Last Light (30 page)

CHAPTER 61

6.15 p.m. GMT
Beauford Service Station

‘STOP RIGHT NOW!’

It was such a loud voice.

‘WHAT THE
HELL
DO YOU THINK YOU’RE FLIPPIN’ WELL DOING?’

A deafening, parade-ground loud voice that cut over the jeering and shouting of the crowd like a gunshot. Tattoo-man, the hard-faced platinum blonde and the dozen or so other people who were manhandling Jenny, stopped. They didn’t put her down mind, but for the moment they hesitated.

‘WHAT THE
HELL
IS GOING ON?’

It was Ruth’s voice Jenny could hear; that no crap taken, tell it how I see it, call a spade a spade, Birmingham accent.

‘IS THIS HOW GROWN-UPS ARE MEANT TO BEHAVE?’ Ruth continued like a secondary school teacher chastising a classroom of unruly teenagers.

Jenny felt some of the hands that were holding her, begin to loosen, temporarily shamed. She was lowered back down to the ground. She looked up, squinting at the setting sun, melting against the horizon. Ruth stood beside the front of the truck, standing firmly with her legs planted apart, her hands held behind her back. In her dark business trouser-suit, she looked a little like a policewoman, a prison guard perhaps.

‘That’s right, put her down!’ she barked again, a little less deafening, now the crowd had quietened down. ‘What the bloody hell were you people thinking of?’

Tattoo-man was the first to regain his voice. ‘Fuckin’ bitch is with those bastards inside!’

Jenny looked across at Ruth, and realised.

They think Ruth’s one of them?

Perhaps in the confusion they hadn’t seen her emerge from behind the truck? Jenny made eye contact with her, and Ruth seemed to nod back, almost imperceptibly.

She’s picked up on that too.

‘Yeah? Well maybe she is, but this is no bloody way to behave! Absolutely disgraceful. We’re not a bunch of flippin’ savages are we?’

Ruth’s chastising approach seemed to be working for now. Maybe somehow at an instinctive level she was tapping into that inner-child thing everyone has. The baying mob right now looked like a class of thirteen year olds being read the riot act by their deputy head.

‘But those selfish bastards inside are sitting on all that food, and we’re all fuckin’ hungry!’ replied the platinum blonde, still holding Jenny’s arm in a tight, painful grip.

‘We’re thirsty too. There’s no running water,’ someone in the crowd called out.

Ruth took a few tentative steps forward towards Jenny. ‘Well that’s as maybe. I’ll talk to them,’ she announced. ‘I’ll make ’em see reason. But right now, let this poor young lady go,’ she looked pointedly at the platinum blonde, ‘there’s a good girl.’

The mood of the crowd of people around Jenny seemed uncertain, wavering. She sensed even more than water or food, they wanted someone to step forward and be in charge, and this sturdy-looking lady with a foghorn voice and a reassuring line of common sense seemed to be filling that void.

Oh my God . . . she’s going to get me out of this!

Tattoo-man loosened his grip on Jenny.

But platinum blonde still had one sinewy hand wrapped tightly around Jenny’s upper arm, her long nails digging painfully into her skin.

Ruth now focused her stern gaze solely on the blonde.

‘Listen love,’ said Ruth taking another couple of steps forward until she was a mere yard away, and staring powerfully down at the whippet-thin woman. Ruth’s generous figure, not inconsiderable height, and that dark business suit - all those subtle things were helping to sway the delicate situation in her favour.

‘I’ll talk to them, just as soon as you’ve let her go. We’re Brits for Christ’s sake! We are NOT going to behave like a bunch of flippin’ Third-World savages. Do you understand, love?’

Ruth took another step forward and reached a hand out for Jenny, the other hand still tucked behind her back.

The blonde eyed her suspiciously, tightening her grasp on Jenny’s arm. ‘Yeah? And how you gonna get them to share out that food? Huh? And anyway, who fuckin’ well put you in charge?’

Ruth’s face hardened, she pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed. ‘You re-e-e-ally don’t want to tangle with someone like me darlin’, you really don’t. I eat little slappers like you for breakfast.’

Oh God
, thought Jenny, sensing she was nearly home and dry . . .
she’s truly terrifying.

The blonde studied Ruth silently for a moment. ‘Hang on, you’re not from our fuckin’ estate anyway. I know everyone’s face. I don’t know yours.’

Jenny’s eyes flickered towards Ruth.

You’ve been rumbled.

‘So flippin’ what? I come from Burnside, fucking toughest estate in Birmingham. Doesn’t mean shit really does it?’

Jenny heard it. That meant everyone else had heard it too; a slight wavering in Ruth’s voice.

The blonde smiled, knowing the tide was swaying her way again.

‘You’re one of ’em wankers from inside aren’t cha?’ She turned to address the crowd. ‘She’s not from our estate, she’s not one of us!’

There was a moment’s lag. Clearly they would have preferred Ruth as a leader, but the unspoken agreement was that their neighbourhood was their
tribe
. They had to stick together, because it looked like no one else was going to come and help them out. When things turn to shit, you stick with your own.

Ruth took advantage of the moment.

With surprising speed for her size, she whipped her other hand out from behind her back and held it inches away from the face of the blonde. Jenny could see she was holding something small and blue, a can of something.

It hissed and sprayed something into her face.

The blonde screamed in agony and dropped to the floor where she clawed at her face with her hands. Ruth roughly jerked Jenny forward.

‘RUN!’ she bellowed, pointing towards the front of the truck. ‘There’s space to squeeze round!’

Jenny staggered forward, rushing past Ruth.

Ruth held her ground a moment longer, keeping her arm aloft.

‘It’s mace! Take a step closer and I’ll flippin’ well burn your face off with this stuff!’ she yelled at the crowd of people in front of her.

As Jenny rounded the front of the truck, she spotted the squeeze-gap between the truck and the pavilion’s perspex front. She shot a glance back at Ruth, who was now backing up one step at a time, with the can of mace held in front of her like a gun.

Some of the crowd were keeping pace with her, some more had spread out either side. Jenny could see Ruth’s steady retreat was in danger of being cut off by some of these people. She needed to turn and run right now.

‘Ruth!’ she cried, ‘Come on!’

‘I’m coming!’ Ruth called back, not daring to look away from the people in front of her. She took another couple of retreating steps, and then she began to turn.

But something lanced through the air towards her; a brick, a piece of loose paving . . . it hit her on the back of the head and she lost her footing and tumbled to the ground.

‘Ruth!’ Jenny screamed.

The crowd from the estate were upon her almost immediately and before the mob closed around Ruth’s prone form, Jenny spotted the platinum blonde kneeling down over her, tears streaming from bloodshot eyes, punching Ruth’s face repeatedly with a balled, bony fist.

‘Oh my God!’ she whispered, rooted to the spot.

‘Jenny. For fuck’s sake come inside!’ hissed Paul, standing in the space between the truck and the pavilion.

She turned to look at him. ‘We’ve got to help her! They’ll kill her!’

Jenny turned back to look at the crowd. There seemed to be some amongst them who were reluctant to take part, there were even some who were desperately trying to pull others back off Ruth.

‘Come on, inside!’ Paul grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the gap. ‘There’s nothing we can do for Ruth now.’ He led her to the revolving door, pushed her ahead into the open segment and leant hard against the plastic door to turn it - looking anxiously over his shoulder, as the door slowly moved.

Without power turning it, he had to work hard to budge it.

Jenny emerged from the segment into the greenhouse heat of the foyer, just as Paul dived into the next open segment. She saw the first of the mob squeeze around the front of the truck, and along the pavilion wall towards the door, hammering their fists on the thick plastic to intimidate them.

‘Come on Paul!’ she screamed, and reached out to grab a panel as it swung round in front of her. She threw her weight against it, and the door turned a little faster.

Paul emerged just as the first of them entered an open segment. He quickly grabbed a bucket seat from nearby and wedged it into the closing gap. The door shuddered, and through the thick glass she could hear them outside jeering angrily.

Inside, she could hear a pin drop. Mr Stewart’s staff, uncertain what was being shouted at them through the plastic, but clearly understanding the intent behind the jeering and taunting, stared in horrified silence at the pale, enraged faces outside.

One of Stewart’s older ladies, a Nigerian, started crying, repeating something over and over.

A prayer?

Jenny’s blood ran cold. ‘They killed her,’ she muttered to herself. ‘They killed Ruth.’

And we’re going to be next.

CHAPTER 62

9.51 p.m. GMT
Shepherd’s Bush, London

If this had been a normal night, like, for example, this time last year, they would have been out in their tiny backyard. Perhaps Dad would have barbecued some kebabs, and Mum would have rustled up some salad and spoon-bread. She would almost certainly have invited over the neighbours from across the street, the DiMarcios, because they made Mum laugh. Dad probably would have kept to himself though, he just wasn’t that good with Mum’s crowd.

The point is, it being so warm now that the predictable early June clouds had gone away, they would have been outside, enjoying it - getting tipsy on sangria.

Instead she was trapped inside someone else’s home, an unfamiliar environment, looking out at the last light of a warm summer evening.

Leona looked out of the front-room window - the blind drawn across to hide her - on to the avenue. She saw the net curtains twitch upstairs at the DiMarcios’ house. They must still be there then; hiding like her and Jake, and hoping nothing about the outside of their hiding place would attract the attention of the gang tonight.

Last night had been truly terrifying, hearing the sounds of them breaking in to someone’s home, just thirty or so yards up St Stephen’s Avenue. Leona had heard a lot of voices; cheering, shouting, laughing. In and amongst that cacophony, she swore she heard someone screaming somewhere in that house.

She wished she hadn’t.

‘Are the Bad Boys back again?’ asked Jacob anxiously, looking up from the deck of cards he had spread out on the lounge floor.

‘Not yet, Jake. They won’t come out until it’s gone dark.’

Jacob nodded. It was still light now, light enough to be able to read the numbers on his Yu-Gi-Oh cards - just, and whilst there was daylight, they were safe.

Jacob wished Dan would come back. Leona said he’d decided to go home and look after his mum. Jake knew she was lying though. She lied bad, just like every other girl . . . lots of ‘ummms’ and ‘ahhhs’. Jake on the other hand could tell huge porkers all day long without batting an eyelid.

Dan hadn’t gone to look after his mum.

He’d dumped Leona. That’s what he reckoned had happened. That’s why she’d been doing that crying today when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He’d teased her last time she’d split up with a boyfriend, Steve. Jacob hadn’t liked him anyway. He was always looking in mirrors, and shiny surfaces, playing with his hair. And the one time he’d bothered to play with Jacob - whilst waiting for Leona to do
girl stuff
in the bathroom - he’d just been pretending, not re-e-eally playing with him . . . just trying to impress Leona, and look good in front of Mum and Dad.

Dan, on the other hand, was cool. Dan knew how to play. He missed Dan.

Leona did too.

And with him around, he’d felt a little safer too. He suspected the Bad Boys were scared of Dan, that’s why they had been left alone, that’s why they had stayed out in the street. But now he was gone, the Bad Boys might not be frightened any more.

He wondered if Dan had decided to be a Bad Boy too and make a nuisance outside long after bedtime. Maybe he’d got bored of sitting in the lounge, eating those gross tins of pilchards in that yucky ketchup - which tasted nothing like proper ketchup - bored of playing Yu-Gi-Oh with him?

Probably.

He looked up at the lounge window. The sky was getting dark now.
They
would be coming soon, coming out to play.

‘Lee?’

Leona stirred, let the blind drop back into place and turned to him, wiping her cheek quickly. ‘Yes Jake?’

‘Can I sleep with you tonight?’

‘I . . . I stay down here. I don’t sleep in any of the upstairs rooms.’

‘Can I stay down here with you then?’

Leona thought about it for a moment. ‘Okay, go get a quilt and pillow and you can sleep on the sofa down here.’

Jacob got up and made for the stairs, and then had a thought. He came over and planted a clumsy kiss on her cheek. It was damp - she’d been doing some more of her secret crying.

‘Nevermind,’ he said hoping it was the right thing to say, ‘I bet you’ll have another boyfriend soon.’

She turned away to look out of the window again. ‘Just get your things, there’s a good boy.’

Jacob ran up the stairs quickly. It was too dark up here for his liking, so he made quick work of grabbing a quilt and pillow from the nearest bed. He entered the lounge to find Leona staring at him, a finger raised to her lips, the sadness that had been spread all over her face like chocolate after an éclair, was gone.

She looked scared now.

‘Shhh … they’re back,’ she whispered.

Jacob tiptoed quietly over to her, dropping his bedding on the floor, and then joined her by the window. Directly outside their house a car was parked, headlights lighting up the street, the doors open and the sound of bass-heavy music thumping from within. He saw movement inside the car.

The Bad Boys were back.