Speak No Evil (16 page)

‘How soon?'

‘Soon as. Airtight and legal can do it on the run.'

Tess grinned. ‘Got it.'

‘And Tess?'

‘Yeah?'

‘Don't ever phone me in the middle of the night again. For whatever reason. Or I will fucking sack you.'

She put the phone down. Tess danced round the room.

‘Biggest story of the year, an' all that.'

Ray Collins was irritated that Tess hadn't answered him.

‘Yeah, sorry. I'll tell you.' She told him.

Another plume of smoke, another grunt. ‘So she's gone for it an' sent me up.'

‘That's it.'

Collins sucked the life from his fag, threw the butt out of the window. Tess hoped he would leave it open, air the car out a bit but he closed it straightaway. She would have to have it fumigated after this job. But the money she would make in bonuses would be worth it.

‘I think the kid's nearly sixteen,' said Tess. ‘Or sixteen now. We can move on it straightaway. Get some shots, reaction, that kind of thing. I'll try to find someone to talk to on the record. And there's something else.' Tess grinned. This was the part she had kept until last, the part that would, even if it wasn't true, make her reputation. ‘The story I came up here to cover. A kid's murder. Happened on the estate she lives on.' She assumed an American accent. It was as unconvincing as her estuary one. ‘Coincidence? I think not.'

The accent was wasted on Collins. ‘So what? I get some photos of the kid? Of her?'

‘Yeah. That kind of thing.'

‘So you know where she lives?'

‘I know the area. But not the flat itself.'

‘We gonna find out?'

‘That's where we're going now.'

‘Bit risky all this, innit? Legal been on to it?'

‘She says if we make it airtight it'll be of overwhelming public interest. We can get round it that way. So let's do it.'

Another grunt from Collins, another cigarette. Not the response Tess had been hoping for. Tess also thought that now wasn't the time for a lecture about the health risks of passive smoking.

Now was the time to break the story of a lifetime.

‘So tell me about Jack.'

She lights another cigarette, takes a mouthful of coffee. A large one. Uses both actions to think before answering. ‘What d'you want to know?' she says eventually.

He shrugs. ‘About him. His life. His upbringing. Has it been difficult for him moving around the country, not being able to settle in one place for too long?'

She shrugs this time. Again it's a cover for her thoughts. ‘S'pose so.'

‘Has he ever said anything? Acted in a certain way about it? Tell me about him'

She sighs, knowing the questions aren't going to go away until she answers mem. ‘He's a lovely lad. A really lovely lad. I think the sun shines out of him. I do.' And she does. He sees it in her wistful smile, in the summery glaze creeping over her eyes. ‘He's my world.' She stubs her cigarette out as she gets talking. He's noticed she does this as her defences come down. ‘All those years, in prison an' everythin'. I just wanted somethin', someone. To …' She pulls back, takes a mouthful of coffee, gives an apologetic half-smile. ‘Sorry,' she says. ‘This sounds wanky when I say it out loud.'

He smiles, encouragingly.

‘But …' She shrugs again. ‘It's true. I did want somethin' like that. Someone like that. I used to have lots of time on me own, I was always kickin' off. I wasn't what you'd call a model prisoner for a lot of the time, I mean I even escaped once. But yeah. I used to think that. If I had somethin' to love or someone waitin' for us when I got out. An' when I got out I had Jack.' A smile splits her face. A true one this time, no half measures. ‘An' he's my world. My big, beautiful boy.'

‘Is it tough on Rob knowing you think that about Jack?'

She shakes her head. ‘He knows. That was part of the deal when I met him. An' he was fine with it. But Jack … he's a bright boy. Really. Reads all the time. He deserves the best. The best I can do for him.' She sighs. ‘That's why I'm doin' this, isn't it?'

He senses there's more to come. He waits.

‘But I do worry about him.'

‘Only natural. Don't all mothers worry about their children? All parents about their sons?'

She leans forward, wanting to make sure he understands what she means. ‘Not all mothers did what I did when they were eleven years old. Not all mothers spend the rest of their lives payin' for it one way or another.'

‘No, I just meant
—'

‘No, it's all right. I know.' She sighs again. ‘I just worry. I worry that whatever was in me is in him. Maybe it's somethin' psychological. Maybe it's hereditary. Maybe it's … I don't know. A bad spirit, or something.' She tries to laugh but it sounds hollow and unconvincing even to herself.

He says nothing.

‘I mean, I know it can't be. But I just worry. That it's in the bone.'

‘What is?'

‘It. The bad shit. It's supposed to be psychological, because of my upbringing an' that. Because of my mother. Like they said. But I worry that he's like me. That he's too much like me.'

She reaches for another cigarette.

‘I worry that she's put somethin' in me an' I've passed it down to him. I worry that he's goin' to turn out like me.'

13

‘How. You. Aye, you. What are you lookin' at?'

Jack's head came up sharply from the hardback library book he had been reading.
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas.
He was completely engrossed in it. He was unaware that he had been looking at anyone. He recognized the voice straight away. Renny. The little, stocky, shaven-headed kid who was quickly becoming obnoxious.

Jack had hoped his day at school would go OK. Put everything that had recently happened behind him, just get on with his life. The reporters were still hanging round the school, along with police. Floral tributes to Calvin Bell were piling up at the gates and in the alley on the estate he had died in. Plastic-wrapped mostly, some with little teddy bears attached or Newcastle United scarves. Hand-written cards talking about what a loss he is and asking God to put him with the other angels. Jack wasn't a cynic, but he doubted that angel was a word Calvin Bell had often been described with. Or any kid round here.

He could see a reporter standing in front of the school gates, instructing his cameraman to get a good shot of the flowers before delivering his speech to camera, his face mournful as if he's personally upset.

‘I'm talkin' to you. Fuckin' weirdo. Fuckin' spazz.'

Renny moved closer to Jack, Pez trailing behind him. Jack hadn't made many friends and spent most of his break-times alone, reading. He loved getting lost in books, having other worlds open before him. So much better than the real one. Even the one he was reading about. Concentration camps, the Second World War.

Renny stood over him. Jack ignored him, tried to keep reading.

‘Saw you last night. Out with your mother. Holdin' hands, weren't you? Fuckin' weirdo. Fuckin' paedo mother.'

Jack's hands started to shake as he gripped the book even harder. He refused to rise to it, just kept his head down.

‘You ignorin' me?'

Jack was doing exactly that. He stared at the words, not understanding them. All he could see was the shadow of the other boy.

‘How. I'm talkin' to you.' The boy's voice had taken on a harder edge. Nastier. Much nastier.

It was no good. He had to look up. And widened his eyes in surprise. Renny was sporting a black eye, cuts and bruises on his cheeks. His eyes were aflame, angered, like he had been stopped in the middle of a fight and wanted to finish it. With whoever he could find.

‘What happened to your face?' Jack asked, closing his book but keeping his place with a finger.

Renny was taken aback. He hadn't anticipated that question. His mouth moved but the words were slow in emerging.

‘Never … never …' His anger overtook him again. ‘What the fuck's the matter with you? Eh? You a fuckin' puff? Eh? What's the matter with your face. Puff. Paedo mother an' a fuckin' baby for holdin' her hand an' a puff. That it?'

Jack frowned. He couldn't follow the words but he knew the boy was building up to something and he knew it wouldn't be good. For him.

Renny stood his ground before him, balling and unballing his hands into fists. Snorting through his nostrils. Jack knew that it would only take one more word, one more sentence. He knew that whatever came out of his mouth next would be the excuse Renny needed to take a swing at him. Jack was shaking, his legs vibrating inside his trousers, his hands holding the book unable to keep still. He hoped it didn't show.

It was clear to Jack that Renny had his agenda of aggression and that now it was no longer a question of if but when. He would have to be ready for him. Or get up and walk away. That was what he tried to do. Renny blocked his way.

‘You startin', eh?' Renny pushed into Jack. ‘Eh? Eh?'

Renny pushed him backwards. He stumbled on the wall he had been sitting on, angling his legs for balance, putting out his arm to keep upright, not letting go of his book, or his place in the book. Renny moved in. Jack waited for the punch.

‘Fuckin' puff, fuckin' puff …'

Renny swung his arm back, telegraphing his intent. Jack moved to the side as he did so, hoping to dodge the blow that he knew would be aimed at his face. It connected with his shoulder, sending shockwaves of pain all the way down his left arm. He let out a gasp, tried to move out of the way.

‘Bastard …'

Renny was coming for him again. Not trusting himself to get away so quickly this time, Jack brought his right hand up, still holding the library book. He removed his finger, no longer bothered about marking his place, and held the book round the spine. Then, summoning up as much rage as he could manage, brought it down sharply on the bridge of Renny's nose.

Renny howled in agony. Blood began to pump from his left nostril. Playing the advantage, Jack smashed the spine of the book underneath Renny's nose, along his top lip. It was a move someone had taught him years ago. There was a cluster of nerve endings there and if they were hit hard enough and sharp enough the blow could make the biggest opponent crumple.

Jack hit him hard and sharp. Ignored the blood that spattered the book, just watched the other boy reel backwards in pain, his hand to his face, and fall to the ground.

Jack looked at Pez who was standing there as if struck by lightning. He was about to say something to him but didn't get the opportunity.

‘You!'

Jack turned. Mr Heptonstall, the head teacher, was striding across the yard to see him. The other children had stopped what they were doing and turned to look.

‘Yes, you. In my office now!'

As he walked he was glancing to either side. Keenly aware of the film crews around, Jack thought, eager not to get any more bad publicity for his school.

On the ground, Renny was trying to get up.

‘And you. Both of you. Now.'

Jack didn't bother to look behind him, just followed Heptonstall to the office. As he walked he looked at the book in his hand. The spine was dented, the plastic cover blood-splattered.

He hoped it was still readable.

‘That behaviour, as I have said before, would be unacceptable in my school at the best of times. However, need I remind you that this week is not the best of times.'

Heptonstall stopped pacing, looked at the two boys. Jack returned his gaze. He didn't go seeking violence or trouble but when it came he was ready to stand his ground. He always had been. But he had a temper, though. He knew that. And he found it hard to let something go once it had started. That was the main reason he tried to avoid confrontation as much as possible. Because he hated to feel that way.

‘And don't look at me like that, Smeaton.'

Jack held his gaze. Heptonstall tried to do likewise but, despite his anger and authority, couldn't. The teacher turned away. Jack saw doubt behind his eyes. And fear at the new boy, the boy who had the arrogance and temerity to stand up to him. Some would have considered that a personal victory. Jack didn't. It would, he knew, be something that would make him feel sad once his anger had subsided. But not yet. Not when it still burned so brightly.

‘Disgraceful.' Heptonstall turned to Renny. The boy had cleared the blood from his face as best he could but that, together with the earlier cuts and bruises, made him look like he had just been pulled from a car wreck. ‘Renwick, you're well on the way to being excluded from this school. Permanently. And don't think it's something I'm not looking forward to.' He turned back to Jack. ‘And Smeaton …' He sighed. ‘I don't know what to make of you. You seemed a different kind of boy to' – he gestured towards Renwick – ‘the usual kind we get here.' He shook his head. ‘I don't know what's happened.'

Hentonstall stopped pacing, turned and faced them both. ‘What did happen?'

Neither boy spoke.

Heptonstall looked from one to the other. ‘Well?'

Neither spoke. Jack knew that the proper thing to do would be to tell the truth. Say he was provoked. That it looked worse because of the blood. And that most of Renny's facial injuries had been inflicted before the fight. And not by him. But he knew better than to say anything. He had no love for Renny and didn't want to get himself into further trouble but he knew that if he sided with the teachers, once word got round Renny, Pez and others could make his life at this school intolerable. And he didn't want that. Not here. He wanted to stay here, keep his head down, live his life in peace.