Follow the Leader (29 page)

1998

Patrick jumped when he heard the front door slam shut. He rushed to his feet, raced through to the kitchen and switched on the saucepan he’d filled in readiness. He heard Ray before he saw him, cursing as he pulled off his shoes, thud, thud as he chucked them to the floor. Then he came into the room, bumping into the doorframe before staggering towards the table. He sat down with a thud, sniffed
dramatically
.

‘I can’t smell anything cooking,’ he slurred.

‘It’s warming up now.’ Patrick had no alternative but to turn his back on Ray as he stirred the liquid around the pan. ‘It won’t take more than a few minutes.’

‘Hurry up, short-arse. I’m starving.’

‘It’s only soup.’

‘What?’

‘It’s soup. I didn’t have any money to buy a joint of meat yesterday. I have some crusty bread to go with it, though.’

‘Soup?’ Ray’s voice was high pitched. ‘You expect me to eat soup for my Sunday dinner?’

‘It’s beef broth.’

‘“It’s beef broth,”’ Ray mimicked in a squeaky voice.

‘It’s all we have.’

It went quiet for a moment while Patrick poured the soup into two bowls and placed them on the table. Ray stared at his bowl and then up at Patrick. He brought his fist down on the table and the bowl flew up into the air. It landed on the floor, narrowly missing Patrick’s feet, the liquid splashing everywhere, the dish smashing into pieces.

‘What the fuck do you take me for – a mug?’ Ray seethed. ‘I know you have money from your job.’

‘I don’t! You took what I had last night, remember?’

‘You didn’t give it all to me. You said you’d kept some back to go shopping.’

‘I did.’ Patrick paused before continuing. ‘But when I looked where I had left it, it had gone.’

‘And where did you leave it?’

‘In the cabinet, next to my bed.’

‘So you’re saying that I went in to your room and took it?’

‘No, I –’

Ray reached across, grabbed a handful of Patrick’s hair and pulled him near. ‘Then who the fuck did? You lying piece of shit. You’ve spent it, haven’t you? You lying bastard!’

‘No!’

‘You’re trying to blame this on me when I know you’re stashing your money away so that you can up and leave one day. Do you think I was born yesterday, short-arse?’ He punched Patrick in the side of his face.

In such close proximity, his mouth took a full hit. Patrick coughed, tasted blood and put his hands out to stop Ray from hitting him again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he tried to say as the pain in his head intensified. Ray was squeezing hard on a fistful of his hair.

‘You
will
be fucking sorry if you don’t go and get something decent to eat.’

‘I don’t have any money.’

Ray laughed as Patrick squirmed, trying to loosen his grip. But just as quickly, he pushed him away again.

‘I’ll give you thirty minutes,’ he said, swaying as he tried to stay upright. ‘One of those roast beef ready meals will do, but I want a dinner.’

Patrick stood rooted to the spot.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Ray roared at him. ‘Go on, get, you little fuck.’

Patrick shook his head. ‘No.’

Ray flexed his fingers. ‘Come again?’ he said.

Patrick shook his head.

‘Becoming quite the hero nowadays, aren’t you?’ Ray scraped his chair backwards on the kitchen floor before dragging himself to his feet. ‘Look at you – you’re pathetic. You don’t even have the strength to fight off a man twice your age. And to think I fathered you. Weak, that’s what you are. It’s why your mother left you here with me, the stupid bitch. And now I have to put up with you, you gormless twat.’

‘My mother left because she couldn’t bear to be with you!’

To this day, Patrick had no idea why he’d said that.

Ray came at him. With one punch, he floored him. The strength of the man when he was sober wasn’t anything Patrick could cope with, but when he was drunk, it was as if a lion had unleashed its powers. Ray straddled him and he tried to push him off, but the weight of his father’s body pinned him down.

Ray punched him in the face, again and again, and again.

This is it,
thought Patrick,
my last moments. The police will find me covered in blood lying on the floor. No one will come to my funeral. No one cares if I live or die.

But he knew, in a way, that it would be far better than living the way he was.

Please let him kill me.

Chapter Thirty-Four

‘Why did he let me go? Why didn’t he want to hurt me?’ Allie asked Perry as they sped off along Ranger Street with the other cars. ‘He could have done anything to me. I wouldn’t have been able to escape.’

‘You weren’t part of the game, were you?’ Perry grimaced.

Allie’s phone beeped. It was an email with a photo attachment. She opened it to see the face of an older man, gaunt and pale, staring back at her. Hair shaved closed to his head showing age spots and blotchy skin; a crooked nose and a tiny scar visible below his bottom lip. Allie could clearly see the resemblance to Patrick
Morgan
from his eyes alone. They were void of emotion.

A minute after they’d gone down Lichfield Street and turned right at the roundabout on to Leek Road, Perry suddenly slowed the car. Much to the annoyance of the driver behind him who blasted on his horn, he flicked on the hazard lights and parked up on the kerb.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Allie looked on in exasperation. ‘We can’t stop here!’

Perry turned up the radio. ‘Listen!’

The tune playing was a song by Roxette.
It Must Have Bee
n Love.

‘It’s just reminded me of something. Oh, fuck – I –’

Allie could see that Perry was close to tears when he turned to her. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘The school disco – 1989. I was messing around with Mickey Taylor and Johnno – Joe Tranter. They wanted me to play a trick on Patrick and I wouldn’t. But Nathan Whittaker did. They got him to dance with one of the female teachers – and then Nathan stuck a note to his back.’ He swallowed. ‘It said “Loser,” Allie, and I remember everyone laughed at him. When he found out, he ran from the building and Johnno legged him over, making everyone laugh even more. I think I laughed too. I only just remembered it when I heard that song.’

‘‘I’m not with you. I don’t –’

‘Are we absolutely certain he’s going to the railway station?’ Perry broke in.

Allie nodded. ‘You were with us when we worked everything out. I’m sure we’re right and –’

‘Lisa’s at the hairdresser’s this morning. The Head Station, in Percy Street, Hanley.’ Perry gasped as his breath caught in his throat. ‘What if it’s me who’s the last piece of the game? What if he’s going to hurt Lisa?’

‘Why would he do that?’ Allie frowned. ‘You said you hadn’t done anything against him.’

‘I know, but maybe that’s it. Maybe because I didn’t do anything to help him, he thinks I’m just as bad as the rest of them.’

‘But so far he’s come after his bullies, not their spouses.’

‘Yes, but how do we know he isn’t going to trick us? Think about it – he’s been one step ahead of us all through his game.’ Perry’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘She’s pregnant, Allie. What if –’

‘Call her, just to be on the safe side,’ said Allie. ‘Call her!’

As he waited for her phone to connect, Allie prayed it wouldn’t be what he was thinking. Morgan had made her think that he was going after Karen for a while, so she could understand Perry’s reasoning. And even though they now knew Morgan was going after his father, she couldn’t take any chances.

‘Lisa?’ Perry shouted down the phone. ‘Are you okay? Are you sure? Are you with people? I need you to . . . no, there’s nothing to worry about. NO, please calm down, honey. I need you to . . . Wait, I can –’

Allie placed a hand on his arm. ‘You’re scaring her,’ she told him, her voice calm. ‘Give the phone to me.’

He passed it to her.

‘Lisa, it’s Allie. I know this is difficult but please try to stay calm. There’s been an incident this morning and we need to keep you safe until it’s sorted. I need you to go into the back of the hairdresser’s, out of sight, and away from the general public. Yes. No. Right now. I’m going to get the manager to close the shop until Perry gets to you. Can you do that for me? Yes. Now, put the
manager
on the line.’

‘Is she really okay?’ asked Perry.

‘She’s safe,’ said Allie.

‘Are you sure? He could be there, telling her what to say. He could –’

‘Hey,’ Allie tried to calm him. ‘Hey!’ When he looked at her, she continued. ‘It won’t take you more than ten minutes to get there.’ She passed him his phone and got out her own. Removing her seatbelt, she opened the door. ‘I’ll leg it from here.’

Perry looked torn. ‘I can’t just leave the investigation.’

‘Yes, you can.’ Allie nodded. ‘Family are more important, and for all we know, this
is
part of the investigation. I can take the rap if need be. Now, go!’

She got out of the car and Perry sped off from the kerb. As fast as her heels would take her, she ran along the road, weaving in and out of the students who were between lectures. Ahead, she could see flashing blue lights. Station Road had been cordoned off and traffic was being diverted. The traffic lights in front of her turned to red. As the cars slowed, she ran across the road, dashing behind a car that was coming to a halt. Just past the entrance to Royal Mail Sorting Office, she climbed over the low wall and ran across the car park.

Breathless, she drew level with the North Stafford Hotel, thankful that the ground wasn’t slippery underfoot today. Seconds later, she was in front of the station. Inside, she spotted Nick
giving
orders to two uniformed officers. She pushed through politely to reach him.

‘We don’t have a clue what he looks like,’ Nick said, still scanning the crowd. ‘Can you see him?’

‘He must be here.’ Allie craned her neck, checking around the station.

As more officers arrived, Nick barked out orders. ‘Get this
station
evacuated. Now!’

Patrick stood in the subway, watching every person that came past. The knife in his pocket was open, he could feel his fingers stinging where the blade had cut through his skin.

Any minute now, he would see Ray.

He leaned on the wall to the side, watching and waiting, clocking every person that came down the stairs and into his range of vision. A man rushing through with a hand-held
suitcase
. A gaggle of teenage girls, their heels clattering on the tiled floor sounding similar to machine-gun fire. An elderly woman holding on to the arm of a man who looked like her son. Three men wearing red and white football shirts. A woman on her own – the
n another.

Then a lull.

Patrick put a hand to his mouth as he retched. What if Ray wasn’t on this train? That the letter he’d had redirected to his address had been a complete pack of lies? Ray would think that was hilarious.
Stupid, Patrick!

Two males next, then a woman with a small child. A group of women. All walking past him as if he wasn’t there. Invisible again. A woman. Another woman and . . .

There.

This old man.

His
old man.

How many times had Ray come rolling home, like the words in the nursery rhyme? How many times had he beaten him to take out his aggression, drunk, and angry and argumentative? Made him feel worthless, his words stinging as much as the punches.

Suddenly, he was that nine-year-old boy again, cowering on his bed because it was his fault his mother had left him behind. It was his fault that Ray drank so much, because he couldn’t bear to come home to a house with only Patrick to keep him company. All lies, terrible spiteful untruths that a child would believe. Why had he let him control him afterwards? Why hadn’t he been strong enough to get on with his life when Ray had been locked up, to leave him and his problems far behind?

Father and son locked eyes.

Seventeen years had taken their toll. Slightly hunched forward, Ray walked with a limp. His hair was grey, receding. Deep wrinkles around his eyes. Dark bags underneath them.

Patrick’s body began to shake violently, but he closed the distance between them, his hand clasped around the handle of the knife.

There was no one left behind Ray now. Patrick watched the holdall drop from his father’s shoulder, down his arm and on to the floor. Then Ray held out his arms.

‘Hello, son,’ Ray smiled, almost shyly. ‘You came.’

Patrick took out the knife.

Ray stepped back, hands held out in defence now. ‘Patrick, I –’ Stumbling into the back of the steps, he lost his footing and fell, landing heavily.

‘I’m sorry!’ He covered his face with his arms. ‘I’m sorry.’

Patrick wanted to kill the bastard, twist the knife, cut out his heart. He pulled back his hand and . . .

He couldn’t do it
.

Come on!

‘Morgan!’ A voice shouted behind him. ‘Patrick Morgan!’

Patrick stopped, realising they had worked everything out. He turned to see a tall man in a suit coming down the few steps to his level at the other end of the subway. He could see the woman he’d assaulted earlier, too, and a few uniformed officers. They were twenty metres away.

‘Stay where you are,’ he screamed, raising the knife so they could see it. ‘I’ll kill him if you come closer. I’ll do it!’

Watching them slow, Patrick glanced at Ray before running past him up the steps ahead and onto platform two.

Allie followed closely behind Nick as they thundered after Patrick.

‘Stay away from the platform,’ Nick shouted to Ray and ran past his ashen form. Allie followed, letting uniform deal with Ray. Coming out onto the middle of the platform, she stopped at Nick’s side when she saw Patrick standing several feet in front of him, the knife in his outstretched hand.

‘Don’t come any fucking closer!’ Patrick shouted, bringing everyone to a halt.

Behind them, uniformed officers moved people who were waiting for the next train, ushering them towards the exit at the far end of the platform. Several people behind Patrick stood up. A woman screamed. Allie raised a hand, hoping she would heed her warning to be quiet.

‘It’s over, Patrick.’ Nick took a step forward, his hand outstretched. ‘Drop the knife.’

‘I couldn’t do it.’ A tear trickled from Patrick’s eye as he screwed his face up. ‘I killed all those people first so that I would have the courage to kill him. I
needed
to, so badly.’

‘Patrick, put down the knife.’

‘Why?’ His face contorted again. ‘Why couldn’t I finish
him off?’

‘You need help. We can get that for you. But you need to put down the knife now.’

Patrick’s hand wavered; his shoulders shook.

Allie saw a guard across on platform one looking over, powerless to do anything but watch. Her eyes flicked to the arrivals sign. There was a train due in. She hoped there had been time to contact the driver to get him to stop, or even just to go straight to the next station. Otherwise in a minute or so, the platform would be flooded with people getting off. Best-case scenario was that they would be kept on the train. Either way, it wouldn’t be pleasant for people to watch Patrick be taken away. Neither would it stop people reaching for their mobile phones to take pictures, something that no one would want.

Patrick still had the knife held out in front. ‘I wanted to rip his heart out.’ He began to cry. ‘Like he did to me. But he made me into a coward too. I – I –’

Nick took a step forward. ‘He can’t hurt you again.’

Patrick roared. The sound of an animal, trapped, in pain.

Nick took another step forward. As Patrick sidestepped away from him, nearer to the edge of the platform, Allie stepped closer too. If she could just reach out to grab his arm, Nick might be able to force the knife from him and push him to the ground. But then again, Patrick had shown them only too well how deceptive his build was.

She had to chance it.

‘I can hear you,’ he said, pointing the knife at her. ‘Creeping up on me.’

In the distance, Allie could see a train approaching, knew
Patrick
would be able to see it too. He glanced at her and in that split second, she realised his intentions. Her heart sank as he broke out into a smile.

‘I know it’s not going to stop here. So what game do we finish off with?’ he asked, cocking his head to one side like a small dog. ‘I know. Let’s play chicken.’

Allie shouted as Patrick jumped in front of the train, running forward at the same time as Nick.