Single Mother

by Samantha Hayes

  Mel takes his lead and goes up to the window the other side of the door, also shielding her eyes with her hands as she stares in.

  ‘Christ…’ she half cries and half whispers, clamping a hand over her mouth as she quickly ducks down. She glares up at Tom, her eyes wide, her forehead crumpled into a frown. Forcing herself not to scream out, she slowly lowers her hand and frantically mouths Billy over and over, while jabbing her finger towards the window.

  Forty-Eight

  Mel hardly dares move, her thighs burning from the strain of crouching down below the window. Tom has pressed himself flat against the wall, and Angus is down low beside Mel.

  ‘Did you see Kate?’ Tom whispers, barely audible.

  ‘No,’ Mel mouths back, wishing to God she had. She’d be in there by now if that was the case. ‘Billy was… he was acting weird,’ she tries to tell Tom but, judging by his expression, he can’t quite hear her. ‘He was on the floor.’

  ‘Injured?’ Tom whispers back.

  Mel shakes her head. ‘No. He was getting up, but slowly.’

  Tom looks puzzled. ‘We should go in. Kate must be in there somewhere.’

  ‘He won’t hurt her,’ Mel says, her voice getting louder. ‘But he will hurt us.’ Mel covers her mouth briefly. ‘He carries a knife, Tom.’

  Tom gives a brief nod. ‘No knocking,’ he whispers. ‘We surprise him. I’ll distract him while you two go and find Kate. Get her out as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Sshh,’ Angus says, putting his finger over his lips as Tom’s voice creeps louder.

  Tom nods. ‘The place isn’t big,’ he whispers. ‘Two-up, two-down. Ready?’

  Mel gives a nod, glancing at Angus. ‘Thanks, bro,’ she says, squeezing his arm. A second later, Tom is in front of the door slowly turning the handle. When it doesn’t give, he takes a step back and raises his right leg, kicking hard at it with the sole of his foot. The old, panelled door judders and gives a little but doesn’t open, so Tom launches his foot several more times, the thud of his boot and the splintering wood sending a pigeon clapping out of a nearby tree.

  He grunts as he kicks for a fourth time, the door finally giving and slamming inwards, bouncing back off the wall. He grabs it, heading inside with Mel following. Her heart feels as though it’s in her mouth, blood pounding through her ears.

  ‘Oi…’ comes a voice.

  ‘Billy!’ Mel cries out, feeling sickened to see him. ‘Where the hell is Kate? What have you done with her?’

  For a second, Billy is motionless – half stooping behind a grimy old armchair positioned beside a rusty stove, his arms out ready for action. His eyes have the same intense look in them as when he’d done a few lines of cocaine – his pupils huge, the whites bloodshot – his stare darting about as he sizes them up, figures out the situation.

  ‘Shut up!’ he hisses, his expression fearful. The only time Mel has seen him look scared.

  ‘All right, mate,’ Tom says. ‘No need for that. Let’s calm down and have a little chat, shall we?’ He approaches Billy, towering over him, his strong arms raised in front of him for defence. But Billy remains frozen, standing behind the chair, looking between Tom, Mel and the other side of the room, a panicked look on his face.

  Remembering what Tom said, Mel scans around the run-down room looking for Kate. It’s dim inside but there’s no sign of her in here, not even any of her belongings. And there’s no sign of Angus either. He can’t have followed them inside.

  Aware of another room off to her left, Mel takes her chance while Billy is distracted and turns to go through the doorway, her body alight from adrenaline.

  And then she screams – a scream so loud, so piercing and all-consuming, at first she doesn’t even realise it’s come from her.

  ‘Ka-aaate!’ she shrieks, clutching her temples as she sees her daughter.

  Mel is aware of a scuffle going on between Tom and Billy behind her, the scrape of the chair being dragged across the room. But she can’t take her eyes off Kate standing in the doorway, white as a sheet, her head tipped back with an arm wrapped tightly around her neck and the face of a grotesque and angry-looking man leering down from behind her – Donald Bray.

  ‘Let her go!’ she shrieks, launching herself closer. She feels something tug on her sweatshirt – Tom trying to grab her – but she pulls away. It’s only when she sees the knife at Kate’s throat that she skids to a stop, raising the palms of her hands as she backs off.

  ‘Don’t hurt her,’ Mel pleads, forcing her legs not to buckle. ‘I’ll do anything you say, just don’t hurt my daughter.’ She catches Kate’s eye then – a terrified stare as though the fear is being squeezed out of her by the monster’s tight grip around her throat.

  ‘Seems that Mummy’s as much a fucking nuisance as this little darling, eh?’ Bray says, the croak in his voice belying his bulky stature.

  Mel feels sick at the sight of him touching her daughter.

  Suddenly, Kate jerks forward as she’s shoved from behind with a knee in her back.

  ‘You ain’t nearly as pretty as this little one, though,’ he says to Mel, pushing his big, weathered face close to Kate’s, nuzzling her pale neck.

  Kate lets out a little whimper, her entire body trembling. ‘Mum…’ she bleats, choking back a sob.

  ‘It’s OK, love. Just do as he says,’ Mel says, screwing up her eyes for a second.

  Kate gives a few tight nods, her breath fast and shallow.

  ‘Can’t a man be left alone to enjoy what God’s sent him?’ Bray says, exposing a rack of yellowed teeth. His lower jaw and top lip are covered in a layer of patchy grey stubble. His head is mainly bald apart from white, greasy strands around his ears and his pate is waxy and liver-spotted. As he approaches, Mel catches the tang of a sickly, unwashed smell. And the stink of stale urine.

  ‘Let her go,’ Tom says, taking a few steps closer.

  Bray tips his head back and laughs, tightening his grip around Kate’s neck. She lets out another whimper, which turns into a cough.

  ‘She can’t breathe,’ Mel says, desperate. ‘Just let her go. She’s done nothing to you.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Bray growls, shaking his head.

  ‘You fucking arsehole,’ Billy spits, dancing forward. Mel has never been so relieved to see Billy wielding his flick knife as he produces it seemingly from nowhere, snapping it open. He brandishes the six-inch pointed blade at Bray from across the room.

  ‘If it’s tit for tat you want,’ Bray says, laughing, twitching the fishing knife over Kate’s skin, ‘then go right ahead. Silly girl needs teaching a lesson. And I was about to learn her something real nice.’ He spits on the floor, a blob of yellow phlegm hitting Kate’s Adidas trainer. ‘Before I was interrupted by him.’ Bray jabs a finger in Billy’s direction.

  He came to save Kate, not kidnap her, Mel thinks.

  ‘And now you’re disturbing me as well,’ he growls, glaring at her and Tom.

  ‘Mummy…’ Kate whimpers. Mel tries to reassure her with a look, but she daren’t say anything. If it wasn’t for that knife, Mel would have hurled herself at Bray – bitten, kicked, scratched and punched him until Kate was free.

  ‘Only person needs teaching a lesson is you, you fuckwit,’ Billy says, raising his knife and lunging forward.

  ‘Billy, no!’ Mel cries, launching herself between Billy and Bray. ‘Don’t be so stupid,’ she says, suddenly feeling a sharp pain in her arm as the knife catches her. She flinches and when she looks down, she sees a thin line of blood oozing from her skin, but she ignores it. It’s not deep.

  ‘If you let Kate go, Mr Bray, we’ll leave you in peace as if none of this ever happened, OK?’ Mel says, trying to reason with him.

  Donald Bray is shaking his head and laughing before Mel has even finished speaking. ‘Thing is, plenty already has happened. This little miss saw fit to make my business her business.’ He tightens his grip, hoisting Kate up by her throat, forcing her to stand on tiptoe. Her hands
come up to Bray’s arm, trying to loosen it as her eyes bulge.

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Tom says. ‘She’s an innocent kid. Just let her go.’ Mel sees the whites of Tom’s knuckles as he forces himself not to take a swing at Bray. But that blade is centimetres away from Kate’s main artery. It’d be over in seconds.

  ‘So she has to take her punishment, like her stupid grandmother had to.’ Another laugh, ending with a phlegmy cough.

  Mel’s mind races. Grandmother… Does he mean Miss Sarah?

  ‘She’s told me all about your little family tree,’ Bray says to Mel, smirking. ‘Daughter of mine…’ He flashes Mel a yellow-stained grin, making her hold back a retch. Dear God, don’t let him be my father, Kate’s grandfather, she prays to herself.

  ‘What… what are you talking about?’ Mel says. It doesn’t even sound like her voice any more.

  Bray grimaces, enjoying the fear he’s causing. He kisses Kate on the head – a slow, lingering nip with his crusty mouth, her hair getting caught in the moisture as he pulls away. He licks his lips.

  ‘Yummy,’ he says, a contented look on his face. ‘Miss Sarah was a pretty little thing, too. Looked a lot like this one,’ he continues, jolting Kate. ‘But when they get old, fourteen, fifteen, they lose their sweetness.’

  ‘You bastard…’ Mel whispers, absorbing what he means.

  ‘If Joyce hadn’t turned so miserable, and done what I wanted, then I wouldn’t have needed her daughter, would I?’ he says, drool visible on his lips. ‘Sarah, Sarah, Sarah…’ he says, almost a dreamy look in his saggy old eyes. ‘Such a little miss. My little Miss Sarah.’ He sighs and laughs. ‘She hated me calling her that.’

  ‘You disgusting piece of low-life shit,’ Mel hisses. ‘Let Kate go immediately, or I’m—’

  ‘Miss Kate, you mean,’ Bray says, tilting his head down to her again. ‘My little Miss Kate.’

  ‘She’s not yours, you fucking monster,’ Billy spits, stepping closer. Mel knows he and Tom could easily overpower Bray if it wasn’t for the knife at Kate’s throat.

  ‘Billy, steady,’ Mel says, not taking her eyes off Kate, holding up a hand in his direction to halt him. But then all eyes are on her as her phone rings, the shrill ringtone cutting through the tension. Instinctively, Mel whips her phone from her back pocket, looking at the screen.

  PC Gordon.

  ‘Leave it!’ Bray yells. ‘Drop it or she gets it,’ he snarls, twitching the knife again.

  Reluctantly, Mel puts her phone back in her pocket and, after a few more rings, it silences. Then it beeps with a voicemail.

  ‘The police are on their way,’ Tom says, his voice calm and reasonable. ‘Either you let Kate go now and we explain this was all just a misunderstanding, or you face arrest for kidnapping.’

  ‘Or for murder,’ Bray says, laughing, a demented look in his eyes.

  Kate whimpers, her little sobs joining together into one long wail as the tears come. Her legs shift about and she tugs at the skirt of her denim dress, a pained look on her face. ‘Mu… Mummy…’ she cries.

  Bray’s face suddenly turns sour, shocked, as he looks down, trying to work out what is happening, his arm changing position around Kate’s neck.

  Mel tracks his stare, realising before he does.

  ‘You disgusting brat,’ he spits, seeing the puddle of wee pooling around his feet, the wetness soaking down his grimy trousers. He shoves Kate over towards the fireplace, still within his grip. ‘Stop it now!’

  But the spattering continues as Kate can’t help herself. He shoves her again but she stumbles, causing Bray to turn his back as he lurches sideways, trying to grab her and rebalance himself.

  It’s then that Mel spots the iron poker propped against the side of the chimney breast. Without thinking or considering the consequences, she lunges for it, grabbing it with both hands. While Bray’s back is still turned, him still cussing Kate for wetting herself, Mel raises it high in the air.

  All she sees is the spotted, waxy dome of the old man’s skull as she brings the poker down as hard as she can on the back of his head, grunting from the effort. Nothing else in the world exists in that moment, except inflicting as much pain and damage as she can. She knows she only has one chance.

  There’s a loud crack of bone.

  Followed by silence. Everything frozen.

  Bray wobbles, his arm slackening around Kate’s neck.

  His feet sidestep and stagger and his arms flail, looking for something to grab onto.

  That’s when Mel delivers another, even harder blow to Bray’s head. Blood pours out, dribbling down his neck.

  ‘You bastard,’ she grunts, everything fuelled by adrenaline. As Bray topples, releasing Kate, Tom makes a move and grabs hold of her, pulling her to safety. He scoops her up in his arms and rushes outside, ducking his head to get under the old door frame.

  The old man lies on the floor, his head close to the hearth, blood trickling from the blow to his head. And then Mel sees even more blood – a large pool of it – dark red and thick, spilling out from beneath his prone body.

  ‘Shit,’ she cries, realising what’s happened as she clutches her head in shock.

  ‘He’s fucking gone and fallen on his own knife,’ Billy says, a satisfied look on his face, roughly pushing the old man’s torso with his foot. When he doesn’t move, he bends down and feels for a pulse under his saggy jaw, his fingers delving in the grey bristle. He looks up at Mel and shrugs, shaking his head as he holds a finger under Bray’s nose for a moment.

  ‘Think he’s dead,’ he says, standing up.

  ‘Oh God, oh God… no…’

  ‘Stop,’ Billy says, coming up to her and taking her in his arms. ‘You saved Kate.’

  For a moment, Mel tenses at Billy’s touch, but then she allows herself to be comforted, pressed close to him, the pair of them glancing out of the window at their daughter being looked after by Tom as he leads her over to his pick-up truck.

  ‘But… but I killed him,’ she says, her voice spluttering through the tears. ‘I… I didn’t mean to… I… I—’

  ‘No,’ Billy says firmly, staring into her eyes. ‘No, Mel, you did not kill him, OK?’ He picks up the poker then, wiping the handle over and over on his T-shirt before putting his own hands all over it. He raises his eyebrows and gives her a stern look, checking she understands, just as they hear the sound of police sirens.

  Forty-Nine

  Kate refuses to get out of the pick-up truck. She sits in the front, huddled up in Tom’s fleece, shivering. Two police cars sit diagonally blocking the entrance to Bray’s yard. When he’d got Kate outside to safety, it was Tom who’d called 999.

  ‘We were on our way here to check things out anyway,’ PC Gordon explains to the group. ‘After the sighting of Kate last night, and then your later message about Donald Bray, well, he’s been on our radar for a while. Then we got the emergency call-out.’

  ‘He… he had her… Bray had Kate,’ Mel explains, breathless and numb as she sits in the passenger seat squashed in with Kate, her arms wrapped tightly around her daughter. The pair of them are shaking, the pick-up’s door wide open as PC Gordon assesses the situation. The other officers had gone straight inside the house after Tom had briefed them.

  A male officer comes out of the house, ducking his head and with a grim look on his face.

  ‘Is everyone accounted for?’ he asks. ‘We’re going to need an ambulance, a doctor. Fatal stabbing inside,’ he directs at PC Gordon.

  She takes a breath and nods, stepping away to talk into her radio. With the flashing lights, the four or five uniformed police officers swarming around as well as what’s just happened playing out in her mind, Mel feels light-headed from shock and adrenaline.

  ‘Where’s Angus?’ someone says. She looks up. It’s Tom – Tom, who pulled her daughter to safety. Tom, who risked his own life by coming with her today, sticking by her.

  ‘I don’t think he came inside the house,’ Mel says, rem
embering how she looked for him. ‘He was with us and then… then he wasn’t.’

  ‘I didn’t see no one else,’ Billy says, leaning on the side of the truck. ‘I’d not long been here when you turned up. I was all set to pounce on the fucker but… well, I was disturbed, wasn’t I?’ He rolls his eyes.

  ‘How did you even know where Kate was, Billy?’ Mel asks. ‘And what are you even doing in Halebury?’ She has so many questions, she doesn’t know where to start. ‘I… I thought you’d kidnapped Kate. I thought you’d taken her from me.’ Compared to the evil she’s just witnessed in Bray, she’s almost pleased that Billy is here.

  ‘Long story, innit, Katie?’ he says, winking at her. ‘I got out the nick a few weeks back, and first thing I wanted to do was see my girl. So we got talking a couple of times. Outside her old school and the like. I knew you wouldn’t approve, Mel, so I did it on the sly.’ He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other, almost looking remorseful. ‘But no way was I going to take her from you. She needs her mum. Prison changes a man, like.’ He looks away briefly.

  Mel doesn’t know what to say. She doubts very much Billy has changed.

  ‘I didn’t have much, but I gave her some money and a couple of treats. I was trying to make up for being a shit dad. I know it’s not much. When you moved away, I couldn’t stand not to see her any more, so I came down a few days ago to see how my girl was doing. Wasn’t going to bother you, Mel,’ he says. ‘Hand on heart, that’s the truth.’

  ‘And the phone you gave her?’ Mel says, her voice deadpan, knowing Billy is a master excuse-maker.

  He shakes his head and sighs. ‘All right, I shouldn’t have nicked it for her,’ he says. ‘But I wanted to keep in touch, like. I tried to call you loads of times to ask permission, but when you didn’t pick up, I got cold feet, figured you hated me. I knew you wouldn’t allow her to contact me on her regular phone, so that’s why I gave her another one. In case she ever needed me or got in trouble.’