Hate

by Alan Gibbons

  ‘Oh, Mum, don’t.’

  ‘That policeman, he said we’d got justice. What does that mean? Those boys will go to prison, hopefully for a very long time, but they’ll be alive. They will watch TV, play their computer games, have access to a gym. Their parents can visit them, hold them. I will never hold Rosie ever again.’

  And I couldn’t help myself. I had to say it.

  ‘Mum, I’m still here. You can hold me.’

  So she did. We sat together for a long time that evening, until the sun dimmed and it was time to cook the tea.

  Saturday, 5 April 2014

  ‘I feel a bit of a fraud,’ I confessed as Jess’s dad pulled away. ‘I didn’t get any of those sponsor sheets filled in. I’m not walking for charity. I’m . . . just walking.’

  Oli put his arm round my shoulder.

  ‘Eve, just walking is good. I think people understand you’ve had other things on your mind.’

  ‘Has everybody been talking about the verdict at school?’

  ‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about it. Everybody’s on your side.’

  ‘Really? Everybody?’

  ‘Yes, the usual suspects apart. You’re among friends here. Nobody’s going to say anything you don’t want to hear. Nobody’s going to hurt your feelings.’

  Jess gave me a hug.

  ‘Oli’s right. Enjoy the day.’

  There was quite a crowd. They were squatting on rocks, lounging on the grass, tying laces, swigging from water bottles. They were wearing a collection of boots, trainers, jeans, leggings and cagoules. There were bobble hats of every description, from the football-branded to the Norwegian ones with the tassles. Some of the walkers were flapping at the flies that were weaving lazy patterns in the air. Rehana and Hannah jogged over the moment they saw us.

  ‘Hi guys. When do we set off?’

  ‘Ask Mrs Rawmarsh. She’s the boss.’

  So I did. She was lacing her boots. She looked different away from school, younger, more like us really.

  ‘Mrs Rawmarsh, when do we start?’

  ‘Any minute,’ she said, as Ian Wilkinson scrambled out of his mum’s car. ‘Here’s our final walker. Hurry up, Wilko, we’re ready to roll.’

  I turned to relay the news to the others. Simultaneously, Mrs Rawmarsh caught my arm. She wanted a word before we set off. This was getting repetitive. Suddenly I was the girl with a thousand agony aunts.

  ‘Oh, Eve.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’re not in school. I’m here on behalf of the trust, so today it’s Joanna.’ She gave a half-smile. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  We climbed the steep gradient to the first summit. There was a sweeping view of the cobalt-blue reservoirs and the emerald hills. Instinctively I found myself gazing into the distance, half expecting to see Rosie standing there. She was gone, of course, but she would always be there, as somebody I loved and as somebody to whom I would always be compared. She would be there because I wasn’t her and I never would be. She was there because she was no longer a sister or a daughter, but an icon, the murdered innocent.

  Images stuttered through my mind, of those endless hours in the hospital, of the night of the talent contest, of the trial and the verdict. It was all in the past, but where was the future?

  We trekked for two and a half hours through the wild, rugged country. I didn’t think it was possible to leave death and retribution behind, but I surrendered to its beauty and discovered a kind of unexpected quiet. I found myself next to Oli.

  ‘You’re being really brave, Eve,’ he said.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘What you did the night of the talent competition.’

  ‘You think that was brave? Everybody else thinks I went crazy.’

  ‘No, they don’t. It takes guts to take a stand.’

  ‘Like you did.’

  He smiled.

  ‘Suddenly everybody’s making a statement.’ He punched the air playfully. ‘Go us.’

  Reaching the top of the rise, I nudged him in the ribs.

  ‘Race you.’

  I started to hurtle down the steep path on the other side, yelling for all I was worth, screaming out all the anxiety and tension that had been building and building for months. I was almost out of control. Any moment I would pitch forward and crash down onto the sharp, uneven stones. I didn’t care. Damn the stones. Damn pain and blood and death. Oli caught up and grabbed my arm.

  ‘You watch you don’t break your neck,’ he panted.

  I turned.

  ‘You take care of yourself too, Oli.’

  He frowned.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Connor. His father is . . .’

  ‘A thug. I know. Jess told me.’

  ‘Just be careful, yeah?’

  ‘You got it.’

  At that moment Jess appeared, wriggled between us and linked our arms.

  ‘Hey, my two favourite people.’

  The sun came out and fell on our faces and far in the distance, barely there at all, was an inky storm cloud.

  BURIED ALIVE

  Wednesday, 9 April 2014

  Anthony leaned forward, head resting against the wall, palms splayed like insects.

  ‘Do I really have to go?’

  ‘Yes, you have to. We both have to. We are going to walk in there with our heads held high. We are going to parents’ evening because we can’t let this dominate the rest of our lives. I will not allow that to happen. I know what it’s like to be scared, Anthony.’

  She dug her nails into his arm.

  ‘Don’t look away. You’re going to hear this. I understand fear. That’s what you felt that night, fear. You were paralysed by it.’

  ‘Maybe. That’s not how it felt.’

  ‘That’s how it was. Anthony, you are a sensitive, intelligent lad. You’re not like those animals. Life has to begin again. We don’t deserve this. It’s as if we are buried alive in the coffin along with Rosie Morrison. Please come with me tonight.’

  It took him some time to recover himself. Finally, he nodded.

  ‘OK, I’ll go.’

  I felt Mum stiffen.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Anthony Broad and that mother of his.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘Let’s try to forget about them. This evening is about my brave, intelligent daughter. Who’s first?’

  ‘Mrs Desai. English is my best subject.’

  Oli came over wearing the biggest smile I had ever seen. He was enjoying his role as an ambassador for the school. It made him skittish. He acted very gallantly, making a sweep with his right arm.

  ‘This way, ladies. May I say how lovely you both look this evening?’

  I laughed. ‘Oli, stop it.’

  ‘Hey, stop fighting with my brother,’ Jess called, hurrying across. ‘That’s my job.’ She took my arm. ‘Who’ve you seen so far?’

  ‘Nobody. We’re on our way to Mrs Desai. What about you?’

  ‘Mr Jackson says I only exercise one part of my body in PE lessons and that’s my mouth! What do you think of that?’

  ‘Pretty accurate, really.’

  She pretended to swat me.

  ‘I’ll leave you to your glowing report from Mrs Desai.’

  She had Mum’s attention.

  ‘So I’m going to hear nice things?’

  ‘Are you kidding? Mrs Desai thinks the sun shines out of Eve.’

  ‘She does not!’

  ‘You get the best marks in the whole year.’

  Mum stared.

  ‘You never told me that. I knew you were bright, but . . . Why do I have to hear this second hand?’

  I shrugged and steered her towards Mrs Desai.

  ‘You’ve got a good friend there,’ Mum said. ‘I’ve always liked Jess. And Oli is such a lovely lad.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘They’re the best.’

  Anthony and his mother were almost out of the door when Mrs Rawmarsh caught up with them.

  �
��Mrs Broad? Do you mind if we have a brief word?’

  Anthony saw his mother look around the rapidly emptying hall. Oli Hampshire and Freya Morton were starting to stack the chairs and tidy up. He noticed Jess waving goodbye to her brother as she left with her parents. He ached to make things right with her, but he knew that was impossible. He found himself eavesdropping on the conversation.

  ‘I wish you were coming back with us in the car,’ Mrs Hampshire was saying.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’m fine on my scooter.’

  ‘Just be careful. Drivers don’t always consider motorcyclists.’

  Some of the teachers were packing away ready to go. Mrs Rawmarsh was still trying to persuade Anthony’s mother to spare her five minutes.

  ‘I don’t want to miss our bus. They’re every half hour at this time.’

  ‘Just a couple of minutes, Mrs Broad. Please.’

  ‘Is Anthony in some kind of trouble?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. I thought I’d touch base, see how you were both getting on.’ She checked that nobody was listening. ‘That scene at the talent show must have been quite distressing for you.’ She gave the almost deserted hall another glance. ‘Listen, I waited until the very end. I just wanted to know you were both OK.’

  ‘We’ll get through it.’

  ‘Is that how you feel too, Anthony? Things will get better. I promise.’

  Anthony shrugged. By the time they stepped outside, the last cars were queuing to turn on to the main road. Headlights swept the darkness as they pulled out of the school grounds.

  ‘That was nice of her.’

  Anthony noticed Connor Hughes over by the bike sheds. He didn’t remember seeing him at parents’ evening.

  ‘Anthony, are you listening to me? I said, that was nice of Mrs Rawmarsh.’

  ‘Yes, she’s all right.’

  Connor saw him looking and turned away. Anthony frowned.

  ‘Come on, we’ll have to hurry to get that bus.’

  They started to jog. That’s when he noticed the white van parked across the road from the main gates. The driver was looking towards the school. A tattooed arm rested in the open window. There was another man in the passenger seat. The way they kept glancing back into the van suggested that there was at least one more person with them.

  ‘Anthony! It’s coming.’

  He didn’t move. Who were they waiting for? There were very few people left inside. Anthony’s gaze drifted across the car park. Freya Morton was getting into her mum’s car. Suddenly she stopped. She was talking to somebody. Oli came into view.

  ‘Anthony, where are you going? Come on. The bus is here.’

  He took no notice. He was more interested in Oli and Freya and the watcher in the van. He caught a snatch of their conversation.

  ‘Oh, Oli, who would do that? I would offer you a lift, but we’re going the opposite way. We’re calling on my nan.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Freya. I’ll get the bus. Maybe I’ll walk. It’s not that far.’

  ‘And you say somebody slashed both tyres?’

  Oli nodded.

  ‘Yes, my scooter’s going nowhere. It was intentional, all right. I’ll have to leave it overnight and get it sorted in the morning.’

  ‘Honestly, some people. That’s just mindless vandalism. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, goodnight.’

  The car pulled away and took a left onto the main road. That’s when Anthony saw Connor. None of this was a coincidence. It was happening again. He was standing behind the same veil, waiting for the horror to unfold. Connor was getting out of the back of the van. The driver and the man in the passenger seat joined him. One had a baseball bat, the other a wheel wrench. It was at that moment Anthony knew his instincts were right. This time he smashed through the glass wall.

  ‘Mum, find somebody quick. Phone the police. They’re going to get Oli.’

  ‘Anthony, what are you talking about? Where are you going?’

  Oli was out of the school gates and walking along the opposite pavement. He was oblivious to the approaching figures. Anthony heard his mother call his name, but he ignored her. Connor and the two men were running toward Oli. He still hadn’t seen them. Anthony found his voice.

  ‘Oli, run!’

  Oli heard the shout and turned. He looked up and saw the attackers. There was only one way to go, left into the side road. Anthony could still hear his mother screaming somewhere behind him, but he wasn’t going to stop. Charlie had been right. There was a way back and this was it.

  ‘Where is he, Brian? Did you see which way he went?’

  Brian Hughes glared at his brother.

  ‘Stop shouting my name all over the street. Do you want to see me back inside?’ He noticed Connor. ‘Get back in the bloody van. I don’t want anybody seeing you.’

  ‘Dad, are you sure about this?’

  His father’s stare made him flinch.

  ‘You listen to me, boy. No loud-mouthed poof makes a fool of my son.’

  Connor slunk over to the vehicle.

  ‘Right, let’s get this over with.’

  Colin Hughes strained to see.

  ‘I can’t make out a thing. He’s gone to ground.’

  ‘He can’t have gone far. You stay here where you can keep an eye on the whole street. I’m going to check the alleys.’

  ‘What if he’s got away?’

  ‘He hasn’t. We didn’t hear any footsteps. Take my word for it, the queer’s here somewhere.’

  He started pulling wheelie bins away from walls and poking behind them with the baseball bat.

  ‘Where are you, you poof? You were keen enough to come out, or whatever you call it. Yes, quick enough to take the piss out of my boy in front of everybody, and all. You’re not so ready to face me, are you?’

  He moved on to the next alley. Suddenly, a dark figure propelled the wheelie bin into him and started to run.

  ‘There he goes!’

  Brian and Colin Hughes had their man.

  Anthony’s blood ran cold. Oli was younger and fitter than his pursuers. He was beginning to leave them toiling in his wake. That’s when the white van screamed across the top of the road. Its tyres squealed as it braked hard, blocking his way. He had been right. Connor wasn’t the only one in the back. There had been another man and he was now at the wheel. He was in his late teens or early twenties, an older brother Anthony guessed. He opened the door and grinned.

  Oli hesitated. They were on him in a second. The bat swung, catching Oli a glancing blow on the temple that knocked him half-senseless. His chest and face struck the pavement, a low grunt bursting from him. There was blood on his lips. Anthony saw the glint of the wheel brace and threw himself at Colin’s arm. Colin flung Anthony aside with ease.

  ‘So who the hell are you, his boyfriend?’

  Anthony could only pant the simplest answer. He said the words he had failed to find in Cartmel Park.

  ‘Let him be.’

  ‘Who asked you to interfere?’ Brian Hughes yelled. ‘Do you want some too? Well, do you?’

  The uproar had brought people to their windows. The Hughes brothers saw the living room lights through the open curtains and blinds and the silhouetted figures peering out. This wasn’t going as planned.

  ‘Leave it, Brian, they’ve both got the message. There’s no point getting ourselves arrested over this.’

  Brian Hughes pointed the baseball bat at Anthony’s head.

  ‘I’ll remember your face, you interfering little scumbag. Now clear off while you can still walk.’

  Anthony could only stare at him dumbly. There was no glass wall. This was fear, pure and simple.

  Hughes jabbed Anthony’s shoulder, making him stumble backwards. The brothers laughed. Brian Hughes turned and drove his boot into Oli’s ribs.

  ‘Watch your back, you shirtlifting scum. You never know who’s going to be behind you.’ Then he turned, very deliberately and very slowly, and saw Anthony. ‘I tho
ught I told you to go.’

  Without any further warning, he swung the bat.

  Thursday, 10 April 2014

  Anthony sat up when the door went.

  ‘You came.’

  Oli perched on the edge of the bed.

  ‘What did you expect? Anything could have happened in that street. They could have killed me. What you did . . . I owe you, mate.’

  Anthony’s gaze shifted to the third person in the room.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Jess told him.

  ‘So don’t say anything. I just hope . . . I don’t want you to feel that I betrayed you. If you can wipe the slate clean, that’s enough. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

  Jess nodded. Satisfied, Anthony turned back to Oli. ‘How are you?’

  Oli touched his forehead. ‘They gave me this bruise to remember them by.’

  ‘Looks nasty.’

  ‘I’ve got a few scratches too, but you can see those. There’s no real damage. It will be gone in a few days. My ribs are sore. Other than that, I’m fine. A bit shaken, that’s all. I was too cocky by half. I knew Connor bore a grudge, but I didn’t expect anything like this.’ He waited a beat. ‘So what about you?’

  ‘They kept me in overnight for observation. They did a brain scan. It’s all clear. I can go home later. Mum’s gone back to the flat to get a change of clothes.’

  ‘My dad’s outside in the corridor,’ Jess said. ‘We could run you home.’

  Anthony held her gaze. ‘No, we’ll get a taxi. Thanks anyway. Do you know what’s going to happen to the men who attacked you? What about Connor?’

  ‘The word is, Connor is going to be permanently excluded. I don’t know how true it is. Some of the neighbours got photos of the van’s number plate.’

  ‘The police have interviewed Brian and Colin Hughes and Connor’s older brother Gary. There hasn’t been any more news.’

  When the conversation ran thin, Anthony posed the question he had been keeping in reserve, the one he had been aching to ask.