Дэвид Муди - Strangers

‘I’m just lookin’ out for you is all,’ he said. ‘You can’t be too careful these days. I hear there’s been more trouble down on the estate.’

She stopped walking and bent down to talk to him, leaning into the window like the hooker he obviously thought – or hoped – she was. Thank Christ for those two slugs of vodka , she thought, Dutch courage . ‘Did you not get the message? Fuck off and leave me alone!’

She caught his eye – watching him watching her – and it made her feel sick. The way he looked her up and down, lingering too long on all the places he shouldn’t, licking his lips like she imagined he wanted to lick her… she’d had blokes back home who were way out of this lame fucker’s league; blokes with money and style, not some washed-up hillbilly prick in a grubby football tee and a knackered old car. ‘Last chance,’ he said, not giving up. ‘Like I said, just looking out for you.’

And then it struck her, and she pushed herself away from the car and staggered back. Was it him? Was he the one? Was this the sick bastard who’d done all the killing…?

‘Did you not hear the lady, Dezzie? Leave her alone or I’ll have a word with your Jackie when I see her next.’

Tammy spun around and saw a young man behind her. He was tall and relatively good looking by Thussock’s low standards, and he had his arm around Heather. She turned back when the pervert in the car sped away, his knackered exhaust filling the air with ugly noise. ‘This is Chez,’ Heather said, introducing him.

‘Hope you didn’t mind me butting in,’ Chez said. ‘That Dez is a frigging idiot. Fuck knows why Jackie puts up with him.’

‘I was fine,’ Tammy replied, indignant. ‘But thanks, anyway.’

‘You related to Scott?’

‘Unfortunately. He’s my step-dad. Why, you know him?’

‘I work with him at Barry’s yard.’

‘Lucky you.’

The conversation stalled. Chez and Heather exchanged less than subtle glances and Tammy knew what was coming. ‘Look, Tam,’ Heather said, ‘I’m going to head back to Chez’s for a while. Do you mind?’

‘You’re welcome to come,’ Chez said quickly, but it was pretty obvious she wasn’t.

‘No, I’m fine. I’ll head home in a while.’ Then she remembered something. ‘Is there a phone box around here? My mobile’s crap and I want to try and call my dad.’

‘Everybody’s mobile signal is shite here,’ Chez said. ‘You not got a phone at home?’

‘Don’t want everybody listening in.’

‘Fair enough. The nearest phone box is the only phone box. It’s by the café. You know it?’

Of course she knew it. It dawned on her that she’d been staring at the damn thing through the café window yesterday while they’d been eating. ‘I know it. Thanks.’

‘Sure you’ll be okay, Tam?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘See you at school tomorrow?’

‘Yep. See you then.’

Tammy watched the two of them drift away. They had a complete lack of urgency about them, like it didn’t matter where they were going or how long it took to get there. The way they walked across the main road without even bothering to check for traffic seemed to perfectly sum up the listless pointlessness of life in Thussock.

Tammy found the phone box without any problems, glad to be doing something positive at last, not just hanging around. This call was going to be difficult, but she was resigned to that. Hearing Dad’s voice would only emphasise how far from him she was but she had to do it. She needed reassurance that the old world she’d left behind still existed and that, maybe, she had a chance of getting back there. It felt like a fucked-up version of the Wizard of Oz, like she was stuck here trying to get back to Kansas. The place was full of munchkins, witches and other oddballs all right, but there was no yellow brick road running through the middle of this shit-hole.

She checked her pocket for change. Jeez, this felt so antiquated. She couldn’t remember when she’d last needed to use a phone box to make a call. Finding enough loose coins had been an ordeal in itself. She did all her shopping online or used her bank card, rarely ever used cash. In the end she’d helped herself to a handful of silver and a couple of pound coins from the change pot Mum and Scott kept on the kitchen windowsill. Scott had been so busy knocking seven shades of shit out of the wall he hadn’t even heard her take it.

The phone box smelled bad. It was an ugly metal and glass box, not one of the old traditional red ones. The glass was covered in graffiti, names and tags and Christ knows what else scratched onto every panel. She couldn’t make out any of it. She didn’t know why she was bothering to look.

Do I put in the money first or pick up the receiver? It took her a while to remember the order of things. She dialled Dad’s home number from memory (she thought it made sense to try his landline first – less expensive), then hung up and dialled again when she realised she hadn’t dialled the area code. She was so used to them all living within the same few miles radius…

A pause which dragged endlessly, then the click of connection and the phone finally started ringing out. She’d often phoned Dad around this time on a Sunday afternoon before. Although he was out of the country most weeks, he didn’t usually leave until late Sunday or early Monday. He’d had an agreement with his employers to spend weekends at home so he could be available for her and Phoebe. When he and Mum had first split up and the atmosphere between them had been at its most volatile, reassuring weekly phone calls on a Sunday afternoon had been the norm.

Connected.

‘Hello…’

‘Dad, it’s me, Tammy. I just wanted to—’

‘… you’re through to Jeremy. I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number after the tone, I’ll do my best to get back to you…’

The realisation she was talking to an answering machine, not her dad, hit Tammy like a punch to the gut: the sudden elation she felt at hearing his voice disappearing in a heartbeat. For a moment she felt embarrassed, then frustrated, then angry. She waited for the message to finish, listening to her father’s voice for as long as she could, before unloading after the high-pitched tone as instructed. All her emotion, all the pent-up frustrations… everything came pouring out. ‘Dad, it’s Tammy. I need to talk to you. Please pick up if you’re there. I’ll try your mobile in a minute but I still can’t get a decent signal in this crap-hole so I’m calling from a phone box. I need to talk to you, Dad. I need you to come and get me. I can’t stand it here. I feel… I’m really…’ She stopped talking; a brief pause to try and regain her composure. Don’t get upset . ‘Dad, I’m really not happy here. I know it’s only been a week and I know you said I needed to see how things were after a month, but… but I really want to come home.’ She stopped again, the word home making her feel desperately sad and empty. She was trying hard not to cry again, but once she’d started it was impossible to stop. The tears came so hard and so fast it was difficult to keep talking. She didn’t know if he’d even be able to understand her. ‘I can’t stand it here, Dad. It’s so backwards… so weird. The people are strange. It’s like being stuck in the past. I don’t like the school, can’t do all the courses I wanted to, and there’s all kinds of stuff going on around here. I bet you’ve seen it on the news… It’s not safe here, Dad. We’re not safe.’

She didn’t know how long she had before the recording ran out, but she kept talking anyway. ‘Scott’s acting like a jerk as usual. He’s been fighting with Mum again. I don’t trust him. I don’t like being around him, Dad. I never know what he’s going to be like. One minute he’s fine, the next he’s—’