Truth Lies Waiting (Davy Johnson Series Book 1) (9 page)

Jude
nodded. ‘Ye could,’ she agreed, as though this was a viable option, ‘but then
social services would take ye away.’

I’d
already considered this. ‘But then I’d go to a new family.’ I answered
brightly, ‘One where I wouldn’t feel frightened.’ I described the families I
saw on TV: fathers with important jobs, mothers who wore aprons when they
cooked, shiny children in fashionable clothes.

Jude
lowered her head to mine. ‘Ye would think so, wouldn’t ye?’ she said
reasonably, ‘After all you’re a bonny wee lad right enough, but let me tell ye
that disnae happen, darlin’ - it’s the wee bairns that get picked by people
wanting a family. You’re too big for a’ them now, you’d end up in some unit
with problem kids who’ll take a pop at ye because you’re so nice.’ She paused,
as though waiting for it to sink in.

‘So,
would that really be any better?’

I
shook my head anxiously, but I felt cheated by her reasoning. ‘So you’re saying
I don’t have any choice?’ I spat angrily.

‘No,’
she soothed, ‘I’m not saying that. Far from it, but what I am saying is that
different isn’t always any better. The busybodies at school see a kid with a
prozzie for a mum, but how would you feel if you never saw her again? If you’d
been taken away from her as a baby?’

She
crouched down in front of me as she said this, her hands holding on to mine but
her gaze was fixed on something in the middle distance.

‘You’d
feel cut adrift Davy, that’s how you’d feel. Like there was a part of you
missing. You’d yearn for something you’d never had, give anything to be amongst
people with the same blood as yours running through their veins and trust me,
you’d be nae bloody happier.’ The last part, spoken on a sigh, seemed to come
from deep within Jude’s soul.

I
sipped my drink in silence so I could process what she had said.

‘So
you don’t think a problem shared is a problem halved, then?’ I piped up when my
glass was empty. Jude looked at me as though I were simple. ‘God no, who the
hell told you that?’

‘Some
woman who came into school. She gave a talk in assembly about not letting
anyone force us into keeping secrets. I couldn’t stop thinking about what she
said so I told my teacher I spied on the girls when they got changed before
games. I knew it was wrong but all the boys in class did it.’

‘And
what happened?’

My
shoulders slumped at the shame of it. ‘She gave me a detention and now none of
my class will talk to me. The girls say I’m a pervert and the boys are calling
me a grass.’

‘Christ,
Davy, sounds like your problem quadrupled, to me.’ She cuffed me round the back
of the head affectionately. ‘Let that be a lesson to ye.’

It
was Jude’s honesty that made me return home that night. That made me realise
running away wasn’t the answer, because the place I was running to could be a
whole lot worse. I smile now as I recall that conversation. It was my first
glimpse of adulthood: the realisation that disappointment is an inevitable part
of it.

I
let out a groan as a wave of nausea sweeps over me. Jude perches on the edge of
the bed, her face serious. ‘How much medication have you taken?’

I
shrug, ‘Enough to deaden the pain,’ I answer, ‘only it doesn’t seem to last’.

‘You
need the hosp-’

‘No!’
I say irritably, ‘I’ll be fine, don’t fuss.’

Pursing
her lips Jude gets up from the edge of the bed and moves to stand in front of
the small window. It overlooks the back yard which is now cloaked in darkness yet
she scans the horizon like an old sea dog looking for land.

‘Sorry.’
I mumble.

‘S’Okay,’
she acknowledges, not moving from her vantage point. ‘Ye know, Davy, you’re
like a son to me,’ she says quietly, so quietly I’m not sure she means for me
to hear. I stay silent; the fog is descending again and I’m enjoying the ride.
‘A bloody son to me you are, yet how does that work when I gave away my own
kid?’

‘Ye
were young.’ I remind her.

‘No
younger than your mum.’ She says bitterly.

I
don’t have an answer for that.

‘Mum
says she was taken from you.’ I offer.

Jude
shrugs. ‘Same difference. I didn’t care for her properly,’ I look at Jude in
surprise. This was a side to her I’d never seen before. She was talking about
herself. She turns to face me and there’s a bleakness in her eyes that she’s
sharing for the first time.

‘I
used to leave her on her own.’ She lowers her eyes as she says this. ‘The
stupid thing is she never came to any harm.’

‘So
what happened?’

‘I
started taking her to nursery. Thought socialising with other kids would do her
good. She made friends easy enough; started getting invited to their houses and
that was the problem. At the time I was staying in a shit hole, remember the
block of flats up the road that were condemned?’ I nod. A series of police
raids had uncovered a large sex trafficking ring so prolific the only way to
control the situation was to demolish the building.

‘Ye
don’t really see a place till you look at it through others’ eyes, an’ their
faces were a picture, right enough, when they turned up at ours. Lots o’ girls
like me stayed there, the place was riddled with pimps and dealers. It was only
ever gonna be a matter o’ time before someone picked up a phone to social
services.’

‘Ye
know, they took her on a Sunday.’ Jude laughs, but the sound is hollow, ‘I was
naïve enough to think they didn’t work weekends. Answered the door as happy as
a sandboy, holding her in my arms.’

Jude
turns back to the window, to the sky so dark it looks like black card has been
placed against the glass. ‘They let me see her regular like at first. Her
foster family were a decent sort, didn’t judge me, you know? But then they
split up, and Keira was transferred to a home. The council moved her about a
bit after that, meant I couldn’t see her as much. Seemed to me they were trying
to shake me off and in the end I stopped fighting it.’ Jude raises a hand so
that her fingertips rest against the window.

My
eyelids are heavy once more and I lean back against the pillows, fighting a
losing battle to stay awake.

Jude
sees that I am fading and pulls the curtain shut. ‘I just need to rest.’ I tell
her.

‘What
about your job?’ she asks.

I
hadn’t thought about that. ‘I’ll see how I feel tomorrow, after I’ve had some
shut eye.’ Right now my leg feels fine, like I could run a marathon if I set my
mind to it. It will be a different story once the drugs wear off.

Jude
nods, moving towards the door. ‘Better get back to the party,’ she states
matter of factly, ‘got a punter downstairs that the twins are warming up for me.
Says he can’t get it up without a bit of lezzer action.’

I
put my hands over my ears. This is more information than I can handle at the
moment.

I
must have drifted off again, for when I open my eyes she is gone.

The
music downstairs has stopped. Moonlight streams in through the crack in the
curtains and I wonder how long I have slept. I reach for my phone to check the
time:

3.20
am.

I
push myself into a sitting position and shuffle along the bed so that I can
place both feet on the floor. So far so good. I brace myself for the pain as I
push myself to a standing position and it comes at me in waves but I can bear
it, in as much as I know I’m only five minutes from oblivion if I need it. I
move my good leg then drag my bad leg behind me; I can’t put my weight on it
but the knack is to make sure there’s always something to lean on, or something
to give me purchase so that I keep my balance. If I can get to grips better
with the meds then I should be able to take the edge off the pain without
knocking myself out. Maybe I’ll be able to open up Tam’s café tomorrow after
all.

I
step out onto the landing. The house is quiet except for the sounds coming from
Jude’s room. If her punter’s still with her then they’ve not long been
upstairs, they tend not to stay once they’ve had their bit of fun. The bed
creaks rhythmically and Jude can be heard proclaiming how big and strong and
hard he is and it occurs to me she’d be a great politician, with her ability to
say something is so when it isn’t. The creaking gets faster which is my cue to
press on; the last thing I want is to come face to face with her ‘client.’ At
least with Mum’s on-line business the men are faceless, just a series of log-in
IDs and avatars, making it less personal somehow.

I
make my way across the landing, trying to work out how best to tackle the
stairs when Jude makes a noise that sounds like a gasp.
Finally
. I
wonder idly what excuse her punter’ll have for being late home. A crashing
sound comes from behind me, stopping me in my tracks and I turn to look back
across the landing. The noise coming from Jude’s room is louder now, frantic,
like furniture being thrown about or someone being silenced against their will.
Someone is hurting Jude and I don’t care if this is part of some elaborate sex
game he’s got it coming to him. For a stupid split second I look back down the
stairs, as though I’m expecting the twins to come running to her aid but she
doesn’t need them, she has me. Adrenaline blocks out any pain from my knee as I
run lob-sided towards Jude’s bedroom door, charging against it with my shoulder
to give the bastard a measure of my mood. There’s a crunch as the door swings
back on its hinges revealing Jude pinned against the bed, her fingers flaying
wildly at the hands around her throat.

‘Ye
bastard!’ I shout, lunging myself at the man kneeling fully dressed astride
her. He turns towards me, grinning, and at first I am confused the way you are
when you see someone you know out of context.

MacIntyre.

Even
in civvies he looks an evil twat. His face is gleaming like he’s having the
time of his life and he continues his strangle hold on Jude as though he was
fully expecting my interruption. The memory of him sitting at the end of the
close in his squad car staring right at me slides into view and I realise now
that this was what he was plotting.

To
come back and fuck Jude and make sure I knew about it.

I
want to kill him there and then for using her to get at me but something is
wrong. He’s got his revenge, he’s made sure that I’ve seen him by creating a
disturbance he knew I’d respond to, so why the hell hasn’t he stopped? Why the
hell is he still hurting her? These questions swirl through my head in a nano
second yet it feels as though the moment will never end: Jude grabbing at his
hands but they are locked tight around her throat, the sound of her choking,
the low moan rising up that would be a scream if her voice box wasn’t being
crushed. She looks tiny beneath him, his fat arse and thighs pinning her onto the
bed, his sausage like fingers pressing onto her windpipe. In the seconds it
takes for me to process the scene, I finally understand the truth of it –
MacIntyre isn’t trying to wind me up.

He’s
killing her.

I
throw myself between them, grabbing at his knuckles but I can’t prise them
away. I raise my fists to punch him repeatedly, but it’s like my hands are made
of rubber, he doesn’t even blink.

‘You
fuck! You fat fucking fuck!’ I yell at him, ‘Leave her! It’s nothing to do with
her!’ I look at Jude and she stares at me as though I’m her hero, like she
knows I’m going to save her and I grab at his hair and jerk his head down but
it’s like I’m not even there. Jude’s fighting for her life and it’s like I’m
not even fucking there. I shove my face into MacIntyre’s and scream at him to
man up, to take it out on me, not some woman who can’t fight back but he
doesn’t even hear me, it’s as though someone has hit my mute button. I throw
another punch and this time as my fist connects with his face something inside my
wrist cracks.

‘Leave
her, ye bastard!’ I beg and he grins like my misery has made his day. Jude has
been trying to bend his fingers back, to pry them from her neck, but her
movements are slowing and her breathing is laboured. I hope the noise we’re
making will rouse the twins but in my heart I already know how this will end.

‘Jude!’
I cry pathetically and there’s so much I want to tell her but not in front of
this bastard, but then I look in her eyes and the light has already left them
and it’s then that I realise two things: that I’m a chicken shit coward no use
to anyone in a crisis and the woman I love even more than my mother is dead.

‘No!’
I scream, as though denying it will make it true. MacIntyre releases his grip;
leaning back on his haunches he pats the side of Jude’s face as though he now
wants to revive her. Too little too late I know, but I pick up a lamp on the
bedside table and bring it crashing down on his back. He doesn’t react, merely
picks the lamp up and puts its back in its rightful place. He’s on his feet
now, brushing the creases out of his trousers, smoothing back his hair. It’s as
though I’m no longer in the room.

Jude
lies spread-eagled on the bed. She’s wearing a black bra but no pants; her
make-up is streaked with snot and tears. The bed sheet beneath her is wet and
stained and I can’t think of a more undignified way to die. The room starts to
spin and I throw up down my shirt. The liquid is yellow and sour tasting. I
wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. MacIntyre tucks his shirt into his
trousers and fastens his belt buckle. All the while he is studying me.

‘Ye
know what this means. Don’t ye?’ he asks.

I
have absolutely no idea.

‘It
means the end of your life as ye know it.’ He gloats. ‘When the police come
they’ll find your prints all over the place, and two witnesses saw ye enter the
victim’s house this afternoon, making you the last person-’

‘You
and the kiddie cop?’

‘Together
with the anonymous call from a concerned passer by reporting a disturbance from
this property, oh, in about…’ He makes a show of looking at his watch,