scanned the faces in the crowd. Crawley was out there, she knew it, sensed it. She wished Henderson was here, he would talk sense to her; Angela knew she was always letting her thoughts run away with her, that’s what Henderson had said: ‘Leave the thinking to me, Ange, you’re not fit for it.’ She liked that, liked the feeling of putting all the responsibility in someone else’s hands. But what if something had happened to him? What if Crawley had got the better of Henderson? She knew it could happen, she knew what he was capable of. She could never forget what Crawley was capable of.
Angela picked up her pace, her heels clacked on the hard paving flags; her heart rate started to ramp up. A tightening in her chest began to constrict her breathing and she slowed, balancing herself on the wall of the late- night grocer’s store with an outstretched palm. She started to cough, spat up some gelatinous bile. People walking past stared at her, she caught one of them shaking her head in her direction.
‘What’s your fucking problem, eh?’
The woman looked away, grabbed at the scarf around her neck, tightened it as she strode off at an increased pace.
‘Aye, nothing to fucking say, eh?’ Angela roared at her; she found her breath again, felt emboldened as she started off for the Links with the sounds of the street and the traffic ululating in her ears.
Cars had started to patrol the edges of the Links already. Old Cavaliers with middle-aged men craning their necks over the dash to check out the flesh on offer. Angela spotted one of the girls getting into a Volvo; there was a ‘Baby on Board’ sticker visible through the back window — it made her smile to think of the punter going back to his family after spending hard-earned wages on a tumble with a whore. No one was innocent, she thought. Everyone was tainted in some way, there was none of us perfect. She knew why she was walking the Links, what had driven her to this low in her life. She could have been somebody else once, she knew that too. She could have been the stay-at-home wife with the babies and the big telly and the weekends away; but she could also have been married to the bastard driving the Volvo, they weren’t better than her just because they lived a different way. People were trash, she’d met enough of them to form that judgement.
After an hour on the Links Angela had collected close to ninety pounds; it wasn’t enough. She doubted whether Henderson would be back to take his share — she had come to that conclusion before she left the flat — but even so, ninety wasn’t enough for her needs. She drew her jacket tight round her shoulders, looked towards the sky. The gloom of the night had settled above the rooftops where a blunt moon had appeared, partitioning the street and the Links with a waxy sheen. Angela withdrew a cigarette, asked one of the girls for a light.
‘Quiet night, now,’ said Kirsty.
‘Might pick up.’
‘Doubt it, think there must be a game on.’
Angela looked up the road; there was a man standing beyond the glare of the street lamp. ‘Here’s a punter now.’
‘Lucky you…’
Angela smiled, ‘I only need one and I’m off, Kirsty.’
‘Think I’ll be ahead of you.’ The brass walked away, in the opposite direction, as Angela strode out towards the man on the other side of the street. He was hunched against the wall, his face hidden. He wore a long baggy coat and the breeze caught the folds, sending them flapping like sails.
Angela called out to him, ‘You looking for business?’
There was no answer; the man barely moved, only seemed to shrink further into the shadow.
Angela took a last drag on her cigarette, flicked the butt into the street and hurried her steps. Punters were wary, some would bolt if they thought they might have been seen. She knew to play cautious; as the man turned and made for the lane, she followed. Angela was only two or three steps into the darkness when Crawley turned and clasped a hand on her mouth and dragged her kicking and trying to scream towards the depths of the narrow passage.
Angela’s eyes flickered as she watched Crawley’s features come into focus. She tried to yell out but there was no power left in her voice; she couldn’t even breath as Crawley held his hand over her mouth and nostrils. She thought she might pass out and for a second she hoped she would — that would be the end of it surely; if she passed out, she wouldn’t come round. Something caused her to struggle with what strength she had; it was as if she was drowning, flailing her arms to keep her afloat. She felt herself lifted off the ground; one of her shoes came off and then the other made contact with the wall of the lane and she pushed herself away with all her remaining strength.
‘Stop struggling, Angela,’ said Crawley. His voice was calm, familiar. It flung her back in time. ‘That’s better. I always knew you were a smart girl.’ Crawley released his grip on Angela’s face and neck; he looked down at her.
‘Wha…’ Angela tried to speak but the words were trapped in her.
Crawley pushed into her, she backed away. She put her hands out to feel her way, there was a recess; she backed into it and Crawley followed.
‘What d-do you want with me?’
Crawley continued to push towards her, she felt the back of the doorway. There was a handle, she turned to face it, grabbed it, but it didn’t move. She rested her head on the door, sobbed. ‘Please…’
‘Angela, come on now… You know me better than that, surely?’
She cried harder now. ‘Are you going to kill me?’
‘Why would I want to do that… here?’ Crawley raised his hands at his sides as if he was weighing the air.
Angela turned back to face him; her eyes widened as she took in the full glare of Crawley’s face. ‘I–I don’t know.’
‘And neither do I, Angela… You do know why I am here, though, don’t you?’
She shook, tried to move to her side but Crawley copied her movements and blocked her way. ‘What have you done with Neil?’
‘Ah, your boyfriend… Now we’re getting to the crux of the matter. So you knew he came to see me at school, did you? Of course, you must have, how else would he have found out if you hadn’t told him?’ There was a sound of movement at the entrance to the lane; Crawley turned away, a cat mewed and he seemed to settle. He put his hand in his pocket, removed a bunch of plastic cable ties, started to loop them together.
‘What are you doing?’ she said.
‘You made a mistake, Angela… You should never have told anyone about our little secret.’
‘I didn’t… I didn’t tell…’
He reached forward, ‘Give me your arms.’
‘No.’ She pinned herself against the doorway again, called out, ‘Help! Help me…’
Crawley reached a hand to her throat, said, ‘Now I’m warning you
…’
Angela struggled harder, reached out with her nails. ‘Help!’
‘Stop fucking about!’ Crawley grabbed one of her wrists, slipped her hand through the cable tie and tightened it. She pushed her way past him as he slipped the second loop over her other hand, then the sound of fast-moving footsteps from the lane seemed to still him.
‘Ange!.. Ange, you OK?’ It was Kirsty.
Crawley loosened his grip on the ties and let Angela’s hands fall to her side; as he bolted into the lane, she slumped against the door and sobbed.
Chapter 36
Neil Henderson girded himself against the cold wind as he walked, trying hard to still the rage he felt burning inside him, hot as any blast furnace. He cleared his throat as he approached the bus stop, spat fast onto the street. He raised his head to look over at the windows of the flat he shared with Angela; he didn’t want to return there but knew he had no choice. Crawley had fled, but he couldn’t have gone far; Henderson knew he wouldn’t have gone far. There was no point: what would it take, a call? One call, that was all that was needed to put Crawley away.
