Chapter 55: William Booth

Ashford: Sunday, October 12th

‘Well, well, what have we ’ere, then?’ The man in uniform filled the doorway. He slung his backpack on the kitchen floor. ‘So this is the fancy man, eh?’

William swung round, the tea-towel and the plate he was drying still in his hands. At the sink Susan slowly lifted her hands from the soapy water. ‘Charlie.’ Her voice shook.

‘Proper cosy little scene, eh?’ The man swaggered in. ‘In my house.’ He stood close to William. The sourness of his breath, the tiny blur of red veins in the corners of his eyes was testament to a session of heavy drinking. ‘Nice. I’m off to Northern Ireland, not knowing if I’ll be coming back in one piece, if at all. And you, you bastard, are here having it away with my wife. Playing daddy to my son.’

‘I’m not. But there again, neither are you.’ William put the plate and towel on the worktop. The two men were the same height and William met the other’s challenge with a still and steady gaze.

‘This has nothing to do with William.’ Susan moved next to him, drying her hands. He could feel her trembling.

‘This has everything to do with him. I’ve caught you out at last.’ The man’s eyes slid sideways to Susan. His top lip curled into a sneer. ‘This is who you chucked me out for?’

‘I didn’t. We were finished long before I met William,’ Susan said.

William noticed her upward glance at the ceiling; she was worried about Tim.

‘William, is it?’ He drawled the name out. Will-i-am.’ He pushed his chest out at William with each syllable.

‘Pearson.’ William stood his ground, his arms loose at his side, his eyes still fixed on the man. Inside he was beginning to seethe, his gut tightening, getting ready to strike first if necessary. But he was careful not to let it show.

‘I don’t want any trouble, Charlie. Not with Tim in the house. Not again.’ Susan moved to close the door to the living room.

‘Upstairs, is he? Not here? Not here, sharing this cosy little scene?’ Charlie slouched against the wall. ‘My son. The one you won’t let me see.’

‘I’ve told you; you can see him anytime. I’ve offered to bring him round to your mum’s.’

‘Just not here though, eh?’ Charlie picked at his teeth with his nail.

‘Only if your mum came with you. I told you, I can’t have you here on your own.’

‘Such a big bad wolf, aren’t I?’ His tongue made a popping noise as he dry-spat some bits from between his lips.

A figure darkened the back doorway.

‘Will? What the hell are you doing here?’ Jack peered over Charlie’s shoulder. He jostled Charlie to one side and repeated, ‘What the hell are you doing here? With Charlie’s missus?’

Charlie jerked round, his heavy chin jutted out. ‘You know this geezer?’

‘He’s my cousin.’

‘Fuckin’ ’ell.’ For a moment Charlie looked flummoxed. Then he suddenly laughed. It was a high malicious giggle. ‘No? Really? The one you can’t stand? The bastard who thinks he’s God?’

William gently moved Susan behind him and crossed his arms.

‘Oh, very heroic.’ Charlie jeered. ‘You think it’s her I’m gunning for, huh? Well you’ve made a mistake there.’ He crouched low, reaching behind him. When he brought his hand forward he held a knife.

Susan screamed. William pushed the table so it was between them and Susan.

‘Don’t be stupid, man.’ Jack grabbed Charlie’s wrist even as he was circling William.

The man shook him off. ‘Keep out of it. The bugger has to pay for breaking up my marriage, for taking my bird.’

‘He didn’t, Charlie, it was over between us, you know that,’ Susan pleaded, holding the edge of the table. ‘I told you, we were over long before I started seeing William.’

‘Seeing? Is that what you call it? Fucking, more like, you dirty bitch.’

She whimpered.

‘Watch your mouth.’ William mirrored the man’s movements, bunching his fists, the muscles in his arms clenched. They moved in slow motion, never taking their eyes off one another. He knew there would be no reasoning with Susan’s husband. He sensed his shoulders hunching around his neck and flexed them, stretching his fingers, ready for any sudden jabbing of the hand that held the flick knife.

‘Drop the knife, Chas. Don’t be so bleeding stupid.’ Jack clutched the back of the man’s jacket and attempted to pull him back.

‘Bugger off.’ Charlie shrugged his shoulder forward, knocking Jack off balance so he fell against the kitchen unit, rattling all the crockery inside.

There was a cry from upstairs. Charlie dithered, glanced upwards as Jack rebounded from the unit onto him. William dived towards them.

William wasn’t sure how it happened but the hard thump told him enough. He staggered back, holding his shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers. He tried to find the wall to hold him up. He kept his eyes on Jack, but his cousin’s face wavered and blurred as he buckled and slumped awkwardly to sit on the floor, his head between raised knees.

‘Oh, hell,’ Jack cried out. ‘Get something! Towels or something!’ he shouted at Susan.

She pulled so hard at one of the drawers it came off the runners, and towels cascaded to the floor. Grabbing one she shoved the table out of the way. ‘Bastard!’ She spat the word at her husband and dropped to kneel at the side of William, pressing the cloth on the spread of blood. ‘We need to call for an ambulance. Go to the telephone-box at the end of the road.’

Neither of the two men moved.

‘It wasn’t me, it was him.’ Still holding the knife Charlie swung round to Jack. ‘You bloody pushed me, you idiot.’ There was a sheen of sweat on his top lip. ‘And it wouldn’t have happened if he,’ he shook the knife at William, ‘hadn’t tried to play the bloody macho man.’

‘Get an ambulance,’ Susan yelled.

No one moved.

William saw the terror in Jack’s eyes. He blinked against the waves of pain that filled his body. He coughed, gritting his teeth to ward off the agony the sharp movement caused. ‘No. No ambulance.’

Charlie Pearson collapsed on one on the chairs staring at the knife in his hand. Through the sweat that dripped into his eyes, William saw Jack prise the man’s fingers open until the knife dropped. He could hear Susan sobbing, feel her hands holding the towel to his shoulder. Feel the hot rush of blood on his chest.

‘Jack,’ his voice was a croak. ‘Jack.’ There was no response from his cousin; his eyes stared blankly at William. ‘You need to go and get Linda. D’you hear me?’

‘Huh?’ Jack’s tongue protruded slightly between his teeth. ‘What?’ He didn’t move his gaze.

William’s legs were weak, his head swam. He wanted, needed to lie down. To sleep. ‘I said, go get Linda. You always wanted a bloody go on my bike,’ he whispered, ‘now’s your chance. Get on the bloody thing and go to Henshaw Street. For Linda. And you’d better bloody pray she’s not on a shift.’