“I’m finding out a lot about this town I didn’t know.”
A knock came at the door. “Are you two nearly finished?” enquired Eleanor.
“Be out in a minute, honey,” said Mike. Stubbing out his cigarette with just a touch more force than was necessary, he added to Julian, “Go on. She’s waiting for you.”
Julian was glad to leave the study. Mike Hill understood why he’d split up with Eleanor. In his opinion, it was the best thing that could’ve happened. Julian knew this because Eleanor had repeated it to him when he’d phoned one time in a drunken haze of guilt to apologise for the way he’d treated her. He also knew, or rather sensed, that Mike Hill wouldn’t be anywhere near as understanding if Julian hurt his daughter a second time.
When Julian saw Eleanor, he felt that squeezing again. “Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked.
“Sure.”
They walked slowly along the street, standing close, but not touching. Julian resisted an urge to reach for Eleanor’s hand. It was a warm day. She wore a vest top. Her arms were pale and smooth, unblemished. He suddenly found himself thinking about Mia Bradshaw — about the cuts on her arm. He shoved the image away to a darker place in his mind. “Dad told me what happened,” Eleanor said. “That poor girl.”
Julian made no reply. He didn’t want to talk about that with Eleanor. He wanted to keep her as far away from it as possible. “It makes me feel like crying to think of her dying there like that,” she went on.
Maybe she didn’t die there, thought Julian. “So how’s college?” he asked.
A hint of a frown drew Eleanor’s her eyebrows together. “You know, Jules, sometimes you really remind me of my dad.”
“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.”