‘Been pissing someone else off, have we?’
The wound had stopped hurting while they’d been at Margaret Watkins’ house but Andrew grunted as jolts shot through him. It was more painful than when Kevin Leonard had hit him in the first place.
Iwan poked it twice more. ‘Where’d this come from?’
Andrew tried to struggle but his strength was nothing compared to the other man’s. He was struggling for breath as Iwan’s forearm crushed the top of his ribs.
‘What are you going to do, big man?’ Iwan taunted, ready to poke the injury again. ‘Mr Braithwaite might be tolerating you, but I’m not.’
The pressure increased on Andrew’s chest, leaving him gasping, unable to breathe.
‘Oi!’
Air spilled back into Andrew’s lungs as Iwan turned to where Jenny was standing next to the black car. He twisted between the two of them, grinning. ‘You need a girl to fight your battles?’
Andrew couldn’t reply, coughing as he slumped along the wall. His head was pounding and he felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen and subsequent panic.
‘How about you come and work for a real man, darling?’ Iwan said.
Jenny was returning his stare, unruffled. In a flash she reached through the open car window and snatched the keys from the ignition. Iwan straightened up, unsure what was going on.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he said, taking a small step forward.
Jenny held them up, angling towards the small park across the road.
‘Don’t you—’ Iwan began, but he was already too late as Jenny reared back, grunted slightly, and threw the keys into the hedge that ran alongside the green on the opposite side of the road. There was a metallic jangle and then silence as they lodged somewhere among the mass of twigs, mud and leaves.
Iwan didn’t know where to turn, staring open-mouthed at the hedge, then the car, then Jenny. She was wearing flat black shoes, tights, a pleated dark skirt and a jacket, but didn’t shrink back, even though he towered over her. She stood with one hand on her hip, top lip curled into an amused sneer, daring him. Andrew pulled himself to his feet, still short of breath but far more shocked by what Jenny had done.
‘I’ve seen some nutters in my time but you, darling, are a right psycho.’
Iwan took a step into the road, heading for the hedge but Jenny’s features changed completely. The confidence was gone; the smile changed into aggrieved fury. With a screech, she threw herself forward, leaping onto Iwan’s back. In other circumstances, she would have bounced off, but Iwan had one foot in the road, one on the pavement and was off-balance. At Jenny’s frenzied cry, he stumbled sideways, landing face-down with Jenny on top of him. She was smashing clenched fists into the back of his head, tears streaming down her face as she clattered his ears.
Andrew was so surprised that it took him a few seconds to realise what was going on. He darted across the pavement and grabbed her around the waist, heaving her up and away from the suited man. Her legs flailed as she hissed and spat. He’d never seen her like this before: she was always composed, even standing up to men with knives.
‘Jenny!’ he shouted, trying to calm her.
The entire episode had lasted barely two or three seconds, with Iwan using the kerb to pull himself up. There was a mud streak across his front, with flecks of grit stuck to his breast pockets. He brushed himself down and rubbed his ear, where a crease of blood was beginning to dribble, twisting towards his mouth. He peered at the red on his finger and then stared towards Andrew and Jenny, who had finally stopped kicking. Andrew lowered her to the pavement, but kept his arms across her shoulders, holding her back. Or, if interpreted another way, using her as a human shield.
Iwan touched his face a second time, smearing the blood slightly, before he pointed a thumb towards them. ‘You’re to come to the house tomorrow afternoon. Don’t make me come and find you.’
Andrew didn’t reply, waiting until Iwan had his head buried in the hedge before grasping Jenny’s hand and leading her back to the car. She was panting, sweat streaming from her forehead, despite the cold. He opened the passenger’s door and she climbed inside, not looking at him, eyes unfocused.
By the time he’d started the engine, Jenny hadn’t moved, so Andrew reached across and pulled the seatbelt across her, clicking it into place. Iwan was still searching for his keys in the hedge as Andrew drove past, neither of them bothering to look at each other. He reached the end of the street and pulled onto the main road, driving as carefully as he could as the traffic started to back up.
‘Jenny.’
No reply.
‘Jen.’
Nothing.
‘What was that about? You could’ve been hurt.’
Andrew glanced at his own reflection in the mirror, remembering she’d only intervened because he was getting the shite kicked out of him. Again. The small gash on his head had become a larger, rounded wound. It wasn’t bleeding but there would be one hell of a bruise.
‘Jen.’
‘I’m not a psycho.’
‘I don’t think you are. It was just something he said. He doesn’t even know you.’
No reply.
‘Jen.’
‘What?’
‘No one thinks you are.’
She shook her head slightly, still not shifting her unblinking gaze from the road, her lips barely moving. ‘I’m not a psycho.’
Thirty-Three
Tuesday
Jenny was deliberately not looking in Andrew’s direction. She was staring at the road, the lines of students, the arriving and departing coaches – anything but him.
‘You can stop watching me,’ she said, not harshly but with a distinct edge.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
She started playing with a fingernail. ‘No.’
This was the first time Andrew could remember picking her up in the morning when she’d not been eating. Usually, there were slices of toast on the go, cereal bars, biscuits, bars of chocolate, occasionally an apple. When she was in the office, the first thing she normally did was stick the kettle on and then raid her drawer full of biscuits and cakes. She ate for large parts of the day, showing off a superhuman appetite and metabolism. Not only had she failed to eat for the entire half-hour journey, she’d barely spoken. He doubted she’d left her house since he dropped her off the previous afternoon.
‘I’m not a psycho,’ she said softly.
‘I don’t think you are.’
‘I don’t like being called one.’
‘I understand.’
The morning was cool, but, compared to recent weeks, it was positively tropical – at least one or two degrees above freezing with no wind and barely even a hint of rain. The sky was still washed with a murky greyness but that was normal. Anyone who spent any time in Manchester could distinguish between rain-grey and gloomy-grey. This was distinctly gloomy. Newborn Mancunians were issued a colour chart comprised entirely of shades of monochrome, helping them to learn the names of various greys long before they could start counting.
Andrew and Jenny were sitting on a wall watching groups of young people pass by on their way to school. If he had been by himself, there would have probably been a catch-the-paedo riot squad deployed by now, but nobody was paying the pair of them any attention.
‘Thank you for being concerned,’ Jenny whispered.
‘If it wasn’t for you, I’d have had my arse kicked by Iwan.’
She smiled slightly. ‘You had him right where you wanted him.’
A giggle, which was nice, even if she was joking about him getting beaten up.
‘There’s no way you can come along this afternoon,’ Andrew said.
‘I know.’
He had expected more of an argument and had spent almost an hour in bed that morning rehearsing the best way to tell her that, though he valued her input, he didn’t want her anywhere near Braithwaite’s house.
‘What are you going to tell him?’ sh
e asked.
‘That depends what we find out when we go to the university.’
A group of girls traipsed past, skirts around arses, blouses a size too small: all make-up and ‘y’know’s.
‘… well I had five Valentine’s cards this morning but I think one of them’s from that Ian kid.’
‘Eew. That is soooo gross.’
‘I know. I was all, like, this is totally weirdsville. Just ’cuz he lives on my road, he thinks we should totally be together. As if I’d ever go out with a ginger. It’s, like, totally disgusting, and that. It might be catching.’
‘Did you get anything from Stephen?’
They rounded the corner, denying Andrew the chance of finding out if the ginger-hating mini-Hitler had a card from Stephen. He realised he was rubbing the top of his head and stopped himself. The past week had gone so badly that even teenage girls he didn’t know were giving him a hard time as he listened in to their conversations.
Jenny laughed quietly. ‘They’re why I didn’t have many friends at school.’
Andrew sat up straighter as he caught sight of the reason they were there. Jenny spotted it too, brushing her skirt down and hopping into a standing position.
Edie Watkins was walking along the street with two identikit lads, each with spiky dark hair and black rucksacks. The minute they were out of school, it’d be nipple ring-this, and emo tattoo-that. The other girl with them had long black hair, a clown-load of make-up and was wearing a skirt that was ripped at the bottom. Edie stood out because she looked like she’d barely made an effort: uncrumpled school uniform, straight blonde hair and dark rucksack covered in purple and green badges slung over her back.
Andrew caught her eye from a distance but she looked away instantly. It was only when she was level with Andrew and Jenny that she stopped again, telling her friends that she had to tie her lace and that she’d catch them up. They shrugged and disappeared around the corner.
The moment they were gone, Edie stood, looking between Andrew and Jenny. ‘What do you want?’
‘How old are you?’ Jenny asked.
‘What’s it to you?’ Edie snapped.
Jenny patted the wall and sat. Edie glared at her but did the same anyway.
‘You know what this looks like, don’t you?’ she said, nodding at Andrew. ‘I’m sixteen – sixteen – and you’re a grown man.’
Jenny talked across her. ‘You’re having a conversation with me, Edie.’
The teenager stood again. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Fine, we’ll have this conversation with your mum.’
The two young women stared at each, neither wanting to give in, until Edie eventually plonked herself back on the wall next to Jenny.
‘Who was the lad?’ Jenny asked.
‘What lad?’
‘The one with the army coat and stupid sunglasses. And who was driving?’
Edie started to stand again. ‘I don’t know what you’re—’
Jenny gripped her arm and pulled her back. ‘Sit! We know, all right? We saw your rucksack on the back seat of the car. The purple and green badges were quite the giveaway. We’ve come to talk to you before we do anything else. If you want to be Miss Know-It-All, then walk away and we’ll have to tell other people. If you want to have a conversation, then stop messing around.’
Edie took her phone from her pocket and pressed the screen. ‘I’ve got to be at registration in fifteen minutes.’
‘So hurry up. What are you going to do with the six thousand you stole from your mum?’
‘What six thousand?’
Jenny leant forward. ‘Really?’
Edie threw her hands up. ‘Fine. It was supposed to be a joke, to teach her a lesson, but it all… got a bit out of hand.’
‘So tell us.’
Edie sighed. She dropped her bag on the floor and stared at her feet. ‘There was this big cat show last month in Brighton. Mum and Dad went down on the Friday evening, leaving me alone for the weekend. When I was younger, they’d make me go but I started causing problems to get out of it. I’d moan the whole way down, or spend ages talking on my phone, that sort of thing. You’d do the same if it was you – it’s so boring, just lines and lines of bloody cats parading up and down. Then some old bag picks a winner and everyone spends the next six weeks moaning about the decision until the next competition. It’s ridiculous.’
‘So you had the house to yourself while they were in Brighton?’
‘Right, and I invited a few mates over.’ She pointed in the direction in which her friends had gone. ‘There were a few from school, plus a few older lads we know. Nothing stupid but we had some cider and a bottle of vodka. We were mucking about.’ She nodded at Jenny. ‘You know what it’s like, yeah?’
Jenny nodded, though Andrew wasn’t convinced that she did.
‘It wasn’t actually that messy. We had this party round Frankie’s house last year that got well out of hand. Jessie was sick everywhere, then Tia got grounded because she was really pissed and called her mum a bitch. Frankie’s parents went mental, so we kinda learned our lesson. You still want to get shitfaced, just not so that our parents kick off.’
The way she explained it made it sound perfectly logical.
‘Anyway, we were mucking around and Frankie was like, “Your mum and dad love your cats more than you.” I just remember throwing this cup of vodka over him but then I was in the toilet later on and…’ She paused, gulping and licking her lips. ‘Well, he’s right, isn’t he? They do.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Andrew said, speaking for the first time and getting a scowl for his efforts.
Edie turned back to Jenny. ‘We’d been drinking and Frankie was like, “Why don’t we do something about it?”’
Jenny nodded. ‘You could have just talked to her.’
‘Have you ever tried having a conversation with my mum? Everything she says revolves around those cats. That’s if she’s not taking Dad’s head off, or knocking things over.’ She checked her phone again. ‘A few years ago, I used to be interested in dancing.’ She laughed humourlessly. ‘I have no idea what I was thinking. The only people at school into dancing, drama and all that shite are the hippy lot always banging on about government-this, or let’s legalise drugs-that. You should hear them. Anyway, I was twelve or thirteen and one of my old friends, Katie, got me into it before she moved away last year. We’d practise in her garage and had this whole routine worked out. There was this talent competition at the school one Saturday and we wanted to enter. It was all right, just a bit of fun, a bit lame now, but we finished second. There were loads of kids there and Katie’s mum was at the back taking pictures. Wanna know where my mum was?’
She didn’t wait for an answer.
‘Bristol. She and Dad had pissed off for some cat competition and didn’t return until the Sunday evening. When she got back, what do you think she said? Do you think it was, “How was your competition, Edie?” or, “Sorry I didn’t call, Edie, what was it like staying at Katie’s house?” Or do you think it was, “Elvis and Presley were robbed by some judges who voted for a different cat”?’
She threw her hands up, jabbing a finger in Jenny’s direction. ‘You want to know where her six grand is, well, bollocks to her. I earned that money by sitting at home by myself while they pissed off around the country doting on those bloody things. When I wanted new shoes to dance in, she said they couldn’t afford it – but when she wanted to get security trackers for the cats, they miraculously found the money.’
Jenny had recovered her usual composure, speaking reassuringly. ‘It’s still stealing, Edie.’
‘Too right it is. I’m not giving that money back. If you want to report me to the police, then do it. If you want to tell my mum, do that too. I couldn’t care less. I’ll tell everyone who wants to know what I’ve had to put up with.’
Jenny’s gaze flickered to Andrew, and he knew this was a call he’d have to make. He wanted to be the adult, to stamp his foot and
say that stealing, blackmail, kidnapping, whatever anyone wanted to call it was wrong, but, if anything, he was on Edie’s side. He’d taken plenty of grief over the past week but it sounded like Edie had been putting up with it for most of her life.
‘How did you get the tracking chips out?’ Andrew asked.
Edie turned to him, frowning. The flow of students passing the wall had become a trickle as it was almost time for the school day to begin.
‘I thought you didn’t care?’ Andrew added.
‘I don’t, but…’ Edie swallowed, staring back at her shoes. ‘Look, I’ve got exams in a few months. It started as a stupid idea when we’d been drinking and got a bit out of hand.’
‘So how did you get the tracking chips out?’
She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t me. Frankie knows this girl who’s training to be a vet at Manchester Uni. He reckoned she owed him a favour, so she did it. It was all really sterile, with gloves and cloths and… I don’t know, whatever else vets are supposed to use. She knew what she was on about, plus she wasn’t going to say anything afterwards, because she’d get chucked off her course.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because I’m interested.’
She huffed and stamped her feet almost cartoon-style. ‘There’s this lad called Ricky who’s got a thing for me. He’s a couple of years older and lives down the road from Frankie. I’d only met him a few times.’ She turned to Jenny. ‘You know what it’s like when a lad keeps asking you out.’ Back to Andrew. ‘I told him that if he helped us look after Elvis and Presley, I’d go out with him.’ Andrew opened his mouth but she cut him off with a frown. ‘Just go out. That’s all.’
‘I wasn’t going to ask that.’
She wasn’t convinced. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time but we’d not really thought it through. Ricky couldn’t let Elvis and Presley out of his house in case they ran away, or someone saw them, but they kept shitting everywhere because they were stressed out and he didn’t really know how to look after them. I went round each evening to make sure they were fed. They weren’t mistreated, or anything. They just wanted to get outside. At first, we were going to leave them on the driveway in those carriers for Mum to find, figuring she’d learned her lesson, but then you got involved.’ She checked her phone again and pushed herself up from the wall. ‘I’ve got to get going. I’m going to be late and I’m already on a warning.’
Something Hidden: A totally unputdownable murder mystery novel (Andrew Hunter Book 2) Page 22