2nd December 2019
Morning
Michael pulled up, but the car had barely stopped when he reached over and opened the passenger door. I climbed in and he smiled at me before putting the car in gear. I didn’t know what to say to him. So I sat quietly, inhaling the smell of old cigarettes masked by a pine-scented car freshener which hung from his rear-view mirror. Leaving the pub car park, he turned right, in the direction of Holly’s.
‘Michael?’
‘I just need to see for myself.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, Neve. I just need to.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. Hastings—’
‘I don’t care about that little shit. I need to see, OK.’
I nodded, understanding. He shouldn’t want to see his best friend’s top covered in blood. And yet, I’d done exactly the same thing all those years ago when they had found Chloe’s. There was something that drew us into the tragedy. We needed it, we needed it much more than anyone would like to think.
We turned into Holly’s road and Michael slowed as we passed her house. I kept low, so he could see through my window clearly; I was hiding too. I didn’t want to fall under Hastings’ beady watch again. Or worse, I didn’t want the new DCI to see me – she was bright, and that was far scarier than anything Hastings could ever be. Keeping low in my seat, my head turned towards Michael, I watched him, and I knew when he saw the top; there was a slight flicker of his eyelid as he suppressed his reaction, and then he sped up, and sensing we were clear, I sat upright once more. I lit a cigarette for him and handed it over. Lighting another, we smoked in silence as he took a wide loop to head back in the other direction, past Holly’s road and towards his house. As he drove, I smoked and looked at the mine – no matter where we were, it was always watching. I thought about how I could get me and Dad out of this place. This wasn’t me running away from a problem anymore, this was trying to survive. I wanted to go now, but I couldn’t, not yet. Tonight, I would grab Dad, a few of his things and we would leave. I would tell Michael to do the same, because we were powerless. If the Drifter could take Holly from her own house, leaving Baz’s bloody top to taunt us, he could do anything. The village was small, no one had seen him, no one could find our friends. He could move in and around us like a ghost, and we couldn’t win. Michael might protest, he might stay, that was his choice. I needed to go.
I was relieved when we pulled into Michael’s drive on the westernmost outskirt of the village. The mine’s omnipresence was interrupted by a dip in the road and a line of mature birch trees. Michael’s house was tucked on a small lane fifty feet from the main road. It looked like it had once been a farmhouse that had seen better days. The roof had missing tiles and the window frames were of old, cracked wood that were once painted white but had faded with time. In the drive were four cars, all damaged in some way, no doubt linked to his business. They were projects for him to fix, or stock for spare parts perhaps.
I took a breath to ask something about the house – it was a far cry from the one-bed flat he grew up in with his grandparents – but before I could, Michael got out of the car and walked hastily towards his house. I grabbed the handle to follow but stopped when I heard him cry out like a wounded animal. His head was thrown back, screaming to the clouds above. Michael screamed for a few more seconds before his head dropped impossibly low. The weight of it seemed to force him to the ground. I quietly climbed out of the car and approached, unsure of how I should act, what I should say. I tentatively placed my hand on his back, and he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. I gently rubbed it.
‘Michael?’
‘Sorry. I just needed to do that.’
‘Don’t be. Shall we go inside?’
He didn’t reply but nodded and fumbled with his house keys. I took his hand in mine and slid down to take control of the keys, guiding them into the lock. He looked at me, a strange, sorry expression. I turned and opened his front door, and we stepped inside.
Leading him into the front room, I sat him on the sofa and went to find his kitchen. I flicked the kettle on to make a tea and opened the fridge to grab the milk. There were four beers. It was tempting, but I closed the fridge door. As I made the tea, I tried to keep an ear on Michael. But the house was silent. Going back into the living room, Michael hadn’t moved from where I’d sat him down.
‘Here,’ I said, handing him his tea.
‘Thanks.’
‘This place is huge,’ I said.
‘It’s a work in progress. When Granddad died, I was left with a little money and their flat. I bought this last year to renovate and then move into.’
‘So, no one will know we are here?’
‘It wouldn’t be hard to find us; this place isn’t a secret. But it is more discreet.’
I nodded.
‘Neve, I’m scared.’
‘Me too,’ I said, my hand reaching up and rubbing his back once more.
‘I thought you were gonna leave long before this point. I’m glad I’m not alone right now.’
I felt myself move in closer to Michael, my head resting upon his shoulder. I needed to tell him I was in fact going to leave, but I needed to pick my moment. I could tell he wouldn’t follow, he would stay. He reached over and put his arm around me, and I felt myself drawing closer. Michael was one of the few men to hug me since Oliver and I didn’t know how much I needed to feel comfort. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, the fear, but I wanted to be closer still. Turning to face him, I leant in and kissed him, and at first, he embraced it, but quickly pulled away and stood.
‘Neve, stop.’
‘I’m sorry, Michael, I thought…’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.’
‘Just, you and I – we can’t, Neve.’
‘No, you’re right. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK,’ he said quietly, before he sighed and flopped against the backrest of the sofa. I should have felt more embarrassed for throwing myself at him, but strangely I didn’t. ‘So, what do we do, Michael? Do you think we should leave?’ I asked tentatively, testing the waters.
‘No.’
‘But…’
‘If we leave, it would look like we are running; we would look guilty of doing something to our friends.’
‘But we haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘This time, no,’ he said, looking at me to say something that contradicted him. We had gone way beyond that.
Maybe that night, after he banged and shouted, and we fled. Maybe he stayed down there, maybe he found Chloe and saw what happened next? Maybe this wasn’t about us ruining his life. Maybe he has been waiting all this time for us to be together once more, so he could make us pay. And because that wasn’t ever going to happen, he contrived our coming together again by taking Jamie. And maybe, if I did run, he would just follow. Maybe he would hurt my dad to get to me. I wanted to survive; maybe running wasn’t the answer at all?
‘So, we just sit here?’ I asked, the walls feeling closer.
‘Yes, we stick together, we wait for the police to find him.’
‘Or him to find us.’