Cath Staincliffe - Split Second

Or fire! Push a Molotov cocktail through the letter box and watch the colours at the windows change. Him trapped behind the glass, fists banging on the double glazing, face contorted.

The images were lurid, heightened and of no comfort whatsoever. They simply fed the anger, tinder to the flames.

There had been other times in his life when there had been a hint of this rage, like when his boss mounted her bullying campaign: micromanaging him, belittling his work and his demeanour, alternately carping and mock-concerned. Until the sight of her, the scent of her perfume, made him seethe. But never anything as raw, as profound as this. He wanted to howl at the moon, bay for blood.

The door opposite opened and the whole of Andrew’s skin prickled. Framed in the light, one hand on the door jamb, the other scratching at his belly, was the boy. Looking down towards his feet where something moved. A cat. Andrew saw the lad nudge the animal gently with his foot. His bare foot. The cat leapt over the threshold and was lost in the dark. The boy closed the door.

He was still there, living, breathing, scratching. Letting the fucking cat out.

Andrew’s phone rang, loud in the muffled night. He dug it from his pocket. It was Louise.

‘I don’t want you to contact me again,’ she said.

He was surprised. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

She gave a little laugh, no humour in it. ‘You really don’t know?’ She sighed. ‘Luke’s alive, Jason isn’t. It’s not fair, is it? Every time you see me or Luke, you must wish it had been different. It’s only natural.’ She spoke brusquely, sounded brittle.

He wasn’t sure what to say.

‘And now with the garbage in the papers – I’m sorry about what happened to Jason, but he saved Luke and I can never be sorry for that. I just think it’s better if we-’

‘Garrington, Gazza, he’s here. He’s still here, at his house. They’ve not done anything.’ His words were spilling like skittles. ‘Why haven’t they arrested him, they know it was him, they’ve had the name two weeks, what the hell do-’

‘Where are you?’ she demanded.

‘Outside his house. Ten minutes’ walk. I’ve just seen him, Louise, large as life-’

‘Where? What’s the address?’

He told her.

‘Don’t move.’

She was there in no time at all. Pulling up and waiting while he opened the door and got in. Then driving away, crunching through the gears in a way that told him she was livid even before she spoke.

She stopped the car alongside the park; the street smothered in fog looked empty. She snapped off her seat belt. ‘What the hell were you playing at?’

‘The police have done nothing.’

‘Oh, and you were going to, were you? What? Thump the guy? Put a brick through his window?’ She was quivering, her eyes bright and intense.

‘He killed my son,’ he said tightly. ‘And he’s not even been picked up.’

‘And he put my lad in a coma.’ She rounded on him. ‘What happens when he is arrested and it comes out you’ve been stalking him?’

‘I wasn’t stalking.’

‘Intimidating a suspect, interfering with an inquiry. You could mess it all up.’

‘But-’

‘I want them sent down, I want them punished. I want justice, not some middle-class prat like you ruining everything. Playing at terminator. What makes you think you know better than the police?’ She was trembling with fury, spittle at the side of her mouth, which she swiped away. She hit at the steering wheel. ‘What if he’d seen you, legged it?’

‘He didn’t see me,’ Andrew said, his mouth dry and palms clammy. ‘And I wouldn’t have done anything.’

‘Just being there was doing something.’

‘Why is it taking so long?’ he burst out.

‘I don’t know!’ she yelled back. She closed her eyes. Silence stretched between them. He looked out at the huge poplars, bare branches shrouded in fog. He heard the slam of a car door, the cough of an engine.

She spoke. ‘Swear to me that you won’t go near that house again, you won’t try anything else.’

He took a breath. ‘I promise.’

‘I never should have told you, I thought you could be trusted. You acted like we were on the same side.’

‘We are.’ He was desperate to reassure her, redeem himself. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You wanted to hurt him?’

‘Of course, but only in my head.’

‘We’re better than them,’ she said quietly. ‘Jason was better than them, my Luke…’ In the quiet he heard her swallow, heard the ticking of the car as the metal cooled.

Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose, screwed his eyes shut tight.

‘I’ll take you home,’ she said.

‘I can walk from here.’ He opened the door. ‘Thanks.’

She looked at him but didn’t speak. She looked so tired; worn out but not defeated.

He watched her drive off until the red rear lights had gone. Then he turned for home.

The phone went at seven, waking him. His thoughts flew to Jason, something wrong… then he slammed into the truth, a brick wall of pain – Jason’s gone. Amended his fears: his father, perhaps? He hurried on to the landing, snatched up the handset.

It was Martine. She didn’t waste time on small talk. ‘Andrew, we arrested three people this morning.’

His knees went weak. ‘Who?’

‘I can’t give you names at the moment.’

He heard Val. ‘What is it?’

Martine went on, ‘They match the descriptions. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know more. Would you like me to come round?’

Val was there, eyes puffy from sleep, her hair tangled.

‘No thanks. We’ll be fine.’ He put the phone back. ‘They’ve arrested them,’ he said.

‘Oh God.’ She swayed, put a hand to the wall to steady herself.

‘Three of them – that’s all she could say.’

‘Oh God,’ she repeated, covering her mouth. ‘So have they been charged?’

‘I don’t think so. She’ll ring later.’

Val nodded slowly. She seemed to reach some sort of decision. ‘Good. It’s good.’

‘Of course, yes.’ But it was unnerving, too. ‘Shall we stay home? I don’t know how long… don’t know if I could concentrate.’

‘And the press might be back.’

‘Yes. We’ll stay here.’ He shuddered, goose flesh on his arms. Outside it was lashing rain; he could hear it slapping the windows, hear the wind buffeting the house. He moved to hold her. His arms went round her and he felt her tense, withholding the full embrace he longed for. He stepped away. ‘You okay?’ Though that wasn’t the question he wanted to ask.

‘Fine,’ she said. The lie between them like a line in the sand. A border between alien territories. ‘I’ll get a shower.’

Above him, around the roof, the wind howled.

Louise

Louise spent the day on pins, checking her phone every ten minutes. Losing track at work so she almost gave Miriam two lots of her lunchtime tablets. Smoking too much even when her mouth tasted foul and she was behind on her schedule.

It poured down all day, sullen clouds dumping bucketfuls of rain over and over, the wind hurling it sideways, so she had to try and smoke in doorways, even in a bus shelter at one point, to avoid getting soaked through. She wouldn’t break her rule and smoke in the car, but boy was she tempted.

She’d not slept the night before, too wound up about Andrew’s vigilante stunt and what it might have led to, and about the papers. Not only what they’d written about Luke, but also the way they’d conned Sian, who wasn’t the brightest button in the box. They’d preyed on her goodwill, her friendship with Luke’s family, to get hold of the information, then warped it as much as they could. Louise had got out of bed in the end, wrapped herself in layers and a blanket against the cold in the house and done some sewing until her fingers went numb.