9781838599911

Also by the author

Season of Sid

Wacko Hacko

A Fistful of Dust

Seventeen Gifts for Frannie and Jess

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 9781838599911

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Attacker contacts girls to apologise for attack –

but she still swears revenge on them.

Not caught yet.

No CCTV.

Little big fish swimming in the water,

Come back here and give me my daughter.

One

Laura Danes, and her mother Sheila, spent the afternoon taking all the mirrors off the walls, the shelves, the dressing table and out of the bathroom until there was barely a reflection in the house. Laura had demanded it, sitting in her bedroom all morning in tears; something she hadn’t done since the day of the attack. The weeping appeared to come all at once, almost three months later. A flood so deep and long-lasting that Laura thought it would never stop. The pool of liquid on the carpet got so big that she bent down, cut a fresh tissue into four pieces and made two eyes, a nose and a smiley mouth. A happy face looking up at her. Intact, whole and permanent. No longer. She eased the sole of her shoe into the ‘mouth’ and turned it upside down.

It took at least five hours to clear the house of the ‘new truth’, as Laura called it. Most of the mirrors ended up in the back garden, ready to be dumped – or in the cellar, or in the attic – but the main thing, in Laura’s eyes, was that they were gone and she could breathe again, if only for a little while, until the next flashback, memory or vivid burning sensation swarmed across her body and mind, reminding her that her life and existence would never be the same again.

But the glass could not break her will anymore. It was gone and she had to try to put those early, grisly reflections, a few days after the attack, behind her. Narrow eyes, white scarring, saggy cheeks and the widest of mouths. The nose appeared to be gone too – with a permanent smell of sizzling flames and toxic fumes. It was the face of an old woman. Lost and forgotten, from a tribe that still believed in the punishment of the female race. So did the gang. At least, that’s what Laura felt. They had done it on purpose but she still didn’t know why. Their four faces surrounded hers in early-morning dreams. They were hard to dislodge but easy to access.

The fish-shaped mirror was also easy to access but joined the glass pyre, despite it being one of Laura’s favourites. Mother and daughter didn’t look at each other when that one was dispatched from the dressing table. Laura’s hair-colour roulette, faint eyeliner and the music of Polly Jean had always given her solace before the short walk to university. Not now. The degree felt a lifetime away. She wondered if she had been a student at all.

But she had. For three years that now felt like three seconds. Hazy memories that were hard to recall and ever harder to retain. A blowtorch of cheap drinks, tipsy dancing, stray files and clicking of pens. All gone in a flash. Of light and flames that ignited too much, too little, or not at all. Lecturers’ faces dropping when they see her. Students likewise. Her aim had been to go to the National Film and Television School and study film seriously so she could, perhaps, one day, launch her own production company, or make documentaries or, with even more luck, raise the funding for a feature film. But who’d take her now, looking like this? Gazing out of the window, with partial vision, wasn’t a recipe for a life behind the camera. The finished film would have black holes in it everywhere.

Finally, Sheila finished her ‘work’ and came into Laura’s bedroom. She sat down by her side and looked down at her. She picked up a tissue and noticed a tiny bit of scar had opened up on the side of her face. She moved forward and softly applied the tissue onto Laura’s missing eyebrow and down below to her cheek.

‘More laser treatment needed, my love,’ said Sheila, checking the tissue repeatedly for blood and mucus. ‘It’ll give you a lift, bring back a bit of confidence.’

‘Don’t want to go through that again. Even the goggles hurt.’

‘Oh, come on, Laura, don’t talk like that,’ said Sheila, with a sigh. ‘I think it’s the police not catching those animals that’s made you feel like this. If they’d done their job, you could get on with your life but as it is…’ She put down the tissue on the bedside table and picked up another one. ‘You can’t move on and put any of it behind you. I know it’s difficult but you have try, my darling, you have to try.’

Laura moved away from the slightly stinging nature of the tissue and lay down on her side, looking out of the window again.

‘Not the police’s the fault the CCTV isn’t an all-seeing eye,’ said Laura. ‘Unlit area, close to midnight, the gang knew what they were doing, they knew where the traps were.’

‘Maybe not, but I still expected more of them. Random attack in a small market town like this? They should have got their act together.’

‘Too many to deal with across the country, I suppose. London’s been a hotbed but there’s loads in other town and cities. I read about some of the victims’ stories on a few websites. They offered me a bit of comfort.’

Sheila stopped attending to her daughter and looked concerned. ‘Oh Laura, what are you looking at those terrible things for? Those stories’ll never do you any good. They’ll just make you think of that terrible night again. You don’t want that, do you?’ Sheila moved closer to her daughter and kissed her on the cheek. ‘And anyway, I’ve got rid of all those terrible mirrors now so we don’t have to worry anymore.’ She looked at the blisters on her hand. ‘Wish your dad was here to help, though.’

‘I do too. I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately.’

Sheila got up from the bed and stood upright. She joined her daughter in looking out of the window, with her hands on her hips and a mild shake of the head.

‘Well, we have got his anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks.’ She paused and walked forward towards the window ledge, running her finger over a framed picture of Michael Danes, standing outside the secondary school he loved on a sweltering last day of term. Pupils are doing star jumps around him, some swinging their ties over their heads. ‘If he could see you now, I think he’d get you to snap out of it quicker than me.’

‘It’s a life sentence, Mum, I can’t snap out of anything.’

She glanced at her daughter again. ‘You know what I mean, Laura. We do things. We’re a family who can’t and don’t feel sorry for ourselves. I’m a carer, your dad was a drama teacher and you’re a budding film-maker, we always get on with our lives and make things happen.’

‘Well, nothing’s going to happen for me now.’ said Laura.

‘Oh, my love, please!’ Sheila moved towards her daughter again. She took her hand in hers and kissed it. ‘Don’t talk like that. You are my strength and my world and you mean everything to me. You still have your whole life ahead of you and let no one else tell you any different. No one.’

Laura paused and glanced at her mother – and then out of the window again.

‘Thanks for getting rid of all those mirrors, mum,’ she said, turning onto her other side. ‘It’s a pity we can’t do anything about the reflections in the windows.’

Laura glanced at her mother as she sang along to David Essex Hold Me Close while driving her to her appointment at Stoke Mandeville burns unit. She wondered how much she missed her husband. Was her loss greater than Laura’s? Was the loss of a life equal to a disfigurement? Michael Danes might have the answer. He could have held Laura’s hand now. A father could have told her why those boys did it. He would have demanded more action. Mothers care, love and nurture. Father’s demand. She needed his presence now. If only to feel the joy of a mother and father singing in union to an eighties song. Her dad was always memorable for that, even if he was off key and out of tune.

The early-morning parking was tight and congested. Laura had been fine on the journey up here – despite its winding roads and tight bends – but now with the engine whirring and Sheila waiting to park in a vacated space, the fumes from the exhaust and the grinding sound of the car affected her within seconds. A smell of burning fizzed up her nose and a tearing, ripping sensation cut into her face as if parts of her skin were going to fall off. She grabbed her mother’s arm, who was still singing, and tried to keep her head still but it began to tremble and shake. Sheila looked at her – and immediately put her arm round her daughter but she knew what was to come, and the only way around it was to hug her and keep her close. A panic attack now had to be averted. There had been a number of them since the attack – Sheila had lost count – but this one, so close to the hospital walls was unwelcome and insidious. The place of support and comfort was barely yards away.

‘Just hold on, Laura,’ said Sheila, easing her daughter’s head onto her shoulder. ‘You’ll be all right. The engine’s turning off any second now. The man’s just moving his car now.’

‘But I can’t see, mum. I can’t see anything.’

Sheila sighed and looked beyond Laura at the ambulance’s lined up outside the main entrance. ‘Just a few moments now. Ride it out…’

Laura put her palms over her eyes. ‘It’s like I can see them again. Those boys. Their eyes, their clothes, their jeans, their trainers.’

‘No Laura, you can’t see them. They’re not important, forget about them.’

‘I can feel the liquid pouring over my scalp.’

‘No, no Laura, it’s just a panic attack, ride it out my love.’

‘I can’t breathe.’

Sheila Danes felt her own heart thumping so hard that she missed grabbing the steering wheel with her hand as the parking space emptied. She eased across, back into the driver’s seat, and haphazardly parked the car into the space. She turned the engine off immediately.

‘There, my love, it’s all better now. No more fumes, all gone.’ She moved across to her daughter again and hugged her tight. ‘Let’s just take a few minutes here, and then we’ll be ready to go into the hospital for your appointment. Just breathe deeply and everything will be back to normal again. Everything.’

‘But I don’t want to go into the hospital.’

‘But you must go in and see the specialist, Laura. He’s looking after you. He’s making you better.’

‘But I don’t feel better.’

‘It’ll take time. Let’s not miss this appointment, hey?’

Laura glanced up her mother’s face and deliberately rubbed her jagged, scar-ridden cheek against her soft, supple skin. It gave her comfort as she tried to ease the anxiety, the ringing of the ears, the trembling and the dizziness. But it didn’t work. A fireball of vertigo almost split her head open and made her think the car was about to fall off a mountainous slope.

‘No mum, I can’t do it!’ said Laura, in a louder voice, grabbing her ears as if she was trying to cool them down. ‘I want to go home. Cancel the appointment. I don’t want to talk to anyone like this. I can’t!’

‘Oh come, give it a few minutes, we’re here now.’

‘NO!’

Sheila looked at her daughter and nodded. She held her for a few minutes and wondered how things would pan out if this was the state of things to come. What if this happened every time she came to hospital? Or if the car engine ran for too long? She carried a small sense of pride that she had been strong for her daughter since the attack happened – and she would continue to be there for her, absolutely and unconditionally – but fear had crept up on her today, right now, by stealth and without warning, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

‘Okay my love,’ she said, taking out her mobile phone. ‘I’m calling the ward now. We don’t have to go. Just rest here while I call the doctor. I hope I can get him on the line.’

Laura nodded and leaned back in her seat, suddenly breathing better as her mother tapped in the number.

‘Thank you, mum, I love you…’

‘Love you too.’

‘I’m falling asleep though…’

‘Doesn’t matter. We’ll be home soon…’

Laura paused and tilted her head to the side. ‘Might not want to leave the house ever again.’

Sheila Danes smiled at her daughter and shook her head. She spoke into the phone while watching her daughter sleep almost immediately. The love she had for her since the day she was born had never felt stronger than it did now. If Laura didn’t want to do anything, then so be it. She had suffered more in three months than her mother had in a lifetime. She could go her own way.

Housebound or as free as a bird. The choice was hers.

Laura only slept for ten minutes – but still she felt better. The hospital felt like a lifetime away. As the car meandered across the Buckinghamshire countryside, Laura glanced out of the window and felt the golden rays of the sun on her forehead, replenishing and revitalising her, bringing her closer to nature and the green fields, improving her scent, caressing and soothing her eyes. She imagined the mass swathes of the sandy valleys, hills and mounds being ripe for her camera, shooting on location, taking a crew out on the adventure of their lives, having a picnic. It would be a monumental undertaking. Script, actors, equipment and crew. And she could be the director.

The car swerved slightly to avoid a fallen branch – and Laura had to snap out of these vivid, but intimidating, thoughts. She was slightly annoyed that her mother put the brakes on so forcefully – but remembered she would have been in a hospital waiting room by now if it wasn’t for her. She looked across at Sheila, who had slowed down appreciably in case another hazard emerged in the narrow road in front of her.

‘How many are coming for dad’s anniversary then?’ she said, wiping some sweat off her forehead. ‘Not sure I want to see my friends for that kind of thing yet. I’m not ready.’

‘Well, they’ve sent you cards, messages and visited you in hospital so being in our house won’t make any difference,’ said Sheila, keeping her eyes firmly on the road. ‘You need to see your friends at some time, Laura, you can’t just lock yourself up inside and let them have all the fun. They miss you – and are always asking to come around. I always say no because I want to wait until you’re ready.’ She looked across at her daughter. ‘But I don’t know when that will be. To be honest, that panic attack scared me. I thought we might have got over that now.’

‘I’ll never get over it.’ Laura moved forward and opened the glove compartment. She browsed through her mum’s CDs: Bonnie Tyler, The Human League, Eurythmics and Sister Sledge. ‘Only Sophie for now, mum, I can’t face the others. Baby steps and all that.’

‘But I told some of the others they can come. We’re performing one of your father’s plays. They can’t wait to get their teeth into one of his stories.’

‘One of many. Unpublished and unmade. Story of an artists’ life.’

Sheila sighed and looked at her daughter. ‘Oh, Laura, please don’t get caught up in all that. I don’t want anyone to pity us. Terrible things happen and we have to deal with it. Our strength and resolve will always get us through.’

‘Still don’t want to see my other friends yet, though…’

‘But Sophie’s okay?’

‘Yes…’

‘Because you were with her earlier that night?’

‘Maybe…’

‘I think she still blames herself.’

‘Well, that’s just stupid. I only got out my mobile and took her call.’

‘But if the call hadn’t happened…’

‘Oh mum, I don’t want to talk about this now, I just want to go home and sleep.’

Shelia nodded and started to drive a little faster.

‘Do you want a bit of medication before you rest?’ she said. ‘Might help with the anxiety.’

‘Not the anti-depressants you had after dad died. They made you look a wreck.’ Laura smiled. ‘Don’t you think I look bad enough?’

Sheila laughed and raised her index finger in a circle motion around her face. ‘And that’s why you’re so beautiful, darling, because of this…’

‘You would be if you had better taste in music!’

Laura bent forward and put the Human League CD in the stereo. She scrolled forward to a certain track and leaned back in her seat. Together in Electric Dreams oozed crisply out of the speakers and mother and daughter sang along to every word.

Laura looked out of the window again and felt the sun melting away the lines, marks and soot on her face. It was the start of something, but she didn’t know what.

A one and a two with her mother.

And a third, maybe, with her father.

Laura changed her mind a few hours later. She did want other friends to come to the house apart from Sophie Bentley. She did that a lot lately. Wild mood swings, changes in brain patterns, indecisiveness, a swarming of sensations; it was as if the liquid had seeped under her scalp, reaching into the part of the head that should never be breached; the little grey matter, the cracks, the lines, the thinking parts. She hoped things would settle down – because the overactivity was draining. It was another reason not to leave her house.

But perhaps the change of mind was also down to something else: DCI Stewart Calder had called the house and given Sheila an update on the state of the inquiry. He wanted to speak to Laura – but Sheila told him she was resting after her ‘ordeal’ at the hospital. He sympathised and told Sheila that a possible sighting had been made of the four suspects outside an off-licence in London. It was based on the (admittedly sketchy) description Laura gave of the attackers. Sheila relayed this information to Laura, as she thought it might give her a boost – and it did (hence the change of mind on her friends’ invitation) – but it only lasted a few minutes as Laura found herself thinking about those ‘four lads’ again and how they ended up surrounding a young woman who merely had the indignity to answer a friend’s call outside a train station close to midnight. Why had they approached her? The utterly mundane call was about a set of gloves anyway. She had left them at Sophie’s house after spending an unbearably cold evening there. She thought she had left them on the train.

As Sheila sat on the edge of the bed and continued to sound positive about the ‘sighting’, Laura’s negativity increased. It was only when her mother started to change tack – and mentioned Sophie’s visit to the house along with her other friends – that Laura began to feel better, even sitting up on the bed and giving her mother a hug. She started talking about the prospect of seeing some of ‘those old faces’ again – most of them not seen since their final year together (she did not attend the graduation ceremony; the attack happened six days before it) – so there was an element of hope and optimism that perhaps she would share some nice stories about their time at university, the good times they had, the nights out, the camaraderie and the deep desire to make something of their lives.

This was something, Laura had to admit, she was doing a lot lately. Thinking backwards not forwards. Her father’s death, she knew, must have had a lot to do with this, as she continued to remember him intensely and vividly, particularly since the attack. She had come to the realisation that her life completely changed when he died of lung cancer when she was fourteen. Apart from all the terrible trauma and bereavement at home, her life also changed at school. Prior to that, she had been excelling at exams, getting the highest grades, being part of clubs, going on foreign trips and even staying back to have long, deep conversations with teachers about her future aspirations and prospects. But all that changed when Michael Danes died, of what doctors said was asbestos-related disease, probably due to a refurbishment to a roof at the school (directly above his classroom) where asbestos fibres were released into the atmosphere. Her mother challenged the company that carried out the work at the school. It felt pointless and frustrating. She didn’t want compensation but an acknowledgement that the company’s work had caused his illness. It could never be proved. It was a short battle – and Sheila Danes’ busy work patterns and escalating, grief-stricken depression meant she simply didn’t have the time or energy to pursue it.

But Laura didn’t really pay too much attention to that; the loss of her father’s presence was enough of an ordeal. She skipped school regularly. She didn’t get the GCSE grades her mother expected. She started to die her hair. She began to listen to different types of music. This was when things began to change. This was when Polly Jean came into her life.

From a CD given to her by Sophie Bentley.

White Chalk.

Laura’s father had talked about his humble beginnings at school and how he used to see a boy smuggling chalk out of class regularly and eating it at break time behind the bike sheds. When he finally confronted him, the boy denied it despite having white powder plastered all over his lips, nostrils and cheeks.

This is what Laura saw now when she looked at any old photographs of pupils standing with her father at school.

A plastered face of a boy or a girl with Michael Danes.

One day, perhaps she could be reunited with him, with the same look and expression.

A face distorted and static.

Frozen in time.

Laura looked out of the window as her father’s play Clearing The Leaves was being performed by Sheila Danes and five friends in the centre of the living room. She smiled as she remembered her father trying to clear the wet, yellow leaves away from the garden path but not succeeding as the sticky leaves stuck to his sweeping brush. Things didn’t go to plan – but now Sophie Bentley, the ‘female lead’, was saying his lines with relish and enthusiasm. She was glad to have Sophie back in the house and Laura had to admit she missed that peachy, puffed-up face, those hazel eyes and that beige Breton cap. The visit to hospital had been messy with Sophie, racked with guilt, barely able to speak and the two of them decided it was best they meet again when Laura returned home, which she did after five days. But the visits never happened, with Laura unable to face her friend so soon after her ordeal – and two of them agreeing that Laura would decide when the time was right to see each other again.

And tonight was that time. Her father’s anniversary – and the first fleeting moment she actually felt confident and assured enough to face her friends, look them in the eye and tell them that ‘something’ had happened and she could deal with it. Laura looked deep into their faces, watching their lips move, their eyes dart around, their forehead constrict. Presence was everything. After the mirrors, the screens were next on her throwaway menu. Whether that was ever possible or feasible was another matter. Seeing her ‘new’ face on screen (on film, phone or camera) felt like an indignity too far. The sound of twittering and ridicule wouldn’t be too far away.

But Sophie’s presence and the performance of her father’s play gave her hope. It was like she could hear Michael Danes’ words echoing through the house. Once her mother re-entered the scene, the crackle and emotion in her voice became clear and it became so compelling and supercharged that Laura couldn’t wait to join in. She moved away from the window and headed towards the group – but she realised something else: the play was terrible. It had no structure or narrative. It didn’t seem to make sense. Characters appeared to do strange things and make funny jokes. It was flimsy and flippant. No wonder it was never published or performed. Her father had a stack of these, at least two dozen – and if this was a taste of things to come – then Laura could understand why they remained in the bottom drawer. Stick to the day job would have been her advice although it might have cost him in the end. Most nights, he never left school before 7pm – and the work on the roof, particularly in the summer months, began at least three hours earlier.

Yet there was an endearing quality about Clearing the Leaves – and Laura peered over Sophie’s shoulder, looking at the script. She thought of Sophie’s own father, a hard man, who had the kind of expectations and standards that Michael Danes would find suffocating and counter-productive. He worked all hours in the city, commuting at dawn, and expected his daughter would at least get into a top university. But when she didn’t even meet her GCSE ‘expectations’, it shocked her parents. Errant boys, overcrowded parties and indie concerts were all cited as reasons and Sophie actually considered not going into further or higher education at all. But Laura was glad she did because, otherwise, they wouldn’t have met at all. Two girls who didn’t get their grades – for wildly different reasons – but still came together, by fate, to share a long-lasting friendship throughout their time at university. One talked about her dad constantly, the other bottled it up.

Perhaps, tonight the cap would be lifted.

‘Coppers called earlier…’ said Laura, whispering into Sophie’s ear.

‘They caught them?’

‘No, it was just a sighting.’

Sophie turned and faced Laura.

‘Don’t worry, they’ll catch them.’

‘Not bothered,’ said Laura, looking at her mother as she recited her husband’s lines. ‘I’ve got my friends and family here now, so who cares, hey?’

Sophie smiled and put her hand on Laura’s shoulder. They both watched more of the ‘play’ as Sheila Danes and the four friends – Tom, Amanda, Libby and Stephen – appeared to revel in the eccentricity of the language and the characters.

‘Wish I had a dad like that,’ said Sophie.

‘At least you’ve still got one.’

‘Pity he likes his vanishing acts then.’

Both girls smiled and moved their heads slightly closer to each other. They sang quietly and in unison. ‘London is the place for heeeeeeem! London is the place for heeeeem!’

They kept singing for about a minute – and Laura couldn’t remember a more blissful moment since the attack – until she found her mouth frothing up so badly that the words appeared to be jumbled.

‘Oh, we better stop there,’ said Sophie, taking out a tissue and wiping some saliva from Laura lips. ‘How about London is the place for those four criminals – and a Dickens’ workhouse is even too good for them?’

Laura was finding it difficult to control the amount of saliva in her mouth – but was now enjoying herself too much. She felt like she was floating on air again until Sheila Danes read the last line of the script and looked at her daughter.

‘The End,’ she said, in a quiet, reflective voice that silenced the whole room. The sense of calm and peace lasted for about two minutes as everyone remembered Michael Danes. ‘And it’s the end for those boys who damaged my girl, let there be no doubt about that. I had a call from the police today and I’m hopeful that she can finally put the past behind her and get on with her life again. It’s the least she deserves and the love he had for her…’ she waved the pages in her hand, ‘and me, can never be quantified. We will always remember him. We will always love him. We will always treasure him.’

There was another long silence – and then all of Laura’s friends applauded. But she didn’t. Why had her mother told them about the police inquiry? It didn’t anger her as much as deflate her.

Perhaps, it gave Sheila Danes hope.

If so, she needed some – and she would ask Sophie Bentley to stay the night.

Because it would give her a chance to, finally, to let it all out and talk about the attack in detail: what happened, where, how and why they hadn’t yet caught the cowardly bastards who’d carried it out.

She needed Sophie close by for that.

And there wouldn’t be a dad in sight.

Sophie gently applied some light face cream to Laura’s troublesome left cheek as Stories from City, Stories from the Sea played on the stereo in the background. It was very sore and stung in places – but Laura knew it was necessary to lubricate that area of cheek, jaw and upper chin to ensure her speech wasn’t impeded so drastically and painfully as it had been for the last three months. When Sophie finished, she sat back on the bed, enjoyed the last song on the album and looked out of the window.

‘There hasn’t been time to do this so far this evening…’ she said, not making eye contact with Laura. ‘But I just want to apologise for that night from the bottom of my heart. You came to my house and were expected to get home, like you always did a hundred times before but this time…’ She paused and glanced at Laura. ‘This time, it didn’t happen and your life was changed forever. I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you but the truth is, I can’t deal with it either. It’s something I still can’t take in. It hurt me so bad I felt I was the one being attacked as well. I feel I should have been there for you, taking the hits and the blows, but I wasn’t. It’s a source of great shame and anger to me. I feel I let you down. I feel guilty about it every night and can’t get it out of my head. I simply shouldn’t have rang at that time of night. It was a mistake. Mine. And you paid for it.’

Laura sighed and looked over her shoulder at the pillow behind her, before leaning back on it.

‘If it means anything, I’ve never ever thought of it in that way, Sophie. Never. I’ve walked out of that train station so many times after coming back from your house, that I can almost do it my sleep so it’s really nothing to do with you or me at all. It’s to do with those boys. They were going to attack whatever happened. They didn’t look like they were in the best of moods. Something appeared to have gone wrong for them that night…’

‘Yes, but if you hadn’t answered my call…’

‘I think they’d still have attacked.’

‘But you took it in an unlit part of the station, behind the cab rank and near the pub. You had to go into a quieter, more secluded area to take the call. There was nothing there: no lights, no cameras, no witnesses.’

‘Story of my life…’

‘Oh come on, be serious for a minute.’

‘Don’t you think this is serious?’ said Laura, pointing to her face.

‘Look all I want to say…’ said Sophie, turning towards Laura. ‘Is that if it wasn’t for me, all this appalling, dreadful stuff could have been avoided. It was only over a pair of fucking gloves anyway. How could I be so stupid over calling you about those shitty things at close to midnight? It was a terrible mistake I’ll take it to the grave.’

‘They are my favourite gloves – and it was cold that night.’ Laura paused and looked at Sophie. ‘At least the boys warmed me up!’

Sophie felt awkward and looked out of the window. ‘I think you’re allowed to joke about that. I think it’s time. But if I’d said it…’

‘Yes, I’d have rearranged your face!’ said Laura, with a smile.

‘Like I’ve done with yours. What do you think about your cream cheeks?’

‘Nice job,’ said Laura, touching her still-sore left cheek. ‘But going back to the phone, do you know I haven’t touched it or engaged with it since the night of the attack? It’s sitting there on the bedside table, mum deals with it, and charges it up and whatever, but I find it difficult to hold in my hand for some reason. It actually feels heavy like a weapon – and I did flail it about at the gang as they poured that hot liquid over my head. It’s a miracle it’s still here. I don’t know how it didn’t drop on the floor or wasn’t stolen. A nurse found it in my pocket when I was rushed to hospital.’

‘I thought gangs were obsessed with mobiles? It’s usually the first thing they’d take.’

‘Not this one. They seemed to be looking at my hair a lot too.’

‘Oh?’

Laura sighed and got up off the bed. She walked towards the stereo and turned it off.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Laura, turning to face Sophie again. ‘You know I’m a bit of a stickler for changing my hair style and all that…’

‘Well, you’re not Beckham, that’s for sure. Style is not your thing…’

‘But bereavement is?’

‘Again, you said that not me. I’ll allow it.’

‘Well, as you can see I’m in a short black spiky phase right now and maybe, just maybe…’

‘Those lads saw that and…what?’

‘They felt hostile to me. When your phone rang, my face lit up because I had to answer it and I could see that one of the gang’s expression changed so much that I thought I might be in trouble…’

‘But it was just a random attack, the police said that, the papers said that, everyone says that.’

‘You’re going to believe them or you’re going to believe me?’

Sophie shook her head and got up off the bed, walking towards Laura by the window. She put her hand on her shoulder – and then hugged her.

‘Oh come here, you silly girl. You’re thinking a thousand things right now and that’s an utterly natural thing to do. I don’t think you should speculate on what goes in the tiny minds of criminals. They’re not worth it. They’ll destroy people’s lives over a grain of sand. Let them be, and let us move on with our lives. We’re better than them, we always will be.’

Laura looked around her bedroom as she kept her head on Sophie’s shoulder for longer than necessary. She ran her fingers through her straggly, recently-singed hair.

‘Well, at least they’ve done me a favour,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘I’ve got very little hair left and I can get a new style soon.’

Laura and Sophie shared breakfast in the morning before Sophie left to take the train home. Laura couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually enjoyed her food, or the trees in the back garden, or the sun peeping through the curtains, or the sound of the radio crackling in the kitchen. It was like her friend had flicked a switch and given her a new lease of life, albeit temporarily, before the quiet, mundane environment of her four walls began to seep into her life again. She had almost forgotten who she was – and where – and that was all down to Sophie, who’s preparation of a lush, buttery pancake was sorely missed and reminded her of her student days. She wanted another one tomorrow. But she would have to wait. Sophie was now working full-time in a restaurant as a supervisor (nothing to do with her degree) – and Laura didn’t know when she’d return.

So Laura had good memories of everything surrounding Clearing The Leaves – and knew her mother was right. She was right to invite them all: the ex-students and a few of Michael Danes’ old friends (who came much later in the evening). She felt she should have trusted her mother a little more, even if she felt the information about the police inquiry was impetuous and unnecessary. This was a small oversight in the bigger picture. Her father would have been proud. It was one of his best nights, even though he wasn’t here. That kind of narrative twist would surely be in one of his future plays, thought Laura.

She was still thinking about him as she headed to the front door to pick up the early-morning post. Incredibly, there was still the odd bit of mail addressed to him even though he died eight years ago. Some people never learn. She looked down and picked up the leaflets for pizza delivery and hedge-cutting services. There was a white envelope inbetween them – with a handwritten address and a stamp that showed an old footballer in full kit, perhaps from the 30s, with a leather football under his foot. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a handwritten address: all the recent correspondence – from police, victim support groups, the hospital and many others – had been typed and very formal. She walked back down the hallway and into the living room. She sat down on the sofa and opened the envelope. It was a letter, that much was clear. Black ink, small writing, feint blue-lined paper. It smelt of cotton wool. Laura placed it on her lap and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. The lack of white space on the page hurt her head. No ‘Dears’ or ‘Sincerelys’ here. She settled down and finally began to read it.

I get it, totally, if you send this to the coppers straight away. It’s not as though they’ve done too well so far, is it? They need a bit of help. If I go down, then so be it, I’ll take the scowls, looks and pushing into vans but please hear me out before you go down that route because I want to say something about that night and what I feel about it. It isn’t what you think and I took a long time over this letter because I haven’t written one since primary school when we all wrote to the Queen. I’m out of action but not out of words. I’ve got a lot to say and it’ll all come pouring out. You need to hear this, no matter what happens in the future. It’s real, it’s from the heart and the streets. It’s ‘Sorry’ with the biggest ‘S’ known to mankind. And lads, and women, and animals, and my bastard dad, who’s still behind bars. I did something terrible that night, just a few feet away from you – and did nothing to stop it. I said nothing. I looked away. I heard your screams. I watched my brother hurl the liquid into your face, so quickly and ferociously, that it shocked me so much I could barely speak. Into a girl. I didn’t tell him to stop. I should have acted but I didn’t. Mark was in charge and I had to do what he said. It was wrong and I’m ashamed of it, but that’s the God’s honest truth and on my Aunt Rita’s soul, I ain’t gypping you anymore. This is it. What you see is what you get. I’m bearing my soul to you and you can take any part of it you want. The front or the back. But let me tell you one little thing now: I think I’m on your side now – and that’s the second God’s honest truth that I’m relaying to you. You might not believe it but it’s true.

So I want to meet, and that’s the third bit. I can see why you wouldn’t want to do that because it sounds insane. Not crazy, like the Americans say, but insane. But I want to do that because I feel like I have to make something up to you. I don’t know what but something. It’s a long shot, I know, but I prefer them to tap-ins. It’s like I’m right in the goal now and I don’t ever want to get out. Like Spiderman trapped in the netting. But with the right result.

And that’s the fourth thing. I’m sure you’re asking why we might have done it. I can’t tell you that while I’m writing stuff like this. We didn’t have a good night – but that’s a different story. A story I’m sure you want to know about. I’ll come clean if you meet me because then I can let it all out and tell you why it’s all been a big mistake and those things that happened to you shouldn’t have happened. Not in a million years. Not to our worst enemies. Not to the cocky crews in London.

But they did and I hate myself for it. Now I want to do something about it. So how about we meet at the old fountain in the town centre at the weekend? I say Saturday at 2pm, when it’s full of people so you don’t think I’m up to something again like I was that night. There wasn’t a soul around then. Now it’ll be everyone. I can’t get up to no good if the whole town’s watching, can I? They can attack with their shopping bags – or the cabbies with their cricket bats. I feel like I want to take some punishment after that night.

I know you already have – and I’m sorry about it.

So let me try and do something about it.

However tiny.

And that’s the fifth thing. I always liked five-nil scorelines (in our favour) because they felt like proper thrashings. We had five targets on our mind that night – and none of them came off. That darkened our mood – and Mark’s, in particular.

Let me tell you more about it without the coppers sniffing around.

Or you can hand this letter to them today.

But I don’t think you will – because you want to see my face. And I’ll have a red whistle in my mouth so you can recognise me. Because it feels like the end of something but I don’t know what…

Jake Lawler

Laura folded up the letter and thought about how ‘Jake’ might have got her address. It wouldn’t be that difficult. Perhaps from the hospital, from a fellow student, even the local paper. In the days following the attack, well-wishers, friends and even strangers sent flowers, cards, gifts and all sorts of other things to the hospital and, later, to her home too which gave Laura a huge lift but also a sense of concern and fascination at how far people will go to make a ‘connection’. Now Jake Lawler was making his. And Laura had a mind to call the police immediately. She got up and walked into the hallway to call DCI Calder on his direct line. She still didn’t feel comfortable holding her own mobile in her hand. She stopped by the phone and glanced at the letter in her hand. The questions about Jake Lawler whistled across her mind as if her brain cells were being shaken up by a hurricane. Why on earth did he want to meet her? Who was his brother, Mark? How did he know about the fountain in the town? Did he live here? Would he attack her again when they met? Why not just give himself up? What were the gang’s five targets? She waited and waited but then picked the receiver up. She put it down again – and then picked it up. She dialled the number. It rang and rang and rang. Typical. Calder was out. Where’s a copper when you need one? She put the phone down – and felt it was a mistake to call in the first place. She sat down at the bottom of the stairs with the letter in her hand. She wiped some of the sweat away from her forehead. She wanted to meet Jake Lawler and look him in the eye. Only then could she make sense of what was happening to her, what did happen and what might happen in the future. He had been responsible for it – because he had said so. She didn’t need allies – or the police. She just needed to stay calm and see it through.

But that was easier said than done.

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

Two

Laura’s mother always worked a few extra hours at Chiltern Rise care home on Saturday mornings but when she came back home at midday, she always needed to take her shoes and socks off and soak her feet in a giant bowl of hot water. Her feet were pounded on a daily basis. The wear and tear of the week had its pay-off at the weekend. The scurrying down corridors, preparing medication for residents, ensuring their meals were eaten on time, dealing with emergencies, attending to their needs, doing workouts with them, reassuring their families and even sharing elusive and painful memories with them all came at a cost. And Laura could see it on her mother’s face when the aching, bare feet dipped into the glorious warm water: the groans of relief, the cheek-ripening pleasure, the expressions of lucidity and the smiling anecdote of yet another day with the old men and women of Chiltern Rise, which is how she fondly referred to them. She really did love them – and there appeared to be very little trouble or aggravation there, despite all the stories Laura had heard of difficulties at other care homes across the country. All the trouble at Chiltern Rise appeared to be about everyone or everything else: bare-bone staff, under-resourced, leaky sinks or the small size of the recreation area for walking and other pursuits. The staff’s relationship with residents were never affected, according to Sheila Danes.

Laura had this is mind – as she watched her mother lean back on the sofa and pick up a copy of the National Trust magazine. Would her relationship with her mother be affected if she didn’t tell her – right now, a couple of hours before she was to meet him – that she had received a letter from Jake Lawler, one of the perpetrators of that crime, that night? How could she keep it from her? Hadn’t her mother sacrificed so much for her (perhaps everything) to ensure she had a roof over head, stayed in education, been a rock for her when her father died and helped her through university with loans, funds and unconditional moral support? The guilt had begun for Laura as soon as her mother had walked through the door – and now it was cascading and throbbing through her veins as if the letter needed to magically pop out of her pocket and fly seamlessly into her mother’s lap. Shelia Danes needed to know. She had that right.

But perhaps she didn’t need to know right now. At this very hour.

‘You need to see that chiropodist again,’ said Laura, leaning back in her dad’s favourite armchair. ‘She did a great foot massage on you last time. You said the feeling lasted for months.’

‘She’s gone now,’ said Sheila, folding her arms and glancing at her daughter. ‘She moved out of town and I don’t trust anyone else.’ She smiled and leaned back on the sofa. ‘Gosh, that exercise we did this morning nearly finished me off! Some of those residents are as fit as a fiddle.’

Laura paused but wasn’t paying attention. The hot steam from the bowl was beginning to get up her nose. She put her hand in her pocket and clasped the corner of the letter with her forefinger and thumb. It felt like something to hold onto as the vapours increased in the room.

‘I have to go to town this afternoon, mum.’

Sheila looked perplexed and picked up a towel to wipe away a bit of steam off her forehead.

‘Town? What for? You haven’t been on your own since…you know…that day.’

‘I’ve got to go some time.’

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Course it is.’

‘What are you going for then?’ Sheila paused and felt a twinge in her right foot, gently pulling it out of the water. ‘I was thinking that, maybe, we could go together for the first time if you want to do a bit of shopping, pick up a few things and then you can gradually start going on our own again or with your friends so you can build your confidence and get your independence back. It’s not as if there’s any rush. There’s still come cruel people out there, Laura. I don’t want to hear any comments. It’s too much for me to hear that about my daughter. It breaks me in half.’

‘You’ve heard those things before?’

‘I don’t want to get into that now. I’m tired and I need a nice lunch and nap. I’m just saying that a tiny, tiny bunch of people are cruel, Laura, and they see a face like yours and it gives them encouragement to project their sad, pathetic existence onto someone else, someone even more vulnerable than them – and I’m not going to allow that happen, no way. Not now. Not ever. I just want protect you, that’s all.’

‘I hear you, mum, but I’m still going.’

Sheila smiled – but then shook her head. ‘Lot of glass in town. Shop fronts, store fronts, display windows. What if one catches your eye – and you see your reflection? I don’t want you coming back in tears.’

‘Now who’s being cruel?’

‘Not me. Four boys on a freezing night close to the train station, that’s who. If I ever got my mitts or more my sore feet onto them, I’d hurl, chuck or throw them – like they did with that acid – to a place they’d never come back from. Heaven and hell would shake from the fall-out. They’re just evil, pure evil.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t keep saying that: evil, cruel, animals; maybe they’re just human beings who done a terrible thing – and maybe some of them even regret it.’

‘How would you know? Are they sending secret messages to you or something?’ She watched her daughter head to the living room door. ‘That was a joke by the way. But just to be serious for a minute, who are you meeting in town? Sophie? Tom? Or one of the others?

Laura opened the door and looked over her shoulder.

‘I’ve been thousands of times before,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘Can I not go on my own?’

‘I just want to make sure you’re ready, that’s all.’

‘You want to protect me?’

‘Yes…’

Laura put her hand in her pocket and felt the letter again.

‘I think I’ve got all the protection I need,’ she said, closing the door and leaving the room.

Laura headed towards the town centre with her sky-blue scarf over her mouth, her beanie hat touching her eyebrows and her gloves – those fucking gloves – back on her hands for the first time since that fateful day. The bitterly cold breeze wafted over her face and she found it strangely refreshing – but the first lengthy gaze from an elderly man with a newspaper tucked under his arm blew away any placebo effect she might have from her ‘baby-steps’ initiation. He looked deep into her eyes with a blank, stone-cold expression as if to say ‘what is that monstrosity and how did it happen?’ – and it didn’t stop when he passed her either, glancing over his shoulder for another peep, almost compelled by what he’d seen, fascinated by it, horrified. Laura met his gaze and tried to stare him out – but it was pointless. So many other people came into view – and they might want their two-penny’s worth too. She needed to keep her head down and focus on the job in hand – the meeting with Jake Lawler. It was at times like this she wouldn’t have minded having a niqab or a face veil to hand, like one of her old friends, Nadia Deen, wore at university. Only her eyes being visible felt like the right response to the searching, invasive gaze.

But she got to the traffic lights without any more ‘contact’. She walked into the High Street, past the banks, the retail stores and the coffee shops and started to feel immersed in the crowd. The hum, chatter and buzz of hundreds of people – all going their separate ways – allowed her to keep a lower profile. They made less eye contact. She felt relieved and glanced at the shop fronts. She started to think about Tom’s campaign, just hours after the attack happened, to ban under 18s from buying dangerous chemicals from DIY stores, supermarket chains, shops and websites. He had worked at DIY stores – big and small – for two summers during his degree and felt alarmed at how easy it was for young people, without ID, to buy the likes of paint-stripper, drain cleaner and other items. He was angry about it and was all over the media for days afterwards, even appearing on TV and the odd national newspaper. Laura was grateful for his zeal and passion, even though she barely saw it as she was generally lying in a hospital bed or at home recovering from her injuries. He’d always wanted to be an activist – and this felt like a first stop, a big blow against the system. How it would stop adults from getting hold of these kind of dangerous chemicals was a different matter.

Laura put all thoughts of Tom out of her head – and prepared herself for another young man. How old did she think Jake Lawler was? Seventeen? Twenty- seven? The letter didn’t give any clues. Did young people write letters anymore? Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t have a phone or a computer. She walked round the corner and her eye was immediately drawn to the site of the old fountain. She knew exactly where it once stood. There were hundreds of people, criss-crossing the square, going to shops, talking, standing still, phones clasped to their ears and, even one, checking empty carrier bags for food and leftovers. She couldn’t see Jake Lawler. She walked forward and lowered her scarf, allowing her mouth to breathe. She raised her beanie hat and stroked her forehead. The looks from other shoppers now became a panoramic freeze frame: lingering and widescreen; left, right, straight ahead, diving into her soul with the incisiveness of the best surgeon. Bare and clinical. A grisly spectacle in town. A face to be mocked and gawped at. A sight for sore eyes, with no end in sight.

Laura tried to ignore them and walked right up to the old fountain. She still couldn’t see him. Where was he? It was past 2pm now. As the minutes ticked by, she started to think of how she would react to him: revenge or forgiveness? It was too early for that, surely, but her mind was racing like never before. And then she saw a young man, from the corner of her eye, put a red whistle to his mouth and stare at her as if all his life had flashed before him in a past few seconds. She walked towards him and stopped a few feet away. She eased the scarf and beanie hat back into their rightful positions.

‘You said you’d have the whistle in your mouth,’ she said, tightening her left glove over her wrist. ‘You didn’t. Is lying second nature to you?’

Jake Lawler took the whistle out of his mouth and looked around at the other shoppers.

‘You’re a few minutes late,’ he said, tilting his head with a forced smile. ‘Keeping this in your gob brings a lot of saliva. I couldn’t keep it in forever.’

‘No. You should see how much saliva comes out of my mouth these days. I can almost draw pictures with it.’

Jake nodded and there was a long silence. He put the whistle in his pocket.

‘What did you think of my letter?’

‘What did I think?’

‘Yeah, I meant every word.’

‘Like you didn’t mean to attack me, that night?’

Jake’s head bobbed around as he looked at the shops around the square.

‘Look, do you want to get something to eat so we can talk about things a bit more? We can get a pizza or some chicken or something to drink. I don’t want to stand out here and gas about things. There’s too many people walking around.’

‘You seem to know this town well. I thought you were from London? That’s where you fled after this…’ Laura pointed to her face. ‘And this…’ She pushed her coat to the side as far as it would go. ‘And this…’ She raised her jeans to her knees. ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage? Why would I have chicken and fries with you? Why wouldn’t I call the police right now.’

‘Because you wouldn’t have come otherwise.’

Laura nodded and assessed Jake Lawler in more detail. His shape and form. He was nothing like the ‘criminal’ she’d seen in her dreams. He was slightly better dressed with fleeting eye contact, a tilted head and a narrow face with high cheekbones. His brown suede trainers, tasselled top without a hood and faded blue jeans completed the image of a boy who may have taken more than five minutes this morning in front of the mirror.

‘How old are you?’ asked Laura, already wondering which garish fast-food outlet they might end up in if she agreed to Jake’s request. ‘Old enough for crown court?’

‘Don’t even know what that means.’

‘You do talk some rubbish. You said your dad was banged up, so you must know. He must have gone through that process. Trial, evidence, guilty, not guilty; those kind of words might be music to my ears one day.’

‘I’ll tell you one thing he wouldn’t know.’

‘What?’

‘I’m nineteen today.’

‘Oh, happy birthday.’

‘Thought I’d give myself a treat.’

‘Which you didn’t get from your dad.’

There was a short silence but Laura decided to plough on. ‘And how old’s your brother?’

‘Twenty-six. We’ve got a sister too. Mary. She’s married now and lives with her brother in the Midlands.’

‘Does she know about this?’

‘What?’

‘About what you did.’

‘I don’t think so. We don’t see much of each other anymore. She comes down for Christmas and New Year and that’s about it.’

‘And for your birthday?’

‘Suppose so.’

‘Don’t you think she’d be ashamed if she knew what her two brothers were up to?’

‘Maybe…’

‘And what about your mum – and that Aunt Rita you mentioned? Do they know?’

‘Mum doesn’t…’

‘But Aunt Rita does?’

Jake nodded – but looked uncomfortable.

‘She lives in this town.’

‘So your auntie lives in this town but you live in London?’

‘Yeah, but sometimes we sleep over. She’s good to us. Looks after us. After dad was put away, she was the one that kept things together rather than mum. She kind of fell apart, really, got into drinking and all that. Seeing another bloke now so I don’t know what’s the score with that.’ Jake looked away from Laura and looked at some of the restaurants in the square again. ‘Look, can’t we talk about this indoors? I’m getting cold out here.’

‘Not as cold as I was before your brother poured that bottle over my head.’

‘Aw fuck off, maybe this was a bad idea.’

Laura nodded and started to walk off towards the restaurant Jamie had been eyeing up.

‘Maybe it was but I’m just getting warmed up,’ said Laura.

Laura stepped into the fast food outlet but didn’t absorb its name as if the hundreds of questions about Jake Lawler would drop out of her head if any more pointless information had to be gathered. There were dozens of these places in the town centre anyway – who cared what their name was? Big chicken, even bigger pizza, giant burgers, chips with everything: she had eaten at them many times before as a student but now felt strangely hostile to them. The state of her jaw, mouth and teeth probably had something to do it. Hard food was increasingly difficult to chew, absorb and swallow. A piece of chicken felt like an ordeal, never mind a heavy pizza with a rock-hard base.

They sat down in the ‘restaurant’ which was about a quarter full and had The XX’s I Dare You playing a bit too loud on the speakers. But as a long silence developed between Jake and Laura as he ordered some food and had a surly exchange with a member of staff, Laura began to warm to the music and actually enjoyed its rhythms and textures. She remembered the tracks Sophie played in her bedroom. Connections were made. The music hadn’t stopped; it had just been temporarily banished. The faint pangs of recovery were beginning to emerge.

‘So I thought you had a lot of questions for me,’ said Jake, fiddling with a salt pot and finally breaking the silence. ‘You were like some kind of reporter out there, now you haven’t got a word to say?’

‘I’ve got a lot to say but I was listening to the music.’

‘Fucking hate it, all of it.’

‘Music?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Everything? You mean there’s nothing you like? Not pop, rock, Beatles, Michael Jackson, anything?

‘You heard what I said. Now can we talk about something important like that letter? It’s what we’re here for isn’t? I just want to say…’

‘Sorry? Yes, I got that loud and clear in the letter. Do you really think that’s enough for destroying a life? Because that’s what you and your mob have done. I’m not sure I can take your apology, although in time maybe I will, but the tone of your letter got me so confused I didn’t even tell my mother – and I tell her everything! My head spun around for days and the cauldron you threw me in just seemed to grow more nettles, more stings and more flames. It was like I’d been attacked again; a follow-up, a sequel – and a shit one at that. Don’t you think dredging this all up so soon was a bad idea? Didn’t you think before you put pen to paper?’ Laura raised her hand towards Jamie. ‘Okay, maybe that was a trick question. If you thought about what you were doing, I wouldn’t look like this…’ She took off her scarf and beanie hat and placed them on the table.

‘Are you sure it’s a good idea take all that off?’ said Jake.

‘I’m hot.’

Jake nodded and glanced tentatively at Laura’s scalp. ‘Jesus, I didn’t think it was that bad.’

‘You should see inside the tin.’

There was another long silence as Jake looked towards the counter where food was being laid by the harassed kitchen staff to be taken out to the customers.

‘I am sorry from the bottom of my heart,’ he said, not making eye contact with Laura. ‘Things just got out of hand. We lost it. I was a coward and didn’t try to stop my brother. It was wrong and you shouldn’t have suffered like that.’

‘Is that it?’

‘What else do you want me to say?’ he said, finally fixing his eyes on Laura. ‘That I should be locked up for life, hanged from a tree, shot, given a lethal injection? I can’t say anything more. I’m ashamed of the part I played and that’s it. If I could turn back the clock I would. Sometimes, I hear myself in dreams telling my brother to ‘stop it’ and ‘step back’ and I even attack him in others, but then I wake up and the shame and feelings of guilt return. I’ve said it before but I hate myself for it. Hate.’

‘You said you had five targets in mind that night, what did you mean?’

He paused and reached into his pocket to check his whistle. He looked at it in his hand – and then eased it back into his pocket.

‘Dad gave me that as a kid,’ he said. ‘For my fourth birthday. Had it for more than thirteen years now. It barely works – but it’s still important to me.’

‘What has that got to do with your five targets?’

‘Nothing really, just makes me feel better.’

‘As opposed to the sadness you felt by attacking me?’

‘Got nothing to do with that. I’ll tell you one day. I just want the bad things to end. That’s all. The bad things… so that the good can replace them again.’

‘And you think I’m good?’

He sighed and eased his palms right down his face.

‘Better than us, that’s for sure.’

Laura nodded and watched him intensely for a few seconds. She wanted to be hostile to him but found it difficult to summon up the rage and the anger. She didn’t know why that was. He didn’t look like a criminal and she sensed much more vulnerability in him than expected. But that wasn’t a reason for letting him off. He’d taken part in something heinous (as her mother regularly reminded her) so it was way too early to give him the benefit of any doubt, if there was any.

‘Answer me about the five targets or I’m leaving right now,’ she said.

Jake put his hand on his stomach and then looked towards the counter. ‘I’M FUCKING HUNGRY, WHERE’S MY FOOD?’ he shouted. He smiled and looked at Laura as if he’d just done a wonderful thing. He moved forward in his chair and crossed his hands on the table. ‘Right, the five targets are to do with burglaries,’ he said, rather abruptly. ‘Five postcodes in this neck of the woods. Five houses in other words, on each day of the week. My brother and Aunt Rita have been drawing up a list for a couple of years of houses in this part of the county that are ripe to be ransacked, as it were. There are rich pickings in all these town and villages and we’ve been active as a group for about eighteen months now, coming up from London and trying to get some loot from these posh people’s houses, stashing it at Aunt Rita’s and then pissing off back to the big city. Business has been up and down, according to Mark, but I’m not experienced enough to know what goes on. I just wait in the car sometimes, maybe near the back garden, sometimes at the front – but it’s usually up to Mark, Gary and Sammo to do the deed and nick what they can from the house.’

‘And what if the homeowner returns?’

‘Mostly they don’t. Mark and Aunt Rita have usually done the legwork about their movements.’ He paused and leaned back in the chair. ‘Mark is always wary of the owners having a weapon or a cricket bat or even a knife. That’s why he comes prepared sometimes.’ He blew his cheeks and looked up at the ceiling. ‘And that night he came prepared with a bottle of liquid. He said he’d never use it and it was only a precaution if the homeowner got frisky or funny. He joked that some of the posh bastards needed their well-groomed faces taking down a peg or two. He really didn’t like the people in these houses. He said people who live in houses worth nearly half a mil wouldn’t suffer from the odd TV, Playstation or computer being nicked. They deserved it.’

‘And did I deserve it?’

‘I’m telling you what happened.’ Jamie looked up to the counter and smacked his palm on his stomach. ‘Come on, you fucking slow coaches, get a move on with my grub!’ He looked at Laura again. ‘Anyway, so what happened that night is our first target didn’t come off so we moved on to the second and so on, until we got to the fifth and found out that most of the homeowners were either in or their houses were bolted extra tight, as if they’d been given intelligence or something that a bunch of burglars were in town. I don’t know why this happened but Mark was pig sick about it. Auntie Rita had been a bit ill at that time with a bout of flu so that might have been the reason. She might have given duff information. Anyway, my brother was in a rage and shouting constantly at Sammo, Gaz and me. He nearly decked Gaz who he always picked on. We headed back to Aunt Rita’s house and they had a little argument too. Not much, because they made up right afterwards but, for them it was a big one because they’re very close. So then we headed back to the train station for the train back to London. We waited outside for a while for a fag and the odd can of booze. That’s when we saw you come out of the station and head for home. I don’t think you saw us. We then heard your mobile ring – and you veered in our direction to answer it. I still don’t think you saw us because it’s pretty dark in that corner. Once you answered it – and your face lit up from the phone light – I think that’s when you saw us. Mark looked at you and I could see his expression change. He still had the bottle under his coat and he walked towards you, with the rest of us a few feet behind. I could see a look of hate on his face, something I’ve seen a thousand times before. Pure hate. And before I knew it – and before Gaz and Sammo knew it – he took the cap off the bottle and hurled that stuff in your face…’ Jake shook his head and closed his eyes. ‘It was a horror I don’t want to see again. Ever.’ He paused and lowered his head, almost down on the table. Laura wondered if he was crying. It was hard to tell. ‘I should have done more, I know it, but it’s been like that all the way for me. Should have done more, wasted my life, should have stayed at school, should have done better at exams, blah, blah, blah. I’ve done my best up to now – but I failed that night… I failed.’

‘You’re only nineteen, how can you be a failure at nineteen?’

‘Feel like I’m ninety…’

Laura paused and reached forward, using her hand to raise Jake’s head to an upright position.

‘Chin up,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some kind of picture now about why it might have happened. It doesn’t make it right – but at least you’ve been upfront about it. But tell me little brother, why don’t I just ring 999 now and tell them big brother is the man who destroyed my life? Don’t you think we deserve justice after all we’ve been through? Aren’t we entitled to that little crumb of comfort.’

‘That’s your call, but I don’t care about them anymore. They can do what they want. I’m going my own way.’

‘So you don’t mind me calling the police?’ She reached into her pocket for her mobile phone. ‘This is the first time I’ve brought it out since the night of the attack. I haven’t used it since.’

‘Is that the same one?’

‘Yes. As a famous musician might have said once: instant karma’s gonna get you.’

‘I told you I hate fucking music…’

Laura sighed and put the mobile back in her pocket. It didn’t feel like the right thing to do. Maybe later. She felt Jake still had more to say and allowing him to be arrested and questioned would deprive her of his full story or confession – and hand it like a gift to the police. She deserved better. She deserved to know more – and she felt he wasn’t being upfront about everything.

‘Where’s your mobile anyway?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t see one.’

‘Haven’t got one.’

‘That’s a crime isn’t it? Teenager with no mobile?’

‘Mark said I don’t need one. He snatched the only one I had and sold it. Haven’t had one since.’

‘How do you contact each other then?’

‘We’re together most of the time.’

‘But not today?’

He nodded.

‘And not when you wrote the letter?’

He nodded again but started to get irritated. He looked away from Laura and towards the counter. ‘If that food doesn’t come soon, I’ll deck someone.’

‘They’re busy, be patient!’

‘I’ve been patient all my life and where’s it got me?’

There was another long silence and Laura looked away from Jake at two other customers sitting at a table a few feet away. They were looking at her, smiling and joking – with a huge tray of food and drinks in front of them. It looked above and beyond what they needed. She had been a student for long enough to suspect, or have a hunch, what this meant. Were they stoned? Did they have the ‘munchies’? The only truth appeared to be: they were mocking and ridiculing her. Of that she was certain. The stares and wild gazes unsettled her so much her head and lips began to tremble.

‘What are you looking at?’ asked Jake, looking over his shoulder.

‘Nothing.’

Jake stared at the two men, who met his gaze with twin scowls of their own. The laughs dissipated and the atmosphere changed.

‘Were they laughing at you?’ asked Jake, addressing Laura again. ‘If they were, maybe they need decking rather than the staff in this dive.’

‘Nobody does. Just settle down.’

One of the men at the table started laughing extremely loud – and continued to look at Laura. She tried not to blame him – it was the drugs talking not him – and she’d seen many a student with an identical expression. But then he got up from his chair and walked towards their table. He stopped by Jake’s side and tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Didn’t like the way you looked at me, squire,’ he said, squeezing Jake’s shoulder after the gentle introduction. ‘Nothing to do with Eleanor the Elephant over there.’

Jake suddenly pushed his chair back and got up from the table, immediately grabbing the man in a headlock – and the two of them, in seconds, were on the floor grappling around, trying to kick, punch and slap each other to get the tiniest advantage.

‘STOP IT!’ shouted Laura, springing up from her chair and heading towards the two men. She tried to pull Jake away – but he was relishing the tussle, using his forearm in particular, to tighten his grip.

‘ONLY COWARDS TREAT GIRLS LIKE THAT. COWARDS!’

‘And you’ll be a coward too if you don’t stop,’ said Laura. ‘The police will have you in a cell in a few hours. Is that what you want?’

‘YES, LET THEM COME!’

‘NO!’

Finally, after grabbing Jake by his shoulder, his trainers and even his hair – and the odd staff member giving assistance – Laura managed to pull Jake away from the man who appeared to be so ‘out of it’ that he just got up, went back to his table and started eating his food. It was over within minutes – and Jamie came back to the table, dusted himself off, and sat down again. Laura shook her head – and watched the manager of the restaurant approach her. She apologised to him and said they were about to leave. He asked what happened to her face and if that was the reason for the ‘altercation’. Laura didn’t want to elaborate. The manager was sympathetic and said there was no need for the police or anyone else. He said Laura was welcome to come back any time – while giving a sly glance to Jake. They both got up to leave – but Jake was still irritated and felt a pain in his shoulder.

‘But I’m still hungry,’ he said, doing a windmill of his arm to unstiffen his shoulder blade. ‘I want my food.’

‘Well, you’re not getting it here.’

‘I saved your honour there.’

Laura glanced at him as she pushed open the door. ‘I’m surprised you know what it means.’

‘I know when people are being mocked and I don’t like it one bit. You should be thanking me not pushing me out.’

‘Thanks a bundle – but you’re no hero.’

‘Don’t wanna be.’

‘And you weren’t that night.’

‘Which you’ve made clear…’

‘Not clear enough, obviously, because you’re still acting like some hoodlum.’

Jake paused and stopped outside the restaurant, grabbing Laura’s shoulder.

‘I’m no hoodlum, all right? I’m changed, it’s all over. That person’s history. No more.’ He started to walk away, took out his whistle and put it in his mouth.

‘Well, you have to show it by telling me where your brother and those other two hoodlums are; Sammo and Gaz, or whatever they’re called. Put your cards on the table and your silly little whistle.’

‘They’re called Samuel Weekes and Gary Norden. And it’s no silly whistle, all right? I’m hungry anyway so I need something in my mouth.’

‘Won’t find a dummy big enough.’

‘Stop being sarcastic. You hurt people with that stuff.’

‘I know, but only targets, as you called them. Invading people’s homes while they’re sleeping in their beds at night, don’t you think that hurts them? They have fear in their heads not sarcasm.’ She paused and took the whistle out of Jake’s mouth. ‘The same as me, as I stood in that pokey corner of that train station.’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry about that a million times.’

‘Maybe you are – but you can only do something about it if you tell me everything about your brother’s gang: their movements, their links and their next job. Emptying your guilt on me about that night isn’t enough. I need more.’

‘What if it’s good enough for me?’ he said, snatching the whistle off Laura and wiping some imaginary dust off it. ‘Maybe I’ve done my bit.’

‘You haven’t, trust me.’

Jake put the whistle in his mouth. ‘I don’t trust anyone in this world anymore,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘Only this…’ He blew on the whistle and walked away.

‘If you walk away now, there’s no coming back,’ said Laura, in a louder voice. ‘I’ll go straight to the police and the charge sheet is long: burglary, handling stolen goods, acid attacks and God’s knows what… I don’t want to see that happen to you right now. Your brother needs to talk to them first.’

‘I saved you, don’t forget that,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘I protected your honour.’

‘And I’ve thanked you for it.’

‘I saved you.’

‘I’m calling 999 now.’

‘You won’t.’

Jake raised his arm in the air and disappeared into the crowd in the square, blending and merging into them as if he hadn’t existed at all. Laura took out her mobile and looked down at it. She tapped the emergency number and prepared to ask for the police. She waited a few seconds, nervously looked down at the phone but then decided she couldn’t go through with it. The ‘retelling of the narrative’ of that night would have to be dredged up once more – and that would be harrowing enough. Yet there was a bigger reason for keeping the police at bay. For now. It was that boy’s sheer and utter helplessness and fear as he saw the carnage develop around him that night. The puppy-dog face. The astonished eyes. A frightened rabbit caught in a firelight. A lethal liquid making him impotent. He might have been more scared than she was.

So she couldn’t shop him to the police now.

He had saved her.

Maybe she needed to save him.

Three

Laura’s mother hugged her almost immediately as she stepped back into the house. She said the police had called again and told her that the ‘sighting’ of the four men in London had been a false alarm and that they were continuing with other lines of enquiry. Sheila let go of her daughter and looked her in the eye.

‘Don’t worry, they’ll catch them,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to tell you immediately so you don’t get your hopes up.’

‘I never have. Didn’t think the descriptions matched anyway.’

Laura walked past her mother and slumped down on the sofa, beside the stray sheets of white paper which had her mother’s drawings and sketches on them. She picked one of them up and could barely see the lines on it. She realised she was shattered and exhausted. Would this be the state of ‘normal’ life now? Short walks into the town centre whacking her out completely? Sitting in restaurants, chatting, engaging with other people giving her the kind of fatigue she felt might be reserved for people with much more serious illnesses than hers? Maybe the doctors had underdiagnosed her ‘condition’. Maybe there were hidden cancers and all sorts of other gremlins lurking in the liquid. Her body felt them even if the doctors didn’t.

‘Nice drawings these,’ said Laura, trying to sound diplomatic. ‘Are they for the extension at Chiltern Rise?’

‘Yes, I think the spirit of Michael has inspired me again,’ said Sheila. ‘I know my boss isn’t going to want them – but they wanted contributions from all the staff so it’s nice to have a pencil in my hand again.’

‘You’ve always drawn, mum. You just gave up.’

‘I had to work, Laura, and that’s good enough,’ she said, sitting down by her daughter’s side. ‘Now how was the town centre? Did you see who you wanted?’

‘Did I see who I wanted?’

‘Yes…’

Laura was almost paralysed by the question. She looked down at one of her mother’s drawings. A games room with a bookcase, plant pot, pool table, basketball ring and a meditation mat. There was also a small home cinema with a nostalgic reel called Family Trees. Laura thought of the Lawlers and their ‘family tree’. It made her feel queasy as if the branches were decayed, flimsy and falling off.

‘So who did you see then?’ said Sheila. ‘It couldn’t have been Tom or Sophie because they both called here. They wanted to see how you were.’

‘Oh?’

‘I think they’ve got a surprise for you. They wanted to come round for dinner so I agreed. I think I’m starting to know them a bit better now…’ Sheila moved across to her daughter and put her arm round her as they looked at the drawings together. ‘You’ve always had good taste in friends.’

‘So they’re coming round this evening?’

‘Yes. I hope that’s okay. I don’t want to move things too fast as I know you have to take things at your own pace but it’s just…’ She looked away from Laura towards the window. ‘It’s just that performance of Michael’s work has reenergised me and I like having these young people around, they bring me so much joy…’ She paused and turned towards Laura again. ‘I’m sure you understand, Laura. I wouldn’t have invited them if I didn’t think you’d agree. It is all right, isn’t it? I hope it’s not too soon.’

Laura looked down at one of her mother’s messier drawings and handed it to her.

‘This is rubbish, you do you know that?’ she said, with a smile.

‘Michael would be proud,’ she said, taking it in her hand.

‘Of course, I want Sophie and Tom to come here tonight. I’m starting to miss them all the time now. I don’t think locking myself up inside was doing me any good. That’s why today was important – because I went out on my own. Without you to hold my hand. Now, it’s just going to carry on, like normal. I’m going to go out and try and walk down the street like every other human being again.’ Laura paused and leaned back on the sofa, suddenly feeling very tired. ‘If they let me.’

‘Oh, they’ll let you, I’ll see to that.’

Laura thought of Jake Lawler again – and where he might have gone after his restaurant brawl. She eased her hand into her pocket and touched his folded-up letter. She imagined taking a match to it and burning it in the back garden.

‘I think most people will allow me to get back into the swing of things again,’ said Laura. ‘But not all.’

‘Who?’

Laura paused and sighed, picking up her mother’s pencil to sketch a few drawings of her own.

‘Those who feel so guilty nothing on this earth can heal them.’

Sophie was already apologising and shaking her head before she came into Laura’s bedroom. She had just come from the kitchen where Tom was helping Sheila make dinner – and Laura found the smells and fumes from the ‘extras’ her mother had to make – dessert, drinks, starters, sauces – were getting up her nose, making it extremely itchy and irritable. She had to open the window for some much-needed air but even that appeared to ‘sully’ the smell for an even more dizzying and sickly sensation. She wasn’t sure she wanted dinner anymore. She wasn’t hungry. But she was more interested in Sophie bringing Tom round for dinner because it was so abrupt and unexpected. It would be his second visit in a week. For a busy ‘activist’ like him, that was an escalation. He had only been to Laura’s house once before.

Sophie sat down on the bed and took Laura’s hand. It was so hot that it triggered a bout of sneezing in Laura so bad that Sophie had to walk to the window and close it. Laura thought she was getting a temperature, the flu or whatever shit-kicking virus was doing the rounds across her body, head and limbs. Sophie gave her a tissue – but eventually lay the whole box by her pillow.

‘Always better out than in, so here goes,’ said Sophie, as she sat down on the bed by Laura’s side. ‘Tom asked me out right after your dad’s special night, that’s the top and bottom of it and, me, as a girl who needs flattery from time to time, accepted…’ She glanced at Laura and smiled. ‘So what do you think of that, great Danes? I hope you’re not going to blow me out of the window with one of your sneezes?’

Laura was shocked but also elated. Her head had been swimming with dark tales of the Lawlers and how they ruined people lives with their lies, thefts and bullying tactics. But now the news that Sophie and Tom were together appeared to crack a shard of light in her, opening up a front she never knew existed, making her happy and delighted. It was like her friend had just come up with a bolt of medication that had eluded the doctors and the specialists.

‘Oh God, I’m so happy for you,’ said Laura, moving over to her friend and hugging her. ‘You wouldn’t believe how that makes me feel. When though? When did he ask? I hope the blighter waited till the end of the performance.

‘Sorry to say, he was eyeing me up before then. Second act was when the sword was taken out of its sheath, I think.’

‘Boys have no respect, hey?’

‘No…’ Sophie looked at Laura and handed her another tissue from the box. ‘Sheila says you walked to the town centre on your own today. Was that wise? I think you should have called me.’ She paused again and reached forward to look at the mobile phone on Laura’s bedside table. ‘I take it gadgets are okay now? You’re back in the techie world?’

‘I’m back all right. But I was fine really. No big dramas. Some looks from people, but that’s to be expected.’

‘They’ll stare at anything. Their brains shrink with every second.’ She bent forward and eased her head towards Laura. She smiled and widened her eyes, the whites almost glowing in the dark, pokey bedroom. ‘Did they stare like this?’ Then she squinted her eyes, beadily, in a vain attempt at a more sinister look. ‘Or like this?’

‘Call that an evil look?’ said Laura, trying not to laugh as it generally made her jaw ache. ‘You look like Gollum – or Albert Steptoe.’

‘Who’s Albert Steptoe?’

‘Steptoe and Son? Dad loved him.’

‘My dad never allowed that kind of thing in my house.’

‘Figures…’ said Laura. ‘It’s why you’ve always thought you were a class above me!’

‘That I am, my girl, that I am!’

Laura laughed and gently touched Sophie’s eyes with her fingers to restore them to parity.

‘I was blind now I can see…’ said Sophie, laughing immediately as she opened her eyes.

‘Well, you will now with Tom in your life!’

‘Yes, thanks for reminding me…’

They playfully laughed and joked for another couple of minutes before Sophie quietened down a little and leaned back on the head rest.

‘He wants me to go to Portugal with him next month, so he’s moving quite fast already,’ said Sophie. ‘Not sure I’m ready for any sort of commitment, never mind a foreign holiday.’

‘Ohh, I can’t think of anything better…’

‘Sun, sand, sea…’

They both looked at each other then moved forward again, eyeballing each other mercilessly.

‘STARES!’ they both shouted, in unison.

The laughs and smiles continued for what appeared to be hours – until the fumes got up Laura’s nose again.

Laura couldn’t deny it – but as she looked at Tom and Sophie at the dinner table – she wondered about her own future and whether she could ever be in a ‘normal’ relationship again. Would boys look at her again? Would they ignore her? Insult her and tell jokes behind her back? As she sat by her mother’s side – and tried to plough through the rich, generous mushroom-laden pasta she’d made with such toil and effort – she wondered if that afternoon’s altercation was a taste of things to come. A young man had likened her to an ‘elephant’ – joke or not – and that had hurt, even though she had done her best to shrug it off and keep her feelings in check. Seeing Tom and Sophie now, laughing and joking, sipping wine, discussing places to see in Lisbon, made her delve into wilder thoughts again: those grey cracks again; flammable and toxic, things she couldn’t control, things that almost bled if you thought about them long enough. This time, it was the shape of Tom’s and Sophie’s lips, their voices, their hands, how they engaged with each other. Would she have that again? Engagement and intimacy with a boy without her features getting in the way? She was angry with herself for thinking that way. The fact she could barely control these emotions made the frustration grow.

‘Sorry, but I’ve got no faith in the police at all,’ said Tom, placing his knife and fork symmetrically on the plate after finishing his pasta. ‘A couple of my friends got banged up after a protest and had done absolutely nothing at all. It’s all political these days, the criminals are small meat to them.’

‘Aren’t you exaggerating a bit?’ said Sophie. ‘They’re doing their best but it’s probably complicated things that they fled back to London. Obviously harder to find there. Maybe a couple of forces are having to work together and it’s crossed the wires a bit.’ Sophie glanced at Laura. ‘Anyway, Laura doesn’t want to talk about this now. She’d much rather tell us about the day she had in town today: shopping for cardies, the odd cream cake, music shop browsing. I’m jealous, Miss Danes, you still didn’t tell us what you did.’

Laura glanced at her mother. ‘I haven’t told mum what I did and you’re way back in the queue, Miss Bentley, way back!’

Sheila was still eating her main course, realising she had made too much and there was too much on her plate. ‘She doesn’t tell me anything,’ she said.

‘Only when I need something from you,’ Laura said, with a smile, placing her hand on her mother’s.

‘Well, maybe you need this…’ said Sheila, putting her knife and fork down and reaching into her pocket for a folded-up leaflet. ‘Tom kindly gave it to us earlier today and thinks it might help. Of course, it might be too early but it’s something you might consider in the future.’

Laura unfolded the leaflet and read it. The two words Bon Visage leapt out at her in big, red letters. It was for a victims’ group, that was clear. People who’d suffered from facial injuries after an attack, ultimately leading to their lives being changed and society, perhaps, treating them differently through no fault of their own. Laura barely read the details – and put the leaflet back on the table. She looked up at Tom.

‘Is that a group, you know?’

‘A friend’s mother runs it. I just thought it might be helpful in the long run.’

‘Is she from France or something?’

‘She was born there, yes, but no she’s been settled here since childhood.’ Tom looked at Sophie and smiled. ‘And the visage bit is nothing to with these…’ He pointed to his face. ‘More to do with her obsession with the band… and Steve Strange… and Ultravox… and all that.’

Sophie glanced at Laura and had another drink. ‘See I told you this lad knows his onions. He knows what floats your boat. Really weird music and haircuts.’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Laura, running her finger across her scalp. ‘But he might have to get me a wig too.’

‘Oh, he’s a new romantic,’ said Laura, gazing at Tom. ‘That won’t be a problem.’

‘Might get a bit hot though. Like I was earlier today.’

Sophie swung round and looked at Laura. There was a short silence between them.

‘Did someone give you a hard time in the town centre?’ she asked.

‘Maybe they did.’

‘And you’re ready to spill the beans?’

‘A few of them but not all,’ she said, picking up the Bon Visage leaflet and reading it again. ‘Because if I told you everything, I might have to join this group within twenty-four hours.’

The next morning Laura was woken by the sound of the doorbell. It was nearly 10am. Her body was so stiff she could barely get out of bed – the town centre walk, unexpected dinner and a descent to bed after midnight – had come at a bigger cost than expected. She knew her mother wouldn’t answer it. She ignored everybody before noon on a Sunday (sometimes even Laura herself) – but she deserved a lie-in and a bit of time to herself after a marathon six-day week that appeared never ending. Laura always smiled and got a lift when she went down for breakfast and still heard those Victoria Wood DVDs playing from her mother’s TV in the bedroom – and the sound of laughter that followed a gag or a song was like gold dust. But her mother had been doing this less and less lately – particularly since the attack, as she thought too much laughter was inappropriate – but Laura urged her to carry on, as it was like a sacred form of music on a Sunday morning, with its own rhythm and textures. A laughter track from a woman who’d been round the block. From north to south and everywhere else. It had a strange sort of inspiration about it.

But there was little sound from her mother’s bedroom as Laura ambled down the stairs in her jogging bottoms and t-shirt. She sensed she must still be asleep. All that cooking and talking from yesterday. Laura got to the bottom of the stairs and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to open the door. A Sunday morning-look plus three months of trauma wasn’t the most appealing prospect to visitors or guests, particularly strangers. But the doorbell rang again – and she felt compelled to answer it. The sound grated and was always too loud. Laura’s own insomnia shouldn’t mean her mother should suffer too.

Laura opened the door and was shocked to see Jake Lawler on her doorstep, hands in his coat pocket, looking directly at her as if he’d known her for years.

‘I went to church this morning,’ he said, taking his hand out of his pocket and touching his eyebrow. ‘Not many people there – but it was nice and peaceful and the vicar welcomed us in. I sat down and it gave us time to think. I only left when the woman started playing the organ. Hymns are no good to me. I always liked them at primary school – but not now.’

‘What are you doing here?’ said Laura, stepping forward and peering out into the neighbourhood and the streets. ‘You haven’t brought the rest of the mob, have you? I suppose you all know my address now.’

‘No, only me.’

‘Which means you can come here when you want? I’m sort of your property now? Well, I’m not.’ Laura sighed and tied up the tassels on her jogging bottoms which were still loose after her rushed and unprepared trip down the stairs. ‘Look, I think the police are the only solution for you now. I was wrong about all that stuff yesterday. I shouldn’t have met you in the first place. I was just a bit confused.’ She reached into her pocket for her phone but realised it was still on her bedside table. ‘Fuck, it’s upstairs. I’ll call them on the landline. Wait here.’

‘What are you doing? Don’t call the police. I’m here to talk.’

‘No talking now. The fact you’ve reached my doorstep is bad enough. You’re not going any further. If my mother knows you’re here she’ll stab you with a kitchen knife, no questions asked. She said she’d wait a lifetime to look any of you in the eye and then murder you in cold blood – and she’s the most gentle and warmest women I’ve ever met. And everyone else thinks the same of her.’

‘Maybe I’ll think she’s a nice old woman too.’

‘I don’t care what you think. Wait here.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘No, you fucking can’t.’

‘Why not? I’ll be quiet like I was in the church.’

Laura glanced over her shoulder and looked baffled. She peered at this teenage boy, tassels on his top tied like a bow, trainers up his ankles, curtain-style hair, pinprick stubble above his lips and below – and she wondered why on earth he was talking about things like faith, vicars and church on a Sunday morning.

‘No football to play this morning? You mentioned it a lot in your letter. You don’t look like the church sort to me.’

‘There’s a first time for everything.’

‘You haven’t been before?’

Jake didn’t answer and glanced around the street. He stepped forward and fixed his eyes on Laura.

‘I know the next job my brother’s planning,’ he said, walking onto the doorstep and coming far too close for Laura’s liking. ‘Let me in and I’ll tell you about it. After that, you can do what you want. Call the police or take action yourself. What that’ll be, I haven’t got a clue, but I’ll have done my bit, I’ll at least have done something that might make a difference.’

‘But I said you can’t come in, don’t you listen?’

‘Yes, but it’s what I’ve been doing my whole life. Not anymore. I have to act rather than listen.’

‘I don’t understand you…’

‘Nobody ever has,’ he said, stepping inside the house – with Laura, strangely and curiously, allowing him in. ‘But I hope, one day, you will…’

Laura knew her mother could get up at any time. She had to think fast and knew that letting Jake roam freely around the house – in the living room, kitchen or upstairs – was out of the question. There was no other way round this. She had to be protected at all costs. Seeing Jake Lawler in her house – one of the gang of four – would send her, perhaps rightly, into a rage that was unprecedented and unwanted. More fires might be lit. More burning. The smell of flames. She would be completely justified in thinking that way but it felt like a back-to-front way of dealing with the ordeal. It should be on the gang’s territory, not theirs. This was a place to live, not a court of justice.

Laura took Jake down into the cellar. It was the only place they could talk and the sound didn’t carry to the living room or into the bedrooms upstairs. She also told him that this ‘dirty, dingy place’ was the perfect place for the ‘Lawler gang’ and their way of thinking. Jake was offended by her use of that term – and felt he wasn’t part of it anymore. But Laura used it again – because she felt it was about the only power she had over him for the time being – and it riled him, which was a bonus as he seemed to be extremely calm and serene after his ‘church’ experience this morning.

‘You’ve got a lot of mirrors here,’ he said, touching one so sharp that its corners had chipped small holes into the stone wall. ‘Why are they all down here?’

‘Because of you.’

‘You need to stop playing that record, it’s getting old.’

‘What’s your brother planning then? Raiding a pensioner’s home or hurling liquid in someone’s face? If you’re not part of their team anymore, how do you know what they’re doing?’

‘Because Mark still calls me every day while I’m kipping at Aunt Rita’s house. He’s coming over in a few days. They want to go back to some of the targets they missed before. He’s determined to finish the job this time.’

‘Why aren’t you living at home with your mother in London?’

‘No reason. I like Auntie better. Mum’s out most of the time anyway with her new boyfriend. Hasn’t got time for us.’

‘And Auntie Rita has?’

‘Suppose so.’

‘Time to organise more attacks?’

Jake shrugged. ‘As I said I don’t want to be part of that anymore.’

‘But you’ll still be part of it if you’re living there…’

He didn’t answer and instead reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile phone.

‘I bought this after I left you in the town centre.’ He displayed it to Laura as if he had a new toy. ‘I’ve got one now and Mark can’t do anything about it. It’s just the start. He can’t push me around anymore, tell me what to do, what to buy and who to see. I’m my own man now and I’ll do what I want.’

‘Have you called him on it yet?’

‘He doesn’t know I’ve got one.’

‘And if he did?’

‘Maybe I’d look like you…’

There was a moment of silence as Laura absorbed what Jake had just said. She didn’t have time to think about how much it had hurt or stung – as there was the faintest of sounds from up above, on the landing, that her mother might have woken up.

‘Get out now,’ she said.

‘But I want your number.’

‘GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!’

‘But just give me your number and then I’ll go. Otherwise, I’ll just have to keep knocking on your door. Just do it quickly.’

‘Give me your phone.’

‘What?’

‘Give it to me.’

Jake sighed and reluctantly handed over the phone. She tapped in a number – and called her own mobile which was lying on the bedside table upstairs.

‘My phone’s been on silent for the last three months,’ she said, handing the phone back to Jake. ‘I think it’s time to start engaging again.’ She paused and pointed to the cellar door. ‘But you still need to go. We’re connected now. No more need for letters or shadowy meetings. I want to know exact times of your brother’s next job, otherwise I never want to see you again.’

Jake was surprised that the phone came back to him so quickly – and walked towards the cellar steps.

‘You will want to see me again.’

‘Don’t be too sure.’

‘I’m absolutely sure,’ he said, reaching the door. ‘Because I’ve got God on my side now.’

Laura shook her head. ‘There’s only one judgement you need to consider…’ She paused and listened for a further sound from upstairs but couldn’t hear it. ‘A mother’s from up above because she’d sacrifice anything for me.’

Four

DCI Calder made a surprise visit to the house – but Laura found herself distracted and completely absorbed by what she’d heard from Jake Lawler. She thought about the gang’s next job, where it might be, the possible victim and the fallout. The policeman’s words felt hollow by comparison. He reassured her about the state of the case, the lines of enquiry, new leads, the need for witnesses. victims support group; absolutely everything she’d heard before and didn’t want to hear again. It was monotonous and tiresome. Too many straight lines and procedures. Too much formality and interrogation. By contrast, the prospect of knowing where the gang might be plotting to hit next felt thrilling and dramatic. A wild, creative line in an otherwise tedious line of questioning or endless batch of data. She sympathised with DCI Calder – but his words were going over her head. The next ‘sighting’ of Mark Lawler (in her town) was on her mind. And she wanted to be there to catch him in the act.

So the policeman came and went – and two days later, Laura had to go back to hospital to attend the appointment she missed. This time, she said she could go on her own – on the bus, without her mother – and Sheila agreed as she felt it might give her confidence after the ‘small steps’ of the town centre. Sheila was horrendously busy at work anyway and welcomed the suggestion, although she did ask to call her when the appointment ended.

But it felt irrelevant. Laura breezed through it – just like she had with DCI Calder. There was talk of skin grafts, lesions, scars, improvements and new treatments but, again, Laura felt her mind wandering to Mark, Sammo and Gaz. What were their plans? Would they take Jake with them? She had his number now so she felt a certain power over them. It was a big responsibility: intimidating and exciting. Police talk and medical jargon was small beer by comparison.

So she got back home that evening and called Jake Lawler on his mobile phone. She had been energised by the two ‘non-meetings’ with a policeman and a doctor – because they had crystallised something for her: that she was less of a victim now and had more control. They appeared to want to take some of that back. Not now. Not ever.

Jake answered within seconds. He appeared to be anxious and out of breath.

‘What do you want?’ he said, in a voice that was barely audible. ‘Mark’s in the next room. He doesn’t even know I’ve got a mobile. Do you want me to get buried before we’ve even started?’

‘Tell me about the job you’ve got planned. You said a few days so is it today, tomorrow, when?’

‘Tonight?’

‘Where?’

‘I can’t tell you now. I’ll call you later.’

‘No, I don’t trust you.’

‘If you don’t trust me, you won’t get far with Mark, Sammo and Gaz. They’re paranoid as hell. Sammo sniffs some of that drain cleaner shit while we’re on the job. You don’t want to mess with him. Anyway, I think Mark’s on to me. I’ve told him I don’t want to be involved in this one and he reckons someone’s got into my head.’

‘I wish somebody would,’ said Laura, with a sigh. ‘Okay, call me back this evening with every little detail. Everything. Then I can be prepared.’

‘Prepared for what? Are you doing a double bluff on us and calling the coppers? I honestly don’t care anymore I might see that as a betrayal.’

‘A betrayal!’ said Laura, with a laugh. ‘A betrayal of what? Our relationship. We haven’t got one. You need to listen to yourself sometimes. You do come out with the weirdest shit sometimes. First it was God, now this.’

‘I can’t help it.’

‘What?’

‘I CAN’T FUCKING HELP IT! Now I’ll call you later. Goodbye.’

Jake hung up and Laura looked down at her phone as if to say ‘what just happened?’. She didn’t have a clue. All she could say with any certainty was that Jake Lawler was troubled, confused and had a tendency for wild mood swings and grand gestures.

Not unlike her.

But she felt she was coming through all that (and she did have the excuse of suffering a horrendous attack which probably caused most of those things). Did Jake Lawler suffer anything like that? Probably not – but she needed to get beyond his fragile ego to understand what was really going on in his life because it became apparent a life of crime was a small part of it.

But it would have to wait.

Because tonight was the first night for the rest of her life.

She put down the phone on her bedside table – and watched its display light dim until it went dark and blank.

She would light it up repeatedly until she saw those faces in front of her eyes again.

As she ate dinner, Laura told her mother she felt confident of using the car again. Sheila wasn’t sure but felt the two ‘breakthroughs’ her daughter had made – walking to the town on her own and going to hospital on the bus – were significant enough to allow her more independence so she could live a ‘normal’ life again, however challenging and difficult that may be. So she agreed but still wanted more detail: who was she meeting? Where? When would she be back home? Laura felt her mum was overdoing it – and it was becoming clear why.

‘DCI Calder said you were a little unresponsive when he called round,’ said Sheila, settling back with a mug of coffee after finishing dinner. ‘Were you okay? I mean, you weren’t feeling unwell or anything?’

‘No, I wasn’t unwell.’

‘So why didn’t you answer his questions?’

‘They bored me.’ Laura looked down at her phone by her empty plate, hoping Jake Lawler’s call would come at any minute. ‘I’ve had three months of hellish questions and interviews about descriptions, ID images, criminal backgrounds and all sorts of crap that has nearly burst my head into flames all over again. I can’t take it anymore. I just want it to end.’

‘They have to do their job, Laura. Those lads committed a major crime – and they have to be brought to justice for it. Yes, they should have caught them by now but I was more optimistic after Calder came round. It was the first time he’s done that. I know his colleagues have come round before – but it was nice to see the man leading the investigation eating biscuits and drinking coffee in my living room. It showed he cared.’

‘I never said he didn’t.’

‘So why didn’t you answer his questions?’

Laura’s phone rang and she got up from the table to answer it. ‘Sorry, I just need to answer this.’ She walked into the kitchen and shut the door.

‘It’s happening at Grays Avenue after midnight,’ said Jake Lawler. ‘We’ll be heading off from Auntie Rita’s house about an hour before that. We’ll be in a light blue van which has got a broken flagpole on its roof but obviously you can’t see everything at that time of night. There used to be some white markings on the side about the furniture business that Aunt Rita and her husband had but they’re faded now although you can still see the dots and splashes. I can’t say anymore now. I’ve done my bit. Goodbye.’

‘Oi, wait!’

‘What?’

‘Is it all four of you?’

‘Yes. I told Mark I don’t want to go but he said he’d kill me if I didn’t.’

‘He didn’t say that…’

‘You don’t know him.’

‘Okay, what number at Grays Avenue?’

‘Seventy-six.’

‘Are you staying in the van?’

‘Yes, to stash the goods in the back once Mark and Sammo have raided the house.’

‘With Gaz driving?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, I’ll be there just before midnight.’

‘What are you gonna do?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Laura, with a sigh. ‘But after I see those other three again, I might have a better idea. I need to see them so much, it hurts.’

Laura had Grays Avenue on her mind but looked down at her mother on the sofa as she admired a drawing made by one of her colleagues at Chiltern Rise. She raised it up in the air and showed it Laura who was impressed, but distracted: she wanted to get in the car immediately, get behind the wheel again, get used to the environment of the road, tap into the adrenalin again after the anxiety of the past three months. She needed that control. She craved it. But she also knew she had to deal with the practicalities: the swing of her neck, her blurred vision, the slight tremor in her head, the ringing in one ear. Could she actually drive long-term? Would they take her licence away? It was a debate for another day. After a polite look at Peter Corrin’s picture (his design for the refurbishment of Chiltern Rise) she asked her mother for the car keys – and got an even bigger surprise.

‘That’s what I think of his design,’ said Sheila, stabbing through the flimsy white paper with her ignition key. ‘He made about 50 copies anyway so he won’t miss this one! I’ve always liked his drawings but he’s never made me jealous before. Until this…’

‘Can I have the car keys, mum?’

‘Yes, but not before you’ve told me what you think of his picture. It’s going forward to the boss and they’re seriously thinking of implementing this design for the extension. I know it’s good – but I thought I had a chance this time.’ Sheila sighed and scratched her forehead mildly with one of the car keys. ‘Now I know what I’m up against.’ She looked up at her daughter. ‘Don’t you think I did a good drawing and a good design? I worked hard at it, day and night.’

‘Course you did. It was wonderful.’

‘Are you just saying that?’

‘No. Dad would have been proud.’

‘Like he was proud of his rubbish plays.’

Sheila turned and threw the picture, which now had a giant hole in it, onto the sofa.

‘Oh, come on mum, what’s brought this on?’ said Laura, putting her hand on her mother’s shoulder. ‘Don’t feel sorry for yourself. You did your best. At least you started drawing again. If your bosses hadn’t asked for designs, then you might have never picked up the pencil again. Now you can get doodling again, create some more and, maybe, create something even better.’

‘It was just…’

‘What?’

Sheila paused and leaned back on the sofa. ‘It was just Peter asking me about where I got my inspiration from and I told him I didn’t have a clue. He probed a bit more and I said it might be my late husband. He then said he didn’t think a man could do that drawing to which I said maybe it’s my daughter – and then he started asking questions about you. I was hesitant at first – but opened up to him after a few days. I was flattered that he was taking an interest so I told him about the attack, your treatment and a few other things. It was a bit embarrassing how much he got out of me, really.’ She sighed and glanced at her daughter. ‘I’m sorry, Laura, I shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong. He works with me, but I shouldn’t have told him so many intimate details. He’s only been there eight months.’

‘Maybe’s he’s interested in you.’

‘Give over.’

‘You should invite him round.’

Sheila shook her head and peered at her daughter as if she’d taken leave of her senses.

‘I know you miss dad so much,’ said Laura, sitting down by her mother’s side. ‘But maybe it’s time to move on now, try and find someone else, invite others in to your life.’

There was a long silence and Laura wondered if she’d said something inappropriate.

‘You sure it’s not too early for that?’ said Sheila, finally breaking the silence.

‘No.’

‘Baby steps?’

Laura picked up the picture with the ‘hole’ in it and used her index and middle fingers to ‘crawl’ over it.

‘One and the same.’ She paused and tapped her fingers on the picture. ‘Still need the car keys though…’

‘But you didn’t tell me what for?’

‘And you didn’t tell me about old Peter Ryman…’

‘Hey, less of the old!’

Laura smiled and lifted the drawing up to her face so she was looking through the ‘hole’.

‘So peeping Tom or Peter Piper? Who’s it to be then?’

‘I hope Peeping Tom isn’t our activist friend. He might do you for slander!’

‘Could be anyone: me, you or a criminal who’s just given himself up.’ Laura paused and handed her mother the drawing while Sheila, reluctantly, handed over the car keys. ‘But sometimes you have to look through the tiniest of holes to get a bigger picture.’

She looked down at the car keys – and knew her mother was in the deepest of sleep by midnight. A sneak out at that time would make her feel guilty – but it was for a just cause. She would recognise that. The keys would be snugly back with her for work in the morning.

Laura was wary of the wing mirrors, the rear-view mirror and the windscreen – but what could she do about them? Hurl them onto the glass pyres of the attic or cellar like she did at home? She’d be left with a few car seats, a lot of wind and a grinding Polly Jean number blasting out of the stereo. That wouldn’t be a pleasant sight on Grays Avenue, where the gang had to be the focus of attention, not her. These kind of absurd thoughts whistled in and out of her head on the short drive to number 76, which was a semi-detached house with a spacious driveaway, neatly cut hedge and a door that appeared to be big for the rest of the house (she had spent most of the rest of evening browsing pictures of Grays Avenue on property websites so the road and houses felt familiar). There was also an opening to the back of the house – a small, immaculately-paved walkway in faded red and grey-brick colours. Laura wondered if this was the ‘route in’ for the gang. There were no lights on in the house. No cars. Which probably meant there were no people. She wondered where they might have gone. On holiday? Out for a meal. She hoped they wouldn’t pay the price.

She parked the car about six houses away at number 64 – as soon as she caught sight of the van Jake Lawler had mentioned. It was parked so close to the driveway of number 76 that Laura thought they were either incredibly brave or downright stupid. Surely a neighbour would rumble them if they were that close to the property? Maybe the neighbours weren’t as close to each other as Laura thought. But Laura knew there was a strategic reason for their daring or demented ‘operation’: the goods, some of which might be heavy, needed loading very quickly and having the van that close made the whole enterprise easier and more convenient. Whether they had the skill or stealth to pull it off was another matter.

After about ten minutes of inactivity, finally the van door opened and a man walked out. Laura was still about fifty feet away, sitting in the car, but she identified him as Mark Lawler. She couldn’t forget that strut, the way he carried himself and that baseball cap pushed right down to the eyebrows that almost impaired his sight. He opened the back of the van and two others – presumably Gaz and Sammo – joined him. There was no talking, gestures or plans of action; all three of them walked briskly and rapidly towards the house, not looking over their shoulders, intent on their faces, swagger and purpose in each stride. Laura wondered where Jake was? In the van? She waited for the three of them to disappear into the walkway and the back of the house. Then she got out of the car and walked down the pavement, her heart thumping with every stride and her mouth so dry she regretted not bringing a bottle of water – or any other drink – with her. She was desperate to avert any drooling or saliva escaping from her mouth. Within minutes, she was behind the van – and looked at the registration number. Why not just end it now? Call the police and have it done with? Lock those boys in the slammer and throw away the key? No, they wouldn’t have it that easy. Not those three.

And it was all to do with the fourth.

She walked round to the side of the van – and saw Jake Lawler slumped in the passenger seat with his shoes pressed against the glove compartment and an oversized beanie hat on his head. He didn’t notice her immediately (as he was looking right, towards the house) but Laura pushed her face right up against the window and, after hearing a ‘squeaky’ noise, he was so startled and shocked that he swore extremely loud while thudding his shoes onto the car mat below.

‘Jesus, you scared me, you fucking cow,’ he said, taking off his beanie hat and running his fingers through his hair. ‘That face… and at this time of night.’ He started shaking his head. ‘That fucking face. What did we do?’

‘Open the door.’

‘Mark’d kill me if he saw me with you…’

‘Maybe he wants to kill everyone. Open it.’

‘But they’ve just gone in. Might be a while yet.’

‘All the more reason for you to let me in.’

Jake reluctantly opened to the door. ‘Well, you can’t sit on this side.’ He allowed himself a mild smile. ‘Not unless, you want to cuddle up with me.’

‘Get on the driver’s side.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do it.’

Jake awkwardly hurdled over the gear stick and handbrake to sit in the driver’s seat. Laura settled down beside him. She looked around the van but it was hard to see as it was so dark and the overpowering scent of mothballs almost made her dizzy. There was little in the back seat apart from a generator, some stray bubble wrap and a few flattened cardboard boxes. Laura took out her phone and started filming inside the van.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Jake, suddenly starting to look uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure this is a good idea.’

‘It’s the best idea I’ve had since you ruined my life.’

‘I didn’t…’

‘No, but this van was part of the narrative, no? I’m taking charge of the story from now on. You’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn.’

‘You call this fun?’ said Jake, anxiously looking at number 76 to see if there was any activity. ‘This was a bad idea.’ He shook his head repeatedly. ‘I shouldn’t have told you about this. I shouldn’t have contacted you in the first place. I shouldn’t have wrote the letter. It was all a big mistake.’

‘Too late now.’

Laura moved the phone round the back of the van to ensure she could see everything in the ‘frame’. She then panned it round so it was about to meet Jake Lawler’s face.

‘No way, Laura Danes, fuck that,’ he said, raising his hands. ‘I’m not part of your Hollywood shite. Put it away or this all ends here. I won’t give you any other information about Mark, my auntie, the lads or anything. Never.’ He put his hand over the phone. ‘You are not filming me. That’s out of bounds.’

‘Why? You’re doing terrible things with your brother. You’re stealing from residents who have no idea of the shock that awaits them.’ Laura paused and carried on filming. ‘Or the shock that awaited me.’

‘Put it down or I start the van now – and plunge us both into one of these nice hedges so we can carry on the conversation in hell… because that’s where we’re both going.’

‘Not me. You haven’t got the car keys anyway.’

‘I know how to start this fucker without them.’

Laura carried on trying to film.

‘PUT IT DOWN NOW!’

‘NO!’

Jake tried to grab the phone – but Laura managed to shrug him off and get out of the van. Jake shifted over and tried to grab her but she was already out into the road. He looked right and left nervously, wondering if he’d caused a commotion – but Grays Avenue was utterly peaceful and secluded at this time of night.

Laura carried on filming outside the van – getting footage of its exterior including the registration plate – but noticed Jake stick two fingers up at her. She didn’t care anymore. She felt she had something valuable. Something that could be built on and worked on for a bigger picture. What that was, she wasn’t sure.

But she was absolutely sure what she needed now.

Those three faces in the frame so she could finally start coming to terms with what happened that night.

They didn’t come out for half an hour at least. There must have been a bonanza at 76 Grays Avenue. It gave Laura time to move her car closer to the van, crouch behind the boot, point her phone towards the gang and, hopefully, get some usable footage. She didn’t care if they saw her – although they’d be so ‘locked’ in their own jobs and thinking of the quickest escape – that even an earthquake might not deter them from their single-minded mission. Her desire was to get closer, right under their noses, but she knew a spirit of recklessness right now wasn’t the wisest of moves. She got as close as she dared – the rest would be a question of fate, luck and the steadiness of her hand.

Which was trembling as soon as she spotted Mark Lawler carrying what looked like a couple of antique chairs from number 76.

He walked down the path, not looking right or left, but Laura found it hard to keep her hand steady as she filmed from behind the boot of the car, the phone sticking up, her head peering up intermittently to ensure it was pointed in the right direction, and her body starting to ache from her awkward, crouched position. There was also the faint smell of the exhaust fumes from her car and the rubber ‘sickness’ of the tyres, just inches away. She hoped and prayed another panic attack wasn’t on the way. It would derail everything. Her mother’s hesitancy about her having the car might have been justified.

But the thrill of having Mark Lawler in her eyeline – as he stashed the antique chairs in the back of his van appeared to relieve the anxiety. The power was all on her side now. He had been gobbled up in a device. To be cut up and framed at her leisure. Maybe that’s what he wanted: to appear on a big screen. Town and cities didn’t seem to be big enough for him.

Gaz and Sammo then came out with a huge plasma TV screen, while Mark went back inside for everything from piled-up boxes of DVDs, CDs, Playstations to framed paintings, sculptures, vases and even armchairs. It was a big haul – and Laura wondered how many others they’d pulled off.

And how they would have reacted if the homeowner had confronted them in the living room or bedroom. Did Mark Lawler have his acid prepared, in a bottle or a container, to fling violently at the man or woman after they’d just got out of bed? Laura hoped they might have weapons of their own.

Like the one in her hand now.

The gang had stashed most of the goods – but Jake Lawler kept looking over his shoulder as he helped his brother with the particularly difficult task of getting the wide armchair into the back of the van. Jake knew where she was. Behind him – even though she was barely seen or heard. It was as if he was drawing attention to himself? Why? That he wasn’t part of this? He was – and they both knew it. But Laura would give him the benefit of the doubt as long as he didn’t give her away. Not this late. Not with so much good work done and, with perhaps, more to come.

They had pushed and squeezed everything into the van and then Mark clenched his fist in celebration and took off Jake’s beanie hat, rubbing his hair with his hand. Jake pushed his brother away and put the hat back on his head. They had a small argument and then Mark walked round to the front door of the van and was joined by Gaz and Sammo. They got in and Jake tried to get in himself but was pushed away repeatedly by his brother. The van began to drive away and Jake ran down the road in an effort to stay by its side and try to get back to what, he believed, was his rightful position. The van drove off down Grays Avenue and disappeared into the distance. Jake ambled down the road and headed towards Laura’s car. He stopped by her side, as she finally stood up, easing the pressure on her stiff limbs and her trusty right hand.

‘Now can you see whose side I’m on?’ he said, with his hands on his hips and a shake of the head.

Laura switched her phone off and looked up at him.

‘Not really, you’d have still gone with them, helped sell a few items and eat breakfast at Aunt Rita’s house which seems to be flowing with dirty money. I think your brother’s hold on you is tighter than you think.’

‘You’re wrong. It’s come apart – and it’ll never be brought back.’ Jake moved forward and stretched out his hand. ‘Come on, let me see the footage.’

‘You must be joking.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I need to see it first.’

‘Everyone shares everything these days. Come on let, me see.’

‘No.’

‘COME ON. NOW!’

Jake aggressively tried to grab the phone from Laura’s clutches – and it eventually fell onto the kerb, making the kind of sound that Laura thought would wake the whole neighbourhood. She could see it was cracked but she hoped, desperately, that it wouldn’t be broken.

‘You’re a bastard, do you know that?’ she said, reaching down to pick it up.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that,’ said Jake, closing his eyes and looking up the sky. ‘I know I’m a bastard – but there’s bigger bastards out there than me.’

Laura stood upright again and looked at the phone in her hand. The cracked screen display created a fissure in her heart. She felt angry and sad. Tense and agitated. All that good work for nothing? She tried to switch it on and after a short delay, it lit up again to make her so relieved that she nearly burst into tears.

She pointed it at Jake.

Who started running down the middle of the road.

Laura chased him all the way down Grays Avenue with the phone in her hand and the faint vibration of a smile on her face.

It if woke everyone up, then so be it, she deserved a bit of fun after such an ordeal.

As long as the only street light at the end of Grays Avenue didn’t shine too brightly on her face.

Five

Laura woke up the next morning feeling so tired she felt she might never get out of bed again. The ‘pursuit’ of the gang had taken its toll and her hands and arms, in particular, (probably from clasping the phone too tightly as well as the steering wheel) almost felt numb and lifeless as if they were about to fall off. But, as she turned over in bed, and looked at the cracked mobile phone on the bedside table, it gave her a lift. It felt like a companion and friend. A soul-mate. She reached over and picked it up. She felt mildly excited at the footage she may have recorded. Did she get everything she wanted? Was she close enough? The one street light and the night camera in her phone was surely enough to get some decent images. If not, she wondered if the whole ‘enterprise’ had been a mistake. Trying to nail a criminal gang was one thing, starting to lie to your own mother was quite another. She felt guilty about that but she also had to admit the thrill of last night’s excursion plus the daring footage brought a sense and balance to that feeling. Whether her mother would agree was a different matter. Telling her about any of this felt a long way away. The longer she kept it from her, the harder it would get.

But that was for another day. Now, she would get out of bed, have breakfast and get down to work; her first proper day of being back on ‘duty’ since her university days. The months of inactivity had created a deep malaise with too much time being spent (through no fault of her own) on treatments, professional advice, lying flat-out on a bed and so many sad, concerned and startled faces (when they saw hers) that she almost stopped making eye contact. But now that would change. And switching on her computer in her bedroom was the first step in that messy rehabilitation. It was like another life being born. A second coming – after the flames had been doused. She needed to work so badly she didn’t realise how much she missed it. The few minutes it took to upload her images from her phone to the computer were like gold-dust. Back in the saddle, back in the game. Hunter, gatherer. A sniff of satisfaction. There was no going back to the lazy or self-pitying Laura anymore. This was the arena she craved. A just cause where she had power over the image. Truth and art in one dose.

And she felt she needed a dose of medication to calm her down as she looked at the footage and felt elated that everything she had shot was visible and intact. The Lawlers, Gaz, Sammo all present, doing their worst, in stealth and silence, as if they were popping into their local store for crackers and milk. It was a clean, rapid operation with all the benefits of knowhow and experience. But they were on film now – at 76 Grays Avenue. Taking from those who were unaware. Like her. Now, with the grainy, imperfect and, sometimes poorly-framed, images in front of her (mainly to do with her trembling hand) she could reset the narrative and start again. Turn the tables on them. Expose them for what they were. She felt so blissful and satisfied about what she had, up on screen, that the whole day was spent on her computer – till nearly 6pm – as she repeatedly came back to the images as if they had a secret, hypnotic quality while also browsing the internet for research on acid attacks and looking at tutorials on how to set up a blog. She was so transfixed that her mother had to call her down for dinner in the end, Laura only responding on the third occasion when Shelia came to the top of the stairs.

But dinner tasted good. Lasagne, salad, drink, nibbles and chocolate – and Laura felt she ate more than ever. Her body and mind appeared to be going through the first stages of a healing process. She had waited long enough. The appetite was back and the possibilities felt endless.

‘Must have been 2am when you came back in, Laura, did you go out clubbing or something?’ said Sheila, who had left her dinner mostly uneaten and appeared distracted throughout the meal.

‘Sorry for waking you, mum. I was with Sophie. We went out to a few places in town.’

‘Are you sure it’s time yet? I don’t want you to take things too fast.’ Sheila crossed her hands on the table and looked beyond Laura. ‘I mean it’s not as though you haven’t been coming back home in the early hours before, what with your student days and all that, but I just want you to take extra care: there’s more crudeness flying around at that time of night and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.’

‘I was fine, mum, and obviously with your car, it meant I couldn’t drink at all really, so there’s nothing to worry about. It’s hardly the latest I’ve been out.’

‘Yes,’ said Sheila, rolling her eyes. ‘Third year at university was a world record I think for late – or should I say early – rollovers into bed. A few at six and seven o’clock’s if I recall correctly. Maybe even later than that.’

Laura put both hands up and stretched out her fingers.

‘TEN! Lord have mercy,’ said Sheila.

‘It was only on the odd occasion at weekends though,’ said Laura, feeling slightly embarrassed at how boring some of these student parties really were. ‘But I think they were good for me in a funny way because I now feel comfortable again, being out at similar times, not feeling fearful, just being myself. It’s not as though I can’t contact you immediately if anything goes wrong.’

‘But there’ll be no ten o’clock returns for the foreseeable future, that’s non-negotiable. You’re still way more vulnerable than you think.’

‘When did I say I’d be out till ten? That’s just an example.’

‘Still. I don’t want you out in the vicinity of liqueur louts overnight. I get worried.’

‘You worry too much, mum.’

‘Somebody has to…’

Laura moved forward and fixed her eyes on her mother. ‘Are you okay? I think you’ve got something on your mind.’

‘Oh, daughter’s intuition, is it?’

‘Something like that.’

Sheila sighed and looked away from her daughter. There was a long silence and then she blew out her cheeks.

‘Peter asked me go for a meal with him in an Italian restaurant,’ she said, with a mild shake of the head. ‘It just came out of the blue and shocked me so much I nearly lost my voice. I didn’t know what to say and ended up a gibbering wreck. It’s just been so long that a man has shown that kind of interest in me – since your dad flirting with me all those years ago – that it was almost like a dream. It didn’t feel real. But Peter said it was genuine and heartfelt and there was no need to be ashamed of having intimate feelings. I wasn’t sure what he meant – but I told him I’d give him an answer in a couple of days. I’m not sure I’m ready.’ Sheila finally glanced at her daughter. ‘No one can replace Michael. Not yet anyway.’

‘So when? Eight years? Ten? Twenty? How long will you wait to move on with your life?’ Laura shook her head – but also smiled at the same time. ‘It’s wonderful that he’s asked you out. Absolutely great – and I think you should bite his hand off – but, honestly, mum, you’ve really got to put all that dad stuff behind you now and look to the future. It’ll always be there – and he’ll always be there, fixed in our hearts – but you have to say ‘yes’ to Peter or you’ll regret it for a long time. A very long time.’

‘You think so?’

‘Yes. Because you share quite a few things. Work, a love for drawing and a respect for each other. That’s plenty to be going with.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Laura, fancy restaurants and me don’t get on. I prefer home cooking.’

‘Invite him round to the house, then.’

There was a long silence as Sheila looked almost startled by the suggestion.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Course I am.’

‘And you wouldn’t mind?’

‘Why would I mind? Two lovebirds eating the best homecooked food in town, over a glass of wine and nibbles. What’s not to like?’

‘A lot. My nerves for a start.’ Sheila got up from the table, suddenly looking flustered at the prospect of having Peter Corrin in her house. ‘Anyway, I was thinking more of you really – and whether you’re really ready to see a man in the house, who might be here for longer than you think, who might pry a little and, who, ultimately, might want to replace your dad one day.’

‘So you have thought about it?’

Sheila started to clear the dishes. ‘I’ve only got your best interests at heart, don’t forget that.’

‘I never do – but you need to seize the moment, mum, or it might not come again. You’ve been giving me infinite advice and support over the last three months, now take this advice: invite him round.’

‘What if you hate him?’

‘There’s too much hate in my life recently, I need some…’

‘Love.’

‘YEESSS!’ said Laura. ‘You see I got you to say it. I think it’s the first indication of a romance blossoming at Chiltern Rise and then, maybe, even in this old dive.’

‘Oi, don’t call it a dive! Which reminds, why were you on the computer all day today? I almost lost my voice trying to get you off there. What was so important?’

‘So many things, mum, so many things…’

‘Like?’

‘I’ll tell you soon because you’ve got a lot on your mind now.’

Sheila shook her head and started carrying the dishes to the kitchen. ‘Maybe you’ve got a boyfriend too.’

‘I’m not that lucky, mum,’ she said, rubbing her cheek and chin. ‘But it’s way more important than that.’

‘What can be more important than a relationship?’

‘Justice…’

Laura headed to her bedroom straight after dinner and rung Sophie on her mobile phone. She was relieved that her mother’s interpretation of the word ‘justice’ had veered the conversation off in a completely different direction – Tom’s campaigns and activism – rather than her own case and, for that, she was grateful. Her mother thought Laura was simply supporting or joining one of these campaigns, which would be a perfectly natural thing to do. Laura didn’t bother to clear up any inaccuracies or misunderstandings. It wasn’t worth it. She had work to do – and her mother appeared to be so distracted by ‘The Peter Corrin Dilemma’ that she barely asked the right questions or explored a point further. She trailed off and started to talk about work relationships and outings. She started to think about the food she needed for future meals if Peter came. She wondered if she’d have to buy new clothes because her wardrobe was desperate. It meant Laura could get on with the business in hand without too many questions being asked. At least for now.

But as Laura waited for Sophie to answer the phone (she usually answered in the nick of time) she wondered whether it was luck or coincidence that saw her closest friend and her mother become the subject of male attention almost at the same time. Would the same thing ever happen to her again? Would a boy or man ask her out on a date, take her out to dinner or take her to the cinema? She imagined bending forward for a kiss – and the man turning away immediately. She couldn’t get that image out of her head. It hurt, even though it had never taken place. It recurred so many times in her head, she wondered if it had.

Sophie finally answered and Laura was eager to get her important, arm-twisting request in first. But Sophie had something seismic of her own.

‘I’ve broken up with Tom.’

‘What?’

‘He’s history. Too up himself. And soooo political that it becomes suffocating. So no thanks. I’ll be fine on my own for a while. I forgot what that was like.’

‘But Tom’s doing great work. He’s helped me a lot with his campaigns and stuff. I don’t understand. And this must be a record for you. How long did it last?’

‘Don’t know and I don’t care. I know his heart’s in the right place but it’s someone’s mind you’ve got to put up with and his is soiled with too many anti’s.’

‘Aunties?’ said Laura, not quite paying attention as she thought of getting on the computer soon and doing more research on the Lawlers.

‘Anti-police, anti-government, anti-capitalist, it gets tiresome after a while. It’s just one big conspiracy. I know how I’d sum it up: one big anti-climax, the end.’

‘Oh, you looked so good together.’

‘Did we?’

‘Yes. Mum said it all the time. She’ll be shocked.’

‘So was he when I told him. Took it well though. We’ll still be friends.’

‘If only I had the same power over men.’

‘You will again, one day.’

‘Thanks for the crumbs, Cleopatra.’

‘It’s all I’ve got these days. Crumbs of comfort. I don’t think the kind of bloke I’m interested in exists on this planet.’

‘And there was me thinking my mother and you are set up for life with two wonderful men and don’t have another care in the world.’

‘Is your mother seeing someone then?’

‘Might be. But I called you really for something much more important.’

‘Which is?’

‘A simple back-me-up request.’

‘Eh?’

‘I was out last night, late. I took the car and said I was with you…’

‘When I was out with Tom telling him I’d dumped him?’

‘Yes, but that’s a small detail.’

‘Quite a big one, I’d say.’

‘Small in context. Look Sophie, to be serious for a minute. I want you to back me up that I was with you last night for the one and only time. It won’t happen again, honest.’

‘Did you kill someone?’

‘No!’

‘Beat someone up?’

‘Course not.’

‘Steal some chocolate.’

‘No, for God’s sake!’ said Laura, getting slightly irritated. ‘The point is, I think you said once that you owe me which of course you don’t. The whole mobile thing at the train station has haunted you just like it has me. If you hadn’t rung, you might not have felt so guilty and all that other stuff we’d rather not talk about. Well, can you turn that guilt to support, just for this particular thing, is that too much to ask? I mean, my whole life has been transformed beyond reason, a 360 on loop, day after day, can’t you just tell my mum that you were with me on the night in question? I mean, she probably won’t ask anyway and she’s the only one that knows.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Will you back me up?’

‘A hundred per cent. Did you see one of them or something?’

‘What?’

‘One of those fucking thugs.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because you always said you wanted to look them in the eye first before the police.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes…’

There was a long silence and Laura sighed down the phone. She lowered it down to her waist and felt slightly annoyed that Sophie’s intuition had been so acute. It was why they were probably so close in the first place.

‘I really can’t tell you right now, Sophie, I just can’t,’ said Laura.

‘Are you in danger?’

‘No.’

‘Are they after you?’

‘No, course not.’

‘If you are safe, then I will let you be – and I will allow you to tell me in your own time because I believe you’re mature and sensible enough to do that, as you’ve always been but if you’re not quite being upfront with the truth, like you have been with your mother, then I have to intervene, simple as that. You’ve suffered enough. Please tell me that everything’s okay and I don’t have to intervene to protect my best friend.’

Laura cleared her throat. ‘You don’t have to intervene,’ she said, in a low voice.

‘That didn’t sound too convincing.’

‘About as convincing as your reason for dumping Tom.’

‘You got me there. And you’ve also got my full-scale back up for the night in question, although if Tom says you weren’t there I can’t do anything about that. But I hope you’ll call me immediately the next time you go wandering. Did you take your mum’s car?’

‘Yes…’

‘No problems, driving?’

‘Bit of anxiety, yes.’

‘I’ll take you next time.’

‘No need. The second and third times will be better.’

‘Did you take your phone?’

‘Yes, for emergencies.’

‘And for a bit of video or the odd photo. I don’t think you can resist, even at night.’

Laura smiled and looked at the crack in her phone, a symbol of last night’s endeavours.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Laura. ‘I can’t resist.’

‘I am – and one day maybe we’ll do it together. Speak to you soon, I’ve got to go now.’

‘Hey, what do you mean “do it together”?’

‘See you later Danes Without Frontiers…’

Sophie hung up and Laura looked down at her phone. She was slightly annoyed at her friend’s abrupt farewell but maybe she was just trying to get back at Laura for her own, slightly guarded and mysterious revelations. It worked. Danes Without Frontiers sounded a good name for her blog. And maybe a website. And maybe a production company.

Crazy thoughts.

But not without foundation.

Because if one day Laura and Sophie really put their heads together, the rest of the world better watch out.

Whether that world accepted Laura the way she now looked was a different matter.

Laura checked on the local newspaper website whether last night’s burglary at Gray’s Avenue had been reported. It had – in amongst sixteen others during the past week. The perils of living in a county like this, thought Laura, where lovely little villages – upmarket and judiciously pruned – sat alongside small market towns which had their pockets of deprivation and weren’t always given the benefit of the doubt by those same villages who generally looked down on them. But looking down the addresses of some of these burglaries, it was amazing how many of them were targeted at villages rather than in the streets and roads of towns. Fourteen of them in total. The reasons were obvious: opportunity, seclusion and better standard of goods. Laura did feel a lot of sympathy for the homeowners as this was precisely the kind of activity they were trying to get away from. There was no escape. She compared the experience to her own night of terror. They felt very similar. An invasion. Something that might scar them for life. She considered again whether she should just call the police and tell them she knew who committed the burglary at 76 Grays Avenue. She looked down at her phone. It was a close call – but she decided against it. Let them do their job – and she could do hers. The whole three-month investigation and interrogation had been like a hot copper wire singeing her head repeatedly. It had drained and shattered her when she had only been thinking about recovery and seclusion. If it was up to her, she might never speak to a policeman again. She knew that was ridiculous – but that’s how she felt.

She moved off the newspaper website and put Rita Lawler’s name into a search engine. There were only six pages relevant to that name – but most of them referred to the same thing: a business called Big Bucks Furniture which had gone into administration at the time of the financial crisis in late 2007. Laura remembered a lot of these types of furniture and chair companies had also gone bust at a similar time or later simply because a lot of their trade was going online and the customer numbers to their warehouse and stores had dried up. She knew only a few of them remained. She wondered how some of the staff and employees at these companies coped these days. Did they have jobs? Were they on the scrapheap? She sensed Rita Lawler didn’t have a problem as she ran a tasty side business after Big Bucks Furniture had gone under. As Laura scrolled further down the pages, she noticed Rita did have quite good connections with important people in the town (even though the pictures were from a few years ago) – including photos with the then Mayor, the President of the Chamber of Commerce, the County Council Leader and the Editor of the local newspaper. Most of these were at business events where Big Bucks Furniture was seen as a ‘shining light’ and ‘flagship’ local business which the town could be proud of because of its financial rigour and stability. Laura wondered where all that confidence went. Down the pan along with a lot of other things. Laura scrolled onto Rita’s Lawler’s face. She looked at it for a few seconds. It was a fuzzy, distant image. But her eyes were razor sharp, cutting into Laura’s soul immediately. She had a smile on her face. Laura felt it might never be wiped off. She scrolled off the picture and was annoyed she’d spent so long on it. The image had a sinister, hypnotic quality. The pixelated nature of it made Laura feel sick. But it had provided an insight into Rita Lawler’s background, her business interests and possible plans for the future. Perhaps nobody could have predicted the racket she had planned for the town (along with her nephew) but the serious interest in all items of furniture, plus a sharp entrepreneurial streak, were clear and vivid to Laura. Perhaps too vivid. Because it gave her fresh ideas. Like getting Rita Lawler onto her phone like the others. One by one, Piece by piece. Then she could chop them up to her heart’s content. It sounded appealing.

But she would have to find her first.

And for that, she needed Jake Lawler.

She called him late in the evening – but his phone was switched off. She wondered if he knew how to use it. He called back ten minutes later and said he spent most of the day in London, before travelling back to Aunt Rita’s house in the evening, where his brother and Rita were still celebrating the success from the night before. Jake said it was one of the biggest hauls they’d had and he didn’t want to be in their company so he went back to his mum’s house for the day. This constant yo-yo-ing from Jake wore Laura out. Why was he always this restless? Barely staying in one place for too long? Moving around so quickly? It couldn’t be that he was still a fugitive because he said he’d give himself up to the police immediately. He’d been persuaded not to, by Laura. No, it was something else, deeper and more troubling. At times, Laura felt the answer might be painful to hear – but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it. Who knows, she might be able to help him? She had felt freer in the last few days than she had for the last three months: driving the car, doing her own research, filming; so maybe some of this hope and possibility could rub off on him. She wasn’t holding her breath.

Even if she could.

‘Not surprised, you couldn’t catch me last night,’ he said, with a hint of a smile in his voice. ‘Too fast for you. Showed you a clean pair of heels… or should that be trainers?’

‘No, but I caught a lot more than that. I want you to get me in Rita Lawler’s house. Or at least get me close.’

‘Get off.’

‘No, I’ve just got on your stealer’s wheel of a business, why would I want to get off?’

‘Because it’s dangerous, that’s why. You could get hurt.’

‘Don’t you think you’ve hurt me enough already? You can’t do any worse.’

‘Mark can always do worse, believe me.’

‘I’m not scared of Mark Lawler.’

‘Good for you. But some people are: like Gaz and Sammo. I was too but I’ve learnt to deal with him better these days. I just don’t care anymore.’

‘So you won’t mind me telling about Aunt Rita’s house and the whole set-up.’

‘You must be joking, not yet. You need to let this whole Grays Avenue raid die down a bit and then you can start your Agatha Christie shit again.’

‘I can’t wait that long.’ Laura paused and thought of the rest of the gang. ‘Okay, what about Gaz and Sammo?’

‘What about them?’

‘You said Sammo takes drugs…’

‘No, I said Sammo sniffs drain cleaner, there’s a difference. He does solvents, glue, lighter fuel and God knows what else. As far as I know, he’s never been on hash or heroin.’

‘Well, good for him. Where does he live?’

‘He’s moved around a lot. Tower Hamlets, Ealing, I honestly don’t know these days. It’s hard to get a straight word out of him. His brain’s melting after all those solvents being shovelled into it.’

‘But he was the one that bought the drain cleaner and those other liquids?’

‘Yes, he went with Mark and they bought them from one of these hardware or DIY stores, I can’t remember which, maybe B&Q or Homebase. It was a piece of piss. I was watching telly at Aunt Rita’s at the time and they were cooking up this weird stuff in the cellar. Mark said it was a good weapon to have. Honestly, I never saw it properly until the night they used it on you. It was in one of these small plastic bottles with the sticker missing and a squirty top and it just looked harmless. I thought it was my brother’s drink. I should have asked more questions but just went along with it.’

‘Which you’ve repeated many times,’ said Laura, with a sigh. ‘We need to move on now.’

‘But I can’t!’ he snapped.

‘You can if you keep answering my questions,’ said Laura, trying to stay calm and keep her focus. ‘Now, are Gaz and Sammo still in town or have they gone back to London?’

‘Jesus, have you become this documentary maker or something? Like Watergate or Panorama or something from dad’s old world? He used to go on about those things and shout at the telly saying that these people in authority were just as corrupt as the criminals because they served powerful interests. I think he was right.’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘I’m just saying that some of those people in power and authority are just as bad as us, as bad as Mark, Sammo and Gaz.’

‘Not in this case, they’re not.’

‘Maybe not, but you heard me.’

Laura’s head began to hurt at the dead-end nature of the conversation. But she could take Jake’s occasionally outrageous, outbursts. She had taken much more. It wasn’t everyday she was compared to Agatha Christie or Woodward and Bernstein even though she had nothing whatsoever to do with books or newspaper investigations. No, she had to let Jake have his temper tantrums and his foot-stamping detours because he was still feeding her with vital information. If that dried up, then it was time to call him out, dig deeper and find out, ultimately, once and for all, what was eating him up.

Because that’s how it felt.

Something was eating him up.

But that could wait because Laura had Sammo in her sights.

‘Where did you say Sammo buys his sweets from?’ she asked.

‘Sweets?’

‘Solvents and all that rubbish?’

‘He has a variety and gets them from three different places.’

‘Name me one.’

Jake sighed and paused.

‘Three H.’

‘Three H?’

‘Home and Hosed Hardware Store…’

This time, Laura took the bus to the town centre – and walked down to the store, which was so small it was dwarfed by a pizza takeaway restaurant and opticians on either side. Jake had called about half an hour ago to say that Sammo was setting off to get his ‘early fix’ for the morning, but that he did have a habit of meandering and wandering around the shops looking for nothing in particular. Laura didn’t mind as it gave her time to walk into the opticians and have a look around – something she had been meaning to do anyway – as her left eye was still giving her quite a lot of trouble and her vision always felt slightly impaired despite the doctors telling her that eye tests were still coming back generally normal (although there was a bit of short-sightedness and physical wear and tear from the attack itself). For months, she wondered how well her eyes had healed. She felt utterly blind for the first few days. Then the chinks of light. Then more. Until almost everything came back. She was obviously relieved at her vision coming back; having the ability to see the grass, trees, the blue sky, the flight of a bird. But she still felt something missing. She didn’t know quite what was. It was as if the widescreen landscape of before had shrunk slightly to create another reality. Smaller than before, more diminished. Maybe it was just anxiety. She didn’t want to look left and right as often anymore, or over her shoulder.

Laura tried to put these thoughts out of her head as she looked at the bewildering range of lenses in the opticians. The assistant had been looking at her for ten minutes. She finally approached her and asked Laura if she wanted to try any of their new range or if she wanted to be booked in for an eye test. Laura wondered what on earth she was doing here. It had been a mistake. She didn’t want to buy anything, she just wanted advice. And the can of worms that would have to be opened, to get that advice wasn’t worth it. She walked out of the shop and looked to her left at the Home and Hosed Hardware Store. She knew Sammo wasn’t in there yet as she could see who came in and out from looking through the display window at the opticians. She waited outside for a few minutes. She thought of going into the pizza restaurant next door but wondered if the stares and the looks would be too much for her at this time of the day. Breakfast and bullying might be too much to bear. After another ten minutes of waiting, she finally saw him, ambling towards the store, coat too long for him, shoulders drooped, hands in pockets, hair over his ears. He was quite tall, about six foot, and his beanie hat looked too small for him. His chin and eyes were prominent; big and imposing as if they’d forgotten the rest of his face when putting him together. Laura had a better look at him today – his scarf and hoodie weren’t covering most of his face, unlike last night – but it didn’t make any difference, the expression and demeanour felt the same: blank, cold and lifeless. She watched him go into the store and followed him in. She knew it would have security cameras and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself – but she wanted to stay close to him as if the sense of ‘capture’ would diminish if she let him out of her sight now. The store was small but well stocked, with goods piled up so high on slightly awkward shelves, that customers were hidden from each other until they got to the counter. As soon as Laura went in, she could already see Sammo picking stuff up, looking at it, putting it down and then shaking his head. He appeared to be assessing the difference between brands of lighter fuel. She moved a bit closer to him and took out her phone. She turned on the camera but then put it closer to her left ear so that people may think she was answering a call. She moved the phone slightly away from her ear and looked at the display screen; Sammo the sniffer, the Sammo the robber, the Sammo the thief. She only needed a few seconds of him – but she got about two minutes. She stopped filming and put the phone away, eager not to get the attention of the shopkeeper. Sammo went to the counter and bought two cans of lighter fuel. She wondered how long that would keep him going. Not long, she thought, as the cans looked quite small and compact. She waited until he was about to leave – but then, suddenly, he looked over his shoulder while picking up his items and Laura thought he spotted her. She lowered her head immediately and shifted to one side but her heart thumped and head began to spin as goods on the shelves felt they might collapse at any minute, their labels distorted and their letters hard to read. He was coming this way, she was sure of it, so she stepped deeper into one of the pokey aisles. Household items – DIY kits, paint stripper and wallpaper designs – came into view, with their own scent and their own grisly patterns and toxicity. Wild thoughts of how much sulphuric or hydrochloric acid was in the store. The whole place was full of it, she was sure. Her eyes began to water and she sat down on the floor, with her back resting against a few cans of paint and bottles of paint stripper, one of which she’d accidentally nudged onto the floor. She heard footsteps – but they thankfully dispersed and then the blissful sound of the door opening and closing completed the sense of relief. Laura took a deep breath and quietly congratulated herself for not giving in to a panic attack or anxiety episode or whatever shit might have been swirling around in her head when Sammo glanced over his shoulder. She had managed to ride it out, with difficulty and resolve. With bravery and determination. And she had the bonus of Sammo’s footage in her phone. That was worth all the trouble. She got up and dusted herself off. She took a deep breath and checked her phone, just to ensure it hadn’t wriggled away from her. She smiled as everything appeared to be in order – but then was startled when the shopkeeper stood by her side, just inches away from her, peering deep into her eyes as if expecting an immediate response from her.

‘You’re the girl who was attacked,’ he said. ‘Shall I call your mother?’

Six

Martin took Laura into the back room of the store for a coffee and biscuit and asked her if she needed a tablet. She said no and thanked the store manager for his understanding and hospitality – but that she needed to get back home because she had work to do. Martin asked if she was moving into a flat or a new home herself because that was the main reason young women came to the store these days; when they needed ‘extras’ or ‘vitals’ for their new place to ensure they didn’t get caught short later. This was one of the words he used a lot – ‘vitals’ (‘your licks of paint’, ‘your wallpaper’, ‘your toolboxes’) and Laura got so used to it that she almost said it was ‘vital’ for her to get back home immediately. But she didn’t. As she got up, however, she was still wary of the footage she’d captured on her phone and wondered if Martin had seen her ‘in the act’. It might have been on his security camera anyway.

But he was interested in something else: Laura’s face. He scoured it incessantly, his eyes dancing around as they examined each pore: the lines, the scars and the swelling making him sigh and curse under his breath. Was he swearing at her? Laura found him difficult to read. He was a small man but well-built. He had tattoos on both forearms and a sleeper earing in one ear. A goatee beard was embedded so deep it looked like the bristles from one of his paintbrushes.

‘I’ve got three children,’ he said, taking the coffee mug from Laura and pouring another one from the kettle. ‘Twelve, nine and seven. When I see them sleeping I feel so much energy and activity going on behind their eyes. So much to live for. If anything like that ever happened to them, I don’t know what I’d do.’

‘What are their names?’

Martin laughed and rolled his eyes. ‘Shit, that’s usually quite important, isn’t it?’

‘Mostly, yes…’

‘Mark, Jack and Libby in that order. Have you got any brothers and sisters?’

‘No.’

There was a moment of silence as Martin poured himself another coffee, grabbed another biscuit and sat on a stool as if he was just getting comfortable.

‘What if you get another customer now?’ asked Laura.

‘We won’t. That lad’s a bit of a regular – but after him it usually gets quiet.’

‘You know him?’

‘No, he just gets his lighter fuel and disappears.’ Martin dipped his biscuit into his coffee. ‘He’s not underage so it’s all above board.’

‘Do you regularly get underage people in here?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘And you ask for ID?’

‘Yes…’ Martin looked up at Laura. ‘Ah, so this is what’s it about. All that tedious ID stuff. Boring, I’m well covered on that score. I never let people who aren’t eighteen buy anything from this store.’

‘Maybe they’ve got fake IDs or use someone else’s.’

Martin sighed, stopped drinking his coffee and folded his arms.

‘Do you know that lad who came in here?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘So why were you filming him?’

‘I’m just trying to show how easy it is to buy toxic chemicals in the high street. I’m going to do a piece on it, or maybe post it online.’

Martin nodded. ‘I’m impressed. They haven’t been able to keep you down, have they? I read that you were almost blind for three days and now here you are, chasing these things yourself. Isn’t this the kind of thing the police should be doing?’

‘I think they are – but I need to go my own way.’ Laura looked at the exit door, which lead out onto the street. ‘And I need to go home now. It’s been a strenuous morning. I thank you for everything you’ve done for me: the nice words, the coffee, the hospitality – but I’ve really got to go now.’

‘I understand, you’re probably a bit tired after all that. Who’s at home then, your mother?’

‘She’s at work. No one’s there right now.’

‘Do you still have to rest a lot, you know, after what happened?’

‘Yes…’

‘Why don’t you think the police have caught them yet?’

Laura laughed and handed Martin the phone. ‘Jesus, do you want to finish this thing off? You ask enough questions!’

‘You must be joking, I’m allergic to those devices.’

‘But not allergic to all that dangerous stuff out there?’ said Laura, pointing over her shoulder.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Well come on then, why don’t you get the whole story then by filming me and asking me some questions? Put the boot on the other foot as it were. I’ll answer anything within reason. About the industry, about the store, about dodgy chemicals, anything. Just get it rolling and say action and I’ll be on message. Nobody has asked me about this store since the day it opened, twenty-two years ago, so now’s a good a time as any to get things moving. And besides, it’s always nice to be put on the spot by a lovely girl like you. I’ll even talk about those criminals if you like. Now if you want to know what I really think about them…’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Laura, taking her mobile phone out of her pocket. She couldn’t quite believe her luck. Martin had given her what she wanted without even having to ask. She had intended to ask him – but things had changed after Sammo’s sly glance. She wasn’t sure Martin would be on her side – but he was. Surprisingly so. She had underestimated him. She wondered if she had overestimated the amount of bullying and ridicule she would get and underappreciated how much kindness and consideration she would receive while back out in society or on the streets. A little. Martin was a perfect illustration of the latter.

Laura switched on her phone and started filming with the camera. Martin got up off the stool and put his hand over the phone. He whispered into Laura’s ear.

‘Before we begin, I know that lad was probably part the gang that attacked you,’ he said. ‘You probably wouldn’t have followed him into the store otherwise.’ He paused and moved back a little. ‘But don’t worry, if you want me to shop him, I will, if you want me to call the police, I will, if you want me to do nothing, I will, it’s your call. I think you deserve that at the very least after all you’ve been through…’

‘Is he on your security cameras?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ll allow me a few screen grabs?’

‘Why not?’

Laura nodded and smiled. She took a deep breath and started filming.

‘Now, Mr Martin Ricks, can you start by telling me if any of your toxic chemicals might have been used in the spate of acid attacks across the country?’

Martin pointed at Laura as if to say ‘Youuuuu!’ while Laura laughed heartily behind the phone. She never thought she’d have so much fun in a place that smelt so dangerous and terrible.

Laura got home and checked the footage on her computer. It was more than she could have expected. Images of Samuel Weekes strewn across the screen: all shifty, all grainy, all compelling. She wondered when he would walk into the store next. She imagined Martin taking him in the back, questioning him and then pouring a hot combination of paint stripper and drain cleaner over his head. It was a silly thought but hard to dismiss. Would Martin really let him wander around his store when he knew he was a fugitive from justice? Maybe, but everyone had their limits and breaking point. She hoped matters would never get that far.

She thought of how Sophie and, now Martin, were treating her. They were utterly on her side, letting her roam freely and giving her a giddy confidence she might not have had if she’d still had the same untarnished face she’d had for 21 years. Wasn’t this a gift? An unconditional bond of support? What if others treated her like this? She felt utterly liberated and uplifted by this support. And if she was gaining an advantage by it, so what? The disadvantages dominated her face, body and mind on a daily basis. The scales, utterly imbalanced, needed rebalancing.

What also needed reweighing – or reconsideration – was the leaflet still lying on her bedside table for the victim group that Tom had suggested for Laura, Bon Visage. It was amazing how hostile Laura felt towards this group when she was first told it existed, but now there was a completely different feeling as if the successes of her pursuit of the Lawlers had given her a momentum to try things and be open to new experiences. This was certainly one. Tom had told her this wasn’t a conventional group and the woman who ran it – Francesca Dean – had an original, if eccentric, way of bringing victims together, telling their stories in a myriad of different ways, challenging them, asking them questions, even going so far as trying to get into the heads of the perpetrators. But she didn’t have a lot of members. Perhaps it was easy to see why. But Laura was intrigued. She wanted to go down herself and see how certain victims were dealing with the trauma of the attack and its aftermath. After all, she was one herself. But she’d liked to think she’d moved on now. Although, how far that was she wasn’t sure.

So she rang the number on the leaflet and spoke to Francesca Dean, who said the group met two times in a village hall and she was welcome to attend. The next meeting was tomorrow and Francesca looked forward to seeing her. After the call, Laura felt better and wrapped the phone inside the leaflet as if they’d become part of each other. She was sure Francesca wouldn’t mind her filming the odd ‘exchange’ down at the village hall. It was necessary to balance out what she had already and the thought of having footage on perpetrators, victims and shopkeepers – plus widespread research on acid attacks – made her feel excited at what might be possible in the final cut, whether that be a video, film or documentary. For the moment, she was just thrilled that people appeared to be queueing up to say ‘yes’ to her. It had come as a pleasant surprise. She shouldn’t have been so pessimistic about humanity. The shock and violence of that night had shaken the foundation of her life – but now another life, with the people who understood and cared, was beginning to open up.

This time Laura told her mother exactly where she was going. But the details weren’t necessary as her mother was preoccupied with Peter Corrin coming round for dinner the following evening, which meant she was busy doing last-minute shopping, preparing mass quantities of food and ensuring the house was clean and tidy. She barely registered that Laura was ready to attend a victim support group – and because her daughter had shown so much initiative and confidence in the last few days – she felt it was better to let her try things herself, without her mother’s constant support, holding her hand, mollycoddling her, perhaps being too close at times. Laura was relieved her mother felt that way. If Peter Corrin created some of that necessary distance between mother and daughter then that was a good thing. No one could replace her father. But if the ultimate result of her mother and Peter getting intimate meant Laura gained more freedom, then it was a small price to pay. Perhaps it would even make the two women of the house very happy in years to come. To turn the despair of two womens’ cries, on the night of the attack, into something more life-affirming and loving would be something to cling on to and, ultimately, treasure.

So Laura drove the four or so miles to the village hall and parked haphazardly in the tightest of car parks that appeared to have no markings or lines on it. She got out of the car and walked to the front entrance. She stepped in, past a small foyer which had a noticeboard, an unmanned reception desk and a flimsy coat stand that was nearly toppling over because of the sheer number of scarves, hats and coats on it. Laura didn’t think there were that many people here. Didn’t Tom say the numbers were in single digits? Laura stepped forward and walked down a tight corridor which had two doors either side. She peered into the one on the left first which was clearly a yoga class because most of the people were standing on one leg with their hands together while an instructor walked round to check if they were doing the correct pose. She then glanced to her right – and had to look again to ensure what she was seeing wasn’t a trick of the mind. She stood by the open door for a few seconds and watched eight people lying on the hard, wooden floor – with their heads meeting in the middle and their legs outstretched, as if they were resembling a human clock, ticking away serenely, static and calm, without a stray movement of their bodies or a flicker on their faces. Visage’s Fade to Grey played from a distant corner of the room and Francesca Dean was hovering around, peering down at the eight ‘subjects’, straightening their legs and arms if she saw any deviation or movement. She looked up at Laura by the door and asked her to come in. Laura stepped in and walked towards the group on the floor. She shook Francesca’s hand, and then put her finger on her lips as if to say the music or ‘human clock’ might be disrupted if they talked too much. She asked Laura to join the eight people on the floor. Laura said she’d wait and watch for now, sitting on a chair at the side of the room. Francesca smiled and carried on singing to the music, which captivated her so much she closed her eyes and joined her palms over her lips. Laura could sense the feeling of exhilaration and exuberance in the room. It electrified it in a manner Laura didn’t think was possible. She looked at the eight heads on the floor and instead of decay and injury – which was clearly still visible on their faces – they resembled a joined-up, delicate flower which was ready to grow and live again after the traumas they had suffered. It was ready to breathe again, as one, showing an infinite strength not shown by the perpetrators. They could go to hell. Heaven was right here. At least, according to Francesca Dean.

After the song was over, Francesca stepped forward and started to circle the ‘human clock’ again. She glanced at Laura and finally started to speak.

‘The world has turned upside down,’ she said, bending down to ensure one of the victim’s shoulders was precisely in the correct position. ‘Back to front. You cannot see the wood from the trees. The sky is missing. It’s fallen in or fallen out. The pieces are in flux. The digits are broken. No one looks at you in the same way anymore. They look away. At anything. Anything, but you…’ She sighed and bent down to touch one of the faces. ‘But this will never fade.’ She then touched the man’s heart. ‘Or this…’ She stood up and started to pace again. ‘Because the cracks are only skin deep and the shivering, shattering epicentre is no longer. It is history because we can fix it. The beating hearts can become one again because each hand in the sacred, circularity of life is connected. We can locate the compass of survival, acceptance and forgiveness because we are stronger than them if not better. We can experience the beauty of life again because we are together – and will always be. Breathe deeply, stay close together and imagine a new world of tolerance and respect. Learn to live again, learn to love again…’

Francesca finally paused and Laura could only think of one word as she looked at the ‘human clock’ on the floor: cuckoo. She knew it was wrong to think that way, particularly as Francesca had invited her all this way, but the thought was undeniable. Perhaps, it was a case of Laura’s humour returning, which was obviously a good thing.

But humour wasn’t on her mind as she took out her phone and wanted to film the eight people on the floor. This was important business. Francesca walked towards her immediately as soon as she spotted what Laura might be doing. She sat down on the chair next to her.

‘Go and join them,’ she said, laying out her hand as if she expected Laura to place the phone in her palm. ‘I think I can do a better job. Get new angles, a fresh perspective.’

‘You want me to lie down?’

‘Yes…’

‘But it’ll knock the clock out of shape. Eight’s an even number. Nine will put it out of sync.’

‘No, not if you lie down in exactly the right place. Here, let me show you.’ She walked Laura over to the group and asked her to slot in between two men whose faces were badly burned and disfigured. One of them looked up at her and winked as if to say ‘you might enjoy this’. Laura wasn’t sure but followed Francesca’s instructions. Francesca politely took the phone off her and started to film. She bent down to get close, did a high angle shot and then, bizarrely, put the phone on a victim’s stomach which was throbbing so much the phone nearly fell off.

‘Now we have nine,’ said Francesca, looking quite pleased with herself as she stepped back and folded arms. ‘We want twelve of course, but we’d like you to welcome our new member Laura Danes, who has taken her valuable time off today to join us in our epic journey of acceptance. She wants to show the world that we’re not scared and I’m sure you won’t mind her taking a few shots back with her today. If anyone objects to being filmed, please lift yourself up now.’

There was silence and nobody did, which surprised Laura. It appeared Francesca had these people eating out of the palm of her hand. Perhaps, she would have to reassess the ‘cuckoo’ term which had come so easily after her first impressions. Maybe genius was more appropriate. Or something in-between.

The nine chairs were placed in semi-circle formation a few feet apart as all the ‘victims’ introduced themselves to Laura while Francesca Dean walked around the hall, head down, listening intently to the stories she’d probably heard many times before. But Francesca felt the ritual was necessary, particularly for a new member. Laura needed to listen to the tales direct from the victims themselves, hear their strained voices, absorb them, take them in, so she could understand and perhaps empathise with her fellow sufferers. Only then, Francesca felt, could she really be integrated in the ‘community’ in a manner that gave her the confidence and courage to ask anything, do anything and not be shy in coming forward with suggestions about how the group could progress or come up with new ideas on how to tackle a virulent epidemic. Laura was sceptical at first but grateful to Francesca for asking her to hang around, sometimes a bit awkwardly as she didn’t know any of the people in the room. She had intended to leave after the ‘human clock’ experience earlier in the evening. After all, she had all the shots she needed in her phone. But hearing these stories gave Laura a curious sense of wellbeing as if she was being given a small dose of medication with each passage, each anecdote and each tale that appeared to mimic her own with startling detail and accuracy. They were therapeutic – but also strangely uplifting and hopeful. The sense of a harrowing tale appeared to be buried beneath the avalanche of an innocent face. There was nothing sad about this. There was energy and optimism dancing in those eyes while the mouths that moved had a humour and wit about them. The future had arrived – and they were part of it.

‘Hello, my name is Letitia Brinks and I was an acid attack victim. This is what happened to me…’

Laura listened as Letitia told the story of her best friend Donna who had been jealous of her boyfriend, Mark, and had decided to take it out on her after following her on the Tube for nearly three hours. The attack eventually happened outside a Tube station as Donna, dressed in a headscarf and sunglasses, hurled a can of hot liquid into her face leaving her screaming and crying in distress as she called for help. She could barely see and didn’t realise Donna had been the attacker. She said she still hasn’t got over that part of the story, while the physical injuries were easier to deal with. At the trial, Donna claimed that she simply loved her friend and it tore her apart to see her with a rogue like Mark Rawlston. He would destroy her, she said, and Mark did break up with Letitia almost immediately but said it was nothing to do with Donna, or the ‘new reality’ of Letitia’s face and injuries. He said he’d found another girlfriend. This hurt Letitia but she was determined not to get down about it so persuaded her boss (she was a housing assistant for the local council) to let her come back to work early so she could start getting back into ‘real life’ again like everyone else. She loved her job and found that everyone was friendly and extremely helpful. She even found a new boyfriend and they were thinking of moving in together. Letitia smiled when she said she’d be the expert in finding them a new place. She knew where all the nice areas were.

Laura listened to all this and it occurred to her that Letitia had dealt with her attack way better than she had. She had got over it much quicker. Maybe the trial had something to do with it because of its sense of closure, although even that was hardly an end to the ordeal. No, Letitia appeared to have an acceptance that was admirable; noble even. Having a regular job and a boyfriend helped. It was like it grounded her and made her highly optimistic about the future. Whether Laura wanted to follow a similar path was unlikely and perhaps even impossible. A job, boyfriend and a home would be nice but felt a bit too restrictive for her tastes and lifestyle.

Letitia stopped speaking and Robert took over. He took a few seconds to get going. His face was probably – in terms of injuries and scarring – one of the most damaged in the group. He kept touching his eye which was still swollen up the size of a golf ball and his upper lip sagged over his mouth, almost touching his chin.

‘My name is Robert Tomey and I was the victim of an acid attack,’ he said, not making eye contact with any of the group. ‘Someone told me more blokes than women are victims of these things across the country.’ He finally broke out into a smile. ‘I wish someone had told me…’

Most of the group laughed – and Robert continued his story. He said he had been walking back home on his own after a night out with friends when two men on a moped stopped by his side and asked him if he wanted to order a pizza. Robert said no and genuinely thought they were couriers but then suddenly one of them pulled a plastic bottle out of his bag, undid the cap and threw liquid all over Robert’s face and body. Robert fell to the kerb and genuinely thought he was dying. A passer-by saw what was happening and called an ambulance immediately. Robert was in a coma for two weeks before pulling through, still unsure of why he had been targeted in such a callous manner. But he said the reasons for what those two men did (who had been jailed for twelve years each) may never become clear because it was just a random attack. Wrong place, wrong time. He said the fact there was no motive actually made it easier for him to deal with the consequences of what happened. It was insignificant and so were the criminals. They didn’t hate him, they hated life. Now, they could hate to their heart’s content from the walls of a prison cell.

Laura felt uplifted by Robert’s story because he told it in such a breezy, relaxed manner. There was no bitterness there, just cold, hard facts. He said he’d bought about fifteen different superhero masks to wear out in the street in case anyone tried to mess with him. A few people did, calling him names like Fryface and Eyeclops, but he just responded by trying to do funny impressions of superheroes to try and defuse the situation. It didn’t always work.

When Robert finished, Laura knew what was next: the group’s eyes were fixed on her and there was an uncomfortable silence in the hall. Laura glanced at Francesca who nodded to say that it was time to tell her story. Laura wasn’t sure. These people were still a bunch of strangers despite a gradual bond that had grown between them during the course of the evening. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. She glanced at every one of the eight damaged faces sitting on their chairs. She could see they were desperate to hear from Laura. To share and to experience. They craved another soulmate on the long road back to recovery. They were desperate for a sense of belonging after the isolation and despair. It was as if Laura could feel the tug of their warm spirits in the room. For once, the story would be told without exertion or sorrow. She would be proud to share it

‘My name is Laura Danes and I was a victim of an acid attack,’ she said, after a long silence and a cross of the hands. She looked at each one of the victims in turn and then glanced at Francesca Dean. ‘And I won’t fade to grey.’

Seven

As Laura drove back home from her surprising and heartwarming evening with fellow sufferers and victims, she wondered why she had been so anxious about it in the first place. It had been an incredible experience. She had shared stories and made new friends. They had looked each other in the eye and there was so much to discover that even a thousand Bon Visage meetings might not be enough to chisel out the richness and complexity of a life once mundane and normal, now changed and altered forever. A life that had been temporarily shattered but wasn’t beyond repair. As she played Polly Jean’s We Float on the stereo and thought of the bravery and courage of the group members, Laura allowed herself a longer glance in the rear-view mirror. The mild smile on her face appeared to reduce the scarring and damage. It may just have been an impression or a feeling but it felt real. Engaging with people with faces like hers brought a new energy – and Francesca Dean was the catalyst for that. She still wondered why she ran the group though. Did she have a story? She would ask her one day.

Laura turned the music up and sang along to We Float so enthusiastically that the car almost veered onto the grass verge. She still needed a few more journeys behind the wheel to get back to normal. She turned the music down and realised her mobile phone had been ringing incessantly. There were two missed calls. It rang again and this time she stopped the car, close to the grass verge, and answered it.

‘Gaz is at a skateboard park tonight if you want to get him,’ said Jake Lawler. ‘It’s called Super Skates and tries to get lads of the streets, off drugs and out of crime and that kind of thing. There’s a few of them down in London but only one here so he wanted to hook up with some of the lads down here to see if it measures up.’

‘But it’s late.’

‘It’s only ten o’clock. You were at Grays Avenue the other night, so don’t talk to me about late.’

‘That was different. A crime was taking place.’

‘All right, see you then…’

‘No, no wait, listen,’ said Laura, trying to shrug off the tiredness that had suddenly crept up on her courtesy of a long night at Bon Visage. ‘I’ll go now. Where is it? And will you be there?’

‘No, I hate fucking skateboarding.’

‘Oh I forgot, football’s your thing.’

‘Was…’

‘Okay tell me where – and I’ll be there soon.’

He sighed and sounded irritated. ‘Not sure I want to tell you now after the way you started off.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, stop being a child. Tell me where.’

‘What about Mark and Aunt Rita, don’t you want to know about them?’

‘Course I do, but we were talking about Gary Norden.’

He paused and Laura thought he might have hung up.

‘Mark and Rita will be at an antique fair tomorrow afternoon,’ he said, after a long silence. ‘It’s where a lot of the goods end up. The event’s never advertised but a lot of people in the industry know about it. The goods are then sold on for a profit and the two of them are quids in.’

‘How long have they been doing this?’

‘So many years I’ve lost count. After that, they go to Jodie’s Caff to wind down and celebrate. Sometimes, they do the accounts there. The last haul at Grays Avenue has emboldened them a lot. They feel even more confident now. As if nothing can touch them anymore.’

‘But you can?’

‘I’ve given you what you wanted, haven’t I?’

‘Yes, but I always get the impression you’re not giving me the full picture.’

‘That’s your job – with your fancy camera and arty-farty films, I’ve got no interest in that.’

‘You might have one day.’

‘Why?’

Laura paused and started the car again.

‘Because you might be the only subject in town.’

Laura couldn’t help but admire the gliding, the moves and the rhythm. The young men (and they wore mostly men) showed a skill and audacity that was breathtaking in its execution as they skated, jumped and leapt high in the night sky, suspended in the air, knees high and a gaze so joyous that heaven was almost within touching distance. They moved so athletically and gracefully that it was difficult to keep up – but after about an hour, Laura spotted Gary Norden on a skateboard that appeared to make more of a screeching, grating sound than the other skaters and also had so much graffiti on it that it felt more like a slogan or a statement. But it ran so smoothly that these things were irrelevant. And Gary had it gliding so effortlessly across the skate park that Laura almost felt sorry for him. Sorry, that he wouldn’t be able to do this one day. His eyes were so sharp and concentrated on the job, his face utterly still and his lean, lithe body locked so perfectly into the contours and rhythm of the skateboard, that it would be a shame to take this from him. It looked like his whole world out there. It looked as if he could stay there all night and all day.

But Laura had work to do and took out her phone. She looked around the skate park and there a were a lot of other people with phones and devices, taking pictures and filming. They were probably friends and relatives trying to boost the egos of the young men in their midst, some who might have ended up on the wrong side of the tracks. There was an overpowering smell of crisps and hot dogs in the air – and as smoking and drinking was banned within the grounds – it wasn’t hard to see why. This made Laura hungry but she felt it would disrupt her concentration if she ate any food now, particularly this late in the evening. So she pointed the phone at Gary Norden and grabbed the best footage she could. It was extremely difficult to keep up. He moved rapidly and skilfully. She could she how he could be so elusive as a burglar sneaking around in a resident’s house. He went up the side of the ramp and leapt high into the night sky. And down he came with a flourish and a swagger. There was no smile on his face, just a mild, shoulder-straightening acknowledgement of a job well done. He didn’t even look at the crowd. He walked off towards the back of the park, tapping his knuckles on the skateboard under his arm. Laura wondered where he’d go from here. But it didn’t matter. She had her five minutes of footage and she was grateful for that. But she was also grateful for something else: to be here at this skate park with about eighty other people and see these troubled young souls transcend the surroundings to create something beautiful and epic. She was privileged to see that. And if she had to grudgingly thank Gary Norden for that experience then so be it.

The next morning, Laura woke up with thoughts of going to Jodie’s Caff in the afternoon as she had Mark and Rita Lawler in her sights. There was a nervous anticipation and an excitement that she finally might be getting close to them, hearing them speak, watching them crow, listening to what other heinous plans they might have to trap unsuspected, innocent people into their web of deceit. She wanted to get as close as possible without being spotted but knew this was difficult. Heads turned and eyes gawped the moment she stepped into a public place. The mutters and whispers increased in some places while complete silence dominated others. She considered taking sunglasses, a baseball cap and a scarf to cover her face but knew this might draw more attention to herself which was the last thing she wanted. And besides, they were uncomfortable anyway, grazing and cutting against her skin like sandpaper so it was counterproductive to take them. No, she would tackle the Lawlers head on with the face God had given her.

The one Mark Lawler tried to ruin.

The one he might see again soon.

Laura got out of bed and discovered it was early – only 4.30am. She heard pots and pans being clanked in the kitchen and rolled her eyes as she wondered what her mother was doing. It was far too early for breakfast. She went downstairs and walked into the kitchen. She stopped by the door and saw her mother, with her apron on, preparing a huge bowl of salad which appeared to have so many ingredients in it, the kitchen worktop didn’t have space to fit them all. The kitchen itself had also never looked this. Empty cans, tins, salad bags, food leftovers and drinks bottles were strewn all over the place, creating a sense of disorder and disarray that Laura had never seen in this part of the house before. It was hard to absorb, particularly at this time in the morning.

‘It must be love, mum,’ said Laura, with a sigh. ‘If you’re doing all this for Peter.’

‘Love never crossed my mind,’ said Sheila, not making eye contact with her daughter. ‘Duty, however, now that’s a different matter.’

‘Some duty…’ said Laura, picking up a number of food items and checking them as she walked across the kitchen. ‘I haven’t seen these kinds of desserts, ever, in the house. You’re going out on a limb for him, I can see that. I just hope you don’t overdo it.’

Sheila finally turned to face her daughter. She put the kitchen knife down and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘What, like you have?’

‘I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t been overdoing it.’

‘Well, let’s look at it this way,’ said Sheila, walking across to the sink to wash her hands. ‘You barely leave the house for three months after the attack and now, in the last week or so, you can’t get enough of the great outdoors so what’s going on?’

‘I’ve got my confidence back, simple as that. I go out and see friends. I’ve got the taste for it again. I also like feeling the air on my face. It’s better than the medication they were giving me.’

‘Are you seeing a boy, Laura?’

‘Hell, no! I’ve got plenty of other things to think about. And besides…’ She pointed to her face. ‘You know the score with that.’

‘Won’t be long, I assure you. I can see some of those scars clearing up already.’

‘Are they?’ Laura looked completely baffled because she couldn’t see any difference at all. But then she regained her train of thought. ‘But that wouldn’t have happened if I’d been locked up in here all the time.’

There was a short silence between mother and daughter – but Laura was still irritated by the question of a romance on her side when all the action, as it were, appeared to be on her mother’s side with Peter Corrin and Sophie with Tom. Laura had more mundane things to think about. Like engaging with the gang who attacked her.

‘I don’t have a boyfriend, mum, and I think you’re just trying to deflect attention away from your own work-related fling. It’s not something I’ve thought about. I don’t think many boys have either.’

‘Tom thinks you’re nice.’

‘What?’

‘Tom. He phoned here and said he wanted to talk to you. He said he’d been dumped by Sophie and wants to win her back. As you’re her best friend, he wanted some tips.’

‘He told you all this?’

‘Yes…’

‘Quite the romantic queen these days, aren’t you, mum?’

‘I didn’t ask for any of it,’ said Sheila, wiping her hands on a towel after washing them in the sink. ‘So, do you think you can help Tom?’

‘Nothing to do with me. It’s Sophie’s business. If she doesn’t want him, I can’t do anything about it.’

Sheila sighed and turned to face her daughter again, folding her arms and leaning back on the kitchen worktop.

‘And what about Peter Corrin? Do you think you’ll want him in and around the house on a daily basis? It’s something you might have to get used to, particularly if you’re out most of the time.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’re a young girl, Laura. You need to go out – and you do. It leaves an old woman like me a bit lonely at times. I have to fill the gap.’

Laura smiled and walked towards her mother. ‘Well, let’s see if Peter can fill it shall we, before we talk of silly things like loneliness and isolation?’ Laura put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. ‘Blimey, you’d think you were the one who was attacked.’

‘I sometimes think I was,’ said Sheila, looking away from her daughter. ‘And sometimes I think only a man can fill that void.’ She glanced up at Laura. ‘You will be here for dinner this evening, won’t you? Peter is desperate to meet you.’

‘Course I’ll be here,’ said Laura, giving her mother a hug. ‘I’ve just got some things to deal with this afternoon and then I’ll be free for this evening.’

‘Is it something you want to tell me?’

‘No, I can deal with it. You’ll know soon enough. You’ve got enough on your plate.’

Sheila laughed and looked around the kitchen.

‘I can see that! Want to give your mother a hand?’

‘Not at this time in the morning…’

Laura let go of her mother and quickly left the kitchen. She wondered why Tom had called her ‘nice’ and wanted to find out immediately.

She phoned Tom after breakfast but his line was engaged for about fifteen minutes. She was about to give up but he called back saying he was delighted to hear from her because he didn’t actually think she’d respond to this ‘lovers tiff’ because she had plenty of other things to think about. Laura replied that this was true but that she couldn’t believe how short the relationship with Sophie had been and that’s why she was willing to at least listen to ‘the other side’ having already listened to her best friend’s reasons for why the liaison had been cut short.

‘I’ll get onto that in a minute,’ said Tom, who was eating a chocolate croissant and supping a coffee as his late breakfast. ‘But I wanted to ask you about Bon Visage. I heard it went well. I know you were sceptical about it but Francesca does have a habit of charming people into her circle.’

‘Charming? I wouldn’t quite call it that. Chiming like a clock, maybe. No, it was good – and you were right about her. I shouldn’t have been so fearful. It was a wonderful experience. I’m still thinking about it now.’

‘So you’ll go again?’

‘Maybe…’

‘She wants you to. I speak to her almost every day.’

‘Sounds like you work for her.’

‘Well, you know where my passions lie: campaigns, activism, petitions, protests – but I also need to have the bread and butter of some earnings – and that comes when I recommend certain people to certain agencies, charities or groups so they can get the help they need.’

‘So you got paid when you recommended me to Bon Visage?’

‘No, because I knew you – but I do get a few pennies when I recommend other people to the group. Same with other charities or groups. There’s so many other people out there who need help. People who get arrested for no reason. Sick people who rely on cannabis. Victims of muggings or burglaries. I’m just there if they need me so I can point them in the right direction.’

Laura coughed and cleared her throat. ‘And there’s Sophie thinking you’re a left-wing nutcase! You’re actually a capitalist at heart.’

‘I’m just helping people, Laura, and that’s the bottom line. Some are so desperate for help they’ll do anything. The simple fact is if these charities don’t have the footfall or numbers then their funding is cut or they won’t exist. If what I’m doing keeps them afloat then I’m proud of that.’ He paused and took a sip of coffee. ‘Aren’t you glad that Bon Visage exists?’

‘Yes…’

‘And didn’t it give you some hope? Maybe you wouldn’t have met those other victims otherwise.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Well, there you go then. That makes me feel happy.’ He lowered his voice slightly. ‘Talking of happy, I bet Sophie’s exactly that after finishing with me. It was a huge shock, I’ve got to say. We barely got going.’

‘I don’t know if she’s happy – but she’s made her decision now and, knowing her, she’s not one to have many regrets. She stubborn like that. It’s quite ironic, really, because she cited your obsession with police, protests, activism as one of the reasons you weren’t compatible but there you are acting as an agent for some charities and groups which is sort of the opposite.’

‘Yes, she doesn’t know about that.’

‘What! Why not?’

‘I just didn’t think it was relevant. Nobody really knew about it. I’ve only been doing it for about ten months.’

‘So why are you telling me now?’

‘Maybe it will help me get back in her good books again. Maybe you can swing it for me. Maybe you can put in good word, I don’t know. I’m desperate. I think I’m in love with her. I miss her dreadfully. She’s the funniest girl I’ve ever met.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Laura wondered whether the ‘niceness’ her mother had talked about earlier was even worth mentioning now. ‘I’m amazed Sophie didn’t know about how you’re paying the bills. I’m not sure what I can do to help. She won’t listen to me.’

‘But you’re her best friend.’

‘Meaningless when it comes to boys. She’s militant with that side of things.’

‘So what do I do then?’

‘I don’t know. Wait, bide your time, maybe she’ll come round eventually. But I wouldn’t bet on it. Sophie’s hard but fair. She likes a bit of feistiness. Maybe you’re too nice for her.’

‘Nice? I’ve never thought of myself like that.’

‘Hmm, maybe you should. Did you call someone ‘nice’ when you spoke to my mum on the phone?’

‘No, not that I recall.’

Laura paused and was irritated that her mother appeared to making things up to make her feel better.

‘What did you speak about to mum, then?’

‘Oh a few things. Your recovery, my activism, Sophie’s moods and Peter Corrin.’

‘She spoke to you about him?’

‘Yes.’

Laura was even more irritated and wanted to end the call – but Tom switched direction (perhaps because he sensed the annoyance in her tone) and this piqued her interest again.

‘You know I like to keep my eye on the local stories for my campaigns and so on,’ he said. ‘But there was one I saw the other day that made me feel a bit depressed about the state of things right now. It was about a couple called Diane and Richard Weaver who lived in Grays Avenue but were the victims of a burglary that almost wiped them out totally. Nearly all their items were stolen. They were devastated and even though they’d lived in Grays Avenue for nearly sixty years they decided the time was right to move out. They couldn’t live there anymore. They felt the place had been invaded and wouldn’t be the same again. I felt sad they felt that way, leaving the community like that. They were about the same age as my grandparents. I wondered how I’d feel if I saw that happen to them.’

Laura didn’t answer immediately as she tried to absorb the scale of Tom’s revelations.

‘Laura, are you there?’

‘Yes, I’m here.’

‘Well, what do you think about that?’

‘What do I think?’

‘Yes.’

She paused and prepared to end the call. ‘That the people who did it might not be around much longer. The net’s closing in on them.’

Laura walked into Jodie’s Caff at just after 4pm, expecting Mark and Rita Lawler to walk in about fifteen minutes later. Jake had called her to say they’d had a lucrative afternoon at the antique furniture fair and they were looking forward to a relaxing sit-down and plenty of cakes and doughnuts at their favourite café. Jake didn’t say anything else and hung up quite quickly. She wondered if he felt guilty about letting his brother be compromised like this. Sounded like it (even though it always difficult to pinpoint Jake’s moods or state of mind). But Laura didn’t care about that. She’d have the Lawlers in her sights soon and that’s all that mattered. They could eat as many cream doughnuts as they liked. The stains would never be wiped off.

She sat at a table on the secluded top floor of the café and noticed only one other couple nearby who smiled at her after a lengthy stare. They appeared to be celebrating some of sort of anniversary or birthday as they kept taking photos of each other while opening a number of gifts on the table. The lower floor was much busier and Laura felt a touch of vertigo as she looked down at the bobbing, tilting heads: the conversations, the cutlery, the plates and even the music (Adele’s Hometown Glory) drawing her downwards as if she was being told she needed to be closer and that no secret would ever be revealed if she remained perched up there, out on a limb, with few people to talk to. But this was the perfect vantage point. She could see the entirety of the bottom floor – and wherever the Lawlers decided to sit down, she could get them snapped into her phone, however messily, and that was the ultimate aim. The rest could wait. An evening of relaxation with Peter Corrin and her mother was only a few hours away anyway.

She ordered a banoffee pie and a coffee, and then took out her phone and put in on the table. Five minutes later, she saw them come into the café. Mark shook the hand of a few customers and then sat down at a table and ordered some food. Rita appeared to know Jodie, the owner, and they had a long conversation. Laura had almost finished her banoffee pie by the time Mark and Rita were on their own again, just the two of them with no other customers or staff around them. She picked up her phone and switched on the camera. A thought occurred to her: was this secret filming? She didn’t even know what that meant and the ‘how’ was even less clear. Did they put a camera in their pocket? In a bag or a buttonhole? Tied to their waist or their person? She didn’t have a clue and it didn’t matter. This was just a bit of DIY video and the final piece of the jigsaw for now. She hoped it would all come together. Having the Lawlers just a few yards away was a fitting climax.

She filmed intermittently for about five minutes until the couple on the nearby table started looking at her. The man got up and walked towards her. He was still munching a bread roll and stopped by the table. He showed her his phone.

‘Hey, do you want to use this one?’ he said, taking another bite of his roll. ‘Looks like you’ve got an old phone there.’

‘Does the job.’ said Laura.

‘Who’s the victim anyway?’ said the man, with a smile as she glanced towards the bottom floor.

‘The victim?’

‘Well, apart from you, of course.’

Laura didn’t answer and put her phone down.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that,’ he said. ‘It came out wrong. Do you want to meet my fiancée? We’re getting married soon. She’d love to talk to you. Fiona, she’s called.’

Laura glanced across at the table and saw Fiona waving at her and smiling.

‘Not right now, thanks.’

The man paused, as if he was slightly wounded by Laura’s response, but then he nodded and smiled.

‘Of course, I understand. Spying mission first, then a bit of fun.’ He stretched out his hand. ‘Wish you the best of luck.’

Laura wondered why on earth she was shaking his hand – but went along with it anyway. This had been happening quite a lot, she figured, since the attack had happened all those months ago. People, especially strangers, were showing kindness towards her that was unexpected, unrequested and utterly overwhelming. It was so heartening that it slowly, painstakingly, was restoring Laura’s faith in humanity which had been shredded and shattered by the attack. These people were giving her the benefit of the doubt. Anyone else pointing a camera in a public place would get more questions – but she was getting fewer. It wasn’t that she was getting a free ride, people were still wary and even suspicious, but she was more free to do what she wanted. And she liked having that liberation. It would be used to the maximum.

Laura picked up her phone again and filmed for about two more minutes before thinking she had enough footage to take home and complete the job. She finished off her coffee and banoffee pie – and got up from the table. She smiled at Fiona and the man and prepared to head out of the café. She walked down the stairs and stopped for a moment, assessing the bottom floor – and eyeing up the Lawler’s table, which was a safe distance away. But she was surprised to see only one person sitting there now, Mark Lawler. Rita wasn’t there – and she wondered if she was talking to staff, other customers or had taken a trip to the toilet. Then she spotted her, barely a few feet away, speaking into a mobile phone. Laura shuddered as she thought Rita had spotted her, glancing up at her with a stern, quizzical look. Her faded leather jacket, short hair, jeans and boots even more vivid now than they appeared in the grainy image of a phone. She was a long way from being an ‘auntie’, thought Laura. No flowery dresses, sandals or earrings for her. Laura tried to ignore her and walked to the entrance – but then suddenly she got a tap on the shoulder.

‘Hey, aren’t you that fucking girl?’ said Rita, her rough, deep voice breathing down Laura’s neck.

‘Which girl?’

Rita quickly looked at her phone, swiped it a couple of times and displayed it just inches from Laura’s face.

‘That one!’

‘You’re disgusting having that on your phone, do you know that?’

‘You know what’s disgusting? You filming us. Is that what you were doing up there? Or were you masturbating, now that your face is out of bounds?’

Laura felt a rising anger and couldn’t help herself. She swung her phone into Rita’s face and it smacked into her teeth, drawing a small amount of blood. She ran out of the café and immediately rushed into the car park to start her car. Her heart was thumping violently and she felt the banoffee pie she’d eaten might come back up at any minute. She called Jake Lawler and put her key into the ignition.

‘Call your brother now and tell him to call off his dog!’ shouted Laura. ‘Your auntie’s even sicker than you lot. Call him now or you’ll never speak to me again.’

‘What happened? Slow down.’

‘No, I’m about to speed up. I’m going home. Call him and tell him, I’ve got it all, everything; Grays Avenue, the lot – and I’m going to post it as soon as I get home. There’s no hiding from this anymore.’

‘But that’s not evidence.’

‘It will be when the world has seen it. Call him.’

‘Okay, okay I’m calling him now.’ said Jake, sounding irritated. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘You’re his brother! Think of something! Tell him to back off. Don’t you think he’s done enough damage?’

‘He doesn’t know the meaning of the word,’ said Jake, with a sigh. ‘Okay, I hope he listens but tell me one thing: how do I fit into this video you’ve captured? If you post it on a site or a blog or something, then won’t I come across as the same as others? Is that really fair after all I’ve done?’

‘Thought you didn’t mind going down like the rest of them? Not that I want you to suffer but that’s what you said to me. Now that things are getting tight, doesn’t sound too appealing does it?’

‘It never sounded appealing – but I was prepared to sacrifice myself for the truth. Because it was important.’

‘And now it’s not important?’

‘It is – but things have changed.’

‘Like what?’

He paused and lowered his voice.

‘I met you.’

He coughed and cleared his throat.

‘And you changed my life.’

Eight

Laura spent the rest of the afternoon on her computer, her heart racing with nervous anticipation as she edited the final piece of footage into a video that was definitely amateurish, not very professional, dark and dingy, full of black screen silences and had a soundtrack that was barely audible. But that was unimportant. It felt compelling. There was something about her voiceover narrating the footage that gave her goose-bumps and she didn’t know why. She talked to camera about the night of the incident, her injuries, the endless days in hospital and how wonderful and kind people had been to her. This was interspersed with footage of the four men in their various guises as well as wider points about acid attacks including where most of them happen, the availability of toxic products and how they destroy people lives. As Laura, sat back in her chair and put the finishing touches to the video, she felt a sense of pride that she’d achieved something – and that she could look at her own face again on screen without turning away in an instant, revolted and disturbed. It was like a dark curtain being lifted. For a few seconds – but only a few – she could peer deep into the image in front of her and remember the girl she used to be, the one who relished life for its energy, vigour and friendship. The one who laughed and smiled at too many things. The one who listened to music too loud. The one who died her hair too many times. It would happen again, she was sure of it. But for the time being, she was fixed into this narrative. With these boys – and their kingpin of an aunt. She would expose them for what they were. The rest was in the lap of the Gods.

Or the internet.

She had the video ready to post. She had already compiled an accompanying blog piece which stated she was launching a new production company called Danes Without Frontiers and that this video would be the first ‘project’ for that company. She hoped she could do many more. She took another ten minutes just to scour the text, her video and her blog – and then decided it was time to let it go. The blog and video had gone live for the world to see. Danes Without Frontiers was a reality. There was no turning back now. She turned off her computer and leaned back in her chair, satisfied that she’d done the best job she could. She stayed there for at least ten minutes gazing at a blank computer screen. She finally got up and walked to her stereo near the bedside table. She turned it on and then walked slowly towards her bedroom window, to look out into the back garden. She thought of her father’s plays not being performed. Her mother’s drawings not being accepted. Would her videos go down the same way? She hoped not. As she closed her eyes and the epic, booming sound of Polly Jean’s Kamikaze blasted through the stereo, she believed not. Faith in her work was now unbreakable.

Peter Corrin was slightly smaller than Laura expected but his face made up for it with its rugged, expansive features as if it was chiselled to perfection by a craftsman in ancient Egypt. Laura could see why his mother thought he might be ‘the one’, although his dress sense or table manners didn’t quite measure up to the eyes, nose and face. He liked to wear a neck tie, which might have been fine on its own, but felt incongruous with the v-neck jumper and jeans. He also liked to make shapes, holes and patterns out of the serviettes while he was eating which distracted everyone else, although admittedly he did create some wonderful little things like birds, boats and hats. It was like he didn’t want a moment’s peace – and always wanted to do two things (or more) at once. No wonder Chiltern Rise loved him. He was probably captivating the residents and improving their lives. Laura did wonder, however: what on earth was he still doing there? Shouldn’t a man of his talent be putting on exhibitions at art galleries or even setting up his own business so he could sell his work?

‘I’d love to do that, Laura,’ he said, throwing a completed serviette/artwork in her direction and then sipping a glass of white wine. ‘But I’m set in my ways now and the only thing that really matters is the happiness of the residents and, I swear to God, when I see their eyes light up when they’re looking at one of my mini-masterpieces…’ He smiled as he said the word and Laura wasn’t completely sure he was joking. ‘It gives me so much pleasure I could never leave it. They rely on me to come up with things all the time. We’re like a family now.’

‘But mum said you’ve only been there four months? Is that long enough to create such a bond?’

‘Actually,’ he said, glancing at Sheila across the table. ‘I’ve been going in to Chiltern Rise a bit longer, haven’t I Sheila? Your mother, in her infinite wisdom, recommended me to the care home and ultimately helped me get the job.’

Laura glanced at her mother. ‘You didn’t tell me this. You told me you met Peter at Chiltern Rise and it all kicked off from there.’

Sheila paused and crunched gently into a piece of lettuce from her huge bowl of salad lightly sprinkled with croutons and pine nuts.

‘Two people who like drawing and art working at a care home, not likely is it?’ said Sheila. ‘No, I just attended the odd art class after your father died just to see if would help with grief, isolation and all that and Peter just happened to be at one of them. We didn’t talk much but I remembered a picture he’d drawn of a group of elderly residents floating away on the sea bed, on a gleaming shiny raft, which appeared to have everything they needed: food, shelter and entertainment. It felt strange but beautiful to me. I remember him pointing to the picture and saying “They’ve got more wealth than me”, which I found quite funny. Years later, when there was a vacancy at Chiltern Rise I thought of Peter and wondered if he’d be interested. I knew he was hard-up…’ Sheila smiled at Peter. ‘But I thought Chiltern Rise was beneath him.’

‘But it wasn’t!’ said Peter, raising his glass of wine. ‘And we lived happily ever after.’

Laura didn’t want to stress the point that her mother had been economical with the truth. Again. She had known Peter for a long time before Chiltern Rise – not just the four months they had been working together. But was this such a big deal? She was probably trying to protect Michael Danes’ memory to ensure people didn’t think was seeing another man so soon after his death. It was understandable. And hadn’t Laura been just as hesitant with the truth lately in her pursuit of the ‘gang’? Without a doubt. It was better not to pull her mother up on such oversights and inaccuracies. She appeared to be enjoying herself for the first time in years. A little bending of the truth was no reason to spoil that.

‘Your mother says you’re going out a lot more and getting your confidence back, Laura,’ said Peter. ‘I hope that’s true. It’s wonderful to see.’

‘Yes, I’ve felt good recently. Driving, talking to friends, going out, it’s given me a new lease of life.’

‘Hmm, how have people been to you then? I mean, in general, do you think they’ve been treating you normally?’

‘More than that. People have been kind and generous. It’s been heartening, really. I expected a bit more trouble or abuse, maybe because of what I’d heard on the media, but it’s been the opposite really.’

‘The media?’ said Peter, rolling his eyes. ‘That proverbial can of worms. I always imagine a medium spouting he worked in the meeeedia’ across the table and getting killed stone dead by the power and rage of his own words. No one can beat this mob. They’re more powerful than art, government and dictators.’

‘Ooh, did you have a bad experience then?’ said Sheila. ‘Do tell.’

Peter looked serious for a moment – but then broke out into a smile. ‘No, but no local paper, radio station or website has shown the remotest interest in my work.’

‘Figures,’ said Sheila.

‘Here, have another one,’ said Peter, throwing another serviette in her direction, which landed on her salad plate.

‘What is it?’ she asked, delicately picking it up with her fingernails.

‘Star-spangled hammer. Can’t you see the red and white stripes I’ve coloured it in with?’

‘Yes.’

‘But it’s a bit shit?’

Sheila didn’t answer and smiled at Laura. She picked up a carrot and bit into it.

‘Do you reckon he’s finally talking our language now, Laura?’ she said.

‘I think so.’

‘And what about that gang Laura…’ said Peter. ‘Do you think they were a bit shit too?’

‘More than that. Why do you ask?’

Peter looked at Sheila and hesitated.

‘Because I drew a piece about them,’ he said. ‘I think it’s one of my best works.’ He paused and looked at Laura again. ‘But I’m not sure you’re ready for it.’

Laura sighed and looked at her mother.

‘Oh, I will be very soon,’ she said, raising her glass for a drink. ‘Very soon.’

Laura had switched her phone off for the duration of the evening as she didn’t want to be distracted but, after helping her mum with the washing up, she went back into her bedroom and turned her computer on while also checking her phone. The shock she got as she looked down at the number of missed calls and messages on her phone made her blink so much she felt her eyes might pop out of her head. There were hundreds, she lost count – and her finger and head started to ache as she scrolled down them. Sophie was there, Tom too, and Jake, but there were also scores of calls from people she didn’t know. She didn’t want to read the messages for now – she was wary of them (what if some of them contained abuse, she’d had such a wonderful night?) – but she couldn’t deny the excitement and expectation as she sat behind her computer and clicked onto her blog. She took a deep breath as she scrolled down to the video – and was amazed again as she noticed the comments below, this time well into the thousands. Again, she decided not to read them – but the temptation was huge. She knew the video had made an impact – but this big? It was utterly unexpected, but also thrilling and dangerous. She reread her blog and hovered over the comments for at least ten minutes before deciding to take the plunge and see what people were saying about her work, the criminals and perhaps, even about her. Confronting things head on rather than hiding had got her this far. She couldn’t back out now if she tried.

But then her mobile rang. She was about to ignore it but could see Sophie’s name flashing up on the display. She leaned back in her seat and answered it.

‘Oh my God, you rock star!’ said Sophie, relentlessly giddy and out of breath. ‘What on earth have you been up to? Tom phoned me about an hour ago and said you’d posted this video about those four idiots and you’d done it all by yourself. Incredible, even if I can barely hear what’s going on. It’ll be viral by midnight. There’s literally thousands of people looking at it. I have one question though…’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you ask for my help? Editing, camera, lighting, sound; I could have tidied things up a bit. You know I like the production side of things.’

‘It didn’t feel like a ‘tidy’ thing. It felt messy and unpredictable. So after I got the first bit of footage at the burglary I just decided to run with it.’

‘I’ve never seen them look so pathetic, do you know that? They’ve been caught with their pants down and it’s not pretty.’

‘Just wanted to bring their true colours out,’ said Laura. ‘Oh and I’m sorry for nicking the name you came up with: Danes Without Frontiers. I think its perfect for the kind of thing I want to do.’

‘Kieślowski said you should steal a good idea immediately so well done on that.’

‘Kieślowski?’

‘The Polish film maker. Three Colours trilogy?’

‘Oh yes, sorry Miss World Cinema.’

‘I’ve been called worse. Now look, I know our little doc with our soon-to-be-convicted criminals is the order of the day but can you quickly tell me what you’ve been saying to Tom because he seems to be under the impression that I might take him back. I don’t know what gave him that impression but you know there’s no chance of that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ve made my decision and I’m finished with him.’

‘You won’t reconsider?’

‘No.’

‘But maybe he’s not quite who you think he was. Maybe there’s more to him than that.’

‘What like his agent-type work for charities and groups? He told me about that and it doesn’t make a hoot of a difference. He just isn’t the right man for me.’

‘Your standards are too high.’

‘And what about yours? Now, that you’ve exposed these evil bastards, isn’t it time you hooked up a nice little boy and gave him sweeties? You won’t be short of offers now, judging by the fanbase you’re already attracting.’

‘Fanbase? Give me a break.’

‘I’m not joking, you’ll have to protect yourself in a different way now. That’s where Sophie can come in, to be by your side, to take the hits and the plaudits.’

‘Which reminds me, I did have a proposition for you.’

‘Oh?’

‘I want you to join me as producer so we can launch Danes Without Frontiers as a proper production company. I’ve got my eye on making more documentaries and then maybe, who knows, a feature film one day.’

There was a long pause and a sigh. ‘Well, my little girl haven’t you been busy in your young age? Who knows what you’ll do as a grandmother with six kids on your lap. Honestly, I’ve been blown away by what I’ve seen so far and that was just on a crappy phone in dodgy locations. I think we can follow that up with something stellar, too right we can. So if you want me I’m there. I mean, it’s not as if I’m pulling up any trees at that gluten-free restaurant, is it? My mum, who’s got Coeliac Disease, likes to see me working there but that’s about it.’

‘We have to pay the bills somehow.’

‘Listen, if this video goes viral then our bills could be paid for a while! Or more accurately, yours.’

‘Come on, don’t exaggerate.’

‘I’m not – but frankly, what we’ve seen is just a warm-up. Some big fish could be lurking round the corner. They love a story like this. Victim socks it to the perpetrators.’

‘I didn’t quite see it that way.’

‘Doesn’t matter how you see it now. The world sees it in its own way. They’ll want a piece of you soon.’

‘Just when I’m piecing myself together.’

There was another short pause.

‘And I’m so proud of you, do you know that?’ said Sophie.

Laura sighed and looked at her computer. She started reading the comments on the screen.

‘I know you are so let’s try and make something of this production company so can be proud of every single work we do.’

‘Bravo to that, but can I give you single piece of advice.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t be an agony aunt. You’re not very good. Tom’s history as far as I’m concerned.’

Laura eyed up the computer screen again and noticed Rita Lawler’s name popping up in comments, as some people mentioned her ‘criminal’ past and her corrupt connections.

‘I’ve got the agony aunt thing out of my system now,’ said Laura. ‘There was only one I was interested in anyway. And she’s been nailed for the foreseeable future.’

Jake Lawler called about an hour later as Laura absorbed the sheer number of comments on her computer. She couldn’t believe how supportive they were. And kind. Very kind – with perhaps two of three that were abusive. But they felt irrelevant in the sea of goodwill. Many of the people sending messages were delighted that Laura had exposed the gang with some claiming that she didn’t go far enough and she should have confronted them or attacked them on camera because of what they did to her. But Laura was just grateful to get them on film at all. Any escalation might have been counterproductive or ended up with disastrous consequences.

Which is how it appeared Jake Lawler’s hand in this ‘sting’ operation was heading. His voice was lower than ever. There were long silences between his answers. Was it finally dawning on him that he might also be facing the same fate as the gang? A long stretch inside? Laura admitted feeling guilty about it. She hoped the police would show him some leeway as he had helped her so much. How that would transpire she didn’t know. She wasn’t even convinced that the video would make a blind bit of difference in catching the gang. Everybody said it would but, as a piece of evidence, it still felt a bit flimsy and inconclusive.

Jake cleared his throat and finally told Laura what was on his mind. Watching a video of a burglary in process, with him sitting in the van, wasn’t a priority.

‘Mark smacked me on the back of the head with a football pump while I was making a cup of tea in the kitchen. I felt so dizzy the flowery wallpaper seem to get bigger and take control of the whole kitchen. I’m still bleeding a bit now. I tried to fight back but he kept on doing it; ten, twenty times, God knows. Even Rita was watching from the kitchen so I think that’s why he didn’t stop.’ Jake paused and made a sound as if he’d tapped the back of his head a couple of times. It seemed to make him feel better. ‘Mark had just come back from Jodie’s Caff so he was steaming. He claimed I’d had a hand in helping you so he used that to knock me around a few more times. And now he’s seen the video, his mood’s gone through the roof. He’s say he’s going to kill me. Gaz and Sammo have already fled to London, so everything’s been on fire tonight. A bit like that night.’ He paused and started talking with more assurance and confidence. ‘I’ve been thinking about that night while watching that video. The way you talk and the way you speak. The way you face up to the things that happened to you. When I compare it to my brother’s behaviour, it makes me feel so mad I can’t think straight. I think you’re the bravest girl I’ve ever seen. You’ve stood up to him. Something I can’t do.’

‘Maybe you can but you just don’t know how.’

‘Could be too late soon.’

Laura hesitated as the image of Jake’s brother battering him to death with a football pump circulated in her mind.

‘Do you want to stay here for a while?’ she said, astonished that she’s even uttered such words.

‘What, stay at your house? The coppers’ll ask some serious questions once they get their act together. I’m a fugitive. All your good work will be ruined.’

‘I was just thinking out loud. I don’t think you should have to suffer like this. Mark and the others, yes, but not you…’

‘Well, you shouldn’t have made that video then.’ He finally broke out into a mild smile. ‘What’s the name of that blog, Danes Without Frontiers? Jesus I could have come up with a better name. Sounds like a Viking expedition or something.’

‘Bloody hell, the Vikings, I didn’t think you were the history type.’

‘I’m not, I just spent a few months in Scandinavia on a football trip when I was twelve. I played for my local team from under 7s onwards and we went on regular trips, most of them in England but the odd one abroad. When we got there, the coach liked to tell us a bit about the history of the country we were in and mix it in with the football…’

There was a long silence and he stopped talking.

‘Jake, are you there?’

There was no answer.

‘Jake?’

‘Fuck the football, let’s get back to what matters,’ he said, so abruptly that it almost made Laura shake. ‘Mark’s unstable and that’s the real reason I called. I wanted to warn you that he might do something stupid now that he’s cornered and got nothing to lose. I want you to be on guard. I don’t want you to get hurt again.’

‘He can’t hurt me anymore – and besides I don’t think he’ll be that stupid. His charge sheet is already huge so why add another?’

‘Because he’s got a taste for it. I know my brother, he likes picking on the weak.’

‘And am I weak?’

Jake paused and tapped the back of head again.

‘Not any more you’re not,’ he said. ‘It’s just a pity I can’t bottle some of that stuff.’

Laura was so tired the next morning she didn’t get up till 10am. The sheer number of calls and messages had taken their toll – and she simply had to put a stop to them and turn in or a night’s sleep was out of the question. That couldn’t be sacrificed in her condition. She seemed to need more sleep not less since the attack. She couldn’t function otherwise. But she was still grateful (and exhilarated) by the response to her video which was so bewilderingly kind, generous and heartfelt that she couldn’t wait to get back on her computer or phone to see what people were saying today. It was like an outpouring of love and affection – and who doesn’t want that in their everyday life? Whether it would stay like that was a different matter.

But first Laura wanted breakfast, before going back to the cyber world for more dizzying lines of communication (which had even included messages from as far afield as Australia, India and South Africa). She walked into the kitchen and was shocked to see her mother sitting there, at the table, drinking a cup of coffee with the local newspaper in her hand. Her mother didn’t look up immediately as Laura walked towards the kettle to turn it on.

‘Why didn’t you go to work mum?’

‘Aren’t I allowed to take a day off?’ she said, putting the local newspaper down on the table and looking up at her. ‘Got a couple of days in lieu, decided to take one of them.’

‘What’s up then?’

‘What’s up! Lord have mercy, Laura, shouldn’t I be asking that question of you? Peter showed me a video late last night and it had those animals in it with you just a few feet away tying to film them. Are you insane? I thought you’d never come out alive and they were certain to kill you or attack you again. I just can’t understand why you put yourself in danger like this without telling me. I’m on your side and I could have helped but why take the law in your hands like this? Let the police do their job. You should have told me, Laura. It’s disgraceful that you didn’t. Disgraceful.’

Laura paused and put a tea bag into her cup.

‘You didn’t tell me about Peter Corrin.’

‘That’s different. You could have got yourself killed.’

‘I never felt in any danger.’

‘No danger! I felt terrified just looking at those animals’ faces. I’m just happy and relieved that you’re still in one piece.’

Laura poured the water into the kettle. ‘It was something I had to do, mum.’

‘Why?’

‘I had to confront them, look them in the eye, expose them, turn the tables on them, anything and everything…’

‘Armed with a bloody phone? What if one of them had a knife?’

‘My weapon felt stronger. They’ve been exposed now for the world to see. That has more power than a bottle of acid or a knife.’

Sheila sighed and looked exasperated. She got up from the table and walked towards her daughter. She put her hand on her shoulder.

‘But for God’s sake, Laura, don’t you understand that keeping you safe is my first and only priority in life and that was in jeopardy and compromised by this crazy documentary of yours which could have seen you getting killed?’

Laura checked the tea bag had set in her cup and then smiled at her mother. ‘But here I am, mum, still in one piece. Fighting fit and ready for anything that comes my way. Anything.’

‘Oh Laura, you took too bigger risk here and it hurt me right here.’ She pointed to her heart. ‘But I suppose no huge damage was done and the bonus is that those idiots will probably be locked up much quicker.’

‘Did you like my work?’

‘Call that work? Sticking a phone up someone’s nose isn’t quite the same as cleaning it, is it? But it did the job. It exposed them and many victims will be happy that you brought them into the light as it were.’ Sheila finally allowed herself a mild smile. ‘Not that there was much light in that vampire’s feast.’

‘Oi, you calling me a vampire?’

‘No, it’s them I’m on about. They won’t be able to suck anymore of the community’s blood. It’s just a matter of time now.’ Sheila paused and moved closer to her daughter. ‘DCI Calder called me this morning, Laura. He wants you to hand over your footage. He thinks it can be used as supporting evidence in the case they’re making against the gang. You should give him what he wants. Then we can put this terrible ordeal behind us once and for all.’

‘What if I don’t want to give it to him?’

‘I don’t think you’ll have any choice.’

‘It wasn’t as if they were pulling up any trees in the investigation, was it?’

‘No.’

‘So why should they benefit from my work?’

‘Because I can see a chink of light that the whole shoddy business will come to an end with their arrest, trial and incarceration. It’ll all be over and then we can breathe again.’

‘Maybe I want a bit more than that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Stick a few more phones or cameras in people’s faces, make something of myself, a new career maybe.’

‘Of course, Laura,’ said Sheila, giving her daughter a hug. ‘But baby steps and all that. Remember what we said about taking things gently and not rushing things. You’re already getting a lot of attention online for that video, I don’t want things to move too fast. I don’t want you getting hurt by all those messages. There are still some cruel people out there.’

‘I can deal with it, mum. In fact, me and Sophie can. We’re going to set up a production company and try to make more documentaries and films. It’s something we’ve been thinking of doing for a long time.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful Laura,’ said Sheila, letting go of her daughter but still looking directly in her eyes. ‘It’s so great to see you like this. Getting back into the swing of things and joining up with Sophie. She’ll be like a rock by your side.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about. She never moves on anything!’

‘Like what?’

‘Her relationship with Tom. He’s begging her to take her back but she’s not having it.’ Laura glanced at her mother. ‘Which reminds me: is Peter Corrin the man for you, then? You seem to get along very well last night.’

‘He’s coming back for dinner next week.’

‘I better get the wedding bells ready then.’

‘Not so fast. Priority number one is that a certain police force swoop down on a bunch of criminals and take them in. Once that process is up and running then we can talk.’

‘Won’t you need a camera team to film the wedding?’

‘Not yours for a start! We’d like someone professional, thank you very much.’

‘We come cheap.’

‘Yes, I could see that with your Danes Without Frontiers masterpiece.’

‘Don’t take the piss, mum, you might need us one day.’

Sheila looked baffled for a moment. ‘Danes Without Frontiers? Is that something to do with the Vikings?’

Laura rolled her eyes and put milk into her tea.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’

Nine

Sheila had been economical with the truth again – and wasn’t Laura thankful for it. Two full days after news of Laura’s documentary broke – to a sea of goodwill, conjecture and speculation as to the whereabouts of the gang – her mother had decided not to tell her that Peter Corrin had stayed the night. Laura didn’t think it was such a big deal. They looked like they might become an item anyway so perhaps it was a taste of things to come. She barely gave it a second thought. But what did prevent Laura from sleeping properly that night was a meeting she would have DCI Calder later that morning who was coming round to the house to see her and, perhaps, collect all the evidence she had on the four men and their movements. She felt slightly embarrassed about it but was ready to fight her corner. She had done nothing wrong. Also on her mind was the slightly annoying revelation that Sophie had sent her video to the National Film and Television School (NFTS), the BBC, Channel 4 and God know’s where else. Why on earth should they be interested in something as amateurish as that, at least in terms or production values, thought Laura? Sophie defended herself by saying she was now producer of the new company and every possible avenue had to be explored. She may have been right – but it simply increased the sense that matters were increasingly spiralling out of control, at least to Laura.

And they did – at 6.12am, just three hours after Laura finally managed to get some sleep. She was woken by the faint smell of burning in her nostrils which, at first, she simply put down to a flashback or distant memory of the night of the attack. But the smell got stronger – until Laura was forced to sit up in bed and hold her nose just to keep the odour at bay. She knew her mother and Peter were expected to get up at 6.30 for work but didn’t want to walk into their bedroom just in case she saw Peter with her mother in her father’s old double bed. She wasn’t ready for that awkwardness. So after a couple of deep breaths, she got out of bed but, even with the slightest of steps, she felt such a sense of foreboding that she could barely put her foot on the carpet. The flashbacks from that night came flooding back – storming her head with a vividness that was overwhelming – but the real emergency was in front of her. She walked to the door and noticed the tiniest rings of smoke snaking underneath the gap as if they’d just been released from a lifetime’s captivity: wild, rapid and unified. The smoke got up her nose, into her eyes and clung onto her skin like an old devastating enemy which was greeting its victim. Laura put her hand on the door handle with her head rampant with speculation. Did her mother leave the cooker on? The heater? The hairdryer? The iron? Anything that could have caused this smoke to worm its way to her bedroom. She opened the door and walked onto the landing and, mercifully, the fumes, the smoke and the smell were no worse than in her bedroom – but then she heard the sound and her heart sank so rapidly that she almost knew what might be facing her, in a few minutes, a few seconds, now. The lick and spit of flames were clearly audible although Laura couldn’t see exactly where they were coming from. She stepped forward onto the top of the stairs and the smell and the sound increased so much she had to cover her ears. She bent down and peered down the stairs to the front door; a faint flicker of orange and gold rasped up to the ceiling, defacing the hallway, the flames flowing left and right as if they couldn’t wait to devour the wallpaper, the lights and coat hooks. Laura wanted to scream but controlled herself. The smell, sound and sight were familiar. She ran back to the bedroom to call emergency but then, suddenly, the flames appeared to catch a certain momentum – and cascaded up the stairs towards her on the landing. Another bedroom door opened – and Peter Corrin stepped out with a set of blankets in is hand.

‘Laura, in here!’ he shouted. ‘Come on quickly.’

‘Where’s mum?’

‘Calling emergency.’

Laura nodded and lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry about this.’

‘WHAT!’

‘Sorry, it’s my fault.’

‘For God’s sake, we haven’t got time for that now. Come on, into the bedroom and then up into the attic, where hopefully you’ll be safe.’

‘Aren’t you coming?’

‘Yes…’

‘Don’t be a hero.’

‘No, that’s you.’

Peter rushed into the bathroom and poured water into the bucket. Laura watched him come out of the bathroom and tackle the fire with the water and the blankets.

‘FOR FUCK’S SAKE, LAURA, GO INTO THE BEDROOM TO JOIN YOUR MOTHER. I’LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE.’

‘AREN’T YOU COMING? YOU’LL GET YOURSELF KILLED!’

‘GO!’

In the split second that Peter was engaging with Laura, a fireball ripped viciously across the handrail and clung onto Peter’s arm. The bucket of water dropped from his hand. Laura looked on in horror as he tried to douse it with his blanket but it was durable and insidious and appeared to grow with each terrifying second. Laura felt paralysed and was unsure of what to do – but then the bedroom door suddenly swung open and her mother stepped out.

‘COME ON YOU TWO, STOP MESSING AROUND, GET IN HERE!’

Sheila had more blankets – and rushed towards Peter. She wrapped them around his arm and flames vanished in seconds. They both ran towards the bedroom, Laura continued to look down into the hallway, static and motionless, as if the flames could never hurt her again.

‘LAURA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’ shouted her mother.

Laura didn’t answer and felt stronger than ever since the day of the attack.

‘I can see the coward’s faces in the flames.’

‘LAURA COME ON!’ screamed her mother.

‘Their eyes and faces are ruined forever.’

‘LAURA!’

The flames began to spread across the landing and, ultimately, Peter Corrin had to rush back to grab Laura and take her to the bedroom. She continued to look at the flames as if she was hypnotised by them.

‘Dad would have reacted like you Peter, do you know that?’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘I wouldn’t mind you replacing him one day. I really wouldn’t.’

Peter didn’t answer but appeared to wipe a piece of dust or debris from his eye while he ushered Laura into the bedroom

Or it may have been a tear.

A few days later a series of arrests were made over the suspected arson attack. Mark and Rita Lawler were arrested at Jodie’s Caff. Gary Norden and Samuel Weekes were arrested in a south London skateboarding park. Jake Lawler was arrested at a football training ground where he was watching an Under-11s team take on its local rivals in a tournament. It wasn’t clear initially whether they were all involved (of course Laura knew that Jake wasn’t) but it looked as if they were all going to be charged for it as their rap sheet grew from burglary to acid attacks to arson. How much of that would stick to Jake Lawler, Laura wasn’t sure. She wanted to help him but there were other, more pressing priorities, like finding somewhere to live for a short time while the house was being repaired after the fire damage to the hallway, ceilings, landing and walls. Most of the bedrooms, however, were fine as were the living room, kitchen and bathroom. The emergency services had got there within ten minutes and helped control the level of damage while also ensuring they could get Laura, Sheila and Peter out through the attic and onto the roof so they could calmly elevate their ladder and bring them down to safety. Laura felt the biggest gush of wind she’d evet felt when this happened. It felt refreshing and overwhelming. It felt like the end of something.

But it also meant the start of living in Peter Corrin’s house for a few days while their house was being repaired and renovated. Peter had insisted on this arrangement after Sheila had considered moving into a temporary shelter which Peter thought was out of the question. Laura noticed how much sway Peter had over his mother these days. But it was mostly a good influence. They worked things out – and didn’t argue. Even over this ‘fiasco’ as Sheila called it. They didn’t even blame Laura for the fact that the house nearly burned down. They chose instead to praise the neighbour who called the police after seeing the Lawler’s van parked outside Laura’s house just before dawn. This kind of ‘partnership’ or working together was heartening for Laura. She sensed they were going to spend a long time together. She sensed Peter Corrin was going to become a big part of her life from now on.

As for Jake Lawler, she wasn’t sure how much of a part he’d play. She knew he was co-operating with the police, unlike the others, and – along with the supporting evidence that Laura had given to DCI Calder – she hoped his sentence (if it did transpire and was unavoidable) would be reduced. Perhaps the jury would take pity on him as the junior member. Playing ball with the police could lead to wildly surprising results.

He called her a few hours before charges were laid. He appeared to have prior knowledge of them which Laura put down to the simple fact that the police were satisfied with his ‘100 per cent co-operation’ and he had given them everything they wanted. Laura also knew that once proceedings were active (and a trial date was set) there was no way they’d be allowed to speak to each other, as they were important witnesses in both the prosecution and defence cases. Laura felt a tinge of sadness about this even though Jake’s wildly fluctuating moods, tempered slightly by a hint of charm and humour, did infuriate her. The trial could be six, eight, ten months away – or even longer given the complexities of the case – and that felt like a long time to be without this annoyingly compelling presence. Not that she wanted to tell him.

He told her about the expected charges, however. His lawyer said he would get bail while the others would be remained in custody awaiting trial. He was also on lesser charges in some cases, although there were so many of them (burglary, attempted robberies, muggings: things that Laura didn’t know about) that it was difficult to keep track. It was better that she didn’t. It was difficult enough to sleep at Peter Corrin’s house as it was without having to think of the sheer number of victims the Lawlers had exploited, ruined and devastated. The nightmares would be endless.

But for Jake, part of the nightmare appeared to have ended, even though it barely had an affect on his mood. He told Laura she should have listened to him about the planning of an attack on her house. He was surprisingly considerate about the welfare of Laura’s mother and Peter Corrin. He appeared liberated because his brother was behind bars (or at least in custody).

‘So you’re a bigshot star now,’ he said. ‘I hear your doc’s going to be on telly. You haven’t cut me out, have you?’

‘It’s not going to be on telly, who told you that? I appear to be the last person who’s told about these things.’

‘So I heard. Anyway, my mum visited Rita and Mark at the station after they were questioned for the first time and it all kicked off so, in her eyes, the family’s finished. She’s had enough of dealing with my dad and this was the last straw. Can’t blame her. She told the two of them they’d ruined my life as well as theirs and Rita got angry and nearly punched her. The guards had to intervene so it was all a bit of a mess. Glad I wasn’t there.’

‘So you’ll be outside, they’ll be in, I bet Mark’s raging about that.’

‘Mark’s been saying he’s going to finish me for ages – but I’m not scared anymore. He’s always said I ate grass when I played youth football because I spent a lot of the time crying on the ground. Now I’ve become one – and I’m proud of it.’

‘Even if they come after you after they’ve been released? Mark tried to terrorise me and my family and he barely knew us.’

‘Who says I’ll be around when they get out? Eight years, ten years, twelve? That’s a lifetime in my eyes.’

‘But you might only be in your twenties?’

‘As I said, a lifetime.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I do – and because we might not be able to speak to each other soon because of the stupid trial, I’m going to say something I should have said ages ago to you but didn’t have the balls to mention, mostly because I’m a coward, but also because of all that shit flying around, so I’m going to do it now.’

‘Yes…’

‘I like you and want to go out with you.’

There was a long silence as Laura absorbed Jake’s abrupt change in tone and emphasis. She wondered if he thought (probably wrongly) that he might never see her again and this was just a reckless dash before the big bars of justice clamped together.

‘Why would you want to go out with me?’ said Laura, still shocked at the bewildering offer. ‘I mean, the way I look for a start.’

‘I don’t notice those things anymore.’

‘You don’t notice faces?’

‘They’re less important than the person inside.’

‘But I’ve been your enemy for a while because of that video. I exposed you to the world. I’m not on your side.’

‘I think we’re the same. We’ve both suffered. And because of that we can have an unbelievable power if we come together.’

‘I can’t see it, Jake, sorry.’

‘Why not?’

Laura sighed and lowered her voice. ‘You know almost everything about me, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Not everything, but I know what you mean.’

‘But I still don’t know why you’re one of the saddest bastards in the world. I mean, look at me, I’ve suffered untold horrors but I can still find time for a bit of fun and enjoyment despite all the traumas and troubles. You? I have no idea what’s whirring around in that brain of yours and I’m not sure I’ll ever find out. It’s too sad, even for me, and that’s saying something. No, Jake I can’t go out with you until you come clean with me about your background and what might have happened to you. If that comes my way, maybe I’ll reconsider.’

‘You will?’

‘Yes…’

‘Well, you don’t need to know right now then. Everything’s so messy with the trial and my family – that I can’t think straight never mind tell you about something like that. And anyway why do you think something else happened apart from the shit with my brother and my dad? I mean that’s bad enough. They snared me into a life of crime so that’s plenty to be going on with. Maybe you’re barking up the wrong tree by making it all personal, about me and my background. Maybe there’s just nothing to see.’

‘No, I can see it.’

‘How?’

‘In your voice and in your eyes?’

‘But you can’t see my eyes right now.’

‘No, but I can picture them.’

‘And you know what I can picture?’

‘What?’

‘The two of us walking hand in hand in a few years while the world is utterly frozen around us. That would be the happiest day of my life. That would make me the happiest man in the world. That would make me forget.’

‘Forget what?’

Jake coughed and lowered his voice. ‘Forget everything that went before. Goodbye Laura, please wait for me.’

‘Wait, forget what?’

‘Bye.’

Jake hung up and Laura was annoyed – but she had got used to it by now. His stonewalling and evasiveness about his past had reached epic levels and there appeared no way through his relentlessly stubborn defences. But Laura had to admit to a certain flattery about his words and intentions about a possible relationship together, no matter how bizarre and unlikely it seemed. If her mother and Peter – and Tom and Sophie – could have relationships, why not her? She took nothing from Jake Lawler’s call apart from one thing: she would wait for him till after the trial and try to look into his eyes again, whether that was in jail or as a free man. Then she would know whether he was right for her. She felt excited about it – and agreed with him on one thing: the world could go to hell if it didn’t like seeing the two of them together. Because she felt she was the only one who could turn this boy into a man.

It took three weeks to get back home – and for a few moments, as Laura stepped back inside, it felt like a different house. The walls were a different colour, the lights had been changed, the ceiling appeared to have shrunk and the handrail was bigger and more imposing. But as soon as Laura walked into the living rooms and bedrooms, everything felt familiar and mundane and this gave her a sense of relief that the Lawlers’ plan to gut the whole house had failed miserably.

But she still felt partially responsible for attracting them to the house in the first place, so she apologised again to her mother. Sheila wasn’t interested and instead investigated the handiwork in the hallway – something she’d constantly monitored while staying at Peter Corrin’s house – and, most of it, appeared to be to her satisfaction.

‘Peter wanted us to stay at his house longer,’ said Sheila, rubbing her thumb across the painted wall by the coat hooks. ‘But I told him I wanted to get back in here the day it was ready. You can’t just lose fifty-five years of heritage in one puff of smoke. This house has been our lifeblood – and no criminal gang is going to kick us out of it.’

‘Where is Peter anyway?’

‘At work. He’s making up for all the time he’s missed.’ Sheila smiled at her daughter. ‘Because of us!’

‘Turmoil central, as you know.’ Laura paused and looked around the hallway. ‘It’s weird because Sophie called early this morning and says she wants us to look at a small studio for our production company which is located in the town centre. Feels like a new beginning all round.’

‘Won’t that cost a lot? I thought you did it all on computers up in your bedroom these days.’

‘I think it’s mainly because of the equipment, sound, lighting, all sorts, which is hard to keep in a house long-term and also because we need a base for our activities. It’ll feel more professional that way.’

‘Nice to see you’re being professional,’ said Sheila, turning her attention to the wood polish on the handrail. ‘Pity it won’t pay the bills.’

‘Don’t bet on it. Where do you think most of the money came from to rent the town centre location? Okay, it’s tiny, dingy and pokey – and squashed in-between a florist and opticians on the second floor, but we still had to pay for it.’ She pulled out her phone. ‘Want to see my masterpiece again?’

‘I know it’s been popular but is it bringing in that much?’

‘Not directly no. But advertisers, businesses, local groups, charities and donations are supporting us and giving us a chance of standing on our own two feet.’

Sheila turned and looked at her daughter. She walked towards her and put her hand on her shoulder.

‘Which is all I’ve ever wanted for you.’

‘I know, mum.’

Sheila nodded and then started to walk off, but then appeared to remember something. ‘Now tell me about this rumour that Channel 4, the BBC or God knows who else are interested in that documentary of yours. Surely that can’t be true? None of that kind of stuff ever happens to us.’

‘I honestly don’t know the truth of it, yet, I’ll find out this afternoon when I speak to Sophie. She’s the producer so she’s been talking to all the bigwigs but she did say there’s been some interest. But honestly we’ve been so busy…’ Laura pointed right across the house. ‘With this, that I’ve not really been able to keep up with those things. It’s all gone on the backburner really.’

‘Yes, there’s no point in trying to make a living if you’ve got nowhere to live.’

There was a moment of silence between the two women as if they really, finally, appreciated being in their own home again.

‘But bloody hell, wouldn’t that be exciting!’ said Sheila, quite abruptly. ‘Your documentary on national TV, exposing those louts for what they are?’

‘Don’t get your hopes up, mum, and anyway nothing could be aired before the trial.’

‘I know that, but it’s still exciting.’

Laura paused and looked at her mother. ‘They’re not all louts, mum.’

‘What?’

‘They’re not all louts. One of them did try and stop the others but they wouldn’t listen.’

Sheila blew out her cheeks as if her daughter had just come out with most astonishing statement she’d ever heard. She walked away towards the stairs.

‘Louts, animals, criminals, call them what you want,’ she said, looking over her shoulder. ‘They’ll always be that in my eyes.’

Laura lowered her voice and said under breath.

‘But not in my eyes…’

‘What?’

Sheila didn’t hear what her daughter said and walked up the stairs into the bathroom.

Sophie had been doing her best to fill up the studio but Laura still felt it was cold, bare and underused. In terms of practical items, there was only a small flatpack desk, a computer and a swivel chair but Sophie had already hung a few pictures on the wall – iconic posters from Mildred Pierce, The Bicycle Thieves and Nikita – to liven things up and, curiously, they did the trick as they created a sheen and gravitas that perhaps was missing from the rest of the studio. As Laura looked round the rest of the place – a tiny storage room, large window, toilets, wash basin – she wondered if this, genuinely, could become her workplace every day for the next few years and whether she could be comfortable here, discussing ideas with Sophie, talking on the phone, coming up with her own ideas and driving the production company forward. That would take a lot of drive, ambition and sheer hard work. She wondered if she had the inner strength for that sacrifice. She knew Sophie did.

‘I know it’s not much, Laura, but it’s a start,’ said Sophie, switching on the computer and sitting down at the desk. ‘We can make something of this. It was just available to us really quickly so I thought we’d snap it up. I know rents in town centres are a bit more eye watering than elsewhere but I simply wanted to get going quickly. There was no time to waste. We’re inundated with stuff.’ Sophie glanced over her shoulder at Laura. ‘You don’t like it, do you?’

‘I think I can get used to it.’

‘Which is code for “it’s shit but I’m being diplomatic”.’

‘No,’ said Laura, looking at Sophie. ‘It just feels so bloody cold.’ She paused and folded her arms. ‘I think it’s just me, my body temperature and the way I react to cold places these days. I seem to need places that are always a bit warmer than for the average person. It’s weird.’

‘It’s not weird if you look at what you’ve been through. Don’t worry when we’ve got a carpet in here, a kettle, a bookcase and few more pictures we’ll be right as rain. We’ll be ready to make waves with Danes Without Frontiers.’

‘I don’t know which thing I feel more guilty about: nicking that name off you or not having your name on the production company altogether.’

‘Bentley’s a surname I’ve wanted to get rid of since I was a young girl. Danes and Bentley just doesn’t have that ring to it.’

‘Bentley and Danes?’

‘No.

‘Danes Bentley?’

She shook her head.

‘BD Corporation?’

‘For God’s sake, give it a rest.’ She ushered Laura to come towards the computer so she could show her the screen. ‘This is a reply I received from the Co-Head of Documentary at the National Film and Television School. He’d seen your video and then got in contact with us. We’ve been pinging emails back and forth since but the bottom line is he’s willing to let us use the editing facilities at the school to tidy up the doc so we can get it to a professional standard…’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘But that’s not all. He’s got contacts with Channel 4 – and he says there’s serious interest in your doc right up to the top. They’re always interested in these kind of stories. He said he showed it to one of the top brass there and he said it was one of the most compelling things he’d seen.’

Laura looked away from Sophie for a moment. ‘I’m trying to remember my mother’s line that this kind of thing doesn’t happen to people like us.’

‘Well, maybe your mother’s a bit too pessimistic these days.’

‘She was – but hopefully Peter Corrin’ll change that.’

There was a short silence and then Laura looked at the computer screen again.

‘Which reminds me: has Tom got into your good books again? Is there still hope for him?’

Sophie looked irritated. ‘How many times have I got to tell everyone? No, no and no. It’s over. Forever. There’s no way back.’

‘You’re a hard one, you are.’

‘I am – and it’s the only way Danes Without Frontiers will succeed.’

Laura nodded and didn’t really have an answer to such a definitive statement. She walked away towards the window and looked outside at the light traffic in the high street: cars easing past each other, people isolated behind their wheels, one man with a mobile clutched to his ear, one woman munching a burger. Then a teenager in a baseball cap raised the volume by revving up his engine for no reason in particular.

‘Jake Lawler asked me out,’ said Laura.

‘What?’

‘Jake Lawler. He’s out on bail. He’s at his mother’s house in London. The rest are in custody.’

‘You told him where to go?’

Laura turned and looked at her friend.

‘That was my intention, yes.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Oh Laura, you can do better than him.’

‘Can I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Easy for you to say, Bentley.’

‘Hey, you’ll be a Rolls Royce again soon, don’t you worry about that.’

Laura paused and cleared her throat. ‘With this,’ she said, pointing at her face. ‘You can never be sure where your next relationship is coming from and that’s the brutal truth.’

‘And you jump into one with Jake fucking Lawler?’

‘Hey less of the fucking!’

‘Yes, and we won’t be doing any with the amount of work we have to do.’ Sophie sighed and turned round on her swivel chair to face Laura. ‘So when are you going to tell him then? I trust you two aren’t allowed to meet anyway because of the trial so I understand it’s a bit messy. But you still have to watch it, Laura. Are you sure he’s changed his ways? I know he’s co-operated with everyone but the dog but that might be because he wants to get off. I don’t want you to get hurt again.’

‘I think he’s genuine, it’s as simple as that.’

Sophie nodded and turned in her swivel chair to face the computer again. ‘Well, that’s good enough for me. I trust your judgement. I did it last time and look where it got me. Serious interest from the likes of the National Film School and Channel Four. You came up with a piece of work they wanted, something I still can’t deliver.’

‘Oh you will, because we’re going to need more ideas going forward. Films, docs, shorts, who knows, even ads if we get desperate.’

‘I know – and I have a few in the pipeline, but an update on Nikita set in a Get Carter style Tyneside might not fly too well. Do you have anything?’

‘Not too much – but I think there’s more to find out about Jake Lawler.’

‘Oh for God’s sake not him again. That’ll be like a sequel to end all sequels. I won’t be part of that, Laura, we’ll need something fresh and new for our next project.’

‘You’re probably right but…’

‘But what?’

‘He was quite photogenic really,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘A bit like a film star, don’t you think?’

Laura threw herself into work for the next few months and didn’t want anything to do with the trial or Jake Lawler but it was difficult as the prosecution team wanted to ensure their witnesses were reliable and watertight. Ideally, she didn’t want to appear in court at all. She wanted to simply offer a statement to what happened that night and she felt this would be enough evidence to secure a conviction, which is what everyone wanted. But her mother and Peter Corrin (and DCI Calder) felt this was a chance for Laura to get closure (whatever that meant) and finally face up to the gang to show them she was the one that was free, fearless and liberated and nothing they had done had changed that. Laura was still highly sceptical of appearing in the ‘box’ – even though she felt confident enough of batting away any probing questions from the defence barristers – but what persuaded her in the end was that her mother and Peter would also appear as witnesses (in relation to the arson attack) and that would probably offer her enough support, comfort and solace to get through an awkward few hours. And that’s how she expected it to be: awkward. Not trying, troubling or difficult. She had grown as a person immensely since the night of the attack. They could throw their toxic stuff at her again once more – the gang, the barristers, the judge, everyone – but she was strong enough to deal with it now. The fear had passed. The threat had subsided. Her life was all about looking forward now, not back.

And Sophie certainly wasn’t allowing her to look ‘back’. She had an editing suite at the NFTS booked and had already been working on the documentary for two days when Laura joined her to see how her amateurish video could be turned into something more professional and substantial. When she sat down by her side – with the NFTS Co-Head of Documentary Paul Lavelle sitting on the other side – she couldn’t believe the progress that had already been made. The pictures were brighter and sharper, the sound was crisp and audible and the editing felt tighter and more focused with fewer gaps and omissions. It was so transformative that Laura thought she was watching a different film.

‘The only problem is that my face is sharper than ever,’ said Laura, with a smile. ‘You can see every scar.’

‘Oh, come on, cut that out, Laura,’ said Sophie, seemingly right at home as she twisted another nob, pressed another button and looked up at the multiple screens. ‘This is a palace compared to what we’re used to. And besides, I can’t see a single scar. They look like natural lines to me.’

Laura turned to look at Paul and then pointed at the screen. ‘Do they look natural to you?’

Paul raised his palms in the air. ‘I’m not getting involved. But I tell you what: all I can see on that screen is something compelling and that’s all that matters. I reckon you can even enter it into festivals and you’ll get the same response.’

‘Honestly?’

‘Yes…’

Sophie turned and looked at Laura for the first time. ‘Er, I didn’t tell you but Paul wants us to come back in a month or so when this is finished and organise a screening with students and then do a Q&A.’

‘A Q&A? Who with, us?’

‘Well you are the star of the show.’

Laura put her hand on her forehead. ‘Jesus, this is all moving a bit quickly for me. I’m not sure I’ll have anything to say. It’s all up on screen.’

‘Hopefully, you’ll have plenty to say,’ said Paul, taking out his phone. ‘So is it okay if I book you in? I think the students will have plenty of questions and comments. You’ve become a bit of an online sensation with this, really. Everybody starts with DIY film making and then, maybe, ends up in a place like this where they can get work up to broadcast standard. I hope you’ll do the same.’

As Laura looked around the editing suite with its spacious interiors, multiple screens and bewildering array of tools and buttons, she thought of how she’d travelled from that one night with a phone, daring to capture a gang in the act of criminality, not stepping back, not being cowed, not being afraid. The actual ‘occurrence’ of an acid attack a few months before now felt so distant that she wondered if it had happened at all.

But she knew she would be reminded that it had – loud and clear – when she appeared in court.

For the time being, however, she looked up at the screen and didn’t feel it at all. She felt like a documentary-maker with something to say.

And it looked and sounded wonderful.

Ten

The students were milling around the small auditorium getting ready for Laura’s talk when Paul took her aside and asked her something so obvious she thought everyone knew the answer to it: the title of the documentary. Sophie and Paul had been working hard on the opening credits and Laura assumed that Danes Without Frontiers would work quiet well as a title and actually summed up the whole project quite snappily and accurately. But maybe she had been naïve. Sophie thought it was fine, Paul thought it was okay but Channel 4 thought it needed to be changed. They felt it was too woolly and worldly and felt like a travel or political programme – and they had recommended an alternative title: Facing Them Down: Laura’s Tale. Laura felt a sense of queasiness when she heard this from Paul – but not the outright annoyance she might have expected. It had a ring to it. It felt accurate. You couldn’t deny that the five words used in the title actually told the whole story. Perhaps that’s why they worked for a national broadcaster. They mostly got things right. But deep down she still felt perhaps she should have had an input to the title. Not that it mattered now. She had to grin and bear it.

Although grinning wasn’t easy these days.

As she began her talk, she was forced into the widest one she’d ever attempted since the night of the attack because of the warmth and respect she received from the audience. There was a lot of pain in her cheekbones, forehead and temple but she had to return their kindness. The students wanted to hear her story. They appeared to be transfixed. This unspoken intimacy in the auditorium settled Laura down and she spoke fluently about that night and its aftermath. How she decided to pick up the phone and film the gang in their quieter moments as well as their devious ones. How much guilt she felt, how dangerous it was and how she worked with one of the gang members. How she then gathered the footage and compiled it into a workable video. She did nothing remarkable, she said, but just followed her instincts. Without Sophie, she added (who was sitting in a front seat), none of it would have been possible because she drove the project forward to this point, to get it to a wider audience, to get the big fish interested.

When Laura finished her talk, the students were shown a rough cut of the documentary which was about half an hour long and so ‘clean’ from the dark, grainy phone footage Laura had first gathered that it almost felt embarrassing. But their response, after the closing credits was far from that. They took part in a Q&A – with Laura, Sophie and Paul Lavelle sitting in the middle of the auditorium – and asked the kind of formidable, thought-provoking questions that Laura found stimulating. It was a long time since she’d felt that way.

‘Do you think you’ll be able to attract funding for your next project?’

‘Why did you decide to work together with that criminal Jake Lawler?’

‘Does an audience empathise better with you because you’ve suffered so much?’

‘Are you thinking of moving into feature films?’

‘Will the Government ever get a handle on the selling of these toxic chemicals or do they just pay lip service?’

And there were many more, which made Laura think about what would have happened if she had enrolled here for a course, as she had always wanted to do. She would have become brighter, no question, but she would also have gained something else which was just as important and which she needed to get more of in the next decade if she was to have a career in the industry: rigour. The rigour to have all bases covered, which Sophie always had, but which she, perhaps because of her vision and belief in her artistic credentials, never quite attained. There was time for that to change. It had to or she felt the next project might not happen at all.

After the Q&A, there were a few light snacks, nibbles and drinks and Laura met some of the students. It was a heartening experience. But something else struck her. As she shook hands, talked passionately about films and even exchanged numbers with the Davids, the Marks and Libbys and the Nicolas (and a Sergio who she could have spoken to all night), there was a strong sense that these people were part of her life now, were part of her crowd, part of her scene and livelihood. As David Sangster talked to her, she couldn’t help but turn her attention to Jake Lawler. Was he the man for her? What did they have in common apart from a criminal incident and some deep scars for life? These people, this arena and this place suddenly felt right for her. She still thought about Jake Lawler a lot – but a seed of doubt had entered her head and David Sangster’s words just increased the confusion.

Four days later, Laura got back home from working in the studio and noticed two photo albums lying on the table in the living room. She took her coat off, made a coffee and sat down on the sofa. She was familiar with the photo albums but probably hadn’t seen them for a decade. She started to look through the first album and saw her father and mother’s wedding day come to life in startling black and white imagery with a faded magic that made her heart purr with nostalgia and pride. It looked as if it was from another time, another place, another era. Her mum and dad looking upright, elegant and immaculate. Made for each other and made up. Family members and friends by their side, captivated by them, giddily happy and desperate for attention. Wanting to create her own story and her own narrative.

Then she looked at the colour album (Michael Danes wanted one of each) and it didn’t have quite the same thrills and vividness. Perhaps it was too contemporary. Most of the pictures were taken outside the church or at the hotel reception afterwards, Laura went back to the black and white album and pored over it for the next hour.

Until she heard the front door open and close and saw Sheila coming in through the living room door. Her mother smiled at her and slumped down on the sofa.

‘Now, you’ve seen them all for the last time, you can go and chuck them in the bin,’ she said, glancing at her daughter. ‘No need for them anymore.’

‘But I like them,’ said Laura. ‘There’s some wonderful pictures in here.’ Laura paused and looked at her mother. ‘Why on earth would you want to get rid of them?’

Sheila hesitated and leaned forward. She carefully closed the black and white album and leaned back on the sofa again.

‘Because that chapter of my life is closed now,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘I’m getting married to Peter Corrin.’

Laura put her hand on her forehead as if a bullet had just grazed it. ‘Bloody hell, mum, I can’t believe it. That quick?’

‘It’s not quick when you see some of the residents dropping like flies at the care home, believe me. No, but seriously we’ve been talking about it for a long time and when Peter made that kind gesture after that messy arson business – letting us into his home, looking after us – it brought us even closer together. I thought we could live together for a long, long time. I thought he was the man for me.’ Sheila paused and delicately put her hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘I hope he’s the man for you too.’

‘He’s a good man and he’s treated us both well – so that’s good enough for me. But do you love him?’

‘I think so.’

‘Is that enough to tie the knot?’

‘I think so.’

‘Enough to spend the rest of your life with him.’

Sheila didn’t answer immediately.

Laura raised her hand. ‘Don’t tell me you think so. Look, mum, I’m absolutely delighted for you and can’t wait till the day of the wedding so I can see you in a beautiful dress with Peter by your side in a butterfly collar and tails but, honestly, are you really going to ditch these beautiful photo albums before you do that? There’s some stunning pictures here.’

‘Not of me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m almost in every single picture. Maybe there’s two that I’m not in. I look a mess in everyone of them. They can all go. I’ve got a new life to think about now.’

‘But Dad’s in a lot of these. There’s some great memories there.’

‘We’ve got lots of others of Michael knocking about around the house. Those are sacred. I’m not touching them. These have too much of me in them – and I need to forget them now. It’s the only way I can move on with my life.’

‘Did Peter put you up to this?’

‘God no! He wouldn’t dream of suggesting something like that. It’s just I’ve never enjoyed looking at those wedding photos and now I’ve got an excuse to ditch them!’

‘Well, you’re not doing that,’ said Laura, picking up the albums and tucking them under her arm. ‘I’ll keep them in my bedroom.’

‘But I want them thrown out.’

‘You’re mad.’

‘No, it’s just good housekeeping.’

‘It’s barmy, that’s what it is.’

Laura got up from the sofa and headed out of the living room.

‘I tell you what’s ‘barmy’. I hear your documentary might have its name changed. Facing Them Down or something like that. Why can’t they have something more hopeful? Sounds like High Noon or something.’

‘It is, they’ve got Laura’s Tale at the end of it.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t told about that bit.’

‘Who told you anyway,’ she said, walking towards the door.

‘Sophie, she tells me everything.’

‘Could have gathered.’ Laura opened the door and seemed to remember something. She turned to face her mother. ‘Have you set a wedding date then?’

‘Yes, it’s two days after the trial.’

Laura nodded, turned and closed the door. She held the photo albums tightly in her hand.

‘Can’t wait.’

Laura tried to persuade her mother and Peter to change the wedding date (to a few weeks or months after the trial) – but they insisted on that specific date as their chosen venue wouldn’t be available again for the foreseeable future. But pushed further, Sheila admitted to Laura that it was actually the ‘jolt and shock’ of the arson attack that had made the couple think that it would be better to tie the knot as soon as possible because it had reemphasised the fragility of everything: life, existence, family, relationships – and that the longer the time they spent together the better life they would have. Laura was more amenable to this argument. She understood how things had changed for her mother. She didn’t want her to get involved in any of this messy business (with the Lawlers) – but she knew she was part of it now – and the trial would hopefully bring an end to a story that had gone on far too long. At least there’d be a wedding to look forward to when the sentences were read out. Then everyone could let their hair down. Laura may not have had much – but she was still looking forward to the music and dancing. She would also smuggle Polly Jean onto the playlist, without her mother knowing. She’d be too busy anyway.

She was also too busy right now, with Peter, out shopping for last-minute goods and items while Laura stayed alone in the house, just three days before the trial. Laura welcomed the solitude and actually got on with some work at home – checking to see how Danes Without Frontiers was dealing with the increased profile of the production company and how its work was being assessed and examined. There was a slight lull in web traffic, which was to be to be expected as the ‘video’ could not be viewed anymore (as police has asked for it to be taken down until the trial was over) but now there were more people talking about future documentaries and films and, with a seriousness and depth that was interesting to read, meaning that Laura found it more stimulating than when the short, snappy comments (mostly wonderful) were flying in once the video was posted. But there were also some people who wanted a job. And the odd ones were still abusive. She really needed to remind Sophie to get a filter to weed these out. She had already tried. She knew it was impossible sometimes.

After eating dinner on her own (she knew her mother and Peter were going to a Thai restaurant after their shopping spree), she got a call on her mobile. She looked down and was surprised to see Francesca Dean’s number flash up on screen.

‘Evening Laura, Francesca in town, I’m only about ten minutes away, can I come up?’

‘Er yes, Francesca, great to hear from you, it’s been quite a while.’

‘Only a few months, so are we on?’

‘On? What for?’

‘I don’t know yet. Snacks, nibbles, music, meditating. I know you’ve got to appear in court in a few days and I wanted to give you some support.’

‘Oh, that’s good to hear but you’ve surprised me a bit. You say you’re only a few minutes away? I’m not really ready, the house is a bit of a tip and I’ve just had dinner.’

‘Don’t worry I’ve eaten. I’m on my way. Is your mother there?’

‘No, she’s out with Peter Corrin.’

‘Yes, Tom told me they’re getting married so I wanted to congratulate her. Oh well, another time, it’s you I really wanted to see because I wanted to assess what shape you’re in.’

‘Shape?’

‘Yes. Hopefully the kind you experienced when you came to Bon Visage. I hope you can keep the spirit of that transaction going. You created a beautiful thing with the other men and women, I think.’ She paused. ‘Maybe we just need one more so you’re not compromised in the dock.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘I bet the police and other victims groups have offered you masses of training on how to deal with the court experience.’

‘Yes, but I feel confident enough now to deal with it.’

‘But wasn’t Bon Visage part of that?’

Laura didn’t answer and looked at the time on her mobile phone. ‘How far away did you say you were? I’ll put the kettle on.’

Laura made coffee for Francesca as she sat down on the sofa and immaculately laid her scarf, beige cap and leather gloves on the arm rest. Laura asked why she didn’t use the coat hook out in the hallway but Francesca said they needed to remain close to her as they were part of her family these days. Francesca smiled and then told Laura she was divorced with two children but barely saw her children or ex-husband anymore. They were in France – living with a new family – and she liked it that way. When she discovered her husband’s serial adultery, it had such an impact on her she could barely breath. She had only just had her first child. She thought she couldn’t go on and contemplated suicide. But one night, her nanny came into her bedroom to give her some medication – and she was horrified to see that her face had been battered and bruised, mangled so badly that one side appeared to be pumped up like a water balloon. She asked her what had happened but she didn’t answer – and carried on her duties as normal. There was a stoicism and grace about her, thought Francesca, that made her own difficulties pale into insignificance. She would do her duty, come what may. She would even smile although it was painful to do so. Francesca later found out it was a mugging out in the streets that didn’t quite go to plan. A random attack. Worse, that it appeared to be two women who attacked the nanny. The police were called and the women were eventually arrested. But none of that appeared to have any affect on the nanny, in an emotional sense. She was the same all the way through the ordeal: moderate with a good spirit, calm with a lack of bitterness, nothing too dramatic, nothing too overwhelming. Even when her face healed, it was like nothing had ever happened and she never mentioned it again. Francesca was taken aback by her sense of duty to her and her lack of anger at the perpetrators. She learnt a lot from her – and started to get her own life back together again. She stopped feeling sorry for herself and decided to try and make a difference herself. She hoped Bon Visage was the ‘first pebble thrown into the pond’ and the start of that long road to recovery.

Laura listened to all this and was surprised at how forthcoming Francesca was. She was telling her all about her background, her family, her hobbies and her lifestyle. She expected her to be more guarded; more mysterious. She also expected her to put on some music and perhaps get the two of them on the carpet for some meditating or ‘human clock’ activity again. None of this happened. As they talked and the night went on, it was becoming increasingly clear why Francesca had been so open and revelatory because she appeared to want to delve deeper into Laura’s current state of mind and, in particular, her relationship with her mother.

‘You’re scared she’s going to leave with Peter Corrin, aren’t you?’ said Francesca, picking up a pistachio nut from the bowl and easing it into her mouth. ‘She’s been by your side all these years, through school, through your father’s death, through the acid attack and now, suddenly, you might have huge gaps where you might not see her. That’s your main anxiety, right now, isn’t it? Nothing to do with your appearance in court. It’s the fact that you might be left alone and isolated long term. Isn’t that right?’

Laura glanced at Francesca and was about to pick up a nut herself but suddenly lost her appetite.

‘And there’s me thinking, you’ve gone completely mad tonight by telling me your life story,’ she said. ‘But there’s a purpose to everything you do, I suppose.’

‘Is it true?’

‘Yes, of course it is,’ said Laura, getting up from the sofa and walking to the window. ‘We’ve always been together and now with Peter on the scene, we might not be. I’m absolutely delighted for them, utterly made up, and mum deserves some love and attention after dad died, but sometimes I think about the future, particularly at home – not at work as much – and it does make me wonder how I might end up in a few years’ time.’

‘Because of how you look?’

Laura turned to face Francesca.

‘Well, do you think boys are going to be queuing up to see if they can hook up with me?’

‘You’ll be surprised. I hear work’s going very well. I’m sure you’ve met many new people there, including young men.’

‘Yes, it’s wonderful really. So many of them are looking up to me, which is weird. I didn’t expect that.’

‘But you think it’s just a mark of respect, you don’t think anything could come out of it, I mean in a romantic, relationship-type of way?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Maybe you’re being pessimistic. You have incredible talents. Do you think anyone could have pulled off that video? It was a brave, innovative act.’

‘Maybe you’re right – and I did get one offer, I suppose.’

‘From who?’

‘Jake Lawler.’

‘One of the gang?’

‘Yes, he asked me out.’

‘And because you’re desperate you didn’t say ‘no’ straight away?’

Laura blew out her cheeks and shook her head. She moved away from the window and slumped back down on the sofa. She took a handful of pistachio nuts and shovelled them into her mouth.

‘I don’t know where you get off asking me those kind of questions,’ she said, with the mildest of smiles. ‘But I suppose their brutal honesty keeps me on my toes. Just remember, you’re still a guest in this house.’

‘I never forget anyone’s hospitality – but am I right? You didn’t say no because you felt there wouldn’t be plenty of fish in the sea, as it were.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’

‘You like him?’

‘A little.’

‘But not enough.’

‘I really don’t know him that well.’

‘Do you think there’s something between you because of that night? Some sense of transference? Two people brought together after a terrible crime. An unspoken bond, a meeting of the spirits?’

‘Sounds like gobbledegook to me.’

‘I’ll tell you what’s not gobbledegook. Three of my victims at Bon Visage have already engaged with the perpetrators of the crime and forgiven them for what they did. One of them is in a relationship with a man who was part of a gang that attacked her in a busy London street. They now want to spend the rest of their lives together. There’s nothing phoney about that, it’s real.’

‘Has her face healed?’

‘That’s still a big hang-up isn’t it?’

‘Why, shouldn’t it be?’

Francesca sighed. ‘Because I obviously thought I’d dealt with some of that when you were at Bon Visage. Obviously not. Maybe you need a few more sessions.’

There was a long silence as Laura wondered if she would actually have time to attend given how busy she was with the production company.

‘I don’t know, maybe after the trial and the wedding,’ said Laura.

‘Do you think your mum will move in with Peter by then or will they live here?’

‘They want to live here and see how things pan out.’

‘And you’re okay with that?’

‘Course.’

‘But long-term?’

‘Yes, I do worry about it.’

‘You shouldn’t because the world is just about to open up for you. A documentary on TV, your own production company, more projects, films, I don’t think you need to be anxious about any of this.’

‘No…’

‘And you can probably do better than Jake Lawler.’

‘You think so?’

‘Yes. But how will you tell him if he goes to jail? You’ll have to let him down gently.’

‘Probably write to him, it’s how he first contacted me.’ Laura paused and looked at Francesca. ‘But how do you know I’m going to reject him? Maybe I like him.’

‘That’s your choice, totally,’ said Francesca, leaning back on the sofa. ‘And as I said people in my group have done similar things. But just remember that it can be hard to completely let go of a terrible night if the man by your side is the same one who was in that circle of hell in those dreadful few minutes.’

‘Hmm, circle of hell, feels quite appropriate for Jake Lawler. He still seems to be in that pit despite revealing everything to me, to coppers, to lawyers and to anyone else that would listen. I thought he might have felt better after unloading it all but he didn’t and I wonder why.’

‘I hear a documentary girl speaking rather than any romantic union.’

Laura paused and got up from the sofa to play some music.

‘Maybe it’s both,’ she said.

Eleven

Laura sat in the witness box and thought of her father’s words, that crown court was just like test cricket, even though she’d never watched a match in her life. He had been on jury service and said that it was all about ‘putting shine on the ball, reverse swing, forward defensives, deep cover and an illusion of sportsmanship’. Laura still didn’t know what he meant – but it was undoubtedly an arena with its traditions, history and uniforms. She missed not having him by her side in the public gallery. But at least her mother was there – and Peter Corrin. She glanced over at them regularly as the prosecuting barrister made his case. They gave her confidence and strength. She also glanced over at the four men and one women behind the glass covering (who she could barely see because the glass was so dark) and noticed how dishevelled and hopeless they seemed. Inanimate and lifeless. Gaz, Sammo, Mark Lawler, Rita and Jake. None of them were looking at her apart from Jake. He didn’t appear to take his eyes off her. Laura tried not to look at him as it was distracting. Luckily, the prosecuting barrister started his questioning and Laura was forced to concentrate on the night in question, hoping this would be the final time she would ever have to talk about it in such depth and detail.

But curiously, it didn’t appear to affect her. She breezed through the questioning without delay and once the prosecuting barrister had finished, he even gave her the tiniest of thumbs-up, which no-one else appeared to notice. Yet she knew the difficult questioning was to come. Cross-examination was all about trying not to get cross, said Michael Danes. That she would remember. Test cricket could go and swing.

The defence barrister was called Richard Langley-Miles and his white wig and black cloak were worn very loosely as if he didn’t want to wear them at all. He meandered towards the witness box and started talking about that night and how Laura might have compromised herself by answering the phone so late in a public place and, therefore, drawing attention to herself. Laura said this was absurd – but the digs kept coming. Laura had been speaking too loud on the phone. She was wearing clothes and had a hairstyle that aroused interest. She shouldn’t have been alone and isolated in a secluded train station close to midnight. She stood out because of her behaviour. She had brought it on herself.

Laura couldn’t help but snigger when she heard Langley-Miles spouting that rubbish. It felt like desperate stuff. He pummelled that line of attack for about forty-five minutes until he got on to new territory. This, Laura had to admit, was more troubling territory. It was difficult and uncomfortable. She glanced over at Sheila and Peter more often during this barrage.

‘So Miss Danes, I say to you that one of my defendants, Jake Lawler, came to you in good faith, showing remorse, even though he’d played no active part in the attack – and that all you did, contrary to police advice, is start filming a ghastly video in which your desire to become a celebrity and so-called film-maker is there for all to see. You had no desire for justice did you. You just wanted to become famous.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘You edited yourself in with those other shots. You spoke to camera. You have grand desires.’

‘No, I just wanted the truth to come out.’

‘You call that the truth? I’ve seen eight-year-olds film better video than that.’ He looked up to the female judge. ‘I’m always said that none of that footage should be admissible because it’s prejudicial, M’Lady, and I’ve even more certain about it today.’ He turned to Laura again. ‘But Miss Danes here, does seem to have a power we don’t possess.’

‘We’ve had endless debates about what should have been admissible and made our decisions,’ said the judge. ‘Continue, Mr Langley-Miles.’

‘Of course, M’Lady,’ he said, touching his wig with his hand. He approached the witness box and was barely a foot away from Laura.

‘You’re having an affair with Jake Lawler, aren’t you?’

‘No.’

‘So you deny letting him into your house?’

‘My house?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think he did come round once but it was uninvited and I didn’t ask him to come round.’

‘But you didn’t tell your mother?’

‘No.’

‘So an alleged criminal comes into your house – the one who you accuse of destroying your life – and you do nothing about it apart from give him tea and cake.’

‘I wanted him to go immediately.’

‘Why didn’t you call the police?’

Laura sighed and looked at her mother. ‘Because I wanted to see what he had to say. He was telling me intimate things about the gang, about their movements. It intrigued me.’

‘So you wanted to be a hero and do it all yourself, putting your mother in danger and everyone else you came into contact with. Wasn’t that reckless?’

‘No.’

‘Why didn’t you give your footage to the police straight away? Why post it online.’

‘I was proud of it.’

‘You felt the police hadn’t done their job after the attack, didn’t you? You were angry at them for their perceived slackness at not catching the perpetrators.’

‘No, that’s not true.’

‘You lied to your mother constantly. About the video, about where you were heading at night, about your secret dalliance with Jake Lawler.’

‘No.’

‘You lied, lied and lied again.’

‘NO!’

‘You lied to the police and everyone else.’

‘No, you’re a liar!’

There were a few gasps in the public gallery as Mr Langley-Miles raised his eyebrow and moved away from the witness box.

‘I’ll ignore that last answer, Miss Danes, but let me move onto the alleged arson attack on your home,’ he said. ‘You had prior knowledge of that, didn’t you?’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘No. Jake Lawler told you about it.’

‘No, he didn’t. He just asked me to stay alert.’

‘So why didn’t you inform the authorities that your house could be a target?’

‘I didn’t think they’d do it.’

‘They wouldn’t attack the house?’

‘No.’

‘A bit naïve, don’t you think.’

Laura didn’t answer.

‘Weren’t your ashamed of nearly getting your mother killed in her own house, after all she had done for you? Looked after you after the attack, taken you to hospital, tended to you at home?’

Laura paused and cleared her throat. ‘A little.’

‘Are you ashamed of your face?’

‘Objection!’

Mr Langley-Miles looked at the judge. ‘I’m just trying to illustrate that the feeling of shame Miss Danes has about the way she looks has a strong impact on her behaviour. It makes her act differently at times and perhaps she needs to be loved a bit more to get a bit more attention. This might be the reason she wanted to do that film. To show the world, that she wasn’t a busted flush, that she wasn’t isolated and hiding at home. That she wasn’t a lost cause.’

The judge sighed. ‘I’ll allow it, Mr Langley-Miles. Just keep it relevant.’

‘Thanks, M’Lady.’ He turned towards Laura again. ‘So are you ashamed of your face?’

‘I’ve got used to living with it.’

‘But it makes you sad, isolated and anxious?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘And leads you to do things that you wouldn’t have done prior to the attack?’

‘No, I’m still the same person.’

‘Are you? You’re a bit of a celebrity and a star now, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Other people say that, not me.’

‘It’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Fame and celebrity?’

‘No.’

‘You’re using your face to get sympathy so you can get more website clicks, invites to dinner parties and film premieres, aren’t you?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Oh, it’s not me that‘s stupid, you’ve played a skilful game, Miss Danes. Put yourself right at the centre of the video, talk to the camera, show them your face, and watch the response. Why did you do it like that? You could have just used a voiceover. I think you’ve got a celebrity complex.’

‘I’ve got nothing of the sort.’

‘I hear Channel 4 are interested in your work. Is that true?’

‘Maybe yes, but it was nothing to do with me.’

‘That’s some rise there, a girl who claimed she was attacked and is then on national TV within months flogging a documentary.’

‘I’m not flogging anything.’

‘Apart from your face. To the public.’

Laura felt angry for the first time as she looked at Mr Langley-Miles – but she knew she had to keep her composure. It surely wouldn’t be long now – and she’d be out of here and back in an arena that was less hostile: her home, her studio, even a film set. She’d love to have a camera in here, she thought. Capture the Lawler’s emotions and Langley-Miles’ sly diversions. She’d like to take off his wig and put it on her own head. It could warm it up and she could start asking the kind of absurd, farcical questions that he’d put to her. But she was snapped out of her momentary vision with another sledgehammer.

‘Did your father’s inadequacies make you even more determined to make it as a so-called artist?’

Laura glanced at her mother and shook her head. She was amazed there was no objection to this question. She looked at Jake Lawler and could barely see him. Curiously, she had just made her mind up whether a relationship with him was sustainable, long-term. He didn’t seem real anyway. None of this did.

But a verdict about their relationship would be achingly real. She had to get it right. Or their might be even more hurt on the way.

Laura, Sheila and Peter sat in the public gallery as the verdicts were read out and it was hardly surprising that all four men and Rita Lawler were found guilty – but once the sentences were handed out, it became apparent to Laura that the jury had believed most of Jake Lawler’s story. That he was coaxed and bullied into a life of crime by his elder brother. That he was the junior partner of a gang that carried out or attempted a spate of burglaries across the county. That he had tried to escape from this life numerous times only to be threatened by Rita and Jake Lawler. This is why he only got a two-year suspended sentence. He had escaped a custodial sentence. A life behind bars, unlike his old man, wouldn’t be for him. But the others weren’t so lucky. Eight years apiece for Gary Norden and Samuel Weekes. Twelve for Mark and Rita Lawler. Jake’s co-operation with the police was also a huge factor, thought Laura. A guilty plea might have helped him get off completely. But Laura’s mind immediately turned to when and where she could tell Jake Lawler about her thoughts and intentions for their relationship. In London, at his mother’s home? In a restaurant? There was a wedding coming up so it had to be soon. She wanted to make things clear before the distractions of wedding celebrations, her mother going with Peter on her honeymoon (she hadn’t been on any holiday since Michael died) and a dive back into work with Sophie which would probably include the airing of her documentary on national TV. That was plenty to be going on with. As she watched Jake trundle out of court with the others, she thought she wouldn’t mind going down to London to meet him. She hadn’t been there since her student days and it would be nice to go back with some purpose and confidence.

If people would accept her.

She would call him tonight and arrange somewhere to meet. He was a free man now (sort of) – and perhaps the iron grip his brother had on him might have been lifted now and turned him into a different man. She hoped so. London it would be. He had been roaming and defacing her territory for too long.

She called him as soon as she got home, which was later than she’d hoped. She got caught up in the (small) post-media scrum outside court, even though she was grateful to her mother and Peter for deflecting most of the questions away from her. The delay did serve one purpose, however, as one reporter asked a ridiculous but, curiously revealing, question.

‘Did you know Jake Lawler was one of the most promising youth footballers in the world and is that why you were attracted to him?’

Laura wondered if he was a tabloid reporter although there didn’t seem to be much national press here. The answer was a double negative and Laura said her farewell’s and headed home. But on the way home, this question circulated repeatedly in her head. Why didn’t he tell her how good he was at football as a young boy? Wasn’t that something to be proud of? By the time she got home and called him – he had other ideas.

‘I want to come to your mum’s wedding,’ he said.

‘The invites have already been sent out,’ said Laura, with a pause. ‘And do you really think my mother wants to see you again after all we’ve been through. I don’t think she knows about half our conversations.’

‘No, but she’ll come round – because I’m coming round.’

‘What?’

‘I want you to tell me to my face if we have a future together because this technology lark just doesn’t do it.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Mum and Peter might be back in an hour.’

‘I’ll be there in five minutes.’

‘No, wait!’

He hung up and Laura was annoyed that the conversation had been so short and brisk – and that she couldn’t ask him the things she wanted. But she would ensure she got all her questions in first when he came around. From promising footballer to two-bit criminal was quite a stretch. She sensed he didn’t like delving into the past. There was no future for them without it.

He was sitting in the bedroom going through some of Laura’s CDs. The only one he liked was Massive Attack’s Blue Lines. He put it on and turned up the volume – and to Laura’s amazement – started dancing in the middle of the room. Laura sensed he was letting his hair down after the trial but something else occurred to her: even though she knew very little about football she remembered a student saying to her once (at a nightclub) that football and dancing were actually the same thing because the feet needed rhythm, movement and balance. And as she looked at Jake Lawler, she finally knew what the student meant. This guy could really move well. He could dance, without a doubt. He wasn’t showing off – he was just good. Light on his feet, natural movements, smooth swaying motions, a still head and utterly synchronised to every beat and rhythm of the music. He carried on until the first track – Safe from Harm – was finished and then glanced at Laura. He wasn’t out of breath at all.

‘Want some more? I could carry on for the whole album?’

‘How about some Polly Jean?’

‘Who?’

‘PJ Harvey?’

He shook his head again.

‘You know, double Mercury Prize winner?’

‘Mercury? Mark likes mixing his elements and chemicals in the cellar, that’s all I know.’

Laura shook her head and turned the music off. ‘My mum and Peter should be back soon, shall we get down to business?’

‘Didn’t think there was any,’ said Jake, sitting down on the bed. ‘How could you reject a man who moves like that?’

Laura didn’t answer and sat down on the bed beside him, a couple of feet away. She paused and cleared her throat.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about how good you were at football?’ she said. ‘I’ve been told you were one of the very best at a young age?’

‘All history now. So are we an item then? You need to give me an answer because I’ve been burning up inside for months now. It’s felt like a lifetime and a sentence of its own. I need to know – then I promise I’ll tell you about all that other stuff later.’

‘But why can’t you tell me now?’

‘Because it’s the past and we’re the future. Surely that’s more important. You’ve always said that to me since the day of the attack. Think positively about the future, well, come on, please do it now because I can’t wait any longer.’

Laura took a deep breath and looked out of the window. She thought of all the people she’d met – film-makers, students, artists – in the last few months and couldn’t deny their influence, their power and their intellect. Wasn’t she part of their arena and their crowd? The confusion had finally cleared. She stroked her face and crossed her hands on her lap. She turned towards Jake and faced him.

‘Sorry Jake, I don’t think we can have a future together,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘I like you but I’m not sure we’re suited long-term.’

Jake stared at Laura with the blankest of looks. He said nothing and remained absolutely still.

‘It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long-time,’ she added. ‘I’m sorry to bring you down like this but I have to be honest and tell you exactly how I feel. It’s the only way we can both move on with our lives.’

Jake still said nothing and his penetrating gaze was beginning to unnerve Laura.

‘Well, that’s my answer,’ said Laura, getting up off the bed. ‘We can talk about it right now if you want – but it doesn’t look like you want to – so maybe we should let things settle a bit.’

There was a long silence and Laura headed towards the door.

‘Why?’ said Jake, finally breaking the silence. ‘Aren’t I good enough for you? Fallen into a posher crowd, have we?’

‘No.’

‘So why then? You were giving all the signals that we could be an item…’ He paused and looked down at the carpet, his head dropping so far Laura thought he might topple over. ‘But maybe I read the signals wrong.’

‘Maybe you did.’

‘I thought we were a team. We worked together to nail my brother and you got justice and a bit of fame so how can you throw that all away? It’s something to be proud of, something we can build on.’

‘Sorry not ‘us’, Jake,’ said Laura. ‘I’m just not sure we’re right for each other…’ Laura heard the front door open and close downstairs. ‘Oh, and I think my mother and Peter have just come back from a long day at court and numerous other engagements. Only two days to the wedding.’

Laura regretted the last few words immediately as it appeared to darken and sour Jake’s face to a frightening degree.

‘Fuck your wedding,’ he said.

Laura looked at him and opened the bedroom door. ‘And they would probably think the same of you if they knew you were in my bedroom.’

‘Would they? They know I’ve been talking to you for ages. All came out in court.’

‘Maybe I should bring them up then. They’ll only be here for about half an hour anyway They’re going to Peter’s to cut some handmade decorations for the big day.’

‘No, you run on down to your new cosy family because I’ll be gone soon. I’m not waiting around.’

Laura nodded. ‘I’m sorry you had a wasted visit. I hope we can still be friends.’

Jake didn’t answer.

‘I’ll be up in about half an hour again and then we can maybe say a proper goodbye.’

Jake didn’t answer – and Laura shut the door and left the bedroom to head downstairs.

Sheila spent the first few minutes hugging her daughter, telling her she’d been brave at the trial and that her future was bright now this terrible ordeal was over. Peter more or less did the same, only with the added question of when her documentary was going to air as he didn’t want to miss it with all these wedding arrangements to organise. Laura had no idea (although she expected something in the next two weeks) but she tried to keep focused on the wedding, as it was their big day, and she had spent enough time in the spotlight recently. It was time to think about them, about all they had done for her, about how they’d kept her safe, about how they’d fought her corner. She couldn’t have asked for more. Of course, she expected it from her mother. But as she looked at Peter and his soft, twinkling eyes she suddenly realised that this man had fitted in so seamlessly into the family that calling him ‘dad’ in the future – something which might have been heresy a few months ago – would feel utterly natural and not out of place at all. Michael Danes would approve, she was sure of it.

But Peter also shared something else with her father: a relentless work ethic which meant they spent even less time in the house than expected. They barely had time for coffee and were scurrying off to Peter’s house to make handmade decorations for the wedding. Sheila wanted to stay a bit longer, but realised she didn’t have much choice, and simply asked Laura if she had a dress ready for the wedding. Laura replied that she didn’t but there were still two days to go and the trial had put all best laid plans to one side. Sheila and Peter then said goodbye and said they’d be back around midnight when they were sure Laura would be tucked up in bed, fast asleep, after an exhausting day. Laura said she wasn’t sure – because she might start looking in her wardrobe for wedding ‘gear’ and it might be a long night. Once the couple had left the house, Laura walked up the stairs and felt a sense of mild satisfaction that a potential, awkward confrontation with Jake Lawler had been averted. At least he could walk out of the front door, she thought.

She opened the bedroom door.

Laura gasped and put her hand over her mouth immediately as she tried to absorb the sheer horror of what she saw in front of her. Jake Lawler was hanging from the ceiling light, a scarf tightened around his neck like a noose, his vertical body sagging down like a rag doll, his feet not touching the bed, his face pale and lifeless, his shoulders drooped, his head tilted to the side as if it could fall off ay any second. Laura rushed towards him – her heart throbbing and a cascade of tears already swarming from her eyes. She jumped on the bed and reached up towards his neck for the scarf – but he had managed to get a couple of feet higher so she found it difficult to untie him immediately. She was getting frantic and thought of calling for help but she was sure she could still hear him breathing so she continued – panicked and terrified – in the faint hope that she could untie him and get him back down on the bed again. But the scarf – her scarf – was tied too tightly. She simply couldn’t get her hands and fingers round it. She looked up above at the ceiling light. The top of the scarf was tied flimsily to the hook near the bulb and she sensed there might be an opening. But it was too high up and she couldn’t climb up that far. She looked across at her dressing table and threw everything off it, dragging it towards the bed, almost by the side. She jumped on top of the dressing table and reached up to try and untie the scarf from its hook near the ceiling light. But again it was too tight – and her hands turned white and sweaty with each failed transaction: the sense of fear, despair and exasperation growing with each second as she looked at this inanimate boy who seemed to be slipping away from her. Had he done this before? He appeared to want to make sure. She jumped off the dressing table again and thought there was only solution. She saw the hair dryer in the corner of the room and rushed towards it to pick it up. She jumped back on the dressing table – and paused for a second to ensure she was balanced and at about the same height as Jake Lawler – and then she smashed the ceiling light as hard she could with the hair dryer, pummelling it, crushing it, destroying it. Bits started to fall off and she could see the hook that tied the scarf had been shifted out of position. She sensed the weakness and flung a few more blows; backed up by a few mild shrieks and groans. Suddenly, the hook became tilted and the whole ceiling light became unsteady. The scarf was loose – and Laura sensed it was all about to come crashing down. She gave it one last, almighty blow – followed by a scream from another world – and then threw the hair dryer onto the floor. She wrapped her arms round Jake Lawler’s thighs as the ceiling light, scarf, boy and part of the ceiling thudded down on the bed. Jake Lawler was in her arms – but then ended up on the floor as she couldn’t contain the sheer weight of him pushing down on her. She rushed down onto the carpet and threw off the scarf, to check his breathing. She wasn’t sure she could hear anything – but then she saw his Adam’s apple offer a faintest pivot and she moved closer towards his face.

‘Jake, can you hear me? Wake up.’

She was about to start CPR – but then there was a double pivot in the Adam’s apple, and then a triple – and then the mildest of coughs.

‘Oh Jake,’ said Laura, moving her cheek right beside his. ‘Thank God, you’re alive.’

Jake barely moved – but the breathing was now audible and gathering pace.

‘No one has scared us like that, no one,’ she said.

Jake coughed a little louder and appeared confused by his surroundings.

‘But why Jake, why would you do something like that?’

Jake didn’t answer – but then surprisingly eased his hand towards Laura’s, resting it gently on top of hers. She didn’t shrug it off, finding a bit of solace, peace and relief after being confronted with something she’d never seen before.

After a few minutes she asked him to sit up, still unable to keep all the tears at bay. She eased him against the bed and then sat down by his side. She eased his face into her eyeline, just inches away from him, and looked up into his eyes.

‘Is this what you want?’ she said, kissing him gently on the lips. ‘If my face is good enough for you, then you’re good enough for me.’

Jake didn’t answer and let Laura kiss him softly and with the kind of tenderness he had never experienced before. Laura let go and then Jake finally started touching her face, caressing all the corners with the palm of his hand, stroking every scar and jagged line.

‘I love you girl, that’s all,’ he said.

‘But why nearly kill yourself for it?’

He didn’t answer and rubbed his stiff neck with his hand.

‘Because I rejected you?’

He shook his head. ‘It drew me over the edge, but it wasn’t the main thing.’

‘Tell me now,’ said Laura. ‘No more fucking around. You have my hand but only on the condition you come clean right now. I mean you nearly committed suicide in my own bedroom. How would I spin that one?’

Jake finally offered a mild smile and then stretched out his legs. He sighed and leaned back on the side of the bed. His smile turned into a dark cloud in a second.

‘I was sexually abused by a football coach when I played in youth teams for my local club.’ He paused and glanced at Laura. ‘And you’re the first person I’ve ever told.’

Twelve

He still had a blank look on his face and his eyes were distant and resigned. But he was calmer and more relaxed, probably the most composed Laura had ever seen him. It started to gush out, as if the torrent simply needed the right pinprick of tenderness to release its monumental flood. And what a flood it was. If Laura had endured horrors and difficult times, then Jake’s story was no less harrowing. He did not mince words. He did not stop to look at Laura. After about five minutes, she found it hard to listen, but the main details were clear.

‘It happened the first time on a residential trip to Sweden,’ said Jake. ‘It was half-term from school so the lads were loving being away from home while also enjoying playing football in another country. The coach, Michael Staunton, organised it all – and he was a big part of the local community back home as he ran most of the teams from Under 7s all the way up to Under 15s. He knew my dad and most of the other lads’ families so they trusted him with us, even let us stay at his house if we wanted. To be honest, we were dazzled by him. He could do these incredible keepy-uppies with the back of the foot, score goals and pass for fun. We couldn’t believe he wasn’t a pro player. Anyhow, when we were in Sweden and I scored those four goals for the Under 11s, my mates ribbed me that the scouts would really be onto me now in terms of snapping me up for a career as professional footballer. There were rumours two English clubs wanted me to come down for trials once this trip was over. I didn’t believe any of it but secretly I hoped it was true. It’s all I ever wanted to be. A footballer, winger and a creative player. One who scored goals and had fun. Staunton took that all away from me. He brought an abrupt stop in my life and had a power over me that he used like a king. And I could never drain the poison after that. Never.

‘After I scored those four goals we had a short ceremony and I held up my winning trophy. We headed back to the dorms, got changed and then celebrated by having some soft drinks, snacks and chocolates. Staunton had something stronger, we could smell it a mile off. After about an hour or so, I remember me, Ricky, Steve and Jenners settling down in our tight dorms, on two bunk beds each, feeling quite excited that we’d won a massive game, played so well and that we were so far away from home. We thought it couldn’t get better than this. Then, about half an hour later, when nearly everybody else was asleep, I heard the door opening and closing and got a faint whiff of alcohol flowing into the room. I thought the light would come on immediately but it didn’t. There was a shadow in the room – and I sensed who it was. I was on the bottom bunk, closest to the door, and I suddenly felt this huge presence trying to slip into the bed beside me. I asked what he was doing and he said he had a present for me because I played so well. He eased the bottle towards my mouth and asked me to take a swig. I didn’t want to because it made me sick – but he insisted. Then I felt his giant cold leg rub up against mine and his hand start touching my chest, my stomach and my…’ He paused for the first time and glanced at Laura. ‘Private parts. I felt weird and sick and asked him to let go but he said he was just being friendly. He then asked me turn over but I didn’t want to. He grabbed my hand hard and squeezed it so tight I thought it would break. I was scared and started to cry. I had to turn over, the pain of not doing so was too great. I felt he could break my bones. As I turned over and my nose pressed against the wall, I could hear him panting and slavering behind me. I remember my trackie bottoms being slipped down and then something hurting me…’ Jake stopped and stared at Laura. His breathing increased and his eyes exploded into a cascade of tears. ‘And he kept doing it, and doing it for hours, all night until I couldn’t take anymore.’

‘Stop, I don’t want to hear anymore,’ said Laura, grabbing him gently as he lay on the floor. ‘It’s over now. I’m here now, to put the pieces back together.’

‘And it went on and on…’ said Jake, now in a full-blown bout of crying which Laura felt had bottled up for years. ‘A few days later, he whipped us out in the woods and then asked us to run naked back to the dorms. That was just one thing in a thousand, there were many others.’

‘And I don’t want to hear about them now,’ said Laura, kneeling down by his side and wiping way his tears. She kissed him again on the lips. ‘I just want you to know that I’m here by your side whenever you need me and you can rely on me.’

‘So you haven’t rejected me?’

Laura shook her head.

‘We might be two damaged souls but the power of that healing is limitless.’ She sat up again and looked at the scarf on the bed. ‘But promise me one thing.’

‘What?’

‘No more suicide attempts.’

‘Promise.’

Laura got up and sat on the bed. ‘Final question on this: Is Staunton alive?’

Jake shook his head.

‘I doubt that makes it any easier.’

There was a long silence and Jake finally got up from the floor. He walked to the window and looked outside.

‘At least I could have looked into the bastard’s eyes again and asked him ‘why’ but that will never happen now. Died of liver disease, I heard, alcohol-related. He got off easy, the rest of us have to live with the shame every second of our lives. Every second.’

Laura walked towards Jake by the window. She turned his head towards her and kissed him longingly on the lips.

‘Well, that’s a minute right there’ said Laura. ‘And I want to reduce that feeling to every hour.’

‘You’ve got a mountain to climb…’

Laura paused and looked into Jake’s eyes.

‘Well, I’m ready for the trek, are you? Climb it, boy. Climb it as high as you can.’

Jake’s desire to attend the wedding had quickly dissipated. He was shattered after all these revelations and Laura agreed that it would be better if he went back home to London so that he could reflect on a tumultuous few days (including the small detail that his brother had been locked up for twelve years). He would be better spending time with his mother, clearing his head and then, hopefully, coming back to meet Laura when the wedding celebrations and its aftermath had blown over. Then Laura could get deeper into his background and ask more questions: did he really not tell his mother or Mark about Michael Staunton? Why not go to the police? Was this a deeper problem in football? Laura could tell Jake wasn’t ready for this now. His eyes were almost bloodshot, his lips saggy and his cheeks puffed up so badly – from so much crying – that Laura joked that he must have used a football pump on them.

‘At least you look a little bit like me now,’ she said, with a smile. ‘There’s a bit of parity between us.’

‘What? As beautiful as that. I’ll take that any day.’

He moved off the bed and headed towards the door. He folded his arms and stopped to look at Laura.

‘I’ll go halves on the damage to your bedroom. Sorry again for what you had to see. No one should have to see that. I shouldn’t have done it in your bedroom’

Laura picked up the scarf he had used to try and end his life. She threw it towards him and he caught it.

‘What are you giving me that for?’

‘A present. I always use it to stay warm. You can stay warm too if you’re thinking of me. Use it for the right purpose.’

‘In other words, think of your gorgeous neck?’

Laura laughed and walked up to Jake. She stroked his bruised, swollen neck.

‘Well, you don’t want to think of this one, do you?’ She paused and kissed his cheek. ‘Banish the terrible memory, remember the good one. Simple.’

‘Might not be that easy.’

‘I agree,’ said Laura, tying the scarf loosely round his neck. ‘But you have to try or everything will consume us. I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘I’d rather not wear a girl’s scarf, thank you very much. I’ll look a complete lemon on the Tube.’

‘You can take it off as soon as you get out of here. But keep it close and think of me. Think of us, not Michael Staunton. Think of what we could do together for years and years. It’ll give you strength.’

Jake sighed and fixed his gaze on Laura. ‘I think I underestimated you. You’re way tougher than I thought.’

‘Maybe I am,’ said Laura, opening the bedroom door for Jake. ‘But only after that dark night outside the station when you entered my life. There’s a fine line between timid and tough but the hot gale of an inferno swept me only one way.’

Laura spent the early part of the wedding in a bit of a haze, unable to shrug off Jake’s revelations. Even the close attentions of Sophie, who said the chapel hired for the wedding was unique and full character and that the homemade decorations were wonderful wasn’t enough to shift her focus onto her mother’s important day. But Laura snapped out of these thoughts, as soon as she saw her mother walk down the aisle in a resplendent cream-white dress, striding out with purpose, a smile ripening with every step, the veil offering no secrets to the couple’s future together. The Gregorian chants played by the organist – Peter Corrin’s favourite music – gave Laura a lift that was welcome and surprising. She had been moved and touched by classical music before but this was different: raw, melodic and utterly spiritual. A few minutes later, the marriage vows were being softly spoken. Back and forth they went, as Peter, in his gleaming top and tail and blue dicky bow, killed the pauses inbetween as if he were desperate to relish their fleeting time together, their late blossoming, their wry, burgeoning partnership in the autumn of their lives. Laura looked at Peter Corrin’s arched back and couldn’t help but think of her father. How was his wedding day all those years ago compared to this one? Would he now approve? She imagined him sitting by her side, on the wooden bench, looking up at the couple and giving his verdict. It would be a thumbs-up, she was sure of it. Peter Corrin felt like such a different man to Michael Danes. But her mother deserved that. Two completely different personalities at different points in her life. The bewildering facets of manhood serving her well, early and late.

The time had come to kiss the bride – and Peter bent down but hesitated: he waited for a particular chord of music to pass as if he were hypnotised by it. He smiled at the vicar and then at Sheila – but then did the compelling deed. A long, lingering kiss aroused a set of cheers in the chapel that was deafening and life-affirming. It didn’t seem possible, as there were only about 120 people in the hall. There were at least six empty rows at the back of the chapel. But the noise was real, the goodwill was real and this union was so real that Laura sensed these two would be off and she might never see them again. This was an outrageous thought, of course, but right here, right now, anything seemed possible. Sheila and Peter were dressed up, blissful and so happy in each other’s arms that they could fly away forever on a wave of romance never to return to the mundane life of Chiltern Rise, Laura Danes or a small, sleepy market town that gave them work but not much else. What would happen if the house was empty? Could Jake Lawler move in?

Laura admonished herself for thinking that way (again) – but luckily Sophie was by her side to offer some light relief once the rituals and ceremony began to draw to a close.

‘Tom’s sat three rows back, right in the corner,’ she said, in a very low voice. ‘Imagine if I’d done what you lot said and stuck with him. I might be going down the aisle with him too. Uurggh! I can’t think of anything worse.’

‘Sounds like you didn’t want him to come?’

‘Well, he had to be invited, I suppose,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘But whenever I glance over my shoulder, I can still see him eyeing me up. It isn’t pleasant. Some people just won’t be told.’

Laura looked over her shoulder. ‘Are you sure he’s eyeing you up? We’re just in the way, but he’s actually looking up to mum and Peter. He’s not looking at you.’

‘It’s not an isolated case, let’s just say that.’ She paused and folded her arms. ‘He asked for a job on the production company.’

‘He did? I thought he was well set. All that charity work, agenting, activism…’

‘I think he wants to get closer to me.’

Laura sighed. ‘Don’t you think you’re getting paranoid?’

Sophie looked over her shoulder and saw Tom heading her way. ‘Yes, because he’s coming!’

Laura smiled and waited for Tom to join them. She didn’t mind his company – but she realised Sophie had genuinely had enough of his hovering around. This was no act. He was genuinely getting under her skin.

Tom squeezed in beside Laura while Sophie was sitting on the other side not paying attention.

‘There’s someone who wants to see you, Laura,’ said Tom. ‘He’s outside the chapel now. I think I know who it is but I don’t want to say his name in here because it might be akin to a swear word.’

Laura shook her head but was determined not to let the surprising revelation affect her. This was her mother’s big day and nothing should come in the way of that. But she realised if she didn’t go out and meet Jake Lawler then he might come in – and that was utterly out of the question.

‘Have you talked to him?’ asked Laura, in a low voice. ‘What did he say?’

‘He just wants you to come outside. He was in a suit actually. Looked quite funny.’ Tom shook his head. ‘The cheek of it, coming here!’

Laura looked at Tom. ‘Well, he’s brave, I’ll give him that.’

‘Or stupid.’

Laura didn’t answer and looked over her shoulder. She decided the only way to deal with the problem was to go out and tackle it head on. She couldn’t deny she was angry with Jake for turning up here when they had an agreement that they shouldn’t meet for a while, at least until after the wedding. Now, he had broken that pledge. Laura looked at her mother and Peter Corrin one last time before getting up from the bench and heading out of the chapel. She had a mind to give Jake Lawler both barrels. How could they trust each other if he kept popping up like this, spoiling her mother’s great day and God know’s what else?

But she realised he wasn’t like other boys so maybe she should cut him some slack.

How much slack, however, was another question.

She reached the door and left the joyous celebrations behind.

She walked out onto the path and looked to her right towards the gravestones.

Jake Lawler was kneeling between two of them, in a suit, smoking a cigarette.

Coolness personified as death reeked all around him.

Jake bent down even further behind one of the gravestones as soon as he saw Laura, as if he was embarrassed to be here. Laura walked towards him and stopped by his side. He offered her a drag on his lit cigarette but Laura shook her head and rolled her eyes.

‘Well, at least you’re going the right way about it if you want to be six feet under,’ she said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Two days is too long without you,’ he said, wiping some stray ash away from his suit jacket. ‘I couldn’t stay away. I’ve got a treat for you anyway.’

Laura looked over her shoulder at the chapel. ‘So what do you think this is? Don’t you think my mum’s wedding’s a treat? I was enjoying it immensely but now…’ She watched Jake take another drag. ‘Teenwolf in a suit’s turned up, smoking like a chimney, and all I can see is a big black cloud.’

‘My mum’s threatened to throw me out,’ he said, so abruptly that it made Laura shudder.

‘What?’

‘She’s been on my side throughout all the trial business but now her boyfriend thinks I’m trouble too so they might kick me out. They want me to guarantee I’ll have a job in three months and pay my way round the house. I told them it was unrealistic.’ He took another drag on his cigarette and then stubbed it into the gravestone. ‘They can go to hell.’

‘Which is where you’ve probably sent that poor, deceased individual. Can we move away from these gravestones, please? They’re sucking they joy out of the wedding celebrations by the minute.’

Jake nodded and reached into his suit pocket. He pulled out a set of car keys. ‘As I said, a little treat.’ He started to walk away from the gravestones and towards the row of cars parked down the tight, village street. ‘Come on, this way.’

‘There’s a wedding on, I can’t just leave.’

‘But the service is nearly done here. You said the whole jamboree moves on to a hotel next for a reception so you can join them there. We’ll only be an hour, tops.’

‘Whose car is that anyway?’ said Laura, beginning to tentatively walk behind him.

‘Mine. And no I didn’t nick it.’

‘You bought it?’

‘I saved up a few digits.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘You see I can be responsible. I can do things.’

‘What if I don’t want to come?’

He stopped and turned to face Laura.

‘You will if I rev up the engine and turn the music on very loud.’

‘But you hate music.’

‘You’re restoring my love for it.’

Laura sighed and glanced over her shoulder at the chapel, the faint sound of the organist’s rhythms and melodies seeping through the windows and doors to make her feel guilty.

‘My mother would tear you a new gravestone if she knew you were here.’

‘I know that’s why I’m ready to scarper. Come with me.’

Laura smiled. ‘I think she’s coming out now.’

‘What!’

Laura had never seen Jake sprint so fast as he got into his car. She reluctantly followed him in and then laughed for a few seconds as she sat in the passenger seat.

‘The look on your face!’ said Laura, glancing at Jake. ‘That was a sight to behold. This is one of the happiest days of my life and I want to keep it that way.’

‘Oh, it’ll stay like that,’ said Jake, starting the car. ‘Don’t you worry about that. It’ll definitely stay like that.’

Jake drove down to the town centre and parked his car. They both got out and walked past the disused fountain where they’d first met – and then headed towards the fast-food outlet where Jake had got into an altercation with two other boys. Laura wondered why they were going in there again (she hadn’t even noticed the name last time – a symptom of her scrambled, confused mind, perhaps – but now she saw it in big bold letters: KING GORGE). She sensed she would have thought twice about going in there in the first place if she had known the name. It almost gave her indigestion. She walked in behind Jake and, almost immediately, they were approached by the owner, Fabrizio (Laura remembered his loose-fitting shirt and portly waist from last time). He showed them to a table. He was being extremely nice. He offered free drinks – and then, when Laura looked quite perplexed at this extremely generous hospitality – he sat down by her side and explained. He kept glancing at Jake across the table as he spoke. He could barely keep his eyes on one of them as his head kept bobbing around to keep an eye on his staff, the restaurant and customers. He said he had his standards to keep up.

‘I want to apologise for what happened last time,’ he said, finally fixing his eyes on Laura. ‘We were very busy and it all happened so fast. Those boys shouldn’t have abused you like that. And because it happened in my house, and I do see this as my house, I felt totally responsible. It shouldn’t have happened and it was wrong. I feel guilty about it.’ He smiled and glanced at both of them. ‘But now I want to make it up to you. I’ve been following your story in the local paper and can see you’ve suffered a lot. I remember reading that Jake was trying to protect you and then thinking about that same day in my own restaurant when he tried to protect your honour by taking on those two boys.’ He looked at Jake. ‘To be honest, this boy confused me. Was he part of the gang? Or was he working with the police and the authorities. I didn’t know until I saw him in my restaurant again a few months ago, sitting in the corner, very quiet, almost brooding. And then he came in again and then again and then again. Until this place appeared to become a safe haven for him. I finally approached him and asked him why he came in here so often. He said it was because of a girl. Because of you.’ Fabrizio looked at Laura and there was a long silence. ‘He said he was in love.’

Laura looked at Jake and smiled. He didn’t make eye contact and looked embarrassed.

‘Anyway, he said you had a lot on your mind including your mother’s marriage…’

‘He told you that?’

‘He tells his Italian uncle everything.’

‘Not everything, Fabs,’ said Jake.

‘There’s still time,’ said Fabrizio. ‘So once he told me about the wedding, I looked into a few things, found out the date and decided I would welcome you to my restaurant for a reception party and all your family would be welcome. Free food, free drinks all day long as a token of my appreciation.’

‘Jesus, that could be a lot of food.’

‘You deserve it.’

‘But we’ve got a reception party organised already up at the hotel.’

‘As I said, it’s all here. If no-one else comes, at least you two have! It’s a good start, the rest will follow.’

‘It’s very generous of you, Fabrizio, I don’t know what to say.’

‘Just say ‘I do’.’

All three of them burst into laughter and Fabrizio prepared to leave the table, as two more customers walked through the door.

‘There’s a long way to go before that happens,’ said Laura, with a roll of the eyes. ‘I’ve just about got my mum hitched up.’

‘Maybe not as long as you think,’ said Jake, in a slightly more serious tone which Laura found unnerving.

‘You wish.’

‘Okay lovebirds, what can I get you to drink?’ said Fabrizio. ‘Everything on the house, or more accurately, most of it out of Jake’s first few wages.’

‘What?’ said Laura.

‘The young man asked me for a job. I said wait but he was persistent so I said maybe. Now I said yes. He’s agreed to start on a reduced rate and then we take things from there. You have to understand it’s a risk for me too. With his background and the trouble he’s had.’ He smiled and looked at Jake. ‘But I think I can make something of him and he wants to learn.’

‘You never told me about this,’ said Laura, looking at Jake.

Jake shrugged his shoulders.

‘Secrets, secrets!’ said Fabrizio. ‘Right, drinks it is.’

‘So all this free food you’re offering us is not quite free at all?’ said Laura. ‘Most of it will be subsidised by Jake doing some early shifts for a pittance?’

‘No, no that’s not true at all. But I am a businessman and if Jake, here, ever wants to make any progress in life, he’s come to the right place.’ Fabrizio looked at Jake again. ‘Right, Jake?’

Jake shrugged and then nodded his head. Laura knew he was desperate to get a job, any job, and this was better than nothing. As she looked at Fabrizio, she did believe he was genuine and absolutely wanted the best for the both of them. But business did have the habit of getting in the way. As she eyed up the menus, she also decided she’d mean business. She would binge on each and every one of the freebies that Fabrizio dangled her way. She would take him to the cleaners – and then maybe he’d pay his new staff what they were entitled to. But she wasn’t holding her breath. Jobs, contracts and low wages could wait. This was a day of celebration, joy and unbreakable bonds that would hopefully last forever. She would be thinking of her mother and Peter while she devoured one of Fabrizio’s rolls, cakes or desserts. She might even invite them to come over this evening to sample some of the curious delights. She knew they had plenty on their mind – not least the trip to Cape Town in the morning for their honeymoon.

But this was the place that may have contributed to the long-term toughening up of Laura Danes after those boys had abused her with their name-calling, staring and laughing.

It all began here – and it was all about to begin again for the newly-wed couple.

There was only one bit of name-calling she was interested in now.

To thank Peter Corrin and Sheila Danes for being rock-solid in their support and to have brought her, painstakingly and patiently, to where she is today.

Tucking into free food, with a boy by her side and a documentary to be aired on national TV.

Nothing could get better than that.

Or could it?

Jake pulled out his whistle and let it dangle from his lips for a second. A deep sadness overwhelmed his face before he looked up at Laura, smiled again and started eating his food.

Thirteen

Laura and Sophie sat in the living room of Laura’s house and watched Facing Them Down: Laura’s Tale on Channel 4, complete with adverts, high production values and trailers for future programmes on benefit cheats, dating agencies and cosmetic surgery. When the hour-long documentary was finished, Sophie went into the kitchen to make two cups of coffee and returned with a tray of biscuits, cakes and two small tubs of ice-cream. She smiled as she laid them down on the table. She reached over to Laura and gave her a mild, but intimate, hug. She sat down beside her again on the sofa, opening the tub of pistachio ice-cream, devouring it greedily and rapidly as if it would melt it not eaten within seconds. Or she could have simply been in celebratory mode at a job well done, with few errors, slick editing and a real-life narrative that was so compelling it spoke for itself. It didn’t need extras or dramatic flourishes. Sophie was proud of her friend for pulling off such a mundane but magnificent feat.

But Laura wasn’t paying attention to Sophie – or the food – and still had the last few minutes of the documentary on her mind. She got up and walked to the window. She looked outside into the dark and couldn’t help but think of that night outside the train station where it all began.

‘High definition certainly makes my face more noticeable, don’t you think?’ said Laura. ‘I think I preferred the old grainy video from my blog.’

‘Are you serious? Come over here and have an ice-cream. That doc was nothing but a triumph tonight. A triumph. Of course, it’s going to show your face in all its glory, it’s part of the narrative I’m afraid, but it’s still a beautiful one, I’ll tell you that much. Those lines and scars have never been so important. People can really see what evil was done to you. And they don’t like it…’ She paused and finished her ice cream. ‘But they like you.’

Laura nodded and moved away from the window. She walked back to the sofa and sat down by Sophie’s side. She took the tub of vanilla ice cream and raised it to Sophie in a ‘cheers’ motion. She started eating it and instantly regretted not starting earlier as it was delicious, cool and heavenly.

‘You see,’ said Sophie. ‘Now we’re talking.’ She watched her friend enjoying the ice-cream and then poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘One thing I have to concede, however, is that this documentary has surprised me in how big it’s become and how much impact it’s had. It’s been absolutely seismic and has given our production company a massive boost in profile and exposure. Of course, that brings attention.’

‘What kind of ‘attention’?’

Sophie smiled and leaned back on the sofa with her coffee mug.

‘Are you ready for this?’

‘I’m always ready for anything these days.’

Sophie nodded and looked at Laura. ‘Well, since I started work on the editing of the documentary, I’ve been going round to production companies with my begging bowl asking for funding so we can make our first feature film. It was all a bit drip-drip at first because they didn’t know us but then, when the film school and Channel 4 became involved, the numbers started to tot up and people said they wouldn’t mind taking a chance on us to see what we came up with. Now, as far as I can see, with the success of this documentary, I reckon even more offers might come flooding in.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Laura, genuinely astonished. ‘So you’re saying we might have enough money to make our first film? To shoot properly, to pay everyone, to hire proper actors?’

‘I don’t know about proper actors. Unknowns are always as good. But yes, I think we can get started with pre-production stuff at least and then we’ll have a look at casting, the shooting schedule and so on.’

‘Er, don’t we need a script before all that?’

‘Yes – and I’ve been working on something for a while.’

‘Care to tell me about it?’

‘You’ve had your own projects on the go, little miss sunshine.’

‘That I have. But I’m still intrigued.’

‘All will be revealed soon. But just to pan things out a bit, I did want to ask you if you had any other ideas knocking around for projects because we’re always going to need them. Funny thing is, we’re also getting so many ideas and scripts from people we don’t know that I’m spending a couple of hours each day just wading through them.’

Laura paused and put down her tub of ice-cream. ‘I did have one. A documentary on a local football club called Deanswood FC. There was a coach who worked for them and controlled the club from top-to-toe. But he also controlled the young players too. Some of them in a bad way. I think it’s a story that needs to be told.’

Sophie nodded and got up from the sofa. She walked towards the TV and turned it off. There was a short silence between them – and then Sophie turned towards her friend and folded her arms.

‘It’s about Jake Lawler isn’t it?’

‘What is?’

‘This documentary.’

Laura looked away from Sophie at the blank TV screen. ‘What if it is?’

‘Nothing wrong with that. In fact, I think it might make a good doc. I’m actually putting the pieces together in my head right now because at the trial they said he was a promising footballer and played for Deanswood FC. He also likes dangling a whistle from his mouth and has one of the saddest faces I’ve ever seen. Are you saying one of the coaches there did some terrible things to the boys.’

Laura paused and wondered whether she’d gone too far. Sophie was her best friend, Jake was now her boyfriend – but wouldn’t she be revealing too much if she told Sophie everything now? Would it hurt Jake? They had a relationship now that was built on iron-clad trust. Breaking that could have serious consequences.

‘I’m not sure I can tell you about all that now, Sophie.’

‘I think he was abused by the coach. I’ve sort of worked it out. You’ve kind of spilled the beans with the documentary idea. Don’t worry if you don’t want to talk about it now – but as he is your boyfriend now and you might be having a long-term relationship with him, I just hope he treats you right and gives you everything that you need. I won’t forgive him if he hurts you.’

‘I don’t think he’s in for that kind of business anymore. He’s reformed, a bit happier, trying to get a job, so I’m willing to give him another chance.’

‘Was it because you felt sorry for him?’

‘I don’t want to get into that now.’

‘Must have been harrowing for him to be abused like that at such a young age. I understand him a bit better now. I thought he was a thug, but it was really his brother and all that football business that has brought his life to a standstill. I understand why you feel sympathetic towards him. It’s natural. I just hope he finds a bit of happiness with you.’

‘You still think I’m mad for hooking up with him, don’t you?’

‘I think you can do better – but I’m warming to him a little, honest.’

Laura paused and considered whether she should take another seismic plunge and reveal another secret about Jake. Sophie had worked everything out anyway so there wasn’t much left to say.

‘He tried to commit suicide in my bedroom by hanging from the ceiling,’ said Laura. ‘I somehow got there in time and pulled him down. I’d never been so scared in my life.’

There was a long silence and Sophie reached forward and poured herself a coffee. She shook her head as if she was trying to get rid of a long-standing migraine.

‘Jesus Christ, what do we need scripts for?’ she said. ‘All the drama’s on our doorsteps.’

After the documentary was broadcast, Laura couldn’t believe some of the glowing reviews she read in newspapers and on websites. Were they talking about her? The words ‘brave’ and ‘courageous’ kept popping up but also flattering and, slightly hyperbolic, statements like ‘a star in the making’ or ‘a bright hope in the documentary world’ or ‘current affairs queen’ also found their way into the reviews, which appeared to mimic each other as if the journalists had been poring over each other’s copy while compiling their own. There were also more interview requests from magazines, radio shows, websites and even TV programmes as Laura wondered how she’d cope with it all, if it wasn’t for Sophie batting most of them away, citing a busy schedule or Laura’s ill-health. Sophie said it was all good publicity for Danes Without Frontiers anyway. The attention, the funding, the exposure was almost turning the production company into a global brand already. It was all essential for what they really wanted to do: which was to make engaging films and documentaries that mattered. Sophie didn’t mind if the media bombardment carried on all year.

But the media ‘noise’ did abate after a few weeks, by which time Sheila and Peter Corrin were back from their honeymoon, looking utterly revitalised and energetic, glowing but tired, their faces sparkling with vigour and sun-baked memories. She greeted them with relish. They dumped their bags in the living room and then slumped on the sofa. Peter, still in his shorts, t-shirt and Panama hat, rubbed his thighs vigorously.

‘Oh Laura, maybe we’ll need the heating on in here soon,’ he said.

‘Well, you know I don’t put it on anymore. Those thighs could do with a bit more rain after all that sun! Anyway, I feel jealous. How was it? Abroad feels like a different planet to me right now.’

Peter put his hand on Sheila’s. ‘Three weeks of bliss, what can we say.’

‘Mum?’

‘Loved every minute of it. Table Mountain, Robben Island, Boulders Beach and even a penguin tour. It was all new to me. Peter had been there before so at least I didn’t embarrass myself.’ She paused and looked at Laura. ‘But I still missed you every single day. Every day. How have you been my love?’

‘Did you see Channel 4’s masterpiece?’

‘Yes, Peter managed to get a laptop and there was a catch-up service so we watched it in the hotel.’

‘And how did you feel when you were watching it?’

‘I only had one emotion: pride. Nothing else.’ Sheila sniffed as if she was trying to clear her nose but Laura sensed she was crying. Peter handed her a tissue. ‘You don’t understand, Laura, to see my daughter like that, up on screen, on national TV, showing authority and courage was simply too much for me as a mother. It blew me away. After all that had happened to you, you come up with this. There was something so perfect about it that it made the time I spent away with Peter even more fulfilling. I knew I loved him. Knew it. And I also knew something else: that I didn’t have to feel guilty about Michael anymore, or what had happened to you. All that’s taken time to heal but I think I’m there now.’ She wiped her cheek with the tissue and looked at Peter. ‘With no little thanks to the man over there.’

‘No, it’s all your own work. You and Laura have been through an incredible ordeal, but I do believe there’s a chink of light there now.’

Laura sighed and felt slightly embarrassed that her ‘work’ had made her mother cry so much. She had never seen her as emotional as this. But it was genuine and heartfelt – and felt like a therapeutic necessity in finally banishing the scorched memories of the acid attack, its aftermath and its legacy. Her mother had carried such a burden on her shoulders. But now the weight was lessening – and she deserved it. She deserved her time in the sun. She deserved her time with Peter Corrin.

‘So what’s for dinner then this evening, Laura?’ said Sheila. ‘Bet you and Sophie have cooked up some treats for us.’

‘That we have – and more.’

Sheila looked across at Peter and touched his hand. ‘Good, because we’ve got something else to tell you – and I won’t be able to say anything unless I’ve got a glass of red wine touching my lips.’

Laura sighed and looked into her mother’s eyes. It wasn’t difficult to interpret what the ‘announcement’ might be – so she decided to mention it anyway.

‘You’re moving into Peter house,’ said Laura.

Peter laughed. ‘What on earth gave you that idea!’

‘See, I told you she’s good,’ said Sheila.

Laura tried to deal with the news calmly – as it was hardly unexpected – but there was still a slight sadness to the revelation which she found hard to absorb. ‘Well, at least we’ll have something else to talk about now.’ She paused and folded her arms. ‘I also have something to tell you.’

‘About a boy?’ said Sheila, raising her eyebrows.

Laura got up and started to walk away from the sofa. ‘All will be revealed this evening.’

‘Well, the fact you left our wedding early to eat pizza and fries with him, gave us an indication something was brewing.’

‘Did Tom tell you that?’

‘As you know, he tells us everything. He’s good like that.’

‘Yes…’ said Laura, with a sigh. ‘But I had no option, really. You might have shot him at seven paces there and then if he’d entered the chapel.’

Sheila smiled at Peter as if she was enjoying this playful encounter with her daughter. ‘I might have, yes. Apart from ruining our wedding day, I didn’t want him to take you away from us. But then as soon as my back was turned, there wasn’t much I could do really.’

Laura got to the stairs and hesitated before climbing them, grabbing the handrail tighter than usual.

‘So you don’t mind if Jake Lawler becomes part of my life,’ she said.

‘There’s a lot of things I mind,’ said Sheila. ‘But being away with Peter has made me more relaxed and laid back about things that used to work me up into a lather before. You’re a big girl now so maybe it’s time to make your own choices – and your own mistakes.’

‘You think he’s a mistake?’

Sheila eased her head into Peter’s shoulder and got comfortable.

‘Let’s talk about it at dinner. It’s a pity he’s not around to fight his corner.’

‘I could call him now and he’d be around in a flash.’

‘Oh not just yet, Laura, I meant in the near future,’ said Sheila, suddenly backtracking. ‘Just us and Sophie for dinner is fine for now. I still feel like I’m on holiday. I’d like to keep that feeling going.’

‘And I would have liked to have kept that feeling too,’ said Laura, walking up the stairs.

‘What feeling?’

‘A house for the three of us,’ she said, not looking back. ‘But I understand your situation. You want privacy.’

‘Oh, Laura,’ said Sheila.

But Laura didn’t look back and went up the stairs into her bedroom. She started to think how she would deal with living in this house on her own.

Or with Jake Lawler.

Laura snapped out of her slightly downbeat afternoon mood – and perked up as soon as dinner was being served. She knew her mum would move out at some time – but still the conformation was harder to take than expected, even if it would open up a new world of freedom to her: a house to herself, dancing to loud music, friends sleeping over when they wanted, overnight parties if she wanted them, late-night cinema. She could do what she wanted, wasn’t that to be welcomed? Yes, but she would still miss mum. As she looked into her twinkling eyes as she served her mushroom stroganoff, she knew there was a difference in her character, personality and demeanour. She had found the man she loved and there was no way back from that. It was a wonderful thing and Laura recognised the new chapter in her life. It was something to be treasured.

‘I don’t want to talk about finances now, Laura,’ said Sheila, adding some lettuce leaves to her mushroom stroganoff. ‘But you know that your dad left everything in good order with his insurance and everything so there’s not much to worry about in terms of the mortgage on the house or anything like that.’ She took a sip of red wine. ‘And your production company’s raking it in, I heard, so that’s another bonus. Sophie tells me you’re even making a feature film now.’

Laura wiped her hands on her apron and looked at Sophie.

‘Yes, and we’re writing ten novels each, painting some masterpieces and sculpting a hundred-foot buddha for the town centre,’ she said, with a smile. ‘We haven’t even got a script yet.’

‘Maybe I haven’t shown it to you, yet,’ said Sophie, looking over her shoulder as she washed the dishes in the sink. ‘Don’t worry, doc star, apart from that, schedule, locations and casting are all in hand.’

‘Maybe it’s a kitchen sink piece,’ said Sheila, with a laugh as she saw Sophie tackling the dishes with the water overflowing. ‘Oh, Room at the Top with Laurence Harvey, give me some of that any day.’

‘Oh, mum behave,’ said Laura.

‘But it’s a great film!’

‘I can’t argue with that.’

Everyone smiled and Peter raised a glass. ‘To Laura’s room at the top. So much room that she won’t know what to do with it.’

‘I’ll find something, don’t you worry.’

The atmosphere was relaxed, jovial and intimate – and Laura was enjoying every minute of it. Her mother took another sip of wine and appeared to remember something.

‘Oh, all that talk of paintings and sculptures has just reminded me that Peter has got something for you, Laura. I think we might have mentioned it before but so many things got in the way like the trial, the wedding and all that. But he finished it on holiday and I think he wants to show it to you.’

Peter offered Sheila a resigned look. ‘We’ve only just started dinner, can’t it wait till afterwards? Laura and Sophie have barely had time to breathe with all the cooking they’ve done. I’ll show her after dinner.’

Sheila paused and looked at her daughter.

‘I can’t get it out of my head,’ she said.

‘Not even for the next hour?’ said Peter.

‘Feels like a lifetime. I’ll go and get it from the bedroom.’

‘Sheila!’

But Sheila had already got up from the table and headed towards the stairs. ‘Back in a jiffy. Keep my food warm for me.’

Peter shook his head but knew he was fighting a losing battle. Laura was intrigued to see what Peter had come up with. Her mother couldn’t get the painting out of her head? Maybe Laura wouldn’t either.

Sheila returned within minutes clutching a framed painting covered with shiny brown wrapping paper. She sat down at the table again and placed the painting by her side. She started eating her food again and took a sip of wine.

‘Here, Laura, unwrap this,’ she said. ‘I think you should do it. The whole thing is startling.’

Laura walked over to her mother and glanced at Peter before unwrapping the painting. He offered a nod of approval. She started to unwrap it and then carefully pulled it out onto the table. As the giant, beautifully-coloured image emerged, a jolt of electricity swarmed through Laura’s body and brain as if she’d been hit a thunderbolt.

The giant face of Laura Danes dominated the foreground – unblemished, pure, graceful – and then a much smaller image of the acid attack ‘gang’ emerged in the background, almost hiding, their faces disfigured, ruined, burned and scarred. There were also smaller images of hardware stores, toxic chemicals, CCTV cameras, police cars, skateboard parks, hospitals, cafés and train stations pockmarked all over the immensely detailed painting. Laura’s heart was racing. She glanced up at Peter and Sheila.

‘I thought I’d want to chuck this out of the window,’ she said, ushering Sophie to come over and see it. ‘But I don’t.’ She fixed her eyes on Peter. ‘I don’t know what to say. I think it’s beautiful but it’s also…’

‘Disturbing?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘But you like it?’

‘I think so.’

‘Well, that’s all that matters.’

‘Gosh,’ said Sophie, looking down at the picture for the first time. ‘That’s a lot to take in.’ She looked at her friend by her side. ‘But I think my friend’s ready for it now.’

Laura nodded – but didn’t say anything. After a few more minutes of gazing at the picture she bent down and gave Peter Corrin a kiss on his forehead. She had never seen him look as happy as he did then – even on his wedding day.

Months went by and Laura found herself getting into a daily routine which was so busy that even the moving out of her mother and Peter from the family home didn’t create the difficulties or traumas expected. Her mother’s intention, at least from the beginning, was to live at Peter’s house during the week and visit Laura (if she wanted) at weekends – but this barely happened as Laura was either at the studio for pre-production or had invited cast and crew members around to the house to stay over as some of them lived so far away that it wasn’t worth their while going back home. Some auditions were also carried out in her home. With all this going on, Laura wondered if her relationship with her mother would be the same again. She hoped so. But there was also work to be done – and she wanted to ensure they kept the highest possible standards for the production company as it had started so well and the momentum had to be sustained.

With this in mind, Sophie finally revealed her big idea for the feature film to come. It was to be called Sunny Boy and was about a bored schoolboy in a village pub who writes childrens’ film scripts in his spare time and sends them to Hollywood. His teachers think he’s a dreamer and won’t amount to much – but incredibly, one of his scripts is picked up and made by a studio and they start writing to him asking him for a sequel. He writes it quickly in the six-week holidays – and although it’s not initially made – the studio asks him to come to Hollywood for talks. They say they even have a representative in London who will help him with the travel and tickets arrangements. So the twelve-year-old, without telling his mum or dad, dressed in a suit, naively heads off to Hollywood at the start of school term and believes he could make a future there rather than having to stay in a sleepy village with few friends, few activities and even less excitement.

‘Sounds decent,’ said Laura. ‘But how on earth would we shoot anything in America? We don’t have the funds for that yet.’

‘Who says he gets there? He’s just a schoolboy. He’d have to work hard to get through the airport and passport checks. His representative, a former college lecturer, is shocked he’s a schoolboy. The relationship between them is crucial. It’s funny but also touching. He wants him to go back to his parents rather than seeking fame and fortune.’

Laura paused and thought about the story – and the gruelling shoot to come. Was it something to get behind? Probably, because it sounded a bit more light-hearted and entertaining than the heavy material they’d been dealing with lately. It would make a nice change. But something suddenly struck Laura.

‘What do you think inspired this?’ she said. ‘I’ve got a feeling it might have been that night you came into my home for the first time after the acid attack.’

Sophie smiled. ‘Yes, I remember re-enacting your father’s play and it sort of stayed with me for a long time after that. I started to think about pupils and teachers trying to escape and make a name for themselves outside the confines of the school gates. That’s where the inspiration for this came from. Who knows Michael Danes might have to have a credit for this!’

‘What would he get? Ghost?’

‘Father, teacher, inspiration, that sounds better.’

‘Yes, it does…’

There was a long silence and then Laura started thinking about how she might direct a twelve-year-old boy behind the camera.

‘Have we got the boy yet?’

‘I think so – but I want you to meet him in a couple of days so we can get some early rapport going. I hope you’ll agree he’s right for the part.’

‘I’ve trusted you all the way so far and you haven’t let me down.’

‘You’ve been busy with all sorts of horrible stuff but now you can crack on with the job in hand.’

‘Good. The first of which is give me a copy of the script so I can get my red marks on it.’

‘Get off, you won’t need to do that, Danes.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’ve taken inspiration from one of the most important men in your life and the writing should be impeccable.’

‘Yes, my dad! That’s what I’m worried about. The plot will have holes in it everywhere.’

‘No, it’s watertight and one of the best things I’ve done, I think.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, because we wouldn’t have got funding for it otherwise. They all liked it.’

‘I’m surprised because they’re usually all over the place.’

‘They can be what they want to be now. We have the power, resources and clout to do what we want and we’re going to make the best film possible.’

‘The best film possible!’

‘Yes, let’s get ready to roll.’ Sophie smiled. ‘Oh and Laura, Jake Lawler’s not going to be on set is he?

‘What on earth gave you that idea?’

‘I don’t mind him turning up but this project is about us, and it’s something we’ve worked so hard over the years for that we need to give it complete attention and focus.’

‘And if he’s there I might not be totally focussed?’

‘I didn’t say that but I’m always looking out for your welfare, you know that. I notice you haven’t been seeing him much in the last few months.’

‘Well, he’s busy and I’m busy. He’s got a job with Fabrizio and is living in a tiny room above his restaurant. I’ve asked him if he wants to come round to the house but we’ve agreed to take things easy for a while.’ Laura paused and sighed. ‘But actually it’s something else, I think…’

‘What?’

‘I’ve been digging hard into Deanswood FC for our next documentary – and they actually invited me down there to take a few shots and talk to a few people. It’s got me intrigued and interested and less enthusiastic about my relationship with Jake for the time being. It’s as if that whole subject matter is putting me off seeing him for now, which is weird. I know that’ll change but I think that’s the main reason. We’re just feeling quite cool and relaxed about it as if we’ve got all the time in the world.’

‘I think you have. But have you got any proper sources for this football doc yet? Anybody willing to speak out? A whistleblower or another coach to shed some light on what happened?’

‘Not yet. It’s all generic stuff so far. The club secretary is willing to show me the current team and that kind of thing but nothing historic or damning.’

‘Well, you know we don’t have a documentary otherwise, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you’re determined to make it happen?’

‘Yes – after I’ve dealt with Sunny Boy.’

‘Good, no distractions then,’

‘No, no distractions.’

Laura said it in such a low voice that she wondered if Sophie heard it at all.

Laura knew there’d be teething problems on set – but she was grateful to Sophie for being highly organised and patient. There were problems with some of the locations (a disused warehouse was doubling up as a school) and the weather, in the first few days, also caused havoc with the shooting schedule which meant some of the shots simply weren’t possible and a backlog was already beginning to develop. There was also the slight wariness of the boy, the lead Nathan Foley, continually darting his eyes across the scars, lines and marks on Laura’s face when she gave him a request or suggestion. She eventually told him straight up what happened to her and Nathan barely looked at her face again. It was if he took some of that pain and sadness and used it like a form of method acting for his role. But despite these small difficulties, Laura gradually got to grips with the task in hand. She had good relationships with her cameraman, Mick Deeney, her sound engineer, Deborah Loney, her casting director, Mimi Bartram and her lighting supervisor, Mark Braizer. They helped her so much it was embarrassing – but once Laura started to take charge, say ‘action’ and get some shots in the can, she felt a certain power and satisfaction that she’d never felt before. She knew this was her life. She knew this was her arena. And she would milk it for all its worth.

And in the evening they all did. Some went to the village pub to unwind and have a few drinks. Some went back to the studio to watch the rushes. And some were simply so tired that they fell asleep on Laura’s floor, her bedroom or the living room. Most of these were actors. Laura felt it was the endless waiting that gave them so much fatigue.

Yet one thing she didn’t have was fatigue. As the weather improved on Day eight, she felt the scorching sun beating down on her face was not causing her any problems at all. She had expected some peeling, itchiness and irritation – which was natural when it was as hot as this – but the sun just appeared to glaze over her softly, bringing warmth and light, as if it had turned down its rays precisely for Laura. She was grateful for it because a certain shot had to be retaken at least twenty-six times as Nathan found it hard to come to terms with a scene where he threw his script up in the air in celebration, but it never went high enough to where Laura and Sophie wanted it so it had to be redone. Even with this, however, Laura didn’t find that she was becoming stressed, anxious or daunted by the task in hand. In fact, as she looked at the lush valleys of the Buckinghamshire countryside – and the 60-strong crew in front of her, with their wires, booms, lights, monitors and clipboards – she sensed something was happening to her that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It felt like a subtle change in her mind and body. She didn’t have a clue what it was – but she was enjoying herself so much she didn’t care. She didn’t want the thirty-five-day shoot to end.

But it had to – and Sophie organised a small party for the cast and crew in the studio once it was over. There were still retakes to be done but they could wait. She paid tribute to her ‘friend and colleague’ Laura who she felt had done an incredible job in keeping all the cast, crew and actors together and had used her personality and character to dampen any conflicts when they did threaten to develop. Laura stood up and thanked her friend. She also said she couldn’t have done anything without her – and needed her guidance on set at all times to navigate a difficult but fascinating adventure. She had found it a thrilling and life-changing experience. She wanted more – and it couldn’t come too soon.

Once everyone had left, Sophie gave Laura a small hug and then stroked her face delicately with her finger that it surprised Laura. She had never done that before.

‘Looks like the editing process had begun already,’ said Sophie.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you looked in the mirror recently?’

‘You know I got rid of those things a long time ago. I try to avoid them at all costs.’

‘Even in the loos and public places?’

‘Wherever I can.’

Sophie paused and took her hand off Laura’s face. ‘There, there, so soft and supple.’

‘What are you on about? Make some sense. You’re tickling me with those nails anyway.’

Sophie sighed and walked to the table to pick up all the empty snack trays, bowls, glasses and teacups.

‘I’ll let you deal with it in your own time, Miss Danes,’ she said. ‘You deserve that at least. Let’s get back to the film. You know how difficult distribution is going to be for a British film but I feel we’ve got a wave of publicity on our side and we’ve got to ride it.’

‘Hmm, I agree,’ said Laura, touching her cheek. ‘But that wasn’t convincing. Do you reckon something happened to me during that shoot? You’ve never touched my face before like that. Is it healing?’

‘I’m not saying anything – but you can look at your reflection in that computer if you want. Or there’s a mirror in the loo. Or there’s a tiny one in my handbag.’

‘No, I think it’s time to go home,’ said Laura, with her heart thumping so fast she felt some of the dubious food she’d eaten might come up at any minute. ‘It’s the only place that can give me some real answers.’

‘Are we finally going to see that fish-shaped mirror pop back into the bedroom? It brings back some vivid childhood memories.’

‘Who knows but when we danced to Polly Jean’s music, it vibrated so badly that I thought it would break.’

‘But it won’t break anymore?’

Laura collected her things and started to head out of the studio.

‘No, because I won’t let it.’

As soon as Laura got home, she headed towards the attic. She pulled down the flimsy ladder and climbed up into the dingy, poky space which always warped her vision to create an unstable, tilted feeling as if she was about to topple over before she even started to roam. But this time, there was little dizziness. She was surrounded by mirrors and it was as if they were now her companions after being hostile for so long. Small ones, big ones, cracked ones, stained ones, shiny ones. The glass soothed her eyes rather than stinging them. She could see the fish-shaped mirror in the corner by the tiny oblong window – and headed towards it with renewed vigour and confidence. But as she stopped, just inches away, her mobile phone rang. She was slightly annoyed and thought of not answering it – but realised it could be important film business so it probably couldn’t wait. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and allowed herself a mild smile.

‘Hello mother, how are you doing?’ she said.

‘Fine my love. Heard you wrapped up your film shoot. I wanted to congratulate you on a massive achievement. Laura Danes, film director, phew, what an achievement.’

‘I’m not there yet, mum, we’ve still got editing to do and all that post-production and publicity. Long way to go before we can say that.’

‘But still, can’t I enjoy my daughter’s success for once? It’s something I’m proud of.’

‘Course you can. How are you and Peter settling down anyway? Missing your old home, yet?’

‘To be honest, not really, and I hope you don’t mind me saying that. Peter’s house is everything we need and it was time to make a clean break really. How are you coping there? I’m thinking of coming round at the weekend anyway.’

‘Oh great, look forward to that. No, everything’s good here, we’ve even had actors sleeping on the floor. It’s a been a weird experience.’

‘Hope you asked the lazy buggers to help you clear up and all that.’

‘They’re not lazy, mum, just fascinating, it’s all I can say.’

‘Well, let me tell you about the other reason I called which also made me think of the word ‘lazy’. Jake Lawler, I met him at that greasy restaurant he works at.’

‘You did?’

‘But not before I watched him for a while, for at least fifteen minutes, seeing how he engaged with staff and customers, how he talked to them, how he came across…’

‘He didn’t clock on, it was you?’

‘He was very busy for a while and another staff member served me so he wasn’t paying attention to all the customers. But then, when he entered a quiet period and wasn’t running around with drinks and food in his hand, he walked up to my table and introduced himself, as if that was necessary. I told him I’d wait until his shift was finished and then we could talk. So we did, and I think I understood him better in those couple of hours of deep conversation than in the whole time I’ve known him or had dealings with him. He talked emotionally about his brother, his parents and his relationship with you. He barely turned his eyes away from me. I sensed a damaged boy who was genuine and desperately trying to turn his life around. He gave me hope. He made me feel that my daughter could have a life with this boy and turn him into a man. I left the restaurant feeling that maybe I’d underestimated him. If I had, I’m sorry. But I had to be sure.’

‘You don’t need to apologise, mum. I’m surprised you went down there yourself but, ultimately, it’s turned out to be a good thing. He is a good boy, I’m absolutely certain about it, he’s just had some terrible things happen to him in childhood and he’s just about coming to terms with that. You don’t need to worry about our relationship, we’ll be fine. It’s going steady at the moment because we’re both intensely busy but, long-term, I hope I’ve put your mind at rest. He’s not a bad sort, mum.’

‘No. I looked into his eyes and finally worked that out. I’d never been so close to him before. At least his eyebrows didn’t meet!’

‘Hey listen, you’ll give me ideas for vampire flicks soon with him in the lead.’

‘Oh God forbid…’ Sheila paused. ‘Laura, where are you anyway? This line’s a bit crackly and keeps breaking up.’

‘I’m here at home.’

‘Well, you’re not in one of the main rooms because it’s never this bad.’

Laura hesitated and glanced around at the mirrors. ‘Er, I’m in the attic.’

‘In the attic, why?’

‘To confront my demons.’

‘Is that a joke.’

‘Not entirely.’

‘You want the mirrors back in the house, don’t you? I think you’ve come full circle. You’ve got your confidence back. Want me to come round and get a few back in their rightful positions? I can get Peter on board too.’

‘Oh no, don’t come round. No need for that. I’m taking the fish-shaped one back for now anyway. It’s probably the lightest one.’

‘Your bedroom never felt complete without it.’

‘No…’

‘Okay, if you don’t want me to come round then I’ll let you go for now and we’ll see each other at the weekend. Can’t wait for that.’

‘Maybe you’ll have the whole glass mountain in the house by then. You can check on the wrinkles and saggy skin and see if they’re still holding up!’

‘That’s what I’m worried about! But seriously Laura, getting all those mirrors in their rightful positions is not a job for you. I don’t want you to injure myself.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a strong young man in mind.’

‘Good girl. He needs to brush his hair from time to time anyway. His parting’s all over the place.’

Both women laughed and Laura ended the call. She paused for a few moments, took a deep breath and then picked up the fish-shaped mirror (which was even lighter than she remembered it) and headed out of the attic. She carefully climbed down the ladder and headed towards her bedroom. She walked in and slowly headed towards the dressing table. She placed the fish-shaped mirror down on the dressing table and pulled up the chair. She wiped some dust off the mirror and then sat down on the chair. She looked everywhere apart from directly in front of her: towards the window, her bed, the ceiling, the walls, as if she wanted to give the mirror time to settle again in its rightful position. Finally, after about five minutes, she was ready and looked point blank into the mirror with a gaze that was determined and defiant. It was impossible to control a certain elation that was swarming her mind and senses. The face appeared transformed: less scarred, less rough, less bruising and a sense that a dark curtain had been lifted to bring some light and glow to the jagged lines that had so disfigured it. The cheeks, the forehead and the chin appeared more pronounced and more symmetrical as if a sculptor had chiselled them back into the place after their irritating sagginess, something which Laura constantly complained about. But not anymore. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A face restored. By no means perfect, but a start.

And a start was all that anyone needed.

She turned on the stereo for Polly Jean’s Down By The Water, one of her favourite songs and a melody she treasured like no other.

She stood up and continued to look into the mirror as the song started. She turned it up to a high volume and started dancing and moving gently in front of the mirror. She started smiling as she realised – looking at her reflection constantly – that the old Laura was starting to come back. The girl who’d danced here many times before. The girl who changed her hair and clothes. The girl who dreamed of better things. She was back with a vengeance – and nothing could change that trajectory. Nothing.

Then the chorus started.

Little fish big fish swimming in the water, come back here and give me my daughter…

Laura sang along to the chorus softly and joyously, almost as if she could hear her father talking to her again. It was as if he was part of her spirit, her soul, and was now telling her how brave she had been in ‘curing’ herself of this condition.

Nothing to do with me, guv, thought Laura, as she put the track on repeat once it was finished. She was about to launch into another song and dance medley – but then her mobile phone rang again and it fell out of her pocket because of her exuberance. She didn’t want to stop dancing but actually thought the mobile might be broken so she bent down to have a look. She didn’t recognise the number.

‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Hello Laura Danes? This is Jim Stones from Deanswood FC. I know we’ve spoke a few times before and you asked me if anyone connected to the club might want to speak you about some of these historic allegations you’ve been trying to uncover.’ He coughed and cleared his throat. ‘As you know, it’s very difficult, but actually, I might have someone for you.’

Laura was out of breath but composed herself. ‘Someone who’ll speak on camera?’

‘I don’t know about that. Might want their face covered.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Look, can we do this face to face sometime at the club or at another location? This is perilous for me too. But I want to clean this club up – and this is a good chance for us to have a clean break. To allow the club to deal with a difficult period.’

‘Of course, we can meet somewhere,’ said Laura. ‘But it’s going to have be a few months as I’ve got commitments to a film I’m making.’

‘Oh, Hollywood is it?’

‘Not quite.’

‘At least I know I’m dealing with professionals anyway. Look, I just thought I’d give you a call to say we might have something – and then finally, once and for all, this can be blown all out in the open.’

‘Sometimes, blowing things out in the open is the only way.’

‘Yes, see you soon. Good luck with the film.’

‘Thanks. Bye.’

Laura felt this was one of those days that everything appeared to be going right.

Apart from her phone, which appeared to be on the verge of conking out. She called Jake immediately before that happened.

‘Can you come round?’ she asked.

‘I’ll be round after my shift. I want to ask you about the film anyway.’

‘I’ve got bigger news than that.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’ll tell you when you get here.’

Two hours later, Jake was in her bedroom. He shook his head and smiled as he looked at her. He noticed the mirror was back on the dressing-table.

‘That film shoot has turned you into a rose, do you know that? It’s quite amazing, I’d say seventy per cent of the stuff on your face has gone.’

‘Nature rules,’ said Laura, doubtfully. ‘Now take a deep breath and sit on the bed. I’ve got something to tell you.’

Jake followed instructions and sat on the corner of the bed.

‘I got a call from Jim Stones at Deanswood FC. He says we might have a source willing to speak on camera about all the things that took place on foreign trips so that we can finally get to the bottom of what happened with the kids and coaches. It’s a massive breakthrough. I think we might have another important piece of work on our hands. We have to see this through.’ Laura paused and looked at Jake. ‘And that might mean you’ll have to be back on camera too, to add weight and support to the allegations.’

There was a long silence and Jake looked down at the floor. After a minute, he got up and walked towards Laura.

‘No problem, whatever it takes,’ he said, sitting down at the dressing table. ‘I’m not scared of it anymore. The fear has gone. Maybe because I’ve seen you and how you’ve suffered and realised that we can all get through difficult times if we don’t give in. I’m ready to speak. I’m ready to expose them for what they did to me. They cannot hurt me anymore. This is our chance, we have to take it.’

Laura nodded and pulled out her phone.

‘Want to do a trial run now?’ she said, pointing the camera at his face. ‘I think this phone’s dying, I’m just testing it out.’

‘Don’t be silly, I’m not talking about it now. Too heavy for a start.’ He paused and raised his hand. ‘Let me have a look at the phone. Maybe I can fix it.’

‘Maybe it’s beyond fixing.’

Jake looked at it, tapped it gently and then tried to reboot it – but it wouldn’t switch on again.

‘It’s dead, isn’t it?’ said Laura.

Jake didn’t answer.

She thought of that night outside the train station and how the same phone lit up – and led to a life-changing situation for her.

‘Oh well, everything has a shelf-life, I suppose,’ she said, putting the stereo on again. ‘Have you heard this song before? It’s Polly Jean.’

‘Not her again,’ he said.

‘Come on,’ she said, taking the phone off him and taking his hand. ‘You’ll love this.’

Down by the Water started again and Laura and Jake started dancing to it in the centre of the bedroom. As it went on, Jake, curiously, appeared to like it.

‘This is bloody good,’ he said.

Laura smiled – and noticed he was dancing to it with more vigour and energy. But as he did, his heavy trainers started to make thudding noises, making the dressing table vibrate and shake. Laura then looked horrified as the fish-shaped mirror started to tilt to the side and then toppled over completely, falling towards the cupboards in the corner.

‘Jake, the bloody mirror!’ she screamed. ‘It’s falling over.’

He stopped dancing, sprinted over and managed to just save the mirror before it crashed onto the sharp corner of the cupboards. He breathed a sigh of relief, as if he was a goalkeeper who’d just saved a penalty.

‘Thanks Jake, it means a lot to me.’

‘What’s all this about fish anyway?’

She looked at her phone and was annoyed that it finally looked completely dead and beyond repair. She threw it in the bed. The journey had been epic, there was no other way of looking at it. The companionship between device and human long-lasting and memorable.

But now it was over.

‘One dead, one alive,’ said Laura.

‘I asked you about fish, that’s no answer.’

‘It’s all you’re going to get for now,’ she said, walking over to the bed, lying down on it, hands behind her head, looking at the ceiling. She smiled wickedly. ‘Oh and can you get all the other mirrors from the attic and back garden and put them back in their rightful places? There’s a good lad.’

It was difficult to tell whether Jake was smiling or angry. He got up from the carpet, with the mirror in his hand – and instead of putting on the dressing table – he took it towards Laura on the bed and put it right in front of her face as if he was doing an exorcism.’

‘Oi, what are you doing?’ said Laura, escaping from the bed. ‘Don’t shine that in my face, I’m not ready for it yet.’

‘Yes, you are my lovely,’ he said, chasing her with the mirror and pushing it into her face in every corner she inhabited. ‘You need to see how much it responds to your face. It’s going to crack.’

‘Okay, I’ll put you in a horror film in the future, you crank, now get away from me.’

Jake finally burst into laughter and carefully rested the fish-shaped mirror by the wall. He gave Laura a hug, to which she responded intimately. She knew the request to get the mirrors would inflame him. She knew him too well.

‘I love you so much, do you know that?’ he said.

‘You want me to say the same but I can’t until something is resolved.’

‘What?’ he said, kissing Laura on the cheek.

‘Until I see the real Jake Lawler emerge from that documentary.’ She paused and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Only then will I know who you really are.’

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