Cracks (4 page)

Loz roots around in his pocket and comes up with a dog-eared piece of paper. A tall guard glances at it and then we’re driving up towards the main building.

If it looks grim from the top of the hill, close up it’s downright scary.

Made from grey stone, it has hundreds of slitty windows that look like eyes peering down on you. Something about it feels really familiar but also makes me want to run away. My heart’s
beating like it’s got a microphone strapped to it. I swear I can hear it all around me and I glance to check whether Loz has noticed, but he says nothing. For a minute I feel like I’ll
stop breathing if I have to go any further, which is so stupid because it’s not like I’ve broken the law and got any reason to worry. It’s this feeling I keep getting,
that’s all. Like if I go in there, I’ll never get out again.

I clear my throat loudly and take a big breath. Got to get a grip on myself.

We reach another security entrance, where we have to walk through a metal detector. Another unsmiling guard pats us down all over our bodies, including between our legs, which is a bit
embarrassing. He says, ‘Right, come with me and I’ll show you where to go and then I’ll explain how to get back round with the van when it’s been checked.’

Even Loz looks a bit nervous now and we trot behind the guard like pet dogs. I can hear lots of voices as well as the echoey sound of footsteps. It sounds a bit like school, except with no girl
noises at all, and I miss them.

I glance up and see there are four levels with a wide open plan area in the middle. Boys of different ages, mainly late teens, are sitting around at tables, texting or playing cards and they all
look at me and Loz as we walk by. One boy smiles nastily at me and then shouts, ‘BOO!’ at the top of his voice. I flinch and hear the mass hysteria that follows. Luckily we soon leave
that area and go through a huge kitchen, filled with adults but also people I reckon are more inmates. It’s hot and steamy and smells of old chip fat. Out the back there’s another room
that reeks of smoke.

The guard goes over to a window and pulls up a metal blind. Light floods in, revealing a room covered in black streaks. Dust is swirling around and there are bits of floating stuff in the air
like black confetti that make me cough. I look up. There’s some kind of metal air vent with cobwebs hanging from it.

The guard speaks. ‘As you probably know, we had a fire in here. Most likely started by one of the lads working in the kitchen.’ He pauses. ‘We’re not exactly short of
arsonists here. So what we want is for it to be given a good clean before you paint it.’

There’s a window on one side that looks over a courtyard, which has a basketball net and goal broken on one side with ripped netting. Probably an exercise area. I can see various lads
hanging around in clusters. They all wear grey hoodies and one boy is standing in the opposite corner just facing the wall. But unlike the others, he has a huge X marked on his back. I wonder
whether he’s been picked out for something horrible. It gives me the creeps.

The guard clocks my expression. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, but not nicely. ‘There’s no access to this bit of the building from the yard. Water’s over
there.’ He points to a filthy square sink to the left. There are cracks all over it that look like spider webs. ‘Mops, buckets and cleaning stuff in the corner. OK?’

‘Aye, right enough,’ mumbles Loz and the guard nods before going out the way we came. We hear the sound of many locks being turned.

Loz goes and sits down on a chair in the corner and gets out his mobile. He glances up at me. ‘Get on wi’ it, then,’ he says and starts furiously texting.

I look at the metal bucket propped up in the corner and, instead of filling it with water, I walk back over to the window that looks over the exercise yard. At first I think the yard is empty
now but then I realise the boy who was facing the wall is still there. He’s turned towards me but the grey hoodie is pulled down low, hiding his face. He’s as still as a statue with his
arms down and his palms facing out. The word ‘sacrifice’ comes into my head for no reason at all. Adrenaline sizzles up my spine because I somehow know he’s looking right at me.
He’s like a a coiled spring and I imagine him suddenly leaping at the window. Then I give myself a little shake and tell myself to stop being such a muppet.

‘Ye no started, yet?’ Loz’s voice makes me jump. Trying to hide my burning face, I hurry over to the sink and start clanking around with the bucket.

The next two hours are completely horrible. Loz keeps disappearing off for a cig or to make a phonecall and I’m left to do everything. Where the smoke hasn’t reached, the corners are
sticky with spilled food or crumby dust piles. I haul out one box and see tiny brown pellets that make my stomach heave. I want to ask Loz if he thinks there might be rats in here but know
he’d only tell Des and they’d have a right laugh at my expense. I don’t even have any rubber gloves and I decide that I’m not going anywhere near Rat Poo Corner until
I’ve got a full chemical hazard suit on, or at least a pair of Mum’s Marigolds.

After a lifetime, the guard comes back and looks around, frowning.

‘Well, I hope you’re going to work a bit faster than this,’ he says and Loz looks genuinely offended even though he hasn’t done a single stroke of work.

Soon we’re outside in the fresh air, hearing the clunk of locks turning from inside. Loz doesn’t say anything and we trudge back to the van.

Tizer is so excited at our return that he fills the car with toxic gas. Loz ruffles his ears like the dog has just done a trick and starts the engine. We’re coming towards the main gates
when I see something that makes me twist sharply in my seat.

‘Whit’s the matter wi’ you?’ says Loz.

‘That boy,’ I say, ‘can you see him?’

He’s standing right up against the inner fence with his hands outstretched, palms up. ‘Course I can see him,’ says Loz. ‘Nasty wee neds, the lot of them.’

I don’t answer. The boy had something on his hand . . . some sort of birthmark. I open my own palm and stare down at the identically shaped mark there. I give myself a shake. Stupid.
It’s just a coincidence. Right?

When I get back, a note on the kitchen table tells me Mum and Des have gone to the pub. Pigface seems to be having one of his mammoth sessions in the bog with his car mags.

I root about in the fridge and then make myself a doorstep sandwich. I eat the sarnie and then stare at my hand for ages. The birthmark is pinky brown and lozenge-shaped. Maybe loads of people
have ones like this? It’s a bit weird though . . . Pigface’s mobile is on the table and it starts ringing. It doesn’t go to voicemail and just rings on and on. Eventually it
stops, then starts again. I don’t know why I pick it up. I often don’t know why I do the stupid things I do.

‘Yeah?’ I say.

‘Who’s this?’ snaps a girl on the other end.

‘Who’s this?’ I throw right back.

‘It’s Yasmine. Put Ryan on.’

Yasmine is the new woman in Pigface’s life. Suddenly, my horrible new job and the fact that I’m going nuts and no one cares all come whizzing together and I find myself saying,
‘Actually Yasmine, didn’t you know? He’s gone out with Tanya White this evening.’

‘He . . .
what?
’

‘Yeah,’ I go on, warming to the theme, ‘I think he said he was taking her to the pub and then the new
Saw
movie.’

‘The little.’

There are quite a few very unladylike words then and she hangs up. I stare at the phone. Then the toilet flushes and all the blood from my body seems to be replaced by iced water as I think
about what I’ve done.

I hurry off to my bedroom and push a full chest of drawers up against the door. Mum’s right, I’m an idiot and I don’t help myself.

I hear sounds outside and can picture what’s happening. Pigface sees he’s got a missed call and then dials Yasmine’s number. I know I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake
and, sure enough, a few minutes later I hear raised voices and I think about jumping out the window when there’s an ear-splitting . . .

. . . and Pigface is throwing his full weight against the door. I crawl backwards onto the bed and watch in horror as the doorframe actually starts to split apart. The chest of drawers is
shifting sideways and I know that Pigface has gone way beyond the point of caring about the furniture. I throw open the bedroom window but have only just got my head out when I hear him burst into
the room and his arms are round my waist dragging me back to the floor. He flips me over onto my back and squats over me, his eyes wild and a dangly bit of spit hanging off the side of his mouth
like a rabid dog.

‘Look, Ryan, it was only a joke! I didn’t mean to —’

‘Think you can make a monkey out of me, do you?’ he screams and starts to punch me. The last thing I remember is reaching for the football trophy next to my bed and then
there’s nothing at all.

V
oices come and go in surging waves and something’s tugging at me. Not my body, but inside my head.

I say, ‘Not yet, I’m not ready!’ for some reason, and my eyes snap open.

It’s morning. I’m in bed, fully clothed.

I can hear the radio on in the kitchen. I get up slowly, giving my ribs an experimental pat to see how bad they are. But they feel fine and when I pull up my T-shirt there are no bruises. I go
into the kitchen and Mum’s in there smoking and drinking a cup of tea. She looks up at me, but doesn’t seem especially curious about anything.

‘Tea in the pot,’ she says, stubbing out her fag and patting the back of her hair.

I lean on the table as my words coming rushing out. ‘Ryan beat me up! He could have killed me!’

She frowns, then smiles. ‘What are you talking about, Cal?’

For God’s sake! She’s not going to believe me, is she? Either that, or Des will have persuaded her I was in the wrong. I can see them all sitting around the table discussing it,
while I was out cold.

‘You’ve got to believe me, Mum! He’s completely out of control! He came into my room and started battering me and —’

Mum gives a funny laugh. ‘Who did, Cal?’ Like every word I’ve said was incomprehensible.

‘Ryan!’ I shout this time, unable to control myself a second longer. ‘Bloody Ryan! He attacked me! He’s out of control!’

Mum stops smiling. ‘Cal, you’ve obviously had some kind of nightmare . . .’ She pauses. ‘You’re not making any sense. Who’s Ryan?’

Someone stops the clock.

I can hear every noise in the house, from the water in the pipes, to the gentle hum of the fridge.

I can hear Mum breathing and my own blood whooshing round my veins.

Maybe if neither of us speaks again, we can forget how mental this moment is and carry on as normal.

But instead I take a deep breath, swallow, and say, ‘OK, not sure what’s going on here but you know who Ryan is. He’s Des’s son, isn’t he? You know, Desmondo? Lover
boy? Your darling husband?’

Mum turns away and reaches for her handbag, shoving her ciggies in the top. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you this morning,’ she says, ‘but you’ll be late
for the programme if you don’t hurry up.’

‘Late for what programme?’

‘Late for
school
, Cal! I said SCHOOL! Remember school? OK, there’s my lift. Better get going!’

Chills zigzag up my neck. Mum walks briskly out the door. I run out behind her but she’s already in a car that’s puttering down the hill.

I’m shaking all over. My brain’s hard drive is full. I can’t take any more weirdness. I haven’t got room. I look around the kitchen. Shock spikes in my belly again
because I know something is different but I can’t put my finger on it.

And then I realise.

Des’s chair isn’t here. It’s an old battered armchair where he likes to sit in the morning and drink his tea. There are none of his sweatshirt tops lying around either and no
copy of yesterday’s
Sun
where he normally leaves it next to the kettle.

There’s nothing of his in the kitchen whatsoever.

And I’ll tell you what else is missing. I can’t see any of Pigface’s stuff lying around. I scan the room again. The picture on the wall above the telephone – the one of
Des and Mum on their wedding day – has gone. Instead, there’s a painting of a vase of flowers. It’s a different size to the wedding picture and I move it to one side and can see
the right-sized mark on the wall, telling me this one has always been in that spot.