Blood Notes, page 16
Mother was angry, again. She shouted at me and told me not to go. She said I could do without the distraction. That I would get drunk or drugged or drowned. Perhaps all three. She was annoyed they’d invited me. I told her it meant they accepted me and I had to go to see what it was like.
It was Grace’s eighteenth birthday party. Actually, it felt like my party too, as I was eighteen the day before but Mother would never dream of letting me have a party. I walked on the sandy path to the flat bit in the shelter of the dunes, before the pebbles slide down to the sea. The fading light made the flames from the barbecue sparkle bright red. I was so excited – my first party. Mother had reluctantly agreed that a white shirt with my trousers was appropriate. If only I could have some jeans. I carried my anorak, in case it became cold when it got dark.
I slid down the steep sand bank and onto the pebbles without falling over. I was worried in case I did and they saw me. I crunched across the pebbles towards the group of about twenty. My whole music set stood around in a circle, drinking and laughing together. Would they let me in? By the edge of the sea, I spotted the rugby boys from Theatre Studies. They jumped about by the foam, skimmed stones and shouted and tried to push each other in. Enormous children playing together. They looked drunk.
Grace smiled at me and waved, and I went over to her. She said she was pleased I’d come, then poked the fire, built in a square brick barbecue. The bricks had been stacked up, not cemented. An old, blackened metal grid sat above the glowing coals with burgers and sausages strung across the bars. Could this count as junk food? The fat fell, sizzled and made the flames jump up. Cool boxes, like families have when they picnic on the beach, spilled over with spikes of bottles of beer and white wine. This was my very first barbecue, but I didn’t tell them that. It smelt like a bonfire.
A picnic table held slabs of raw meat, bags of bread rolls with white seeds on top, plastic cups, red wine and a mass of bottles and cans. As people arrived, they added to the collection. They brought a bottle of wine or four cans of beer held together in plastic rings. I didn’t know to do that. Why didn’t Grace tell me? I’d got her a birthday present and a card. The pale pink wrapping paper dotted with silver stars looked wrong on a beach beside the bottles. I bought her a perfume called ‘Happy’ as I thought the name suited her smile. Mother gave me the money. I gave Grace the present, and she looked surprised but very pleased.
She handed me a white corrugated plastic beaker and asked if I’d like beer or wine? I said wine. Red wine splashed over the top of the cup and plopped on my shoes. I tasted it. It was bitter, cold, sharp. Like vinegar. They were all drinking so I did too. I didn’t like it much, but I drank and kept up with them. I stood outside the music group, which felt safer than being with the rugby lot. They were getting very noisy and didn’t notice me. I gulped more wine and coughed as it went down the wrong way. I finished the wine and Grace poured me another. I drank that. Then another. It was warm by the flames. The sausages burst open and their insides spat fat and bits of meat and the burgers got black burnt edges.
I slithered my feet until I got inside the music circle. They stopped talking and looked at me. John, quite a good pianist, moved to let me in properly and said, ‘Good to see you outside music lessons.’
Mike, the trombone player, looked across and said, ‘Didn’t Harriet want to come with you tonight?’
They all looked down into their drinks.
‘No, of course not. This is Grace’s birthday. None of the other tutors are here, are they?’
Mike, who never spoke in class, continued, ‘Justine used to be Harriet’s pet before you came.’
‘What do you mean?’
Before he could answer, Dave, one of the rugby boys, smashed through our circle and snatched the large plastic bottles of tomato sauce and mustard off the table. He chased John towards the sea, squirting at him. I stepped back out of the way towards Grace.
John screamed and jumped around to miss being hit, then Dave herded him towards the sea. He held the sauce bottle weapons and squirted the mustard and tomato sauce. John tripped and fell into the edge of a wave as it dashed in. Not deep water, but his shirt and trousers were soaking wet when he got up from the foam. He staggered and fell to his knees as his feet got pulled down by the moving stones beneath the water. He was angry, not calm like he is in class. John scrambled up between waves, rushed at Dave and headed him in the stomach. Dave fell back and crashed on the pebble shelf. John stamped on his legs and fell on top of him. They rolled around on the pebbles at the edge of the surf. Were they playing? Were they trying to hurt each other? I wasn’t sure.
Grace saw the scuffle. She screamed. Jake pistolled down to them and pulled John off Dave, who couldn’t be that good at rugby if he let John, a pianist, sit on him. They stopped. Jake pulled Dave up too. They stood, laughing and dripping. It must have been a joke all the time as no one seemed angry now.
They bounced up the beach to stand by the fire. Dave had his arm around John’s shoulders, and they laughed as John called Dave a ‘dickhead’. Steam rose off their wet shirts, and they looked as if they would burst into flames. They saw me staring. ‘Fancy a swim?’ Dave shouted at me. ‘No, thank you.’ I was worried they’d throw me in the sea. It was rough. I’ve heard there’s a rip tide that pulls you out and I saw the tide had turned. The sand was soggy mud, left behind as the water ran back out to sea.
The boys wobbled and swayed a bit as they gulped beer straight from bottles. Foam ran down Dave’s chin and splashed on his shirt in a dry patch not soaked by the sea. Jake flicked beer at him from his bottle. Dave ran backwards to escape, but his feet sank in the shingle and he fell on his back. He was drunk and needed help from two others to get up. He went to the edge of the dunes and sat on a pile of sand and stared at us.
At last the food was ready. I needed to take the vinegar taste away. I felt dizzy. I wasn’t sure what I was eating. Something in a roll – a sausage or burger? It was black, crunchy, burnt. Is this what eating junk food is like? I tried to swallow as I didn’t want to upset Grace.
Without warning, Jake rushed at me and rammed me in my stomach with his shoulder. My breath exploded through my mouth and I fell. Fell on my back with my right hand under me. Jake trapped me and sat on top of me and he slapped my head and face – it stung. I couldn’t speak or cry out. The mouthful of bread roll grew in my spit. It filled my mouth. I couldn’t get rid of it. I started choking. I coughed. Sick spurted out on the sand.
He screamed at me, ‘You fucking killed her! You did! You killed Justine! You fucker! I’ll kill you!’
The punches got heavier, stronger, and they really hurt. I swallowed at last. I tasted blood. My lip was bleeding, and my front tooth hurt. I managed to pull out my right hand and tried to push him off with it, but it wouldn’t work. It felt numb – not fixed to my arm. Had he stamped my hand off?
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get up. He wouldn’t let me. The stones bit into my head and neck. Jake’s punches got harder. My face throbbed. My lip hurt. I closed my eyes and sand scraped under my eyelids. His foot raked across my hand and I screamed. I felt his weight go. Somebody must have dragged him off me.
I pushed on the pebbles to get up. Electric pain zipped up my arm. I fell back down. Jake jumped back and stamped on my hand shouting, ‘You fucking killed Justine!’ I tried to move my hand, but I couldn’t feel it.
‘Don’t hurt his hand!’ I could hear Mother shouting. No – it was Grace. She threw water over my hand. I screamed. It felt boiling hot on my hand. It was cold water. The pain was hot. Blood dripped from it with the water. I struggled to stand up. I felt faint but kept my balance on the moving stones. I held my injured hand to my chest and covered it with my other hand to look after it.
They all stared at me. At the blood soaking into my shirt, at my mashed hand. Grace reached out to me, but I pushed her away with my shoulder and stumbled up onto the pebble shelf. Someone grabbed at my shirt, but I ran. Ran away. My feet sank deep into the sand and the pebbles. Each step was painful and slow. I didn’t want to fall as they might come after me. The pebbles sucked at my feet.
In the distance, over the dunes, I saw Harriet’s beach house. The sunroom was lit up. I knew that I had to get there, to get help for my hand. I ran over the dunes, across the grass to the window, and fell against it. I slumped by the wall. The pain stopped.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Steph
Hale had not phoned. He just arrived. Rang the bell and walked in as if the earlier conversation hadn’t happened. He ruffled Derek’s ears, like they were old pals, and was just about to speak when his phone rang. He went towards the kitchen to take it.
If he didn’t mention it, then she wouldn’t either. She had confessed, and he’d said he would help. After all, he was on her team, wasn’t he? She breathed in slowly. Counted. This dating thing was exhausting – already. That’s if it was dating? She was obsessed with working out what was going on, searching for meaning in the slightest word or gesture, the lurching stomach when the phone rang – or worse, if it didn’t.
Hale listened intently to his phone while putting his coat back on. The call finished and he grabbed his car keys. ‘Quick, Steph. That was Taylor. Thought I’d like to know there’s just been a fight called in at a party involving your students. Someone’s hurt and they’re sending for an ambulance. We need to go. Will Derek be all right?’
‘He’ll be fine. Let’s go.’
They rushed to Hale’s grubby old black BMW Series 3, an unmarked police car in need of a wash, with blue lights in the front grill and on the edge of the side mirrors and the front lights. It was like the old days rushing off to the scene of an incident, but now it appeared all the students and their misdemeanours were hers.
The traffic parted to let them pass, and they made it to the harbour in ten minutes. The ambulance had beaten them and stood at the kerb with its doors wide open, its blue light flashing across the dunes.
Steph pointed. ‘That’s Harriet Weston’s beach house. What’s the ambulance doing there when the party is over there, near the harbour? I can see the kids.’
‘I think we’re about to find out.’ Hale pulled his car up behind the ambulance and Steph leaped out. Hale jogged behind her across the rough grass, towards the frosted glass door, which swung open in the breeze.
Steph led the way into the beach house towards the group around a dining table attending to a boy slumped in a chair. It was Edmund, who was pale and shocked and dazed, as if this was happening to someone else. Could he be drunk? She sat down in the chair beside him and he looked up at her and smiled weakly. Two female paramedics were removing blood-soaked kitchen roll from his hand and were dressing it with bandages. The bright light made the blood florescent red, and the familiar metallic smell hit her and reminded her of Justine. Harriet was on the phone, with David Stoppard standing beside her, looking concerned.
‘No, Imogen – listen! Edmund is fine. He says he tripped over and a brick from the barbecue hit his hand and then he squashed it and damaged it further as he fell on it… No, I don’t think it’s badly damaged, but the paramedics think he should go to A&E to make sure he has no broken bones… What’s that? No, I wasn’t at the party. Edmund came here to get help. I called the ambulance… No, don’t come here. Go to the hospital. I’ll go in the ambulance with him and meet you there.’
Steph looked at Edmund’s hand. ‘That’s rather a lot of damage from a fall.’
‘I’m so sorry to have caused all this fuss. It’s nothing much. It was an accident. What are you doing here?’ He spoke slowly and enunciated precisely; his consonants got particular attention.
‘They phoned Chief Inspector Hale when Harriet Weston called the ambulance and said it was college students involved in a fight. Is that what happened?’
‘No. No fight. I’m not used to drinking. I fell over and hurt my hand. It was the bricks – the bricks from the barbecue. They fell on my hand. I came here to get help from Harriet. I tried to stop her calling the ambulance.’
‘Rubbish! You need to get that seen to as soon as possible,’ Steph urged. ‘And it looks to me as if it’s more than a fall, Edmund. Whoever did this should be charged with assault. This is serious for anyone, but particularly for you.’
Harriet moved around the table and rested her hands on Edmund’s shoulders. She stood over him, watching as the paramedics worked on his hand. ‘She’s right. Your hands are so important – they’re your future. You should talk to the police.’ She turned to David Stoppard, who was putting on his coat. ‘Thanks for your help. I’ll go with him now. No need for you to come. Imogen Fitzgerald will give me a lift back.’ The paramedics finished the bandaging while Harriet saw David to the front door.
‘Thank you so much for all that you’ve done. It feels fine now.’ Edmund nodded at the paramedics.
‘It may feel fine, but you need to get an x-ray to make sure you’ve no broken bones. You seem to have a lot of accidents,’ said Steph. ‘A few days ago in the drama studio and now this?’
Before Edmund could answer Harriet bustled in, grabbed her jacket and tapped Edmund on his shoulder. ‘Right. Come on. Let’s get going.’
Edmund and the paramedics walked towards the back of the ambulance. Harriet made way for Steph and Hale to leave the beach house, then pulled the door shut behind her, leaning on it to make sure she had locked it.
‘Thank you so much for coming, Chief Inspector. I’ll try and get him to talk to you. Hang on – I’m coming!’ Harriet clambered into the back of the ambulance. The doors were closed and it drove off up Ferry Road, its red lights disappearing into the dark.
Steph walked alongside Hale towards his car. ‘That looked nasty. Hope he hasn’t got any broken bones.’
‘What happened in Drama?’
‘I’ll tell you in the car.’
Hale seized her hand and pulled her towards the sea. ‘Why don’t you tell me as we take a little walk by the sea? We could have a chat with a few of those lads at the party over there. At least it might put them off bullying him again if they think we’re involved.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Edmund
The small beach house was full of people, all asking questions. Who did it? Where exactly did it hurt? Could I move my fingers? I just wanted the pain to stop and for them to stop talking at me. When Harriet stroked my shoulder, I felt better.
She heard me bash against the window when I fell and picked me up with that Stoppard man. They helped me into the house and called an ambulance who called the police. Steph said it was ‘an assault’ and I should report it. I told them we were all drunk, and I tripped and the bricks from the barbecue fell on my hand. It was no one’s fault but mine.
I sat on the bench seat in the ambulance. Harriet put her arm around my shoulders, stroked the top of my arm, and I felt warm and safe with her. I love her touching me but even she couldn’t take the hurt away, and the bumps in the road made my hand throb and the pain got worse.
We sat waiting to see the doctor when Mother slammed through the double doors and made everyone look up to see what was wrong. She grabbed me, pulled me to her, which made my hand hurt more. She shouted at Harriet and told her I should never have gone to the college, that this was all her fault and she’d ruined my career.
I tried to stand up to her, but Harriet pushed me back onto the seat. She was magnificent and stood still and calm and dignified. She refused to shout back at Mother, which made her even more furious and lose her temper more. Spit flew from her mouth onto Harriet’s coat, but Mother didn’t notice. All the people sitting waiting to see the doctor were looking at her shouting and I was so embarrassed. Why did she have to come? The drunk man slumped at the end of the row woke up and shouted at Mother to ‘shut the fuck up’.
Mother ‘shut the fuck up’. She collapsed into the chair beside me with exploding breath, a shrinking balloon. She stroked my arm and it jogged my hand, which hurt it more, so I asked her to stop. She did. We sat staring at the wall and the drunk man snoring.
Hours later we saw the doctor. She held the x-ray up to the light box and, in a soft voice, told me there were no broken bones. She injected my hand around the large cuts and sewed them up. She looked tired, like I felt. She said I could go home, that I would have enormous bruises and be sore and must keep the plasters on and not to get into fights again. I could see Mother taking in a big breath to tell her I didn’t fight. I didn’t want her to shout at the doctor, so I pulled Mother away with my good hand and thanked the doctor for her help. We walked out to Harriet, who looked gentle and sleepy. Even in the harsh white lights of the waiting room, she looked beautiful.
Chapter Forty
Steph
‘Don’t you wish you were their age again?’ Steph paddled along the edge of the smooth waves as they lapped into the shore, up to her ankles in the cool water. Hale walked beside her, but further up the beach, beyond the reach of the surf. She hadn’t persuaded him to remove his shoes and socks.
He looked up towards the dunes, to the group of students standing around the dying embers of the barbecue. Another group had lit a fire closer to the sea and sat around it smoking and drinking and chatting; segments of their faces flickered in the light of the flames.
‘No. I’m not sure I would. It was easier for us. No social media; there were drugs – but nothing as serious or scary as they are now. A good night out for me was three pints of cider in a pub pretending to be eighteen.’ Hale stepped further up the beach to keep his leather shoes away from the saltwater.
Wiping her feet on a tissue, Steph slipped her feet into her sandals and joined him as he walked towards the bonfire. Two students recognised them, quickly buried something in the sand and stopped talking as they approached. An unmistakable sweet odour wafted their way, and it was strong stuff from the smell of it. Steph glanced at Hale, who shook his head and rolled his eyes. This was not what they were after.
