The Fury (5 page)

By the time Brick arrived back at Fursville the sun was well on its way towards the white heat of the horizon. It was no cooler, though, the coast flattened by an invisible muggy fist. He was dripping with sweat, not helped by the fact that he’d been sandwiched between the bike’s overworked engine and Lisa’s limpet-like grip for the last thirty-five minutes.

‘OMG, Brick, you’ve crippled me,’ she said as she clambered off the pillion seat, nursing her backside with both hands. ‘When are you gonna get a car?’

‘When I can afford it,’ he said, waiting for her to stand clear before swinging his leg over. His muscles put up a fight – that was nearly two hours he’d spent riding today, and another thirty minutes to go when he took Lisa home – but he ignored them. He stretched, hearing his spine pop, then he weaselled off his helmet. The pain of his pinned-back ears began to ebb, leaving the strains of an approaching headache. He recognised the discomfort, like the first rolls of thunder from a distant storm. It was nothing to worry about yet, but later that night he’d be lucky if he didn’t have a full-blown hurricane between his temples.

Why on earth had he brought Lisa here?

It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, a
stupid
spur-of-the-moment thing. After he’d picked her up they’d ridden over to Riverside, the leisure complex, stopping at his house for a spare helmet. She’d demanded that he take her to the cinema to make up for being so late, and he’d reluctantly agreed, even when the only thing about to start had been some awful romantic comedy with Jennifer Aniston and some guy he half recognised from a comedy show on the telly. Brick hadn’t laughed once during the whole thing except when Lisa had dropped her bucket of popcorn halfway through the big love scene while trying to fish her mobile out of her bag. And that laugh hadn’t lasted long because she’d made him go and get her some more.

After the film, Brick had been so relieved to be out in the sunshine again that he’d had a sudden rush of euphoric happiness. The only other place he’d ever really been this happy was Fursville, and in some bizarre and flawed twist of neural logic he’d decided there and then to let Lisa in on his secret.

‘You wanna see something cool?’ he’d said as they made their way back to the car park. ‘Come on, it won’t take long.’

She’d protested and grumbled and moaned, and it only took about five minutes of riding out towards the coast with her voice in his ear for Brick’s mood to plummet off its tightrope. He should have turned back, dropped her home, but for some reason he’d just kept his head down and roared east. Now here they were, in his haven, his hideaway, Lisa’s nasal whine like some invading naval fleet.

‘What the hell is this place?’ she asked, pulling off her own helmet, smoothing out her ponytail. For a second, as she did so, she looked unbearably pretty to Brick. Then her face crumpled up into that all-too-familiar mask of misery and disappointment. ‘Fursville? Didn’t this used to be an amusement park or something?’

Duh
, thought Brick, glancing up at the big wheel, or what remained of it. With only one of its gondolas still attached and its broken spokes bent out at all angles it resembled some leprous, anorexic giant.

‘Please tell me you didn’t drag me out to see
this
crapyard,’ she spat. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t dare. He felt ridiculously protective of the place. Hearing her talk about it this way made his blood boil. He bit his tongue, looking away, his head pounding. He could hear his pulse ringing in his ears, probably from wearing the helmet for too long. ‘Brick? Why the hell are we standing here?’

‘Let’s just get inside,’ he said. ‘Before anyone sees us. I don’t want people to know I come here.’

‘I’m not surprised. Why
do
you come here?’ Lisa said as he wheeled the bike into the laurel hedge. It was cooler there, like he’d stepped into a fridge, and darker too. Just being out of the sun calmed him down a little. He could hear Lisa stepping after him, swearing as the laurel branches snagged her hair, as the fat, cool leaves brushed against her face. Then they were out, pinned between the shrubbery and the fence. The gap was dead ahead and he manoeuvred himself and the bike through it, hefting it over the rubble and the rubbish.

Home sweet home.

‘Jesus, it smells like a dead dog in here,’ said Lisa. ‘There are probably vampires and stuff. Isn’t it supposed to be haunted or something?’

‘It’s not haunted,’ Brick said, feeling like a parent patiently trying to calm their annoying child. ‘There are no vampires or dead dogs.’

‘Killer vampires,’ she persisted as they walked up the side of the Boo Boo Station. ‘I bet my life on it. Come on, Brick, let’s go. Hemsby’s close to here, in’t it? We can get candyfloss and play on the machines. Brick?’

‘I hate Hemsby,’ he said. ‘You can’t hear yourself think over there. It’s full of chavs, no offence.’

‘Shut up,’ she said. They emerged out onto the plaza, the whole place drenched in silence. The big wheel stretched overhead, and behind it was the rotting wooden track of the roller coaster. A couple of seagulls were perched on the apex of the highest slope but they didn’t call out, preening each other with their bright yellow beaks. There was barely an inch of ground that wasn’t covered in ancient litter – old newspapers, empty cans that had lost their colour years ago, carrier bags pinned by rubble – and over to the left, by the main gates, was a Jenga stack of rusting dodgems that would have looked more at home in a junk yard.

‘Bloody hell, Brick, you really know how to impress a lady, don’t you.’

‘You’re no lady,’ he said.

‘Oi!’ she tried to clip him round the head but he dodged out of the way, jogging backwards as she came after him. ‘You stand still and take your punishment, Brick Thomas.’

She charged again, and this time when he wheeled beneath her hand she was laughing. He turned, running to the left of the big wheel, past a boarded-up kiosk crowned with a huge plastic hot dog, making for the biggest building in the park. It was a squat, ugly box about the size of the hall back at his school, with a turquoise plastic façade that was supposed to make the roof look like rolling waves. A few of the three-metre high letters above the main door had fallen off, leaving the gap-toothed word PAV LIO . Lisa caught up with him under the decaying awning of the veranda, grabbing his elbow and spinning him round.

‘I told you to take your punishment,’ she grinned, then leant up and kissed him. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, feeling her tongue flick against his. He didn’t know how much later it was when she pulled away, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. The kiss had helped his headache too, that relentless
thump-thump
quieter now, like distant waves. Lisa stepped back, colour breaching the bottomless layers of foundation. ‘Oh, now I see why you’ve brought me here,’ she said, smiling. ‘
You’re
a killer vampire!’

The smile was on Brick’s face before he could stop it, even though it felt uncomfortable there in front of her.

‘You wish,’ he said, turning and walking along the side of the building. Lisa snuck up beside him, lacing her hand through his.

‘You seriously come out here by yourself?’ she asked as they turned the corner. The path here was cracked and uneven, the nine crazy-golf holes to the side overgrown almost beyond recognition. A giant squirrel with half its face missing watched them go from behind a thorned veil of brambles.

‘All the time,’ he said. ‘The only place I can get any peace and quiet.’

‘It’s majorly creepy.’

Halfway down the pavilion’s side wall was a fire exit, the two doors connected by a chain the size of a boa constrictor. Brick took hold of one and pulled, the doors opening a couple of feet before the chain stopped them. He ducked underneath it, squeezing into the darkness.

‘No way, Brick, it’s filthy in there,’ Lisa said, her voice muted by the sheer weight of silence inside. Tendrils of light oozed down from algae-slicked skylights, barely enough to see by.

‘It’s fine, I promise,’ he said, pushing the doors out as far as they would go. Eventually Lisa squatted down, worming through the gap, doing her best not to touch anything. She stood, looking around the gloomy corridor, brushing her palms over her jeans. ‘Ew,’ was all she could manage.

‘It’s pretty run down,’ Brick explained, turning right towards the front of the building. Lisa was quick to follow, the click of her heels echoing into the swamp of shadows which stretched the length of the corridor. ‘But the basement’s still in decent shape.’

‘The
basement
?’ Lisa said, pulling herself closer to him.

Brick passed two doors on the left but opened the third. What lay beyond resembled a tar pit, so pitch black that it seemed to bleed darkness out into the corridor.

‘You are
so
not serious,’ she said, and the tone of her voice had changed, her anxiety now genuine. ‘No way am I going in there, Brick.’

He reached in, fumbling in the shadows for the torch he’d left there. With a click it came to life, banishing the artificial night to reveal a staircase leading down towards a short corridor packed tight with junk. Even with the light it looked pretty sinister.

‘Gets better down there,’ he said. He held Lisa’s hand tight, pulling her gently but insistently after him. ‘Come on.’

She stumbled in his distorted shadow as he weaved through the junk and pushed open another door, leading her into the basement. He hadn’t been lying, it
was
better down here. For some reason the smell of damp and rot which infested the entire park, especially the pavilion, was less potent below ground. He had cleared it out as well, the large, open space free of clutter. He propped the torch against the wall, its soft glow illuminating a moth-eaten pink sofa against the far wall, a coffee table in front of it. Other than a boiler which sat cold and quiet in the corner, and a bunch of electricity boxes on the walls, that was about it.

‘Moved everything else upstairs,’ he said, walking to the table and picking up a box of matches. There were a couple of candles that he’d nicked from home and he lit them both, the shifting light on the walls making it feel like they were underwater. ‘Kind of cosy down here, yeah?’

‘I guess so,’ she replied. ‘If you’re Dracula.’

‘Shut up,’ he said without malice. He let go of her hand, walking to the sofa and perching there. His laptop sat open on the coffee table and a pay-as-you-go internet dongle poked out of one of the USB ports, the tip flashing. He got a better signal upstairs, but he preferred it down here, especially in the evening, and it wasn’t like he ever needed to hurry. That’s what he loved about this place, there was no rush. Time just didn’t seem to matter.

His headache was back with a vengeance and he used both hands to massage his temples, willing it away as Lisa sat down next to him.

‘Okay, you’ve got me down here,’ she said. ‘Now what?’

She smiled, tilting her head and coyly chewing her bottom lip. The torchlight threw her face into sharp relief, picking out the woodchip-like spots beneath her make-up, but her eyes flashed with excitement and something else, too, something that made her just about the most desirable woman Brick had ever seen in his life. She leant in, and he met her, the world peeling away around them, forgotten.

Daisy sat on the steps outside the school’s main entrance, waiting for her mum to show up and trying not to think about what had happened back in the theatre. She was hurt and angry and sad, but the emotions were so evenly matched that all she really felt was numb. She couldn’t believe that Fred had spat at her, that he’d
spat right in her face
. It wasn’t that which had really stunned her, though, it was the laughter that had followed. It was like something from a nightmare, one of the ones where you’ve done something stupid and everyone turns on you and you can’t understand why.

Except this was no nightmare. Everyone had turned on her,
everyone
had laughed.

She could still see Kim’s face, twisted by some kind of sick glee. And Mrs Jackson too. She at least should have known better. Why hadn’t she said anything? And Fred. There were words for him, words that she’d heard her mum use when she was really mad. Fred was all of those words and worse, if there was such a thing as worse. And if there wasn’t then someone would have to invent a word for worse. She
hated
him.

A car pulled into the car park, circling the memorial flowerbed in its centre, and Daisy straightened. It was blue, though, not white, and she slumped back down, clamping her rucksack to her chest. She’d hoped her mum would arrive before everyone started to leave; she didn’t want to see anyone else that night. She didn’t want to see them ever again. She just wanted to go home and watch telly and draw and try to forget about everything.

The main door clicked behind her, making her jump. There was a thunder of footsteps, a gang of kids running down the steps. They looked at her curiously, as if they couldn’t quite remember who she was. Better that than them still laughing, though. Daisy shrunk into her rucksack, peering over the top of it.

Come on, Mum, hurry up
.

Click, more footsteps, and this time Daisy felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Chloe there. She’d taken off her costume and was wearing her school uniform again, her hair still done up in old-fashioned plaits.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked. Daisy’s mouth dropped.

‘What do you mean, what happened?’ she asked, the anger quickening her tongue. ‘You were there, I saw you laughing.’

‘That thing with Fred?’ Chloe said, sitting on the step next to her. More kids barrelled out, streaming into the car park. ‘The
sneeze
?’

Daisy frowned, shaking her head. She quickly glanced over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before leaning in towards Chloe.

‘What do you mean, “sneeze”? He spat in my face.’

Chloe grinned, but there was nothing nasty in it.

‘He sneezed,’ she said. ‘Then you went running off before he could say sorry.’

Daisy was still shaking her head. It hadn’t been a sneeze, no way. She could still see his eyes, devoid of anything nice, anything kind. He’d spat at her, and it had been deliberate.

Hadn’t it?

‘He said sorry?’ she asked after a moment. Chloe pulled one of the bands from her hair, shaking out the braids. She seemed to think about it for a moment.

‘No, not in so many words. He would have done, though, obvs, if you hadn’t run off like your knickers were on fire.’

‘You were all laughing,’ Daisy said, quieter now, staring down the steps. ‘I saw you.’

Chloe leant in, putting an arm round Daisy’s shoulder.

‘Sorry, but it
was
funny, you’ve got to admit that. Getting sneezed on by the boy you fancy? It’s proper Oops TV stuff, that. I bet you anything you’d have been laughing if it was me.’

‘Or me,’ said a voice behind them. Kim jogged down the stairs, gave Daisy a quick hug from behind, then carried on, heading for the blue car. ‘That’s my dad. Sorry, Daisy, but it was quite funny. Don’t be sad; I’m sure Fred still loves you.’

She clambered into the passenger seat, blowing Daisy a kiss through the window as they pulled away. Cars were spilling through the gates now, drivers doing their best not to run over the small army of pupils that had assembled at the foot of the steps.

‘See, it’s all fine,’ said Chloe, giving Daisy a gentle nudge. ‘You’re coming to rehearsal tomorrow, right? The last one, you have to.’

Daisy didn’t answer. Her shoulders felt a little lighter, her head clearer. Maybe Chloe was right. Maybe it had all been a misunderstanding. She was pretty tired. It had been an exhausting day. Suddenly another feeling broke through the numbness, this one worse than all the others: embarrassment. What if it
had
been an innocent sneeze and she’d stormed off like a kid? How stupid had she looked?

‘That’s me,’ said Chloe, giving Daisy a hug. ‘Love you.’

Daisy nodded, managing a ghost of a smile, then Chloe had gone, climbing into the back of her dad’s four-wheel drive. It drove up to the gate, pulling out at the same time as a familiar battered white Spacewagon entered. Daisy got to her feet. She didn’t think she’d ever been so relieved to see her mum. She ran to the car, opening the door so hard it bounced on its hinges, almost swinging closed again. She fought her way into the passenger seat, still clutching her rucksack to her chest like a life jacket.

‘How’d it go?’ her mum asked, tucking a wisp of white hair into her headscarf.

Daisy opened her mouth to answer, then froze. Mrs Jackson stood at the open door of the school, a lump of shadow. Her half-moon glasses seemed to burn across the car park, right into Daisy.

‘Fine,’ Daisy lied, shuddering. ‘It went fine.’

Her mum drove through the gates. Behind them, Mrs Jackson stood in the doorway, unmoving, unblinking as she watched them go.