by C. L. Taylor
Now that I am here and I can see how small, vulnerable and silent she is I no longer feel numb and disconnected. I feel solid, strong and calm.
A nurse pokes her head through the curtain. “Sorry to interrupt but someone from the psychiatric assessment team will be here to see Kira in a bit. So if you could keep it short that would be good.”
“Of course.”
I wait until she’s disappeared again, then walk around to the other side of the bed.
“Kira,” I say as I crouch beside it. “I can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling. You must have been in a very dark place to do what you did yesterday.”
Her hands are pressed up against her face, covering it. She doesn’t move a muscle as I talk. She doesn’t respond in any way but I know she’s not asleep. She’s listening to every word I say.
“I saw you in Queen’s Road,” I say. “You were in Mama Valerie’s café with Lloyd. I heard your conversation.”
Her fingers twitch. She knows exactly what I heard.
“Billy was in love with you, wasn’t he?”
Her fingers part just a couple of millimeters and I catch a glimpse of a pale blue iris and large black pupil staring out at me.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
Her eyelids shutter back down.
“Please,” I say softly. “Please, Kira. Just tell me where he is.”
Chapter 65
KIRA
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Billy’s going on about the next place he wants to tag. He’s planning on going to Avonmouth to graffiti the bridge. He’s standing behind me, pressing himself up against me with so much force that the window ledge is digging into my legs. His breath is hot and damp in my ear.
“By the time I’m done there won’t be a bit of Bristol that I haven’t tagged,” he says. “Fuck what I did at school—that’s amateur shit. I want people pointing and going, ‘Who the fuck is DStroy?’ I want to be everywhere, on every building, every train, every bridge. Half the kids in my year want to be famous. I’d rather be infamous.”
I don’t say anything. I’m watching the street, waiting for Jake’s white van to pull up. I’ve started to spend longer and longer at college so I don’t have to spend time alone with Billy but I was caught out today. I thought the others would be back but Mark’s not here, Jake texted to say he’s working late and Claire popped around to Liz’s half an hour ago. It’s just me and Billy, alone in the house.
“Let me see it again.”
I feel him lift up my hair. “Fuck off.” I try to swipe his hand away but he catches me by the wrist and glares down at me.
“Don’t you ever tell me to fuck off. I can look at that tattoo whenever I want. Hey!” My skin stings as he rips the plaster from the back of my neck. “What the hell’s this?”
“What do you think it is?”
“Oh, no.” He shakes his head slowly from side to side and his eyes narrow. “Oh, no, no, no, no. That wasn’t part of the deal, Kira. You don’t get to cover it up. Or is this your sick little way of telling me you’ve changed your mind about ending things?” He slips a hand under my armpit and squeezes my boob.
I knock his hand away and try to twist free but he holds me fast.
“Kira,” he says as he nuzzles his face against mine, his stubble scraping my cheek. “You were the best fuck I’ve ever had.”
I want to close my eyes and block him out, just as I have every time he’s forced me to have sex with him, but I’m scared Jake will pull up in the van and see us at the window.
I thought the shit was going to hit the fan when Lloyd saw us in the park in January. I was in the kitchen the next day, Googling how to hitchhike from Bristol to Edinburgh on my phone, when Liz came bursting in saying that Lloyd had walked out on her. He’d left the night before after telling her that their marriage was over. He wasn’t going to the pub when he stopped and stared at us, he was walking to his car at the end of the street. I didn’t believe Liz when she said he was gone for good. I thought he’d be back. Each time a black car parks outside Liz’s house I feel sick. But he hasn’t come back. He hasn’t even rung her. Not according to the conversations I’ve overheard between Claire and Liz. But what if he does? What if he tells her what he saw? My life will be over. I can’t keep living like this, waking up each day wondering if today is the day that Jake finds out what I’ve done.
I was an idiot for agreeing to the tattoo. I knew it wouldn’t stop Billy from hassling me but I thought it would buy me more time. I’m totally broke. My next student loan doesn’t come through until next term and Jake’s been paying for everything. I’ve been trying to save the £30 he gives me each week for bus fare and food but it’s impossible. It’s £168 to get the train up to Granddad’s house in Edinburgh. When I was Googling how to hitchhike from Bristol I read loads of horror stories about women getting raped or killed and I can’t risk it. I’m going to have to nick some money. Claire’s always leaving her bag lying around and Jake chucks his wallet on the floor when we get back from the pub. I don’t want to steal from them but what choice do I have?
Amy offered to let me sleep on her floor but she lives with her parents and I need to get out of Bristol. If Billy puts the photos up on Facebook they’ll go viral and people around here think I’m a slut as it is. That’s if I don’t get arrested for sleeping with someone underage. No. I need to disappear. To vanish in the middle of the night. Billy can’t threaten me anymore if I’m gone. He can’t blackmail me.
But what about Jake? I can’t let myself think about him. It’s going to kill me to leave him. It’ll kill him too. And he’ll never know why.
Why did I have sex with Billy? Why? I wish I could rewind time. If I’d taken a different route back from Amy’s last August, I never would have bumped into Billy outside the pub. He wouldn’t have confided in me about his dad kissing Miss Christian. He wouldn’t have started texting me all the time. We wouldn’t have gone for a drink. I wouldn’t have kissed him. None of this would have happened if I’d turned left instead of right.
Chapter 66
KIRA
Thursday, February 5, 2015
We can hear them arguing downstairs; Claire and Mark shouting at Billy for getting nicked by the police for stealing spray paint from B&Q. He texted me earlier, saying I should prepare for his impending death. He must have sent it from Claire’s car after she picked him up from the police station. He knew his dad would kill him when he found out what he’d done.
“Beer?” Jake twists over on the bed and hands me a can of lager. His eyes are half-closed and he’s grinning like a lunatic. He only had to do a half-day at work today so he and some of his workmates went to the pub at lunch. They stayed there all afternoon and when I got back from college he was so drunk he couldn’t stand up straight. Mark had a go at him and told him to stay in his room until he sobered up so I went with him.
It’s ten past seven now and he can hardly keep his eyes open.
“No thanks, hon.”
Jake shrugs as I wave the can away. He cracks it open, takes a long, deep swig and then moves to put it down on the bedside table but there are a stack of my photography books and other bits and bobs on the top and the can tips to one side. Beer froths all over the carpet.
“Oh, fuck.” I try to clamber over him so I can mop it up but he grabs me as I throw a leg over him and pulls me close.
“Well, hello, Kira Simmons!” He grins up at me. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Jake.” I can’t help but smile at his stupid, drunken grin but I stiffen as his hands move up to my shoulders and he tries to ease my cardigan away from my body. “Jake, don’t.”
“Kira!” He says my name in that playful, sing-song way he uses whenever he wants to have sex. “I just want a kiss.”
“Jake, your mum’s going to get mad if the beer soaks into—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He lets go of me and I slide off him and onto the floor. “We never have sex anymore. And don’t
tell me it’s because you feel weird that Mum and Dad might hear because that never stopped you when you moved in!”
My eyes fill with tears but I don’t want him to see so I turn away and grab a towel from the chair, then dab at the beer stain on the floor. My phone bleeps in my pocket as I drop the towel into the laundry basket at the foot of the bed. I duck down, so Jake can’t see what I’m doing, and slip it out of my pocket. My first thought is that it’s Billy, taunting me with a text, but then I hear his voice ring out from downstairs as he swears at his dad.
As I turn the phone over in my hand and read the message the back door slams shut, shaking the bedroom wall.
“This fucking family.” Jake hauls himself out of bed and slams a hand against the window as he peers outside. “Oh, look, Dad’s fucked off to the pub.” The bedroom wall shakes again. “Oh, and Mum’s off too. Jesus Christ, Billy’s such a dick. Little twat. He can’t get away with this bullshit.”
“Jake!” I put out a hand to try and stop him from leaving the bedroom but he’s too drunk and angry to notice and charges out onto the landing.
“Billy, you twat!” he shouts as the stairs creak under his weight. “Oi! What the fuck are you playing at?”
I shove the phone into my jeans pocket, scramble out of the bedroom and crouch down by the banisters. I can’t see Jake or Billy but I can hear every word they’re saying in the living room.
“Give me that!” Jake shouts. “Arsonist, are you now?”
“Well, it would teach Dad right if this house went up in smoke,” Billy shouts back. “He’s an arsehole and a loser.”
“No, Billy, you’re the loser. You want to know why Dad gives you a hard time? Because you’re an embarrassment. You think you’re the hard man with your spray cans and your stupid scribble, but you’re just a kid. Anyone with half a brain can see you just want attention.”
“Is that right, golden boy?” Billy laughs. It’s such a venomous sound all the hairs on my arms go up.
“You need to grow the hell up, Billy, and stop being such a jealous brat.”
I pull myself to my feet and hurry to the top of the stairs. I need to stop this. I need to stop Billy saying one more word before—
“Why would I be jealous of you, Jake? You’re going out with the town slut. Everyone’s laughing at you because she’s sleeping around behind your back and you’re too much of a mug to realize. She’s been fucked more times than a porn star.”
There’s an almighty crack, then a thump as something or someone hits the floor, and then Jake thunders up the stairs toward me. He stops right in front of me and stares, waiting for me to say something, but I’m so scared my mind has gone blank. Any second now Billy is going to shout up at him that we’ve been fucking and that’ll be it, game over.
“Well?” Jake leans in so close I can smell beer on his breath. “Is it true? Are you sleeping around behind my back?”
I want to tell him that it’s not true, that Billy’s a liar and that I’d never, ever do anything to hurt him. But it is true. It’s awful and it’s dirty and it’s true. But if I admit it he’ll never look at me the same way again. He’ll look at me like I’m worthless and a slut and a liar. He’ll look at me the way my mum looks at me and I won’t . . . I can’t . . . deal with that. I’d rather be dead.
Jake looks at me for the longest time, not saying a word, then he shakes his head, steps around me and crosses the landing to the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind him.
“Hey!” Billy shouts as I walk through the living room and head for the kitchen. “Hey! Kira!”
I ignore him and go over to the coat hook by the back door. Jake’s navy work jacket is hanging next to my fake-fur coat and the small black rucksack Billy takes to school. I slip my hand into one of Jake’s pockets and pull out his keys.
“Kira!” Billy grabs the back of my cardigan as I slip on my shoes. I don’t bother to try and shake him off. Instead I take a step forward, letting the cardigan slip from my shoulders, and step outside. It’s dark, the only light the orange glow of the streetlight at the end of the path. All of the lights are off in Liz’s house. She must be out. Or asleep.
“Where are you going?” Billy grabs my wrist, forcing me to look at him. His bottom lip is split, his chin sticky with blood. His rucksack is slung over one shoulder.
“For a drive.”
“Great. I’ll come.”
He grins at me, as though expecting me to put up a fight, then raises an eyebrow when I say okay.
He keeps hold of my wrist as we walk toward Jake’s van, then insists I get in through the passenger door so I can’t drive off without him.
It takes me three attempts to get the keys in the ignition but then we’re off, the van jolting and bumping along as I drive away from the house and toward the Wells Road.
“Where are we going?” Billy asks as I turn the van onto the A417.
I say nothing. Instead I press my foot down on the accelerator which makes Billy lean back in his seat.
“Fucking women drivers,” he jokes but I can hear fear in his voice too. For months he’s been the one in control and now I am.
I slow down as we approach the ring road at the bottom of Callington Road, then speed up again as I spot signs for the A4 to Bath. As I continue to drive—through suburban Bristol and out into the industrial estate on the Bath Road—the scenery changes. Houses and breeze-block buildings gradually fade away, replaced by rolling fields and tall trees, bushes and thick, wiry undergrowth that flanks the road on both sides. It’s darker out here, in the depths of the countryside, the only light the flash of headlights from the occasional passing car.
We continue to travel through the countryside in silence for ten, maybe fifteen, minutes before Billy turns on the radio. He turns it off again. He winds down the window and shouts, “Fuck you, world!” into the darkness. He puts a hand on my knee and squeezes it. When he doesn’t get a reaction, he does the same to my boob.
“Jake’s got a mean right hook,” he says, then he lets go of me and presses his hand to his jaw. “Wanker.” He glances at me. “You do realize I’m going to have to tell him about us now, don’t you?”
“Okay.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Tell him. I don’t care anymore.”
“Well, well, well.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a plastic lunch box. He opens it and takes out his mobile phone. “Just in case I drop my bag in the river when I’m tagging bridges,” he says when he notices me watching. “My phone’s not insured, is it? Bollocks!” He jabs at his mobile with his index finger. “Fucking battery’s dead. Ah, well”—he drops it back into the lunch box and re-seals the lid—“looks like I’ll have to tell Jake when we get back. More fun if he has to look me in the eye.”
Trees loom over us as the road narrows and fields streak past, bleak stretches of gray under the dark sky. I can’t see the moon—it’s hidden behind thick clouds. There’s a light rain. It drifts through the open window onto my face and arms but I don’t wipe it away.
“I reckon Jake’ll move out when I tell him. We could have his room. It’s bigger than mine,” Billy says.
I say nothing.
“What?” He twists round in his seat. “Is that such a bad idea? Seriously? You seem to have forgotten what a laugh we had, but I haven’t. I know you like me, Kira. And you won’t have to feel guilty about it once Jake’s gone.”
Normally I’d laugh—at him, at how ridiculous the suggestion is—or else I’d get angry. But his words wash over me. They don’t matter anymore. Nothing does.
I turn on the wipers as the windscreen mists with rain. “My granddad’s dead,” I say. “My mum sent me a text earlier.”
When I was in the bedroom with Jake. When I still thought I had an escape route.
Granddad’s dead, the text said. Not, how are you, Kira? Or, I know you loved him. Or, I know it’s a bit of a shock.
Just Granddad’s dead. She might as well have written, it’s over. It’s
all over now, Kira.
“Oh.” Billy shrugs. “Sorry about that.”
“Yeah.”
I move down a gear and signal right, then turn into a small country lane. There is a building and small patch of well-kept grass hidden in the depths of the countryside. You’d miss it if you didn’t know what you were looking for.
“Where the hell are we?” Billy says as the tires crunch on gravel and I pull into the car park.
“The boules club.” I turn off the engine and undo my seat belt.
“In the middle of nowhere?”
“My dad worked here. He was a handyman. He cut the green.”
“So?”
I open the van door and step outside. I take a deep breath of cool, crisp air, then set off along the path between the green and the clubhouse. There are no houses nearby, no streetlights, no pavement. Billy was right: the place I’ve driven us to is in the middle of nowhere, nestled between fields and woodland.
“You want to play with balls in the middle of the night? I’d have let you have a go on mine if you’d asked nicely.” Billy laughs as he runs to catch up. “Hey! Where are you going?”
I reach the wood—tall, dense and imposing—that separates the clubhouse from the fields that surround it. It’s at least an acre in size and belongs to the farmer who owns the fields. My dad used to say what a shame it was that he’d let it get so overgrown and unkempt. It was an eyesore, he said, compared to the neatly trimmed lawn of the boules club. I told him I thought a witch lived in it, and that was why the farmer stayed away.
There’s a wire fence that runs all the way around the wood—a fence that’s been put up since Dad killed himself—and, for a second, I’m terrified that there’s no way in, but then I find a place where it’s come away from the base of the fence post, unnoticeable unless you look carefully. I peel it back. Not enough space for Billy to get through but I’m smaller than him.
“What the hell?” I feel Billy grab at my right sneaker as I squeeze through the gap, but my shoe is slippery from the rain and his hand falls away as I kick out at him.