Кара Хантер - No Way Out

`Matty `“ can you come back and carry one of these bags?' Michael calls, lifting his youngest son out of the car. His skin feels hot to the touch.

Matty comes back out of the house, dragging his feet.

`Is your mum up?' asks Michael.

Matty shakes his head.

`OK, just take one of these bags, will you `“ the green one isn't very heavy.'

Five minutes later he has the shopping stacked on the kitchen floor and Zachary balanced on one arm while he sticks macaroni cheese in the oven for lunch.

Matty comes in from the hall. He's still wearing his outdoor clothes.

`Can I take Mollie for a walk, Dad?'

`You know you can't take her on your own, Matty. She's too big. She might pull you into the road.'

`You come with me then.'

`I can't,' says Michael, exasperated. `I've got to unpack this lot, then sort the lunch out, and this afternoon I absolutely have to do some work.'

` Ple-ee-ease, Dad! '

`I said NO, Matty,' Michael snaps. He's just realized one of the yogurt pots has broken in the carrier bag. There's white goo seeping on to the floor. He stifles an expletive; he never swears. And certainly not in front of the kids.

`You're always saying that,' wails Matty. `I never get to do anything. '

`You know that's not true `“'

` Yes it is . You said we were going to the zoo and then we didn't because Zachary was sick and then you said you'd play football with me and you didn't. It's not fair , you only care about Zachary. No one cares about me.'

Michael flushes. `Look,' he says, gentler now. `We talked about this, didn't we? I told you that Mummy hasn't been very well and you and me need to do our bit to look after her and keep things going until she gets better. That means being a Big Boy and helping me with things like tidying your room and not making too much noise when she's trying to sleep.'

Zachary is crying now in a dull weary drone as if he hasn't the energy to scream. Michael hitches him a little higher. `Look, why don't you go and play on your Xbox for a bit while I get Zachary settled? And if he's feeling better later perhaps we can take the dog out. The two of us.'

`Promise?' says Matty, sceptical.

`Promise.'

Michael carries Zachary up the stairs to the nursery, where he pulls off his clothes and tries to find his Winnie the Pooh pyjamas. There's a rash across the little boy's stomach that he doesn't like the look of. Zachary curls up under the duvet and Michael sits a moment, stroking his hair, before getting up and going along the landing to look in on his wife. She's in her dressing gown, lying on top of the covers, her eyes closed. Her hair looks lank and he wonders if she's even bothered to shower today. He's turning to go when she stops him.

`Are the boys OK?' Her voice is heavy, as if she's half asleep.

`They're fine. Do you want some lunch?'

She turns over slowly, her back to him. `Not hungry,' she murmurs.

Michael pulls the door to, and is about to go back down the stairs when he hears something that stops him. It's coming from the nursery. Michael frowns, then starts back along the landing. He can hear exactly what it is now. Matty, talking to his brother, his tone irritated and impatient over the little boy's cries.

`You've got to have some because if you don't I can't take Mollie for a walk.'

Michael rounds the corner into the room. Matty is sitting on the bed. He has one arm round his brother, and with the other hand, he's pushing a spoon at his mouth. Something pink and sticky. There are huge gouts of it smeared all over Zachary's face, and he's squealing and twisting away, his body rigid.

`Jesus Christ!' yells Michael. `What the fuck are you doing?'

He yanks Matty aside and grabs Zachary.

`How much did you give him?'

Matty shrinks back against the wall. `Not much.'

Michael looks at him; his heart is pounding with ambulances, 999 calls, stomach pumps `“ `How much is `њnot much`ќ?'

Matty shrugs.

Michael lurches forward and grabs Matty by both shoulders. ` How much? This is important `“ can't you understand that?'

Matty is squirming. `You're hurting me.'

`I'll hurt you even more if you don't tell me the truth,' shouts Michael, shaking his son. ` How much did you give him? '

`Just one spoon,' mutters Matty, sullen now.

`You're absolutely sure ?'

The boy nods. He's not looking at his father.

Michael slowly releases his hold. He hadn't realized his grip was so tight.

He goes back to Zachary and takes him on his lap. The little boy is grizzling and grinding his eyes with his fists. There's a smell of pee.

`What's all the noise?'

Michael swings round. Sam is standing in the doorway, steadying herself against the door frame.

`Nothing,' Michael says quickly. `I just spilled some Calpol, that's all.'

She looks at Matty, then at her husband, and frowns a little. `You sure?'

`Absolutely,' says Michael, smiling reassuringly. `There's nothing to worry about. We're all fine, aren't we, Matty?'

Matty is clearly very far from fine, but his mother doesn't seem to have the strength to argue.

`OK,' she says, and trails off back to her room.

Michael puts Zachary back into bed and turns to his oldest son.

`I didn't mean to shout at you, but you have to understand, Calpol is not like juice `“ it's medicine . You can't give it to him `“ not ever. Only Mummy and I can do that. Is that clear?'

Matty flickers a glance at his father, then nods briefly. His face is tight and closed.

It's only much later, when he finally gets to his desk and manages to start on the draft that he should have submitted to his publisher three months ago, that Michael realizes. In all the chaos and the panic, Matty never apologized. Not once.

He never said sorry for what he had done.

There's a small crowd gathered by the beach now. The police cars have their lights flashing. Two officers are trying to load the man from the hut into the back of one of the cars, and Somer is leaning against the litter bin doing her best to get the sick off her clothes. Though that, as Gislingham puts it, with his characteristic eloquence, is a bit like pissing on a blast furnace.

Saumarez comes across the road from the police car.

`I'm not sure how much good that tissue is doing,' he says, eyeing her.

She makes a face. `Yeah, well, that'll teach me.'

Gislingham finishes talking to one of the officers and comes back towards them. `Looks like our man is a well-known local rough sleeper. Goes by the name of Tristram, apparently.'

Saumarez smiles. `Yeah, well, we have a better class of tramp round here.'

Gislingham ignores him. `You coming?' he asks Somer, perhaps a little pointedly.

`Tell you what,' says Saumarez, turning to Somer, `why don't you come with me and we can stop off at my house `“ you'll go past the door anyway so it's not out of your way. It'd mean you could clean up a bit.'

Somer glances at Gislingham. `Is that OK with you, Sarge? To be honest, I doubt you want to sit in a car with me all the way back to Oxford smelling like this.'

`OK,' says Gislingham reluctantly, though even he can't argue with that. He's nearly gagging three feet away. `I'll follow you. Just as long as it doesn't take too long. We've wasted enough bloody time today already.'

Unlike the outside, the inside of Saumarez's Land Rover is impeccably clean. Which, in Somer's experience, has to be a first. Not just for male police officers but men in general. Even Fawley has crap in his car. Ten minutes after leaving the beach they're slowing down and turning on to what looks like nothing more than a farm track. Low trees, a ploughed field, wire fencing. There's no sign of habitation at all.