. ‘He said not to answer the door to strangers.’ Is that a hint of Irish in his voice? Something mixed with another non-local accent?

  ‘That sounds like William,’ Myles says, and Pam could kick him.

  ‘In there,’ she orders, pointing to the sitting room.

  The dumb boy looks to Liam and Liam nods. Pam registers it; the half-Irish boy is definitely the ringleader. Working, he said. Right then, we’ll see about that.

  She watches as they file into the sitting room and wonders if she has seen that face before. She’s seen hundreds of faces before, hundreds of men of that age, that appearance. She has been in her job a long time now. Before working locally she worked for a larger constabulary over the border where she saw thousands more. Her memory for faces, combined with her naturally suspicious mind, makes for a lot of potential criminals to sift through, and she is sure this boy is up to no good. The Rolodex starts up again.

  As she follows everyone into the room she tells Myles to sit down and tells Lily to hang up her coat. Lily ignores her. She is staring hard at the chubby boy, probably trying to work him out, making up some fantasy about him, stupid girl. Pam’s happy to let her do that as long as she stays out of the way. There’s no danger from that boy. It’s this Liam that she wants to fathom out. Fathom out and get out. She checks her watch. Six p.m. Six hours left of the day.

  The day.

  ‘Right,’
she says, when everyone is in the room. ‘Start again.’

  ‘We was working…’ the chubby one starts up but she interrupts him.

  ‘Not you. You. What work?’

  ‘Outside work,’ Liam says and holds up his dirty hands. He opens his arms to show his muddy boots, his dirty trousers and a pair of gloves hanging from a pocket. ‘And other stuff, out at the back, clearing some stuff for him, going to tarmac round the house.’

  ‘I’ve been telling him for ages to clear out that old shack,’ Myles says. He smiles affably at Liam. ‘That old thing he calls the barn is it? Just beyond the trees?’

  Drover nods.

  ‘Myles!’ Pam barks. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye. ‘No! Don’t sit down.’ The chubby boy was about to plonk himself on one of the sofas. ‘You’re filthy.’

  ‘All the mud, and stuff from the barn,’ Drover says.

  ‘Why were you in the house?’ Pam directs this to Liam. She is thinking, perhaps the barn is meant to be the place for later. Maybe this boy is meant to be here after all. Perhaps William has come round to their way of thinking and she won’t have to do what she came to do, and maybe this boy has been brought in to prepare things. Then again, maybe he is as unsure about her presence as she is about his. She can’t be sure about anything tonight. Tread cautiously, she thinks.

  ‘He asked us to tidy up,’ Drover says. ‘When he went out he said to finish off outside and when it got dark we could come in and clean up. And wait.’

  Pam looks around the room. It seems in order, nothing out of place, the same clutter and mess as always, no cupboard doors open, doesn’t look like anything has been gone through. But still. There’s something unsettling here.

  ‘You’ve been cleaning, looking like that? You’re filthy,’ Pam accuses.

  ‘Only just come in,’ Drover replies. ‘Not had a chance to start yet. Was just going to wash when you came.’

  ‘Working late aren’t you?’

  ‘Can’t go until he gets back,’ he says.

  He is good at this game, she thinks. ‘When’s that going to be?’

  ‘Didn’t say. Only said he would be late ‘cos of this being a special day.’

  ‘Hell,’ says Myles, examining the tray of bottles and glasses. ‘Did he tell us to meet him in town? Was he coming to us Pam?’ He turns to face her.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Myles.’

  ‘I mean, it is a special day, perhaps we made a different plan and we forgot?’ He looks intently at his wife.

  What he means, Pam thinks, is that maybe these two are in on what is going to happen and are part of the plan. Maybe they know one side and Pam knows the other, but neither party can afford to speak what they know for fear that the other side is not in on the plan. She stops thinking about it. Instinct kicks in and she doesn’t yet trust what’s happening.

  ‘It’s my birthday,’ Lily says, and smiles broadly at Pete.

  The chubby boy looks shocked at the sight of so much wire in her mouth. He’s never seen a brace before? Pam’s mind leaps from Liam to Pete to Lily.

  ‘Lily,’ she says, ‘hang up your coat and then sit in that chair and keep quiet.’

  ‘I am eighteen today, and Grandpa is a year older too,’ Lily stays, standing up. She stares at Pete and makes him fidget. Pam tutts and turns back to Liam.

  ‘He is expecting us at this time, and he never eats out. Who sent you?’

  ‘Sent us?’

  ‘Who sent you to this house today?’ she persists, thinking there has to be a reason these two are here. His story doesn’t sound unreasonable. He did just say that William had said today was a special day.

  Perhaps there is something she has missed. Perhaps he did have to go and take care of something before, well, before things start to happen.

  She realises the boy just said something, but her mind was elsewhere. She hates being uncertain.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They sent me,’ Liam repeats.

  ‘Who?’ She wonders who else is in on this.

  She studies his face, looks for micro-expressions that give away lies. His dark eyebrows stay motionless, his fingers stay away from his face, his eyes stay fixed on her. But he doesn’t answer straight away. He knows what he is doing, she thinks.

  ‘We get money from the social.’

  She hears the other boy speak and pulls her gaze away from the dark haired boy. She realises that she was transfixed by his eyes. They are impossibly green.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘We get paid by the social,’ Pete repeats. ‘That’s what happens isn’t it, Dro…?’

  ‘Community volunteer scheme,’ Liam cuts in. ‘We get paid, though. Well, expenses and that.’

  ‘Community service?’ she asks. He’s been in court for something.

  ‘Not the same thing,’ Liam says. ‘That’s for criminals ain’t it? We volunteered to help the old people. Not just us of course. There is a whole group of people in town who say they will do it, it helps towards getting jobs later, and we get paid pocket money. Ain’t that right, Pete?’ Drover says, slowly, as he looks quickly at Pete and then swings his hypnotic eyes back to Pam.

  The other boy nods, his mouth open and his brow knitted in concentration.

  ‘William didn’t mention it, and I’ve never heard of it,’ she says, but it makes her wonder, and question, and deepens her uncertainty. Perhaps she has heard of something similar. They keep changing schemes and finding new ways to get unemployment figures down. It’s not impossible. If that’s the case then these two know nothing about Pam’s purpose here tonight, so she can forget about that side of things for now. What she needs to do is get rid of them. ‘So, you offered to do volunteer work, and they sent you all the way out here to do it?’ But she is still not convinced. Something is nagging at her.

  She moves her head to look back at Liam and sees that his eyes are now on Myles. She follows his gaze and watches him as Myles walks across the room and flops into the sofa, a glass of scotch in one hand.

  ‘Myles,’ she says, ‘did William mention this to you?’

  ‘No, love.’

  ‘Nor to me. How long have you been doing this?’ She aims that question at the slower one, the one who looks like he’s the weakest of the pair. Let’s see how he measures up. She watches him intently and for a second he hesitates. It’s like he wants to say one thing but has to clear that thought out of his mind before what’s behind it can be said. But the hesitation has gone in a flash.

  ‘First day today,’ Pete says. ‘This is our first time at his house.’

  He sounded convincing, but all the same Pam knows she should double check. ‘Your first time here and he let you have the place to yourselves while he went out?’

  ‘Nice bloke, ain’t he?’ Drover smiles. ‘And he says to tell anyone who came that he wouldn’t be back until late so to come back tomorrow.’

  ‘Impossible. We are here every birthday,’ Myles says, and looks to Pam, his own expression now showing that he is concerned.

  ‘Quite,’ Pam says. Having weighed things up, she is now coming down on the side of burglars. ‘Sorry lad, what was your name again?’

  ‘Liam. But I should ask who you are. Old Will did say not to let anyone in.’

  But why would burglars be having this conversation? Why did they not run when they saw the car approaching?

  ‘Not that it is your business but we are his family. His only family, and we have never heard of your volunteer scheme. William, who never calls himself Will by the way, would never entertain an idea of having two strangers in his house. Myles, perhaps you should go and see if anything is missing.’

  Myles was just about to take a swig of the drink he had been admiring. His face falls.

  ‘They seem like nice boys
, Pam.’

  ‘Well, that’s how it is,’ the dumb one suddenly says and his face is set, solemn. ‘We’re here, he’s not and there we are.’

  Pam can’t take her eyes off the half-Irish boy. There’s something in that face that’s pulling at the back of her memory. The Rolodex keeps flicking past something and hasn’t yet come to rest on it. She checks his skin; no nervous sweating. If he’d been working hard enough to get that dirty he should be sweating. But he could have wiped any sweat away, there are dirt smears on his face. But there is no tell-tale liar-twitching around the eyes or mouth and he is keeping a relaxed air.

  ‘Liam what?’ she asks, flatly.

  ‘Lamb.’

  She thinks she detects some movement from the other boy, a gasp perhaps, or a small intake of breath.

  ‘Liam Lamb?’ The name rings no bells with her.

  ‘Look, love,’ Myles says, ‘maybe we should just ring William and see what he has to say?’

  ‘I think we should have a drink or something,’ Lily says. She is now checking out the bottles on the tray, lifting them, unscrewing them, sniffing them.

  Pam notices where her daughter is and that she still hasn’t done as she was told.

  ‘Go and hang your coat up, Lily,’ she orders, and sits down on the sofa beside Myles. She changes her tone. She wants to see what being pleasant, rather than suspicious, will do to this half-Irish boy. She smiles. ‘And then we’ll have some tea while we wait for Grandpa to come back.’

  ‘He said he might be out all night,’ the boy says.