Watched: When Road Rage Follows You Home (18 page)

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, obviously confused. ‘What noise?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to say – there was no noise but this guy – Dougie – complained about us anyway. There’s some sort of community quiet zone pilot scheme going on around here, so the police knocked on the door and asked us to keep it down.’

‘Keep what down?’

‘Exactly!’ Esther’s mother exchanged a glance with her husband but her face was too easy to read. ‘I’m not making this up, Mum.’

‘No-one’s saying you are – I’m just a little… confused. You’re having a problem with a neighbour but the police came around here because of noise complaints, even though you were being quiet?’

‘Right – the police did come around again but they weren’t very helpful because we didn’t have any proof. At that point, Charlie hadn’t ever seen Dougie—’

‘—He’d not seen him?’

Her mother’s voice had gone beyond confusion into concern. She reached towards Esther, who shrugged her off.

‘He has now – you can ask him. Anyway, I don’t think the police officer took it seriously then because it was only our word against his.’

‘But you have more than that now?’

‘Well, sort of… not exactly.’

Esther flapped her hands in frustration. This was why she hadn’t wanted to talk about things – her mother was far too rational, asking questions instead of showing sympathy. She’d been like this ever since Esther had been a child. It was so infuriating.

As Esther turned back to the house, something unexpected caught her eye. She brushed around her parents, heading towards the corner of the house and crouching next to the drain. As her mother and father turned to face her, Esther held up a handful of leaves triumphantly.

‘See! Where have the leaves come from? It’s summer – it’s been sunny for weeks but our drain’s blocked with leaves. They must have come from somewhere.’

No-one spoke for a few seconds: a distressing, crushing silence that was much worse than any possible reply. Esther could see it herself: perhaps a screw had been missing from the door number the entire time. Why had she even noticed it?

If her mother had replied, then Esther could have probably dealt with it – but the sound of her father’s reply was devastating. ‘Those leaves might have just got stuck in the guttering above at some point over the autumn and winter – then they dried out and came down the drain pipe.’

Her mother spoke at just the wrong time too. As ever. ‘Oh, sweetie, we know how stressful it is when you move.’

Esther crouched on the floor, hands dirty from the leaves, staring up at them. ‘I’m not imagining things. I didn’t make it up that someone slashed my tyres or dumped rubbish on our drive. I didn’t dream him shouting at me.’

‘No-one’s saying you did, darling, it’s just—’

‘—I want you to leave.’

‘Sweetie—’

Esther leapt to her feet. ‘—Now. I want you to go now.’

TWENTY-ONE: CHARLIE

Charlie wasn’t sure whether he was grateful to be away from the house, or sorry that he’d left Esther alone with her parents. He wasn’t entirely sure why she’d invited them to stay for a weekend – she’d spent the past two years telling him how frustrating it was to be around her mother every day and then seemingly forgotten it the moment they were apart. Esther thought they clashed because they were completely different but the truth was that they were all too similar. They both obsessed over little things, even though Esther refused to accept that was the case. If he got home and there hadn’t been a major blow-up, then it’d be a victory. He and Esther’s father simply watched on, trying not to be collateral damage.

Walking away from the chaos at home only left him with a different type of emergency at work. A Saturday night stag party had got completely out of hand, with fire extinguishers being set off, people smoking in rooms, smoke alarms going off, guests being woken up by the noise, and – worst of all – an angry prostitute stomping the hallway screaming about not being paid. He was lucky the night crew hadn’t walked out in protest. By the time he’d arrived, he had to deal with guests demanding refunds, plus yet more police reports.

Unsurprisingly, no-one had mentioned there’d be days like this when he’d taken the job.

It was after lunch by the time he finally finished dealing with the fallout from the night before. He checked his phone but Esther hadn’t called or messaged him. He didn’t know if that was a good thing.

Alone in his office, Charlie finally had a chance to return to the printouts of Leah’s various misdemeanours.

Quite why he was still pressing the point was something he couldn’t answer. Esther kept telling him to leave things but it was like being told by your mum not to touch something when you were in a shop as a kid. All it did was make you wonder why you were being told ‘no’. Dougie had been absolutely insistent that Esther had come onto him first and, although Charlie didn’t believe him, there was
something
he couldn’t quite figure out. Why would he say that specifically? Was Dougie playing with their minds – or was there something Charlie had missed?

Even though there hadn’t been any incidents for a few days, Charlie believed the spite in Dougie’s voice when he’d spat the threat on their doorstep, saying they’d be sorry.

That was Charlie’s fault, of course. If he’d bothered digging, he might have discovered that Aaron Staniforth and Douglas Jamieson were related. Esther’s refusal to speak to him for the rest of the evening and following day made it clear what she thought.

Not that she was helping. As well as the constant checking, which she wasn’t hiding very well, there were so many moments of weirdness. Esther would stare at the clock in their living room and then say she wasn’t. She wasn’t eating and he doubted she was sleeping – yet he couldn’t challenge her on any of it because the moment he did, she’d blow and say he was wrong.

Charlie had only ever searched for ‘Dougie Jamieson’ but typed ‘Douglas Jamieson’ into the search engine. Rather than the glowing reports of awards that were associated with ‘Dougie’, the results for ‘Douglas’ were rather different. It didn’t take him long to stumble across another court report taken from the local newspaper late the previous year.

A community worker was yesterday found not guilty of assaulting a stranger at a bus stop last May.

Douglas Jamieson, who was last year awarded a Champion in the Community award, was accused of assaulting council worker Eamonn McGuinness.

Mr McGuinness was waiting to catch a bus home when he was involved in an altercation with Mr Jamieson, with the incident captured on CCTV.

Mr McGuinness told the court that Mr Jamieson asked him for a cigarette and turned violent when told the victim didn’t smoke. After being denied money to buy cigarettes, the assailant was said to have punched Mr McGuinness twice in the head before kicking him while he was on the floor.

Mr Jamieson did not deny the attack but said that he acted in self-defence after being threatened by Mr McGuinness.

The victim sustained bleeding to his ear, a black eye and a swollen lip but was otherwise unhurt.

Mr Jamieson, 29, of Green Tree Road, was unanimously found not guilty.

Dougie and Leah were quite the couple. Charlie wondered how much of the not guilty verdict came down to the fact that Dougie’s brother was a Chief Inspector – or because of the award he’d been given and that people knew who he was.

Charlie read the report twice more before making a decision he knew he couldn’t justify. He typed ‘Eamonn McGuinness’ into the search engine along with the telephone code for the local area. He thought it would be a long shot but two name matches appeared on the screen, along with addresses and full phone numbers. It really was scary how much personal information was out there about people.

There was still time to leave it there but Charlie had already made his decision, dialling the first number.

A male voice answered: ‘Hello.’

‘Is that Eamonn McGuinness?’

There was a short pause before: ‘Who’s asking?’

‘This is a bit of a strange call but I’m having a problem with someone named Dougie Jamieson and I think you might know him.’

A longer pause this time, giving Charlie his answer. ‘What do you want?’

‘Just to talk. I’ve spoken to the police about him but they haven’t been able to do much.’

Eamonn’s accent was a cross of Scottish and Irish, gruff and scratchy. ‘What do you think I can do?’

‘I’m not sure – I was only hoping to talk. Can we meet somewhere?’

‘When?’

‘As soon as you can – later today if possible.’

There was silence for so long that Charlie ended up asking if he was still there. Eamonn grunted before giving him the name of a pub and telling him to be there at five.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Hair of the Dog pub was an
interesting
establishment. It was hidden at the back of a shopping centre with no car park, rippled glass windows that made it impossible to see inside, and sooty, dark walls that looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned in the past thirty years. It was the type of place where nobody went unless they knew it was there.

The inside was pretty much as Charlie would have guessed from the outside: grimy floors, a low ceiling, cramped smoke-stained walls and faded photographs pinned to the wall. No television, no music, no friendly family area and definitely no food. It was like stepping into an age before he was born.

Charlie waited just inside the door, taking in the single room, very aware that he stood out like an old man at a pop concert. He quickly realised the other thing the pub didn’t have – women. A dozen men’s faces were staring at him, wondering why he was in their space, when Charlie noticed one in a booth to his right beckoning him across with a tic-like flick of his head.

The man was only a few years older than Charlie but was wearing a ripped pair of jeans and an oil-ridden, once red, sweatshirt. It didn’t look like he’d bothered shaving for weeks, although it was hard to define his matted tufts as an actual beard.

He barked a greeting. ‘You Pooley?’

‘Yes.’

Eamonn offered him his beer glass. ‘I’ll have a pint of Pickled Imp’

‘The what?’

‘Just ask for it – they’ll know what you’re talking about.’

Charlie went to the bar somewhat bemused but the landlord knew exactly what he was asking for, heaving down the largest pump handle Charlie had ever seen and pouring ale into a pint glass that was at least fifty per cent froth, before leaving it to settle.

‘Anyfing else?’

‘I’ll have a lemonade.’

The barman glared at Charlie as if he’d just asked for his first-born, not taking his eyes from him as he plucked a glass from under the counter and a bottle from the fridge behind.

‘Lemonade?’

‘I’m driving.’

He muttered something under his breath before pouring the soft drink and filling up the rest of the Pickled Imp until it was only around twenty per cent froth.

Charlie got change from a fiver – which was rare for two drinks anywhere – and then re-joined Eamonn in the booth. The other man downed a third of the pint before peering up.

‘So, whatcha want?’

‘I’ve been having a few problems with Dougie Jamieson and when I checked, I found that you’d been in an incident with him too.’

‘Pfft – that’s one way to put it.’

‘Can you tell me what happened?’

‘Why?’

‘I’m trying to figure out who I’m dealing with.’

Eamonn took another slurp of the dark, soapy-looking liquid, eyes rolling back into his head. ‘If you’ve got any sense, you’d stay well away.’

‘What if he’s coming for me?’

‘Then you’re fucked, mate.’

Eamonn grabbed his glass with his mitt of a hand and gulped down another mouthful. Charlie sipped his lemonade, not knowing how to reply.

‘What’s he been up to?’ Eamonn asked.

‘He slashed my wife’s tyres, smashed our CCTV camera, stole things from our washing line, plus he chased her in his car. We can’t prove anything because he’s never seen.’

‘Sounds about right.’

Charlie was a little confused. ‘What do you mean, weren’t you in a street fight with him?’

‘At first. It was one of those stupid things. We were in the same pub and he accused me of looking at his girlfriend. I wasn’t – she was like a mop handle, all stick arms and ribs poking through. She said I’d tried to feel her up.’

‘In the report, it said you’d argued over a cigarette.’

Eamonn smiled knowingly. ‘Aye – for whatever reason the judge said everything that happened in the pub was inadmissible – I suppose that’s what happens when you’ve got a brother who’s a chief inspector. The stuff at the bus stop was caught on camera, so that was fair game but everything that was said inside was my word against his. No witnesses bothered to come forward, so it couldn’t be used.’

‘What was said inside?’

‘She went mental. I mean I don’t know the proper medical term or whatever but she was properly batshit. All I’d done was lean on the bar next to her but she started shrieking like I’d touched her arse or something. Christ, I wouldn’t have touched her with someone else’s dick, let alone mine. Next thing I know, this bald bastard’s steaming towards me, like a troll or something. I’m like “what’s going on?” but she’s screaming that I’ve touched her tits and he looks like he wants to kill me.’

Eamonn stopped for more of his drink.

‘What happened then?’

‘I remember her more than him. She’s shouting, “Go on Dougie, kill the fucker” and he starts running at me. The place is packed and I manage to get behind this group of lads by the door. He gets held up somehow and I’m pegging it. I end up hiding behind these bins while I can hear him stomping around, shouting and swearing for me to come out. Eventually he goes back inside and I sneak out to the bus stop.’

‘But he sees you?’

‘Yeah – it was a weird one. He had a hat on second time around and I didn’t recognise him. He just sidled up to me and asked if I had a fag. Next thing I know, he’s kicking shite out of me.’