Read Lucas Online

Authors: Kevin Brooks

Lucas (28 page)

BOOK: Lucas
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‘Have you asked Lucas where he was?'

‘We haven't been able to find him yet.'

I took a deep breath. ‘He was with me.'

Two pairs of eyes bored into me.

I looked at Dad. ‘When I went out with Deefer today … you remember? We went down to the beach. We met Lucas and went for a walk. I was with him from about half past one until half past two.'

‘Why didn't you say so earlier?' Dad asked.

I shrugged. ‘I don't know.'

‘You don't
know
?' Lenny said. ‘I didn't feel like it.'

‘Come on, Cait—'

‘I was with him,' I said flatly. ‘He couldn't have done it. I was with him.'

Lenny shook his head. ‘We're still going to have to bring him in.'

‘On what evidence? Have you got any evidence?'

Lenny looked at me. ‘Angel told us who it was, Cait. She
described
him—'

‘Any forensic evidence? Any injuries? Bruising, skin under her fingernails, blood, fluids … anything like that?'

‘Cait!' Dad exclaimed.

I kept my eyes on Lenny. ‘Have you got anything?'

Lenny looked at me. ‘Not yet.'

‘Isn't that a bit odd?'

‘Maybe … it's not unheard of …'

‘But you'd expect to find something, wouldn't you?'

He nodded. ‘Usually.'

‘Maybe you ought to ask Angel for some more details,' I suggested. ‘Examine her a bit more closely.'

‘Listen, Cait, if you know something—'

‘All I know is Lucas didn't do it. He
wouldn't
do it. Believe me – he's not like that. And anyway, like I said, he was with me. If you want me to make a statement, I'll make one. If you want me to testify, I will.' I looked at Dad. ‘He didn't do it.'

They carried on asking me questions for a while but I didn't have anything else to say. No, I didn't know where Lucas was. No, I didn't know if he was still on the island. No, I didn't know where he'd go if he left the island … I didn't know anything. Which was pretty much the truth. They weren't very happy about it, but then neither was I.

I figured that made us just about even.

Before he left, Lenny took me to one side and had a quiet word in my ear. ‘Don't push your luck, Cait. I like you and I like your dad. You're good people. I'm glad to have you as friends. But I'm still a police officer. I've got a job to do. There's only so far I can go – do you understand?'

‘You can go as far as you want,' I said.

He looked at me. Disappointment showed in his eyes. ‘Ah, Cait,' he sighed. ‘I thought you were one of the good ones.'

That surprised me. I don't suppose it should have, but it did. It hurt me, too. It wasn't fair. I
was
one of the good ones, that's why I was doing what I was doing. I was trying to do what was best … I
was
good …

Wasn't I?

I lowered my eyes and looked at the floor.

I just didn't know any more.

Dad showed Lenny to the door, leaving me alone with Dominic for a minute. As soon as I heard the front door open I leaned forward in my seat.

‘Do they know anything?' I whispered.

‘About what?' he said.

‘Anything.'

He frowned. ‘I don't think so.'

‘Did Lenny say anything about Tait or Brendell?'

‘Not to me … I gave him the story about Brendell hitting me with a pool cue but he didn't seem too bothered about it.' He glanced nervously at the door. ‘This thing with Angel and Lucas—'

‘Tait set it up – didn't you know?'

He shook his head. ‘I thought he was joking. I didn't think he'd—'

The front door slammed.

Dominic looked at me.

‘Don't say anything,' I hissed. ‘Just don't—'

Dad entered the room and stood in the doorway looking at us. There wasn't much affection his eyes. As I waited for him to say something my mind strayed back to the day before when I was alone with Lucas at the edge of the woods, when I'd felt as if I'd been there before and that
Lucas was someone else … and as I thought about it the same strange feeling came over me again. Only this time it was even more mixed up. I couldn't tell if
this
was the moment I'd been thinking about then, and that Dad was the someone else, or if
then
was the moment I was thinking about now, and that Lucas was someone else … someone familiar … and we were talking about secrets …

I'm not a child
.

‘Cait?' said Dad.

I looked at him. ‘I'm not …'

‘You're not what?'

I shook my head. ‘Nothing. I was just … it's nothing.'

At a signal from Dad, Dominic got up and left the room. Dad watched him go, closed the door, then came over and sat down next to me. The settee sagged in the middle and drew us close together.

Dad put his hand on my knee. ‘I think it's time we had a little chat.'

Now that we were alone I was afraid my instincts would take over and I'd break down and blurt out the truth. It was the natural thing for me to do, the way I'd always coped in the past, and I didn't think I was capable of resisting it. I didn't think I had the guts … or the lack of them. But in the end it wasn't as hard as I thought.

Dad wasn't angry. Or, if he was, he didn't show it. Even when I didn't answer his questions he remained in control. He didn't shout, he didn't fume, he didn't go crazy. In fact, his eyes were so steady and his voice so calm, I almost had trouble staying awake. There were a lot of questions – questions about Lucas, questions about Dominic, questions about Angel. But mostly the questions were about me – what are you feeling? what are you
thinking? what's wrong? why are you lying? why don't you trust me? what do you want? what do you want me to do? how can I help? are you sad? happy? ill? lonely? jealous? bored? angry? … They were questions I'd been asking myself since I was old enough to think, and I couldn't have answered them even if I'd wanted to. So I did what a confused teenage daughter is supposed to do – I stared silently at the wall, distant and incapable, and wished that things were different.

I know I ought to have said
something
, if only to put Dad's mind at rest, but I just couldn't find it in me. I couldn't find the words. My mind kept drifting away. I don't know where it went. I don't even know what I was thinking about. I was too tired. I couldn't concentrate. My thoughts were vaporous and indistinct.

It must have been about midnight when I realised that Dad had stopped talking. He was just sitting there with his arm around me staring out of the window. The moon had moved on and the room was dark and quiet. I leaned against him and looked up into his eyes.

‘I'm sorry,' I said.

He smiled. ‘I know you are. We'll talk about it tomorrow. Right now, I think you'd better get some sleep.'

I kissed him goodnight and left him sitting alone in the dark.

fifteen

T
he next day I got up early and showered and then started getting ready for the festival. It was only about seven o'clock, but the heat of the sun was already fierce and it looked as if it meant to stay that way. The sky was high and blue and there was barely a breath of wind in the air. It was a day for shorts and a vest, but I was still conscious of the cut on my knee and the bruise on my arm, so I dressed in a pair of cropped trousers and a long-sleeved top. I started fiddling around with my hair, trying to do something a bit special with it, but after a while I got fed up looking at myself in the mirror and I gave up on it. I wasn't really in the mood for looking nice anyway. What was the point? Whatever I wore and whatever I did to my hair, I'd still be a sweaty mess by the end of the day. Besides, it was only a stupid little festival. It was nothing to get excited about. Nothing was going to happen.

Lucas wasn't going to be there.

He wasn't stupid. He'd know the police were looking for him, and he'd also know that that was the least of his worries. Angel's story would have got around by now, and with Jamie's help it would have grown from an unsubstantiated rumour into a stone-cold fact: Lucas was a pervert, a child molester, a rapist, and what's more he was a dirty thieving gyppo. If he showed his face anywhere near the festival, there'd be a riot.

No, Lucas wasn't going to be there. If he had any sense
he'd be miles away by now, heading for the south coast …
there's some nice places in Dorset and Devon … I've always wanted to take a look at the moors … I'll send you a postcard
…

Great, I thought. A postcard …

Wish you were here …

I ran a comb through my hair, jammed a sun hat on my head, and told myself to forget it. He's gone. Forget it. It was nice while it lasted – whatever it was. But it's over now. It's done. Finished. It's time to move on …

Crap, crap, all bloody crap.

It
was
nice, damn it. It was fun. It was exciting. It was miserable. It was hard. It was terrifying. It was heartbreaking. It was alive. It was true. It was all there was.

And now …?

Now all I had to look forward to was a long hot day with Simon and his mum selling
Save the Beach
badges and drinking cans of warm Coke.

Do I really want that? I thought. Do I?

I stared at the mirror.

Does it make any difference what you want?

Does it mean anything?

The girl in the glass looked back at me with a blank face and empty eyes – she was no help at all.

I sat there for a couple of minutes feeling sorry for myself, then I went to the bathroom, had a quiet word with the moose, scooped all my RSPCA stuff into a carrier bag, and set off for the village.

The Hale Summer Festival is held every year on the second Saturday in August. It's not the most thrilling of events but it's always been a pretty good day. The main part of the village is closed to traffic and by nine o'clock the High Street and surrounding sidestreets are lined with
all kinds of stalls: local charities, arts and crafts, tombolas, bric-à-brac, plants, clothes, jumble … everything you'd expect from a small village festival. The pubs are open all day. There are ice cream vans, burger vans, vegetarian stalls, people selling home-made cakes and buns. There's usually a brass band somewhere, and a local pub group playing on the back of a lorry, one of those two- or three-piece bands with drums and an organ and a middle-aged woman singing lively old tunes that get the old folk clapping along when they've had a few drinks. And throughout the day the streets ring out to the sounds of jugglers and clowns and open-air theatre shows. It gets pretty busy, especially when the weather's fine. The local population is swelled by an influx of visitors from the mainland, and by the middle of the afternoon the streets are usually packed.

When I arrived it was still quite early and everyone was busy getting their stalls ready. I knew most of them, at least to say hello to, and as I headed up towards the RSPCA stall outside the library I was greeted with a chorus of friendly nods and waves that went some way towards lifting my spirits. The street was a hive of activity, with people bustling about unloading things from vans, laughing and shouting and singing along to radio music. There was an expectant buzz about the place. But there was also something else in the air, something unspoken. There was an edge to things. Narrowed eyes, frowns amid the smiles, furtive glances …

It's Angel, I thought as I approached the RSPCA stall. Everyone's heard about poor little Angel and the monster who attacked her. First Kylie Coombe, and now this – what
is
the world coming to?

‘Morning, Cait,' Mrs Reed said. ‘Thanks for coming.'

I looked up and smiled.

Simon's mum is one of those women who don't care what they look like but who always look pretty good anyway. In her mid-forties, with shoulder-length pale blonde hair and a nice fresh face, she was wearing a plain white dress, no jewellery, no shoes, and no make-up. Her eyes shone like jewels.

‘Here,' she said, reaching for my bag, ‘let me take that. You look hot. Do you want a drink?'

She put my carrier bag on the counter and passed me a can of economy-brand Coke. I didn't really want it but I thanked her anyway. I looked over at Simon. He was stapling posters to the back wall.

‘Hello, Simon,' I said.

He smiled at me. It was a genuine smile, and I was relieved to see it. After what happened the last time we met, I wouldn't have blamed him if he didn't want anything to do with me. He turned back to the poster and finished tacking it up, then put the staple gun in his pocket and spoke to his mum. ‘Can you manage on your own for a couple of minutes? I want to have a word with Cait.'

‘All right,' she said. ‘Don't be long, though. There's a lot of work to do.'

‘Five minutes,' he said, signalling for me to follow him.

We walked off down the High Street and turned into a quiet lane that leads up behind the library. I still had the unopened can of Coke in my hand. As we sat down on the kerb I offered it to Simon.

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I don't know why she buys it. I can't stand the stuff.'

He was wearing a heavy black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, faded black trousers, and black boots. The darkness of his clothing accentuated the paleness of his skin. He looked almost anaemic. Apart from that, though, he
seemed happy enough.

‘Have you heard?' he asked.

‘About what?'

‘Angel Dean – someone attacked her.'

‘Yeah, I know.'

‘They think it was that boy, you know, the one who—'

‘I don't want to talk about it.'

‘There's a rumour going round that he's been seen in Moulton—'

‘Simon,' I said, giving him an impatient look, ‘I really don't want to talk about it. OK?'

BOOK: Lucas
8.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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