Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

Another drink and he nods. ‘A nice new mummy.’ He smiles at Justin. ‘There’s this little blonde piece, works in a garage outside Ellon. Very sweet. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

Justin tries not to move. Stares at his shoes. ‘Father? Can’t we keep this one? I... I like her, she’s nice to me. The others were all angry all the time.’

Father stares at him. Stares and stares and Justin’s going to pee himself and then the shouting and hitting and kicking and—

‘Why not.’ Father reaches out and ruffles his hair. ‘Just for you. We’re celebrating, right?’ He raises his tin. ‘Here’s to Mrs Mason, and the stroke that carried her off. Thanks for the house and all the savings. May you burn in hell, you stinking corpulent bitch.’

Father grunts. His trousers are all muddy and dirty, the ribby bits in his shoes clogged up with earth. He’s taken off his shirt, showing off the faded blue tattoos and the little white curly hairs that grow through them. Black soil under his fingernails. Grey dust on his arms.

He’s lined his empty tins up on the coffee table in front of him, like little soldiers waiting for orders.

Father throws back the last mouthful of beer and hurls the empty at them, sending his soldiers running for cover. Scowls as they clatter and click. ‘Boy: beer!’

Justin grabs another tin from the fridge and holds it out.

He snatches it. Scowls at it. Scowls at everything.

Downstairs, New Mummy is screaming again.

Because she knows what’s going to happen.

She knows why Father has been digging that big hole out in the garden.

So she screams and sobs and moans.

Father cracks into his new soldier and throws back a mouthful of beer. The words start out squeezed between his teeth and end up making the whole world tremble: ‘Does that bitch never SHUT UP?’

Now the scowl comes round to rest on Justin.

Father’s eyes are narrow and pink, one squinted up tighter than the other as he wobbles in his chair. ‘ You .’

Justin backs up a step.

His voice goes all high and whiney: ‘“Oh, please can we keep her? I promise she’ll be good. She’s so nice to me...”’ He attacks the soldier again. ‘I kept her because of you, AND SHE NEVER SHUTS UP!’ Father stamps on the floor. ‘ALL THE BLOODY TIME! SHUT UP! STOP CRYING!’

But New Mummy keeps on sobbing.

Father bares his teeth. ‘I should never have indulged you. I’m too kind, that’s my problem. Too soft .’

This is how it starts. The first rumble of thunder that brings the storm.

‘Well, I’m done being soft. YOU HEAR ME?’ He swigs at his beer. ‘I should never have rescued you. I should’ve left you with your stupid mother and your stupid father.’ The smile is cold and cruel. ‘That’s right, you’re not even my real son. Did you really think something as ugly and stupid as you could come from my cock? You’re just some stupid kid I kept, because I thought it’d be a laugh. You’re a joke, Justin.’ Father sits forward and laughs in his face. ‘That’s not even your real name. You don’t deserve a real name!’

Father drinks from his beer, then hurls the nearly full can at Justin.

‘YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN EMBARRASSMENT! A SNIVELLING, WORTHLESS, USELESS LITTLE BABY!’

Justin doesn’t move as the beer soaks into his jumper.

‘No wonder no one ever loved you.’

He does not move and he does not cry. Because crying only ever makes it worse. Doesn’t matter how much the words hurt, the beating will hurt even more.

Father curls his lip, then spits on the carpet. ‘Get out of my sight: you make me sick.’

Justin gets as far as the kitchen, before Father’s voice bellows out from the living room again. ‘AND GET ME ANOTHER BEER!’

Another beer.

He opens the fridge and does as he’s told.

Father’s spade leans against the wall, leaving little blobs of dirt on the floor.

It doesn’t matter how much the words hurt. It doesn’t .

It doesn’t.

He’s seven years old now, a big boy.

And Father’s wrong . New Mummy loves him. She said so. She loves him, even if Father doesn’t. Because he’s a good boy.

‘WHAT THE HELL IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?’

A good boy.

Justin goes to the kitchen drawer and pulls out the biggest sharpest knife that’ll fit in his hand.

Then walks back into the living room.

The lightbulb flickers, making the basement shadows jump and dance as Justin creeps down the stairs.

He bites his bottom lip. Wipes his eyes on his sticky sleeve.

New Mummy is curled up on the floor by the bed, arms wrapped around her tummy, sobbing.

She’s not the smiley pretty lady they picked up at the sweetie shop any more. The one who gave Justin sherbet lemons and sang a song about Santa and the Christmas Mice. The smiley pretty lady who laughed and skipped and smelled of sunshine.

Father’s seen to that.

Her nose is twisted and bent, flakey with blood. Both eyes all swelled up and purple. Missing teeth like broken windows when she opens her mouth to wail out another scream. All those bruises. All that pain.

He stops in the middle of the basement. ‘Mummy?’

Justin’s hands are wet and sticky, his jumper hot where it clings to his arms.

She shrinks back against the wall. ‘Please...’ The word is all soft and mushy, because her lips are puffy and split.

‘It’s all right, Mummy. It’s all right.’ He spreads his sticky red hands so she won’t be scared. ‘Shh...’

Every finger on her left hand is pointing in a different direction, the joints all swollen and horrid. ‘Please...’

He kneels in front of her, reaches out and strokes her hair.

She flinches back.

‘It’s all right. He can’t hurt us now. He can’t .’ Justin’s fingers leave dark smears on her yellow hair.

She squints at him with her puffy eyes. At his face, at his dirty hands, at all the blood on his jumper. ‘What did... you... do?’

‘He won’t hurt anyone.’

Her battered eyes flick to the ceiling. Then widen. Then she stares at him. ‘Let me go. Please. Please let me go unlock me let me go unlock me unlock me unlock me let me go!’

‘I—’

‘Let me go, let me go now !’

Justin nods. Then digs in his pocket and pulls out the little leather pouch he’s not allowed to even look at, never mind touch. ‘I’ve got Father’s keys.’

‘LET ME GO!’

‘I’m doing it.’ But his fingers are all red and slippy and the keys fall to the ground and he has to pick them up.

‘Unlock me, unlock me, unlock me!’

He flicks through the keys, till he gets to a big brass Yale one. Slips it into the lock and twists. Click .

Justin grins at her. ‘We can go away and we can be free and he’ll never hit us again.’

New Mummy slumps forward, shrugging off the slithery chain. Crawling away from the wall she’s been fixed to for months and months. ‘Oh God...’

‘Come on, Mummy. You can do it.’ He helps her to her knees, then up onto her feet. Only one of them doesn’t work properly because there’s a big lump on her right ankle and her foot’s all dangly.

She hisses and groans every time she tries to stand on it.

So Justin takes as much of her weight as he can. A big brave boy as she hobbles and hops and cries and swears her way up the stairs. Slow and painful. Till they’re standing in the hall.

Then New Mummy stops, her good hand against the wall, holding herself up, swollen eyes fixed on the open living-room door.

One of Father’s legs pokes out from behind the door, trousers matted with dirt and blood. Not moving.