'You . . .' she hissed. If words could kill, that one accusatory word would've butchered me where I stood. 'Who did this? Tell me!'
I looked through the window at the doctors and nurses still trying to resuscitate Callie, before turning back to Callie's mum. What would she do if I told her? Sephy was tough – with everything she'd been through in her life, she had to be. But she was no match for the Dowds or McAuley and his hired muscle-heads. If she went after them, which she undoubtedly would, Callie would end up an orphan . . . if Callie survived. No. When Callie survived. She just had to make it, and so did her mum. In that moment, I made my choice.
'I can't say 'cause I don't know.' The small words were outsized and razor-sharp in my mouth.
Sephy turned away from me. At that instant I ceased to be for her. We had nothing else to say to each other. I turned away and left the ICU and the hospital.
My grip on the super ball tightened. It wasn't like in films and games and on the TV. What had happened at the Wasteland hadn't been choreographed into chaotic elegance. No make-up person had drawn in cuts and bruises. No costume person had decided which knee of which pair of jeans needed to be torn. The bullets started flying, everyone started screaming and scattering and diving to the ground. The cuts and bruises had been all too real. Torn jeans and dirt-stained clothes had happened spontaneously. And the blood on Callie hadn't been sprayed on. It'd been pumped out. There was no one to shout: 'Cut. Great take,' or 'Let's do it again. Action.' Only now, for the first time, did I truly realize what Mum meant when she kept insisting that 'Life is not a dress rehearsal'. There were no rewrites, no retakes, no re-do icon to click on. Callie had been shot. Real life was agonizingly hard to handle. Real life was just agonizing.
I couldn't get the image of Callie lying on that hospital bed out of my head. I knew I never would. No one told me that helplessness made you feel so minuscule. At school, at work, even here in my own bedroom, I occupied very little space. Was it so wrong to want just a little bit more from life? I'd convinced myself that that was what Dan had been offering. Just a little bit more than I already had. And now everything had fallen to pieces. I stayed in my room throughout the night and most of the morning, only leaving when I needed to go to the loo. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I couldn't think straight. Jessica and Mum left me alone for the most part. Mum put a plate of ham sandwiches outside my door, even though I'd called out after at least ten minutes of her cajoling me to eat that I wasn't hungry. To get her off my back, I even tried one, but it was like chewing a crumpled-up page of printer paper. It didn't taste of anything and it wouldn't go down. So I spat it out into my bin and gave up. I greeted the following night lying on top of my bed, staring up at my ceiling. Closing my eyes, I waited for sleep to come and get me. But it was as if a switch had been flicked on inside my head and now my brain wouldn't stop whirling.
McAuley.
It had been McAuley's car at the Wasteland. McAuley's men had walked towards us on the football pitch. McAuley's men had shot first. And the two Cross guys who'd returned fire, they had to work for the Dowds. Was the shootout planned between them? Somehow I didn't think so. If they wanted to shoot it out, they could find somewhere better than a public park. So why had both groups turned up at the Wasteland? It didn't make sense. They weren't there to kill each other. One set of gangsters had to be there for another reason entirely. And the other lot – well they were there by either luck or design. I didn't know anything about the Dowds, except by reputation. They were ruthless and deadly when crossed, just like McAuley. All I knew about McAuley were the stories about him that were common knowledge and the things I'd learned from Dan. Had McAuley's men been after Dan? That didn't make sense. Dan had been working for McAuley for ages now. Dan and his deliveries. My luck had seriously run out from the time I agreed to . . . to . . .
Deliveries.
Ross Resnick.
I'd delivered the parcel to Ross Resnick's wife, just like Dan had asked. Was that the reason McAuley came after Dan? Because Dan should've delivered the package himself ?
Or maybe . . . just maybe McAuley was after me?
Had Dan told McAuley what I'd said about not taking the fall alone if the police came knocking at my door? Was that what this was all about? Did McAuley decide I was far too dangerous to him? Godsake! I'd said a lot, but I hadn't meant it. It was just a lot of angry hot air released on the spur of the moment. I mean, as if I could take on McAuley. He had to know that I couldn't touch him. But McAuley and his men had evidently decided they needed to take care of business. McAuley'd be safe and I'd be too dead to be sorry. Was McAuley after both Dan and me? Was that the idea, to kill two birds with one stone? Or maybe I was the only one who was expendable. Either way, McAuley wanted me gone. Permanently.
That was the only explanation that made sense.
The only thing I didn't understand was how the Dowd family thugs had turned up at the same time. How did they know what McAuley had planned? There was no way they would've turned up just to save my sorry hide. They didn't know me, and even if they did, I meant less than nothing to them.
I sought out some other more rational, reasonable explanation for what had happened – but there was none. The more I thought about McAuley coming after me, the more it seemed right.
The question was, what was I going to do about it?
As long as McAuley perceived me to be a threat, I was up shit creek with both hands and feet tied. I might as well just paint a bloody great target on my back. Is that how Dan was feeling? Where was he now? Hiding out somewhere? Or did he know he wasn't the intended target? Was he going to do a runner?
At long last, after three a.m., I finally passed out. It didn't last long. A couple of hours, according to my alarm clock. And no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get back to sleep.
Blood running down Callie's skin, spreading out across her blue T-shirt . . .
Blood running down the side of Callie's face . . .
Callie's eyes closing as she toppled over in front of me . . .
Gunshots like fireworks exploding all around us . . .
Those were the nightmares that forced me awake. Those were the images in my head that wouldn't leave, even with my eyes open. Especially with my eyes open. There was only one thing I could do. It was so dangerous – and not just for me but for those around me – but what choice did I have?
I had two options. I could either run and never stop, or I could get McAuley, before he got me.
Get McAuley?
Get real. Why didn't I stop all the wars on the planet and cure all diseases known to humankind whilst I was at it?
Get McAuley . . .
But I had to at least try. I owed Callie that much. He had to pay for what he'd done. And it was a simple matter of McAuley or me. What was that saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? Experience was the greatest teacher. I had to get close to McAuley, convince him that I wasn't a threat.
And then it would be my turn.
There was one more week left before the school term ended. Not that it mattered. One week or one month, I just couldn't go back. My plans had to be changed completely. I had other matters to take care of now. I broke out my phone and speed-dialled. It took a good twenty seconds before my call was finally answered.
'Hi, Tobey,' said Dan before I could say a word. 'How are you? You OK? That was some shit on Saturday, yeah?'
Dan's tone was all friendly concern. It took a couple of moments before I could muster up a reply.
'Dan, I need to see you.'
'We're meeting this evening for football practice, so I'll see you then,' Dan pointed out. 'And we missed you at our football match yesterday.'
After everything that'd happened, that was all he had to say to me? My grip tightened around my mobile phone.
'You do know about Callie, don't you?'
'Yeah, I know.' Dan's voice took on a more sombre timbre. I for one was glad to hear the end of his jolly, bouncy tone. 'I'
m sorry.'
Sorry . . .
So much I wanted to say. So much I couldn't.
'Where're we going to meet?' I asked quietly.
'When?'
'Now.'
'Now? But it's the arse-crack of dawn. What about football practice later? Aren't you going to come?'
'Not in the mood. I've got more important matters to deal with,' I said. 'I'll meet you in twenty outside the cinema. OK?'
'But it's not even open yet—'
'Dan, I'm not inviting you to watch a film,' I snapped. 'And by the way, did you tell McAuley what I said about grassing him up if the police came knocking?'
Silence.
'Thanks a lot.'
'You sounded like you meant it,' Dan protested. 'What was I supposed to do?'
You were supposed to have my back.
'You were supposed to know I'd never do that.'
'That's what I told Mr McAuley, I swear,' Dan rushed to explain. 'I told him it was just talk.'
I shook my head. Dan still hadn't connected all the dots. He was never very good on cause and effect.
'The cinema, Dan. Twenty minutes.' I hung up, then waited to see if he would phone me back. He didn't. It was only as I stared down at the phone on my lap that I realized with a start I was still wearing the same bloodstained shirt I'd worn at the Wasteland. Callie's blood had dried into the material, which had now stuck to my skin. And I could smell it. Why couldn't I smell it before? By the time I pulled off my shirt, I was shaking. Balling it up, I dropped it in the bin by my desk, then headed for the bathroom. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and got into the bath tub before turning on the shower. I didn't do my usual of allowing the water to run warm before I even let a toe get wet. The water was freezing, but I didn't care. It didn't matter. After a couple of minutes it was hot enough. I washed my hair and soaped my body. But it didn't matter how much or how hard I scrubbed, I could still feel Callie's blood sticking to my skin.
twenty-seven
I stepped out of the house, carefully closing the door behind me. Mum was still working nights so was fast asleep, as was my sister. Just recently, Jessica always seemed to be tired. Revising for her final exam this week, maybe? I didn't want to wake up either of them. Answering questions was not at the top of my list of priorities right now. I stepped onto the pavement when a question had me whirling around.
'Excuse me, but are you Tobey Durbridge?'
A tall, willowy Cross woman with braids falling like a waterfall round her face stood in front of me.
'Yes, I am.' I frowned.
Who was this woman? I'd never seen her before in my life.
'I understand you were with Callie Rose Hadley when she got shot?' said the woman.
'Yes, I was.' My frown deepened.
The woman's eyes lit up. 'Got one!' she called out. She brought her right hand out from behind her back. She was holding a microphone. A Nought man stepped out from behind the unmarked white van parked in front of our house. He was holding a TV camera. I stared in horror as the man came straight at me.
'Who are you?' I asked, taking a step back.
'Josie Braden. Channel Nineteen News,' said the woman as if she was delivering all I should want or need to know. 'You wouldn't believe how hard it's been to find a witness to Callie Hadley's shooting.' She turned to her colleague. 'Are we up and running, Jack?'
'In a moment,' Jack replied, checking his camera. A red light appeared at the front, like a small demon's eye unblinkingly focused on me. Jack hoisted the camera onto his shoulder and started pointing the thing at Josie.
'Three. Two. One,' Josie Braden counted down before speaking into the camera lens. 'This is Josie Braden outside Callie Rose Hadley's home in Meadowview. I'm here with Callie's neighbour Tobey Durbridge, who was with Callie Rose, Kamal Hadley's granddaughter, when she got shot.' Josie turned to face me, as did Jack's camera. 'Tobey, can you tell us what happened?'
The microphone was thrust under my chin. The red eye waited for me to speak.
I said nothing. Josie looked at me expectantly.
'Excuse me,' I said before turning round and heading off in the opposite direction.
A few steps on, I turned my head. Josie drew her hand across her neck. Jack lowered his camera. They both watched me, disappointment written in capitals on their faces. I was out of there. A medieval tongue-extractor couldn't've made me speak to the press. Hopefully she'd be the first and the last reporter to try and bother me and my family. Jess and Mum didn't know anything so what could they say? And if I said nothing then what could they report? All I could do was cross my fingers and hope against hope that my face and name didn't end up plastered across the TV or in the newspapers. It wouldn't take much more than that for McAuley to firebomb my house. The saying – there's no such thing as bad publicity? Well, that was crap. In Meadowview, there most definitely was such a thing as bad publicity. The kind of publicity that could get a person deader than a roast chicken.
'I must be mad,' Dan kept muttering. 'Mr McAuley's not going to like this . . .'
Dan had been whinging ever since we'd met up and I'd told him what I needed from him, which was an audience with McAuley. I didn't bother telling him about the reporter outside my front door. Dan was worried enough as it was. I buried my hands deeper in the pockets of my denim jacket, my hands clenched so tight, my knuckles cracked.
'You're going to get us both into big trouble,' Dan said, deeply unhappy.
'I'll explain it was my idea,' I said.
'Like Mr McAuley's going to give a damn about that. We're both going to end up buried in concrete holding up a building somewhere at this rate.'
'How much further?' I asked, changing the subject.
'The other end of this road,' said Dan.
We'd travelled by bus for a good thirty minutes to get here, but this looked like an ordinary residential street – not the sort of place where you'd expect to find business premises. I frowned at Dan, but said nothing. We kept walking. Dan finally stopped outside an end-of-terrace house with a dark-blue door. It was nothing special. A three-up, two-down. The sort of house you'd pass a hundred times a day and never notice.
'McAuley's in there?'
Dan nodded, adding, 'This is a really bad idea. You're going to get us both killed.'
'Dan, change the tune, OK?'
'No, it's not OK. Mr McAuley doesn't like surprises.'
'He asked me to work for him, remember?'
'Yes, and you turned him down.'
'Well, I've thought better of it.'
Dan looked at me.
'What?' I asked, exasperated.
'Does this have something to do with what happened to Callie? Because Mr McAuley can sniff out bullshit at fifty paces.'
'It has nothing to do with Callie and everything to do with getting what's mine,' I replied. 'I want to make a lot of money and spend it whilst I'm still young enough to enjoy it. The shooting just woke me up to a few home truths, that's all.'
'Mr McAuley is not going to believe that.'
'Do you?'
Dan shrugged. 'It doesn't matter whether I believe it or not. It's not me you have to convince.'
'It's the truth, Dan. And if McAuley doesn't want me working for him, there's always the Dowds.'
Dan looked around fearfully. 'You don't want to joke about a thing like that. Around Mr McAuley, I wouldn't even think it. People have died for less.'
I gave Dan a look.
'Oh hell. I'm sorry.' Dan rushed through his apology. 'I wasn't talking about . . . I'm sorry.'
I shrugged and looked around. A black van sat outside the house. It had to belong to McAuley. The plush creamcoloured leather seats were a dead giveaway. Dan took a deep breath and headed for the front door. This was it. Once I set foot in this house, there'd be no turning back. Could I do this? Really go through with this? I could turn round and walk away and have this . . . this nothing inside me for the rest of my life. No self-respect. No pride. No Callie Rose . . . Or I cou
ld enter this house and never look back. Would McAuley believe me? Only one way to find out. Dan rang the bell three times, a pause, then twice more. The choice was made. The front door was opened by a Nought guy with light-brown, shoulder-length hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a dark-brown suit with a crisp white shirt and was built like an army tank. If he exhaled too sharply, his clothes would fall apart around him. No way was anyone getting past him without his say-so.
'Hi, Trevor. Did you miss me?' asked Dan.
Trevor looked like he'd rip off Dan's head as soon as look at him. I hung a few steps behind Dan and looked up and down the street. This house was the perfect disguise. No one would ever guess that McAuley's illegal activities operated out of such unassuming surroundings. He had an office for running his legitimate business in West Meadowview, on the industrial estate by the old railway bridge, but I'd put money on him visiting those premises maybe twice a year, if that. And I'd also put money on this not being the only house he used for his dodgy dealings. Very clever. Mrs Bridges at the bottom of my road dealt drugs out of her house, but she also lived there. This was a much better arrangement.
Dan waved me forward to stand next to him. 'Trevor, this is my mate, Tobey. Mr McAuley knows him.'
Mr I-Love-Steroids looked me up, down and sideways. He finally stepped aside to let us pass, but not without patting both of us down first. Godsake! What did he think I was packing? An Uzi? Dan headed into the first room on the right. A huge flat-screen TV sat on the wall like a piece of contemporary artwork. Two black leather sofas sat self-consciously facing each other on the hardwood floor. I chose to stand, as did Dan.
'So what happens now?' I asked Dan.