The Mute and the Liar (4 page)

Authors: Victoria Best

BOOK: The Mute and the Liar

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That’s
when
I
heard
it.
Shouting
and
cursing.
And
Father’s
voice,
bellowing
above
the
rest.
Voices
of
teens
protested
something,
screaming
abuse, and
other
male voices
intervening.

I
walked
up
to
the
window
and
saw
it. The
police
were
crowding
around
a
wall
opposite
my
house,
and
lined
up
in
a
perfect
row
along
it
were
the
teenagers
from
the
park,
all
babbling
over
each
other
in
defiance.
The
police
were
doing
a
stop-and-search.
Father
was
standing
right
in
the
middle
of
it
all, watching, or
rather,
commanding
everything.

It
went
on for
a
while. They
didn’t
seem
to
find
anything
interesting.
They
checked
the
‘ringleader’
of
the
gang,
that
boy
with
the
sticking
up
hair.
I
caught
sight
of
dad
and
could
see
he
was
just
praying
for
them
to
find
something.

Actually,
the
things
the
boy
was
carrying
around
were
quite
strange.
He
stuffed
his
hand
in
his
pockets
and
pulled
out
not
one
but
three
mobile
phones,
a
piece
of
cheese,
a
necklace
(which
an
annoyed
girl
standing
next
to
him
quickly
snatched
away)
and
a
teacup.
He
then
opened
a
plastic
supermarket
bag
next
to
him
to
reveal
a
lampshade,
which
looked
remarkably
like
my
neighbour’s.
A
policeman
looked
at
him
questioningly,
but
he
just
shrugged,
like
everyone
in
the
world
carrie
s
around
lampshades.

The
police
continued
with
their
search,
and
then
reached
the
final
person;
a
huge,
muscular
guy
with
his
white
hair
shaved
off
and
a
snake
tattoo
racing
up
one
of
the
tree
trunks
he
had
for
arms.
He
was
at
least
twice
the
size
of
any
of
the
others,
and
much
older.
I
could
have
sworn
he
was
shaking.
I
learnt
why
he
was
acting
like
that
after
a
few
minutes.
Concealed
in
his
coat
was
a
bag of
meth.

Chaos
erupted
after
that.
His
friends
all
scattered
in
different
directions,
shouting
ricocheted
around
the
street,
and
some
of
the
police
raced
after
those
that
had
tried
to
escape.
The
man
with
the
drugs
was
pinned
down
and
forced
into
handcuffs.

In
awe,
I
stood
by
the
window,
my
hands
pressed
up
against
the
thin
piece
of
glass.

The
teen
screamed
insults
and
abuse,
swearwords
frothing
at
his
mouth,
but
all his
friends
had
already
left
him.

Or
that’s
what
I
thought
at
least
until
I
noticed
the
ringleader
pressing
his
nose against
the
other
side
of
my
window.

I
was
right.
His
eyes
are
green.
Too
bad
they’re
also
empty,
bottomless
pools
that
are glaring at
me.

Chapter
Two

18th February 2011

I
’m bored.
This
case
isn’t
making
any
more
sense
than
it
did
four
days
ago.
I
found
some
witness
accounts
and
other
documents
pertaining
to
the
case,
but
they
haven't
made
it
any
clearer.
It’s
annoying
that
I
can’t
find
anything, because it’s
already Saturday, and so the
half
term
has
ended.

However,
I
did
find
out
more
about
what
happened
two
days
ago.
Father
passed
the
teens
on
his
way
to
work
and
saw
they
were
all
huddled
together,
and
he
thought
one
was
holding
something
resembling
a
knife.
So
when
he
saw them,
still loitering in
the
alley,
on his
way
home
from
work, he
called
the
police.

Obviously,
what
Father
really
means
is
that
he
wanted
a
chance
to
annoy
some
‘insolent
youths
of
today’
as
he
calls
them.
He
probably
made
up
the
story
about
the
knife.
He
just
wanted
to
stir
up
some
trouble,
gain
some
new
enemies,
and
prove
that
he’s
in
charge.
That’s
just
the
desperate
narcissist
he
is.

I’m
sitting
writing
this
on
my
desk
in
my
room.
Through
the
window
to
my
left
you
can
see
the
park.
Earlier
I
could
just
about
see
the
ringleader
of
the
group
talking
to
a
girl
with
dark
blue
hair
dressed
entirely
in
black.
They
were
hidden
behind
a
group
of
trees.
It
was
only
those
two.
None
of
the
group made an
appearance
yesterday. They both
seemed…
worried.

They’ve gone now.

It
was
a
little
unfair
that
the
police
had
caught
a
crime
right
outside
my
house
and
I
did
n't
do
anything.
I
wanted
to
help
somehow.
Be
a
part
of
it.
But
I
had
just
stayed
glued
to
my
place,
uselessly
staring
out
of
the
window.
And
those
teenagers
had
been
outside
my
house
for
so
long.
Why
didn’t
I
do
something?
I
could
have
caught
the
boy
with
the
drugs.
I
could
have
found
it
out ages
ago.
I’m supposed to be
a
detective.

It’s
my
16
th
birthday
soon.
3
rd
March.
But
I
don’t
want
to
be
sixteen.
Anyone
who’s
going
to
be
anything
interesting
has
already
done
something
with
their
lives
by
this
time.
If
you
want
to
be
an
actor,
you
ought
to
have
been
in
something
by
now.
If
you
want
to
be
a
writer
you
should
have
written
something.
But
I’m
just
sitting
here,
wasting
days
.
How
am
I
supposed
to
be
anything interesting,
when
I
can’t
even be normal?

At
least
I
look
normal.
Very
plain.
The
sort
of
person
you
don’t
take
any
notice
of,
that
blends
into
the
background,
just
another
leaf
on
a
tree.
I
have
large,
chestnut
eyes.
I’m
quite
short
and
too
thin,
or
at
least
that’s
what
everyone
tells
me.
What
I
don’t
like
is
that
my
rosy
cheeks
burst
into
scarlet
whenever
I
get
embarrassed,
which
is
pretty
much
whenever
someone
looks
at
me.
My
dark
brown
hair
spirals
down
my
back
in
ringlets.
In
some
ways
I
am
thankful
I
look
like
this.
I
hate
any
sort
of
attention.
This
just
makes
it
easier
to
slip
into
the
background.

I’m
going
to
go
and
solve
another
case
now.
I’m
just
biding
my
time,
really.
Putting
off
tomorrow.
Making
it
come
as
slowly
as
possible.
I
don’t
want
it
to
be
tomorrow. It’s the
most
depressing
day
of
the
year
.