I had to keep running – out of the churchyard, down St Leonard’s Road, down towards the docks – I had to get where I had to go. I had to go back to the beginning and find the key to the end.
I don’t know how long it took me to get to Back Lane, but I’m pretty sure I ran all the way, and by the time I finally got there I was panting so hard and sweating so much that I could feel my body oozing out of my shoes. My legs were on fire, my arms were burning… I was sucking in so much air that it was making me feel drunk. I could feel the oxygen buzzing around in my head, making me dizzy, and for a while I thought I was going to be sick. But, strangely enough, I didn’t really mind the nauseous feeling. It felt OK… like some kind of weird, floaty sensation, as if something soft was hovering in my stomach. Like a small cloud of friendly gas.
So when I reached the point along the lane where the pathway led up to the den, I didn’t bother stopping to get my breath back, I just kept going – clambering up the bank, past the tree stump, through the brambles, up the overgrown path… until eventually I was back at the den again. Back to where it had all begun. Back to the same old brambles, the same old wooden boards, the same old faded blue roof…
Back to when? I asked myself. When had it all begun?
Four days ago?
Four years ago?
Four friends ago?
As I stepped over to the den and crept in through the door, I wondered if that’s what it was all about. Friends. People you know. People you used to know. People you think you once knew, but you probably never did. You probably just knew a part of them, the part of them that was your friend. And the rest, the parts of them that you didn’t know – the twisted parts, the untrue parts, the parts you’re seeing now – well, back then you just ignored them. But now you can’t. Because now you can see it all, and now you know that ‘back then’ wasn’t all wonderful and innocent. It was just a time and a place, just like every other time and place. The only difference now is that the things – the people – that belonged to the old time and place aren’t here any more, and things that aren’t here any more don’t hurt any more. The only things that hurt are the things that hurt right now.
I stooped over to the far wall of the den and sat down.
The air was cool.
I could feel the sweat drying on my skin.
I looked around the den. There were no bottles left, no cigarette ends, no traces of Saturday night. It’d all be in a police laboratory now, I realized – chopped up in test tubes, sliced up under microscopes, liquidized in smart machines that whizzed round and round and analysed crap.
The right-hand wall of the den was buckled and broken, and I guessed that someone – a burly policeman, probably – had either fallen against it or given it a hefty kick. A fresh bramble stem was already beginning to creep in through the gap in the boards. It wouldn’t be long before more stems squeezed through, and then the hole would get bigger, and then more stems would squeeze through… until eventually the board would break and the brambles would take over and the whole den would start to collapse.
It wouldn’t be long.
It doesn’t matter.
A whispered voice.
It came from a placeless place somewhere in front of me, a place that somehow didn’t exist. In the middle of the den, but not in the middle of the den. Floating, but not floating, about half a metre above the ground. But the ground wasn’t there. And neither was Black Rabbit, or the fine gold necklace around his neck, or the single red flower that hung from the necklace like a pearldrop of honey-sweet blood. And Black Rabbit didn’t have Raymond’s face either. I watched in silence as Raymond blinked his shining black eyes, and a perfect red teardrop fell slowly from the flower on his necklace to the ground.
It’s all about Pauly, isn’t it? he whispered.
‘It’s all about everyone.’
But Pauly’s the key.
‘Maybe…’
The key to the end.
I pulled Eric’s mobile from my pocket and flipped it open.
My hands were shaking as I turned on the phone, and my fingers and thumbs seemed to have doubled in size, so it took me a while to find the messages menu, and it took me even longer to key in the text, but after a lot of deleting and backspacing and swearing, I got there in the end.
This is what I wrote:
Pauly – they kno what hapnd satdy nite. need tlk urgnt! meet me @ bl den asap. dont tel others. come alone – Eric
Because Eric had deleted all his texts from the phone, I had no way of knowing how he usually texted, so I had no way of knowing if my message was sufficiently Eric-like to fool Pauly or not. I spent a few minutes trying to imagine what kind of texter Eric might be – did he abbreviate? did he use capitals? did he sign himself Eric, or E, or EL? – but I knew I was wasting my time. There was no way of guessing that kind of thing. All I could do was hope that Eric’s texts were pretty much the same as everyone else’s. Or, if they weren’t, that Pauly wouldn’t be in the right frame of mind to notice.
If the message behind my message was correct, I was pretty sure that Pauly’s frame of mind would be so messed up that he wouldn’t notice anything.
I read through the message again, just to make sure that it couldn’t be misunderstood… then I pressed OK, scrolled down to PYG, and hit SEND.
Pauly’s reply came almost immediately:
b thr 15mins
And that was it.
All I had to do now was wait.
It was a timeless fifteen minutes, and as I sat there in the cooling shade of the den, my mind drifting sleeplessly in the wooded silence, I tried to imagine how Raymond must have felt when he used to come up here on his own – sitting quietly among the brambles, breathing the warm earthy air, his eyes half closed, his head full of nothing…
Hidden away in a secret place.
No one knowing where he was…
‘Were you happy then?’ I heard myself wondering. ‘I mean, when you came up here on your own… did it make you happy?’
I don’t know about happy…
‘But you liked it?’
It made me feel calm. I didn’t have to worry about anything.
‘What did you do in here?’
Nothing.
‘Did you think about stuff?’
No.
‘You must have thought about something.’
Why?
‘Because…’
Because what?
‘I don’t know… just because.’
You’re getting confused, Pete. You’re beginning to think you’re me.
‘I know,’ I grinned.
At least, that’s what you think you’re thinking. But you know what you’re really thinking about, don’t you?
‘What?’
You’re thinking about Pauly.
‘Am I?’
Yeah, you’re remembering those times when you saw him on his own and you hated him for reminding you of me, and now you’re beginning to realize that that’s why he hated me too, because I reminded him of himself. He could see himself in me. And that scared him to death.
‘I don’t understand…’
Yeah, you do. You just don’t want to admit it.
‘Admit what?’
How close everything is. Me and you, me and Nicole, Campbell and Eric, Pauly and me… we all could have been each other. I mean, if things had been just a little bit different, you could have been me, I could have been Nic, Campbell could have been Eric, Pauly could have been me –
‘No.’
It’s pointless arguing with yourself.
‘I’m not arguing, I’m just saying –
He’s coming.
‘What?’
Listen…
I could hear it now, the sound of Pauly coming up the bank – struggling through the undergrowth, slipping and stumbling, cursing under his breath.
‘Do you think this is going to work?’ I whispered to Raymond.
He didn’t answer me.
&nb
sp; ‘Raymond?’ I said.
But I knew he’d already gone. And now the door to the den was opening and Pauly was stepping in… and just for a moment he was Raymond – the shocked face, the mixed-up eyes, the sudden look of fear and confusion.
‘Hello, Pauly,’ I said.
‘Pete?’ he muttered, quickly scanning the den. ‘Where’s Eric?’
‘Eric’s not here.’
He stared at me then, beginning to realize that he might have been tricked, and as his eyes narrowed slowly in anger, his resemblance to Raymond just floated away into nothing. ‘What’s going on?’ he said. ‘I got a text –’
‘I sent it.’
‘What?’
I took Eric’s phone from my pocket and held it up for him to see. ‘I sent you the text.’
He stared at the phone, blinking slowly. ‘Where did you get –?’
‘Sit down, Pauly,’ I said.
‘Where’s Eric?’
‘Sit down.’
Pauly shook his head and started edging back through the door. ‘No, no way. I’m going to get Wes –’
‘I know what happened to Stella.’
Pauly froze. ‘What?’
‘Eric told me all about it.’
‘No… no, he wouldn’t do that.’
‘How else would I know?’
‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You’re lying. You don’t know anything –’
‘I know about the car,’ I told him. ‘I know you drove down to the river and dumped Stella’s body. I know you smeared blood on Tom Noyce’s caravan. I know about Eric and Wes.’ I looked at him. ‘Do you want me to go on?’
He didn’t say anything, he just stood there, staring hopelessly at me, and just for a moment all I could do was stare back at him. I’d taken a huge risk, pretending to know about the car and the river and everything, and if I’d got any of it wrong… well, that would have been the end of it. But it was obvious from Pauly’s reaction that I hadn’t got it wrong, and that was a big relief. Which made me feel pretty good… for about a millionth of a second. And then suddenly the reality hit me, and I realized that I wasn’t just guessing any more, I was finally facing the truth. And it was sickening. Pauly Gilpin, the boy standing in front of me now, the boy I’d known for years and years… Pauly had been there. When Stella had died… Pauly had been there.
‘Sit down,’ I told him.
He looked at me. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I just want to talk to you, that’s all.’
‘Have you told anyone?’
‘Sit down, for Christ’s sake.’
He didn’t seem too steady as he stepped away from the door and lowered himself to the ground in the middle of the den, and as he sat there – cross-legged, swaying slightly, his eyes staring blankly at me – I realized that he wasn’t just shocked and confused, he was drugged to the eyeballs too. His face was pale, his skin was tense, his hands were shaking. He was drenched in sweat and his eyes were black and hollow. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked him. ‘You don’t look so good.’
‘What do you care?’
‘How long have you been taking it?’
‘What?’
‘Juice, TCI… the stuff you put in the tequila.’
‘You know about that?’
I nodded.
He grinned. ‘What d’you think? D’you like it? I got some more if –’
‘Why did you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Spike the tequila. I mean, why didn’t you just ask us if we wanted to try TCI?’
Pauly laughed. ‘You’re all too chicken to try stuff like that. You’re all too fucking clean.’ He grinned again. ‘And, anyway, my way was more fun.’
‘Fun?’
‘Yeah… fun.’ He stared at me. ‘You know what that is?’
‘Are you having fun now?’ I asked him.
He shrugged and looked away.
I said, ‘You know the police are looking for you, don’t you?’
‘So?’
‘You can’t hide for ever.’
He looked at me, smiling strangely. ‘You reckon?’
‘They’re going to find you –’
‘They don’t know anything. They can’t prove anything…’
I didn’t say anything, I just sat there watching him as he tried to maintain his Paulyness – Pauly the tough guy, Pauly the joker, Pauly the kid without a care in the world. But he couldn’t do it any more. His face was twitching, his lips were trembling, his eyes were out of control – he was falling apart.
‘What did Eric tell you?’ he said suddenly, staring wide-eyed at me. ‘Did he say it was me? Is that what he said?’ He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t just me… did he say it was me?’
‘Why don’t you just tell me what happened?’ I said quietly, trying to calm him down.
‘Are you going to tell? Are you?’ He was jabbering now. ‘What did Eric say? Has he told the police –?’
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘All I want to do is find out if Raymond had anything to do with it. I’m not trying to grass you up or anything. I just want to know about Raymond.’
Pauly frowned. ‘What’s Raymond got to do with it?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’
‘Did Eric say Raymond was there?’
‘No, but I don’t think Eric was telling the truth about everything.’ I looked at Pauly. ‘I think he’s trying to blame it all on you.’
‘No,’ Pauly said desperately, shaking his head again. ‘It wasn’t just me… it was Eric and Wes. I mean, it was their thing. Not mine. It was them and Stella. I didn’t even know what they were doing.’ He looked pleadingly at me. ‘It was an accident anyway… it wasn’t my fault. If Stella hadn’t… if she hadn’t…’
He was crying now.
‘Pauly?’ I said quietly.
He sniffed hard and looked at me. ‘It was her fault… all of it. It was Stella who started everything.’
‘What do you mean? How did she start everything?’
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and looked at me with a snot-covered grin. ‘You really want to know the truth?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You promise not to tell anyone?’
‘I promise.’
‘Cross your heart?’
I crossed my heart. ‘Hope to die.’
Pauly stared at me for a moment, his sunken eyes moist with tears, then he wiped his nose again, looked down at the ground, and started talking.
Twenty-seven
Saturday night. It’s late, around midnight, but the fairground is still busy. The walkways are crowded, the lights are flashing, the lunatic music is still blaring out. Two boys are sitting on a wooden bench set back in a little gap between a burger kiosk and a row of litter-filled oil drums. While one of them just sits there looking lost and confused, the other one gets up from the bench and starts hurrying across the fairground walkway, his spaced-out eyes searching frantically for two other boys. Where are they? Where did they go? What are they doing together?
Pauly has to know.
He needs to know.
Why?
Because Wes Campbell shouldn’t be with Eric, that’s why. Wes Campbell should be with Pauly. Wes and Eric don’t belong together. It’s just not right. It’s wrong. It’s unfair.
Pauly doesn’t know why he feels like this, and he doesn’t want to know either. All he knows is that he has to do something about it.
So he pushes his way through the crowds, and he marches into the square of shadowed ground by the Portaloos, and then he pauses for a moment, looking around. He sees the fairground lorries and the chugging generators, he sees the thick black cables snaking across the littered ground, he sees the hard and empty hooded faces slouching around in the darkness… but he doesn’t see Eric or Wes. He starts walking again, heading towards the park rai
lings and the dimly lit street beyond. Pauly knows there’s a gate there, a gate that leads out to the street. And his pace quickens. He’s running now – round the back of a high-sided lorry, down to the railings, through the gate, into the street… and he pauses again, looking left, looking right, up the road, down the road, across the road… and then he sees them. They’re on the other side of the road, away to his right, about twenty metres away. They’re getting into a car. A Ford Focus. The doors are open, the interior light glowing faintly. Pauly can see Wes Campbell getting into the driver’s seat. He can see Eric standing by the open passenger door. And at the back of the car, leaning casually against the open door and saying something to Eric, he can see Stella Ross.
She’s smiling, laughing, ruffling Eric’s hair.
Eric shrugs her hand away.
She laughs again.
Pauly stares at her for a moment, thinking of all the secret times he’s stared at her on the Internet… then he blanks those images out of his head and starts running again.
‘Hey, Eric!’ he shouts. ‘Eric! It’s me…’
The three figures at the car all turn and look at him. They see him running towards them, crossing the road, yelling and waving – ‘Hold on, Eric… wait a minute, wait for me!’
Wes Campbell says, ‘Shit… what’s that little fucker doing here? Quick, get in the car.’
Eric and Stella start clambering into the car, slamming the doors shut, yelling at Wes to get going, but Pauly’s almost there now, and Wes has just realized what that means.
‘Come on, Wes!’ urges Eric. ‘Start the car!’
Wes shakes his head. ‘There’s no point. He’s seen us now. If we leave him behind he’s going to talk.’
‘We can’t take him with us.’
‘What else are we going to do?’
‘Shit,’ says Eric, glaring at Pauly as he runs up and stops at the car. ‘You stupid bastard,’ he mouths through the window at him.
‘What?’ says Pauly, grinning at Stella.
Stella looks back at him, her face screwed up in disgust. ‘What’s that?’ she says, as if Pauly’s some kind of walking disease.
‘It’s Pauly,’ says Eric. ‘Pauly Gilpin. He was at school with us, remember?’
Stella shakes her head, grimacing.