No Way Home

After a few steps, gravity seemed to somehow give up the fight and they were moving at almost walking pace. Then, before she knew it, they were approaching the end of the roadworks.

‘Steer it over to the side and you can let it roll back up to the traffic lights,’ the man behind her called. ‘It’ll be out of everyone’s way there.’

‘OK.’

She steered the car across with the angle of the red and white cones, letting the men continue to push her a few yards beyond the temporary lights on their bright-yellow stand.

‘There you go,’ the man in leathers called and stood away.

She pressed down on the brake pedal.

‘Right. Ease it back down to the lights. They’re tall enough to be seen over it.’

She checked that the men were all standing clear, then used the far door mirror to guide herself slowly down the line of the kerb until the man raised his hand, calling, ‘That’ll do.’

She stood on the brake, pulled up the handbrake and put the car into first gear as extra insurance, then stepped out. ‘Thank you so much, all of you.’

‘No problem.’

‘S’all right.’

The others simply nodded and headed back to their cars.

‘You sure you’re all right now?’ the guy who had taken charge asked.

‘Yes, thank you. I’ve got my mobile. I’ll just try to sound helpless.’

He laughed. ‘OK. Take care.’

‘Thank you,’ Emma called again as he raised a hand and turned away.

She reached into the car for her phone, brought up the menu and dialled.

By the time the connection was made, the traffic was moving again, the rhythmic hum of passing engines acting as a background to the call.

A female operator answered after just two rings.

‘Hello, yes. I’ve broken down. The engine just died on me. I’m at the top end of the roadworks in Pennsylvania Road, Exeter.’

‘Is the car in a safe position?’ the woman asked.

‘Yes. Some men helped me move it.’

‘Are you on your own there?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘OK. We’ll have someone there with you as soon as we can.’ She heard the tapping of a keyboard faintly over the line. ‘It’ll be about twenty minutes.’

‘Thank you.’

She slipped the phone back into her handbag and stood beside the car, on the far side from the passing traffic. She checked her watch. Six-seventeen. She watched the lights change. The downhill traffic started flowing through. The evening was warm, almost muggy, as if a storm could be brewing. She took off her jacket, folded it and put it on the passenger seat. After a few moments, she reached into the back of the car and moved her briefcase to the front passenger footwell so that everything she would want to take with her if he couldn’t get the car going again was in one place, ready.

*

Tommy was in the TV lounge with most of the other eighteen residents, watching the last few minutes of a documentary on the nature of New Zealand, when the single warder who was sitting with them got up and announced, ‘Back in a minute. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, any of you.’

He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

‘Yeah, more like ten minutes,’ said one of the other kids. ‘Must be them steroids, I reckon. Mess him up something terrible. Bloody bog stinks like hell after he’s been in there.’

Several of the others laughed and Tommy joined in as he filed the information away for future reference.

‘Should be plenty.’ The bully who had attacked Tommy earlier, who he had since learned was called Sam Lockhart, turned in his seat and grinned at him.

Tommy frowned…

Had barely had time to form the expression when his seat was tilted suddenly back. His arms and legs darted out reflexively, but there was no stopping it. His grasp slipped from the shoulders of the two boys either side of him and he landed on his back. The lanky blond kid from this morning grinned down at him as some of the others laughed. Tommy slammed a fist up into the lean face, felt his second knuckle impact directly on the tip of the boy’s nose. He yelled, darting back out of reach, as Tommy rolled sideways off the upended chair.

In the confined space, he hadn’t reached his feet when he was grabbed from behind and yanked backwards. His feet tangled with the chair, almost spilling him again. Then his right foot landed on the front edge of the chair and he pushed hard against it, driving himself backwards into his new attacker, who stumbled, letting go of the back of Tommy’s standard-issue polo shirt as he swore.

Tommy turned the opposite way to the other boy, landing on his side and shoulder across the back of two chairs, the occupants of which had sat forward and begun to turn to see what was going on. The padded chair backs dug into his ribs, but not as badly as they would have if they had been wooden. He grabbed them with his upper hand, turning further as he got his feet under him. Someone shoved him from behind, but he righted himself and saw that, as he’d suspected, it was Lockhart who had attacked him.

The bully was pushing himself up off the backs of the two lads he’d fallen against, struggling upright in the tight space between the rows of chairs and the feet of their occupants. Tommy only needed one foot and he didn’t care where he put it. He slammed his right foot down, the leg still slightly bent when his heel drove into the top of someone’s foot, and he launched himself forward in a dive as the person behind him howled in pain.

Tommy’s grasping hands both caught hold of something: the right got Lockhart’s belt while the left gripped his right forearm. They went down in a tangle of chairs and legs. Tommy’s head bounced off the edge of a chair seat, but he paid it no attention, using his arms and his grip on Lockhart to power himself forward, landing on top of the larger boy, who slammed his head forward in a butt that was aimed to smash Tommy’s nose.

His aim was way off. Tommy’s move had brought him further and higher than Lockhart had anticipated so that his forehead struck Tommy in the chest.

It was like being hit with a hammer. It stunned his ribcage into inactivity, but survival was Tommy’s only motivation now and inactivity would not allow that. As Lockhart’s head fell back, Tommy relaxed his arms, falling flat on top of him, at the same time ducking his head so that his teeth hit Lockhart in the face.

Quickly, Tommy opened his mouth. Snapped his jaws closed.

Lockhart howled as his nose was caught between Tommy’s sharp front teeth. Tommy squeezed down on the warm skin and cartilage, stretching his lips wide open.

‘I thought we had an understanding,’ he said through his tightly clamped teeth. ‘What did I say this morning about biting your ugly nose off?’

‘Get off me or I’ll fucking kill you, you little bastard.’

‘Promises, promises.’ Tommy adjusted the grip of his teeth on the larger boy’s nose. ‘And, talking of…’

‘No!’ Lockhart shouted.

Tommy bit down hard. He could feel the grease of the other kid’s nose. The give of his nostril walls against his tongue and the roof of his mouth as Lockhart howled in pain and terror. Then something wet and warm in his mouth. He hoped it wasn’t… No, he tasted the iron tang of blood. Kept on bearing down with his teeth as he shifted his right hand from under him to grasp the back of Lockhart’s neck, pulling him in so he couldn’t escape.

Other hands were grasping and pulling at him, trying to pull him off the other boy. Lockhart’s left fist was pounding on his back, but he barely felt it. His whole awareness was focused on what was between his teeth.

‘Get off me! Get off me!’ Lockhart bellowed. Then he jerked upwards under Tommy, forcing him backwards. Tommy went with him. Used the opportunity to slide his arm around behind Lockhart’s neck and lock his hand over his own shoulder, clamping them tightly together as his other hand let go of his arm and came up around his head to grasp his ear.

Tommy gripped the ear, pulling back on it hard. He felt warm blood trickling down his chin.

‘Tommy Gayle! Release him at once.’

That wasn’t a kid’s voice, like all the others yelling around him. But Tommy was committed. He wasn’t going to back off now. He ground his teeth, making Lockhart howl even louder. Then a big hand gripped the back of his shirt and another got hold of his jaw, finger and thumb pressing in painfully from either side.

‘Let him go.’ The voice was as slow, firm and implacable as the fingers pushing into his cheeks, but Tommy was committed. There was no winning here. Not any more. But he couldn’t give in. Couldn’t show a trace of weakness or pity.

He pulled harder on Lockhart’s left ear, twisting at the same time. Lockhart wailed. The blood flowed even more freely from his nose, dripping steadily from Tommy’s chin. Agony coursed through his cheeks and jaw.

‘Gayle, let go. Now.’ The warder’s voice was harder, angrier, as he held on relentlessly. ‘Give it up or I’ll break your damned jaw and where’ll that get you, d’you think?’

Tommy saw the chance and took it. Tugging even harder on Lockhart’s ear, he opened his mouth and looked up at the warder, grinning, his chin red and dripping with blood. ‘Nowhere I haven’t been a hundred times before.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Pete pulled into his drive and switched off the headlights, glad to be home – and glad there was no new decoration on the garage door. He killed the engine as the front door opened, expecting Annie to come running out and greet him.

He was surprised when, instead, it was Louise who came out, closing the door behind her and standing on the doorstep, arms folded.

He stepped out of the car, took his briefcase from the back seat and locked the silver Ford.

‘Lou? What’s up?’

Her eyes closed, her face scrunching up with emotion as her arms dropped to her sides. Then she took a breath, opened her eyes and the tears ran down her face as he dropped his briefcase and gathered her into his arms. ‘What is it, love?’

A sob escaped from her throat, then she swallowed. ‘It’s Tommy,’ she whispered, clinging to him.

Pete felt icy fear grip his body, freezing him in place like a living statue. ‘What about him?’

He wanted desperately to see her face, but she clung even more tightly to him, her bead buried into his shoulder. ‘He’s… We can’t see him. I phoned a few minutes ago. He had to be there a day before they allowed visitors. Settling-in time, they said. So I phoned to arrange it for tomorrow, after school. For me and Annie. But…’ She began to cry again. Conflicting emotions battled within Pete. Love and protectiveness for Louise made him hold onto her, comfort her as best he could, while the need to know about his son raged, For God’s sake, spit it out, woman! What’s happened? But he held on, stroking her hair with one hand while she clung to him, sobbing into the shoulder of his jacket until she finally gulped, shook her head and loosed her grip around his body.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘But…’

‘What is it, love? What’s happened?’ he asked gently.

‘He’s… He nearly bit some boy’s nose off. On his first day! My God, what have we raised, Pete?’

Some of the contents of the file Simon Phillips had compiled on Tommy while searching for him last year flashed through Pete’s mind and he wondered the same thing – as he had done since reading the file, months ago. Yet, his fatherly instinct kicked in behind the doubt, pushing it down, feeding that tiny residue of pride that he would never lose. Surviving, probably, he thought. Knowing what kinds of kids end up in those places and the softly, softly approach they have to use with them, these days…

He almost asked again: what happened? But no one would have the answer other than Tommy and some of the other inmates, he guessed. The staff would just have come upon the end result. Kids weren’t stupid – especially, in some ways, the kinds of kids who ended up in places like Archways. It would be a huge mistake to underestimate them, and one he’d learned long ago not to make when dealing with criminals of any age.

‘So, they’ve put him in solitary,’ he guessed. It was the ultimate punishment in places like that. ‘How long for?’

‘A day.’ Head tipped forward, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Then she looked up at him, her eyes large and moist. ‘How did it come to this? Where did we go so wrong?’

‘We can’t have gone completely wrong. Look at Annie.’

The girl had been a minor miracle last year, after Tommy disappeared. As Louise had spiralled downhill into a deep clinical depression, so their daughter had stepped up, almost to the point of swapping roles with her mother, taking on responsibilities an eleven-year-old never should have needed to.

‘Yes, but…’ Louise shook her head. ‘It’s like he’s got the Devil inside him. He’s…’

‘He’s our son,’ he said firmly. ‘He’s got his problems, but he’s surviving the only way he can. He knows the score. He’s not daft. He wouldn’t have done something like that without needing to.’

‘Yes, but… to try to bite somebody’s nose off!’

‘He’s been a snotty little bugger for years.’

She stood back, staring up into his face. ‘Really? You can joke at a time like this? Jesus! No wonder we’ve raised a bloody psycho.’ She spun away, heading for the door.

Something stirred in Pete’s chest. Fear, anger, he didn’t know, but… ‘Don’t ever call him that. He might be troubled. He might be in trouble, but he’s no psycho. Rosie Whitlock will testify to that.’ He snatched up his briefcase and followed her as she opened the front door and stepped in.

‘Maybe, but that doesn’t make this a time for jokes.’

Pete took a breath, regaining control of his emotions as he fought to keep hers from pulling her back into the darkness. ‘It worked, didn’t it? You’ve got the fire back in your belly.’

‘I’ll give you fire in the belly, Pete Gayle…’

‘Good. You do that. We haven’t had a good curry in ages.’

She spun on him, fists raised. ‘I swear, you get bloody worse!’

He stepped in close, caught her round the waist with both arms and hugged her tightly. ‘Whatever gets us through, Lou.’

He felt her draw in a deep, slow breath and let it out. Then the living-room door opened and Annie burst out.

‘Daddy!’

*

Emma leaned both arms on the roof of the Nissan, drawing in deep, watching the seemingly endless flow of vehicles pass by. Finally, a bright-yellow van with a large logo on the side came through the roadworks. Orange lights began to flash on its roof and she breathed a sigh of relief.

At last.

She checked her watch. 6.38. The woman on the phone hadn’t been off by more than a few minutes. It just felt like an age had passed since she made the call. The van passed her then stopped. Reversing lights glowed and it swung half onto the verge before rolling gently back towards her, other vehicles sweeping past like impatient bats coming out for the night’s feeding.

The van stopped. The driver stepped out and headed towards her.

‘Evening, miss. What’s the problem?’

‘It just lost power and died on me. There was nothing I could do to keep it going.’ She used the remote to unlock the little car. ‘It’s not the first time it’s happened.’

‘OK. And what have you found, if anything, that gets it going again?’

‘Just time. Let it rest awhile and it’s fine. It starts up and off it goes as if nothing’s wrong. That’s the frustrating part.’

He nodded, opened the driver’s door and popped the bonnet catch.

Emma didn’t bother to watch what he was doing. She had no clue about what went on in an engine, other than that it required occasional top-ups of oil and water, and no interest either. Instead, she continued to watch the traffic pass by as the uniformed man worked under the bonnet.

The downhill flow stopped again and she glanced down towards the far end of the cones, waiting for the vehicles to start coming through from there. When a voice sounded from a few feet away, she jumped, her head snapping around, expecting it to be the repairman.

It wasn’t.

The second car back in the queue had its window rolled down and the driver was speaking to her.

‘Sorry?’

‘I said, broken down again?’

She frowned as a flutter of fear swept through her chest. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Wasn’t that the same car I saw down by the Old Mill the other night?’

Now her heart was hammering, her breathing rapid and shallow as the fear of discovery froze her brain. What should she say?

But then, she realised, she had no idea who this man was, he didn’t have a clue who she was, and she would probably never see him again. She forced a shrug. ‘It’s not the first time this has happened. I just hope it’ll be the last.’

‘I bet. Good luck with it.’ He wound the window up as the repairman moved from the engine compartment around to the passenger side of the vehicle, opened the door and ducked down to check something under the glove compartment.

Emma was torn between seeing what he was doing and trying to memorise the numberplate of the man she’d just been talking with. If she managed to remember it, she had no idea what she would do with it. What she would be able to do with it. But he was a potential witness. It felt important that she should try. That she should have some information on him.

‘There you go.’ The repairman stood up with a small object held triumphantly in his greasy hand. ‘There’s your culprit. I’ll test it, but I’d lay odds on it. A dry solder joint in this little bugger’ll stop you dead as soon as it gets warm.’

The traffic began to move in the other direction and Emma’s glance was torn away by the driver’s wave as he set off down the hill. She refocused with difficulty. ‘That tiny thing can stop an entire engine?’

‘Yep. Just like that.’ He stepped across to the back of his van, delved inside for something and fiddled with it for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘Yeah. I’ve seen it before a few times.’

‘Do you have a spare?’

He shook his head. ‘No, but like you said, give it time to cool down and it’ll get you home and back out to a garage, as long as you don’t sit in this queue for too long. The Nissan dealership should have them in stock. Take it there as soon as you get the chance. Five minutes and they’ll have it replaced and you’ll be good as new. I’ll just pop it back in for now.’

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