This Little Piggy (22 page)

“Stay out of it, then. Pick it up on your calls in the morning.”

“I have to… I think I should go and see for myself.”

“You’re not expecting me to come with you?”

“Of course not. I just wanted someone to know where I was and I picked on you. Sorry. Wish I hadn’t troubled you.”

There was silence on the end of the phone, apart from Joe’s breathing.

“Okay, so you can go back to bed now.”

“I will.” There was a curt click on the end of the line. Clare swore at the phone and ran out of the door towards her car.

As she drove into the road leading into the estate, Clare noticed a faint orange glow to the sky overhead. A row of police cones indicated the road was closed off, so she parked up and started heading into the estate on foot. A fire engine sat on the corner, its engine thrumming, and as she passed it she looked up to see if she recognised any of the crew.

One of them leaned out of the window. “Hey. You’re not going in there on your own, are you?”

Clare looked up. “I have to. There’s someone I need to see.”

“I’d advise you to wait, love. It’s not safe. We’re not going in there ourselves at the moment and that’s on the advice of the police.”

“How do you mean, not safe?” Clare looked at the sky again. She could smell sulphurous smoke. “Something’s burning. Surely you need to…”

“We’ve been in already. We were pelted with bricks and all sorts. We had to get out or one of our lads would have been hurt. I’m telling you, don’t go in there on your own.”

“Who’s doing it?”

“Group of kids, protesting about some mate of theirs who’s been arrested, I gather.”

“Are the police there?”

“Same problems. They’re on the edges of the estate, waiting until things calm down.”

“But…” No wonder Amy sounded so terrified and even that brute of a dog was scared. “You can’t just leave the people who live there to sit and watch the place burn down around them, can you?”

“We’re told the building that’s alight is a derelict one, some sort of storage unit. As far as we know, there’s no one in immediate danger. We can’t go rolling in there and put ourselves at risk for that. We need to wait until things settle down a bit. That’s on the word of the police too. We can’t operate if we’re being pelted with missiles, I’m sure you can understand that.”

Clare looked across at the estate. “I still have to go and find my friend.”

“I’m advising you not to go in there.”

“Yes, but advising me isn’t the same as stopping me, so thanks, but I still need to get in.”

As she turned the corner, Clare could see two fires going on: one was a car that was burning itself out, and another was some sort of outbuilding, as the fireman said. The smell of petrol and smoke caught at Clare’s throat and made her eyes smart. Little groups of people were standing around watching: older people standing back with their arms folded and younger kids running around in some sort of strange excitement, as if it was a late-night party. Across a wall, a sheet had been draped, and on it was painted the misspelled slogan
Craigy is Inocent
. Around a dozen teenagers were sitting along the wall, drinking from cans.

Walking across the square, Clare felt small and very exposed. She could sense that she cut a conspicuous figure, like walking into some sort of no-man’s-land. A young lad strode towards her. “You live here?”

Clare shook her head. “No. But I need to go and find someone. What’s going on?”

The lad pointed to the painted banner. “See that? Craigy’s our mate. He got taken away today, for nothing. We want everyone to know that he’s innocent.”

“What happened to him?”

“Someone grassed him up for taking a bike or something. They put him in a van and he hasn’t come back.”

“So you’re protesting?” Clare decided to take a gamble. “I work for the paper. I could write about this and get you some publicity.” A small group of teenagers were circling her.

“Tell the paper this. Craigy is innocent.”

“How old’s Craigy? What’s his full name?”

“Jason Craig. He’s seventeen.”

“Does he live here?”

“Aye, over there.” A girl pointed up towards one of the flats. “He’s not done anything.”

“We want to know who dobbed him in it,” someone else added.

Clare thought about Amy and hoped there was no way they’d be able to find out that she’d been talking to the police.

“Do you think,” Clare asked, carefully, “that what you’re doing might make things worse? Or that maybe you might be making people frightened?”

“Whose side are you on?” a girl asked, stepping nearer.

“No one’s side. I just report things. Is anyone prepared to give me their name?”

Everyone shook their heads and the girl turned her back.

Clare looked up towards Amy’s flat. She was sure she could see a small shape bobbing about behind the window. She ought to get up there.

As she turned to walk away, one of the teenagers tapped her hard on the shoulder. “Hey. What’ll you be putting in the paper?”

“What you’ve told me. And I’ll ask the police about Jas - er, Craigy.”

“You can’t say we started the fires. They’ll get us too.”

Clare held her hands up. “I didn’t see who started anything. And I don’t even know your names, remember? But why not let the fire crews in to put them out? Before someone gets hurt?”

She didn’t wait for an answer but walked towards the flats, hoping she sounded more self-assured than she felt inside.

Amy practically leaped on her when she arrived at the door of the flat. “You’ve been ages.”

“Amy, are you telling me your mum didn’t come home at all, not since Friday? You’ve been on your own all this time?”

“You won’t tell?”

“I keep promising that. I need to know, though.”

Amy put her skinny arms around Max’s thick neck. “I haven’t seen her for a couple of days. She’s probably staying at her boyfriend’s, but I don’t know where he lives.”

“I don’t suppose you have his phone number either?”

Amy shook her head. “So can I come to yours again?”

“I think you’ll have to, for the rest of tonight anyway.”

“What about Max? I think he knows something’s going on. He keeps making whiney noises.”

“I’m not allowed pets, Amy, I only rent the flat.”

Amy hugged the dog a little tighter. “I can’t leave him here tonight. He’ll be scared. And I’ve run out of his food too. He’s really hungry.”

Clare sighed. “Have you got a lead for him? And a collar?”

“He doesn’t like it.”

“Tough. He’s lucky I’m taking him at all. Get a lead on him and we’ll get going.”

Max had to be dragged down the steps. The shouting and the smell of burning were terrifying the animal. His loud whining was upsetting, even for Clare, who had no patience with dogs. On the ground, Amy squeezed herself up against Clare as they walked across the square, watched by all the teenagers. They had to stop again and again because Max kept sitting down and would only move with the combined pushing and pulling efforts of Clare and Amy.

As they rounded the corner, Clare saw that Joe was there, talking to the firemen. “There you are,” he said. “You are a bloody liability. These guys told you not to go in there, didn’t they?” He looked at Amy. “It’s you. I might’ve known. What’s going on?”

Clare paused. She couldn’t say that Amy was on her own, not in front of anyone official. The firemen might talk to the police… “What are you doing here, anyway?” she fired back at Joe. “I thought you were getting your beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, well.” Joe shifted from foot to foot. “Once you woke me up, I couldn’t drop off again.”

Clare made a snorting noise. “Had to come and see what was happening, more like. I don’t suppose you called a photographer out?”

“I did, as a matter of fact.” Joe scratched his unshaven chin and looked down at Amy, who was half-hiding behind Clare. “So where are you two going?”

“I’m just giving Amy a lift,” said Clare, carefully.

“Where to? Where’s her mum?”

Clare was conscious of Amy tensing. “At an auntie’s. Amy’s mum went out and missed her last bus, so I’m just dropping her round there.” Clare nodded back towards the estate. “Obviously Amy can’t stay there tonight.”

“Right.” Joe didn’t sound convinced. “When you’ve done that, do you want to swap some notes?”

Clare hesitated. “It’ll have to wait until the morning. I’m worn out.”

They tugged Max around the corner to Clare’s car and pushed him into the back seat. He made a low whining sound as they drove away.

“He’s really hungry.” Amy said. “I gave him some Frosties but I don’t think he liked that very much. It was all there was in the house.”

“I don’t suppose he did.” Clare thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ve had an idea.”

Clare parked outside Jai’s newsagents and, as Amy waited in the car, used her office key to get inside. She picked up some cans of dog food and left the money on the counter. She’d come up with some sort of explanation to Jai the next day.

Then they drove back to Clare’s flat and dragged Max inside. When Clare mashed the dog food into a bowl, the animal gobbled at it until the plate was clean.

“I’ve never seen a dog eat so fast,” Clare said. “I think he’d better have another tin. He’s a big beast, after all.”

“Can he come into my room? Otherwise he might feel strange, in a new place all night,” Amy said.

“I suppose so. Amy, we are not making a habit of this, okay? And you look pale. Go on, get into bed and take that brute in the room with you. Don’t let him chew anything.”

“Thanks, Clare.”

Clare shook her head at Amy’s back view as she headed for the spare room. This couldn’t go on, she knew. If Amy was regularly being abandoned – for days on end, it seemed – then Clare was going to have to do something about it, or at the very least tell someone who could step in. She just wasn’t sure what would happen to Amy after that.

Sunday 29th July
Clare managed to grab a couple of hours’ sleep, but thoughts of all the writing up she would have to do prodded her awake at around six in the morning and wouldn’t let her rest any longer.

She made breakfast for Amy while the little girl took the dog outside for a quick walk and then fed him again. Clare was glad she’d picked up several cans of dog food.

“Now then. I have to go into work to write up what happened at Sweetmeadows last night. We’ll call your home, but I’m guessing your mum won’t be back yet. So how about you wait here for a couple of hours, until I get back?”

“Yeah, great.”

“You’ll be sensible? Promise you won’t go wandering off or anything?”

“Promise.”

“Right. I’ll go into head office.” Clare scribbled the number on a piece of notepaper. “You can call here if you need me. I should be back around lunchtime. I’ll bring something to eat.”

And when I get back, Clare thought, we need to decide what we’re going to do about you. I’m supposed to be the grown-up around here but somehow I’ve ended up helping keep your secret.

Joe pounced as soon as she walked into the office, shortly after eight. “Right. What the heck went on last night with you and that weird kid?”

“I told you. She phoned me and told me there was all this trouble going on. I went to do the story and then I thought I ought to take her to…”

“Her auntie? Yes, you said that. So where does this aunt live?”

Clare grabbed a sheaf of copy paper and slipped two sheets of carbon paper in between the leaves. “Not far from me, as it happens. That’s why I thought it would be okay to give her a lift. I could hardly leave her there, could I?”

“How many times? That kid is not yours to sort out. You’re going to end up in trouble yourself at this rate.”

Clare fed the paper into the typewriter. “Want to share my notes? Or do you just want to go on and on like a poor man’s policeman or something?”

Joe pulled a chair up next to her desk. “I’ll share your notes.”

“Good.”

“For now.”

Clare filled Joe in with the details of the teenagers and their friend’s arrest.

“You get writing and I’ll find you a police comment,” he told her. “I’ll even get you a coffee.”

Clare gave him a quick smile as she started typing. She’d written around half of the story when Sharon Catt came in, followed by Chris Barber. Catt stopped dead and stared at Clare. “What are you doing in here? It’s not your weekend on rota, is it?”

Clare shook her head, her fingers continuing to tap rapidly at the typewriter keys. “I was out at Sweetmeadows last night. I’m writing it up for tomorrow’s first edition.”

Chris Barber swore.

Catt shot a look at him, then turned back to stand over Clare, reading over her shoulder. Clare stopped typing and looked up. “Something wrong?”

“Yes, Clare, there is. I picked up the stuff about the Sweetmeadows disorder on my calls this morning and I dragged Chris in on his day off to cover it. I really think you could have let someone know what you were doing.”

Joe walked up to the desk, a plastic cup of vending machine coffee in each hand. “The picture desks knew we’d covered it,” he interrupted. “And we were out until the small hours of the morning, as it was all going on. You can’t blame Clare.”

“Don’t tell me how to manage my news team, Joe.”

“I’m only saying that…”

“Haven’t you got your own stories to write?” Catt swept towards her desk and threw herself into her chair. She started to flick fast through the Sunday papers. Clare made a face at Joe, who turned and started to stroll, deliberately slowly, to the other end of the office.

“Looks like I’m a spare part,” Chris said. “Again.”

Clare stuck out her lower lip and mimed crying. She stopped before Catt looked up again. “You must have better things to do, then. When does the Olympic coverage start?”

“Not until late,” Chris said.

“Yes, off you go,” Catt interrupted. “There’s no point in paying for extra reporters on a Sunday. And Clare’s jumped in yet again, without being asked. I haven’t agreed this with you, Clare, so don’t expect any overtime.”

Clare bit back a reply and carried on writing. Joe came back when Catt left her desk and handed Clare a piece of paper with a typed police comment about the disorder.