Devil You Know (7 page)

My mother works in a call centre. Did I already tell you that? I might have. I told them I wouldn’t be good at writing all this down. Anyway, she’s the one who supports the whole family. I should respect her for that. But I never did. I thought she was a mug. Her boyfriend, husband, whatever, Vince, he’s an ex-soldier, dishonourable discharge if you ask me, though of course he would never admit to it. He was invalided out, according to him. There’s nothing wrong with him that I can see. He’s just lazy. And as for that son of his, thank goodness I don’t have to share a room with him any more. He’s off to train to be a soldier too. Just like his dad.

Don’t know what the army’s coming to with soldiers like that. No wonder we lost an empire.

Both Mum and Vince were out the night I heard the news on TV. It was a couple of days after the fire. Mum was on a late shift; don’t know where Vince was. I’d been trying to avoid watching the television, always worried that they might show my face from the CCTV footage, rescued somehow from the warehouse. All I did know was some of the residents from the flats were still in hospital. I was just sitting down to my tea when the news came on, and the fire was the first item. It was on before I could switch over to another channel.

“Whoever did this will be caught,” a policeman said. “The response from the public has been excellent. We do have suspects. We are pursuing all leads.”

Suspects? Was he talking about us?

There was an Asian man interviewed, his fire-damaged shop behind
him. It had been on the other side of the block, but not far enough away to escape the flames. “This shop was my livelihood,” he was saying. “Now, I will have to begin again.”

“You must be very angry about that,” the reporter asked him.

But the man shook his head. “I believe in karma. What goes around, comes around. They will repay in another way for what they have done.” He said it very quietly, it was softly spoken, yet his words sent a chill through me.

Karma.

I knew it would freak me out, but I couldn’t stop watching. I had to hear everything they’d say.

And then they went back to the night of the fire. I had to look. My eyes were drawn to the screen.

The warehouse was ablaze, and everything around it too: mountains of flames billowing into the sky. Fire engines were there, tackling the blaze, firemen balanced on the tops of ladders, their hoses shooting water over the flames. Then the same reporter came on again with the backdrop of the ruined wreck of the building behind him, still smouldering.

Did I feel guilty?

Yes, guilty about the people in the flats. Guilty about the Asian man who had lost his livelihood. But not about the warehouse itself. Hadn’t Mickey said the owners would claim insurance and end up with more money than it was worth?

Then the screen focused on one man. The reporter introduced him as the owner of the warehouse where the fire had started. An old man, he looked tired, as if he’d been up all night. But there was something more than tiredness in his voice. There was anger.

He stared right into the camera, and when he spoke, his voice didn’t sound old, it was cold as ice. “I’m telling you out there, the people who did this, if you’re watching,” he paused, “you
will
be caught.”

“Have you any idea who might be responsible for this?” the reporter
asked.

The old man didn’t even glance at him. He kept his eyes fixed on the camera. I felt he was looking straight at me. It was me he was talking to.

“I just want them to know. If they’re watching. You won’t escape justice.
Don’t for a moment think you’re safe
.”

I couldn’t get those words out of mind.
Don’t for a moment think you’re safe
.

In my dreams that night they were coming closer, cloaked and masked, men in black heading my way, so that I woke with a start, sure they were in my room, standing in the corner, watching me.

Everywhere I went over the next few days, I imagined them waiting for me. They knew where I lived. They were following me. I was always looking over my shoulder.

I almost ran into Lucie one day at the shops, bowling her over because I wasn’t looking where I was going. “Are you expecting someone?” Lucie’s gaze followed mine.

She had noticed a change in me. She had told me as much at school. I had avoided going home with her, afraid that if these imaginary men saw me with her, she might be in danger too. I looked guilty at that moment, I know I did. But I only told her I was having more arguments with my mum and Vince, and she seemed to accept that. I didn’t want to talk to her in case I blurted out the truth.

I almost said I was waiting for Baz, then changed my mind. I never even mentioned Baz’s name to her. She had no time for him.

It was later that day before I met up with Baz and the boys. I hadn’t seen any of them since the burger bar, and it turned out I wasn’t the only one who had watched that item on the news. Claude and Gary had too. “What do you think he meant?” Claude asked. “‘Don’t for a moment think you’re
safe.’ What’s that all about?”

Gary was even more bothered about it than I was. “I wish we’d never went into that place.”

In front of the boys, I didn’t want to look as scared as I felt.

It was Baz who spoke: “He was an old man. Talking rubbish.”

“He said it as if he meant it,” Gary said. “And he’ll have sons.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Baz said. “The old geezer had to say something. Had to sound hard.” He laughed, and so did I. “You don’t think you could handle an old geezer like him if he came after you?”

It was a dare he threw at the rest of us. He began stumbling about like an old man, waving an imaginary cane in the air. His voice was scratched and sickly. “You boys… In my young day, you would have been caned, got the birch! The birch, I tell you. Or capital punishment – aye, that’s what you need. You wouldn’t do it again after that, eh?”

Why did Baz always make me feel better? He wasn’t scared. So why should I be? He was right. I had made too much of that old man’s comments. So had Gary and Claude. The old man had to say something, didn’t he?

“Just remember,” Baz said. “That camera was destroyed in the fire, but even if anything was left, CCTV’s always fuzzy. Even if they’ve got it, they won’t make us out, and anyway we’ve not got a criminal record. How are the police gonny find us?”

Lucie was at the park as I walked home. Looking lost, swinging her legs. It was almost dark.

“Shouldn’t you be home?” I asked her.

She checked her watch. “Shouldn’t you?”

I never quite got an answer from Lucie.

“Police were at my place,” she said.

“At your house?”

She shook her head; a clasp fell from her hair. “Not mine, but along our
balcony. You could hardly miss them, clomping about with their big feet. They’re checking up on everybody.”

“Not me, or you,” I said quickly.

“Bide your time,” Lucie said. “You don’t think you weren’t spotted? Caught on camera?”

And I remembered again the old man on the television. Shook the thought of him away.

“Spotted doing what?” I asked her. “I haven’t done anything.”

She shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

“My mum says I shouldn’t talk to you. She says you’re trouble.”

“Me?” I said. “I’ve never even met your mum. What makes her think I’m trouble? What have you been telling her?”

She didn’t answer that. Instead she said. “You’re not bad when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” I asked.

She waved her hands around as if she was trying to snatch the right words out of the air. “On your own,” she said at last.

“You think maybe some people are a bad influence on me?” She was meaning Baz, of course. I knew she was.

“Maybe you’re the one,” Lucie said, “who’s a bad influence on other people.”

I kicked at stones as I walked away from her. Sometimes Lucie said things that made me think. This was one of those times. Lucie bothered me. More than I would ever admit to anyone.

Over those days after the fire, the estate teemed with police. They seemed to be everywhere. Some of the older boys were taken in for questioning. I kept wondering if Al Butler was too. Maybe they had him in custody already. Then I would start to worry about what he might tell them about us. But no, if he told them about us, he would have to admit he was at the warehouse.

News about the fire was constantly on television. Questions being asked. Questions answered. Each time I caught sight of a news bulletin I held my breath, waiting to see that old man’s face again, hear his words: ‘Don’t for a moment think you’re safe.’

But he never appeared. I began to feel I had only imagined it.

I watched a Crimewatch programme one night and CCTV images appeared, hardened criminals the whole country was looking for, menacing hooded figures with scowling faces, every one of them with a number printed underneath. Would my number come up soon?

But there were never any images of us. We were safe.

The days passed, the residents of the burnt-out flats were all discharged from hospital, and no one came after us. Not the police, nor that old man. In my mind he grew older. His face became more wrinkled, like a withered apple, his skin grey, his jaws slack. He was a pantomime old man, wagging his bent bony fingers at me. We had nothing to fear. We were young. We were invincible.

“Who’s up for a day out tomorrow? Hey, it’s Saturday. We got no school to go to.” It was Baz who suggested it. “And we’ve got something
to celebrate, the cops are looking everywhere… except at us. We weren’t caught. What did I tell you?”

Hadn’t I been thinking the same thing? “Yeah, come on, one day out for the boys. All those people from the fire, they’re all out of hospital, did you hear?”

Mickey nodded. “And they’re saying it was definitely an insurance job now. They’ve got the owner in for questioning, I heard.”

That was news – great news – to me. “Are they really?”

“They found traces of that lighter fluid, even the bottle it was in, so they know it was deliberate, so now it’s the owners they’re after.”

The owners? That old man? I felt a touch of guilt about an innocent man being blamed for something he didn’t do. But I shook the thought of him away. Now there was no chance of him coming after us, was there? He would have enough to contend with convincing the police he had nothing to do with the fire, so he’d have less time to worry about us, wouldn’t he?

“Ok, day out,” Claude said. “Where will we go?”

“Into the city,” Gary said at once. “Where else would you go for a day out?”

“Into Glasgow?” Mickey looked baffled, as if we had just suggested a trip to the moon.

“You’re talking as if you’ve never been there,” Claude laughed.

“I never have.”

“Oh come on! You, Mickey?” Gary sounded astonished. “I mean, I can understand Logan here never having been in, but you! You’re a native Glaswegian.”

“Well, I’ve never been into the city. Ok?”

“It’ll be good,” I said, glad that for once I wasn’t the only one who was an outsider. “I’m dying to see it.” I felt excited at the thought.

“Hey! We’re going to have an adventure!” Baz shouted.

“Are you paying?” Gary asked.

It was Baz who answered. “Me? Pay? Hey, you’re my mate, entitled to
my liver and one of my kidneys, but keep your hands off my money.”

It made us all laugh. Typical Baz.

Mickey was a bit reluctant at first, but after a while he was up for it too. He wanted to take his perishing dog with him, but we persuaded him maybe it wasn’t a good idea. So it was decided: we would meet at the precinct next morning and head to the station and take the train into the city.

Baz was going to meet me at my flats first, but I waited and waited, and finally gave up on him. I didn’t want to miss the boys at the precinct. Didn’t want them going without me. So maybe I didn’t wait as long as I should have. I tried to call Baz, but his phone went straight onto voicemail. And, do you know what? I was relieved. It took me a while to realise that was how I felt. But I knew I wasn’t disappointed that he wasn’t there. And as I headed to meet the other boys at the precinct, I kept hoping that Baz wouldn’t be with them either.

None of the others even mentioned him. I think they felt the same. I was in a great mood, didn’t want anything to spoil it. And I felt guilty even thinking this, but Baz might have spoiled things.

We had to pass close to the burnt-out warehouse to get to the station. No way to avoid it. For the first time I could see what remained of the flats on the other side of that block, and a couple of shops too. All empty and blackened. There was one shop still open, right on the corner. I was sure this was the one owned by the Asian man I’d seen on TV. It had a sign on the door.

So many people were there sweeping up, cleaning the place up, helping to move things out or carry things in, decent people, standing by a neighbour in trouble.

The four of us went quiet as we walked past. We kept our heads down
guiltily and we didn’t say a word.

The station was busy with people. Women heading into town for shopping, families going for a day out. I liked trains. We’d come down from Aberdeen on the train, and that was an amazing journey. I was glad none of the boys had suggested taking the underground into the city. I would feel trapped in there. They all laughed at me when I told them.

“That’s a great way to travel through Glasgow,” Gary said. “Fast and cheap. Nothing to beat it.”

“I used to read stories about people trapped in the underground. Down in London. They would go down there during the Blitz. Sings songs to cheer themselves up while the Luftwaffe bombed their houses up top. I don’t think singing would have cheered me up.”

“Must have been scary, but,” Mickey said. “If a bomb hit when you were down there you’d never get out. Trapped underground? My idea of hell.”

“Mine too, Mickey,” I agreed. “If I was gonny die it would be out in the open air. Not under the ground.” I was totally creeped out by the very thought of it.

We were still chatting as the train pulled into Queen Street Station. It had taken us right into the centre of the city. How exciting was that! We came out into a great square, surrounded by impressive, grand-looking grey buildings. “This is George Square,” Gary told me. “This is where they filmed World War Z! Thousands of zombies in Glasgow. Have you seen it?”

Of course we all had. That set us off running round the square snarling like the undead. Some people smiled at us, others moved away. Maybe they thought we really were zombies.

I’d lived here for a couple of months and never once come into the city. I wanted to take one of the tour buses, but I found out that Gary knew so much about Glasgow, and not just about zombies, so who needed a bus?

“Walking’s the best way to see anywhere in Glasgow,” he assured us.

We couldn’t have picked a better day. The sun was shining, everyone
seemed to be smiling. There was a wonderful feeling in the air. We walked down West George Street, and the first thing I spotted was a statue of some guy on a horse with a traffic cone on his head.

“That’s Wellington,” Gary said. “They’re always trying to stop people doing that: the traffic cone gets taken off, but next day… there’s another traffic cone stuck on his head again.”

“I hope they never stop them,” I said, because I thought it was so brilliant. “That’s just Glasgow, isn’t it?”

“Fantastic!” Gary said, and he began to run. “Come on, let’s go to the river.”