Cath Staincliffe: Dead Wrong

Cautiously I inched the boot open. It creaked and I flinched, expecting a response but nothing happened. I clambered out, keeping as low as I could. Knelt on the tarmac and pulled the boot shut. I rolled on the ground at the side of the car and looked underneath the chassis and across the car park.

I could see Rashid beating Zeb. Zeb was still on his feet though his arms cradled his head. Bile rose in my throat; I spat some out. My mouth was sour, my throat parched. I wanted to go and stop the fight. It tore me up to see this, one man staggering as the blows rained on him, the other dazzled by violence and his power to inflict pain. No matter how many times I watched this scene played out, I would never be immune to the anguish it called up in me, the distress and despair. There’d been so much blood, too much blood already.

But I knew I had to think only of survival now. If I headed for the cinema I’d have to cover most of the car park and be visible to Rashid. The alternative was to clamber up the grassy hump, over the low wooden railing at the top and down to the side road. It would probably be deserted. I couldn’t rely on flagging a car down to help me, but there might be somewhere to hide.

On hands and knees I scaled the hill. Even at this distance I could hear Rashid’s heavy breathing and Zeb coughing. As I reached the railing, Siddiq roared; oh, Christ, he’d spotted me! He began to run my way. Heart thudding, I reached the pavement Opposite was the Belle Vue Speedway, where they have the greyhound racing. To my left was the Belle Vue Road junction. I began to run that way. I could hear myself gasping, little pleas on my breath. No, no, please. Please, don’t hurt me. Just like that time before. Did Siddiq have a knife? No, no, he didn’t. He’d used Joey’s on Ahktar, hadn’t he?

Someone would help me, surely. I remembered the case of the schoolgirl assaulted on the train full of passengers. Pleading for help, she was, and they all just sat there.

There was a roaring sound. He was using the car. He couldn’t – he’d never get through that barrier. I heard him revving it up. I ran, my nose burning with pain as my feet pounded on the pavement. There was a roar again, a screech and then a splintering sound. I looked back. He’d got the car up the hillock and had torn partway through the railing. A piece of it was caught fast in the front bumper, the other end of it still attached to an upright stake in the ground. One of the headlights was smashed. He gunned the car again and the tearing continued. The wood ripped and split and he was through. He ran it down the slope at my side and spun round to follow me. He accelerated fast. He was going to run me over.

I darted to the other side of the road. I think I had some daft hope that although he was trying to kill me, he wouldn’t break the law by driving on the wrong side of the road. Daft, like I say. He simply followed me.

I tried to go faster, waiting in my mind for the impact as he crushed my legs before I buckled and. fell under the car. I glanced behind; he was getting close. I. thought I could just make it. I launched myself back across the road. I misjudged it and the offside corner of the car clipped my hip, spinning me round and slamming me against the ground. I continued to roll, hit the far kerb and scrambled to my feet. Pain rippled through me and my vision blurred. Go on, I urged myself. Go on! I can’t, a weak voice whined somewhere. I can’t. It hurts.

My memory dived back to the day I’d had Maddie. Blood then too, and the sensation of being ripped apart, wild with pain. Maddie. I whispered her name. Caught the smell of her child’s breath.

Siddiq swung the car back my way again. I couldn’t run but I could move. I crossed back, moaning at the pain in my side and down my thigh. I didn’t want to die, not like this. I didn’t want to die at all, but to be run to ground by a car, killed on the road, breathing my last on greasy wet tarmac…No, I wouldn’t let him. ‘No,’ I said it aloud, repeated it in rhythm as I lurched along, ‘no, no, no.’

There was a row of bollards along the edge of the pavement, parallel to the concrete walls of the Speedway. In a couple of places there were gaps where big metal gates were installed. I made for the bollards, got myself past them and over the broad pavement to the concrete wall. Suddenly, thankfully, I heard another car coming. I inched forwards and waved my arms wildly. It went sailing past.

I waited. He was coming back, down my side of the road. He couldn’t get through the bollards here, but a hundred feet on, by the double gates, he turned the car through the gap and pointed it to face me. He had a clear run at me now, down the wide pathway. I stumbled back onto the road, putting the bollards between us again.

How long could we play cat and mouse? How long could I stay upright? My teeth were clenched to control the pain, my fists balled tight. He roared the length of the pavement, slewing out onto the road near the other gates.

I set off for the gates he’d just passed, dragging my left foot. I used the concrete wall to push against as I shuffled along. He was doing a circuit; it wouldn’t take him long. He was going to get me. I was making mewling noises now, little screeches. I reached the gate. Metal bars and wire mesh. A clear view inside the compound to the turnstiles. There were lights on in the main building – a large blue prefab with an arching glass and metal stairwell at the front. If there were lights on…I clung to the bars.

A woman appeared, carrying a bin-liner which she stuffed into a skip.

‘Help!’ My first attempt was too feeble to carry. ‘Help, please help me,’ I found enough volume to startle her. She was only a few yards away. ‘Please.’ She hesitated, looked away, then back. She seemed familiar. I swooned slightly. Maybe it was a mirage. I heard the car skid as he drove back onto the pavement. ‘Let me in!’ I screamed, ‘Please.’

She walked hurriedly towards the gate, her face swimming into focus. Blue check nylon overalls, a roll of bin-liners under her arm. She peered at me.

‘He’s trying to kill me,’ I said. ‘The car…’

‘It’s you,’ she said, bemused. ‘What are you doing here? I’m Mrs Grady, remember? Next door to Mr Kearsal’s.’

I couldn’t handle this. He was coming. ‘Please!’ I glanced to my side. Siddiq roared towards me. I pushed myself off the metal bars, reeled back to the pavement’s edge just in time. I felt the rush of warm air, the stink of petrol fumes as he belted past me.

I looked across at Mrs Grady’s shocked face. ‘I’m not sure which is the right one,’ she cried. She was fumbling with a large bunch of keys.

I watched Siddiq gain the road once more and race down to the other gates. I couldn’t get back across the path, I felt so weak.

‘Open it!’ I yelled at Mrs Grady. The car was nearly on me again.

‘It is open,’ she snapped, pulling it back. I launched myself through. The car roared past, Siddiq bellowing, the smell of burning rubber. I heard the squeal of brakes.

‘Lock it!’ I shouted.

‘I am! What on earth’s going on? Are you all right?’

‘Call the police.’

I looked through the wire mesh, hanging onto it to take the weight from my damaged leg. Siddiq turned out onto the road. He revved the engine till it howled. The air was full of exhaust. I tried to swallow but there was no spit in my mouth and I gagged on the action.

He accelerated fast, drove down the road and did a fishtail turn, ramming the car towards us, towards the big metal gates. We both moved back. He braked at the last moment. Far too late. The skid sent him careening down the path and into the concrete wall. There was the shriek of metal on stone, the smashing of glass. The crack of the collision.