Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

‘Think we should seize the computer?’

‘Can if you want, but the IT lab won’t do a thing with it till someone bigger than you or me sets a flamethrower to their backsides.’ He’d run out of boy-super-spy novels, so Callum moved onto a series about a boy vampire caught up in the Napoleonic wars. ‘Maybe we should start with the flash drive and see how we get on?’

They flicked through every book on the shelf and only managed to turn up a voucher for guitar lessons that had expired three years ago. So much for that.

Franklin stuck the last YA novel back on its shelf. ‘That’s me.’

‘Yeah.’ Callum made for the door, then stopped as his mobile launched into song. When he pulled it out, the word ‘HOME’ sat in the middle of the screen. He gave Franklin a wee grimace and pointed towards the stairs. ‘I’ll catch you up.’ Hit the button. ‘Elaine?’

‘Hi... Peanut was wondering what time you’d be getting home.’

‘No idea. Late. Probably. You know what it’s like with a murder investigation.’

‘Well don’t binge on kebabs and pizza, I made tuna casserole for tea. Just make sure you call me when you’re heading home so I can pop it in the oven.’

‘Yes, Boss.’

‘And while you’re obeying my every whim, can you pick up some pickles and Nutella on your way home? Doesn’t have to be the fancy ones with the white-and-green label, any dill cucumbers will do.’

‘Anything else, Your Imperial Majesty?’

‘Love you.’

‘Me too.’ He hung up and headed downstairs.

Through in the living room, Ben’s dad was still in his seat — all curled up with his forehead against his knees. A living mummy.

Callum cleared his throat. ‘Mr Harrington? Is there someone who can stay with you? Maybe a neighbour, or a friend? It’s probably—’

The front door rattled and a voice boomed out in the hall. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Anthony, what have I told you about leaving your muddy shoes on the carpet? Honestly, it’s bad enough I have to clean up after idiots all day without coming home to it too.’

A small woman appeared in the doorway, peeling off a leather jacket. ‘You can come help me with the shopping, it’s...’ She stopped. Stared at Franklin, then did the same to Callum. ‘Anthony? Anthony, what’s going on? Who are these people?’

Franklin held out her warrant card. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news, Mrs Harrington.’

‘No, Marline, I don’t. And I’ll tell you why I don’t, because I never did nothing with him, OK?’ Honestly, Marline was such a bitch. ‘If he says I did, he’s completely a liar.’

No noise from the other end of the phone — Stupid Central.

Ashlee slumped back on her bed and scowled up at the posters on the ceiling. All four members of Mister Bones, shirtless and smiling perfect smiles on some sunny beach somewhere way nicer than crappy old Oldcastle. The three guys from Four Mechanical Mice in a swimming pool, all glistening and muscles and that. $ick Dawg, posing on a motorbike in leather jacket and jeans, all those tattoos on his naked hairless chest. Sexy and mysterious with a superhero mask and utterly cool-shaped moustache/goatee thing. Even if he did have a load of completely thin bitches in the background, posing in their bikinis and showing off. Skanky cows.

‘He said you did.’

‘What did I tell you? Completely a liar.’

He was too. As if Ashlee would ever touch Marline’s sloppy seconds. Wasn’t even that good looking. And he was a crap kisser. All fat slimy tongue and weird little grunting noises. Freak.

‘He said you snogged him outside the chipper, Sunday.’

‘Ungh. Who you going to believe, Marline: Peter — who utterly dumped you on your birthday — or your best friend in the world, AKA: me ?’

More silence.

Taylor from Mister Bones was definitely the hottest guy on her ceiling. He had these lovely teeth and a way of singing into the camera that made you know he was doing it just for you. Of course, she wouldn’t say no to Zeb from Four Mechanical Mice either. Not with that lovely long hair.

It was nicer than hers.

Mind you, that wasn’t difficult these days — hers was like straw. God she was so disgusting.

Why would Zeb or Taylor want to go out with a fat pig like her?

Didn’t matter how little she ate, or how many times she did sit-ups and squats and went jogging and everything. Here she was, practically living on rice crackers, sneaking off to throw up after every one of Mum’s disgusting fatty meals of slop, and she still wasn’t thin. Not properly thin.

She risked a look down at the lines where her ribs poked out beneath the tank top, the hip bones making twin rails through the boxer shorts, the gap between her thighs. There was completely a roll of fat around her middle. Like a beer belly, or something. And she never even drank beer. How was that fair?

‘I’m sorry, Ashlee. I know you’d never do that to me.’

A long low ‘Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring...’ rang out from downstairs.

‘Ungh.’ She sat up. Yup, that was massively a roll of fat. ‘Someone’s at the door.’

‘He’s such a liar, isn’t he?’

‘Always was. You were utterly too good for him, Marline.’ Not true, but that was what you were supposed to say, wasn’t it? Not, ‘You were a matching pair of bookend freaks.’

She yanked open her door and stuck her head out into the dark hall. Put her phone against her fat-cow chest and shouted down the stairs. ‘Door!’

‘Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring...’

For God’s sake, did she completely have to do everything round here?

‘DOOR!’

Her mum’s voice came up from the kitchen. ‘Well answer it then, I’m busy.’ Probably making more lardy yuck for tea.

‘I’M ON THE PHONE!’

‘So call them back!’

‘Aaaargh!’ God, it was like... North Korea, or something. ‘Fine. Whatever. Don’t bother yourself. I’ll just stop what I’m doing, shall I?’ Back to the phone as she stomped down the stairs. ‘Marline?’

‘Everything OK?’

‘Yeah, if you think my MOTHER BEING AN ENTIRE BITCH is OK.’ Nice and loud to make sure she could hear it.

‘You want to get wasted for my birthday next week? I can utterly rob a bottle of voddy from my gran.’

‘Yeah, why not. You only turn fourteen once, right?’

The hall, of course, was completely Arctic Circle, because being an entire bitch means you’re too tight-fisted to put a radiator in the hall. Not like it’s chucking it down winter outside or anything, is it? Noooo.

Ashlee shuffled her feet into a pair of Mum’s furry slippers, then grabbed a raincoat from the rack of hooks by the door and pulled it on. Hiding her disgusting fat body.

‘My step-dad wants to have a party down the bowling alley. Laser Quest, dodgems, and burgers, like I’m, I dunno, six years old or something. He’s such a complete spazmoidal—’

‘Yeah, hang on, Marline.’

‘Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring...’

‘OK, OK. Jesus.’

Mum appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Typical: turns up when all the hard work’s done to take the credit. The lazy cow flicked hair out of her eyes — maybe a decent haircut would help with that? And a proper dye-job too. Honestly: going out in public with an inch of brown roots showing. Never mind the chunky thighs and revolting saggy boobs, because apparently it’s OK to massively turn into a slob when you hit thirty. She draped the tea towel over her shoulder, like she worked in Starbucks or something. ‘Who is it, Ashlee?’