Lucas (37 page)

‘What's this?' asked Lucas.

I looked up. He was standing at the other end of the attic where an old piece of sheet was draped over the beams.

I smiled. ‘I used to play in here when I was a kid. That was … well, I don't know what it was exactly. My secret place.'

‘Your hideaway?'

‘Yeah.'

He grinned. ‘What did you think about when you were up here? What did you wish for?'

‘I don't know … I just wanted to be on my own, I suppose. I wanted to get away from people.'

He nodded. ‘It's good to get away.'

‘Yeah … I always came back, though.'

He looked at me. ‘That's what you wanted.'

‘I suppose so. What about you? Didn't you want to go back?'

He shook his head thoughtfully, gazing past me into the shadows. ‘No …' he said quietly. ‘I didn't want to go back …' His words trailed off as he stared blindly at the wall.

The wind whistled through the roof tiles and the light-bulb swung in the rafters, distorting the shadows.

I shivered. It was suddenly getting cold.

Lucas snapped out of his trance. ‘Is there any way of looking out? Can we see the yard from up here?'

‘Over here,' I told him.

He walked over to where I was sitting and I pointed out
a gap in the side of roof where the tiles were missing and the roofing felt was torn. ‘If you lie down on that board and slither along you can see outside.' I rubbed soot from my hands. ‘What's Dad doing?'

Lucas moved over to the gap in the roof. ‘He's on the phone, trying to get through to Lenny. He didn't seem to be having much luck.' He lowered himself to the floor and slid along until he was close enough to the gap to look out. ‘This is good,' he said.

‘What do you think's going to happen?' I asked.

He adjusted his position, shuffling his legs about to make more room for himself. He said, ‘In about ten minutes, a bunch of people are coming down your driveway looking for my blood. They'll probably be led by Tait and Brendell and Angel's brother, backed up by the boys from the Stand and whoever else fancies it. They'll be drunk and pumped up with coke and speed, and most of them will be out of their minds with hate. Bob Toms will be there, ostensibly to arrest me, but he won't do anything to stop any trouble. That old Fiesta of yours parked across the drive is going to hold them up for about two seconds. They're going to stream into the yard and your dad's going to go out and face them. He'll tell them I'm not here. He'll tell them I
was
here, because he knows they know it, but that I'm not here any more. I left half an hour ago, heading for the Stand.'

I got out of the chair and joined Lucas on the floor. As I wriggled up alongside him he moved over to make room for me.

‘Then what?' I asked.

‘Well according to your dad, they'll slap their thighs, turn around, and go chasing back to the Stand.'

‘And according to you?'

He hesitated for a moment, shifting his head to let me see through the gap. I was right next to him now. I could smell him, his skin, his breath. I could feel the dampness of his clothing. We lay side by side and peered down at the yard below. It looked strange from up here. Cramped and unfamiliar. Too pale. Too flat. Its colour and dimensions distorted by the height.

‘According to you?' I repeated.

‘I don't know what's going to happen.'

‘Yes you do.'

He turned his head and looked at me. I'd been close to him before, but not like this. I could see every line and every pore on his face, every little scar. I could see deep down into his eyes …

‘We'll soon find out,' he said calmly. ‘It's happening now.'

I looked outside.

A convoy of vehicles was coming down the drive.

L
ying side by side on the attic floor, we watched the trail of cars and vans rumbling down the driveway towards the yard. The groan of slow-moving engines shook the air, rattling the beams of the attic and showering us with dust. Thunder rolled in the distance, lightning flickered, and the rain-darkened driveway was ablaze with headlights. There must have been about a dozen vehicles in all. Jamie Tait's Jeep was in front, followed by the white van, then a ragbag assortment of cars, pick-up trucks, motorcycles …

‘This is unbelievable,' I whispered.

‘Believe it,' said Lucas.

The black Jeep approached the spot where the Fiesta blocked the driveway. It slowed, pulled over to one side, and stopped. Jamie stood up in the driver's seat and gestured at the white van behind. He looked like a tinpot dictator directing a band of guerrillas. The van lurched forward, pulled out around the Jeep and accelerated towards the Fiesta. The tinny white car didn't stand a chance. A hollow crunch rang out as the speeding van slammed into it, and the Fiesta bounced across the drive and slid into the hedge with all the resistance of a broken ping-pong ball. Shattered windows sparkled in the rain and the bonnet flapped open with a rusty clank. Drunken cheers drifted in the wind. The van reversed, the Jeep took its place, and the convoy rumbled on.

‘There's too many of them,' I said to Lucas. ‘We don't
stand a chance. What are we going to do? We can't just—'

‘Don't worry,' he said, touching my shoulder. ‘There's always a way out. It's just a matter of finding it.'

I looked at him. He was barely aware of my presence. His face was dark and intense, his eyes fixed on the approaching vehicles like the eyes of a hunter. A hunted hunter.

‘Wait and see,' he whispered to himself. ‘Wait and see.'

The cars were turning into the yard now, their tyres crunching on the wet gravel as one by one they rolled to a stop, forming a ragged semi-circle facing the house. The engines ticked to silence and steam rose into the air. Headlights glared coldly in the rain. Car doors started opening and figures emerged. I could see their faces. I could put names to most of them. Jamie Tait and Robbie Dean in the Jeep. Lee Brendell and Tully Jones in the front of the van, another half dozen stumbling out of the back. Mick Buck, some local bikers, others I didn't recognise. Probably from Moulton. Faces from the village: troublemakers, young lads, grown men who ought to know better. Women, even. Ellen Coombe, a handful of hard-faced mothers. Some of the men carried sticks, batons, bars, bottles. One of them had a machete. They were all high on something or other: drink, drugs, hate, excitement, twisted morality, the promise of blood.

My stomach churned.

At the back, keeping a low profile, I saw Bob Toms and a stony-faced man in a long black overcoat getting quietly out of a dark saloon.

A voice rang out through the rain. ‘Hey! McCann! Get out here!'

I looked down and saw Jamie Tait standing at the front of the mob yelling up at the house. A black woollen cap
was pulled down tight on his head and his black T-shirt and jeans were soaked to his skin. Brendell stood beside him, solid as a rock, and Robbie Dean stood on the other side, blank and emotionless, with a tyre-lever dangling from his hand.

Jamie cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘McCann! We don't want you! Just the boy! Send him out! Hey! Are you
listening
, McCann—'

His voice stopped abruptly as the front door opened and Dad and Dominic walked out with Deefer beside them. Dominic was carrying the baseball bat.

Jamie grinned and took a step back, holding up one hand to quieten the murmuring crowd gathered behind him.

‘Morning, Mac,' he said breezily. ‘Dom.'

Dad ignored him, still scanning the crowd. ‘Where's Toms?
Toms!'

Jamie moved forward. ‘Where's the gypsy, Mac?'

Dad looked at Robbie. ‘Robbie – I'm sorry about your sister. It's a terrible thing—'

‘Where's the gyppo?'
someone shouted.

Dad looked up. ‘He's not here. He didn't do it.'

Jamie laughed. ‘Of course he didn't.'

Dad ignored him and spoke to Dean. ‘Listen to me, Robbie. I know what happened to Angel. I know who did it. I can—'

A voice from the crowd drowned him out.
‘Liar!'

More shouts –

‘Bastard!'

‘Get him!'

‘Drag him out!'

The voices rose to an incoherent swell and the mob began to move.

‘No!' I whispered. ‘No …'

‘It's all right,' Lucas said calmly. ‘Tait wants to play it. Just wait.'

I saw Jamie turn and raise both hands, waving the crowd back. ‘Hold on!' he called out. ‘Just a minute! Just a
minute!'

The crowd hesitated and the shouting faded to an angry murmur. As the rain hissed down and the wind howled around the yard, Jamie stood there with his eyes alight and his hands held out in supplication, like a preacher at the pulpit facing his congregation. He waited for the voices to fall and then he spoke. His voice echoed with madness. ‘Listen to me! Listen! We're not
animals
. We're civilised people. We're not killers. All we want is justice. Let me talk to the man. Let me reason with him.'

‘He's lost it,' Lucas said. ‘He's flipped.' Then, under his breath, ‘Watch the brother, John. The brother …'

I looked down.

Jamie had turned to face Dad. Brendell hadn't moved. Dad was watching the crowd. Deefer was sitting beside him, rigid as a board, growling quietly. And Robbie Dean was staring murderously at the ground with the tyre-lever clutched in his hand.

Jamie's face burned with manic intensity. ‘See, Mac?' he said. ‘You see what you're up against? I can only do so much. I can't hold them for ever. So why don't you give them what they want? Send the boy out. I know he's in there. Just send him out. Then we can all go home and you and yours can get back to whatever it is you do. How about that? You can have another drink, write another story-book. Your pretty little daughter can dream her dreams. And you—' he grinned at Dom ‘—you can write yourself an essay.' He let out a strangled laugh and turned
back to Dad. ‘What do you say, Johnny?'

Dad spoke softly. ‘I told you, boy. He's not here.'

Jamie's eyes narrowed. ‘What do you think I am, McCann? You think I'm stupid? He's here. You know it. I know it. We all know it.'

‘He
was
here,' Dad said. ‘And now he's gone. He left about twenty minutes ago. He's probably halfway to Moulton by now.' He raised his voice, speaking to the crowd. ‘Did you hear that? He's not here. He's gone. Now go, get off my property and go home.'

The crowd stirred and Jamie laughed again. ‘Come on, man – do yourself a favour. Just send him out. The boy's an animal, a rapist. You don't want a thing like that in your house, do you? Think of your daughter. Is she in there with him now? Is she? You think she's safe with him? Did you
see
what he did to that girl? Jesus, what a mess—'

Without a word, Robbie Dean started walking towards Dad. His eyes were fixed on the ground and his body moved stiffly, like a zombie. The crowd hushed and Jamie looked on with an ugly smile. I heard Lucas catch his breath and I felt his body tense.

‘Now hold on, Robbie,' Dad said. ‘Robbie … don't …'

Robbie wasn't listening. I don't think he was capable of listening. He just kept on coming. As he neared Dad he raised his eyes and stared right through him. Deefer growled and Dominic raised the baseball bat, but Dad reached back and lowered Dom's arm.

‘Robbie!' he snapped. ‘Look at me! Look at me, Robbie!'

Robbie stopped and looked at him. There was no recognition in his eyes. He couldn't see. He couldn't think. He was a man without a soul.

Beside me, Lucas moved, sliding backwards along the floor.

‘Wha— where are you going?' I said.

‘It's not working,' he replied. ‘Dean's the spark. It's about to explode.'

I grabbed hold of his leg and tried to pull him back. ‘No, Lucas … you have to stay here. Dad told you to stay here. You
promised
.'

He pulled his leg away and stood up. ‘I said I'd look after you. That's what I'm doing.'

‘But—'

‘There's no time.' He stooped down and kissed my hand. ‘It's been good, Caitlin McCann. Thank you.' He smiled at me, a flash of blue eyes, then he turned away and hurried across to the hatchway.

‘Lucas—'

In one quick movement he smashed the hatch open with his booted foot, balanced momentarily on the ledge, then stepped into thin air and dropped out of sight. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, waiting for the sickening crash, but all I heard was a faint thump, the sound of a jumping cat, and then rapid bootsteps running along the hall and down the stairs.

For a moment I just sat there in the dust, stunned, rubbing the back of my hand and staring after him. A moment … the moment.

My moment.

Gone.

With an emptying heart, I scrambled back to the gap in the roof and peered down at the yard. Nothing seemed to have changed. The rain, the dark skies, the cars, the ugly mass of people. Robbie Dean was still standing in front of Dad. Jamie Tait was still smiling his death smile. And Dad
was still talking.

‘… just you and me, Robbie. Come inside and have a quiet drink, a cup of tea. You can't think straight in all this noise. You need to rest—'

Then it exploded.

Someone – probably Jamie – shouted out, ‘Time's up, Robbie! Angel's waiting! Take him out!'

It took a moment for the words to sink in, then Robbie's head jerked and his eyes bulged and he moved towards Dad with the tyre-lever raised. I don't think he knew what he was doing. He was simply reacting to the sound of his sister's name. The shouted words meant nothing to him.
Angel
, though …
Angel
– that was all he needed to hear. With a pitiful groan he stepped up to Dad and swung the metal bar at his head. Dad didn't move until he had to. Even as the tyre-lever hissed through the air he was still hoping for another way out of it. He knew what was happening. He knew what it meant. I could see it in his eyes.
Oh God, please don't make me do this
… At the very last moment he ducked to one side and the tyre-lever sliced through the air above his head. Robbie was carried forward by the momentum, and as he stumbled past, Dad raised his hand and clubbed him hard on the back of his neck. Robbie lurched forward, slammed head first into the door frame, and slumped to the ground. The tyre-lever fell from his hand and rattled loudly on the concrete step. In the shocked silence, the sound echoed around the yard like a ringing bell.