Savage Night (23 page)

She felt like those invisible fat men were sitting on her again.

The doorbell rang again and she clenched her jaw, screwed her eyes shut. Didn't help of course but it showed her that at least she hadn't sunk into catatonia.

Was that how Mum felt? Like a bunch of fat men were sitting on her?

Effie just had to wait. Then it'd be safe to carry on. The uninvited guest would be gone, normal service could be resumed.

But then she heard the clank of keys. And then a scratching in the lock.

She looked up. Martin was standing at the top of the stairs, a towel wrapped round his waist. He was looking at the door.

Effie tiptoed forwards. Caught Martin's eye and motioned for him to get out of sight. He frowned, but when she persisted, he disappeared back along the corridor.

The door opened.

A boy walked in. Looked about ten years old, wearing a mini-backpack, pushing a bike. He looked at Effie and said, "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" Effie said, although she knew exactly who he was. Fraser's little brother, Jordan. He should be tucked up in bed in his own home where he lived with his dad and his grandmother. Although his dad hadn't been home in a while.

The kid ignored her. Breezed in, leaned the bike against the wall just beyond the tub and the packaged torsos of Phil and Fraser. He pulled at the strap on his left shoulder and asked, "Where's Fraser?"

"Ah," Effie said. "He's not here."

The boy stared at her. "What are you doing in his house?"

"Well, I'm a friend of his."

"That's his dressing gown."

Effie shrugged. "I'm borrowing it."

"Did he say you could?"

"Didn't say I couldn't."

"It's too big for you. Who are you?"

"I told you. You should listen."

"No, you didn't. Where's Dad? Where's Fraser?"

"Honey." Martin's voice. He was padding down the stairs, still in his towel, a second now draped round his neck to cover his scar. The hair on his shins glistened. The boy turned to look at him, his eyes shrinking. Martin said to Effie, "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Sure," Effie said, happy to play along. "This young man is …"

"Jordan," Jordan said.

"Jordan," Effie said. "And Jordan, this is my husband … Clive."

Martin looked at her. Held out his hand to Jordan.

Jordan took it. The kid's grip looked slack.

Martin bent down a little, looked into the boy's eyes. "And how do you know Fraser?" he said. "How come you have a key?"

Oh, Martin was good.

"He's my brother," Jordan said. "Where is he?"

"He's away on business." Martin glanced at Effie. "We're looking after the house for him."

Jordan nodded, seemed to think that was okay. "Have you seen Dad?" Then he added, "I was supposed to meet him here."

The centre of Effie's forehead went cold.

Martin held both the boy's wrists. "There's no one here but us."

"He must be coming later."

"Maybe."

"When's Fraser coming back?"

Martin looked at Effie, but Effie was having trouble breathing. Jordan was supposed to meet his dad here?

"Well," Martin said. "Your brother had to go away in a hurry. We're not sure when he'll be home."

"I'm going to phone him." Jordan put his hand in his pocket.

Effie found her voice. "I don't think so," she said.

Martin said, "It's okay."

"It is?" Effie asked him.

"If Jordan wants to talk to his brother, that's fine."

Jordan dug out his phone and dialled. A faint pop tune started playing off to the right.

"That's Fraser's ringtone," Jordan said. He walked past them, into the sitting room, heading towards the sound.

They followed him.

Fraser's phone was on the coffee table where Effie had left it after she'd stripped the body. Jordan picked up the phone and cut the call. Turned to face them. "Why didn't he take his phone?"

"Had to leave in a hurry," Effie said. "We told you."

"Why?"

"An important deal."

"A deal?"

"In London."

"What kind of deal? He doesn't do deals."

"A grown-up kind of deal," Martin said. "That we can't tell you about, Jordan. I'm sorry."

"You mean like drugs?" Jordan said. "Oh." He laid his brother's phone back on the table, returned his own to his pocket. "You haven't seen my dad, then?"

Martin shook his head. Effie shook hers too.

"I'll wait," Jordan said. "Why do you have that bath thing there?"

Effie looked in the direction of Jordan's gaze. He was staring through the open door at the tub in the hallway next to his bike. "Throwing it out," she told him.

"What's in those bags?"

She swallowed. "Odds and ends."

"And what are those?"

Now he was staring at the two bloodstained body-shaped parcels rolled up against the wall. "Just some rubbish," she said.

"What kind of rubbish?"

"Just rubbish."

"Doesn't look like rubbish. I've never heard of anybody wrapping up rubbish in sheets."

"It's special rubbish," Martin said. "Needs to be recycled. In sheets."

"They're bleeding."

"Nah," Effie said. "That's just sauce. Tomato sauce. Cranberry juice. That kind of stuff."

The kid stared at her. "That's not special rubbish, then."

"The rest of it is," Martin said. "The solid part. Not the liquid part."

Jordan turned away, scanned the sitting room and said, "I've never seen you before."

"That's because we're not from around here."

"Where are you from?"

"England."

"I have cousins in England."

"I'm sure you do."

"You don't sound like them."

"It's a big place, Jordan. People sound different. Depends which part of the country you come from."

"You sound like me."

"Well," Effie said, "I'm from here. Originally. But I've lived in England for a long time. Live there now. With my husband. With Clive."

"My mum's boyfriend's from South Africa."

"Is that right?"

"Russell. He talks funny. He stole her from my dad."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Effie said.

"What kind of rubbish is it?" The little fucker turned his head towards the bodies again.

Martin went on the attack. "How come you're up so late, Jordan?"

Which stalled him. He looked away from the bodies of his brother and uncle, shrugged. "It's not that late."

"Does your grandma know where you are?"

Jordan looked at the floor. Dragged his foot across the carpet.

"I'm sure she does, Clive," Effie said.

"She doesn't!" Jordan looked up, his eyes wide. "Dad said not to tell her. I sneaked out." He grinned.

"When did you speak to your dad?"

"Little while ago?"

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. Told me to come round here."

Effie looked at Martin. He shrugged. Effie said, "You actually spoke to him?"

"He texted me."

"He couldn't have."

"How do you know?"

Martin was staring at her. "You want a glass of milk or something?" he said to Jordan, still looking at Effie. "Sit down, watch a bit of TV?"

Jordan shrugged. "Yeah, okay," he said.

Martin said, "When did your dad say he'd be here?"

"He didn't."

"Think you could call him and find out?"

***

THERE WAS NO reply. Of course there wasn't. Jordan was lying.

Effie took the phone from him.

"Hey!" he said.

"I'm just going to borrow it. You can get it back later."

"I want it." The kid's face crumpled. "You can't take it. It's mine."

"I'm just going to make a few calls, that's all."

"Use your own."

"I can't get a signal."

Jordan's eyes latched onto Fraser's phone. "Use Fraser's."

Effie picked it up, pocketed it. "Good idea. I'll try it, too." Then she switched on the TV. "Shut the fuck up and watch this."

Martin came back from the kitchen with some milk, looked at the pair of them. "What's the matter?" he said.

"She took my phone."

Effie said, "Stop moaning."

Martin handed Jordan his milk. "Or you'll never get it back," he said. "Now drink that, watch TV and behave for two minutes."

"She's got the remote."

Effie tossed it into his lap. Martin grabbed her elbow, steered her out into the hallway.

He pulled the door towards them, didn't close it. He whispered: "Keep calm."

"I am," she said. "But what the fuck's going on?"

"I'm sure everything's fine."

"How can it be? That little bastard's here."

"I know. And his father texted him."

"But you know he couldn't have."

"You heard what Jordan said."

"He's lying."

"Has to be. But why?"

She couldn't think of a reason.

Martin said, "Give me his phone."

She handed it over.

He fumbled around on the keys for a bit, then said, "Here it is." He read out the last message. Just as Jordan had said. "And it says it's from his dad."

"Shit," Effie said. "We have to go. This means Dad's in trouble."

"Not necessarily."

"Course he is."

"Think about it," Martin said. "Why would Jordan's father text him? If you were in his shoes, and you got to a phone, you'd call, wouldn't you? And why would his dad send him to the most dangerous place possible? Right into our arms? You think that's likely?"

She still didn't say anything.

"Want me to spell it out?" He shrugged. "Okay." Continued: "Somebody else sent the message using his dad's phone."

She felt her face flush. "You mean
my
dad? Why would he …?"

Martin nodded. "Let me call him."

"We can't do that."

"We can't
not
do it."

"It'll give the game away. They'll trace the call. It'll prove that we were here."

"I'll use my mobile."

"No good. They can tell where you were when you made the call."

He peered through the crack into the sitting room. Jordan must have been behaving himself cause Martin turned to face her again. He said, "Then I guess we won't know what's going on till we get to Old Mrs Yardie's."

"You think Dad's been planning this all along?"

"Shhh," Martin said. "Jordan'll hear."

She lowered her voice. "Answer me."

"I'm guessing. I have no evidence to back me up. But knowing your dad, I wouldn't be surprised."