Sinema: The Northumberland Massacre (9 page)

His face took on a stern,
I don’t take no shit,
look. With set bearded jaw line and fierce eyes staring unblinking down the sight, his handsome face looked the consummate rugged hero. Chuckling to himself, he slipped it under his leather jacket and tucked it into his jeans in the small of his back.

Absently flicking a few wayward strands of baby blonde hair out of her hazel eyes, Mandy handed the SPAR carrier bag over the counter. She thanked the last customer of the day, the plump, camp owner of Jolly Moe’s hair salon.

“You’re a sweetie, Mand,” Moe Baxter said with exaggerated relief. He wore a crimson silk shirt open almost to the navel with a broken heart gold necklace and a thick rug of chest hair on show. In his fifties, with grey, slicked back hair and sideburns styled into points, contrasting with heavily tanned features, he was a man who wanted to grow old his way. “Mister Flibble would have been ever so upset if he missed out on his Saturday treat of sardines.”

“Give him a big kiss from me,” Mandy replied, forcing a smile through the tempest of tormented thoughts cascading around her embattled mind.

“Will do!” Moe said, accompanied by an infectiously beaming smile full of glaringly white teeth. With a wave of one jewel-encrusted, manicured hand, he swept out of the shop, leaving Mandy alone once more.

Duncan Fairbank popped his head round the door that led to the store room and tiny cluttered office. “Get yourself away, Mand. I’ll lock up here; you just go enjoy your weekend. Your pay packet’s in the usual place.” He offered her a smile, emphasising his angular jaw line.

Mandy returned the smile with near sincerity, even managing to flash her own toothpaste ad set of teeth – she always went a little girly over Duncan’s
Marlboro
man smile. She slipped her hand in the drawer next to the till to retrieve the small brown envelope. She liked both Duncan and Loretta – they had always been kind and fair with her, and Duncan was still quite a hunk, despite his age. Maybe like George Clooney, but carrying a little extra weight. Glancing inside the envelope, she noticed that he had slipped an extra ten pound note in for her. “Thanks a lot, Mister F. That’s really nice of you.”

His voice drifted from the store room. “No worries, pet. You deserve it.”

Mandy carefully unlocked the front door of her parent’s house, making sure not to rattle the keys. The door was a bit stiff, as usual, so it took a bit of persuasion to ease it open.

She crept along the narrow hallway, past her sleeping father on the sofa in the living room in front of a rerun of
The A-Team
. George Peppard was grinning like a mad man in a cheap Godzilla outfit with a big cigar stuck in his mouth. Her mother would not be home for another hour or so from Rothbury, so that gave her plenty of time. The stairs creaked and groaned under her slight frame, causing her to pause and glance back down to the open living room door. Her father continued to snore softly amidst the drone of the television.

Mandy’s bedroom was decked out in lilac walls, purple bedding and curtains and dozens of posters of James Blunt, James McAvoy, Jack Johnson, Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom.

She wasted no time; dropping down onto her knees, she pulled a purple sports bag from under her bed that was already full to bursting point. As she stood up with its not inconsiderable weight, she glanced around the room, running through a mental checklist in her head. She had already carefully chosen which outfits and shoes that she most needed to take with her, along with her meagre collection of makeup and jewellery, her mobile phone and some photos. Adding her wage packet to the funds already in her purple brushed leather purse, she quickly calculated that she had a grand total of two hundred and thirty-two pounds in cash. This would constitute the sum total of her worldly possessions from which to start her new life in Edinburgh with. Sod all.

Fighting back tears, she rubbed her eyes and heaved a sigh. She had to go, to be with Dougie. They could have their own home, together; they could be a family. Her, Dougie and the baby. Since the initial shock result of the home pregnancy test, she had been even more surprised to realise that she actually wanted this baby; in fact, wanted it more than she ever thought she would. It would be hard at first; Dougie wasn’t earning much with his brother in their window cleaning partnership, and she would have to get whatever temporary job she could until the baby came. She was also very close to her mam and dad and the thought of leaving them made her ache deep inside. But there was no other way; they wouldn’t understand and they certainly wouldn’t approve of Dougie. So he had made a few mistakes as a kid and done a little time, but he was a loving, decent man now. He loved her, and that was all that mattered.

She shrugged into her purple synthetic fur jacket and picked up the sports bag. It took all of her determination to tear her gaze away from the photograph in the plain silver frame on her bedside cabinet, which showed a pretty blonde haired girl in her early teens with proud, beaming parents standing behind, both with a loving hand resting on each of her shoulders … the life that she was leaving behind. After hovering in the doorway for another couple of gut-wrenching minutes, she finally turned and walked away, tears blurring her vision.

Whitman watched from across the street, appearing to flick through a North East England
‘Passionate about walking’
guide, as Mandy left her home for the last time. The cute nineteen years old was dressed in tight jeans, and what appeared to be a strange hairy purple monster. She had red eyes and flushed cheeks. Obviously an emotional departure.

Bell Lane was quiet and surprisingly devoid of activity for a Saturday afternoon. From his position near the intersection with Main Street, he heard a car drive past behind him. He ignored it and continued to watch the girl over the top of the pages of the leaflet.

Shouldering the stuffed bag with considerable effort, she walked quickly straight past him, without so much as a glance, onto Main Street and then headed back towards the B road that would lead her south east to Shillmoor. He noted that she had wisely opted for walking boots, rather than the heels that he had half expected her to wear. After waiting a short while, Whitman casually folded the guide and followed at a discrete distance.

All the good things you deserve now,

Climbing, forever trying,

Find your way out of the wild, wild wood,

Now there's no justice …

The late afternoon sun was obscured by a bank of thick, grey clouds that were heading inland from the west coast. The air was still and warm; a close feeling that immediately drew beads of sweat with the exertion of the quick pace.

Mandy kept to the uneven and weed-ridden roadside as she headed at a steady pace towards Shillmoor. Her confident strides with the burden on her back betrayed a keen walker. It was tougher going for Whitman, fighting his way through the pine forest about fifteen yards in and back from the young woman. It was made all the more difficult by having to carefully place his footing at every step, so as not to alert his prey.

As she strode purposefully, occasionally hoisting the heavy bag back onto her shoulder, she picked over the events of the last few days. The finite details re-played on a seemingly endless loop, tormenting and drawing out her pain once again. Tears rolled down her glowing cheeks.

She pictured her mam, sobbing uncontrollably at hearing the news that her only daughter had fled, pregnant, to be with her ex-con boyfriend. She imagined the face of her dad, enraged, screaming that he never wanted to see her again, that he no longer had a daughter. She saw the face of Mister Fairbank; disappointed and disapproving -
she had always been such a sensible, reliable girl
. Then, la piece de resistance, Dougie; what if he sent her packing as soon as he discovered that she was pregnant?
What’s a matter with you, babe? I danae want another kid. Got two already to that bitch, Cheryl, that I cannae afford.

Struggling to keep pace, Whitman snaked his way between trees and clumps of wild flowers and bracken, ever watchful of his footfalls. His eyes darted between the broken outline of Mandy and the ground in front of his feet. It was as his eyes flashed back to the girl that, stepping onto a mossy, felled branch, his
Caterpillar
boot slipped, sending him face first into the mulchy forest floor and snapping several smaller twigs and branches with knees and elbows in the process. Stifling an angry curse, he scrambled to a crouch and cast a furtive glance towards Mandy’s last position.

A flutter of wings disturbed the leaves in the forest canopy, but otherwise there was deathly silence.

She had stopped dead in her tracks and was staring into the shadowy trees with a look of unease etched into her pretty features. She was staring right towards him.

He froze, not even daring to breathe.

“Hello?” Her voice had an anxious edge to it.

Still holding his breath, Whitman watched and waited, ignoring the protests from his straining thighs. A brown and orange meadow argus butterfly wavered past his still face, then settled on a low branch in a rare spot of greying light. His eyes followed it hypnotically for a moment then returned to the girl.

She took one hesitant step towards the trees, still frowning, but then quickly changed her mind and spun back towards her destination. Heading off at a noticeably quicker pace, she glanced back one final time, her ill ease still apparent.

The whole sky appeared bruised and prematurely darkened as the cloudbank settled across the early evening sky. The wind began to pick up as Mandy rushed onward towards Shillmoor. Without pausing for breath, she buttoned up her jacket and hoisted her bag higher onto her shoulder. As the first droplets of rain struck the pot-holed road, Mandy glanced towards the heavens with scolding annoyance, diminishing any lingering nervousness.

“Fuck,” she said simply to no one in particular. Her breathing had deepened from the exertion and strands of her blonde hair were plastered to her forehead.

“Bitch, isn’t it,” Whitman said nonchalantly, stepping out of the trees to her side.

“Shit!” Mandy jumped, flinging her arms out in a shaken spasm that caused her sports bag to fly off her shoulder and drop to the damp road. She spun round to face him, her cheeks suddenly drained with fright.

“Sorry, hun,” Whitman said, raising his own gloved hands in apology. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I was just having a little walk through the forest. Weather’s turning, eh?”

Mandy took a couple of uncertain, shuffling steps away from him, visibly shaking and her eyes wild. “You … you’re following me.”

Whitman feigned surprised innocence. “Me?” Then, abruptly, there was a subtle shift in his expression and, as suddenly as he had appeared, he dropped the act. Shrugging, he said, “Busted.”

The unexpected admission caught Mandy off guard. Fear was momentarily replaced by confusion. “What?” Disbelief, as if she didn’t hear him correctly. She bent and picked up her bag, not taking her eyes off him for a second.

Taking another step closer, Whitman nodded apologetically. His tone matter-of-fact, he said, “Yep, I’ve been following you since you left Haydon. I’m going to murder you and bury your dismembered body in the woods.”

Any remaining specks of colour vanished from Mandy’s face. A deep down primal instinct told her that this man was not joking. His features and body language were a relaxed lie, but the intensity in his eyes revealed the complete horrific truth in an instant. She staggered backwards as if struck by a physical force.

Rubbing his hands together, Whitman said, “Okie-dokie. Here we go.” He glanced up to the drizzling purple-grey sky and added, “This rain looks like it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

Whitman’s blasé attitude both confused and appalled Mandy as she stumbled backwards into the middle of the road. Her mind was surging with conflicting instincts and emotions, momentarily stalling the one most important one; self preservation. It all seemed so surreal; like a scene from some tacky teen slasher film, not real life. Certainly not her life!

Matching her slow pace, Whitman offered her a gentle smile, one that could’ve been mistaken as that of a proud and loving father. His tone was soothing as he said, “I think now’s your cue to run. Screaming.” The sneer that followed his last word was far from gentle; it was predatory and laced with inhuman malice.

Without needing prompting a second time, Mandy thrust her bag in Whitman’s face with all her mustered strength and dashed for the tree line on the opposite side of the road. Her heart-stopping scream would have put Jamie Lee Curtis to shame.

Whitman caught the heavy bag an inch from his face and smiled at the unexpected flash of tenacity. Casting it onto his back with his own pack, he started to jog after her at a more sedate pace. He wiped droplets of rainwater from his face and chuckled quietly to himself. He hadn’t quite known how he would feel at this stage, but so far it was quite enjoyable. Like
catchy-kissy
in the playground …

Mandy tore headlong into the forest, her arms flailing to cast obstructions aside. Branches and low shrubs scratched and clawed at her extremities as she threw herself unbound into the forest. Her throat quickly grew hoarse and her lungs ached from both screaming and flat out sprinting over uneven ground. The beating of her feet on the spongy ground and the lashing of branches against her face and arms seemed to conjure a cold clarity of mind that seemed almost unbelievable. The screaming was prematurely tiring her and the only person in range to hear it was the madman behind her.

She rushed on with only her panting breaths mingling with the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves and foliage. The pungent smells of moss and damp earth tingled in her nostrils as she struggled to regulate her breathing.

Droplets of rain broke through the canopy here and there, one hitting her cheek as she glanced upwards to the pinprick views of the dark sky. The already damp ground was turning to gluey mud with the worsening rain, sticking to the soles of her boots and making every step ever more laborious.