20

Friday 18 July 2014

Finally, he thought. The last take was good. He’d nailed that one. Brannon had set up the video camera facing a white wall and draped a sheet over a chair. He’d been getting really irritated but he felt better now. He walked towards the camera, pressing the button to stop the recording. He’d been working on his statement on and off for more than a day. Those TV presenters seemed to have an easy life, but it was harder than you thought to get it right. Still, they had people helping them, whereas he’d had to do it by himself and all in one take. It was difficult to work on your own and under so much pressure. He had sat with the dog, Candy, by his side because he wanted to give the right impression. He wanted people to see that the dog hadn’t abandoned him. That was important. The dog still loved him. He bit back tears. He needed to be strong. This was his chance to give his side of the story. He’d been a perfectly happy man before other people had started poking their noses in. He’d been forced into this. He’d tried to tell them how much he loved his family, how much his family meant to him, but they just hadn’t listened.

He drew the curtains back and looked at the morning. The early light was golden through the window. It was a small room with a French window that gave onto a surprisingly long back garden. There was the dark-wood fence at the end with the little door into the park beyond. It was early, and he wondered whether he might risk taking Skye and Candy through for a few minutes. Skye’s hair was short now, and dark. She hadn’t liked him cutting it. She’d moaned and cried. He’d had to slap her. It had been a long day inside the tiny flat. Christ, it had been long! But changing her hair had been worth it. She looked very different. Still, taking her out was too much of a risk. Who knew what she would do? He couldn’t trust her to know what was best. Only he could protect her. It would all be over soon, surely. That bitch couldn’t stay away forever.

There was a quiet knock. He removed the video camera from the stand and put it under his left arm. Holding the dog by her collar, he took the knife from the table and tucked it into the back of his jeans, then walked swiftly to the front door. Skye had been asleep, but in spite of his efforts not to disturb her, she appeared in the bedroom doorway. Her arms were by her sides, her eyes watchful. He waved her away. ‘It’s a friend, Skye. Go back to bed.’ He checked the spyhole, opened the door and handed over the video camera and a mobile phone from his back pocket. He shook hands briefly and said, ‘Thanks,’ then shut the door.

He was keeping a grip on things, but sometimes he felt like his mind was going to explode. He’d got some blow and some coke. The whisky he’d picked up that first night. That all helped. But Skye wasn’t easy. All those bloody questions. He’d tried to explain, but she kept on and on. Was Mum all right? Was she really all right?

The handcuffs were on the table in the sitting room. He was ready at any point.

He went into the bedroom and pulled the privacy blind back to look briefly at Lizzie Griffiths’ car, as resolutely stationary as it had been when they’d first arrived.

Skye was turning out the chest of drawers. Women’s underwear, T-shirts and tracksuit bottoms were on the floor. He should have brought more things for her to do. On the table by the bed was a black-and-white photograph of a man in a soldier’s uniform, and Skye picked it up.

‘Who is this?’

‘Never mind.’

Skye frowned and Brannon regretted his tone. She needed him to be the whole family now, father and mother. He should be reassuring, kind. He’d told her that a friend had lent him the flat for a couple of days until everything got sorted, so now he took a guess and said, ‘It’s my friend’s dad.’

‘Is he dead? Is that why there’s a picture by the bed?’

The question made him cross again. It was bad, he knew, that she was obsessing about people being dead. That man probably was dead, but so what? Old people died.

‘No. She just loves him a lot and that’s why he’s by the bed.’

‘I’d like a picture of Mum.’

‘Of course you would. And I’ll get you one as soon as I can.

‘When will we know if Mum’s OK?’

‘Any day now. Hang on . . .’

‘Was he a soldier?’

‘Yes, he was. He was a hero. Now be quiet, Skye.’

He had heard a car pulling up outside. He tweaked the curtain. It was a black Land Rover Discovery and he could see Lizzie Griffiths in the front passenger seat. Quickly he got the handcuffs from the table in the living room.

‘Come on, Skye. I’ve told you what we need to do.’

‘I don’t want to.’

He shut the dog in the bedroom and pulled Skye by the arm into the living room. The dog was whining and scrabbling to be let out. He hated that Skye looked so frightened and it made him angry. He was trying to find a way for them to be together.

‘It’s the only way I can keep you safe. Come on, like we practised.’

The flat had radiators and he cuffed her to the outflow. She was crying.

‘Be a good girl and keep quiet. I’ll be back in a moment. Then we’ll be off.’

‘Can I have Candy?’

‘No, you can’t have Candy!’ He tried to cover his outburst with a smile. ‘I’ve explained, sweetheart.’

He waited by the door, leaning back against the wall, knife in his hand. He was exultant. He would do this and then he would get away with Skye. He’d find a nice place for them to be together. Maybe in Yugoslavia somewhere. He’d heard they had lovely beaches.

The sound of a car pulling away. Good. That was probably the Land Rover. He waited for the footsteps, the key in the lock. He would act quickly. There would be no words, no attempt at negotiation. She had it coming. It was her who’d fucked it all up. He was trembling with excitement.