John Harvey: A Darker Shade of Blue

Straightening, Rebecca shivered as if — what did her grandmother used to say? — as if someone had just walked over her grave.

Rubbing her arms beneath the sleeves of the long T-shirt she was wearing, she turned and went softly back to bed, this time, hopefully, to sleep through. The morning would come soon enough.

When she woke again it had just gone two. Levering herself up on to one elbow, she strained to hear. Had one of the children woken and cried out? A dream, perhaps? Or maybe Keiron had got up and gone to the toilet on his own?

No, it was nothing.

The wind, perhaps, rattling the windowpanes.

Her head had barely touched the pillow when she heard it again, for certain this time, the sound that had awoken her, a footstep. Next door, it had to be next door. Quite often, late at night, she heard them moving. Early, too. Her breath caught in her throat. No. There was somebody in the house, somebody down below, a footstep on the stairs.

Rebecca froze.

If I close my eyes, will it go away?

It.

He.

Whoever…

For the first time she wanted a phone beside the bed, a panic button, something. With a lunge, she threw back the covers and sprang from the bed. Three, four steps and she was at the door and reaching for the light.

Oh, Christ!

The figure of a man, turning at the stop of the stairs.

Christ!

Her hand stifled a scream.

‘It’s all right,’ the voice said. ‘It’s all right.’ A voice she recognised, reassuring, commanding.

‘Terry?’

He continued slowly towards her, his face still in shadow.

‘Terry?’

‘Who else?’ Almost smiling. ‘Who else?’

With a sob, she sank to her knees, and he reached down and touched her hair, uncertainly at first, easing her head forward until it rested against his body, one of her hands clinging to his leg, the other pressed hard against the floor.

They stood in the bedroom, Rebecca with a cotton dressing gown pulled hastily round her. She had stopped shaking, but her breathing was still unsteady. He was wearing a black roll-neck sweater, camouflage trousers, black army boots.

‘What are you… What are you doing?’

When he smiled, nothing changed in his eyes.

‘Terry, what…’

‘Get the children.’

‘What?’

‘Get yourself dressed and then get the children.’

‘No, you can’t…’

When he reached towards her, she flinched.

‘Just something sensible, jeans. Nothing fancy. Them the same.’

She waited until he turned away.

‘Keiron and Billie, they’re in back, are they?’

‘Yes, but let me go first, you’ll frighten them.’

‘No, it’s okay. You get on.’

‘Terry, no…’

‘Get on.’

‘You won’t…’

He looked at her then. ‘Hurt them?’

‘Yes.’

He shook his head. ‘They’re my kids, aren’t they?’

Billie was awake when he got to the door and when he moved closer towards her she screamed. Rebecca, half-dressed, came running, brushed past him and took the three-year-old into her arms. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s only Daddy.’

She sobbed against Rebecca’s shoulder.

On the top bunk, Keiron stirred, blinking towards the landing light. ‘Dad?’

Fingers and thumbs, Rebecca helped them into their clothes, Keiron with a school sweatshirt pulled down over his Forest top, Billie snapped into her blue dungarees.

‘Where we going, Mum?’ Keiron asked.

‘I’m not sure, love.’

‘An adventure,’ his father said, coming through the door. ‘We’re going on an adventure.’

‘Really?’

‘You bet!’ He tousled the boy’s hair.

‘You mean like camping?’

‘Yes, a bit like that.’

‘Like you in the army.’

‘Yes. Like that.’

‘Some of the year sixes go camping overnight. Cook their own food and everything. Can we do that?’

‘Prob’ly, we’ll see.’

‘And take a pack-up? Can we take a pack-up?’

‘No need, son. I’ve got all the stuff we need.’

‘But they do, carry it with them. Can’t we?’

‘Yes, all right, then. Why not? Becca, how about it? Like the boy says. Fix us something quick. Sandwich, anything. Go on, I’ll finish up here.’

When he got down to the kitchen, a few minutes later, there were bread, a pot of jam and some cheese but no Rebecca; he found her in the front room, texting on her mobile phone.

‘The fuck!’

Before he could reach her, she’d pressed delete. Swinging her hard towards him, he snatched the phone from her hand. ‘Who was that going to be to? The police? The fucking police?’ He hurled the phone against the wall and, pushing her aside, crushed it with the heel of his boot. ‘Now get in that kitchen and get finished. Five fucking minutes and we’re leaving. Five.’

Keiron was standing, open-mouthed, at the living-room door and behind him somewhere Billie had started to cry.

It was early evening and they were sitting in Resnick’s office, a light rain blurring the window, the intermittent snarl and hum of traffic from the street.

‘Here’s what we’ve got so far,’ Resnick said. ‘Two sets of adult prints in the house, one we’re assuming Terry Anderson’s. Looks as if he forced the lock on the back door. Not difficult. Explains why it was only bolted across. There was a mobile phone, Rebecca’s, in the front room. Beneath the settee. Broken. Smashed on purpose.’

‘Used recently?’ Kiley asked.

‘One call earlier that evening, to a friend. We’ve already spoken to her, nothing there.’

‘No mention of going away, taking a trip?’

‘Nothing.’

‘And the husband? She didn’t say anything about him? Being worried at all?’

Resnick shook his head. ‘We’ve checked with the school and the nursery where she takes the little girl. Both surprised when the kids didn’t turn up this morning. Nursery phoned but got no answer, assumed she’d been taken sick. School, the same.’

Kiley shifted uncomfortably on his chair.

‘More luck with the neighbours,’ Resnick said. ‘Old lady next door, bit of a light sleeper, reckons she heard a child scream. A little after two. Either that or a fox, she couldn’t be sure. Person from across the street, sleeps with the window open, thinks he might have heard a vehicle driving away, that would be later, around two thirty. There’s not a lot more. A couple of people mentioned seeing a van parked in Exchange Road, just around the corner. Not usually there. Small, white, maybe a black stripe down the side. Could have been a Citroen, according to one. We’re following that up, checking CCTV. That time of night, roads shouldn’t be too busy. Might spot something.’ He leaned back. ‘Not a lot else to go on.’

‘You’ve sent out descriptions?’ Kiley said.

‘As best we can. Local airports. Birmingham.’

‘They could have gone with him willingly,’ Kiley said.

‘Is that what you think?’

‘What I’d like to think,’ Kiley said. ‘Not the same thing.’

Keiron helped him put up the tent. The trees in that part of the forest had mostly lost their leaves, but the undergrowth was thick enough to shield them from sight. None of the regular paths came near. Tent up, they foraged for fallen branches and dragged them to the site, arranging them over the bracken. Several times, Keiron cut himself on thorns and briars, but he just sucked at the blood and bit back the tears. Big boy, trying not to be afraid.

‘How long?’ Rebecca wanted to ask. ‘How long are we going to be here?’ Reading the look on Anderson’s face, she said nothing.

The sandwiches were finished quickly. Amongst the supplies he had provided were tins of corned beef and baked beans, peach slices in syrup. Biscuits. Bottles of water. Tea bags and ajar of instant coffee, though he didn’t want the risk of lighting a fire. They had driven the van some way along the main track then gone the rest of the way on foot, making two journeys to carry everything. Still dark. Just the light of a single torch. Taking Keiron with him, Anderson had gone back to move the van.