by Adam Millard
“It’s a warm one today, Mr Binkie,” Andrea said, mopping at her brow with the back of her hand. Despite wearing only a flower-patterned sarong and a white vest, she was sweating desperately. “Gonna have to take another shower when we get back to the apartment, aren’t we, Mr Binkie? Yes, that’s right. That’s right. Mr Binkie-dinkie-winkie.” It was a sickening display of affection, but there was nobody around, not that it bothered Andrea Johnson. Her dog was her best friend. Many boyfriends had come and gone, but Mr Binkie was a constant, always there when she needed comforting, always around when she felt down. She loved the little fucker more than she had ever loved a man. At least Mr Binkie didn’t piss all over the toilet seat or call her stupid.
When the Yorkie had finished, Andrea pushed sand over the tiny shit with the side of her foot and said, “What shall we do now, Mr Binkie? Huh? You want to take a ride on the tram to help Mommy look for some new shoes? Oh, that’s exactly what I wanted to do. You know me so well. It’s like we’re—”
A sudden rustle to Andrea’s left cut her off mid-sentence. She snatched her head across, expecting to see someone there, perhaps another dog-walker, more than likely a young child searching for the perfect hiding place where a sibling would never think to look. As a child, Andrea and her sister had played Hide-and-Seek in the dunes over at Barmouth. Times had changed, but the old classics remained.
But there was no one there. No child, no dog-walker; just a sandbank peppered with marram grass and sea holly.
“Come on, Mr Binkie,” Andrea said. Even though there was nobody there, Andrea suddenly felt uncomfortable, wanted urgently to be back amongst the sunbathers and parasols.
She walked between the dunes, Mr Binkie at her feet, singing quietly to herself. Silly though it was, she didn’t feel right, felt almost as if she was being watched. No matter where she looked, though, no eyes gawped back at her. She was utterly alone.
Just her and Mr Binkie.
Almost out of the dunes—she could hear a ball being kicked around just beyond the sandbank—she began to relax, chided herself for being so daft.
That was when something hard and heavy clouted her on the back of the head. She moaned and staggered forwards, her vision compromised, her tongue lolling listlessly from her mouth.
A moment later—how long had passed she didn’t know—she came to. Mr Binkie was licking at her face, trying to coax her back to life with his sandpaper tongue. There was sand in her eyes, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t blink it away. It stung terribly, but Andrea was too busy trying to piece together what had just happened to notice.
Then, darkness washed over her as something blocked out the sun above. Two menacing silhouettes now stood over her. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. The grogginess made her nauseous. Mr Binkie, no longer lapping at her face, began to yap and snarl at the looming shapes. Andrea tried to speak, to warn Mr Binkie that these were bad people and that they would hurt him if he didn’t calm down, but it was no use.
It didn’t take long for Andrea to realise that these were the boys who she had avoided a moment ago on the beach. Their familiar outlines—one fat, one skinny—made gooseflesh rise across her entire body.
Mr Binkie yipped and yapped, even tried to bite one of the boys on the leg. The boy—the fat one—moved his leg to avoid the snarling terrier, then brought it down with such force that Andrea heard bones snap. Mr Binkie whimpered, but only for a second. Then all was silent, except for the steady hush-thump of blood in her own ears.
She could no longer hear the ball being knocked about just beyond the sandbank. Even the gulls had fallen silent as they darted across the sky, staring down into the dunes and wondering what the hell they were looking at.
The shadows got closer—so close that Andrea could smell stale cigarettes and cookie-dough ice-cream on their breath—and when she saw their eyes, bottomless pits of darkness, like chasms into their evil psyches, she whimpered a final time.
The fat boy lifted his stone.
The fat boy brought it down.
Darkness.
THIRTEEN
“Okay,” Jamie said as they reached the fairground. “I assume you’ve already seen the fair, so we’ll just—”
“Woah, hang on there a minute, tour guide,” Liza said. “You shouldn’t assume anything. I’ve walked past it with my parents, but I haven’t actually been inside.”
Jamie smiled and sighed. “Well, imagine every fair you’ve ever been to in your life. It’s exactly like one of those, only way more expensive.”
“I want to go in,” Liza said, already moving towards it.
“Do you always get your own way?” Jamie said. He thought he already knew the answer to that one.
“Come on, Super Jamie the tour guide! You’re not scared of a few rides, are you?”
Jamie wasn’t. He was more frightened of the huge hole it was going to leave in his wallet. The money he had was supposed to last him the day, and if he blew it all on the fairground—two tickets at a time, no less—he would soon find himself very short, and he was yet to play that new game. That might have to wait for another day. There was no way he could pass up this opportunity with Liza. Only an idiot would. “Alright, but don’t go expecting Alton Towers,” he said, striding across to catch up with Liza, who was once again clapping excitedly. She had an energy about her which Jamie was not used to, but he liked it. It made him feel… nice.
They made their way into the fairground, past the Hook-a-Duck (which Liza said she was a master at, but Jamie talked her out of due to the hooks being marginally thicker than the loops on the back of the ducks), and past the Fortune Teller’s wagon (FOR HELP AND GUIDANCE CONSULT GYPSY MARTHA).
“Have you ever seen Gypsy Martha?” Liza asked, stopping momentarily in front of the tiny painted wagon.
“I have,” Jamie said. “And guess what? That’s not her real name.”
“What? Gypsy?” Liza grinned. “I know that, silly.”
“No, her name’s not Martha. Her real name’s Sylvia Griffiths, and when she’s not reading tealeaves and fleecing poor sods out of their hard-earned money, she teaches handicapped kids how to swim down at the YMCA.”
Liza laughed. “Ah, that’s so funny. We should definitely go get our fortunes read.” She looked imploringly at Jamie, who was shaking his head frantically.
“At a fiver a go, I’m loath to cross her palm with silver,” he said. “Besides, I already know our future.”
“Really?” Liza said. “I’m a screaming lesbian, remember?”
“Well, that’s what I was going to say,” Jamie said. “That you will meet a tall dark woman, and I will be forever alone.”
“Aw, you won’t be alone,” Liza said, running a clammy hand down Jamie’s arm. “There’s always Gypsy Martha. Sure she would love a young stud like you to take care of business, if you know what I mean. Pity your balls aren’t made of crystal.”
The thought turned Jamie’s insides to mush. “Yup, that’s possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” he said.
Liza was already walking away from the wagon; she had the attention-span of a goldfish, it seemed. She was tapping away at her mobile phone, now, and Jamie didn’t know whether to be offended. “I promised Mom I would text to let them know I’m cool,” Liza said. “You know? Let them know I haven’t been abducted by some claw-machine expert with a penchant for fortune tellers.”
“Don’t lie on my behalf,” Jamie said, feeling a little better knowing that he wasn’t, in fact, boring the shit out of her to the point that Candy Crush was the only alternative. She was simply checking in with her parents and, though the concept was alien to Jamie (he hadn’t checked in with his mother for ages) it made perfect sense. Liza was a young girl in an unfamiliar place; what parents wouldn’t insist on regular updates?
“There,” Liza said, slipping the pink phone back into her handbag. “That ought to keep them off my back for a couple of hours. Oh, dodgems!”
> Jamie rolled his eyes and tried to keep up with Liza as she rushed across to the bumping cars. The ride was already in full swing. Roughly ten cars circled the arena, some with more than one rider, bouncing into one another. One car appeared to have broken down in the middle of the circling throng; its driver—a middle-aged woman—explained to the child in the passenger seat that she was doing everything in her power to get the damn thing moving again, and that it was the car’s fault and not hers.
Some funky house music that sounded familiar (a TV advert, perhaps?) accompanied the dodgems as they looped around and around. It was so loud that Jamie could barely hear Liza as she pleaded with him.
“What?” He leaned in close, and when Liza spoke into his ear, her lips brushed his earlobe. He didn’t know whether it was an accident, nor did he care. He simply said, “Yeah, sure. Why the fuck not.”
Liza smiled and joined the queue, which was already forming in anticipation of the next ride. When the cars slowed to a halt inside the arena, the music faded. Riders disembarked, and those already with tickets rushed to replace them. There were seven people in the queue, and it didn’t take long for Marcus Mills to furnish those in front with a token.
As Jamie and Liza stepped up to the ticket-booth, Marcus smiled. “Jamie. Don’t you ever get fed up of this place?”
Shrugging, Jamie said, “This wasn’t my idea.” He motioned to Liza, who was practically bursting with excitement.
“Well, it’s a good job your friend knows fun when she sees it.” He accepted three pound coins from Jamie and reached into the money-belt strapped to his waist. Out came a solitary yellow token. “I’ll tell Barry you came by. Don’t know where he’s got to. Sent him for a coffee about half an hour ago, haven’t seen the little shit since.”
“Yeah, I was supposed to meet him at the arcade at some point,” Jamie said. He’d forgotten all about it, though. Meeting Liza had completely changed his plans for the day. Perhaps he would catch up with Barry later; he owed the guy an apology.
“Go on, then,” Marcus said, motioning to the arena. “Which one of you is driving?”
Jamie glanced across to Liza, who had already stepped onto the arena, eager to get behind the wheel of the dodgem. “I guess she is,” he said.
“In that case, good luck,” Marcus said. Jamie didn’t know what he meant by that, though.
He stepped onto the arena. Liza was already climbing into a glittery purple dodgem. All around them children and parents buckled up for the ride. At the edge of the arena, spectators—mothers and children too young to ride—held mobile phones, waiting for the perfect photo opportunity.
“Why this one?” Jamie said as he climbed into the passenger seat of the purple dodgem. As he clipped his belt into place, he glanced up and back, toward the metal tail connecting the car to the electrified roof.
“I like purple,” Liza said, and it really was as simple as that. “Plus, it’s number seven. Seven’s my lucky number.”
“Mine’s nine,” Jamie said, feeling suddenly nervous. “Maybe I should get out.”
Liza sniggered. “But you’re Super Jamie! No matter which car we’re in we’ll nail it.”
“Yeah,” Jamie said, dubiously. He was used to being in control, and he was handing that control to a girl he had only met an hour or so ago. Stop being silly, he told himself. What was the worst that could happen? No one ever died on the dodgems. At least, he’d never heard of anyone dying on the dodgems. “Just go around the edge, yeah? We end up in the middle, it’s a free-for-all, and they’ve stopped people claiming for whiplash injuries—”
“I’ve done this before, believe it or not,” Liza said, a huge grin spread across her face. “My dad used to take me on the ones in Scarborough. Of course, I was just little then. My feet didn’t touch the pedals, so I used to sit on his lap and just laugh all the way round.” She considered this, and her grin transformed into something altogether cheekier. “Would you prefer it if I sat on your lap?”
He could see that she was joking, though the temptation to say, Yes, that would be awesome! almost got the better of him. Instead he shook his head and faced forwards. “This is going to be a wild ride,” he said.
“It will be if you put the token in,” Liza said, pointing at the small yellow disc he was turning nervously over and over in his hand. “Otherwise we’ll be sitting ducks.”
“Shit!” Jamie said, staring down at the token in his sweaty palm. He reached down, accidentally brushing Liza’s knee, and pushed the yellow disc into the slot. If Liza noticed the unintentional contact, she did a good job of ignoring it.
A voice—Marcus Mills—boomed over the speaker system. “Alright, riders, you know the rules. Counter-clockwise only, and remember… we’re not responsible for any broken bones, lost teeth, cracked skulls, or twisted ankles.” There was a slight pause as the music was cranked up a notch, and then Marcus added, “Enjoy the ride, folks.”
“Ready?” Liza said, both hands on the steering-wheel, as if she meant business.
“Not r—”
The dodgem sputtered into life, jerking forwards a few feet and instantly slamming into the back of another car. The riders in front laughed before moving off. Before long, an imperfect circle of bumper cars was tearing around the arena. The music was turned up so loud that the screams and hollers of enthralled riders was drowned out almost entirely. From the side, smiling onlookers snapped their loved one. Flashes lit up the arena, both from the disco lights overhead and the cameras on the side.
Jamie was surprised at how good Liza was. She steered the dodgem expertly around the arena. The only times she slammed into other cars was when she meant to, and each time elicited a beautiful laugh from her, which in turn made Jamie laugh, despite his earlier apprehension.
Round and round they went, being smacked from pillar to post by other riders. Their heads went one way while their bodies went the other. Tomorrow they would be sore, but that didn’t matter in that moment. All that mattered was the ride—the fun—the laughter coming from Liza. Jamie didn’t need a camera phone to capture this perfect moment; he would remember it for a very long time.
“Watch this—” Jamie was about to warn Liza of the cherry red dodgem speeding toward them from the side, but the impact came before he managed to get his words out. They were slammed into the rubber at the edge of the arena. Liza’s head was, for the briefest of moments, pressed against Jamie’s shoulder.
“Fuck!” Liza said, though she was still beaming. “Which one was that?”
Jamie leaned in close and said, “That red one!” He pointed across to the offending dodgem, its riders a pair of chavvy looking lads wearing baseball caps with gold NY’s emblazoned on them.
Determination engulfed her, and Jamie knew that she was out for revenge. In a playful way, of course. That was what the dodgems were all about. You took a hit, you gave it back. Where would the fun be if all the riders went round in a circle, avoiding collisions and sticking to the rules? This wasn’t Driving Miss Daisy, this was Carmageddon!.
The car lurched forwards as Liza strived to hunt down the cherry red dodgem. They were running out of time, unless Marcus was feeling particularly generous. Three minutes was all they usually had, and Jamie reckoned two of those minutes had already elapsed. If Liza was intent on exacting revenge upon the chav fuckers in the red car, she would have to be quick about it.
As she fought to overtake a green car, which had come between her and her target, Jamie caught a glimpse of Barry at the edge of the arena. He was standing amongst the other spectators, and Jamie was about to wave at the guy when he realised something wasn’t quite right.
Barry’s eyes were completely black, as if someone had erased them or coloured them in with permanent marker. He wasn’t smiling, either. He wore an ominous scowl, as if trying to intimidate the riders.
Liza steered the dodgem away from the edge, and Jamie could no longer see Barry. The ride, though, seemed to have lost its fun-factor. Jamie was more concern
ed about what would happen when it was over. Why was Barry frowning like that? What was with his eyes?
Suddenly, the car came to a grinding halt. Beside him, Liza punched the air with joy. “Yeah! Fuckers!” she said. In front, the chav boys—who might or might not have been twins—checked back across their shoulders to see who was responsible for their abrupt halt. Liza wasn’t hanging around for them to get their revenge; she pulled away, once again joining the circle of riders.
That was when someone screamed, loud enough to be heard over the thumping disco music.
And Barry, who had been standing amongst the spectators a moment ago, had stepped up onto the arena. Jamie had been right about the boy’s eyes. They were wholly black, like inkwells.
Most of the riders didn’t see what happened next, but Jamie did. Jamie saw the woman lunge for Barry, for in his arms something was swaddled in a blanket. The woman, screaming as she reached for Barry, looked terrified, and as Liza took the car past in what seemed like slow-motion, Jamie saw the tiny face peering out from the woollen shroud.
And then Barry launched it into the middle of the arena.
FOURTEEN
The fairground was drenched in flashing blue lights. There would be no more rides that afternoon, no chirpy music emerging from the merry-go-round, just a despondent muttering as people recounted the events which had unfolded there that day.
After Barry threw the baby into the arena, Marcus had acted quickly to shut the whole thing down. Most of the riders had managed to avoid hitting the wrapped package in the middle of the rink, but most was not enough. The chav boys—who were not twins, nor even brothers—had been in the moment, racing after Liza and Jamie in an attempt to finish the friendly rivalry which had developed over the course of the ride. It wasn’t their fault, what had happened. Nobody expects to come across a baby in the middle of a dodgem arena. If anything, that’s the last place you would expect to find one.
And yet there it had been. Barry had made sure of that.
The cherry red dodgem had slammed into that blue blanket at full speed, which wasn’t exceedingly fast, but when you’re riding a half-ton dodgem and you happen across a three month old baby, there is only going to be one real winner.