Nick Oldham - Dead Heat

‘Where’s my mum?’ she demanded. ‘She should’ve picked me up, not you.’

‘Who gives a fuck where she is, the slag? I’m here and that’s all that matters.’

‘I hate you,’ Charlotte said through fingers that were covering her face.

‘And I care?’ he said, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and half an eye on the road. He threw himself back over the seat and grabbed Charlotte’s arm.

She screamed and kicked out. The huge car swerved and he almost lost control of it as it veered across the road. But he kept going and also kept hold of Charlotte. He pulled her to the gap between the front seats and tried to drag her through it. She writhed and fought against him and broke free, scrambling to a position directly behind him, out of his reach. She tried to open the door. It was child-locked.

He cackled and put his foot down, now driving along the main road past Poulton. It was a long, straight stretch of road and the car’s speed increased dramatically.

‘You know your dad hates you, don’t you?’ he shouted.

‘That’s not true, that’s not true!’ she cried.

‘Because you’re not his. You’re a little bastard.’

‘I’m not. No, I’m not.’ Her head was in her hands and she sobbed pitifully. Her make-up, so carefully applied several hours before, was streaked around her face. She had hoped the drugs she’d bought would have taken her up on a higher plane. They’d had no discernible effect on her whatsoever, she thought.

‘Your mum’s a slag and you’re a bastard,’ Coulton almost chanted manically.

‘No!’ she screamed.

He laughed. ‘No one cares about you, not even Mummy. But I do, Charlie, I care about you.’

She held her hands over her ears. She did not want to hear this.

‘I’m all you’ve got.’ The car slowed as they reached the outer limits of Poulton. ‘And I’m going to show you how much I care, how much I love you.’ He reached a set of traffic lights where he turned right into Lodge Lane towards the village of Singleton.

Charlotte sank further back in the plush leather seats. ‘Where are you going? Where are you taking me?’

‘Somewhere nice and quiet where we can chat.’

‘Take me home,’ she ordered him. ‘Now.’

‘You can’t tell me what to do, Charlie. I’m in charge here.’

He turned off Lodge Lane into a dark side road.

‘I’m going to blow his head off.’

‘ No! . . no,’ Henry said more quietly. ‘Not till I get there at least,’ he begged. ‘Just wait, just wait for me, Tara. . I’m coming to help. . I’ll be there soon.’

Kate had very quickly picked up that the situation was desperate and had helped Henry to get dressed, so that he was able to keep on the phone. She pulled his trainers on and fastened them.

The disturbance had also woken the girls and, slightly frightened and disorientated by what was going on, they stood sheepishly at the door of their parents’ bedroom in their night attire.

‘I’ve got to, I’ve got to. . I’m going to do it. . Fuck, I’m going to do it,’ Tara said hysterically.

‘Just take a breath, count to ten,’ Henry instructed her with an authoritative voice. He could actually hear her inhaling, then starting to count. He put his hand on to the silent button on the phone so Tara would not hear him. ‘When I hang up, will you call Jane Roscoe? Her number’s in the phone book downstairs. Tell her I’m on my way to the Wicksons’, OK?’

Kate nodded.

‘. . eight. . nine. . ten!’

‘Well done,’ Henry said, back with Tara. ‘Now then, Tara, will you do something for me?’ He stepped out of the bedroom, hurtled downstairs. ‘Will you?’

‘Do what?’

He dashed into the kitchen and unplugged his mobile phone from the charger and switched it on.

‘Tara, I’m going to hang up very, very briefly and I want you to do the same.’ He looked at the display on his mobile as it searched to register. It seemed to be doing it exceptionally slowly. He hated mobiles. ‘Keep hold of your phone, because I’m going to call you back immediately from my mobile phone, OK?’ Then he had a very fundamental thought. ‘You are on your house phone, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me the number,’ he said. His mobile was still scanning the airwaves, getting nowhere. He had Tara’s home number programmed into the phone, but he didn’t want to lose her just because his phone would not pick up a signal. She recited the number for him. ‘OK, right, got that. .’ At last his phone locked in. ‘Right, after three, put the phone down and I’ll ring back straight away, got that?’

‘Yeah.’

‘One. . two. . three.’

He waited for her to hang up before he did, handing the phone directly to Kate who was now downstairs with him. Leanne and Jenny — bedraggled, uncomprehending and beautiful, the pair of them — stood behind her.

As he dialled Tara’s number he said quickly, ‘As you can gather, she’s got a shotgun and she’s pointing it at somebody’s head.’

His mobile rang out Tara’s number. It sounded out for ever.

‘Come on,’ he said, searching for his car key. ‘Come on.’

At last she picked it up.

‘Tara — you OK?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is everybody else?’

‘At the moment,’ she replied ominously.

‘Good — keep it that way. I’m just leaving the house now and I’ll be with you as soon as I can. It might feel like a long time, but it will only be a short time, so c’mon, let’s keep talking.’

It was violent, brutal and terrible.

Coulton was on her as soon as he stopped the car in the dark lane.

Charlotte struggled and kicked and scratched and bit and screamed, but she was no match for him. He was strong, agile and determined, driven by the inner demon which was unstoppable. She was, as the saying goes, only a slip of a girl; a girl who was drunk and drugged and was not functioning correctly.

She had no chance and Coulton gave no quarter.

He laughed as he forced himself into her, hurting her severely.

She could do nothing. The only good thing was that it did not last long, but afterwards he lay on top of her on the back seat, almost suffocating her, panting and moaning into her ear. She lay, trapped, sobbing.

When he pushed himself up, he looked down at her in disgust.

‘What the fuck’s up with you?’ he sneered. ‘It’s only what your dad does to you, isn’t it? Oh, sorry, but he isn’t your dad, is he?’

He slid off her, got out of the car and walked round it, tucking himself in, readjusting everything. He bent in and looked at her. She was still crying, with body-rattling blubs. She had not moved, had not tried to cover herself up. ‘By the way, you’re a shit shag.’

He got back in behind the wheel.

‘And by the way, too, if you tell anyone about this, you’re dead,’ he threatened over his shoulder. ‘You’re dead and I’ll dispose of your body so you’ll never be found.’

He laughed cruelly.

Charlotte curled up into a ball again and began sucking her thumb.

‘The dirty fucking bastard.’

The tone of Tara’s voice had changed. As she related the sequence of events that night to Henry, she became more agitated, especially as she recounted the rape of her daughter as it had been described to her.

‘He’s the one who’s going to die, not my daughter.’

‘Calm down, come on,’ he soothed her, ‘calm down.’ He was driving with one hand on the wheel, juggling the mobile phone as best he could — as ever it was a motorist’s nightmare that new mobile phones were too tiny to wedge between shoulder and ear. ‘You’re doing really well, Tara.’ He hoped he did not sound patronizing. ‘He actually doesn’t deserve to die-’