by Shaun Baines
Why were they stealing from a poor old man, Phitt wondered? They had money. The watch on the girl's wrist looked expensive.
"We've talked about this, Monica," Scott said, balancing the baby on his hip. "It was a mistake."
Monica rattled the watch in Scott's face. "And this will be a permanent reminder."
Phitt heard Scott tutting and a hand snaked around his ankles. He was dragged toward the Skoda, grit scraping his pallid face raw. There was no resisting and his heart drummed in his chest.
"Please. I was trying to help you," Phitt said.
Lying the baby on the back seat, Scott rubbed his chin. "Next time, we steal a car with a baby carrier. I shouldn't leave Wren like that. It seems dangerous."
"He'll be fine," Monica said. "Let's get this pervert in the boot."
Phitt whimpered, trying vainly to fend off their hands. Scott grabbed his tie, using it to pull him to his feet. It constricted his throat, cutting into his fleshy neck. Phitt's lungs floundered for air and a pain shot from his chest down his left arm.
"This arsehole could be missing for weeks before anyone bothered to look for him," Scott said, manhandling Phitt into the boot of the Skoda. "We can take his Audi wherever we want."
"And where's that?" Monica asked.
The pain from Phitt's chest radiated outwards. His breath was trapped, encased in the concrete of a heart attack. Darkness crept along the edges of his vision, snuffing out light as it went. The last thing he saw was Scott's ghostly face breaking into a smile.
"Anywhere we want," he said, slamming down the boot.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Autumn had slipped effortlessly into winter. The trees were bare, their leaves discarded and crisp under a light frost. While the air was biting, the sun was shining, warming Daniel's back as he worked by the lake. His axe thudded into the hull of the rowing boat, breaking it into splinters. The island had received its last guest. It was as much flesh as it was rock and there would be no more room under the soil.
Eisha sat cross-legged on a blanket. Daniel had called Lily. Their conversation on the phone had been stilted. They wouldn't be speaking again for a while and Lily had ended the call with a simple statement.
"Eisha deserves better," she'd said and Daniel had agreed.
His daughter had been waiting for him on a Bensham doorstep when he arrived. Lily's Cartier watch was hanging from the door. Daniel was amazed she'd left something so valuable in full view. He doubted it had been left for him, but he put it in his pocket anyway.
He hoped to reunite the watch with its owner one day.
As he split wooden planks in two, his daughter divided her attention between watching him and listening to the island.
"That lady doesn't scream as much anymore," she said.
Wood cracked under another blow from Daniel's axe. "She's been going on for a bit, hasn't she?"
"She's probably tired," Eisha said. "I would be if I'd been screaming for a whole week."
Daniel leaned on his axe and stared over the lake. Angel was hidden by the glare of the sun, but she'd made her presence known. Her shouts and screams were less frequent now, growing weaker every day. While it was difficult to predict how long a person could survive without food, Angel was also exposed to the elements. Her days were numbered.
He struck the boat again, driving away his concerns. This was supposed to be a party after all.
"That's enough wood for the bonfire," he said. "Let's get back."
Eisha stood, brushing frost crystals from her backside. She swung Angry Cat by its ears.
"Do you need to carry that with you everywhere?" Daniel asked. "It's getting a bit dirty."
Cocking her head to one side, Eisha considered his question and hurled the cat into the water.
"Don't need him anymore," she said, thrusting her fingers into her mouth. Eisha whistled and the Alsatian came running from the frosted trees, its big paws thudding on the ground. It slowed to a lollop, stopping in front of Eisha and nudging its head into her waiting arms.
"I've got Princess now," she said, pressing her face into the dog's patchy fur.
Daniel glanced at the dog's testicles. That was a conversation he wasn't ready to have right now.
On the jetty, Bronson and Bear stood over a barbeque, the heat from the coals warming their hands. The charcoal was smoking, ready for sausages, but Daniel's guests were lost in the heat haze and lost in their own worlds.
Whatever was going on, Daniel wasn't ready for that, either. He pulled his daughter in for a hug. She squirmed in his embrace, but when he looked down, Eisha was smiling.
"Can I ask you a question, Daddy?" she asked.
He nodded. "As long as it isn't about dogs."
"Do bad people deserve to die?"
"Yes," he said. The answer was out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider the question. He believed it sincerely and understood why Eisha was asking. It was a good sign. She'd made her first kill. Anyone who failed to question themselves after that couldn't be helped. There was hope for Eisha yet.
Her face crinkled in confusion. "But you're a bad man," she said. "You were going to kill Uncle Bronson."
Picking up a stone, Daniel rubbed it under his thumb. It was round and black. Underneath his feet were a hundred others, exactly the same. He threw it into the lake and it sank without a splash, never to be seen again.
"There are different kinds of bad people. Some are dangerous and you throw them away, but there are some you need to keep. Like Uncle Bronson."
"Am I a bad person?"
Yes, he thought, but no more than he was. They were different and the same. He drew comfort from that.
"No, you're not." Daniel massaged warmth into his hands. "But why did you shoot Lily's boyfriend?" he asked.
Eisha drew a line in the shingle with her foot. "I didn't mean to. When that man came, I was scared and I got your gun from the drawer."
Her eyes teared and Daniel ruffled her hair. "It's okay, pet. What happened next?"
"I went looking for Auntie Lily in her bedroom, but she wasn't there. Uncle Panwar's computer was on and I remembered the memory stick." Eisha bit her lip and took a deep breath. "I put it in and there were all these things about you, Daddy. About how you don't have a family because Granda and Granny aren't real to us, are they? That means I don't have a family, either. It made me sad and then it made me angry."
"We have each other, darling," Daniel said, his voice catching.
"I didn't want you to see it so I hid the stupid stick with all the other things I don't want to know. In my tool chest. I came out of the wine cellar and Panwar was hiding behind my slide in the garden. I got really mad, Daddy. He shouldn't have told us those things."
The tool chest wasn't Eisha's souvenir case. It was where she locked away the bad things in her life, the things that made her angry. She was like Daniel in so many ways, but he was an idiot and she had a chance. His demons came at night in his dreams. Eisha's were contained in a metal box, safe from harming her, though painting Panwar's face was still a worry.
He'd looked at the information on the memory stick. Where Panwar got it from was a mystery. It was all spreadsheets and charts, and names and dates; a swirl of information that made him dizzy. He saw the name of the man who had sold Daniel to his parents. Ranta Mustonen had a folder of his own and Daniel felt certain the secrets of his lurid adoption were there to be discovered, but he had gone no further. It could wait, he thought. There was more to life.
"When I was young, I knew I didn't belong," Daniel said. "I'm sorry you feel the same way, but it's not true. We do have a family."
Daniel turned as Bronson approached, his footsteps loud on the pebbles. A week had not been long enough to heal his wounds. His swollen eyes were open, but they were Dracula red. His lips were scabby and peeling, and a round, purple lump sat neatly on his chin.
Despite the damage to his face, Bronson's cheek twitched unabashed and unharmed by his recent assault.
"I've been talking to Bear," he said, pausing to clear his throat. "He said you gave him the last of our money – the finder's fee – for his family's funeral."
"Are you okay with that?" Daniel asked.
Bronson kicked at a pebble. "He also needs somewhere to stay."
"He can stay here. You can too. If you like?"
The screaming from the island stopped and Bronson looked over the lake with a sigh. "Can't. I have to go. Got some business to take care of."
"This party is for you. We have sausages."
Bronson held out his hand. "You saved my life, mate. I'll never forget that, but you screwed me, too. You really did burn that bloody cocaine, didn't you? But why were you late to the Town Moor?"
"I wasn't in a hurry to make a mistake," Daniel said, shaking Bronson's hand.
Eisha hugged Daniel's leg and Princess came with her. "We're a funny family, aren't we?" she asked.
Bronson nodded. "If it hadn't been for them killing Ma Dayton, we might never have joined forces the way we did. Family matters."
Ma Dayton had been the unwitting catalyst sparking their call to war. It didn't mean Daniel liked her, but it did mean he might drop a bunch of flowers off at the cemetery. Without her, they would have been dead in the water.
Daniel had abandoned one family in favour of another; one that was without treachery and the stain of the Dayton name. For all the ruination his new family had wrought, he had defended that family against those who would see them brought low. A haunted man called Bear. A murderous daughter and a true friend. Like his adoptive parents chose him, this was the family he wanted. These people were his choice and that made a difference.
"What's that?" Eisha asked, pointing to the lake.
A murky shape moved through the waves. Daniel watched it bob and sway until it crested the shore.
Angel's drowned corpse lay with her face to the side, the arms stretched above her head. It was her final attempt to crawl from the water. Her blue hair was caked over a porcelain face and waves washed in and out of her open mouth.
A soaked Angry Cat, carried by the currents, nestled into her neck.
"She had to know she wouldn't make it," Daniel said.
"Maybe that was the point." Lifting heavy feet, Bronson gave a giggling Eisha a goodbye kiss, tickling her with his moustache in the way she pretended to hate. "I'll be back with burgers and beer. Promise."
Reaching the driveway, Bronson waved at them and disappeared behind a line of wintery trees.
The waves animated Angel's dead limbs as Eisha tugged on Daniel's trousers. "If Uncle Bronson has gone home, can I have his sausages?"
He smiled and led her to the jetty where Bear was fumbling with the cellophaned meat. Daniel took it from him and quickly undid the packaging. He dropped three sausages on the barbeque. They sizzled instantly, releasing an aroma that made his stomach rumble.
Later, they'd have a bonfire and roast marshmallows while they laughed and swapped jokes. When Eisha was finally tired, Daniel would take her to bed and read her a story until she fell asleep.
Night would fall and Daniel and Bear would burn Angel's body, waiting for Bronson's return. He was the only family member not present, too busy keeping them safe. They'd sit around the jetty, drinking beer and making plans for the future.
Bronson always had a plan.
Chapter Fifty-Three
The tall grass of St Andrew's cemetery had been flattened by a downpour. The sky was snow white and the temperature was in single figures. A man in his twenties, dressed in jeans and t-shirt, cut through the gravestones. He marched toward the bus stop on the other side of the drystone wall. In his hand was a pint glass half full with foamy beer.
"Careful, mate."
The man took a second to focus.
Bronson pointed to an empty grave covered in damp chipboard. "They're everywhere. You don't want to be down there until you have to be."
The man frowned, his head swaying from side to side. "Puff," he said and continued his stagger home to the music of Osborne Road.
Bronson returned his gaze to the grave in front of him, knocking off a crumpled pack of cigarettes resting on the headstone. The mounded earth was speckled with weeds. Soon it would be overrun, consumed and forgotten like every other grave at St Andrew's. Why did the Daytons insist on being buried there? Did they want to be close to the drunks? To the couples unable to wait until they got home? Or was their life so dogged by danger that being forgotten was the ultimate blessing?
"Who's that?"
Lost in thought, Bronson hadn't heard Henry approach. His bald head was hidden under a woollen beanie. He wore a grey winter coat with a scarf descending to his knees. Wiping a drip from his misshapen nose, Henry studied the engraving. "Audrey Dayton. Never heard of her."
"It's Ed's mother." Bronson bit the tip of his thumb. "I mean, it was Ed's mother. It was Ma Dayton."
"Jesus, mate. Why did you want to meet here?"
The fingers of Bronson's hand searched under the cuff of his shirt, teasing out a six-inch nail. "Guess I'm feeling a bit maudlin in my old age."
The nail dropped like a tumbling stalactite and he closed his fist around it.
Henry tugged on his hat, lowering it over his brow. He jutted out his chin as he stared at the grave. "I hated going to that doctors. All those sick people. All the germs. I went in fitter than a butcher's dog and now I've got a cold."
"It worked, though, didn't it?"
"Yeah, but I had to have a reason to be there. I was googling a new disease every day. You ever do a search for haemorrhoids? Why do people insist on taking pictures of them? In the end, the doctor diagnosed me with hypochondria."
While the music of Osborne Road was loud, the cemetery was quiet. Bronson looked over the graves. There were no trespassers, no drunks. The nail grew warm in his hand and he took a firmer hold.
Henry blew his nose into a paper handkerchief. He scrunched it into a ball and tossed it onto Ma Dayton's grave. "I didn't come here for a stroll down memory lane," he said.
"I did it for Daniel," Bronson said, his face turning to the soiled handkerchief. "I knew as soon as a Dayton was killed, no matter who it was, he'd save us all."
"Hey, you didn't tell him, did you? The last thing I need is that maniac coming after me."
The plot next to Ma Dayton was empty, overlaid with boarding. It had been adapted, taking Bronson an entire night of preparation and painkillers, but there'd been no other way. Things hadn't gone exactly as Bronson planned.
"Relax," Bronson said. "No-one knows what you did, but there was a problem."
Henry's troubled face twisted and the nostrils of his broken nose flared. "Sod your problem. I killed the old bird and I wore your stupid skull mask, just like you asked. I wouldn't have been in this position if I hadn't been dumped by the Daytons. I was broke, but I did the job. Now I want my money."
"The cocaine went up in a puff of smoke. I'm as broke as you are. There is no money."
Slamming his heel into the headstone, Henry almost toppled it over. "Well, you better go and shake that Dayton money tree then, you twitchy bastard or I'll be on the ringer with Daniel. I'll tell him what you did. Being broke will be the least of your problems."
"That's what I thought you'd say." Bronson drove the rusty nail up through Henry's chin, embedding it in the roof of his mouth. Blood coursed down his neck, spilling over his scarf. Henry wouldn't be talking to anyone. Bronson struck him in the sternum and Henry lost his footing, falling through the chipboard into the open grave below.
The steel jaws of a mantrap snapped shut on Henry's spine. His body convulsed, his legs kicking out at loose earth. The chain on the trap rattled, but not for long. Henry's eyes rolled up into his head and his body stopped fighting.
"Payment guaranteed," Bronson said, retrieving the spade he'd used to dig the grave two feet deeper than it needed to be. He heaped earth over Henry, reopening the wounds of his stomach. When he finished, the grave was ready for the ne
xt unfortunate soul to be buried and Henry would go unnoticed.
Bronson slid the boarding back into place, sweat stinging his eyes. He inspected his shirt and saw flowers of blood.
Scott was alive and roaming free, but there'd been no word of him. Bronson hoped it would stay that way. Lily had survived a kidnapping, but had lost everything else. Daniel and Eisha were safe and seemingly finished with their stint in exile. It boded well for their future; a future in which Bronson planned to play an instrumental part. They were a dysfunctional family poised to take the city back under Dayton control. Bronson would do anything to protect them.
He walked from St Andrew's, pitching the spade into nearby shrubs. His shoes were wet and he fancied a pint at The Leg of Mutton pub. As he reached the gates, a drunken couple teetered by him, sniggering to themselves as they headed into the cemetery.
Bronson stepped into the city of Newcastle, glorying in its noise and light. "Watch out for those graves," he shouted at the couple. "They'll get you in the end."
Yardbreaker
Shaun Baines
Copyright © Shaun Baines 2019
The right of Shaun Baines to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
First published in 2019 by Sharpe Books.
Chapter One
He left a message on their answering service before slipping his mobile phone into a knee-high sock. They didn't like speaking to him directly. He didn't know why. It seemed unfair, considering all he did for them.
The streets of the Byker Wall were dangerous at night. Initially, the estate had been designed to resettle a community who were perfectly happy where they were, thank you very much. The buildings were multi-coloured. Modular flats and maisonettes slotted together like Tetris bricks. As a result, community cohesion crumbled and most of the original Byker residents moved elsewhere.