Lucas (33 page)

*  *  *

I don't know if it was the effect of the storm, or just because I hadn't been alone with Dom for such a long time, but for some reason the house felt all wrong. The stairs seemed steeper than normal and the ceilings too high. The carpets felt thin and hard beneath my feet. The night was too dark, the lights too bright, the thunder too loud. The walls, the windows, the floor … everything was slightly distorted, like visions in a dream that isn't a dream.

A spoken thought entered my head:
This is your world, Cait. It isn't a dream. A thousand miles and an inch
are
the same. This is it. The world grows elastic
.

I didn't know what it meant or where it came from, and I didn't really care. I'd given up trying to understand anything.

I went into my room and stripped off my soaking wet clothes. Gusts of rain were pounding against the window and I could feel a cold draught rippling through the curtains. I went over to check the window. It was closed. The wind was coming in through cracks in the frame. I tightened the latch then fetched a towel from the airing cupboard and dried myself off. I smelled of sweat. My skin was cold and wet and wrinkled and flecked with bits of damp fluff.

I went over to the chest of drawers to get some dry clothes – and that's when I saw the small wooden figure on the bed. It was the carving that Lucas had given me, the miniature Deefer. It was just lying there on top of the bed, bang in the middle, as if it had been placed there deliberately.

Had I put it there?

I sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to remember when I'd last been in here. This morning … it was this morning. I'd got up early, had a shower, got dressed, got the RSPCA stuff ready … had I looked at the carving? I
couldn't remember. I kept it in the drawer of my bedside table, the drawer where I kept my underwear. Had I taken it out when I was getting dressed? I picked up the figure and turned it over in my hand, trying to jog my memory. From above, I could hear the water tank dripping in the attic –
tack, tock, tock … tack, tock, tock … tack, tock, tock
– like a hesitant clock. It was a strangely hypnotic sound, and as I listened to it and stared at the carving in my hand, my mind drifted up through the ceiling and I imagined the cold attic air and the smell of soot and old wood. I could see the dark beams and the scarred rafters and the flash of lightning glinting through the cracked slate tiles. I could hear the rain hammering on the roof and the wind in the eaves … and I was there. I was a child again, playing alone in my attic world. It was a world of dusty things hanging from beams: coils of rope, shapeless bags, old coats, cardboard boxes, bits of wood, rolls of carpet, tins of paint, broken suitcases, stacks of yellowed newspapers tied with string … it was a world that was anything I wanted it to be. I could make a den out of an old piece of sheet draped over the beams and pretend I was marooned on a desert island, or lost in the woods …

The door slammed open and Dominic marched in.

‘Do you
mind?'
I said, covering myself with the towel.

His face reddened and he backed out of the doorway. ‘Sorry … I was just checking. You seemed to be taking a long time, that's all. Sorry.'

‘I'll be down in a minute.'

He shut the door.

I was back in my room again.

I was fifteen years old.

I was a child.

W
hen I went downstairs Dom was sitting in front of the fire with a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Soft light glowed from a pewter lampstand in the corner, casting long shadows that loomed on the wall. The heat of the fire crackled in the air. Dom was staring into the flames.

‘Have you fed Deefer?' I asked him.

He nodded.

I sat down in the armchair and curled my feet under my body. I was wearing one of Dad's old cardigans with a pair of pyjama bottoms and thick woolly socks. Scratchy but warm. Dom took a mouthful of whiskey and puffed on his cigarette. The smoke folded in the air and curled away up the chimney. He took another drag then threw the cigarette into the fire and turned to face me.

‘I couldn't get through to Shev,' he said. ‘He must have his phone switched off.'

‘Maybe it's the storm,' I suggested.

He shrugged.

‘What about Lenny?' I asked.

‘He's stuck in Moulton. He went down this morning with Bob Toms and Pete Curtis to look for Lucas. They had a tip-off he was hiding out in some woods by the river.' He looked at me. ‘Anonymous phone call.'

I shook my head. ‘It wasn't me.'

‘Lenny sounded pretty pissed off about it.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't know – probably because he's been tramping around in the woods with Bob Toms all day.'

He drank more whiskey and lit another cigarette. The light of the fire seemed to age him, and for a brief moment he looked just like Dad. It was all there. The worried face. The voice – distant and emotionless. The way he looked at things. Even the way he sat – hunched over his cigarette, sipping whiskey and staring mournfully at the fire … it was Dad all over.

‘Did you tell Lenny I saw Jamie with Angel?' I asked him.

‘I told him everything.'

‘What's he going to do about it?'

‘Well … like I said, he's stuck in Moulton, but he's in touch with Bob Toms – Toms came back on the helicopter with the paramedics. They should be at the scene by now.'

‘Has Lenny heard from them?'

‘Not yet.'

‘So we don't know if it
is
Angel?'

‘Lenny doesn't know anything. Communications aren't too good, apparently.'

I was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. Things didn't feel right.

I said, ‘Who else was in the helicopter?'

‘Just Toms, the paramedics, and a CID sergeant from Moulton.'

‘That's it?'

‘There wasn't room for anyone else. Pete Curtis and the other constable – what's his name, the blond one?'

‘Warren, I think. Jeff Warren.'

‘Warren, that's it. Him and Pete are in a patrol car on the other side of the Stand. Until the tide goes down,
there's nothing they can do.'

‘They could row across, couldn't they?'

‘Toms won't let them.'

‘Why not?'

‘He says it's too risky.'

‘Too
risky
? We've got a girl who's probably dead, we've got gangs of thugs roaming the island looking for trouble, and he thinks it's too
risky
…? What the hell's going on, Dom?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Nothing makes sense. Why didn't Lenny take the CID sergeant's place in the helicopter? How come Toms can order his men not to cross the estuary but he can't let Lenny know what's going on? And what did
he
come back for, anyway? Bob Toms is a desk man. He doesn't know how to deal with something like this. Why didn't he send Lenny?'

Dom shook his head. ‘I don't know.'

I looked at him. ‘Does Toms know about Jamie and Angel?'

He didn't answer for a moment. He took a long drag on his cigarette and tapped ash into the fire. Outside, the night was black and the storm was still raging. I could hear the rain hammering on the lawn and the sound of leaves being torn from the elm tree in the garden.

Dom sighed. ‘I don't know about Toms. He's pretty tight with the Taits, so I wouldn't be surprised if he knew that
something
was going on … but I'm not really sure. To tell you the truth, I never really knew what was going on with that lot myself.' He looked embarrassed. ‘I was just … I don't know … they're a weird bunch, Cait. Especially Jamie and Sara. I thought they were exciting at first, I thought they were just having a laugh, having some
fun
.
You know? I didn't think there was any harm in it. I should have known, I suppose …' He shook his head. ‘God … how dumb can you get?'

I got up and went over to the window. I could feel Dom watching me, and I wondered what he wanted me to say – it's all right? we all make mistakes? I forgive you?

I pulled back the curtain and looked out at the yard. I could see my reflection shimmering in the window, and beyond that the white blur of Dad's car shivering in the rain. Everything else was lost in the storm. There was nothing to see, nothing to say, and nowhere to go. There was nothing to do but wait.

I dropped the curtain and went back to the armchair.

‘Do you think he's out there?' Dom asked quietly.

‘Lucas?'

He nodded.

I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together, imagining the feel of the wooden carving, and I remembered Lucas's voice –
Don't be too hard on your brother. And try not to worry. I'll always be close …

Was he still out there somewhere? On the beach, in the woods, cold and wet, tired and hungry, hiding in the dark like a hunted animal …? For his sake, I
wanted
to hope that he wasn't, but deep down I couldn't help hoping he was. It was a selfish thing to want, I know – selfish, heartless, stupid, and cruel – but what could I do?

You can't stop yourself wanting something, can you?

The night dragged on and the storm showed no sign of easing. I don't know how long we sat there, hardly speaking, just waiting for something to happen, but it seemed to last for ever. Every now and then one of us would get up to go the bathroom, or make some coffee, or – in Dom's
case – get another drink, and then whoever it was who'd gone would come back in and sit down again.

‘Anyone call?'

‘No.'

Dom tried Shev a couple more times but his phone was still switched off, and when he tried calling Lenny all he got was an automated message saying that all lines to the mainland were currently unavailable. Even Rita and Bill's phone was dead. We were on our own. Just me, Dom, Deefer, a thousand ugly thoughts, and the never-ending crash of thunder and rain.

It was after midnight when Deefer's ears pricked up and a growl rumbled in his throat. He swung his head round in the direction of the drive and let out a short, gruff bark. I knew it was coming but it still made me jump. Dom stood up and reached for the baseball bat that was leaning against the wall.

‘It'll be Dad,' I told him.

He walked over to the window and drew back the curtain. Deefer climbed down from the settee and walked stiffly to the door, his throat grumbling and his hackles rising.

‘Let him out,' Dom said.

I opened the door and let Deefer out into the hall. He started barking loudly at the door. I still couldn't hear anything above the storm, but through the frosted glass panels above the door I could see the twin beams of yellow headlights sweeping across the yard. After a few seconds the lights cut out and Deefer stopped barking.

‘Who is it?' I called out to Dom. ‘Is it Dad?'

‘I can't see. It looks like a van … you'd better come in here.'

I went back into the front room and joined Dom at the window. He was standing with his face pressed up to the glass and the baseball bat grasped behind his back. I cupped my hands to the window and peered out into the darkness. I could just make out the outline of a van-sized vehicle parked beside the Fiesta. Rain glinted on a darkened windscreen.

‘Shit,' whispered Dominic. ‘This is ridic—'

He stopped as a light went on inside the van. Dad's face appeared in the windscreen and we both sighed.

‘Who's that with him?' I asked.

‘I think it's Shev – it must be his van.'

We watched Dad shake Shev's hand, then he opened the door and hurried across the yard, glancing at the window as he went. Dom raised his hand and I went to open the front door. Deefer was barking again, but this time it was his ‘welcome home' bark, and his heavy tail was wagging from side to side. I unlocked the door. It swung open in the wind and slammed against the wall, and then Dad bounded in, shaking the rain from his head. He looked terrible. His face was white and streaked with mud, his hair was a mess, his clothes were soaked and dishevelled, and he smelled atrocious.

I grabbed him round the waist and squeezed him tight.

‘Hey … hey … it's all right,' he murmured, stroking my hair. ‘Everything's all right.'

I buried my head in his chest.

After he'd had a quick shower and a change of clothes, Dad joined us in the front room. Dom poured him a big glass of whiskey and he slumped down in the armchair and drank down half of it in one go.

‘That's better,' he sighed. ‘God, what a day … are you
two all right?'

We both nodded.

Dom said, ‘I tried ringing Shev but his phone was off.'

‘Dead battery,' Dad said, finishing the whiskey. He lit a cigarette. ‘Has Lenny phoned?'

‘No,' I said.

He shook his head. ‘Christ, this is a mess. Did you see those bloody idiots at the Stand?'

‘Tully Jones was there,' Dom said. ‘And Mick Buck. Is the Stand still cut off?'

Dad nodded. ‘If this storm keeps up, I can't see it going down until the morning. Maybe not even then. It's like a damn lake out there.' He stared into the distance and puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette.

‘What happened, Dad?' I asked.

He looked at me with troubled eyes.

I said, ‘Did you find her?'

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘We found her.'

‘Was it Angel?'

He stared at me for a long time. Eventually he said, ‘How do you know?'

‘Was it?'

He nodded gravely. ‘You'd better tell me what you know.'

There was no reason to hide anything any more. No reason, no point, no sense in
not
telling him – in fact, I was finding it hard to remember why I hadn't told him everything in the first place – and as I opened my mouth and started to talk I had every intention of speaking the truth. But something happened. Something clicked in and overrode my intentions, and the words that came out weren't the words I meant to come out.