‘Perhaps other measures? Panic alarms? Talk to your wife about it. We can always get one of our security guys round to beef things up at the house. Meanwhile I’ll get those details from you and set to work eliminating those previous upsets from the picture. How’s that sound?’
Mike felt a flare of optimism. Joe agreed with him, they were not being targeted, and with hard proof Vicky would have to see sense. ‘Thanks, yeah, do that.’
Vicky grilled him when he got home. Mike bluffed his way through it. Yes, he’d asked to withdraw, retract they called it, and he had to give reasons and then they had to look into it. Lots of paperwork and stuff like that, same as everything else these days. He had decided he would wait to hear from Joe about the crash before he tackled her head on.
A week later Joe phoned him. They had traced the vehicle that hit Vicky even though the crash itself hadn’t been caught on camera. The silver Mercedes (not BMW) belonged to a twenty-year-old from Alderley Edge whose parents had more money than sense. Undercover police observation of the major suspects in the murder inquiry had confirmed that all had been elsewhere at the time that Mike’s place was burgled.
Armed with the solid facts, Mike suggested a night out to Vicky; they asked her mum round to babysit. They couldn’t afford to eat out but went to the flicks instead. Watched the latest action blockbuster and had a drink in the bar after. They talked about the kids for a bit, they always talked about the kids. And Vicky made him laugh telling him about some of the daft things her clients had said. He got another round in and some dry-roasted nuts.
‘I heard from the police,’ he told her. ‘It’s good news.’
‘Go on,’ she said, still pretty easy-going.
‘The car crash, they’ve traced the other car. Nothing to do with the court case at all. Total coincidence. Same with the break-in.’
Her face changed, the colour fading from her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes dimming. Disappointment, then temper, in the set of her mouth.
‘And they’ll give us protection,’ he said, his voice too eager, too brittle. ‘Better locks, panic alarms if we want it, not that there’s any risk, just if we want it. And my name, it’ll be kept out, I’ll be anonymous.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ she cut in. ‘Is this what tonight’s about? You promised me-’
‘Vicky, just listen.’
‘No!’
Mike was aware of the hostility between them and how people around were picking up on it: glancing their way, shifting position. The threat of a domestic in the air. ‘He explained it all to me,’ Mike raced on, a loud whisper, not wanting to shout his business for the entertainment of the bar. ‘We are not at risk, we are not a target. We never were.’
‘Of course he’d say that,’ she countered. ‘He wants you up there. People know it’s not safe to talk, that’s why it’s taken so long, why they had to offer a reward. It’s not safe. Not when it’s a gang thing. And those two are gang leaders!’
Mike groaned, rubbed at his face. Why was she so bloody set on this? ‘I think the police know more about it than you do.’
‘You are so gullible.’ She stood up. ‘Well, I’m not going to watch you risk everything. I’ve already told you – you want to do this, Mike, you do it on your own.’ She walked away, pulling her coat on. The people around watched Mike, pretending not to, to see if he would follow.
He rounded on the nearest table, shouting. ‘Seen enough? Why don’t you buy a bloody ticket?’ He saw the bartender look across, ready for trouble.
There was only one thing left for him to do. Tell her why it mattered to him. Why in this he might have to be as stubborn as she was.
He caught up with her outside. The trees were tangled with blue and white lights, the parade of leisure facilities bristled with neon. The night was cold and clear but he could see only one star.
‘Vicky, stop, wait. I got summat to tell you.’
She looked at him, sighed. Her face washed out by the neon, miserable. She folded her arms across her front. ‘What?’
He shuffled from one foot to the other. The words in his chest like stones, hard to drag up. He blew out. ‘It’s hard,’ he said.
‘What? You having an affair?’ Her face was pinched, wary.
‘No!’ He wheeled away, eyes pinned on the sole star. ‘I want to do the right thing,’ he tried again.
‘The right thing is protecting your family,’ she shot back.
‘Wait,’ he said sharply. ‘Just listen for once, just bloody listen!’
She narrowed her lips, her eyes mean.
He found he couldn’t look at her when he spoke. Anywhere but. ‘I’ve never told you, never told anyone.’ He shivered. ‘When I was at school, there was this lad, Stuart. He was a bit slow, he was-’ Something caught in his throat. ‘He was just a kid. He wasn’t fat or crippled or mucky, he didn’t even wear specs, but there was something about him and he got picked on. Every day.’
She was still. Mike watched a bus pull out, a couple snogging on the top deck. ‘They’d wait for him after school, or at dinnertime. He’d never go to the toilets at school or anywhere quiet, sometimes he’d trail around after the dinner ladies. He got quieter, like he was shrinking, but it just made it worse. Stuart Little.’ Mike named the film. ‘Remember that?’ Mike glanced at her, she nodded.
‘That were his nickname – one of them. A couple of times the teachers found out and people got detention. Or the whole form did. Stuart never told. He knew it’d make it worse. This one day-’ Mike stopped. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to tell her. His fingers were cold, he tucked them under his armpits. Shivered again. ‘It was after school. I saw them dragging him into the changing room. He was crying.’ Mike swallowed. ‘I went home. I didn’t go and tell anyone, I just went home. Had my tea, watched the box.’ Mike’s heart hurt. He tightened his jaw, tried to stop his voice quavering. ‘Stuart wasn’t in school the next day.’ He looked across at the traffic lights, saw them turn to green and the traffic move. He heard a girl’s laugh cutting through the other noise, high-pitched, squealing. ‘He’d gone home and changed out of his uniform and hanged himself from his bedroom door.’ Mike’s voice cracked. ‘And I still never said anything.’ Stuart’s father had found the boy, carried him in his arms out into the street, weeping.
‘Oh, Mike.’ Her voice was full of concern. ‘You were just a kid, too.’
‘I knew right from wrong. I didn’t bully him but I did nothing to stop them. I didn’t get help. And even when they’d driven him to do that, I said nothing. That was wrong. This – the court case, it’s a chance to do the right thing.’
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ she said sadly. ‘You can’t change the past. What happened, that’s awful, it’s really sad, but your responsibility now – it’s not to the lad that got shot, it’s to Kieran and Megan.’
‘The police can protect us.’ It was almost a howl.
She shook her head, her lip curling. ‘You’d take that chance.’ Like he was dirt. Like he’d failed.
They walked home in silence. Not touching. Mike felt soiled, ashamed. All the old feelings. He wanted to weep but he didn’t know how.
He looked in on Kieran, peacefully asleep, and thought of Stuart’s parents, the horror they would carry with them forever. Of Danny Macateer’s parents.
Vicky came in. ‘I meant it, Mike.’ Her voice was fixed, flat. ‘It’s your choice.’
He had no answer.
PART THREE Stand By Me
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Zak
Soon as he asked for witness protection the atmosphere shifted. They put him back in the cells for an hour or so and then he was shown into a room with a couple of new faces. Plainclothes cops. Little and Large, Zak thought. Little smiled a lot but it was the sort of grin a wolf might have before it attacks. Large never smiled, he looked dead depressed, his mouth turned down, shoulders curled over. He had braces on his teeth. Zak thought he was a bit old for that; most people had ’em done when they were teenagers. But maybe the guy had been in a car crash or a fight or something and the braces were to help repair the damage.