‘You’re a loser, Manson. Piss off – you’re deranged.’
‘I could tell a lot of stories about you. I could tell them how I’ve seen you in your van, cruising along certain streets. You know what I’m saying? Picking up women.’
Foster had difficulty getting his words out.
‘I was never unfaithful to my wife.’ He hissed down the phone. ‘We had a good marriage. What I do now is my business.’
‘But, it’s not is it? I could tell the police everything I know… make up a bit more – it will take them time to prove it. All that time you’ll be banged up.’
‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’ Foster’s voice was shaky. He turned to look at the clients waiting for him to return. He was desperate to get off the phone and back to the job he loved.
‘You sure you want all your dirty linen washed in public? You’ll lose your job for sure whilst they investigate you. Here’s what I’m offering: I’ll say nothing but I want compensating. You get me?’ There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Manson continued. ‘I’m looking at ten K. I’ll give you one week to find it. By the way – I don’t give a shit what you do with the bitch Danielle.’
Gerald Foster put his phone away. He went back to his clients and apologized – he would need to hand them over to a colleague as he had personal stuff come up and had to leave.
Later that day Niall Manson was on his way to meet a friend. He was helping with deliveries of weed today. The police interest had halted distribution for a few days and now people were gagging for it. There were several drop-off points around the area where people could call and meet and buy weed from him. Demand was rising with the Christmas stress. He walked along the outside of the pavement and took a call on his mobile. His first customer. He took the order and closed his phone. Today was going to be a good day. Get some money in, put a bet on the horses, have a few beers later; find himself a friendly girl who wasn’t too fussy. Still, Danielle was there nagging at the back of his mind. It was all fucking weird. The more he thought about it, the more Manson was convinced that Foster could have flipped. Manson had known him for ten years. He’d seen him get stranger every year. He knew he spent all his time in the shed in his garden, banging away on some creepy project, restoring some useless old thing that came off the barges. That was another thing – the canals; Foster was obsessed with the canals and now they had pulled that friend of Danielle’s out of one. Then his face lit up at a new thought –– compensation. If she was killed by some lunatic – her father no less – would there be any money? Jackson would get the money. Simple then – he needed to get Jackson. After all, it was his son. The deal with Foster might work out, as well. No matter what any of them thought or said about him, he had rights and he intended to exercise them. Jackson was coming home with him.
Niall was so busy with his thoughts he didn’t notice the dark-coloured van that had just pulled out. As he heard the screech of acceleration he turned to see a familiar face focused on him from behind the steering wheel. He felt the impact of the van’s side bumper smack against his body, and pain as his legs slid beneath the front wheel and then his head disappeared under the back wheel and he felt nothing else.
Chapter 22
Tracy was taking a shower as Jeanie flicked through the TV channels to find something for Jackson to watch. They were watching In the Night Garden and Jackson was very intent on his programme. He got down from the sofa and sat in front of the television with Scruffy. Jeanie put a cushion on the floor for him. She was sure Tracy would have had a problem with it but pretended to be unaware. There was nothing in the house that seemed designed for use; it was all for show. Jackson’s solid little frame sat hunched over as he curled his fingers in his toy penguin’s fur and watched In the Night Garden in silence.
When it was over Jeanie flicked through the channels again and found Peppa Pig.
‘Here is Peppa and her brother George.’ George grunted and waved. ‘Here is Mummy Pig and Daddy Pig.’ They came onto the screen, Mummy Pig smiling serenely, Daddy Pig waving at the viewers.
Jackson sat up and began pointing and talking to the television. He turned to look at Jeanie and then looked past her, as if he were looking for someone.
‘What is it, Jackson?’
He pointed to the screen. He was agitated. He got to his feet and went over to Jeanie. His face was crumpling. He was still pointing at the screen.
‘What is it, Jackson?’
He came over to Jeanie and held on to her as he kept turning back to the television and pointing.
‘Is it Peppa Pig?’ Jeanie watched him. He seemed slightly calmer until Daddy Pig came back onto the screen. He twisted away and buried his face in Jeanie.
‘No. No, Daddy Pig. NO.’
‘What is it, Jackson?’ Jeanie lifted him onto her lap. He clung onto her so hard that he was pinching her arms. He shouted at the telly.
‘No… no! Leave Mummy alone!’
‘What is it, Jackson?’ He looked at Jeanie and his eyes filled. ‘It’s okay, Jackson.’ She switched off the telly. She cuddled him and led him across to the table. She sat him on the cushion on the chair again and she sat next to him. She picked up the crayons and hastily drew Daddy Pig’s head on a piece of paper: his head flat like a hairdryer shape, a few hairs around his chin, round black glasses. She drew a picture of Daddy Pig’s face and cut out the drawing and then picked up the bag containing the puppets and took some out.
Jeanie held two adult puppets near one another and placed them in front of Jackson on the table. He picked up the Mummy puppet and held it tightly in his left hand. With his right hand he pushed away roughly the male puppet onto which Jeanie had pinned Daddy Pig’s face.
‘No,’ he repeated.
‘What is Mummy puppet saying, Jackson?’
‘Mummy said, “No no no. Get out. Get out.”’
‘Did Mummy say this man’s name?’ She picked up the Daddy Pig puppet and held it at arm’s length for him to look at it. Jackson nodded. ‘What did she call him, Jackson? What’s this man’s name?’
He pointed to the puppet. ‘Daddy Pig.’
Tracy came out of the shower. Jeanie stood outside the bedroom door as Tracy got dressed.
‘I want to try another session with Jackson when you’re ready?’
‘Coming.’
‘We are definitely getting somewhere with him now, Tracy. I added another puppet; from the Peppa Pig cartoon. The puppet has Daddy Pig’s face pinned on.’
‘He loves Peppa Pig. He had a Peppa Pig toy when I first met them at the Christmas Fayre,’ said Tracy from behind the closed door.
‘Not any more. He just got very distressed when it came on the telly. He started shouting when the character Daddy Pig came on the screen. I think something about Daddy Pig reminds him of this man.’
‘I’m ready.’ Tracy came into the lounge and called to Jackson as she pulled out the chair at the table ready for him to climb into. Jeanie waited for Jackson to get settled. One by one she took three puppets: Scruffy, Jackson and Danielle. She asked the same question each time:
‘Who’s this, Jackson?’
‘Scruffy.’
‘Yes, it’s Scruffy, isn’t it?’ Jackson nodded. ‘Jackson, what colour is your front door?’
‘Pink.’
‘Did you see Mummy when you were standing at the front door?’ Jackson didn’t understand. ‘Jackson, who’s this?’ Jeanie showed him the Mummy puppet and the Daddy Pig puppet.
‘Where did you see Mummy talking to this man, Jackson?’ Jackson shook his head.
‘Where is Mummy now, Jackson? Do you know?’