‘Should you be driving this thing?’ asked Barney.
‘Not really. Look — tell me what you’re talking about,’ said Francis. ‘Or I’m just going to drive back in there and hand you over to the cops. Even if you’re innocent, you can’t just run away, you know.’
‘Fine — relax,’ said Barney. ‘I met Kate when she was here as a Bluecoat seven summers back. I tend to leave my caravan down the end by the Bluecoat chalets, and we met, and we sort of hit it off.’
Francis stared at him, still wrestling with the old gear stick. ‘She never mentioned you.’
‘Maybe not,’ Barney said. ‘But even if it didn’t mean much to her, what she did meant a lot to me.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She took me shopping.’
Francis blinked, leaving the car in neutral. ‘Look… you’re going to have to give me more. And speed it up. I’ve got to be somewhere.’
‘Right… well, when all the other Bluecoats were taking the piss out of me and treating me like pond life, your sister was the one who came to see me and got me talking, and then called the others over, telling them I had brilliant stories to tell about my days travelling with the circus and the fair. She… she made them see me. As a person. Someone interesting.’
Francis nodded. ‘Yeah… that sounds like Kate. So… where did the shopping come in?’
‘I had no fashion sense. I was only eighteen and I’d never had a relationship with anyone but my mother. And my mother was a nightmare; really controlling. I’d never had a proper childhood and I didn’t have a clue how to be a teenager. I lived in manky tracksuits and circus gear, and I looked like a weirdo. I was a weirdo. But your sister talked to me like I wasn’t and so, every week when I came by, we’d just chat. It was just… normal and nice. And then one day, when all the Blues were taking the piss out of my clothes, she offered to take me into Lowestoft and help me buy some gear that would make me look a bit more like I belonged to the 21st century.’
‘And then what?’ said Francis, looking sceptical. 'Your life changed overnight? You turned into a cool guy and all the girls wanted you..?’
Barney grinned. ‘Not overnight, no. You can’t shake off a whole lifetime of weird just like that… but it was a start. I looked better. She even got me to go to a good hairdresser to sort out my bubble head of curls. I learned about wax. But… I took her advice. I didn’t change me… I just changed the picture frame around me, and things got easier. I got more confident. A year later I even got my first girlfriend.’ He grinned at the memory. ‘That didn’t work out at all. A year after that, I got my first boyfriend. And that did work. We’re still together. I even came out to my mother when I was twenty-one and she just had to deal with it.’
He turned to look at Kate’s brother, pointing to the tattoo. ‘She probably doesn’t remember saying these words because it wasn’t a big deal to her, being nice to someone like me. But it was a big deal to me. I got this tattoo four years ago, when I came out. And I’ve never forgotten Kate and what she did for me. When I heard they were all coming back for a reunion I knew I had to see her and thank her. That’s all.’
Francis paused for a moment and then shoved the car into gear. For a second, Barney thought he was going to drive him back into Buntin’s and call for the police after all, but no, the car pulled out awkwardly into the road, away from the gate, and stalled again.
‘Kate’s in danger,’ Francis said, desperately struggling with the ignition and the clutch. ‘She’s heading for some old bunkers on the beach and so is this psycho who killed Julie and Bill and Martin. I need to get there.’
Barney went cold. ‘Wait… you mean… Martin was killed? And Bill, too..?’
‘Yep. And he’s going for all of them. He attacked Talia… but she’s still alive.’
‘Get out,’ said Barney.
‘What?’
‘Get out and let me drive! I know a farm track down to the bunkers.’
‘You’re not insured!’
‘And you are? Don’t tell me you’ve passed your test!’
‘You’re right,’ said Francis, already opening the door. ‘Get in! Drive!’
29
As she reached the third and final bunker, Kate felt a belt of nausea and panic. She tried to call upon her professional armour; she was a capable police officer, fully trained and excellent at self-defence.
But if she’d learned anything over the past half a year it was that nobody is ever fully trained enough. She was about to enter what was very probably the murder scene of two friends. She stopped a few steps away from the slanted, broken concrete entrance, taking a moment to survey what she was about to run into. This hut was more damaged than the other two. The local council had boarded it up and screwed metal warning signs to it, but someone always came along to wrench the boarding away and enter the dank, dark hut for a laugh. The latest board lay tilted against the wall. Lumps of concrete, fallen off the roof, wallowed in the shingle next to it.
The cliff looming above was a good two metres higher here than further along the beach and part of it had collapsed over the end of the bunker some time ago, burying half of the 1940s structure in sand and grit. She walked a wide arc around to the far side, watching for a figure crouching in its shadow. She could see nobody there, or above on the cliff. Only dark clouds rolled low across it, ready to release rain at any time. She took a deep breath and then
