Ben Cheetham - The Society of Dirty Hearts

Mia stared at him a couple seconds, then burst out laughing again and shaking her head. “You don’t want to know about me. You’re a nice little rich kid. You don’t want to know where I’ve been, where I’m going.”

Julian sucked in his irritation, determined not to play her game by getting angry. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Mia gave him another look, no laughter in her eyes now. “Seriously, you don’t want my life in your head.”

“So why have you brought me here, if you don’t want to talk?”

“’Cos I like you, Julian.” Mia reached out and brushed her hand down his face. “Hey, wow, the acid’s really kicking in.” She jumped up and swirled around the fire. “You should’ve tried it. The visuals are totally sick.” She skipped off along the riverbank path, which was narrow enough that a slight stumble would send her tumbling into the water. If that happened, Julian knew, the fast-flowing current would suck her under in an instant. He hurried after her. Caution slowed his feet, as darkness closed around him like a thick blanket. He couldn’t see Mia, but the echo of her laughter drifted back to him.

“Mia, wait. Mia, Mia-”

Her scream cut Julian short. Forgetting his caution, he rushed forward and almost tripped over her prone form. He felt for her in the dark. She was stiff, yet trembling as if in shock. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I saw her.” Mia’s voice was tiny and high-pitched, stripped of pretension by fear.

“Saw who?”

“I saw her,” she repeated. “In the water. I saw her, saw her, saw…” She mumbled off into incoherence.

Julian helped Mia to her feet and, one arm around her waist, guided her back to the fire. Her clothes and face were splotched with mud. He wrapped a blanket around her. She sat hunched, hands trembling in her lap, eyes goggling at the flames. Julian started to move away from her.

“Where you going?” she asked anxiously.

“To fetch your friends.”

“Don’t leave me alone.”

“But we need to get you home.”

“Home,” Mia scoffed, her voice regaining some of its strength. “That’s a laugh.” She pleaded with Julian with her eyes. Sighing, he sat down next to her. “I feel all cold inside,” she said. Hesitantly, Julian put his arm around her. She squirmed closer, pressing her head against his shoulder. At first deep tremors passed through her body into him every few seconds. But after a while he felt her relax and her breathing became slow and regular.

He held her like that the rest of the night. In the dirty grey light of dawn, she smiled at him. It was the first honest smile he’d seen on her face. It made her look different, softer, less angry. “Thanks, Julian.”

Julian rose slowly to his feet, muscles stiffed by cold. He considered asking Mia who she’d seen in the water, but decided not to — not while the shadow of her experience was still in her eyes. He’d let her tell him only if she wanted to. He crouched by the fire’s embers, while she went in search of her companions. She returned after a few minutes, with them trailing. “Was it fucking good!” the man was saying, “Fuck, man, it was like, boom!” As they climbed the bank, grinning leeringly, he leant in close to Julian. “So does she suck a good cock?” he whispered. “I’ll bet she can suck it dry, can’t she? Just like her little whore of a dead pal. Now she was a good suck job. First time she did me I was like, oh baby, that was some fucking good suck. Did your daddy teach you that?”

The man chuckled as if he’d told a joke. Julian clenched his teeth, fighting down an urge to drive his elbow into his larynx. They drove into town to the fast-food joint they’d picked Julian up outside. “We’re gonna get breakfast,” Mia said to him. “You want to eat breakfast with me?”

Julian glanced at the man, who, along with the woman, was making his way into the restaurant. “You shouldn’t hang around with him.”

“Who, Weasel? He’s okay.”

“No he’s not. He said some stuff about you and Joanne Butcher.”

Mia frowned. “Like what?”

“I don’t want to repeat it, but it wasn’t nice.”

Mia’s frown spread into her eyes, hardening them to knife slits. She shook her head. “And here I was starting to think you were different, but you’re not. You’re just like the rest of them. Fuck, who do you think you are, telling me who I should and shouldn’t hang with?”

“I’m only trying to look out for you.”

“Yeah, well don’t. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it all my life.”

Before Julian could respond, Mia turned and entered the restaurant. He stared after her a few seconds, heaved a sigh and headed off along the street.

When Julian reached Kyle’s house, he briefly considered knocking and apologising to him. He was too dog-tired to be bothered, though. He got into his car and drove home. His parents were waiting for him. From the look his dad gave him, he might’ve been waiting up all night.

“Where the hell have you been?” Robert demanded to know.

“Can we do this later?” Julian asked, stifling a yawn.

“No we can’t. You’re supposed to be studying, not staying out night after night, partying or getting drunk or whatever. If this is how you’re going to behave, you might as well go back to London.”

“Fuck that,” Julian muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Sorry, I’m too tired for this right now.” Julian headed for his bedroom. He collapsed onto his bed and put in his I-pod earphones, turning the music up loud enough that it’d wake him if he happened to drift off. He thought about what Weasel had said. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. There was that feeling again. In his stomach. Spreading to his other internal organs, insidious as cancer. It made him queasy and angry. He took off his earphones, dug his mobile-phone and a business-card out of his pockets. He punched in the number on the card and Tom Benson answered in a crisp, professional tone.

“There’s this guy you might want to talk to,” Julian told him. “His nickname’s Weasel.”

“I think I know who you mean. Crucifix tattoo on his left hand.”

“That’s him.” Then, cringing, Julian repeated what Weasel had said.

“Well, well, I’ll have to have a chat with Weasel. Thanks for that. But how do you know him?”

Julian told the policeman about Mia Bradshaw. Not everything. Just the bits he needed to hear. When he was finished, the policeman said, “Now I’ve got something to tell you. I just got off the phone with the coroner. Joanne Butcher died from a heroin overdose.”

The words, all those fuckers can tut and nod and shake their little heads, rang in Julian’s brain. “So she wasn’t murdered?”

“Doesn’t look like it. So there’s no need for you to hang around.” A cautionary note entered the policeman’s voice. “Oh, and if I were you I’d have nothing else to do with Mia Bradshaw. You’re likely to get into trouble hanging around with that kind.”

Irritation prickled through Julian. What do you mean by that kind? So she comes from a bad background. That doesn’t mean she’s bad, just unlucky. He felt like saying this, but didn’t. He simply said, “Thanks,” and hung-up.

Julian hurried from his bedroom. He had to see Mia, tell her about Joanne Butcher, tell her he was sorry, make her realise he was different from all the tut-tut-tutters and head-shakers — and he knew there was only one way to do that. He had to show her who he really was. Show her his sickness was greater than anything she carried. Then, maybe, she’d show him who she really was. He’d already caught a glimpse of her real self, her vulnerability. It made him fear for her, fear that she might destroy herself if her hatred of life grew any deeper. He didn’t know why he should care what happened to her, but he did.