S. Bolton - Dead Scared

Shadows were spreading fast around the crematorium garden. The day was getting colder and those with umbrellas were glancing down at them, as though to check they were still there. Maybe guilt would be like a heavy downpour from above, the first drops hardly noticeable, but gradually seeping through him until his entire being was drenched in it. Maybe guilt was slow to begin but relentless, building a momentum of its own once it got going. The boy took a deep breath and waited .

‘ In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen .’

The service was done and the caterwauling mother being led away. There’d be questions to face, now that the funeral was over, but he had it covered. They’d had time to sort out their stories and he’d been careful to cover his back from the start. There’d be no repercussions, he’d made sure of that. Just the guilt to be dealt with .

‘ Come along, Iestyn.’ A warm hand was on his shoulder. Cartwright was touching him again, with the same hand he’d just used to wipe snot away from his dribbling nose. ‘Dreadful business, lad. We’re all feeling it .’

‘ Thank you, Sir.’ The boy turned and stepped a little way to the side so that the teacher’s hand fell away .

‘ Think we might be lucky with the weather after all,’ said Cartwright, as they walked across the short, grassed area to follow the other mourners back to the car park .

Overhead, there was a sudden break in the clouds and the summer’s day became warm again. Ahead of Iestyn and his teacher, sunshine was streaming down upon the small, black-clad procession that made its way up the hill. Iestyn watched and saw sadness and confusion drifting behind them like the smoke from a tar boiler .

I did this, he said to himself, as the warmth from the sun washed through him, making him feel alive, happy, even blessed. And he smiled .

Wednesday 16 January (six days earlier)

BY THE TIME Joesbury got back to the Cripps building, Lacey was being led back to her block by a group of young women. Her wet clothes clung to her body and her hair streamed down her back. She was gritting her teeth, he could tell from the way her jaw was set, and seemed determined not to make eye contact with anyone around her, keeping her gaze up and ahead.

Joesbury, on the edge of the crowd, was wearing dark, plain clothes. The collar of his jacket was pulled up and a black woollen cap covered most of his head. He was standing in the shadows, little more than a shadow himself. Wouldn’t make any difference. She’d know him. Joesbury stood still as stone, knowing that if she looked in his direction now, movement could give him away.

He’d seen the three masked figures slip away into the night minutes earlier and had given chase. He’d seen the vehicle they’d driven away in, memorized the make and registration number and already called it in. Not that he held out much hope. It would almost certainly be a stolen car they’d abandon after tonight. In ordinary circumstances he might have sprinted to his own car, taking a chance on the direction they’d take and finding them again. Ordinary circumstances when he didn’t have a damaged lung, and when Lacey wasn’t in the hands of irresponsible twats. Instead, he’d jogged back to the green.

Almost at the door of the building, she tottered and Joesbury took an involuntary step forward.

Biggest fucking mistake of his career, allowing himself to be talked into bringing her here. He simply could not function properly where she was concerned.

And now that the fun was over, several of the students still on the green were starting to notice him. A few long-legged strides and he was gone.

‘Hello?’

No background noise. She’d be in that tiny room, the one with the impossibly narrow bed pushed against the window wall.

‘Did I wake you up?’ He knew he hadn’t. There hadn’t been time for her to shower, drink tea, agree with the rest of the girls on the corridor what pillocks men could be, say goodnight and fall asleep.

‘No.’

Silence. He couldn’t ask her if she was OK. Couldn’t tell her what it had cost him to watch her go through that and not put someone in hospital for it. His scar was hurting again. He reached up, pressed fingers against the skin just below his right temple.

‘Thanks for the report,’ he said. ‘Very thorough.’

A moment passed, whilst she thought of something sarcastic to say back.

‘Pleasure,’ she said. ‘Where are you?’

Joesbury took a step closer to the window. From the third floor of the hotel he could see the tower and some of the taller buildings of St John’s. He was looking in the exact direction of her room.

‘Thames Embankment,’ he said. ‘On my way home. Long day.’

The tiniest sigh that could almost have been a crackle on the line. Or, if he didn’t know her better, the start of a sob. ‘Pity,’ she said.

‘Why?’ he asked, before he could stop himself.

An intake of breath. Then a gulp. ‘Oh, nothing. I could just use a drink and some grown-up conversation right now.’

Joesbury turned back to his room, to the neatly made double bed with its dark-red throw, and saw Lacey’s head on the crimson silk, her arms outstretched, hair trailing to the carpet.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Fine, just tired. I should let you go too. Thanks for checking in. Goodnight, Sir.’

‘Lacey, be careful.’ Idiot. Shouldn’t have said that.

‘Why? What’s up?’ Alert again.

‘Just do what you’re told for once,’ he said. ‘Keep your wits about you. I’ll see you soon.’

IT’S SURPRISING HOW a spot of medieval-style humiliation can give you an appetite. I woke early and went straight up to the Buttery, where I helped myself to scrambled eggs and bacon that were surprisingly good. As the hall filled I became increasingly aware of the sideways glances directed my way, and the muttered conversations that were just out of earshot.

Instinct told me to hold my head high and thump anyone who stepped out of line. Common sense made me keep my body language submissive, to avoid eye contact. I was Laura, nervous and needy. Laura would not fight back.

By the time I left, the room was largely full and a small queue had formed outside. I was about to leave the building when something made me stop. The crowd outside the entrance weren’t queuing, they were looking at something on the notice board. Something I was pretty certain hadn’t been there when I arrived. I walked over.

Two large pieces of white card covered most of the board. The card, in turn, was filled with photographs. Of me.

The pictures told the story. They started with the arrival of the three boys at the door of my block, then showed me being carried out and across the lawn. As I’d become increasingly drenched, the photographer had moved in closer. One shot was of little more than my breasts, all too visible beneath a soaking wet vest. Two shots from the end, I disappeared from view, ushered by Talaith and the girls back into my block. The last two were of the three boys, posing triumphantly for the camera. One was a pretty good close-up of their masked faces.

‘Oh, I think we can do without this crap,’ muttered a voice beside me.

I turned. The boy wasn’t much bigger than me, pale and flabby from too much time indoors. He reached up, slid his fingernails behind the drawing pins and began pulling them out. In seconds, the card and photographs fell to the floor.