Lucas (27 page)

Things are different.

Back then there didn't seem much point in talking about it. It was over, it was done. Talking wouldn't have changed anything. It was just like before – I knew I ought to tell someone about it, but I couldn't think who. If I'd told Dad, he would have gone crazy and probably ended
up killing someone, and that wouldn't have done either of us any good. And if I'd told the police … well, what was there to tell? What had
actually
happened? Not much. A bit of manhandling, a slap, some verbal assault, veiled threats … all impossible to prove. I'd have had to explain what I was doing there, and what happened afterwards, and then Lucas would have got dragged into it, and he was in enough trouble already …

There was no point.

Of course, if I'd thought about it a little less selfishly, things might not have turned out as they did. But I wasn't to know that then.

When I went downstairs the following morning I was surprised to see Dominic and Dad sitting together at the kitchen table. They weren't arguing, they weren't even frowning at each other, they were just sitting there quietly smoking cigarettes and sipping from mugs of steaming hot coffee. The swelling on Dom's head had gone down a little, but the bruising had spread right across his face. From beneath his eye to behind his ear, his skin was a hideous blend of purple, black, crimson and blue.

Dad smiled. ‘Pretty, isn't it?'

Of course, he didn't know that I already knew about it, and as he looked at me I tried to give the impression that I was shocked. It wasn't that hard – I
was
shocked. Not by the bruise, obviously, but simply because Dad looked so damn happy about it. The night before, as Lucas had suggested, Dominic had gone in first and I'd sneaked in a few minutes later. By then the shouting had already started. As I went upstairs to shower and change I could hear Dad yelling at Dominic in the front room. It went on for hours – screaming and swearing, slamming doors, kicking the
walls. Theywere still at it when I made myself some cocoa and climbed into bed.

And now, here they were, all sweetness and light.

It baffled me.

‘What happened?' I said, putting on my best puzzled face.

Dad smiled again. ‘Someone beat some sense into him.'

I looked at Dom. An embarrassed grin crossed his face.

‘It's nothing,' he said. ‘It looks worse than it is. I'll tell you about it later. Do you want some coffee?'

After a moment's hesitation, I joined them at the table. As Dom poured me a cup of coffee he gave me a quick glance and a sly nod of his head. I took that to mean that everything was all right. He'd sorted things out with Dad, he'd lied successfully. He'd been beaten unconscious and I'd almost been raped – and we'd got away with it. Yeah, everything was just fine.

I sipped my coffee. It tasted bitter.

Dad said, ‘Sorry about all the noise last night. We had a few things to iron out – things got a bit fraught.'

‘You seem all right now,' I said.

He looked at Dom. ‘I think we're getting there.'

‘Well, that's good.' I turned to Dom. ‘You've seen the light, have you?'

He looked uncomfortable. ‘I wouldn't put it like that.'

‘How
would
you put it?'

‘Look,' he said. ‘I'm sorry if I've been a pain in the arse—'

‘Sorry?'

His face was serious. ‘Yeah – I'm sorry.'

I knew he meant it, but just then I didn't care. The way I saw it, sorry didn't change anything. It didn't undo what I felt or what I'd been through. Nothing could do that.
Not now, not ever. He'd hurt me. He probably hadn't meant to, and it probably would have happened anyway, but he was my brother. Brothers aren't supposed to hurt you.

I got up from the table and turned to go.

‘Hold on, Cait,' Dominic said. ‘Just a minute—'

‘I have to go,' I said. ‘I'll see you later.'

As I went out the door I heard Dad call my name. There was quiet concern in his voice, and I suddenly felt sorry for him. He finally gets his son back … everything's fine … and then his uptight daughter goes all moody on him. I nearly turned round and went back, but I knew if I did I'd start feeling sorry for Dominic, too, and then I'd start to think about forgiving him, and I didn't
want
to forgive him.

So I called Deefer and stomped off down the lane, and I didn't slow down until I'd made myself good and angry again.

The trouble was, as soon as the woods came in sight the anger turned to trepidation and I couldn't bring myself to go any further. I tried, but each time I got to the gap in the hedge my legs turned to jelly and I couldn't breathe properly. When I turned back, I felt all right again. But I didn't
want
to go back. In the end I just sat on a rotten log for the best part of an hour while Deefer stared at me and whined.

The rest of the day passed fairly quietly. Dad got on with his writing, Dominic stayed in his room, and I just pottered about trying to make myself feel normal again. At first, I didn't think it was possible. There were just too many things going on in my head, things I didn't know how to deal with: there was Lucas, Jamie, Simon, Bill, Dominic, Dad; there were confused feelings of desire,
hate, pain, ignorance and doubt; there were memories of the past and fears for the future; and then there was me. Caitlin McCann. What was I? What was I doing? Where was I going? Was I innocent? guilty? foolish? gullible? Was I true to myself …?

All these things were connected, but at the same time they didn't fit together. They were out of sync. It was like one of those puzzles where you have to slide the little tiles around to make a picture. All the bits are there, but until you get them in the right order you can't see what the picture is supposed to be. So that's what I tried to do – get the bits in order.

As the afternoon wore on I just kept moving all the bits around in my head, trying to fit them together. But, unlike a plastic puzzle, these bits didn't keep still. They kept shifting around and changing shape. I'd work on two or three bits, get them sorted out, fix them together, and then I'd leave them for a while to go off and look at some other bits. But by the time I'd sorted
those
bits out, the original bits didn't fit any more. They'd become something else. And then, when I went back to working on
them
again, the other bits started to change.

It was infuriating.

I kept at it, though, and by early evening I was pretty sure I'd got everything as clear as I was going to get it. It was still a bit shaky, a bit out of focus, but all the bits were in place and I could finally see the whole picture. The only thing was, it was an abstract picture, and no matter how hard I looked I still couldn't work out what it was supposed to be.

Later that night, around ten o'clock, Lenny Craine came round. I was in the bath when he arrived. The radio was
playing quietly and the bathroom was filled with steam. I heard Dad open the door, I heard them go into the sitting room, and then I heard Dominic going downstairs to join them. The sitting room is directly beneath the bathroom, so I turned off the radio and lay still, trying to hear what they were talking about. But all I could hear was a chink of glasses and a low muffled mumbling through the floor-boards.

I turned the radio back on and sank my head beneath the water.

Forget it, I told myself. Ignore them. What do you care what they're talking about? It's probably nothing, anyway. It's just Lenny popping round for a quick drink … maybe a few quick drinks … a quiet chat … it's nothing … nothing to do with you …

I sat up and rinsed soap from my hair.

… and even if it
is
something to do with you, you don't really want to know right now, do you? Let it wait. Go to bed. You're tired. Tomorrow's Saturday. You've got to get up early in the morning for the festival. You don't want to go downstairs … imagine it … they'll all be sitting around smoking cigarettes and drinking beer and talking about fishing or books or something … Dominic, Dad and Lenny … having a laugh …

What do you want with that?

I got out of the bath and stood in front of the mirror and told myself to shut up. Then I quickly dried my hair and put on a dressing gown and went downstairs.

In the sitting room the curtains were open and a full moon was shining brightly through the window. It was a tidal moon, hanging low in the sky, as bright and clear as a pale white sun. Dad was standing at the window, Dominic was
in the armchair, and Lenny was slumped heavily on the settee. Everyone had drinks in their hands and serious looks on their faces.

The room was heavy with silence.

Dad turned from the window and smiled at me. It was a good effort – but it didn't fool me. The biggest smile in the world wouldn't have been enough to hide the tension in his eyes.

‘Do you want a glass of wine?' he asked.

I nodded.

‘Dom?' he said.

‘I'll get it,' said Dominic.

I went over and sat next to Lenny. He was out of uniform, dressed in a loose khaki shirt and baggy old trousers.

‘Hello, Cait,' he said. ‘Looking forward to the festival?' His voice had that forced chirpiness that usually means bad news.

I nodded. ‘Are you going?'

‘Of course,' he grinned. ‘Someone's got to keep the peace. You know what these environmental terrorists are like when they get out of hand. The RSPCA, Cats Protection League, the Women's Institute …'

I smiled as best as I could.

Dominic came over with another beer for Lenny and a glass of wine for me. As he passed it over he gave me a ‘be careful' look. Seeing as I didn't have a clue what I was supposed to be careful
about
, I thought it was a pretty stupid thing to do. I kept my eye on him as he sat down in the armchair and lit a cigarette, hoping he might give me a hint, but his face was expressionless. I took a sip of wine and looked at Dad. He was standing at the window sipping his whiskey and watching me like a hawk.

‘Where did you get that?' he said suddenly.

‘What?'

He nodded. ‘That cut on your knee.'

I looked down. The hem of my dressing gown had slipped to one side revealing the bruised gash on my knee. ‘On the beach,' I said quickly. ‘I slipped over – there was a metal stake or something buried in the sand …'

Dad stared at me. ‘When?'

‘I can't remember … yesterday, I think.'

‘Why didn't you tell me?'

I shrugged. ‘It's just a cut.'

He gave me a long, hard look. ‘Is there anything else you haven't told me?'

‘About what?'

‘Lucas.'

I glanced at Dominic. He was staring into thin air. I looked back at Dad. ‘What's this all about?' I said.

‘You tell me.'

‘There's nothing to tell.'

‘When did you last see him?'

‘I don't know … a couple of days ago. I saw him down at the creek. Why?'

Dad took a drink of whiskey and Lenny took over the questioning. ‘When exactly was this, Cait?'

‘I just said – a couple of days ago.'

‘Wednesday? Thursday …?'

I looked at him, then at Dad.

Dad said, ‘Just tell him what day it was, Cait.'

I had to think about it. We were sitting at the creek, the creek was almost still. The sun's reflection was rippling on the surface and a pair of swans floated motionlessly at the water's edge … it seemed a long time ago.

‘Wednesday,' I said.

‘Are you sure?'

‘It was Wednesday.'

‘What was he doing?'

‘Nothing … I just bumped into him at the creek. He wasn't doing anything.'

‘Did you talk to him?'

‘Yes.'

‘What about?'

‘I can't remember … just stuff, you know. Nothing important.'

Lenny rubbed his mouth. ‘Did anything happen?'

‘Like what?'

‘Did he …'

‘Did he
what
?'

Dad came over and knelt down in front of me. ‘Did he touch you, love?'

‘What?
What do you mean –
touch me
? What the hell are you talking about?'

Lenny said, ‘I'm sorry, Cait. We have to ask—'

‘Why?' I snapped. ‘What's it got to do with you?'

Dad put his hand on my knee. ‘All right, Cait—'

‘No,' I said angrily. ‘It's not
all right
. What's going on?

Why are you asking me all these stupid questions?'

Lenny answered. ‘There's been another complaint about Lucas.' I turned to look at him, knowing what he was going to say before he said it. He went on. ‘A young girl was indecently assaulted near the cliffs this afternoon. She's given us a fairly good description of her attacker …'

‘And you think it was Lucas?'

Lenny nodded. ‘Young boy, short to medium height, blond hair, green clothes, carrying a canvas bag …'

‘This girl,' I said. ‘Who was it?'

Lenny looked at Dad.

Dad said, ‘Angel Dean.'

I laughed, I couldn't help it. ‘
Angel Dean?
'

Dad frowned at me. ‘It's not funny, Cait. He had a knife. She said he threatened her—'

‘She would.'

‘Pardon?'

I sighed. ‘She's lying, Dad. She's making it up. Lucas didn't do anything to her. He wouldn't go anywhere
near
her. She's lying. It's obvious.'

Lenny said, ‘Why would she do that?'

‘Because …' I suddenly realised that I couldn't tell them why. If I told them why, I'd have to tell them everything. And if I told them everything … well, I'd have to tell them everything.

‘When did this so-called assault take place?' I asked.

‘About two o'clock,' Lenny said.