THE CAMEL TRAIL
PETER J. MERRIGAN
Copyright © Peter J. Merrigan, 2012
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Kindle Edition
The right of Peter J. Merrigan to be identified as the author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
First published 2011
All rights reserved.
This publication may not be used, reproduced, stored or transmitted in any way, in whole or in part, without the express written permission of the author. Nor may it be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it has been published and without a similar condition imposed on subsequent users or purchasers.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any similarity to real persons, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.
For my parents, John and Myra
Dedicated to the memories of
Kevin Merrigan and Alan Fleming
Special thanks to my editor, Sue Simpson
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
About The Author
Prologue
Extract from the transcript of a 999 call.
19 July; 22h36.
Boy: He’s hurting Mummy.
Operator: I’m sorry, can you repeat that, please? Is there a grown-up I can speak to?
Boy: He’s hurting her. He’s hurting Mummy.
Operator: Who? Who’s hurting Mummy?
Boy: Please help [unclear] help her. I have to—
Operator: Please stay on the line. Can you give me your address? What’s your name, sweetie?
Boy: [cough] Forty-one Old Grove Street.
Operator: Forty-one Old Grove Street? Do you want to tell me your name?
Boy: Um, Kevin…Are you coming?
Operator: An officer will be there very soon, okay?
Boy: Uh-huh.
Operator: Can you see who’s hurting your mummy, Kevin? Do you know who it is?
[Silence]
Operator: Are you there, sweetie? Kevin?
Boy: Come quick.
Operator: Police officers are nearly there, okay? Just hang on the phone, okay? Can they see you? Can the man hear you on the phone?
Boy: No…I don’t know…No.
Operator: It’s okay, Kevin. You did good calling us, didn’t you?
Boy: Yes.
Operator: Tell me, Kevin, do you know the man that’s hurting your mum?
Boy: Yes.
Operator: Can you tell me who it is, Kevin?
Boy: It’s Daddy.
End Extract.
Chapter One
‘Kevin, get down from there.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘You won’t be if you fall.’ Sarah shook out Kevin’s football jersey and draped it on the line next to his socks, like pieces of a dream, of a former life, held up against the sun for inspection. Truths and lies pegged out beside each other.
‘Mum,’ Kevin whispered as if he and Sarah were co-conspirators, ‘I can see into the neighbour’s kitchen.’
‘I mean it, Kevin,’ she said. ‘What are you doing up there, anyway?’
‘Looking for money. I swear it grows on trees, you know.’
‘Don’t swear.’
‘I didn’t swear.’
Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll break your neck.’ She turned her back on him and shook out another sock. ‘You haven’t finished unpacking your room, yet.’
‘I can see my breath on the air.’
‘You’ll see your life passing before your eyes in a minute if you don’t get down and finish unpacking.’ She suppressed a grin when she heard him scurrying back down the tree. ‘Careful,’ she warned. ‘Go and watch the oven, will you? The chips should be done in a minute.’
Kevin slouched passed her on his way to the back door. ‘You told me to unpack.’
‘After lunch. Watch the oven. And wipe your feet before you go in.’
She looked up at the afternoon sky. There was a single grey cloud covering the vast expanse above her but it didn’t look like the sort that would rain on her laundry. She could smell the soap powder from the T-shirt she now held in her hands; Forrest Fresh, apparently. It made her think of Christmas, for some odd reason, which in turn made her worry about scraping together enough money for a decent present for Kevin. There was a second-hand shop in town but she’d feel guilty giving him someone else’s rejected toys.
When she carried the empty basket back inside, Kevin was dishing out fat, golden oven chips onto two dinner plates, careful not to touch the baking tray.
‘Are they done, already?’
‘What were you doing out there?’
‘Hanging out the washing.’
‘You were stood there for ages, staring into space.’ He turned, pulled the oven glove from his hand, and lifted his plate.
‘It wasn’t ages. Where’s the ketchup?’
‘I couldn’t find it.’
Sarah looked around the kitchen, tea chests and boxes containing their lives deposited in corners, on the tabletop, under the counter where, she assumed, a dishwasher had once stood. She followed Kevin into the living room and used the arm of the chair for balance as she settled down on the wooden floor in front of the electric fire.
‘So what did you see,’ she asked, ‘in the neighbour’s window? Any dead bodies?’
‘Six,’ he said. ‘And they were all dismembered.’ He leaned his face towards her, opened his mouth to reveal chewed chips like dismembered bodies.
‘Stop that.’
Kevin laughed. ‘Can I change the channel?’ He leaned forward and twisted the dial on the fire, turning it up from two bars to three. ‘That’s better.’
‘What did you see?’
‘Nothing. Just a kitchen. But they have a big metal bar going all the way across the wall, inside.’
Sarah nudged his shoulder. ‘That’s to tie up little boys who stare in through their windows.’
‘Get real.’
‘Did you see anyone in there?’
‘Nope.’ He tilted his head back, held a chip up above his face and dropped it into his mouth. When he had chewed and swallowed, he said, ‘D’you think they’ve run away?’
‘Run away from what?’
He looked at her but didn’t say anything.
‘Change the channel again, will you?’ she said. Her eyes weren’t smiling as she watched him lean forward and spark another bar on the fire.
She settled on the old worn bench in the back garden, duffel coat buttoned up to the neck against the chill, and sat her wine glass and cigarette box beside her. She breathed a plume of silver smoke into the air and flicked ash on the grass, staring up at the stars. The further out of London, she thought, the more stars there were, the less smog.
Padst
ow wasn’t her first choice. She knew she wanted to be on the coast, wanted to be close to the sea, but she had her heart set on Great Yarmouth or Hunstanton. She had spent many long summers as a child in a small, creaky caravan in Hunstanton, remembered the smell of incense her mother used to burn, the smell of the brisk sea air coming in off The Wash. She remembered, with fondness, the smell of the diesel from the car journeys up to Brancaster Bay to visit her aunt or, further along the A149, to the nature reserve just passed Wells-next-the-Sea.
But that was the very reason she couldn’t have gone back there. Too many memories, too much knowledge.
She sucked on the cigarette again and swirled the deep red wine in the glass before taking a sip, the alcohol warming her throat and her chest. She touched the white scar on her left knuckles, a thin spiral of smoke rising from the cigarette, and wondered where this move would take her, where it would dump her in the end—there was always an end; good things never lasted.
When she heard Kevin’s short, sharp screams through his bedroom window, she jumped to her feet, heart racing. She dropped the cigarette and hurried inside, knowing, as she took the stairs two and three at a time, what it was all about.
She opened his door without knocking and saw him sitting up in bed, blinking against the sudden glare from the landing light. ‘Honey?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘You sure?’
He nodded, looked around the room, his hands clutching the thin duvet. ‘What time is it?’
‘After midnight.’ Sarah came further into the room and sat on the edge of his bed, her coat bunching up at the stomach, her fingers spread out over the bump on the quilt where his knee was.
‘Were you out?’ Kevin asked.
‘No. Just the garden. I wouldn’t leave you here on your own, you know.’
‘I know.’
‘Nightmare?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Just making sure you were awake.’ His smile was feeble.
Sarah leaned in and hugged him. ‘Will you go back to sleep now?’ She felt him nodding against her shoulder. She kissed the top of his head, tucked him back in, and got up to leave the room.
‘Mum?’
She hovered in the doorway.
‘Can you leave the door open?’
She nodded. ‘Good night, love.’
Kevin scrambled over some rocks and jumped. ‘I’m sinking,’ he called, digging his heels into the damp sand and clawing at his face with his knuckles for effect.
‘Don’t go too far.’
They had walked up to the stretch of sand at St George’s Cove—Kevin insisted they go to a beach, seeing as they lived so close to one now—and were somewhere between St George’s and Harbour Cove.
Sarah pushed her hands deep into her pockets and hunched her shoulders against the cold. Frankie was in everything. He cropped up in everything she saw, everything she did—in Kevin’s laughter, in his tantrums, in the faces of others.
She blinked and squinted out across the Estuary, metallic clouds fingering the horizon, seagulls circling and bewailing each other. It had started out good, of course. Most things do. She never would have married him otherwise. And she knew the very moment it all turned sour, but she would not think of it now. Dared not think of it. His very name brought a distinctly unpleasant taste to her mouth. Memories often surfaced and resurfaced at times she could do without. And right now, she could do without them.
Kevin did an athletic cartwheel-backflip that was more careless tumble than anything else, and landed on his back in the sand. He stood, dusting wet sand from his hands and jacket, and trotted over to Sarah. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘You’re always hungry. Look at you.’ She helped him remove the sand from his jacket. ‘We’ll head home shortly. I’ve got just about enough for us to share a fish and a bag of chips.’
‘Fish again?’
She raised an eyebrow, shrugged a shoulder, and wrapped an arm around Kevin’s neck as they looked out at the boats moving back and forth. Behind them, a dog barked and Kevin dashed off after it.
‘Don’t let that mutt claw all over you,’ Sarah called. ‘Those jeans are clean.’
Looking back out across the choppy water, she sighed. His voice was even on the wind. You’re nothing. You’ll never be anything.
Two years and still she could hear him as clear as if he was beside her. Two years and still she could feel him. Inside.
Deep inside.
Her breath spiralled into nothing in front of her face. ‘Hot,’ she said, then chewed.
They were taking the long way home after picking up a bag of chips and a battered sausage to share on the way. She held the newspaper cone out and Kevin took a few chips, eating quietly. She hated his silences, dreaded to think what was going through his head. ‘You okay?’ she asked.
He nodded, ate some chips, and stole a bite of the sausage.
‘I was thinking,’ Sarah said. ‘How about blue?’
‘For my room?’
She nodded.
‘Red,’ Kevin said. ‘And white. Maybe.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Football. You want these?’ There were only a few small chips left at the bottom of the paper. ‘Or do you want the rest of the sausage?’
‘Sausage.’
They lapsed back into silence. When Sarah was finished with the chips, she scrunched the paper up and put it in her coat pocket, wiping her greasy fingers together. They were nearly home. ‘At least I don’t have to wash any plates,’ she said. Kevin nodded. ‘You know,’ she continued, ‘if you want red and white—’
‘He won’t find us, will he?’
Sarah stopped walking. His question had startled her. She told herself she had been expecting it, told herself she knew he would ask it—today, tomorrow, the day after. But it was still a shock.
‘Honey,’ she tried, touching his shoulder.
‘He won’t,’ Kevin stated.
‘No.’
‘Not ever.’
‘No.’
‘Because—’
‘Kevin, look at me.’ Sarah crouched to his level, held his arms, the last few inches of a battered sausage dangling from his hand. ‘Not ever, okay? Never. Because he can’t. Because you know where he is.’ She paused. He stared at her. ‘He’ll be away for a long time. Years. Okay?’
‘Promise?’
She hugged him tight. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’ She took his free hand and they crossed over Boyd Avenue as he finished his sausage.
As they walked up their narrow street, Kevin was the first to notice a silver people carrier parked outside their house. ‘Mum,’ he said, and she could hear the tremor in his voice, as though inside the car was Daddy dearest, back on the outside, stinking of booze and spoiling for a fight.
She squeezed his hand, smiled at him. ‘It’s the neighbour’s. Come on, let’s introduce ourselves.’
Running up the street, they saw a man and woman unloading a few suitcases from the side of the people carrier. Sarah smiled, brushing her hair back from her face. ‘Hello.’
The man nodded. ‘Evening.’
‘I believe we’re neighbour’s,’ Sarah said.
The woman, a slender figure with cropped greying hair, stood forward, holding out her hand. ‘Oh, they sold it, then? I’m Tessa. When did you move in?’
‘Sarah. We moved in a few days ago. But we’re only renting. Been on holiday?’
‘Kind of,’ Tessa said. ‘Oh, this is my husband, Graeme.’
‘Mum.’ A whiney voice from the house. Everyone looked. A young boy, maybe Kevin’s age, sat in a wheelchair by the front door.
Tessa offered a tight-lipped smile. ‘And that’s Martin. I’m sorry, but I better get him inside. Nice to meet you.’ She shook Sarah’s hand again and turned, jogging over to the door.
Graeme’s voice brought Sarah’s and Kevin’s attention back to him. ‘Am I in your space?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your parking space. Except, that Ford’
s in my space. It’s not yours, is it?’
‘Oh. No. I don’t drive. I mean, I do, but I don’t have a car. I don’t mind. If you park here, that is.’
The small talk was over. Graeme smiled.
Everyone smiles when they have nothing left to say, Sarah thought. ‘Well,’ she said. She looked at the bags as he was picking them up. ‘Do you need—?’
‘I’m all right, thanks,’ Graeme said. ‘Nice meeting you.’
‘And you.’
They watched as he went into his house and closed the door behind him. As Sarah slotted the key into her own front door, she said, ‘They were nice.’
‘Mum!’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t introduce me.’
Chapter Two
The house was steeped in silence. Kevin stirred and stretched as the first shards of sunlight filtered in through the flimsy blue curtains, drawing dappled patterns on the far wall. Reluctantly crawling out of bed and pulling on yesterday’s clothes, he unplugged the small fan heater and took it into his mother’s room. She lay on her stomach under the blanket, her left arm draped out over the edge, slender white fingers extending to the brown swirls on the worn carpet. He tucked her arm back in and crept out of the room.
The Camel Trail Page 1