“But she didn’t make a choice, Jem. You’ve just told me – she was addicted. It was out of her control. She was ill, like Jim was ill.”
“I still hate her for leaving.”
“That’s a long time to hate someone. Maybe you need to let it go.”
I let her words sink in and felt them settle within me. Sounded like she’d been watching too much Oprah to me. Life’s not that simple. Not so easy to move on when the anger you’ve got is what keeps you going.
But it wasn’t the only thing I had now. Spider – the need to see him again, the need to save him – had given me something else.
There was a noise then, a sharp bang from downstairs, and we both jumped out of our skins.
“It’ll be Dad home – I’ll just go and see.”
Britney clambered out of bed, put on her bathrobe, and went downstairs. She left the door slightly ajar, and I picked up the alarm clock from her bedside table and angled it in the light coming in from the landing until I could make it out. Two-fifteen. Their voices were floating up the stairs now; Britney’s soft burr and the deeper bass notes of her dad. I could only make out a few of his words, but the ones I heard made me jump out of bed and crouch down behind the open door, my heart jumping around in my throat.
“…went berserk…eight of us…bloody strong…”
I opened the door a bit farther, straining desperately to hear more. The voices downstairs were competing with Spider’s words in my head: “I won’t go quietly, Jem. I’ll fight them, Jem. I will.”
What had he done?
“…died in his cell…investigation…”
Oh, my God. He’d kicked off like he said he would. I’d told him not to. I’d told him it wasn’t worth it. How could this happen? How could everything be brought to a big dead end, three days early? I wanted to scream out – I didn’t care anymore if I was found. If Spider was gone, I had nothing left. My whole body was a scream, my skin electric. We’d been cheated, cheated of our last few hours, cheated of the chance to say good-bye – it was unthinkable.
The voices were nearer now, right outside the door. I hadn’t noticed them come upstairs.
“Good night, love. Try and get some sleep. I’m just going in the shower.”
“OK. Night, Dad.”
Britney came back into the room. She was carrying a mug, and gave a little gasp as she spotted me behind the door. I saw her eyes widen and she quickly held her index finger up to her mouth. She closed the door, and I slumped back against it, silent tears running down my face. She crouched down next to me.
“What is it?” she hissed.
I couldn’t get any words out.
He was gone.
It was all over.
“Listen, tell me in a minute, when my dad’s in the shower. Get back into bed – I’ve brought you some tea. Here.” She’d put the tea down, and now she was helping me to my feet and shepherding me back to bed.
I couldn’t drink the tea. It was all I could do to keep breathing, black grief pulsing through me. After a minute or so, we heard the bathroom door close and the shower start up. Britney shuffled forward in the bed and put her hands on my legs.
“It’s OK to talk now, but quietly, still. Now what on earth is it?”
“He’s dead, isn’t he? I heard you. He’s dead.” The words were distorted, blurry, but somehow she understood.
“No, you turnip, it was the other one.”
“What?”
“The other bloke they arrested. A big bloke, Dad said, covered in tatts.”
Tattoo Face?
“He went mad in his cell, started smashing everything up. Took eight of them to stop him, and he died in the middle of it all.”
“He died?”
“They don’t know if someone hit him or if he had a heart attack or whatever. All hell’s broken loose down at the station, anyway. Dad was one of the eight – he’s been suspended for the time being.”
Tattoo Face, not Spider. 12112010.
“Britney?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you know when it happened? What time?”
“Just before midnight. Just before the end of Dad’s shift.”
It was like things were slotting back into place again. The ground had shifted beneath my feet for a while, rules bending, but now we were back on solid ground: sickening, nightmarish, but solid ground. The numbers were real. Spider was still alive, but he only had three days to go.
“You OK?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Need a hug?”
I didn’t answer, but she leaned forward anyway and put her arms ’round me. I stiffened, and she must have felt it, but she didn’t let me go.
“It’s alright,” she said. “Everything will be alright. Here, have some of that tea.” She handed it over – hot, sweet tea, best thing I’d tasted for a long time. I drained the cup and we both lay down, curled up at opposite ends of the bed, legs hooked into each other’s. The tea had soothed me; my mind was so full I couldn’t think anymore. I was completely exhausted now; I could feel waves of sleep starting to wash over me.
“Britney?” I said quietly into the darkness.
“Mm?”
“Thanks.”
“You’re alright.”
“I mean it.”
“Shuddup, and go to sleep.”
That made me smile; it was like listening to a reflection of myself. And I did go to sleep, an instant, dreamless sleep, away from the world for a few hours, away from the tick, tick, tick of the clock.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I reached for the alarm clock and held it in front of my face. Nearly half-six. It was still dark, but wouldn’t be for much longer. I shifted around in the bed, trying to figure out how I felt.
“Are you awake?” Britney’s voice whispered.
“Yeah.” Truth was, I felt pretty rough. I’d had a few hours good sleep, but I felt tired, a bit queasy.
“We’ll have to be really, really quiet.”
“OK.” We were both in our clothes, anyway, so we got up in the dark and padded downstairs.
“I’ll go in first, make sure we don’t startle Ray.”
Ray?
She opened the kitchen door, and I could hear her whispering to someone. So it was a setup after all. I should have known it was too good to be true. People will always let you down. I looked down the hallway. I could easily let myself out the front door.
“It’s OK, come on.” Britney was beckoning me into the kitchen.
I took another look at the front door, but something told me to trust her. I walked toward the square of light coming from other end of the hall. She was bent over in the kitchen, holding the collar of an enormous dog, a great big hairy German shepherd. I don’t do animals. Never had a pet, obviously, don’t know anything about them. The way some people fuss over them and talk to them, it’s just odd, isn’t it? They don’t see them for what they are: something other, different, not human.
“Close the door behind you,” Britney hissed. “This is Ray, he’s Dad’s work dog.”
Christ! I was shut in a room now, ten by eight, with a bloody police dog.
“He was looking for you yesterday, too, weren’t you, Rayray? You’ve found her now, haven’t you? Clever boy! Say hello to him,” she said to me, “he’ll be fine.”
“Hello,” I said, trying not to look him in the eye or wind him up in any way.
Britney stifled a giggle. “No, not like that, pet him, on his shoulder, not his head. Go on, he’ll know you’re a friend.”
“Is he going to bite me?”
She smiled and shook her head.
I edged toward him, waiting for him to lunge forward and grab my arm in his massive jaws. Slowly, slowly, I leaned forward and put my hand on the fur at the bottom of his neck and rested it there. I could feel his solid body underneath, warm and full of life, and the fur itself, it was fantastic: clean and soft. It felt like I was touching a lion. I moved my hand gently. “Hello, Ray. You’re a nice dog.” My words were as wooden as my movements. He sniffed at my leg and then quickly, almost violently, rubbed his huge, hard muzzle up and down my jeans, almost knocking me over.