We drove home in our wet clothes. Mikey had lost his jeans in the confusion of getting back to the van and getting away, so he sat beside me in the front, slumped right down in his seat, legs bare and knocking. Already it was dusk. Duncan had made the van look like an easy drive but it wasn’t. I struggled to move it around even the shallowest bend in the road.
I was on fire though. Nervous energy powered me and it felt superb. I chewed, despite having nothing in my mouth. I played high-tempo beats on the dashboard with my fingertips. I drove into the oncoming dimness and all I knew was the magic of possibility. The only thing spoiling the mood was my brother.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ I said, fiddling with the van’s controls to make the lights come on.
‘Aye?’
‘Aye, I do. You’re thinking about what just happened. You’re sulking about it.’
I was focused on the road, but I could tell he was scowling.
‘I’ve said it before pal but it was a matter of survival. That fucker knew. He worked it out. Maybe he didn’t work it out himself, maybe his bitch pal told him, but he knew. Why else would he be coming looking for us like that? It was self-defence.’
‘Hm.’
‘And now look at us! We’ve got freedom. We can go wherever we like. Anywhere. Find a new place every single fucken day if we feel like it.’
‘What about the house?’
‘The house is a goner. We head back and sort some stuff out and then we fuck off. They knew we stayed there, that Fia dropped us off remember? They’ll come looking for us there next.’
I looked away from the road for a moment. Mikey was staring at me and he wasn’t sulking anymore. He was thinking.
‘It’s really the best possible outcome as far as me and you are concerned,’ I added.
‘But what about going home? What about Mum?’
‘Listen pal. That’s our primary aim. That’s aim numero uno. And believe me, I’m monitoring the situation. That’s at the – what’s it? – at the forefront of my mind. I’m monitoring it constantly. But until then,’ I said, sweeping a hand over the dashboard, ‘absolute freedom.’
We crested a hump in the road and the wee house was below us, glowing in the dark valley.
‘All right,’ said Mikey. ‘If you say so.’
I smiled. ‘That’s a boy.’
We’d done our best to push Duncan out into the water. He’d floated though, so I’d scooped up some of the larger rocks from the loch’s floor and stuffed them into his pockets and down his jeans. It wasn’t ideal. The nice thing about having the man buried out the back was that you knew where he was. You could even go out and visit him, if you wanted to. I was concerned about Duncan washing up on shore in the future, but we’d be long gone by then.
I sent Mikey into the house, telling him to pack us some clothes and whatever food was left in the fridge. Once he was inside I checked the glove box. The cash was there. I thanked my lucky stars and did a hasty count. There was more than I had thought. A fair bit more.
I crossed the road and leaped into the fields. I paced through the darkness in the direction of our old camp. A foul reek escaped from the inside of the tent as I opened it. All of our dirty clothes, stewing in the sun for days. I thought about the best way to get what I needed back down. ‘Fuck it,’ I said, and set to work pulling the poles out. I threw them away and gathered the tent up by its door, slinging it over my back like a sack.
I came down the hill towards the house, checking up and down the road for anyone coming. We were safe. I threw the tent-sack into the back of the van and then went to find Mikey.
For some reason the television was on. It was the only source of light in the whole place. He wasn’t in the kitchen, so I ascended the Ramsay ladder. No sign of him up there either. An open suitcase on the bed though.
I tracked him down in the garden. He was sat on the slabs with the dog between his legs. It was burrowing into his oxters and elbows and opening its mouth to beg for affection.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Saying hello to Doris.’
‘You think you have time for that?’
‘It’ll just take a minute.’
I stood in the doorway and watched him, sitting like a teddy bear, holding the dog by the snout and running his hands along her twisting spine. She was enjoying it, even I could see that. She took a look at me. I looked into her eyes and all I could see was black, wet circles.
‘Right,’ I said, coming down the step and across the slabs. ‘That’s enough. Put it in the run.’
Mikey looked up at me. ‘Aren’t we taking her?’
‘Eh? No, we’re not taking it. We’re not carting around a fucken mutt. That’s the last thing we need.’
‘Well we can’t just leave her. She’ll starve.’
‘Stick the dog food in with it. That’ll keep it going till someone comes.’
‘What if no one comes? What if she starves?’
I growled in frustration. Every time I worked things out for us this idiot would put obstacles in my way. He didn’t appreciate the work that went into looking after him and his daft head.
‘Put it in the run,’ I said.
‘No.’
I asked again and he didn’t respond, so I crossed the slabs and ripped the dog from Mikey’s grasping hands, jerking it up by the collar. Holding it aloft, I marched across the garden to the back fence. The dog’s tongue was extended, its eyes were rolling. Mikey shouted. I held it up by the collar and its body dangled and swung. Its front legs were going up and down, as if it was climbing an invisible ladder or grovelling for scraps.
‘See what happens?’ I said to the dog.
‘Let her go,’ shouted Mikey.
I launched it over the fence into the wild. It hit the earth with a sharp yelp and rolled to its feet. It looked back at us. Mikey was at the fence by then, holding onto the wood.
‘Fuck off,’ I shouted, making a cone of my hands. ‘Get lost.’
The dog yelped again, thumping its front paws on the grass. Please, it was saying.
‘Get away Doris,’ said Mikey, reluctantly.
He pointed out into the wilderness, into the mountains. The dog put its ears back and cocked its head. I kicked the fence as hard as I could and the impact reverberated along it, twanging and shuddering. The dog took off into the night, its black and white coat flickering like a cartoon as it merged into the dark, bit by bit. I saw it plunge into the mazeish network of burrows that covered the land.
‘There,’ I said. ‘That’s another thing off our minds. Let’s get a move on.’
Mikey climbed up onto the fence and bellowed across the great expanse between the house and the mountain, ‘Goodbye Doris!’
We went inside and locked the back door for a final time. I stuffed as much of the man’s clothes as I could into the suitcase and Mikey swept everything the fridge and freezer held into black bin bags. It all went into the back of the camper with our balled up tent.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘That’s us then.’
Mikey leant against the van’s side. ‘Are we off?’
I nodded and then looked back at the house. I thought about the nights we’d spent there. I imagined the place swarming with our germs, surfaces thick and clotted with our hairs and smudgy fingerprints. I thought about my DNA clogging up the drainpipe.
‘Give me a second,’ I said.
I jogged up the path and back into the wee house. I found the turps in the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink. Room by room I squirted the bottle over everything. It stank. A foul oily odour. At the front door I made a ball of cigarette papers and used my lighter on it, throwing it onto the hall carpet once it was alight. A sheet of fire sprung up, covering the floor and descending into the kitchen and through into the living room. I closed the front door and ran to the van.
Mikey was waiting for me in the front. We sat and watched as the house caught, a crazy orangey brightness ascending through the windows. Cruel chemical smoke came billowing from the chimney and the doors and we took that as our cue to leave. I started the van’s engine and pulled it out into the road.
We left the dying house behind and drove down into the village. We passed the pub and the butcher shop. I thought about putting the butcher’s windows in but I didn’t have anything heavy to hand. We passed them by.
You escaped by my good grace, I told the butcher. The only thing that saved you was my benevolence.
I saw him in my mind, prostrate before me.
Once we were free of the village limits I glanced at Mikey.
‘Where to then?’ I asked.
‘Where is there?’ he said.
I thought about it. Where could we go? There was a whole country at our fingertips – the cities, the highlands too. We could drive to the far north, see the wild tropical looking beaches they had there. We could drive to one of the towns and spend a bit of Duncan’s cash. We could take the tiny capillary roads up into the raw mountains, I guessed about a hundred miles north of us. See the true heartless centre of the country.
‘All sorts,’ I said. ‘What kind of thing do you fancy?’
‘Maybe someplace fun?’ he ventured. ‘Have a bit of a laugh?’
I nodded. ‘Hm. Maybe.’
I checked the clock on the dashboard. One in the morning. One in the morning and I wasn’t a bit tired. Even after the running through fields all evening, even after struggling with Duncan in the water. I felt satisfied, full, like I’d just finished a rich, nourishing meal that my body was using to produce good, clean energy.
Mikey was less sprightly. His eyelids were heavy and shiny and his head was nodding. Eventually he gave up and slept where he sat, leaning forward, suspended by his seat belt. The van’s movement rocked him left and right.
‘Lazy bastard,’ I muttered, with no contempt.
We drove through a series of villages, all of them similar to the first one. The same cobblestoned squares, the same pubs, the same shops. At perhaps the third or fourth I parked up, spying a phone box across the road. I darted across that village’s central square, past the dry copper fountain that was the centrepiece.
I fed the phone the rest of the change from my pocket and dialled. The lower windows of the phone box were warped and toffee-coloured from historic arson attempts. A low buzzing was coming from the light above me. The phone took a long time to be answered.
‘Hello?’ she said.
I gripped the receiver. ‘It’s me.’
‘Paul,’ she whispered. ‘It’s Mum.’ Her voice was rich and heavy, full of sleep and yawns. Even those three words put an ache in my head.
‘I know,’ I said.
‘Are you coming back yet son?’
‘No.’
She sighed. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’
‘I’m saving this family,’ I told her. ‘It’ll all be over soon.’
‘Is there anything I can tell you to make you change your mind?’
I shook my head, closing my eyes. ‘It’s not about my mind,’ I hissed. ‘It’s about Mikey.’
With my eyes closed I could see her, sitting on the arm of the sofa in her dressing gown, her fist opening and closing on her thigh. I saw her hand, loose-skinned and veiny.
‘Why are you phoning?’ she asked.
‘I wanted to tell you we’re moving on. You won’t find us in the old place.’
‘But I didn’t know where you were before.’
I thought about it. She was right. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Never mind that then.’
I went to replace the receiver but she began to protest. Bringing it back to my ear, I heard her say, ‘Wait. Wait.’
‘What?’
‘When are you going to phone next?’ she said.
I looked around. ‘Hard to say.’
‘If you wanted, I could arrange to have someone here when you call back. A professional you can speak to?’
‘A professional?’
‘If you want.’
I replaced the receiver and stormed from the box. I slammed the van’s door shut behind me. A professional! Here I was, in a car with one of the most infamous child killers in the country and my own mother was wanting to get me a professional. Meaning a shrink, a quack, a fucken brain doctor. They’d want to make me remember all the things I could from being a bairn and tell them about it.
And how did you feel, Paul, they’d say, when you fell off the climbing frame at nursery school and got concussed so bad you were off school for weeks? How did that make you feel Paul, that brain fucken injury? Were you pleased or annoyed about how your blood started kicking in so that you couldn’t control yourself? That when Scott Soutar told you your brother was a mungo it made you hold onto Scott Soutar’s hair and make his face smash against the tarmac again and again?
I tried to close my eyes, as I sat in the front of the van. Tried to relax and calm myself down, get the blood flowing normal again. It felt as if I was in a rollercoaster, creeping upwards towards the apex, the excitement and the dread churning my stomach. Breathed deep through my nose. I said, ‘Ah,’ out loud.
Mikey woke up with a sniff. ‘Where are we?’
I said, ‘Nowhere.’
‘How come we’ve stopped?’
‘I needed a rest.’
‘Right.’
Mikey asked for permission and then slid down an alleyway for a piss. I was calm by the time he came back. We looked at each other and nodded with grim smiles.
‘So,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ I said.
We drove on.
We kept going out of the village and the lightless country swallowed us up.
The ghost rattled on the window and Mikey snored. Through bleary, sleep-thick eyes I saw it press its pale features against the glass, its palms too, with fingers splayed. I was dreaming. I was dreaming of a ghost. More amused than scared I watched it move between the van’s small windows, gawking into each one and running its knuckles down the pane.
I snorted and shook my head. The ghost noticed the movement and scuttled around to the window nearest me. It was waggling its ghost head and drumming those knuckles and I sat up on the sofa bed, my elbows behind me. It wasn’t a ghost. It was a man with a mop of white blonde hair and the palest skin I’d ever seen.
‘Christ,’ I said, hauling myself up.
The man slapped on the glass, excited, nodding. I did my best to stand up in the van’s back. The man made a let-me-in gesture with his hand.
I shook my head.
He nodded his.
‘Piss off,’ I muttered, squeezing through and parking myself in the driver’s seat. I watched as the pale man hurried round to the front of the van. See how you like this, I thought, starting the engine as he planted his hands on the van’s bonnet. The whole vehicle rattled from the effort the engine made and the pale man laughed, a wet smile breaking his stubbled face. He was enjoying this.
I leaned forward and mouthed for him to fuck off and he laughed again, shaking his head. The night before we’d parked against a wall down a country lane. Trees hung over the top of us and I had nowhere to go.
You couldn’t run a man down like that in cold blood. It wouldn’t be right.
I tried honking the horn to scare him off and Mikey shouted. I heard him say ‘Eh?’ from behind me.
‘Look at this clown,’ I said, feeling him stumble across towards me.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Fucked if I know.’
The pale man was waving at Mikey, his other hand firm on the van’s bonnet.
‘What does he want?’ Mikey asked.
‘He wants in.’
Mikey reached over my shoulder and chapped on the driver’s window, motioning for the man to come round. I cracked the window an inch. The pale man worked his way around the corner of the van, keeping his palms against the bonnet and then door. He pressed his mouth against the opening.
‘All right?’ he said.
‘All right?’ said Mikey.
‘What do you want?’ I asked.
He had his lips inside the van. His pupils were flying between me and Mikey and his wild grin was still wide. ‘Where yous going?’
‘Never you mind,’ I said. ‘What d’you want?’
‘I’m looking for a lift.’
I shook my head. ‘Nah. It’s not happening mate.’
He held up a finger but kept his mouth close to the opening. ‘Ah ah ah,’ he said. ‘I can pay. I can pay for the lift.’
‘We’re not interested.’
I released the handbrake and let the van roll forward down the embankment.
‘Woah, woah, woah,’ he said, rushing around to the front again so that I had to brake. He pushed against the bonnet, laughing and shaking his head. ‘What’s it going to take lads? You wouldn’t leave a fellow pilgrim out in the sticks, would you?’
We looked at each other, Mikey and I. I sighed. ‘Get in then,’ I said and Mikey ducked into the back to unlock the door.
The pale man whooped and jumped and sprang to the side door, rubbing his hands. He pulled himself up into the back of the van and vigorously shook both our hands.
‘You’ve no idea how much this means to a weary traveller,’ he said. ‘An absolute belter of a favour lads.’
He gave his name as Isaac and proceeded to collapse onto our recently vacated sofa bed. After a minute I realised he was asleep, lying on his front, his face bundled up in our sleeping bags.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Mikey. ‘He’s just gone to our bed. Is he allowed to do that?’
‘I suppose he must be,’ I said.
Mikey came up front to sit with me, scandalised by the man’s rudeness. I’d given him a fresh hair and beard trim after we’d pulled up the night before, even shorter than the first time. As I looked at him I realised I’d gone a bit too bald in places – the bony bits of his skull and jaw where the skin shone through. The pale man garbled in his sleep and I revved the engine.
We drove on.
It was a bright morning but I had something like a hangover from the excitement of the evening before. My head was slow and my vision was slow. Still, I drove down the country lane and back onto the road with no trouble.
‘I’m starving,’ said Mikey. ‘I could eat two horses.’
‘I am too actually. Let’s find someplace for breakfast.’
Mikey eyed Duncan’s envelope. ‘Do you think we could go for fry ups?’
I nodded. ‘Aye, why not?’
He pumped his fists and flipped on his sunglasses. We played the only tape Duncan had, which was an old American singing low and sad. He sang to us and I drove into the morning sun and the nutter in the back muttered.
We found a gigantic Tesco at the edge of someplace that had a banner saying HOT FOOD SEVEN TO SEVEN. I parked and shook Isaac awake. His lids shot open, revealing his eyes, as light and as blue as glaciers.
He scrambled for the sleeping bag, pulling it to his breast. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he shouted, his pupils swivelling.
‘Here,’ I said. ‘Calm yourself down. You asked us for a lift, remember? You crashed out on our sofa bed.’
He sat up and looked about himself. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Course I did. Aye.’
‘We’re going for breakfast. You wanting to come?’
‘Breakfast? Oh, aye. Breakfast. Aye, please.’
They worked out the price of your Tesco breakfast by how many breakfast items you ordered. All three of us choose as many items as you were allowed. We found ourselves a table and Mikey brought over the cutlery, napkins and sauce sachets. The breakfasts steamed.
Isaac attacked his plate. ‘So,’ he said, chewing a rasher. ‘What’s your guys’ story then?’
‘What’s our story?’ I said. ‘What’s your story?’
Isaac chortled. ‘It’s a fucken epic not a story mate,’ he said, waggling his knife as me. ‘It involves intrigue.’
‘Is that right?’
‘It is right. I just realised, I don’t know your names.’
We gave our names and he nodded. ‘Fine names. Michael and Paul. Good Bible names there. Have you had your conversion yet Paul?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Your own personal road to Damascus moment?’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
‘Never mind,’ he said, scooping up half a fried egg with his fork. It bled a string of daisy yolk. ‘You’re brothers.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Just mates.’
‘You are brothers, I can tell. There’s a strong family resemblance. Although it would be stronger if you,’ he said, pointing the knife at Mikey, ‘had your hair long, like his. Or vice versa.’
‘I used to have it longer,’ said Mikey.
‘Oh aye?’
‘I cut it off though.’
‘I can see that,’ nodded Isaac. ‘Look at mine. See that? See how bright that is?’
‘Aye,’ I said, sawing a sausage. ‘That’s bleached isn’t it?’
Isaac shook his head and smiled as he shovelled beans around his plate. ‘Oh ho ho,’ he said. ‘A very reasonable mistake to make, Saint Paul. Very understandable.’ He leant over his breakfast, displaying his crown, his manic grin returning. ‘All natural that.’
He was bullshitting. His hair was dyed. It was dried out at the ends, white as snow, and darker and greasy at the roots. I’d seen a hundred lassies with hair just like it.
‘Au natural,’ he said, smirking, desperate for us to ask more.
‘It doesn’t look natural,’ said Mikey, who’d already finished his massive plate of food. ‘It looks like you’ve dyed it.’
Isaac laughed. ‘See, it wasn’t always this colour. Not when I was a bairn. Oh no. Brown or something back then.’
‘What happened?’ Mikey asked.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ he said. ‘It’s a good one. But no. I asked, didn’t I? What your guys’ story was?’
I scraped up the scraps on my plate. ‘We’re just on holiday. Just enjoying ourselves.’
He ignored me and leant towards Mikey instead. ‘Did we go to the school together? I’m sure I know you. Absolutely positive.’
‘Nah,’ said Mikey. ‘I think I’d remember.’
‘Where do I know your face from then?’
‘He’s just got one of those faces,’ I said, bristling. ‘One of those familiar faces.’
Isaac collected in the plates and stacked them up, ignoring me. ‘Would anyone else like a pastry? My treat.’
When Isaac’s back was turned I leaned into Mikey. ‘After breakfast we need to lose him. We’ll distract him in the shop and once he’s lost we’ll drive off.’
Mikey nodded. ‘He’s weird, eh? What’s wrong with him?’
‘One of them religious folk,’ I said. ‘Too many pills as well by the look of him.’
Isaac slid a plateful of dry croissants and Danishes in front of us.
‘There we are,’ he said. ‘Something a wee bit more cultured for pudding.’
‘Cheers,’ we said, diving in. He was maybe mental but you don’t say no to a free pastry. We ate those in silence, enjoying the luxury of it.
I brushed the stray flakes from my beard. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘That was good.’
‘Wasn’t it just?’ said Isaac. ‘Shall we get a move on then?’
‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Where is it you’re needing a lift to anyway?’
‘Just as far as you’re going. Any direction.’
‘All right.’ I brought the van keys out my pocket and bounced them off my palm. ‘Let’s go.’
We wandered back through the Tesco, dodging trolleys and squeezing by packs of manky bairns. I asked Isaac if he wouldn’t mind picking up a couple of cans of juice for the journey. He nodded and said it would be his pleasure. We loitered in the foyer until he was out of sight and then we bolted.
We raced through the car park, towards the van, right at the back. I looked over my shoulder and saw a white haired head through the foyer’s glass.
‘C’mon,’ I said, pulling Mikey along. ‘Hurry.’
I tried to start the van but all the engine did was cough. I jerked the key in the ignition again and all I got back was a dull burr.
‘Start it,’ moaned Mikey. ‘Get it going.’
‘I’m trying, amen’t I?’
A chap on the glass. ‘I got us all Tango, that all right?’ asked Isaac, holding up three cans. His face fell when he heard the engine’s dry wheeze. ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ he shouted through the glass. ‘Open her up, let me have a look.’
I pulled the handle by my knee and released the van’s bonnet.
‘What’s he doing?’ I asked Mikey as I tried to peer round the upturned bonnet. ‘Can you see?’
‘Nope. Well, not properly. He’s fiddling with something in the engine.’
‘Do you think… do you reckon it was him that broke it?’ I whispered.
‘Nah,’ breathed Mikey. ‘Couldn’t be. Didn’t have the time.’
‘I suppose.’
The bonnet slammed down and Isaac dusted off his oily fingers. ‘Try it now,’ he said and I turned the key. The engine choked into life.
‘It’s working,’ I admitted.
We set off, each of us sipping from a Tango can. I decided, without telling anyone, that we would make our way to the city. I’d had enough of fields and mountains. I’d had enough of endless sky. You could hide in nature but conversely you could make yourself anonymous in a crowd. I was driving towards the motorway, the same one Duncan drove on the way to the club.
Isaac and Mikey were sat together in the back, enjoying their drinks. We’d be able to lose him soon enough now that the van was running. Maybe stop off at a services and gun it away when he was using the bogs. Maybe even open the sliding door and have Mikey shove him out as we raced along. I didn’t want it to come to that but I was prepared for it.
I checked the clock. Still only ten in the morning. The whole day was ahead of us. What day though? I realised then that I had no idea what the date was. I didn’t even know what day of the week we were on. I’d been keeping up by checking the newspaper each morning but it had been a while since I’d bought one. I didn’t even know if Mikey was still featured. What did it matter though? The decision of when we went home was my call. It wasn’t based solely on the paper. My word was final and I had to listen to my intuition.
I zoned out from my thoughts and let my ear wander around the rattling, shuddering van until it fell upon my brother and our new companion, chatting in the back.
‘Aye,’ Mikey was saying. ‘It was all right. We were digging these like long holes. Like open tunnels.’
‘Ditches?’ asked Isaac. ‘Were you laying pipes or something?’
‘I don’t think so. We were working with these people. They were… somethings. One of them jobs you’re not sure if they’re real or not.’
‘Like a wizard?’ said Isaac.
‘Aye,’ said Mikey, excited. ‘Like wizards.’
‘You should stay well away from that sort. The Bible says not to go messing about with mediums and necromancers.’
‘No,’ said Mikey. ‘It wasn’t anything like that. It was science. Science of the ground.’
‘Sounds well dodgy mate. It was a good idea getting shot of that lot, I’d say. All these scientists. It’s just theories they come out with. Nothing concrete. Did you know that?’
Mikey said that no, he didn’t. Isaac started to drone on about how evolution was only a theory and that there were some scientists, scientists who didn’t get the approval of the mainstream media, who said that it was very likely that life on earth had been seeded by aliens. That there were various clues, dotted around the globe, that the discerning mind could connect to illuminate a more rewarding theory of how life began.
‘And those aliens. Do you know what the Egyptians called the glowing lights in the skies above Cairo?’
‘No,’ said Mikey.
‘Ahmon-Ras. God flashes. Can you believe that?’
‘No,’ said Mikey.
Isaac started laughing then and Mikey asked him what was funny.
‘I’ve just realised,’ he said. ‘I do recognise you. I fucken knew it.’ I heard him clap his hands. ‘You’re Mikey Buchanan. You’re the one that’s been all over the news. I said I recognised you. Didn’t I? Did I or did I not?’