He ducked into the car.
Susan didn’t open her eyes. Still gripping her hand, Kane sat hunched down in
the backseat as if trying to hide from someone. As the car pulled away from the
station, it started raining.
Chapter
20
The journey passed in silence,
except for the continuous drumming of the rain on the roof. When they arrived
at Susan’s house, without a word, she got out, pulling Kane after her. Harlan
followed her into the living-room. She slumped into the armchair and closed her
eyes again. Kane stood staring at her, as if he wanted to say something, maybe
to make her feel better, or maybe to seek reassurance himself. “Mum,” he said,
with a tentative tremor. No response. He tried again. “Mum.” Still no response.
His lips quivered, his forehead tied itself into a knot. “It’s not my fault,”
he yelled, jerking around and running upstairs. A door slammed, music began to
thump against the ceiling.
Harlan lowered himself
onto the sofa and was reminded by a jolt of pain that it was time for his pills.
As he swallowed them dry, he wondered what Kane had meant: that it wasn’t his
fault he hadn’t recognised Nash’s voice, or that it wasn’t his fault Ethan had
been abducted. Either was possible. After all, he might feel a coward for not
trying to stop the kidnapper. Harlan was about to head upstairs and try to
reassure Kane that he had nothing to feel guilty about, when Susan said, “What
if Kane’s right? What if Nash isn’t the one?”
“He’s the one.”
Susan opened her eyes
and looked at Harlan with piercing intensity. “How can you be certain?”
“I can’t,” he admitted.
“All I can do is trust what the evidence and my instincts are telling me.”
Susan heaved a breath,
and a soul-destroying weariness came into her eyes as she glanced at the
ceiling. “I’d better go talk to him.”
“It’s alright. I’ll go.
Close your eyes, get some rest.”
Susan started to frown,
but she was too exhausted to inquire as to what made Harlan think Kane would
speak to him. She merely made a sound as if to say,
rest? How the hell can I
rest?
One hand pressed
against his throbbing wound, Harlan climbed the stairs and knocked on Kane’s
door. The boy’s voice rose over the music. “Go away!”
“It’s me, Harlan.”
There was a moment’s
hesitation. Then the music went off and the door opened. Kane had his wannabe
tough guy face on – a face that made him look uncannily like his father. “What
do you want?”
“Just to talk. Make
sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Why
shouldn’t I be?”
“You seemed upset.”
“Yeah I was, ’cos she,”
Kane stabbed a finger at the floor, “doesn’t believe me about that man not
being the one who took Ethan. None of you do.”
“It’s not that we don’t
believe you. It’s just that you were very scared when your brother was taken.”
Seeing a frown form on Kane’s face, Harlan added quickly, “And there’s nothing
to be ashamed of in that. Anybody would’ve been. But what you’ve got to
understand is, fear does strange things to people. It makes them see and hear
things differently.”
An angry vein popped
out on Kane’s forehead. “There’s nothin’ wrong with my hearing. It wasn’t
fuckin’ him!”
There was such
conviction in Kane’s voice that Harlan found himself almost believing him.
Almost, but not quite. Everything pointed to Nash. It had to be him. Who the
hell else could it be? He raised a placatory hand. “I didn’t come up here to
argue. I just wanted you to know that you’ve got nothing to feel bad about. You
did really well at the line-up. I’ve seen grown men fall apart at those things.
But you held it together. You should be proud of yourself.”
Kane’s tough-guy mask
slipped a little. Hesitancy replaced his anger. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
“You want to come in my
room? We could play on my Xbox.”
Harlan looked beyond
Kane. There was nowhere for him to sit comfortably except Ethan’s bed, which would’ve
been like trespassing on something sacred. His gaze moved to the damp patch
over the rain-lashed window. Water was seeping down the wall, dripping in a
steady stream into a cardboard box crammed full of plastic action-figures and
other cheap toys. “It always does that when it rains,” said Kane, following
Harlan’s line of vision.
“You’d better move that
box.” Harlan started to turn away.
“Where are you going?”
There was an anxious edge to Kane’s tone.
“To get a pan or
something to catch the drips.”
Harlan went down to the
kitchen and rooted through the cupboards until he found a large pan. As he made
to take it upstairs, Susan opened her eyes and asked, “How is he?”
“He’s okay. A little
shaken up, but okay.”
Susan glanced at the
pan. “What’s that for?” When Harlan told her, she heaved a sigh. “The roof’s
fucked. I had it fixed a couple of years back, but when it rains hard water
gets into the boys’ room.”
“Whoever fixed it
didn’t do a very good job then, did they?”
“It wasn’t the roofer’s
fault. He wanted to replace some tiles, but I couldn’t afford it. So he just
had to patch it up as best he could.”
“Have you got his
number?”
Susan shook her head.
“He was a mate of Neil’s. I can’t even remember his name.”
“Well we need to get
someone out to fix it, otherwise Kane’s going to end up with pneumonia.”
Susan’s breath came
with a tremor through her nostrils. She tugged at her hair as if trying to
uproot it. “Oh Christ, I can’t handle this. Not now.”
“You don’t have to.
I’ll sort it out. You got a Yellow Pages?”
“I think there’s one
somewhere around here.” Susan’s gaze skimmed over the piles of missing-person
posters.
“I’ll take this up to
Kane while you look for it.”
When Harlan got upstairs,
Kane had dragged the box away from the wall, exposing a patch of black fungal
mush where once there’d been plaster. Harlan placed the pan under the drip. It
began to fill slowly but surely. “We need something bigger. That’ll be
overflowing in no time. Can you think of anything we could–” He broke off as he
turned and saw Kane’s face. The mask had fallen away completely, revealing the
fear that lurked behind it.
“He looked at me.”
Tears hovered in Kane’s voice. “At the police station, that man Mum went for,
he looked at me, and I looked at him, and, and…” He trailed off, trying to
choke back the tears now forming in his eyes, lowering his head as if he was
ashamed.
Harlan put his hands on
Kane’s shoulders. The boy tensed a little, but didn’t pull away. “Look at me,
Kane.” Kane reluctantly met his eyes. “You don’t need to worry about him. He
won’t ever be able to hurt you. They’re going to put him in prison and never
let him out.”
“What if he escapes?”
“He won’t. They’ll lock
him away in the deepest darkest hole they’ve got. Do you hear?”
Kane nodded. Some, but
not all, of the fear left his eyes. Harlan squeezed his shoulders. “Good. Now
keep an eye on that pan.” He returned to Susan, who was in the kitchen, making
tea. She pointed to a Yellow Pages on the table. He flicked through it, phoning
roofers until he found one willing to come as soon as it stopped raining. Susan
handed him a mug. It felt heavy as a rock as he lifted it to his lips. “I think
I need to lie down.”
“What you need is
something to eat. Get yourself on the sofa and I’ll bring you a sandwich.”
Harlan went through to
the living-room and slumped onto the sofa. He was asleep within seconds. When
he awoke, there was a sandwich waiting for him on the arm of the sofa. As he
took a bite, his attention was drawn to the window by the clatter of a ladder
outside. He rose and peered between the curtains. It’d stopped raining. A pair
of workmen’s boots disappeared up the ladder. “They came while you were
sleeping,” said Susan, entering the room and sitting down.
Harlan returned to the
sofa and finished his sandwich. There was a knock. Raising a hand to indicate
Susan should stay put, Harlan answered the door. “Alright, mate,” said a
rugged-faced man. “I’ve had a look at your roof and someone’s done a right
bodge job. They’ve slapped a load of bitumen over your busted slates. I ain’t
got nothin’ with me to fix it properly today, but I can put another coat of
bitumen on it. That’ll keep you dry for a few days, until I can get back.”
Harlan glanced inquiringly
at Susan. She nodded, and he said to the roofer, “Do it.”
Harlan sat listening to
the roofer working and Susan busying herself in the kitchen, and trying not to
listen to the remorseless ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. The faint acrid
smell of bitumen mingled with the scent of whatever Susan was cooking, making
him feel a touch queasy. Tick, tick, tick. The clock seemed to be getting
louder with every passing second. The sound of it got inside him, reverberating
along his bones, echoing in his skull. How much longer? How much longer would
Nash hold out? How much longer could Ethan survive? Tick, tick, tick. Even in
his weakened state, he fidgeted restlessly. He wanted to do something, even if
that something was only scouring the streets for Ethan or handing out leaflets.
But he knew he didn’t have the strength for it. All he had the strength to do
was sit and wait and listen. Tick, tick, tick…
His mobile phone rang.
He snatched it out. A number he didn’t recognise flashed up. Heart hammering,
he answered it. “Mr Harlan Miller?” said an unfamiliar male voice.
“Yes.”
“My name’s Guy Farrell
of C and G Solicitors. I’m calling on behalf of Jamie Sutton’s–”
“Get off the fucking
line, and don’t tie this phone up again. You hear?” Without waiting for a
reply, Harlan hung up.
“Who was that?” asked
Susan, poking her worry-lined face into the room.
“No one important.”
Harlan closed his eyes,
massaging his temples. The details of Ethan’s abduction and everything that’d
happened since reeled through his brain, like a movie on endless repeat.
Occasionally he pressed pause to examine some minutiae or other, trying to
figure out if it was the piece that would solve the puzzle. The piece that
would deliver Ethan to him. But the solution remained maddeningly elusive. He
felt as helpless and impotent as when Tom died. It made him want to shout, to
scream, to weep. Tick, tick, tick. His fingers dug painfully into his temples.
His eyes snapped open at a knock on the front door. He rose to answer it.
“All done,” said the
roofer. He started to bang on about prices and materials, but his words barely
registered on Harlan’s brain. He just kept nodding, until the man turned and
got into his van.
Susan called Harlan and
Kane to the kitchen. Relieved to get away from the clock, Harlan mechanically
shovelled pasta down his throat without tasting it. Kane ate as if he were in a
trance. He answered with only the slightest of nods when Harlan asked if he’d
emptied out the pan. Once his plate was empty, he rose without asking
permission to leave the table, and returned upstairs. Susan didn’t seem to
notice, or if she did, she didn’t seem to care. She wiped and re-wiped the
work-surfaces, rubbing almost frantically at invisible stains. Harlan watched
her, knowing what was coming. She stopped suddenly, and her head dropped onto
her arms on the work-surface. Her shoulders quaked in time to her muffled sobs.
Harlan rose and put his hand on her back. He didn’t say anything. He just stood
there, willing her the strength to go on. Her head jerked up at a knock on the
door.
“I’ll go see who it
is,” said Harlan. Peering through the living-room curtains, he saw the
dishevelled figure of Neil. “Persistent son-of-a-bitch,” he murmured, with a
wry smile of appreciation.
“Who is it?” Susan
hissed from the opposite doorway.
Before Harlan could
say, Neil’s voice rang out as if in answer. “Susan, it’s me. I know you’re in
there and…and I know you still have feelings for me. If I’m wrong, tell me and
I’ll leave you alone.”
No you won’t
,
thought Harlan.
“Please, Susan. I just
want to talk. Just give me five minutes. Five minutes for everything we’ve been
through together. That’s all I ask.”
Susan moved slowly
towards the door, as if Neil’s words were reeling her in.
“I told you I won’t give
up on us. Not until you–” Neil broke off as Susan opened the door. His mouth
worked silently, as if all the words he wanted to say to her were blocking each
other’s way in their desperation to get out. “T…thank you,” he managed to
stammer. The look of almost pathetic gratitude written across his face faded as
he noticed Harlan. In its place, jealousy vied with nervous hostility. “What’s
he
doing here?”
“He’s stopping me from
going out of my fucking mind, that’s what,” Susan said sharply. “Actually, you
know what, to hell with this.” She started to shut the door, but Neil jammed
his foot against it.
“I’m sorry, Susie. It’s
just that I was surprised to see him. I didn’t think you’d ever let him in your
house.”