Any One of Us, page 10
“So that’s a possibility? Walking again?”
“Apparently, according to her. Though I’m not holding my breath. It’s the hope that kills you. This isn’t ideal, I know that. Just . . .” He sighed. “Christmas before last, my grandad died, OK. Then, a week later, to the day, my mum went too.”
“I’m sorry.” Ruby wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to say.
“The point I’m making is about perspective. Because, believe it or not, this . . .” He patted the leather arm of his wheelchair, then turned his head, showed Ruby the scar. A thick cord coming down his jaw, almost perfectly vertical. “. . . is not the worst thing that’s happened to me.” It looked like a train track running from his ear to his neck, pale stitch holes either side of the line. “To be honest, I feel sorry for Scott. At the reunion, he was off his face. He was a mess, in so many ways. I started talking to him, not the other way around. Really, who knows what was going on behind those eyes, but I doubt being Scott Hopkins was a picnic. Maybe that’s punishment enough. Because I bet, despite everything, I’m happier now than he has ever been. Life is . . . it’s . . . The universe is out to fuck you and Scott was just another part of it. Honestly, I’ve got no grudges. Blame is such a dead end.”
Kendall had been dealt a tough hand. A childhood of bullying is one thing, but Scott had taken it to another level.
“And funnily enough, after that day, he left me alone,” Kendall said. “As though maybe even he realised he’d gone too far.”
“Can you remember much?”
“No, not really. Flashes, kind of. It was over something so stupid. He asked me to pass him his bag, which was on the grass. And I said no. Then he just went ballistic. He hit me, but I didn’t retaliate. He hit me again and again. Foolishly, I stood up. Again. And again. Then he kept pushing, shoving. Wanted to fight. And he pushed me closer and closer to the edge of the wall . . . Then, a final shove. I stumbled backwards and . . . Five feet. That’s how far I fell.” Kendall held his hand up just above his head. “That’s it. As bad as he was, Scott can’t have known that this,” he looked down at himself, “would happen.”
There were a lot of serious incidents at Missbrook Heights, but Scott attacking Kendall was by far the worst. It was remarkable on reflection that it took a further three weeks before the school expelled him. Senior staff seemed keen to frame the encounter as a fight, rather than an unprovoked assault. Expelling Scott was an admission of fault on their part – something they delayed as long as they could. But eventually downplaying it became untenable. Either way, poor Kendall was in hospital for weeks and received plastic surgery to repair his jaw and save his eye. Half of his teeth were implants. The injuries to his spine, and subsequent complications, eventually put him in this wheelchair.
Ruby thought about Scott at the reunion, posing with Kendall, leaning down to smile. To smile with all of his natural teeth. Inches from that scar, from all the damage he’d left behind. But there really was no malice in the photo. Maybe, to him, that day on the school field wasn’t even significant. Victims remember. Bullies are free to forget.
“There is such a thing as evil,” Ruby whispered, thinking out loud. “Unfortunately.”
After a short silence, Zoe entered the room and stood behind Kendall, just over his shoulder. She seemed keen to join the conversation. “Talking about the reunion?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Ruby said, hand on the cat’s back, one finger under its thin collar. “I noticed that, uh, you took some photographs.”
“That’s right.” Zoe removed her phone. “I’m guessing you want me to send them? All the ones I didn’t put online?”
“Yes.” Ruby looked up. “Yes, please, that would be helpful. Thank you.” She spelled her email address.
“Is this to work out who was there?” she asked, swiping to the gallery. “Because the detectives have already done that.”
Ruby could tell that Zoe was a controlling presence. The calm, open atmosphere had changed. Zoe was in charge now.
“No, not necessarily,” Ruby said. “Just want to get a flavour of the night.”
Zoe’s phone emitted a whooshing, email-sent sound. “There you go.” Then she put a hand on Kendall’s forearm. “Did you mention that you spoke to all three?”
“Yes,” he said, with slight impatience. Ruby sensed tension between them.
“Must be hard, for you.” Zoe tilted her head sympathetically. “Kendall mentioned that you were good friends with Elizabeth. We saw her from time to time. Spent last Christmas together.”
“Yeah?”
“Elizabeth’s older brother is married to Kendall’s stepsister.”
“Small world.” Ruby frowned, getting a grip on that connection.
“Welcome to Missbrook Bay.” Kendall sighed. “One big happy family.”
She thought back to those next of kin interviews, the recordings she’d listened to on her first day here. Elizabeth’s was the hardest. Her grieving husband, now a single father. That unthinkable horror of life-deranging loss – it felt all too real in his juddering voice and Ruby had so nearly lost control. She had to pause it and step away.
The topic of Elizabeth seemed to shift the mood in the room again. Now tragedy descended. Kendall put two fingers on his lips, as though deep in thought. Then his eyes began to water and he covered his mouth, first with one hand, then with both.
“Aw, fuck,” he said, muffled in his palms. His face fell into his hands and he groaned. Zoe squeezed his shoulder and Ruby reached out to touch his knee. It felt so small, like a child’s leg. “It’s OK,” he added. She let go, leant back onto the sofa as the fickle cat fled across the carpet towards the kitchen. “Elizabeth was so . . .” He sniffed, took a breath, stroked Zoe’s hand affectionately. “She was just so nice. It sounds pathetic to use that word. But she really was the nicest person. And those kids . . .” He shook his head, swallowed, approaching anger now. “It’s like, Scott was the worst person imaginable, but Elizabeth? Elizabeth was the best.”
There was a pause. And Ruby nodded. “She was.”
“You are going to catch the person responsible,” Zoe said, staring at her.
This seemed more motivational than a question. Maybe even an order. And Ruby nodded again, firmer now. “Yes, I . . . we will.”
The three of them spoke for another hour or so and Ruby discovered, as she’d suspected, that they had left the reunion together, around midnight. She had what she came for – more than a hundred photos from that night waiting in her inbox.
Showing her to the door, Zoe stopped in the hallway and stepped close. “Listen,” she said, checking over her shoulder to be sure Kendall couldn’t hear. “All this has been a lot for him. Not just losing Elizabeth, but bringing all that Scott stuff up too. He’s on strong medication and emotionally he’s quite fragile. If the police do need to ask any more questions, can you make sure it’s you? The other detectives were very cold. I did not like them.”
“Sure,” Ruby said. “I’ll do my best.”
She turned to the door.
“Your jacket.”
“Oh, yes.” Ruby hung it over her arm. “Thank you.”
She stepped outside into the cool air. The rain had stopped. Now the late afternoon sun was breaking through the clouds, hitting the wet road. A blinding glare from every puddle – tarmac stars, speckled silver and twinkling. Combined with the rising steam, the ground was fiercer than her eyes could take. Ruby rounded the corner, and went through the recycling centre gates towards the car.
She climbed into the driver’s seat. It felt clammy, damp inside, like a greenhouse – horribly warm with the sun at her back. The windows were still fogged up. Taking a deep breath, she slid the key into the ignition. Then she put her seatbelt on and looked up at the rear-view mirror, squinting. But she couldn’t see a thing out of the back window, just glowing condensation – a sheet of white, like an X-ray light box.
And as she searched around the dashboard for a button to clear the glass, she heard something. Then, in an instant, she knew something. She just knew. She just knew that she wasn’t alone. Before she even checked, she actually had time to think the words, there’s someone on the backseat.
Eyes to the mirror.
And then, eerie and deliberate, a silhouette rose up behind her. Surreal, heavenly light eating into the shadow. A large male shape, backlit with a hood, a halo. Ruby didn’t jump. Just the opposite. She froze as a thousand options fell away to leave just one. Get out. Run.
Half a second of silence and then, quick, she swung her hand down to undo the seatbelt but he grabbed her wrist. Then he seized the belt, yanked it back until it was tight across her waist.
Writhing, desperate and manic, Ruby threw her weight forwards and twisted, scrambling, getting the door half open, her fingers slipping off the handle, leaning but then slammed back, back into the seat as he pulled the belt, tugged it until there was no more give.
She tried to yell the word “help” but the last half was lost as he yanked the belt a final time, tearing the air from her lungs.
“Shut up,” he said, “shut the fuck up.”
Ruby turned to see if she could reach him – his eyes, his face, anything. But every time she moved the seatbelt tightened, like a constrictor, pulling her back, hard into the seat.
Realising she was stuck here, she stopped struggling. There was a strange moment of calm. Peace. Both of them catching their breath. Stalemate. OK. Now what, she thought.
She heard him move, strengthening his position, felt his mass against the back of the seat, imagined the belt coiled around his arm, his hand gripped firm.
His face came up close, just behind her ear.
Then, below, she saw something poke slowly between the seats, hovering above the handbrake. Eclipsing it. The grey barrel of a sawn-off shotgun. A clean beam of yellow light glinting off the metal. He placed the end against her ribs, pointing it up into her armpit.
“Listen to me very, very carefully,” he whispered.
Chapter Seven
It was ironic to consider just how strong they make seatbelts. Ruby could hit a wall at top speed and, amid all the instantaneous mayhem that would entail, so many things would break. Limbs, organs, her skull. But not the seatbelt. Its sole purpose, no matter how extreme the force, was to keep her here. Right here, in this seat.
“Start the engine,” the man said.
During the tussle, he had unplugged the seatbelt and was holding it behind her. He’d unspooled it to the very end of its runners, so her back was pressed flat against the chair.
Humanise yourself.
“Please can you loosen the belt?” she said. “It’s hurting me.”
There was a pause. And he did. He gave her an inch. It was still digging into her waist, still cutting against her collarbone, but she had some mobility back. Wiggle room. Not much but some.
Ruby gradually moved her hand to the key, eyes locked on the rear-view mirror. What was she going to do? She needed a plan.
“Quickly,” he added.
But she stopped. His voice was familiar. She lowered her head slightly, leaning as far forwards as she could to make him out in the bright reflection.
Backlit and hooded, it was difficult to see his features. But the few she could see jutted out. Distinct cheekbones, wide chin, sharply depressed temples giving him a broad forehead. Pale. Dark eyed. Tall. He was definitely tall. And Ruby was now certain that she recognised him. He looked even more like Frankenstein’s monster in this light than he ever had at school.
A young man who disappeared years ago. Now he was here, armed in her car, taking her hostage.
“Frank?” she whispered, staring into his reflection, wincing through the doubt. “Frank Enfield?” Ruby made sure she pronounced it properly, leaving enough of a gap between each name.
But he didn’t reply. He just sprang forwards, disappearing from the mirror, but arriving at her side, in her peripheral vision, bashing hard against the seat.
“Drive the fucking car,” he hissed, teeth together.
And he really meant it this time. She felt the gun again, pressing into her hip, firm enough to bruise.
The fight-or-flight adrenaline was dissipating. Ruby took an unsteady breath as she came to terms with the horrendous fact that neither was an option. All that remained was fear. No. Worse. Terror. The kind of claustrophobic dread that threatens to derail every human sense.
Humanise. Buy time.
“Please, Frank,” she said, hands on the wheel, clearly visible, “I’ll drive,” fingers splayed, clearly submissive, “I’ll do what you say,” clearly scared, “but can you please stop pointing the gun at me.”
She saw him checking through each window – looking once behind them, tetchy and fast. “What?” he snapped.
Ruby flinched, head bowed, shoulders tensed.
“What did you say?” He spoke quietly now, maybe in anger.
“The gun. Please can you lower the gun.”
There is a third option in fight-or-flight situations. The thing we fear too much to even list. But, no, calm, breathe. Ruby was not going to die. She was going to think.
Do what he says. She started the engine and lowered the handbrake. And then, as though it was a fair trade, she felt him take the gun from her hip and sink away behind her.
“Thank you,” she said.
But he maintained his grip on the seatbelt – holding it like a lead, as though Ruby was an unruly dog.
Reversing the car, carefully, slowly, her movements were conscious, considered – she turned the wheel with all the caution of a driving test. Textbook mirror checks. Clutch, into first gear and then—
God. Another spike of cold, goosebump horror. Nausea. Ruby felt a sudden need to lie down, collapse to the ground, curl up, knees to her chest, foetal, as though that might be the only way she’d feel comfortable. Or safe. Safe. The very idea of feeling safe seemed absurd, like she’d been a fool to ever believe it was possible. Stay calm, think. The humble beginnings of a panic attack shuffling her mind. Resetting each train of thought back to clean fear. Trapped. She was trapped.
The car was still. The engine turning over. Rumbling. Idle.
“Go,” he said. “Drive to the gate.”
Ruby thought about Giles. How would her stepdad handle this? How would he want her to handle this? His voice seemed to echo from the past. Remain calm. Even when you’re scared. Do not allow terror to cloud your judgement.
OK. She drove towards the car park’s gate – along rows of empty spaces.
But she was already breaking a crucial rule.
“If your captor wants to go somewhere else, you shouldn’t go,” Giles had told her. “Because the destination will be invariably advantageous to them, not to you. All you’re doing is travelling to the scene of a crime.”
Giles had given her endless hours of self-defence lessons. Military drills for a twelve-year-old girl. They had seemed so ridiculous, a complete waste of time. But now every piece of information was coming back to her, overruling the formal training she’d had since. His was far more thorough, far more focused on self-preservation.
“Resist at every opportunity. If told not to scream, then scream. If told not to run, then run. Every single moment of compliance helps your captor.”
Then again, there were caveats. There were exceptions. Like here, now, they were in a quiet car park. The nearest house was a long way away, behind fences and hedges. There were no witnesses.
Ruby needed to get out onto the street – find some eyes. But, as she came to a stop at the open gate, Frank told her to turn left. She blinked slowly, her heart sinking. That direction took them away from the town centre. Still, she indicated and pulled out onto the old coast road.
Driving now, Ruby was able to think clearly. The real questions. Long overdue. What was this? What was happening? Where was Frank taking her? Why was he armed? Was the shotgun even real? Was it loaded? Had she already missed her—
“. . . man, on a trapeze.” Frank was mumbling something to himself. Whispering under his breath.
She just eyed him cautiously in the mirror. He was sitting back now, her seatbelt plug still in his hand – the rest wrapped around his forearm. She rose a little and saw the gun on his lap. Real enough.
“Very high up,” Frank added. “And you can see him swinging. Did you see?”
She swallowed. “I . . . I’m not sure what you mean?”
Frank looked out the window, watched the world sweep past, fascinated like a child on holiday. As though it was all new to him. The sun was gone now – overcast grey had returned. But he still leant down to admire the sky above.
“He goes through the spotlight,” he said, pointing at the brightest cloud over the ocean. It flickered in and out of view, between the gaps in the trees. “It’s big and white.” He smiled – tired but full of joy. “Round. The man in the middle has a walking stick. Welcome. Welcome. And he turns around, looking into the dark crowd.”
Hands ten and two on the wheel, Ruby kept a straight face, fixed on the road ahead, her eyes widening ever so slightly. What the fuck is he talking about?
Then Frank made eye contact in the mirror, pulled his hood off his head and came forwards. But not to threaten her. Just to talk. “Does the circus still come?” He spoke clearly now. Normal. Casual.
“Pardon?” Ruby said. She’d heard him but she didn’t fully understand.
“The circus used to visit. They had the tents on the recreation ground. I’m small so, well, it’s obviously in the past. I just wondered if it still happens now.”
“Oh, I . . . I’m not sure.” Ruby was taking the gentle corners, staying within the speed limit.
“Can you find out?”
They were just leaving the boundaries of Missbrook Bay, turning inland – the scenery changing along the gradual incline, more trees lining the quiet road. Up ahead, she saw a sign for a layby. Three hundred yards.
