The Norway Room (10 page)

Ashley rose from the table.

‘What you want? Where you going?' It was the one in the suit.

‘For a piss.'

The man nodded and returned to the game. On the landing Ashley peered down the stairs to the shop below. Three sets of legs. People sitting waiting for their orders. There was no sign of Mrs Wei so he bolted down the stairs. She was behind the counter with the pregnant girl. Some customers were standing at the counter, he tried to make himself small as he dodged behind them, but she saw him. Called something. Maybe his name. Maybe something else. But he was away, out of the door, and into the Pooch. The cold air hit his face like another blow, perhaps the worst so far. He raced down the road towards Walton Tower.

18

‘What happened to you?'

‘Fell over.'

‘Fuck off. You've been belted.' Tyr had followed Sophie to the door and was talking to Ashley over her shoulder. ‘Who hit you?'

‘Leave it, Ty.' Sophie made way for Ashley.

‘Is your mom in?'

‘No, she's doing a party. With her mate. An Ann Summers.'

Ashley followed Sophie into the lounge. Tyr followed Ashley, sat down on the settee beside Sophie, put his arm round her.

‘You been to the hospital?'

Ashley stood before them like an exhibit. ‘Yeah.'

‘And?'

‘Broken nose.'

Tyr laughed. ‘You don't 'alf look pretty.'

‘Leave him alone.'

Ashley felt awkward just standing there between them. He wished Tyr wasn't there. This would be easier then. ‘I'm in trouble. I can't go home tonight. Probably never. My dad never paid the mortgage. They've taken the house back.'

‘And they whacked you in the face while they did it?'

Ashley ignored Tyr's mockery and appealed directly to Sophie. ‘Do you think your mom would let me stay here, just for a bit? I could pay for my food. And I could get stuff for her. You know. Like I got her the purse. I'd only be here to sleep.'

‘There's no fucking chance of that, Ash. Sorry. She just wouldn't.' Sophie thought. ‘You got nowhere to go tonight?'

‘No.'

‘Well you can stay tonight. She won't be back till late. And she'll be gone by eight in the morning. So I can hide you here tonight. But just for tonight.'

‘Ta, Soph.'

It was the dream that woke Ashley. He was being pulled towards a furnace. A furnace with glass doors like an oven. Closer and closer. Hotter and hotter. He couldn't get away. His face was almost touching the glass. The heat was suffocating. He summoned all his strength to jerk away – woke. Breathless. His face was burning up. His nose throbbing. He tasted blood.

He was curled up under the clothes hanging in Sophie's wardrobe, an eiderdown around him. The mirrored door of the fitted wardrobe had been left open a little –
Don't want you to suffocate, Ash
. He could just make out the shape of Sophie's bed in the darkness of the room. He listened for her breathing, but heard nothing. What if she was dead? He'd get the blame.

She could say he had tried to rape her.

She wouldn't do that.

She might.

What the fuck was he going to do when daylight came?

Perhaps they would be searching for him. To kill him.

They wouldn't.

They might.

What he'd say is, kill the kid. Shoot him
.

The cold air made his nose start to hurt again. But just an ache this time. Perhaps it was getting better. There was snow in the air. Light flakes dancing like dandruff.
Is it frost or is it snow, that's what the jackdaw wants to know.
The words of a reading book from his first year in school came back to him. He saw again the picture of the big black bird looking from the branch of a tree at the white land below. The words were printed beneath. He remembered the way the teacher used to sing them out, and then all the kids would do the same. How they sat in a circle on the floor every afternoon for story time; he used to love that.

The streetlights were still on. Ashley made for Kinny Park. Slowly. There was plenty of time. Kids had thrown bricks into the lake creating pools of black water. A pair of ducks swam slowly in one. Like the hands of a clock. The falling snow seemed to disappear about a foot above the ice, just dissolve into thin air – magic. Ashley watched the ducks. Smoked a cigarette. Tried to make a question mark. Tried to make some plans, decide what to do. He looked at the cold water, black, and thick as paint. Half an inch of ice. He could always jump in. Shit. No. He laughed. How could people do that? Or jump off high-rises. No way.

He recalled the story of Jimmy Simper who his dad had gone to school with. He had been a good boxer. Turned professional and everything. Then something went wrong with his eyes and he couldn't box no more. He got married and his missis cleared off after he had to do some time. He killed himself. Off the top of Vaughan Williams where his mom lived. But the weird thing was before he jumped he took his glasses off, and his jacket. Left them in a neat little pile by the roof guard before he went over it.

Ashley touched his nose. It was hot. He touched his cheek, cold. He noticed blood on his trainer, gobbed on it, and wiped it against the back of his calf, checked, some still there, gobbed again, wiped again. Gone.

He was late. Ashley feared he'd been cheated, taken for a pratt. He wasn't coming; he'd been done. But then: ten minutes late but there he was coming out of the playing field, over Kinny Bridge and along the towpath. Ashley moved towards him.

‘Shit,' he said when he saw Ashley's face. ‘Who you upset?'

He carried on walking. Ashley fell into step beside him. ‘Who d'you think?'

‘The dogs?'

‘Course.' Ashley scoffed. ‘What d'you expect?'

‘Bin to the hospital?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Broken?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Oh well, it doesn't hurt for long.'

‘You got my wages?'

‘Sure have. Up here.'

When they reached the wharf steps that led on to the Mendy, Knighton stopped and pulled a wad of notes from the back pocket of his jeans. Ashley sighed his relief. He knew the man might try to cheat him when he hadn't paid him at the handover. Ashley had walked the dogs back to Knighton's place with him, then once they were penned, ‘Can't pay you today. I'll see you Thursday. At the canal. Usual time.'

‘Right. Three dogs at twenty quid a dog.'

‘Fifty. You said fifty a dog.'

‘I don't think so.' Knighton was laughing.

‘You did. You did. Fifty each you said. I've been kicked to fuck over them dogs.' He pulled the jerkin of his hoodie up, revealing his blackened ribs.

‘All right, kid. All right. Don't get excited. Just testing. You know. Business. We'll call it eighty for the three and we're in business.'

‘I can tell him where they are.'

‘Your uncle?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Look, kid. You can tell who the fuck you like.' Ashley saw the snarl that came with the words, the laughter gone now. He recognised that he had no choice. Anyway, eighty was all right. He held out his hand. ‘Do you still want me to help you exercise them? Train 'em up?'

Ashley finished his breakfast. A full English with double fried bread; he'd been starving. He tried to think straight. He couldn't stay at Sophie's. He'd texted Karl twice but received no reply. He thought about a train – to London. There were hostels there. Hundreds of kids ended up there. No one bothered. No one checked. But he didn't want to do that. Not really. He thought about his bedroom. He wanted to sleep there, not in a hostel. He wanted to stay here where he knew people, where he knew his way around.

He could just go back to Cecil Road, act as if nothing had happened. No. That was stupid. His stomach turned as he recalled Kieran's words –
What he'd say is, kill the kid. Shoot him. Drop him on the railway. Tie him up and dump him in the canal. That's what he would say, Ash. Not a shadow of a doubt
. But it was more the look on his face. That was as bad as the words. Just saying it like it is. Dead eyes. Turned off: you have to do what you have to do.

He was in the shit.

Kieran wouldn't really do that.

He might.

Crawford wouldn't order that.

He might.

So?

The only answer he could see was to call Kieran and say he was sorry. Say he wanted to go back home. Promise he wouldn't cause any more problems. Briefly – very briefly – the thought passed through his mind that he might try to use their own tricks – threaten to go to the police if they didn't let him live in his own house. But no, that was stupid. That way he could end up dead.

The woman he'd heard the lorry drivers and workmen at the other tables call Maureen came across to him. ‘You finished, Bab?' She was Irish and he liked her calling him
Bab
. It was what Mel called Sophie sometimes.

‘Yes, ta.'

She lifted his plate. ‘You've cleaned this.'

‘I was hungry. Can I have another Nescafe?'

‘I'll bring it over.'

When the coffee arrived Ashley phoned Kieran. ‘I'm sorry, Key. Really, I am.' He waited. Nothing. ‘I just couldn't stay there. It spooked me. I haven't said anything to anyone, honest. I wouldn't.'

‘Where did you go last night?' He couldn't work out Kieran's tone of voice.

‘I stayed at that girl's. Sophie. She hid me in her wardrobe.' He heard Kieran laugh. It was going to be all right.

But now, walking back. The fear. He could walk through the front door, and that could be it. He remembered the gun in the Chinese bloke's hand. And they were funny these Chinese. Perhaps he had insulted his mother by running away. His mother and his nan. Ashley had heard about honour killings, seen them in Kung Fu films. They were big on honour, the Chinese. Shit. He stopped on Rea Bridge and lit up. Looked down into the treacly brown river making its sickly way through the litter that had been dumped in it. Tyres. A fridge. Branches that had broken off the trees. There used to be a car door just over there. Ashley wondered where it had gone.

He tried to formulate some sort of plan. He went through all the people he knew, but couldn't come up with anyone who could help him. There was nothing else for it. Just go back, see what happened. And with that he was filled with optimism. Everything would be all right. No problem.

He half expected the locks to have been changed again. But no. And when he gingerly entered the house there was no one waiting with a gun. Everything the same – except cleaner. Tidier anyway. No cups and plates in the sink. No teabags on the side. Bin empty. Upstairs his bed was made, his clothes picked up and folded on the chair. The locked rooms were still locked. Someone had put disinfectant down the toilet. It was weird. Ashley looked around. He still was expecting something bad to happen. But when he switched on the lights, they came on. The telly too. There were some cans of lager in the fridge, a sachet of weed in a drawer.

He sat down. Stood up. Sat down stood up. Looked out the kitchen window. This wasn't right. The place was spooky. Dangerous. He went through the numbers in his phone – no one to ring. He went to bed even though it was still only afternoon.

The next day nothing. He watched telly, smoked some weed, drank a can of lager from the fridge, bought a pizza and a Cornish pasty, a carton of milk and some cocoa, made three cups, bought some biscuits, custard creams, ate them dunked in cocoa. Tiptoed round. Kept thinking something might happen. Then decided – it wouldn't. Everything was all right.

The next day he got a text from Kieran.
Hope your behaving yourself. K.

Then one from Sophie.
Meet me by the funni shop at 2. So
.

The Funny Shop was Sophie's name for it. On the Pershore Road. An old-fashioned shop that had a variety of items in its window. In one, piles of wool for knitters; pastel colours mostly. Some cheap cups and saucers; plain white mostly, but dusty. Ornaments, like dancing ladies and Tutankhamuns. Aston Villa mugs. Some paintings in gold frames; landscapes mostly. The other window had a notice in it saying
Discounts
, and the goods here changed regularly. Sometimes a pyramid of tinned cat food, or a tower of boxes of biscuits; today there was cleaning stuff, for kitchens and bathrooms, and a box filled with flip-flops for fifty pence a pair.

Her bus had been early and Sophie was standing looking into the window of the Funny Shop when Ashley arrived. Turning the corner and seeing her side-on, she looked pregnant to him now for the first time. He wanted to surprise her but she saw him before he reached her. ‘Look at this.' She moved to the wool window. ‘That's a cuckoo clock, isn't it?'

‘Think so.'

‘I've never seen a real one before. You got any money?'

‘Yeah. A bit.'

‘I've had me dinner, but I'm still hungry. Can't stop. Hungry all the time.'

They went to Mr Sizzle on Burnside Hill. Cheeseburgers and chips and mugs of hot chocolate.

‘You got me into a right mental with Mel.'

Ashley wiped his fist across his mouth, examined the grease on it, licked it, and waited for her to explain.

‘I had to tell her about the other night.'

He waited for more.

‘There was blood on things. In the wardrobe. Tops and stuff. Must have come from your nose. Mel thought it was me. Thought I was trying to get rid of the baby. I had to explain.'

Ashley wiped his fist on his trackies. Waited for more.

‘She was all right. Didn't believe me at first. Was a right old cow. But in the end she was cool.'

Ashley opened his cigarettes. Pushed one across the table to Sophie.

‘We won't be able to do this soon.'

‘We're in the smoking.' He indicated the ashtrays.

‘They're banning it.'

‘What, smoking? Who are?'

‘The government. In the summer.'

‘They can't.'

‘They are. Cafés. Pubs. Everywhere except your own house and outside.'

‘That's daft. They can't do that. No one will stand for it. Blokes in pubs not smoking.' He tried to imagine someone telling Kieran he couldn't smoke. Or Crawford. ‘Who says?'

‘It'll be the law.'

‘No one will put up with that. It's stupid.'

Sophie leaned across the table towards him. Rested her chin on her folded hands. She had that look on her face; she wanted something. ‘Ash. Will you do me a favour?'

‘What?'

‘It's a big one.'

‘What?'

‘I want you to come with me to the hospital. Will you?'