“Thanks.”
“That’s not necessarily a compliment.”
They walked on in silence for a while — they’d always been comfortable in each other’s silence. Julian had never met another girl he felt that way with. “How long have you been back?” asked Eleanor.
“A couple of days.”
“Oh.”
That ‘Oh’ was full of meaning. It meant, so how come you didn’t let me know you were in town? “I would’ve phoned but I’ve been so busy with…” Julian was going to say studying, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie, not to her.
“With what?”
Julian shrugged and said limply, “You know, this and that.”
“Oh,” Eleanor said again. “I see.”
“If you like, we could do something tonight. Catch a movie, go for a drink, whatever.”
Eleanor smiled. It was a simple, open smile, the only one she had in her facial vocabulary. “That’d be good.”
She made to turn into a narrow lane that branched off from the street. Julian hesitated to follow her. The lane led beyond the edge of town to a meadow where there was an old hay-barn. As boyfriend and girlfriend, they used to go there often to talk and make love. In its quiet, grass-smelling gloom they’d gone from early eager fumblings to slow, tender explorations of each other. Julian resisted a groin-tingling tug. He couldn’t allow himself to go back there, not unless he was certain that’s what he wanted. And he wasn’t.
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
In spite of himself, as Julian looked at Eleanor’s eyes, her lips, her neck, the tug intensified. Not wanting to take the chance that he might give into it, he nodded and said, “I’ll pick you up around seven.” Then he hurried away, leaving her standing staring after him. As he drove past her, she raised one flawless arm to wave. “You, boy, are a fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself, waving back.
His phone rang. It was Kyle. “Fancy meeting up tonight, bro?” he asked.
“Can’t. I’m going out with Eleanor.”
“What? Like on a date, or some shit like that?”
“No, not a date. Just two friends getting together.”
Kyle sniggered. “Yeah, right.”
“Yes, right, exactly,” Julian snapped.
“No need to get shitty. I was just kidding. Seriously, though, bro, you know she’s still hung up on you. Why is beyond me, but she is. Every time I see her she’s like, have you spoken to Jules? How’s he doing? And I’m like, fuck Jules, I’m free and single and here. But she doesn’t even notice me, bro. Not like that. So go easy on her, ’cos she’s one of the good ones.”
“I know.” There was the hint of a sigh in Julian’s voice. “Later, yeah.”
When Julian got home, he went straight through to his bedroom. He didn’t want to see his mum, have to skirt around her questions. He logged onto his computer. An email alert flashed in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. He clicked on it. ‘Morsus confirmed you as a friend on Facebook’ read the message. He eagerly followed the link to her profile. Underneath her photo it said ‘Surely there has to be a reason for all this pain. A purpose…’ And on her wall she’d written ‘R.I. P Jo. I love you’. Under her hobbies, she’d listed ‘drinking, cutting, suicide’. He looked at her photos. There were photos of her alone, pouting, sneering, brandishing her cuts like badges of honour. There were photos of her and Joanne Butcher kissing each other fully on the mouth. And there were photos of them with boys their own age and men in their twenties, drinking, smoking, simulating sex. One in particular caught his attention. She was sat with her arm around a boy kissing him on the cheek. He had no top on and his body looked stripped, like a junkie boxer’s. His hair was shaved to the skull. On his chest he had a tattoo of a wolf baring its teeth. He had to be Mia’s brother, Jake — he had the same face as her, only thinner, more sunken. There was the same sullen pain in his eyes, too.
Julian noticed that there was a message in his Facebook inbox. It was from Morsus. ‘I’ll be in The Cut tonight’ it read. He stared at the message, fingers hesitating over the keyboard, a queer feeling in his stomach, like a hunger pang, only deeper and heavier. He wasn’t debating what to do. He knew he had to see her, speak to her. The question that bothered him was, to what end? What would come of it? Swallowing, he typed ‘I’ll see you there’ and hit reply. He moved to lie down. The queer feeling sat on his stomach, tiredness throbbed in his head. He couldn’t let himself sleep, though. It wasn’t safe. Not with the dream lurking like a viper in the darkness behind his eyelids.
After a sleepless rest, Julian took Henry for a walk in the forest. They didn’t get far. A policeman blocked the path. He could see others amongst the trees, advancing in a long line, combing the undergrowth.
For a second day running, Julian’s dad didn’t return home in time for the evening meal. He knew then that his mum was right about there being something wrong with his dad’s business. “So come on,” said Christine as they ate. She was smiling, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness in her voice. “Tell us what Mike Hill wanted. We’re dying to know.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t, that’s all.”
“Has all this secrecy got something to do with your dad?”
When Julian made no reply, Christine glanced at Wanda, as though his silence confirmed something they’d been discussing. “I think I’ll eat in my room,” he said, standing.
“There’s no need for that, Jules. I won’t ask any more questions about it.” An edge crept into Christine’s voice. “In fact, if that’s the way it is, I just won’t ask you any questions about anything.”
Julian winced inwardly, hating to see his mum waste the little energy she had on anger. After eating, he got ready to go out, taking longer than usual over it. When his dad still wasn’t home by seven, he started to feel impatient. He wanted to be there when his mum was told about Joanne Butcher. He wanted to make sure she was told. At eight o’clock, he went in search of her, intending to tell her himself. But when he saw her so fragile and tired looking, he knew he couldn’t break his promise. “I’m going out,” he said. She made no sign of having heard him. He let out a slight sigh. “Don’t be like that, Mum.”
“I’m not being like anything,” Christine said, without looking at him. “You’re a grown man now, Julian. You go where you want, see who you want, say what you want, and live with the consequences. It’s about time both of us recognised that.”
Chapter 5
As Julian drove to The Cut, his mum’s words weighed on his mind. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to be ‘a grown man’. And he knew with absolute certainty that he wasn’t ready to ‘live with the consequences’, whatever they might be. He felt an urge to turn around, head home and tell her about everything — about Joanne Butcher’s corpse, the dream, everything. He wanted to lay his head on her lap, feel her stroke his hair, hear her tell him everything would be alright. He wanted her to soothe him off to sleep, like she’d used to do. But he didn’t turn around. Another stronger urge — an urge that was both within and outside his understanding — prevented him from doing so.
Mia Bradshaw was sat on her own at the same table as the previous night. She was dressed the same, too. When she looked at Julian, he saw that her mask of makeup was streaked, as if she’d been crying. She wasn’t crying now, though. Her eyes were like blue porcelain. They seemed to be weighing him up, or maybe working out what they could get from him. Under their steady examination, he suddenly felt — despite the years he had on her — very young and green.
“I’m Julian,” he said, for want of something to say.
“I know.”
He motioned to her empty glass. “Do you want another?”
