Ruthless - [2]

She looked at the crowd. Whole families, mum with a pram and a bunch of kids around. Teenagers, some of them filming with their phones. A few older people too; one man had made it with his Zimmer, determined to be at the party. A lad on a BMX bike, stunt pegs on the rear wheel. Dom had wanted one of them, their dad had played along but they all knew the only way it would happen was if it was robbed. So it never happened. Rachel had found an old racing bike at the tip and dragged it home and Sean had begged new tyres off a cousin and they’d done it up for Dominic. Never had working brakes but Dom was made up.

All we need is an ice cream van, she thought, or toffee apples. A loud cracking sound and the crowd responded, oohing and aahing, as part of the roof collapsed and fell inside the building sending fresh flames and sparks heavenwards. Rachel shivered, damp from her run and not near enough to the heat from the fire.

She should go. She hated the word should. She would go. Get some grub, glass of wine, swap news of the working day with Sean. She was already late.

As Rachel went back to the car she caught a different smell on the air, the stink of skunk, dark and pungent. Saw two figures walking away down the alley next to the old dole office, hoodies up, slogan emblazoned on the back in Gothic typeface, CLASS OF 88 and an outline of an eagle. More interested in getting smashed than watching the fire. Or maybe they’d just gone to get refreshments at the shops for the next round. The dole office closed down some years back. People had to travel into town to sign on nowadays.

‘I’ll zap it,’ Sean said, when she apologized for being late, ‘you get a shower, no worries. What have you done to your knees?’

‘It’s nothing, I tripped, that’s all.’

‘You want to clean it.’ He peered closer, touched the side of her leg.

‘Don’t fuss,’ she snapped. Then felt awful for the edge in her voice. ‘I’m fine. Big girl.’

‘In all the right places,’ he winked. Not put off his stride at all.

Why couldn’t she just relax? She had it all, didn’t she? Job, flat, fella? The run was supposed to get rid of it, the tension, the irritation, the sickening sense of disappointment. Only weeks since they wed, this was meant to be the honeymoon period. Instead she felt trapped, stuck and restless. She kept waiting for Sean to go but he was here, always bloody here.

Give it time, she thought, I need to get used to it. Too comfortable with her own company, too used to her own way of doing things, to her hard-won independence. So she sat and ate pasta and shared a bottle of wine and listened to Sean. She smiled and nodded and chewed and swallowed and kept on breathing. And they went to bed and shagged and then she lay in the dark, listening to him breathe. Wondering what the fuck was wrong with her.

Day 1

Thursday 10 May

2

Janet was making packed lunches, cheese and tomato butty for Elise, peanut butter for Taisie, crisps, apples, fruit juice, muesli bars. She snapped each lunchbox shut and set them on the counter by the door. She probably ought to get the girls to do their own, they were old enough, but she’d not got round to talking to them about it. Best to discuss it first with Ade, who made the lunches more often than Janet, as he didn’t need to leave the house as early as she did. Better to present them with a united front. Not that there had been much unity since he’d moved back in. He seemed to disagree with her at every chance he got. Still punishing her.

She tried to be conciliatory, play the penitent, smooth the waters but it rankled. She heard the slam of the letter box, the thud as the paper hit the mat, Ade’s footsteps coming downstairs. He was scanning the front page as he came into the kitchen, his hair wet from the shower, smelling of deodorant. In his teacher’s garb, white shirt, navy tie, black trousers. He always wore a tie. School expected staff as well as students to conform to their dress code. Smart, respectable. Dull, a little voice whispered in her head.

‘I’ve done their lunches,’ Janet said.

‘Right.’ He put the paper down. Janet took her breakfast, a round of toast and a cup of coffee, to the table. Read the headlines upside down, GROOMING GANG GUILTY, while Ade filled the kettle and put bread in the toaster.

‘Mum?’ Elise, still in her pyjamas, stood at the door. ‘This party. Can I go?’

‘Yes,’ Janet said.

‘No,’ said Ade.

‘We’ve not had time to discuss it.’ Janet took a bite of her toast.

‘What do you need to discuss?’ said Elise.

‘Whether you can go,’ Janet said.

Ade poured water into coffee. ‘Whose party is it anyway?’

‘A friend.’

‘What friend?’

‘John Planter – well, his brother,’ Elise said.

‘We don’t know them,’ Janet said.

‘So? Please?’

‘Look, we don’t have time to talk about it now,’ Janet said.

‘Olivia is going. We can share a taxi back to hers.’

‘Where is it?’ Ade said.

‘Middleton.’

‘Middleton where?’ he said.

‘Don’t know.’

‘What’s the party for?’ Janet said.

‘Why does it have to be for anything? It’s just a party, God!’

‘Look,’ Ade said, ‘if you want to go, here’s what you do: you find out exactly who is having it, what they’re called, where they live. Whether their parents will be there to supervise.’