by SJI Holliday
Davie walks up to the boy on the pavement. ‘That was stupid, son,’ he says. But there is anger in the young man’s eyes. Davie tries to read him. Thinks there are two ways it can go. He’s going to kick off, or he’s going to start crying, realising what he’s done.
‘Lou?’ Davie shouts, ‘what’s happening?’
‘I’m calling it in,’ she says. She takes her phone out of her pocket, but it looks like she’s struggling a bit, trying to dial and keep her hand on the old man’s head, which seems to be pumping out more blood than it should.
‘Right,’ Davie says. He takes a step closer to the boy on the pavement. ‘What’s your name, son?’ He seems to be in shock. His friends are now huddled in a doorway, next to the chippie. They know there’s not much point in running, but they’re unsure what to do. Davie puts his hand in his pocket, feeling about in the depths for his phone.
The boy puts his hand in his pocket, takes a step back.
Davie puts a hand up in a ‘wait just a minute’ gesture. Takes a step back towards the boy.
‘Oi, Kev, look!’ One of the boys from the huddle speaks to his mate, the one who is facing up to Davie, a dark look in his eyes. The boy doesn’t look away. ‘Kev, look,’ his mate tries again.
‘What,’ he says. ‘What the fuck is it?’
Louise is on the phone. With one hand, she’s taking things out of her bag, laying them on the floor. She’s looking for gloves, Davie thinks. Or maybe her resuscitation shield mouthpiece. The man is lying on the floor now, in the recovery position. Is he breathing? She has left her badge on the pavement, and he knows now that the boy in the doorway has seen it. They should’ve identified themselves as police right at the start. Stupid mistake. But he knew that Louise was thinking the same as him. Try to keep it calm. Don’t let them run off. Because that’s what Davie had expected them to do, and he was slightly shocked when they didn’t.
The boy takes a step towards Davie, and Davie can smell stale alcohol on his breath, or maybe seeping out of his skin. Up close, his eyes look bloodshot and dull.
‘You a pig?’ he says. Spittle lands on Davie’s face. ‘Pig killed my dad, you know.’
‘Kev, fucksake. Leave it. Let’s go.’ The boy from the doorway sounds scared now. He’s the only one to have found his voice, and no one is backing him up.
‘Calm down,’ Davie says. ‘No need to get aggro. Just an accident, eh? We can sort all of this out. Just let me—’
He reaches into his pocket for his phone. But as he does, the boy reaches into his pocket too. Steps closer, until their faces are almost touching. Davie doesn’t even realise what’s happened at first. A warm feeling spreads across him, and he instinctively raises his arms, hugging the boy. But the boy steps back, a strange grin on his face.
Davie falls forwards, lands on his knees. ‘What the—’
He is confused. He looks down at the pavement, sees the trickle of dark red as it drips through his shirt.
‘Kev, ohnoohnoohno,’ screams the boy from the doorway, who is shouting from somewhere far away now. Somewhere underwater maybe? But no, that doesn’t make sense. There’s a muffled sound of metal on stone. A knife spins across the pavement. Some of the boys are running, their figures blurred. Louise. Where’s Louise? Somewhere in the distance, he hears an ambulance. Voices are coming to him, people all around him. No one around him.
He falls to the pavement, but it doesn’t hurt. He feels numb. What was that song again? Comfortably numb . . . Is there anybody in there? Or was that The X-Files? Louise . . . he tries to call for her, but his voice doesn’t work any more. The pavement is cold against his cheek. He can see feet – trainers. Cobbles on the road. Feels the wind. A cool breeze fluttering against him.
‘Davie? What the fuck? Davie?’
She’s grabbing at him. Pressing on him. Her voice is far away.
‘Get me a coat, someone. Please. Here, you . . . come here. You need to press down on this . . . no, don’t touch that. Please . . .’ He sees her blurred form bending, picking up the knife, getting it out of the way. He hears whimpering, from somewhere nearby. In the doorway? Was there a boy in the doorway?
He feels cold. So cold. He should’ve buttoned his coat.
The sirens are loud now. The old man. They need to help the old man. He hit his head. You need to help the old man, he shouts, but it is only in his head. He closes his eyes. Feels tired. So tired.
‘Davie? Can you hear me?’
He smells her. Spearmint and Earl Grey.
‘Davie? Stay with me . . . come on. They’re coming to help you. You’re going to be fine.’
He tries to open his eyes, but they’re heavy, so heavy. Someone is pressing down on his eyes. He giggles.
Bubbles of blood come out of his mouth.
‘Oh Jesus,’ she says. ‘Hold on, Davie. Please hold on. Grab my fingers, Davie. Grab them . . .’
He grabs them, but there’s nothing there. He grabs at air. He can’t. Fingers not working. No. Try, Davie, try.
She’s crying. He can hear crying. ‘Please, Davie. Please.’
A door slams. Footsteps. How many? Count them.
One. Two. Three.
‘Davie, squeeze my hand. Squeeze it. Davie . . . Davie!’
She’s fading away. It’s all fading away. He hears the sound of his scooter, somewhere deep inside his head. The cat! Someone needs to look after that cat. Sees his mum, smiling at him. Sees nothing. Black. Red. White. Dark, just dark.
‘Stay with me, Davie . . .’
A warm teardrop falls on his face.
He feels a hand. A small, soft hand. Long fingers, nails dig into his skin.
‘I love you, Davie.’
Something flutters. Stutters. A cold engine. Turning. Turning.
‘Davie?’
He squeezes.
Letter from SJI Holliday
Hi! If you’ve skipped to this before reading the end, then you need to skip back!
Spoilers ahead . . .
If you’ve read the end, I’m hoping you might’ve shouted ‘No!!!!’ or maybe some other words (one of the first early readers messaged me with the words ‘F**king hell, Susi’ right after finishing!) Other people said they shed a little tear. That’s exactly what I did when I wrote it. Funnily enough, I had written the epilogue long before finishing the rest of the book. I decided to do it after reading one of Michael J. Malone’s books (I can’t tell you which one, or I’ll spoil it!) – I was in such shock after reading those last few pages of his, I just knew I had to do something similar. It was so powerful and it fitted in so well – ending the trilogy with such a shocking scene. If you’ve come to this book first out of the three, you’re actually quite lucky! You can go back to the start with Black Wood and Willow Walk, and find out what led things to this point. Don’t worry though – the stories all work as standalones, so it doesn’t really matter if you read them out of order.
Is he dead though? Have I killed everyone’s favourite character? I’ll tell you later . . .
Firstly – the idea. OK, well this one, like Black Wood, was sparked by a true event in my hometown. I wasn’t directly involved, and I didn’t really know the people involved – but I did know people connected to them (small town, remember?) I’ve always been haunted by the story, and while I was very conscious of not wanting to exploit this tragic event, I was fascinated by the ‘what if?’ that it created. What if the perpetrator hadn’t been caught straightaway? How would the town have reacted? What would it do to the family? I hope I’ve managed to convey this sensitively. In the real case, the situation of the family was quite different. The characters are not based on anyone real. I found it very difficult to write the conclusion to this part of the story, after changing whodunit twice. When the real killer came to me, it was obvious. And it was heartbreaking.
I was also fascinated by another couple of stories – the teacher who ran off with a pupil to France. I know he was sent to prison and that he destroyed many lives but, as both Louise
and Polly recount in the story, teenage girls often have crushes on their teachers. Of course, it is the teacher’s job to quash these crushes and deal with things appropriately. But we’re all human, right? In this story, Lucas technically hasn’t done anything wrong, but he may have naively encouraged a friendship that wasn’t entirely appropriate. The other story was one that I allude to briefly in the book – the man from Bristol who was hounded by the press after the death of his neighbour. He was completely innocent, but once the frenzy had started, it was almost impossible to believe that the horrific events had nothing to do with him. I’m also fascinated by social media, and how easily people turn into a pack of dogs. Mob mentality has always existed but I think social media gives a platform to many who would not have previously had one.
This was a tough book to write – mainly because of the themes and events and the fact that is it is so very tragic, but also because it’s the first time I have really attempted a traditional whodunit. It still has many elements of a psychological thriller, as I do like to mix the two, but this one had a large cast of suspects and I wanted to throw in as many curveballs and red herrings as I could, which was a challenge! I think I got there in the end. I hope you agree.
So, anyway. Thank you so much for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, I would be delighted if you could maybe write a little review on Amazon, Goodreads, Kobo or anywhere else you can think of. Or you could share your thoughts via Facebook or Twitter – it all makes a difference. It is very hard to get noticed when there are so many brilliant books out there!
Are you still worried about what I did to Davie? Well don’t . . . Remember that job offer he got from the Police College? He’s going to end up there – once he’s recuperated. He’ll be in hospital for a little while first. Louise will be by his side, feeding him cake from Landucci’s. Trying not to make him laugh too much so he doesn’t burst his stitches.
All the best,
Susi Holliday
If you enjoyed The Damselfly, you might also enjoy these other works by S.J.I Holliday
Black Wood
Willow Walk
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http://www.sjiholliday.com
Acknowledgements
A huge thank you, as always, to my publishers, Black & White for their excellent work in putting together such a beautiful looking book – kudos, especially, for the cover (got to love a creepy insect)! Massive thanks to Phil Patterson, who continues to keep me on the edge of sanity, and to all at Marjacq for being truly excellent.
Ginormous gratitude to AK Benedict. You know why.
Thank you to Lois Reibach, who bid for a character name and helped to raise money for the lovely Erin Mitchell in the process. I hope you like what I did with you!
Thank you to the people who have helped in any way, large or small, during the writing of this book: DS Darren Stewart from Police Scotland College; Amanda, Steph, Alexandra, Ava, Jenny, Louise, Rebecca, Tammy, Elizabeth, Jane, Angela, Graeme and Ed for the right kind of encouragement at the right times; The Cockblankets, for services to the crime writing community; Liz, Gordon, Vicki and Anne for your unflinching support; Daniel, Mark . . . I’m sure you two have done something? Jackie ‘The Raven’ for reminding me that Quinn had a story to be told; Craig, for letting me steal fucksake; everyone who has encouraged me, bought a book, come to see me waffle on a panel, left a review, bought me a drink or given me a hug; to the wonderful bloggers and the excellent online book clubs – THE Book Club, Crime Book Club, UK Crime Book Club & Book Connectors for helping to spread the word; The Shire Gang – who I miss every day, and who I have immortalised in print (if your name is not in here in some way, please send me a Points of View style complaint and I will rectify in the next one); and a big bouncy thank you to Ian for insisting that Drummer appear in this book – he fitted in perfectly!
If I have forgotten anyone, I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me.
Lots of love, as ever, to my gorgeous family and fabulous friends who continue to shout about me from the rooftops; and finally, because it’s the way I always do it: To JLOH, for everything.