Jamie felt like there were two people living under his skin. The little boy who craved love and attention. And the one who wanted to set fire to the world.
On the way to the local shop that morning for some bread and milk, he walked past an older man, broad in the shoulder and with an open, benevolent cast to his face. He found himself stopping the man and asking for the time. The man pulled out his phone, a question in his eyes: Don’t you have one of these? And then told Jamie the time.
‘Thanks,’ Jamie mumbled.
‘You okay, son?’ the man asked, looking deep into his eyes, his concern for a stranger so potent Jamie almost held his hand up to shield himself. There was a solidity about him, feet planted wide, braced to support all of those around him; his eyes clear, as if certain about who he was. Jamie wanted to ask him if he had half an hour to sit and talk somewhere. To counsel him. Perhaps even to wrap those brawny arms of his around Jamie, to provide a cocoon of muscle and heart. But of course, that would be crazy, so he dragged up a smile, and replied:
‘I’ve had better days,’ he said. ‘But thanks.’
‘Aye. Hope it gets better for you soon, son.’ And with a wave the man turned and went on his way.
Ten minutes later, on the way home from the shops, and his hard-won peace shattered. Two teenage boys, blazers and ties, leery with testosterone and attitude, and obviously avoiding school, jostled past him, arguing about some game or another.
‘Hey,’ Jamie challenged when he got knocked out of his stride.
The boys turned to him. ‘Want to make something of it?’ One was taller than Jamie, the other was short and wide. Too much gaming and pizza. Both wore matching gelled and spiked hair cuts, and snarls.
Jamie imagined a throat punch to one followed by stamping on the knees of the other. He felt a surge of anger and adrenaline, then managed to ease off a little. But he couldn’t stop it from smouldering, just under his skin, like a lava field needing just one more degree of heat before exploding.
He turned and walked away, ignoring the jeers that got louder the further he walked. He shook his head at himself, recognising the see-saw swing of his nature these days.
He thought he was gaining some equilibrium after meeting Luke and Nathan. He’d never known peace like that, just in the few hours he’d spent in their company. And missed it greatly since that last day at the funfair.
Luke’s face. The disappointment in his eyes. And barely suppressed anger. He was no different than those boys back there. All knuckles and barely tamped down aggression. He’d been pretending to like Jamie, all the while just assuaging his guilt at what happened to Danny.
Amanda’s voice sounded in his head, demanding biblical retribution. She’d recognised that his willingness to be part of her scheme had been softening. And in turn he recognised that being so intent on their plan was not good for his state of mind.
‘Why don’t we just satisfy ourselves with the damage we’ve caused so far?’ he asked her.
She exploded from her seat and stabbed the air in front of her with her index finger. ‘Never. They need to suffer like we suffered. One of them killed him. The other all but drove him into the killer’s arms. They deserve everything they get, so, no, I won’t be satisfied until they’re on their knees.’
But he’d had a glimpse now of what a normal life could be.
But he didn’t deserve it, did he?
But.
But.
But the chatter never ceased. One way then the other. Strike out. Sit in peace. What he would give to have a moment, just a moment, in someone else’s head. When the monkey mind was stilled.
When he reached the corner of his street, some instinct made him pause. He sniffed the air the way a predator might, but recognised nothing but a linger of cigarette smoke and diesel fumes.
He saw low hedges, tall trees and clipped lawns. A row of red-roofed bungalows on either side of the road. A woman and two small children, all of them wrapped in coats, hats and scarves, the children’s light, happy chatter flitting into the air like birdsong. And there, two houses down from where he and Amanda lived, a car he recognised.
Two people sat inside, and even from this angle, when all he could see was the shoulder of one and the side of the head of the other, he knew who they were.
He stepped back around the corner, pulled out his phone and called Amanda.
‘Luke and Jenna are outside in his car,’ he said before she could speak.
He heard her intake of breath. Then: ‘How the hell did they find us?’
‘No idea,’ Jamie replied.
A moment’s silence.
‘Get yourself in here, and we hear what they have to say. Or…’
‘Or what?’ he asked.
‘Let’s take it up a notch. Will the kid be at home?’
‘Nathan should be in school,’ Jamie answered, thinking about the two boys in uniform he’d just encountered.
‘How long will it take you to get to his place?’
‘Depends on traffic, but probably about twenty, thirty minutes. Why?’
‘Just thinking. If you managed to drop a lit match while passing his door, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.’