DEATHLOOP (48 page)

Susan considered her conversation with Tracy extremely useful. She was curious to know what Zack and Veronica would do following her release from hospital. Susan suspected they might go away for a while somehow, and now she had a rough idea where.

On the night she had let herself in to Zack’s flat, she had discovered an old address book in his bedside cabinet and taken it, thinking it might come in handy. Now she realised how fortuitous that decision had turned out to be. Most of the names and addresses had been crossed out, but some weren’t. At the Internet café Susan discovered that Creed Mill Bridge was a picturesque market town three miles east of Burford, in the Cotswolds. She decided to give Justin a call to see if she could find out anything else.

“Hello, is that a Mr Justin Dunsmore,” she said in her official voice.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“This is Hannah.”

“Hannah? Hannah… sorry….”

“From Brideswell Bookshop…”

“Oh, right…” he said, just as confused.

“A Mr Zack Fortune gave us your number, at least, I hope I’ve got that right, it is Fortune isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, probably…”

“He ordered some books and gave us your address, although he mentioned that might change…”

“It has… he’s at Windbourne Cottage… sorry, can’t talk, I’m on my way out…”

Tracy found Jason’s house easily enough, dominating a short cut that ran at right angles to the Holloway Road. Some bright spark had had the idea of painting the house a sickly pink at one point, so it stood out, as all the other buildings in the street were traditional red brick. Drooping curtains blanked out each window and litter congregated on the path and the porch blown there by a conspiring wind, as though providing a service to the community. An old car battery lay on its side just inside the broken gate, and a rusty pram was propped up under the ground floor window on guard duty.

Tracy was at the front door considering the bewildering list of bells when it flew open revealing a huge ungainly adolescent, headphones clamped on his ears, who barged past her and off up the street. Tracy stepped inside the hall and took the stairs. A baby was crying somewhere, a girl shouted and a television blared. Elsewhere hip hop music pumped out, its base rhythm throbbing up through the floorboards, causing Tracy’s feet to vibrate in her shoes. She found Jason’s door and knocked, bringing movement behind it to an abrupt halt.

“Go away, Packie! Just fuck off out of it for the last time!” he screamed as the door flew open.

She saw the shock register on Jason’s face, then the panic as he brought the door almost closed again, peering out at her through the crack.

“Hi Jason, can I come in?”

“No you can’t come in, no one can, it’s not allowed.”

Just then, from across the landing another door opened and an Asian boy poked his head out.

“What’s wrong with you, man? Stop fucking screaming all the time.”

“Shut your gob, shitface,” said Jason.

“No you shut yours, wanker, or I’ll do it for you.”

“Let’s go down to the car,” said Tracy, “come on.”

Jason followed Tracy down the stairs and in his haste to keep her from his room, for the first time in months he stepped out into the street in his t shirt. Tracy clocked the dirty bloody bandages round his wrists and was working out what to say.

“Why haven’t you got back to me?” she said as they got into the car. “Please don’t do this if you want me to represent you.”

Jason looked at her and she knew what he was thinking: that he didn’t want her to represent him and he never had.

“And what’s this?” she said, nodding at his bandages as Jason gazed off into mid distance and folded his arms, blanking the question.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said, quietly.

“Really?”

“I do it all the time.”

“Well you shouldn’t do it all the time, if you hit a vein you’ve had it.”

Jason sniffed, ran the back of his hand under his nose.

“I think we should get you some help, don’t you?”

“There is no help.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No one wants to know.”

For all her years of dedication to the legal process and for the brilliant mind that she had honed into a not insubstantial tool for the benefit of earning a not insubstantial living, right at that moment Tracy could think of nothing that would make this any better, she tried, but could come up with nothing at all.

“There must be
someone
you can turn to,” she said finally, “someone who can give you some support.”

“Think I’d be living in that shithole if there was?”

“I could give social services a call.”

Jason cocked his head on one side and almost smiled. “Fuck off,” said Jason, patiently.

A silence fell between them, Tracy breathing in Jason’s smell, a combination of tobacco, alcohol, sweat and penny sweets, both in their own way affected by being here, alone, next to each other.

“So who patched you up?”

“Eileen found me, a barmaid called Eileen.”

“Just as well…”

“I went to see her that night and the following morning, and at lunch time, but they said she don’t work there no more and not to keep going back, but she does work there, I know she does.”

“You need to talk to someone, Jason.”

“I used to like talking to Zack Fortune but he’s dumped on me like everyone else.”

“Okay, so what about friends?”

“There’s Kelly…”

“Well that’s good…” said Tracy, surprised.

“She’ll be up later after she’s had her tea.”

“And where does Kelly live?”

“Oh, you know, around… we’re getting married soon although I’m not sure I’ll fit in with her lifestyle.”

“Why won’t you?”

“She’s an airline pilot, flying long haul from Heathrow, so marriage might not work out on that basis.”

Tracy stifled a smile, which wasn’t difficult because none of this was funny, it was tragic.

“Anyway… we’ve finally got dates for the hearing,” she said, handing over a sheaf of documents. “Look through those and get back to me, meanwhile, I’ll put in a few calls and try to find you somewhere to live.”

“No point, I’m moving to Miami soon so I can swim with dolphins every day.”

Tracy watched him get out of the car and shoot back into the house without another glance. She remained where she was for a while, trying to shake off the gloom.

Tracy felt completely impotent faced with the assorted problems presented by Jason Heart. She could possibly prevent him from being eaten up by the system this time, but inevitably he would carry on careering through life like a bucking bronco at a gymkhana, blind to the devastation in his wake, bewildered by the anger his lack of personal responsibility continued to generate, unable even to comprehend the concept of personal responsibility as none had ever been shown to him.

And in that he was not alone. Detention centres were overrun with just such kids, on a perpetual doomed search for emotional shelter, for somewhere they belonged, for someone who cared, their frustration at not being able to achieve this exacerbated by the knowledge that it was something others had gifted to them at birth, requiring no effort on their part at all. It was damage limitation now with Jason, and that’s all it would ever be till the day he died.

For a week Zack had attempted to keep his panic at bay, and had for the most part succeeded. He had made a huge effort to give in to the indolence and was gradually winding down, something he had never been able to do before, even on holiday. Without saying anything to Veronica, he went out for a good part of the day alone. Veronica didn’t question it, and anyway she had now managed to paint a little with her left hand, so she was occupied when Zack went off on his sorties.

Once or twice he scored cocaine to share with Justin, and Veronica did notice his sudden wide eyed enthusiasm when he got back to the cottage on a couple of occasions, but she didn’t mention it. She was pleased that Justin lived so close by, knowing full well that she was no substitute for the camaraderie Zack enjoyed with Sam. Veronica was happy at Creed Mill Bridge and she wanted Zack to be happy there too.

As Zack’s day in court loomed he found himself looking forward to his trip back to town, and rang Sam to arrange a meet. Zack had decided to defend himself. He didn’t really need Tracy now or the barrister she had recommended because he presumed it would be a slap on the wrist and a fine and he was right. He agreed to pay £2,000 plus costs. It was the final complication crossed off his list and he left Highbury Magistrate’s Court feeling a stone lighter.

“So that’s it?” said Sam, in The Two Bells an hour later.

“Indeed it is, the final chapter,” said Zack raising his glass, and hitting it against Sam’s.

“You look so much better, mate,” said Sam. “I know I rubbish country pursuits, but if it produces these results…”

“It’s dull out there, no question, but maybe dull is what I need at the moment.”

“How’s Veronica?”

“Making progress… she’s found a way to paint now so she’s happy about that.”

Sam looked at him, sensing trouble. “And you’re okay both of you?”

“I suppose we are, but hey… you know me…” said Zack, with surprisingly little conviction.

“Christ, don’t tell me you’re actually content.”

“Would that surprise you?”

“Well yes it would, leopards and spots comes to mind for some strange reason.”

They swapped smiles, mulled this over for a moment or two.

“And how’s Justin?”

“He’s okay, he’s given us space but he’s there for a bit of
madness
when I’m so inclined.”

“
Ah
…” said Sam, looking hugely relieved, “now that’s more like it.”

Two days later, over breakfast in the garden, Veronica asked Zack if he thought it a good idea to look out premises for a gallery.

“Round here you mean?”

“Well, yes.”

“It’s not permanent, Veronica, all this,” he said, “
is it?
”

“It could be.”

“We’d miss town, I mean we miss it now…”

“We’d get over it.”

Veronica loved it at Windbourne Cottage and felt no desire to be back in Thornhill Square, or pumping out the cellar at Puddlewell Lane. It felt like she was on holiday and she didn’t want the holiday to end.

Although she could barely remember what happened on the day of her accident, she could recall spikes of fear and an urge to get away. Everyone seemed to think that Susan had pushed her down the stairs, but Veronica could not vow that Susan had pushed her, but what she was doing on the stairs in the first place was still a mystery.

Since their conversation at her hospital bed, there was the little matter of Zack’s proposed confession hanging over them and Veronica was keen to get it out of the way. That night after dinner Veronica felt recovered enough to bring the subject up.

“I got the impression you didn’t want to hear all that,” said Zack.

“And I got the impression that you needed to say it.”

“Okay, but I warn you, it’s not pretty.”

“I gathered that.”

Zack was about to start speaking, stopped himself, regrouped, then tried again. “I treat people badly, especially women…”

“
You don’t say,
” said Veronica with a grin.

“And Susan was typical. Familiar territory… I had it in my mind to do what I always do… have fun for a while then move on. Susan decided otherwise, she decided she wasn’t going to be thrown off so easily.”

“So she should just have accepted the rejection and moved on?”

“That’s how it works doesn’t it?”

“Does it really?” said Veronica, shocked by the chill in Zack’s voice, “well thanks for letting me know.”

“Or rather that’s how it has worked in the past. Listen, commitment has never been my thing, but this says something, doesn’t it?” said Zack, his arms out wide indicating their surroundings.

“Oh I see, so this is some kind of sacrifice and I should consider myself lucky, is that it?”

“We’re here for you, Veronica, not me and I don’t make these gestures very often.”

Veronica didn’t reply. Zack had an infuriating habit of commending her and then insulting her almost in the same breath. “You said there were other things as well…”

“More of the same really, I scheme and connive to get what I want. Pretty early on in life I realised I had an innate skill and I suppose I’ve been doing it ever since. I sharpened my primitive inclinations on my mother’s boyfriends, so they provided a good grounding for all that if nothing else.”

“How many boyfriends are we talking about here?”

“I lost count, and you’re talking to a boy who was very gifted at maths. I tried to kill one once, I put rat poison in his shepherd’s pie but he was on to it straight away. He beat my mother unconscious and was carted off, so in a roundabout way it worked.”

“And that’s it?” said Veronica, instantly depressed by the childhood Zack had just conjured up.

“I left a young girl pregnant years ago, she was barely 16. I was too bound up in myself even to make contact, to check they were okay, but I often thought about them, eking out a living somewhere. I’ve just discovered that there is no child and the girl peddles herself round Kings Cross for ten quid a throw.”

“And Susan’s allegations?”

“What about Susan’s allegations?”

Veronica shrugged, self-conscious and unsure.

“Look, I’m a bastard, we know this, but I’m not that much of a bastard. So here’s what I am: manipulative, selfish, controlling, dominating, cunning, deceitful, jealous, insecure and sly, but please note, rapist is not on that list. And if you still don’t believe me, ask Tracy, the drugs I took on the night of the alleged offence rendered me incapable, therefore no case to answer M’Lud…”

“So is that it?” she said, listlessly, “any more skeletons in the cupboard you’d like to tell me about?”

Zack toyed with the idea of telling her about Richard but decided against it. Despite Barbara Quinn’s ticking off, he still felt his exploits as a child could be excused but his exploits as an adult could not, so he didn’t feel he was deceiving her too much by keeping quiet about them.