Angela curled over and screamed, she brought her hands towards her legs. Henderson lunged forward and grabbed her by the hair, ‘What did I say to you?’
She was crying now, tears streaming down her red cheeks. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’
Henderson raged, ‘Too fucking right you don’t. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve told you… I’ve fucking lost count.’ He brought the belt up to her face, paraded it in front of her eyes. ‘I’ll take the fucking skin off you… Every fucking inch of it. I mean it. Do you fucking doubt me?’
Angela raised her hands from her legs, tried to grab at Henderson’s arms as he struggled with her. He knocked her arms down, forced the fist with the leather strap into her mouth and she fell heavily to the exposed floorboards. For a moment she was lifeless, lying like a doll on the floor and then she started to shift her head from side to side, moaning all the while. Henderson stood over her, dangled the leather on her face; as he did so he saw her open her mouth; her teeth were bloodied.
Henderson knelt down, draped the belt over Angela’s neck and positioned his hands either side of it. As he pressed down he watched her struggle, her legs thrashed, her nails dug into the belt as she tried to free herself. Her face tightened and grew dark, her eyes started to bulge. When he was sure she was about to pass out he released the belt but kept his knee in her chest.
‘Now, I want that teacher’s name, Ange… and I fucking-well want it now.’
Angela coughed, spluttered. She pushed at the knee on her chest and Henderson lowered it into her windpipe. ‘I’m telling you, if you think he was a bastard, you want to see me when I get going… Now give me the fucker’s name or it’s the end of the road for you, Ange.’
She continued to struggle, her eyes tightening then bulging out once more. She smacked at the knee in her windpipe and tried to speak but no words came. She looked like a trapped animal, thought Henderson; he enjoyed the power he had over her.
‘Now if I let you up you better tell me what I want to know… I mean it,’ he slapped the belt off the floorboards beside Angela’s head. ‘I’ll fucking take the skin off you if you mess me about, Ange.’
Henderson withdrew the belt, stood up slowly, cautiously. He watched Angela’s every move as he rose. She shot hands to her throat, then started to cough. She lay on the ground spluttering for a few moments and then the colour started to return to her face. Henderson continued to watch her, feeling nothing but contempt. He would gladly end her days, he thought. She was nothing. Worse than nothing. She’d been on the streets since she was seventeen, and by her twenties she was worn out, worthless. Nobody was going to be paying for her skanky arse in the years to come, she was finished. He watched her pitch herself up on her elbow, lean over and start to gag; she was always puking up. Fucking puking up or shooting up, he couldn’t face looking at her. He gripped the belt tighter in his hand, felt an urge to bring it across her face, but resisted; she could do one thing, just one thing that would pay her way.
Angela coughed, fitted. Her eyes were veined in a red spider’s web as she slowly began to speak, ‘Crawley…’
‘What did you say?’
She hesitated, tried to gather her breath. ‘The teacher, he’s called Crawley.’
Henderson felt himself draw a wide smile. He watched as Angela toppled over once again, started to gag on her own vomit. He let her be sick, then pushed her onto the mattress with the heel of his shoe. As she curled into a foetal position he started to thread the leather belt back through the loops of his jeans. He laughed out, said, ‘Aye, well, you came good in the end, Ange… Told you it wasn’t going to be hard, didn’t I?’
Angela brought her arms around her, started to shiver. Her eyes were closed tight; it was as if she was reliving a memory she didn’t want to see again. She looked like a small child in the grip of a nightmare. ‘You won’t find him,’ she said.
Henderson halted, dropped the buckle in his hands, it dangled over the front of his jeans. ‘What did you say?’
She was trembling harder now, brought her hands up to her head and gripped at her dirty blonde hair. ‘He left the school,’ the words looked like a struggle for her. ‘Not long after what happened, he moved to another school.’
Henderson raised his hands, clenched fists, then dropped them at his sides. He put a heavy foot on the mattress and stepped forward, his eyes darted. ‘What do you fucking mean moved schools?’
Angela’s words were shrill and sharp. ‘He moved. That’s all I know. I don’t know where he went. I don’t fucking care.’
Henderson got down from the mattress, walked towards the window. He stood there fastening his belt buckle, hoisting up his jeans again and tucking in his T-shirt. A dog barked outside the window as he looked into the city streets. It was early morning and suited-up businessmen were lined seriatim at the bus stop. A woman on a bicycle passed them by. Henderson watched the day unfolding before him from his first-floor vantage point and then he stroked the stubble on his chin.
‘He’s not fucking far away though,’ he said.
He heard Angela stirring behind him as he reached forward and removed a Kensitas Club from the packet on the window ledge; there was only one cigarette left. He lit up, inhaled.
‘ What?’
Henderson continued to stare out into the city streets. A homeless man swooped the gutters for dowps, he gave up and started to beg at the bus queue. Henderson shook his head; a woman with a dog was crossing the road now.
‘I said, he’s not far away… Crawley.’ He savoured the word, his new knowledge was power to him.
Angela pushed herself up on the mattress, brought her knees under her chin. ‘I don’t know that.’
Henderson turned from the window, pointed his cigarette at her. ‘Aye, well I do. And it’s best you leave the thinking to me.’
She rubbed at her shins, said, ‘How, though? How do you know?’
Henderson had turned away from her again, he leaned forward, his nose pressing hard to the window. As he spoke, his breath frosted the glass. ‘Because if he’s up to his old tricks, like they said on the news the other night, then he must be in Edinburgh.’
Chapter 23
Henderson’s plan was a simple one, but it involved one more piece of help from Angela. After waking from a doze and watching her fitful dreams for a few minutes he realised he wasn’t able to sit in the flat with her; he decided to let her sleep off her fix for a few hours. The place stank anyway, it was utterly rank. Worse than prison. There were pools of vomit on the floor; used works scattered every where; used condoms. How could he live like this? He didn’t want to be there any more, but he had nowhere else to go, no money. Certainly not the type of money he needed to repay his debts to Boaby Stevens. The thought burned in him, haunted his every thought like an incubus.
Henderson took the money Angela had earned on the Links and went to the nearest pub, ordered up a pint of lager. The bar was quiet, only dole moles and an old jakey with a blue nose who was likely to be turfed out at any minute for singing ‘Danny Boy’. Henderson retreated to the corner, selected a bentwood chair, glabrous with age, and positioned it against the wall. As he supped his pint he felt himself watching the window, the door; he didn’t want to be caught in there — on the piss — when he had a debt to pay to Shaky. That would be like incitement; suicidal. He found himself anxious to leave, and, after only a few sips, started to gulp the lager.
Outside on the street again he felt even more self-conscious, found himself hugging the shop fronts as he headed back to the flat; he was desperate not to be seen. Once inside the main door he lunged up the stairs, holding the door key out in front of him. As quickly as he had opened up he closed the door again, pressed his back to it. He felt his heart beating fast beneath his denim jacket as he rested there. He was sweating, hard. He removed a hand from the door, ran the back of it across his brow, trailed wearily towards the front room.
Angela was still lying face down on the stained mattress. Her hair was spread either side of her head like she had brushed it out that way. Henderson put his key in his trouser pocket, started to undo the buttons on his jacket. He stood over her for a moment, scratched at his elbow then spoke, ‘Ange… Time to make a move.’
