Chapter Nine

Michael stood at his window to watch Laura leave for school on Wednesday morning. She looked up from her gate and he stepped back out of sight. Then she stopped directly opposite on the far pavement and lifted her head towards him. He could see her mouth forming words that looked as if they included “sorry” several times and then Mrs. Denby was on the front step, calling out something Michael couldn’t understand, but the tone said it all. Laura flashed a glance back at her mother then hurried on. Mrs. Denby looked up at his window, tossed her head and went back inside, slamming the front door.

He gave Laura two minutes and then followed. She looked back once and stopped, but he stopped too and she didn’t try again. He followed her home that afternoon and did both journeys on Thursday and Friday, but she made no further attempt to contact him. It was a miserable time.

Michael could see from the way she held her shoulders: memories of many years watching her, that Laura was unhappy too. Any hope of talking about it died on Thursday when Mrs. Denby let his mother know he was not welcome in their house and should not contact Laura again until he “recovered”. On Friday evening, his father told him that Mister Denby had come over and said that if he continued to follow Laura, the police would be informed. The way he offered the news held no concern for his son and Michael trudged upstairs, knowing he was in for a long and lonely spring.

On Tuesday, it grew worse. Much as he hated the idea of attending Ralow’s clinic, the thought of a six month committal frightened him more. He decided there was no choice but within a few minutes of the group starting, the prospect of six months in hospital didn’t look that bad as an alternative.

Ralow sat at the open end of a horseshoe shape of chairs, painfully casual in a cardigan, checked shirt and pressed jeans, and began with a series of embarrassing “getting to know you” exercises. The first involved two-minute chats with the person sitting next chair to the right then the listeners repeating this as a mini-biography to the rest of the group.

Hortan had pushed a smaller man out of his chair to sit next to Michael at the start of the session and then forced him to listen to a history of his life that was mostly violence interspersed with pornographic details about sodomy he had performed on both willing and unwilling partners. When Michael tried to repeat the salvageable parts, Ralow’s response flowed over him full of contempt and ended with an enquiry about Michael’s short-term memory and if perhaps he had bumped his head recently. The other men quickly picked up that Michael was fair game and the rest of the morning became an exercise in facilitated bullying.

At the coffee break, Michael tried to talk to Hortan but had to stand and wait while he finished a conversation with a man whose face, Michael thought, would give him little career choice beyond criminal.

When it was over, Hortan turned and asked, “What can I do for you, sweets?”

It came out in a rush: “I want you to promise to leave Laura alone.” Hortan pretended incomprehension. Michael continued, “your note. She’s got nothing to do with what’s between us. In fact we’re not together any more.”

Hortan smiled and said, “When there’s nothing between us, we’ll talk about it.” Michael frowned and Horton explained, “Like clothes,” then wagged his tongue.

Michael yelped, “Forget it! That’ll never happen!”

Hortan said, “Plenty of time, sweets. I’m sure you’ll come round.” He looked past Michael’s shoulder. “Fact is, I’ve got money riding on it.” Michael started to turn away and Hortan suddenly grabbed his jaw and leaned closer, whispering, “There’s your little job and all that untraceable cash.” He winked then continued, “Love and money. So much to talk about. I like to chat after a good, hard bum-fuck.”

Michael slapped the hand away and Hortan laughed.

* * * *

When the clinic finished at twelve-thirty, Michael tried to leave first but Ralow called him back to explain why he hadn’t attended his interview the previous week. He stood, listening to Michael’s feeble explanations about “feeling unwell”, tongue flicking across chapped lips. When Michael heard his voice beginning to whine, he let the words stumble into silence.

Ralow watched his discomfort for too long then said, “You do understand, Michael, that if I decide that you are unsuitable for this clinic, alternatives will have to be considered?” Michael tried not to respond, but felt his head make the smallest of positive shakes. Ralow smiled, no humor in his eyes and continued, “By that I mean the six-month committal or the referral to the Director of Public Prosecutions as it says in your letter.” He sighed and looked round. “A criminal record does so follow one. All those jobs you’ll never get because of it.” The smile grew an inch. “Almost the same level of problems as a compulsory stay in a mental hospital.” He let the words sink in then said, “So it’s probably a good idea for you to do exactly what I say, don’t you think? Toe the line, that sort of thing?”

Michael knew he should be responding, felt his body ready to act, but nothing happened. He could see that his silence and the burning in his face, was just encouraging the man and started to speak but no words came out, just a small croak. Ralow waited for the space of a wet breath then put thumb and forefinger to the corners of his lips and cleaned out the debris, pouting like a fish. It was such an appalling sight that Michael wanted to scream but couldn’t activate his body enough to do anything that constructive.

When he was done, Ralow said, “Perhaps we should discuss it in more detail? Work out the best way to keep you in general circulation, out of the menial labour market?” He walked past Michael without waiting for a response and looked at a cork-faced notice-board on the wall, ran a finger over the plastic calendar part and said, “The discussion room is free for an hour longer. Very appropriate.” He wandered back and out of Michael’s sight. His voice sounded again, from directly behind this time. “We might as well get everything straight right away. Start as we mean to go on.” Fingers drifted across Michael’s right buttock and touched his cleft. Michael couldn’t make his muscles work. Ralow’s breathing grew heavier and the fingers probed, finding his anus.

Michael’s back-elbow took Ralow under the breastbone. As he spun round, the man began to gurgle like an emptying sink, eyes wide. Michael punched him in the face and again as he went to his knees.

* * * *

The conductor leaned off his platform and asked, “Are you getting aboard or are you waiting for a prettier color?”

Michael hadn’t been aware of the bus. He looked at the smirking face then climbed on and walked half way to the front where it was slightly warmer. The conductor followed, jiggling the leather money pouch at his hip. Michael stuffed cold fingers into his trouser pocket and found a coin.

The conductor took the shilling and held it on his palm. “Do I have to guess?”

“Sorry?” Michael said.

The man bounced the coin and asked, tone heavy with sarcasm, “Where you’re going. Do I win if I get it right?”

“Grange Road.”

The conductor spun the handle on his small silver ticket machine and handed Michael a paper ticket and a three-penny piece, saying, “There, that wasn’t hard was it?” The smirk broadened as Michael tried to put the coin away with numb fingers and the man went on, “You’ll catch pneumonia walking around in this weather without a coat, chum. If you haven’t got it already.” He nodded towards the cemetery they were passing. “I’ve seen healthier looking people going in there in a box.”

Michael stared at him then said, “What are you, a doctor in your spare time? Get away from me.”

The conductor looked into his face, almost spoke then shuffled back and turned away. Michael watched him move forward to the driver’s cab and say something through the tiny window between them, feeling calm for some reason he couldn’t identify. The conductor’s angry body movements and the facial expression as he glanced down the bus didn’t touch his mind at any level that mattered and Michael slumped deeper in the seat, wishing he hadn’t left his jacket behind when he ran. It was the biggest problem in his head now from that moment of violence a bare half hour earlier. Ralow, unconscious and bleeding, face down on the shiny wood floor, hardly surfaced as a cause for thought.

When they reached the Grange Road stop, he had come to a decision.

The conductor looked at him as the bus pulled in and called, “Grange Road!” Michael stared out of the window. After a few seconds he felt the man’s presence and looked up. The conductor said, “This is your stop.”

“Changed my mind,” Michael said.

The man leaned closer. “This is where your fare runs out. Get off.”

“I’ll buy another ticket.”

The conductor looked at him with simple malice then smiled and said, “Can’t, sorry. Machine’s jammed.” He rattled the handle. “Only seven more stops to the terminus anyway.”

Michael held his eyes and said, carefully, “I’ll buy another ticket.”

The man’s expression wobbled. He was stuck, leaning too close in his sudden discomfort.

He eased back slightly from the waist, licked his lips and said, “Right, right. Not a problem. Forget the fare.”

His eyes dropped and still rattling the machine’s handle with a look on his face that said it was the most important action in the world, he walked away.

Michael turned back to the window. An earlier sighting of a parked police car had started thoughts about the likelihood of reaching home without being grabbed. He absorbed enough television to believe the police would be watching his house by now and, through proximity, Laura’s. He had decided the risk was too high. She had to be reached some other way and school was an obvious second choice.

Michael peered at the world going by, looked for a clock and cursed himself for forgetting to wind his watch this morning. He judged it was probably nearly the end of the lunch period so there wasn’t any chance of reaching Laura before she went in for afternoon school. Then he shivered. Moving his shirt, even as slightly as turning to look outside, proved again how cold it had become. He needed a coat and somewhere for them to stay until morning once he had persuaded her to come with him. If he managed to persuade her. The school would provide a coat after the building shut. It was easy to break into and not somewhere they would be looking.

Michael had done it twice when homework books had been forgotten on a Friday evening and incomplete homework would have meant a caning on Monday. He thought about it, dredging for memories. The caretaker did as little work as he could get away with and rarely locked all the doors as it saved him time moving round the school when it was empty. With the weather changing from cold to mild and back on almost a daily basis, there was always a topcoat or two forgotten in the cloakroom overnight. Michael nodded to his reflection in the grimy window: the school it had to be.

* * * *

When Michael reached the place, a shop window clock told him he had a full two hour wait before Laura would leave and he knew hanging around on the street or sitting over a cup of tea wearing just shirt and trousers would get him noticed then he remembered the Old Boys’ pavilion. He walked fifty yards to the roundabout corner and looked across the schools’ narrow approach road at two heavily fenced playing fields. He could just make out a green painted, wooden wall through the trees beyond them. Not an ideal solution but it lifted his mood.

A few minutes later he stopped in front of the shabby old building and decided that three years hadn’t improved the structure’s appearance. Paint hung off in places like small leaves and he noted the door still didn’t own a turning knob. He reached up to a ledge above the frame. The spindle was still there, now with six inches of steel bolted across one end. He fitted it into the hole and twisted. The door swung open and a familiar smell of damp and old sweat drifted into his face. Michael removed the handle, put it back where he found it and shut the door behind him.

It wasn’t as dark inside as he had expected. He could see the mountainous snooker table, donated by some old pupil, and the sagging table tennis table. He walked between them towards the kitchen. An optimistic name for a squalid room, but it held a sink with a single cold tap and two small cupboards above it that sometimes contained the remnants of Old Boy parties.

The kitchen smelt of burned fat and Michael could see patches of it on a tiny, gas cylinder stove that hadn’t been here the last time he visited. He picked his way across the floor avoiding half dried puddles, and turned on the tap, let it rattle and spurt until the flow became regular and lost the brown tinge, then held a chipped cup in the stream. The water tasted wonderful and he drank a second cupful. Then he opened the nearest cupboard. Inside were a half packet of stale biscuits and two family sized cans of tomato soup. One still sealed. He put them on the draining board as supper if needed. The second cupboard held nothing but a broken mousetrap. Michael shivered and realized it was only slightly warmer in here than outside. He had to find something to wear until a coat could be stolen.

He looked around, decided on the changing room and negotiated the warped floor and dusty, frayed unmatched carpets that lead to it. The ten foot square was empty except for two old football shirts, a stained jock-strap and a ragged, nylon tie in poisonous blue, all hanging from pegs. He pulled the two shirts on over his own, walked through to the storeroom and looked in the box of discarded sports gear that had been propped against the back wall for as long as anyone could remember. He poked a tentative finger into the pile. Mostly junk: three ankle-high, brown football boots, one still thick with dubbin. A pair of once white tennis shoes worn through at the toes, and miscellaneous shirts and vests. Most of them rigid with sweat. There were also five long, worn out socks in the school colors and an enormous pair of shorts in washed out blue that didn’t smell as bad as the rest.

Michael pulled on the socks and shorts over his own clothes and glanced down at himself. He looked ridiculous but felt warmer. He walked over to an old, silvered full-length mirror that had managed to arrive here at some point, and looked at his reflection. It wasn’t encouraging. He smiled at the young man in the pitted glass to see if that helped then looked round again. Thin sunshine trickled in through cracked and dirty windows to his left but simply accentuated the shabbiness of this place. It was familiar but carried no positive memories and Michael walked back into the huge main room thinking of years ago.

He used to believe this pavilion was something special. Somewhere the real men of the school came to drink, smoke and have sex. He had always wanted someone to invite him here but it never happened. The only times he and his school friends gained access was illegally as he had done today. He had stood on the playing field with others like him who had nothing better to do on Saturday mornings and, when the football or cricket became tedious, watched young men, some in national service uniforms, wander up the pavilion track with heavy-looking bags or clinging possessively to girl friends, sometimes both. No doubt looking for privacy they couldn’t find anywhere else or simply to get drunk with old schoolmates.

Michael had often wondered what it must be like to have left school and still feel strongly enough about the place and your school friends to become part of the Old Boy group. He looked at the thought now and discarded it as irrelevant. Nothing had ever started in this place that was more important than what he had to do today.

Michael peered at his stopped watch and tried to remember the sixth form timetable. He knew all first year sixth-formers had to supervise junior games and that meant Laura might, God, had to be right now, watching year one and year two girls practising hockey on the field that faced the main road: Vulnerable and unsuspecting. Cars regularly parked a few feet from the gate so she could be grabbed and taken with little trouble.

He started for the door then stopped, looking down at himself and knew he wouldn’t last two minutes in the school like this. He stripped to his briefs and put the borrowed clothes on again, ripping the sock feet so that his shoes would still fit then redressed and hurried through to the storeroom mirror.

He was passable, just. The tightness of his shirt made him look ten pounds heavier and the trousers were bulging nicely around his thighs. He found another old football shirt in the discard bin. It stank but made a small paunch, added to three rolled socks.

It would do, he thought. Not much of a disguise if anyone was seriously looking for him, but all there was.

He poked in the box again, more in hope of lowering anxiety than expectation and found, right at the bottom, six stained playing cards and a pair of cheap black plastic sunglasses with one lens missing. He straightened, holding the sunglasses then carefully pried the remaining lens out and pushed the empty frames onto his face. They were tight at the temples and across his nose but he told himself that glasses made people look older.

As he started for the door, a sudden thought sent Michael back to the kitchen. He added water to his hair to darken and thin it, then scratched a strong, middle, old man’s parting and hoped he might pass as some new junior assistant teacher if nobody looked too closely. Not daring to check his reflection in the mirror again, he pulled a wad of information sheets from a tatty green notice board near the snooker table then let himself out of the pavilion.

A simple truth hit stomach and brain as he waited for a car to pass on the strip of road that separated the pavilion approach track from the school’s gated side entrance. He wouldn’t be able to persuade Laura to come away with him. He’d need an hour of closely thought out argument to even start her thinking that way, not a gabbled minute on the field, surrounded by small girls and waiting for some staff member’s challenge. Michael understood in that moment, making her aware of the danger from Hortan now he was in police trouble would be the most he could hope for.

He crossed the road, quickened his pace and held the papers in front of him, pretending to leaf through them as he passed between the gates. A man without a coat in this cold and reading school literature as he entered school premises, wouldn’t be stopped, hopefully, by anyone less than a head of department. He negotiated two sets of low concrete step and a tarmaced approach, still thick with trodden in cherry blossom as it had been for years, and pushed through the double doors.

Glad of sudden warmth, he strode through familiar corridors and made it to the heart of the admin block, the place that offered most danger. The headmaster’s door opened as he passed, jumping him into a fast left and a waddling sprint for the front entrance.

Outside, a small girl picking her nose on the step, gaped at him as if Michael were an unfamiliar species.

He saw the questions rising in her face and asked, accusingly, “Why aren’t you playing hockey? Do you have an excuse letter?”

The girl swallowed hard, finger still at nose level and said in a tiny voice, “Tummy ache, sir. I gave my note to Miss Pritchard.”

Michael said, “Very well, very well,” and bustled on.

Nearing the main playing area, he tried to walk more slowly but with only fifty yards to go, his legs wouldn’t obey. At the blind corner, he hesitated for as long as he could endure it then turned. A sharp breeze picked at his wet hair. Michael walked five more paces and stopped on the field’s ragged edge. The grass was strewn with groups of small girls in hockey gear supervised by bigger ones in identical green track suits. From this distance and in fading light, he couldn’t tell one from another. His first eye-search told him Laura wasn’t there. He took a calming breath and tried again. This time he saw her, squatting with a group of five small shapes, inspecting a tiny blonde child’s calf. For a few seconds, it was enough just to see her safe, and then it wasn’t. Michael looked round and signalled to the first small girl on the field who glanced his way.

She trotted over all knees and elbows, stopped and said, “Yes, sir?”

He pointed. “Ask Laura Denby to come over here, please.”

She nodded and ran off across the field. Michael watched her deliver his message and held up his wad of papers to hide the lower part of his face as Laura looked at him. She stood hands on hips, body moving slightly then, with a last word to the injured girl, started his way.

Her face held the usual noncommittal schoolgirl expression until she was within fifteen feet then she stopped, saying, “Michael?” The voice suggested that her eyes were probably lying.

He lowered the papers and said, “Keep moving, Laura, for Christ’s sake!” She started walking again but slower, her face almost afraid. Michael hated it. As she came within reaching distance, he managed not to grab for her.

Laura stopped, took in his hair, glasses and body shape then asked, unbelievingly, “What have you done to yourself?”

Michael patted his stomach. “Disguise to get me into the school. All I could think of.”

She frowned then asked carefully, “Why do you need a disguise?”

“Long story,” he said. “I have to go away and I just…just…”

His reasons for coming here seemed foolish now: worse, simply mad.

Laura’s face lost color as she said, “Is it because of what happened at my house the other night? Look I’m sorry it wasn’t…“

“No, something else,” Michael said. “It’s nothing really bad, but they’ll want to put me back in that place and I can’t do it.”

“What something else? What’s happened?”

Her expression, lips tight, told him she needed a good answer. Michael didn’t want to say anything that might free the carefully ignored memories of what he had done but then there was Laura’s beautiful face in front of him and he couldn’t lie.

“I hit Ralow,” he said. “He tried it on with me after the therapy group when we were alone. He made it clear. Access to my bum hole is the price for me staying out of prison or the bin. I hit him several times. More than I needed to I think.” Laura blinked hard, cheeks reddening. Michael went on. “If they get me back in that place with him in charge…” he let the sentence hang.

From the field a girl’s voice sounded. “Everything all right, Lau?”

Laura looked at him as if she needed telling whether things were all right or not.

Michael said, “Hortan isn’t going to stop. He made it obvious what I’d have to do to keep you safe. In fact…Jesus!”

Laura flinched at his sudden raided voice then almost shouted, “What is it?”

Michael put a hand to his face. “He told me he had money on…on me having sex with him. Then bloody Ralow tries it an hour later. If those two have a bet going about who gets to bum me first…” He shook his head then turned away, adding, “You just have to be careful: keep your eyes open in case they try to get at you. I told Hortan we weren’t…weren’t together now but I don’t think it will make any difference to him. I’m really sorry I messed it all up. I love you, goodbye.”

Laura grabbed his arm, asking loudly, “Is that it?”

He looked at her and she continued, “You just deliver your bombshell and go?”

Michael tried to pull free, but not very hard. He said, “What else can I do? I started this thinking you should come away with me but I know now that’s just mad.”

He tried to move off again and Laura held him back, grip tightening.

“Michael Porter: prettiest bum of the week. I have to agree.” She grinned at his shocked expression then said, “what am I, you little heart breaker, some pathetic girly?”

The voice sounded again from the field, more urgent this time. “Hey! Lau, what’s going on! We need you!”

Laura looked from Michael to her friend and back again then asked, “How dangerous is Hortan?”

Michael didn’t need to think about it. “I’m almost certain now from what he told me today, he wants those wages.”

Laura frowned and Michael told her exactly what Hortan had said.

When he stopped, she looked past him, eyes unfocused then on a long exhalation, said, “Okay, big questions: Does he want you or that money enough that I should be really scared? Will he come after me from spite if you go away? Will I be safe at home? Will he try to make me get you back here?”

Looking at his face, her expression changed and she said, voice sharp, “‘Don’t know’ isn’t good enough. What should I do?’”

“You should go to the police,” Michael said.

Laura made a disgusted noise with tongue and teeth then said, “That’ll help. When Mol Ryder’s dad started threatening her mum, the police said they couldn’t do anything until he touched her. He put her in hospital for eight weeks and they’re still looking for the creep when they can spare the time.”

“That’s different,” Michael said, not believing it.

Laura stared at him, blinked fast then said, “Are you willing to bet my virginity or maybe even my life on how different?” She shook her head when he didn’t answer, adding, “me neither.”

Michael said, “You could go away somewhere safe for a few weeks.”

Laura shook her head. “With “A” levels hovering round the corner and my parents reading university brochures all the time? It’s never going to happen.”

Michael rubbed his face hard with both hands, dislodging the sunglasses and said, “Oh, fuck it all!”

Laura grabbed the frames as they fell and said, gently, “You sounded as if you really meant that,” then stuffed the frames in a pocket and linked her arm in his, adding, “Anyway, I feel safest with you.”

He pulled away and gripped her shoulder with his free hand as he said, “For God’s sake! You can’t come with me. I thought you should and now I know it’s impossible. You can’t.”

Laura asked, “Why not?” He saw her stubborn expression slip into place as she went on, “I’m not risking the police. They won’t believe it any more than mum and dad would.” She dropped her eyes and continued, “If I tell them what you said about Hortan and Ralow.”

She flicked a look up at him as her words stopped. Michael understood.

“Right, just out of the loony bin,” he said. “They’ll think I imagined it or hallucinated it. Fuck!’” He looked around, eyes unfocused then continued, “Ralow and Hortan will deny it and I’ll end up in Hadenley getting paid back by the staff for causing problems.’’

Laura sighed raggedly then asked, “At the clinic, did that Ralow…touch you?”

Michael nodded, saying, “He fondled my bum, rubbed a finger in my crack, and touched my…my anus through my trousers. Why?”

Laura pulled a small pained face then asked, “Is it possible somebody saw him do it? Like a witness?”

“I wasn’t paying much attention to the room but…” he thought for a moment then shook his head and went on, “He wouldn’t have done that with people around and nobody started yelling when I hit him so I shouldn’t think anyone saw anything.”

Laura nodded slowly then said, “If I go with you for a little while, the hospital and the police will take it seriously and my parents. They’ll have to question me afterwards and I can tell them what you said.” She lowered her voice, adding, “If it comes to it I’ll just lie: say you’d already told me when I visited in Hadenley that they’d been pestering you for sex, that Ralow said he’d make your life miserable there if you didn’t let him bum you and Hortan had threatened to hurt me but you were scared to report it and I couldn’t persuade you. That’s why you discharged yourself.”

Michael stared at her in disbelief then asked, “You’d do that?”

Laura nodded briskly and pointed at her sudden, wide-eyed and innocent expression then said, “Who would disbelieve a “butter wouldn’t melt” sweet little girl like me? Specially if I come on all confused as if I don’t really understand what I’m telling them about willies and bum holes.” She shrugged, adding, “But even if the cops and the hospital don’t buy it all, my dad will then he’ll be watching out for danger all the time. I’ll be totally safe.”

Michael wanted to agree but said, “Coming with me, even for a little while, is still stupid. There has to be a better way.”

“None that I can think of.” Laura squeezed his arm. “Just for a day or two then, so they take it seriously. How else will I get my parents to listen?”

Michael looked at her, trying to believe that logic not need or craziness was powering his mind.

He said, “Just a couple of days, I suppose…”

Laura began pushing him towards the field’s gate, saying, “So let’s go.”

Behind them, the voice shouted, “Lau! Where are you going?”

Laura half turned and shouted back, “I’m okay! Tell my mum not to worry!”

Michael gave up with no regret he could find and took her hand, saying, “If we’re going to do this, let’s do it properly. Does your father still keep his spare car key taped to the fog lamp?”

Laura’s mouth fell open then she said in horror, “We can’t steal daddy’s car!”

“Borrow.”

“That either!” She dug her feet into the wet grass.

Michael had the alternative of stopping too or releasing her hand.

He stopped and said, “I can’t take my dad’s old wreck from home, the police might be there waiting.” He didn’t add that his father was more likely to turn them in to the authorities than her father.

Laura began to walk again and said, tone not convinced, “Just borrow?”

“I wasn’t thinking of selling it for scrap.”

“It’ll take us an hour to walk to his office.”

Michael pointed towards the bicycle sheds. “Fifteen minutes by bike.”

Laura stopped again and yelped, “We can’t steal bikes!”

Michael sighed and this time released her hand. “Borrow, borrow!” he said. “Laura, you can’t have a conscience crisis every time I suggest something. If this is going to be too much for you, don’t come.”

Laura thought about it then, humming quietly to herself, looked at the rows of bicycles.

Eventually she said, “Fran reckons her brother’s racing saddle is an interesting experience. Bagsy I have that one.”

Michael grinned at her and said, “You are such a tart.”

* * * *

Michael had failed his driving test twice at eighteen and hadn’t touched a car in nearly two years, so drove carefully. Laura stared alternately out of the windscreen and the side windows, all in silence. She hadn’t spoken about her parents or what her father might say when he found the car gone and her scribbled note under a stone in his parking space. In fact, Michael thought, she hadn’t spoken much at all since they reached her father’s office

He asked, “What are you looking for?”

Without turning her head, Laura said, “Blond, psycho men.”

“They don’t wear labels.”

This time she looked at him. “It’s something to do.”

“Are you regretting this? Coming with me?”

Face uncertain she said, “I don’t think so. I’m a bit scared but it feels like the right thing. Maybe tomorrow we can phone home and see what’s going on.”

Michael said, “I’m really pleased you didn’t try and persuade me to report Ralow and tough it out.”

Laura crossed her eyes at him. “What am I, stupid? My dad works for solicitors, remember? I’ve been thinking about it. I know what chance your word would have against a Staff Nurse’s.”

“How would my word be with him right now?” Laura frowned and he continued, “Kidnapping his baby girl.” Laura made denying noises and Michael said, “Put yourself in his shoes. It might be all right in a few days once you’ve explained, but think about what your parents said after I stormed out the other night and then followed you every day. How it would be better to keep your distance.”

Laura said, “How did you—?”

He chuckled, almost amused and said, “A guess, that’s all: Lots of stuff about it not being safe around poor Michael, now he’s—in the funereal voice—’not well’. You being so young and impressionable? It shows what a wonderful caring person you are and so sensitive, right? But best for everyone to stay away until the loony gets over it or, better still, forever?”

Laura wriggled uncomfortably then said, “That’s more or less right on all of it, sorry.”

“Does that sound like parents who will smile and say you’re in safe hands?”

Laura thought about it then murmured, “No.”

“Well then.”

“So we’re on the run?’” Laura’s face quite enjoyed the idea.

Michael said, “I am but if we’re stopped you’re my helpless captive, remember?”

“You’ll have to keep reminding me.” She rubbed her stomach then said, “It’s the hunger. I’m falling through my knickers for want of food.”

Michael smiled, saying, “Always ladylike.”

“Of course.” She pointed at a bakery. “Should we stop and get some buns and things?”

He slowed the car and said, “Why not? Picnics are fun.”

* * * *

They turned off the dual carriage way roundabout a little after eight o’clock. The good, town road lighting had disappeared behind them minutes earlier, replaced by sparse, old-fashioned county lamp posts that left huge stretches of blackness between each pool of silver. Michael knew he wasn’t at his best with night driving even under good light and the prospect of a great many miles like this wasn’t filling him with joy.

He looked at the forest, bordering the road on both sides and said, “We should think about finding somewhere to stop for the night.”

Laura said, “I don’t think there are any hotels around here.”

Michael glanced across at her. “Hotels? This is our hotel.” He patted the steering wheel.

She wriggled round in her seat to face him and said, voice incredulous, “This? We’ll freeze our bums off!”

“What then?” Michael asked. “Do you have five or six quid hidden somewhere in that tracksuit?” He tugged at the fake paunch that had settled above his belt. “I didn’t exactly start the day expecting to be on the run.”

Laura pulled a face and said, “Shit!”

“That too. It’s squatting in the bushes for you tonight.”

Laura slapped him, saying, “You’re not to think about that!”

He laughed and said, “Too late!” Then squeezed the hand that still lingered on his arm, adding, “Seriously, we have to stop. The longer we’re on the road the more chance we’ll get pulled over by the police. You know what they’re like with young drivers around here, specially when it gets late. I won’t be able to look after you if I’m in a cell.”

Laura squeezed his biceps and said, “I don’t need looking after.”

“Oh? I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting and looking after are different things,” Laura said. “A dog can protect you.”

“Now I’m a dog.”

She punched him, saying, “You know what I mean! I’m not some wilting little violet. You should know that by now.”

“Don’t I just.”

“Right, so we look after each other: equal partners. You’re just in charge of beating people up if it’s needed.” She felt him tense and said, “Shit! Sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” She looked at his profile and her next words sounded as if she didn’t like what she saw. “Michael? Don’t go away on me!” He flicked a confused glance at her and she nodded. “Yes, “go away”: like you do, in your head.”

Michael said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Laura sighed like a ten-year wife then said, “You’ve always done it: hear something you don’t like and bang! The shutters come down or the drawbridge goes up or whatever you want to call it and Michael is gone, locked away inside.”

Feeling anger trying to take hold, Michael asked, “Who told you that bullshit?”

She punched him again, harder. “Nobody told me. I’m bright. I think for myself and a lot of it has always been about Michael Porter, you twat!”

He smiled at the crudity, saying, “Well, excuse me, little sugar-mouth.”

She leaned closer and said, voice deep with threat, “Patronize me at your peril, accountancy boy.” Both hands reached for his lower arm. “I still give the best Chinese Burn in three counties.”

He gasped at sudden pain and the small car swung dangerously. Laura squealed, pulling away from him and Michael struggled with the wheel and managed to brake at the same time.

Moving straight again he said, “I suppose killing us in a blazing wreck is one answer.”

“Sorry,” Laura said tucking her legs up on to the seat and hugging both knees.

Michael looked ahead, knowing for certain now that he wouldn’t to be able to drive this route for much longer and said, “There’s an entrance to one of the car parks coming up soon I think. We can stop there for the night.”

“Whatever you want—oh, sulky master,” she said in a sarcastic tone.

Michael said, “No cheekiness.” He poked at her with two fingers. “Nobody will hear you screaming in the forest if I pull your pants down and smack your bum hard as hard, little girl.”

Laura murmured, “Don’t try to cheer me up.”

He grinned and flicked the indicator for a left turn.

* * * *

Parking, Michael realized he and Laura were going to need more warmth during the night than was on offer from the clothes they were wearing.

He climbed out of the car and said, “I hope your dad still carries his essential supplies.” He opened the boot, pulled out a red and black check blanket and held it up

Laura stood beside the open passenger door, knees bent, clutching herself round the body and asked, “Is it big enough for two?”

Michael feigned surprised.”Oh, do you want a blanket?” He peered into the boot. “Sorry, just this one for me, bad luck. You know: finders keepers. Still, I’m sure that tracksuit is snugly warm.”

Laura started to run on the spot, grinning and said, “You’re happier.”

Michael looked at her and realized it was true. “Even more, watching you do that.”

Laura stopped and clutched her breasts, yelping, “That’s rude!’”

He opened the cars back door and threw the blanket in then took a box of tissues from the rear shelf and said, ‘“On that note I have to leave you.” He shook the box at her. “I may be gone some time.”

Laura made a face at him then said, “Be sure you get well away from the car and don’t use them all!”

* * * *

They ate most of their food, sitting in the back seat with the blanket covering them. Later, Michael was to recall this as an anchoring point in his life, but he could never remember what they talked about. The enduring memory was of Laura’s warm body beside him and the soothing murmur of her voice from almost total darkness. It cupped his mind like safe hands, helped it focus: Offering an opportunity to see them alone in the world. For an hour after she fell asleep, head against his chest, Michael sat there, knowing he would be happy if this night never ended.

He woke on a scream, fists pounding into soft warmth that didn’t fight back.

His mind instantly slipped into place, riding terror, and he sobbed: “Oh, my God! Laura I’m sorry!”

From behind him, her small voice said, “You’re making it all wet.” He turned over on the waterlogged grass. Laura stood by the open car door, body shaking. She pointed beyond him at the ground and went on, “The blanket.”

Michael looked down then back to Laura. His brain couldn’t work out what was happening.

He said, voice choked, “I had a nightmare.”

Laura slumped onto the car seat’s edge, the toes of her hockey shoes touching the rough tarmac and said, “You don’t have to remind him.”

Michael sobbed, “Did I…Did I…Oh, Christ! Did I hurt you?” He scrambled to his feet.

Laura shook her head. “Only the blanket. You wrestled it out of the car, chased it over there and beat the living shit out of it.” She smiled, just about, adding, “I should report you to The Society for the Protection of Inanimate Objects.”

They looked at the blanket and Michael picked it up. Both sides were wet.

He said, “As long as I didn’t hurt you.”

Laura said, “Just scared me half out of my mind.”

Michael stared at her, blood pounding in his face then heard himself ask, “Did I…did I touch you or say anything to you?”

Laura shook her head slowly, frowning in concentration. Eventually she said, “Don’t remember anything beyond waking up as you dragged the blanket off me and more or less fell out of the car.” She made a face and tugged at her track suit bottoms, adding, “I need dry knickers now because I’m pretty sure I pissed myself.”

Michael didn’t want to think about that level of fear and was glad to change the subject.

He tapped his body, saying, “I’ve got some football shorts under this. They might be a bit big. Warm though.”

As fence-building went, it wasn’t much he knew, but Laura’s shoulders eased.

She stood up and said, “All right, get ‘em off.” The brave smile almost made it to her eyes.

She changed in front of him without embarrassment and he barely noticed, just stood a few feet away, holding the blanket like a shield, or maybe, he thought, like a comforter. At one level, Michael was experiencing horror that Laura had seen him in the act of what he thought of as his madness. At another, the relief that he hadn’t hurt her played in his head like a trumpet. The good-boy wanted to be ashamed but the frightened-man was euphoric that, for the first time since his nightmares started, he hadn’t attacked the closest person to him when it happened.

Laura pulled up her tracksuit trousers and turned round to look at him. She said, “I’d like to think that silly expression is because you’ve just seen my bare bottom, but you’re not even in this county are you?”

Michael frowned, saying, “What?”

“I rest my case.” She moved across and grabbed his hand, adding, “Come back to bed danger boy. It’s the middle of the bloody night.” Michael let her push him into the car and shut the door. She took the blanket from him and tossed it into the front seat then poked the bulge at his waist. “Now you’re ruined the blanket, what else have you got in there to keep us warm?”

Michael pulled up his shirt and untangled the old soccer top and socks from around his middle, saying, “That’s it I’m afraid.”

She took the shirt and held it between two fingers. “Yuk!” she said. “You’ve got the sweat warmed up nicely. Whoever owned this must have been glad to lose it.”

She threw it over the seat in front of her, looked at him hard and went on, “So, it’s up to you now.” She tugged the socks on over her hands then shuffled her bottom across, pulled his arms round her and said, “Compulsory hugging for the rest of the night.”

Michael asked, “Are you sure?”

Laura kept her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she said, “No, I’ve got a death wish, what do you think?”

“I could have hurt you.”

“No you couldn’t.” She pushed away and looked into his eyes as she continued, “You know as well as I do that you couldn’t hurt me to save your life.”

He saw no doubt at all in her face.

He managed to say, “I really love you.”

Laura said, “I know that.” She pummelled his chest as though he were a pillow and went on, “Now prove it and think “soft”. I need my sleep. I’m just a kid for God’s sake!”