Chapter 39

THE SPECIAL ONE

Her mother had always told Tash she was special girl.

“You’re a gift from God, darlin’,” she’d say. “Just like those who have passed.”

“Passed what, Mum?” the nine-year-old Tash would say.

Mum would smile and her white teeth were like pearls. “To the other side, darlin’. With the angels.”

But then Dad would say, “Don’t fill her head with that ghost rubbish.”

“It ain’t rubbish, Roy,” Mum would say. “It’s a gift, and Tash has it.”

She was Dad’s third wife and the only one to produce children. They married in 1975. She was eighteen, and he was thirty-five. Three years later, Rachel was born. Tash came along in 1981. Ten years later, her mum died in a hit-and-run. Dad went mental. He traced the driver’s address. But the police got to him first. He was arrested for causing death by dangerous driving. He was in protective custody during his trial, and after he’d spent six years inside, he was given a new identity. But Dad kept hunting him. He didn’t speak about it now, but Tash sometimes wondered if her dad had ever found the driver.

She thought about her mother and why that particular conversation had come to mind.

You’re a gift from God, darlin’.

Had it been the dream?

Had it been the same dream Jasmine experienced?

Her daughter was curled up in Tash’s arms. They were lying together on the couch. The girl had gone to sleep. Now and again, she jerked, and Tash wondered if the dream was returning to haunt the child again.

Tash kissed Jasmine’s hair and breathed her in. The scent of her offspring sparked something in Tash’s heart—an ache that she could only name as love.

It’s what it feels like, she thought.

She felt it when Jasmine was born. It sliced through the hate and anger that filled Tash’s veins at the time—hate and anger towards her newborn’s feckless father.

Pete Rayner.

She shuddered at the thought of him.

How had that happened? Through her teens, she had been barely aware of the lanky clown.

The girls, thinking they were cool, would roll their eyes or tut at him as he clambered on top of a car or a wall and shouted, “Look at this,” and he’d dive off, hit the ground, and hurt himself. And Tash and her mates would strut past, ignoring him.

Pete always fancied her, but there were better options around, and Tash blanked him.

By her late teens, with her mates pregnant or already mums and all the better options either in jail or warned off by her dad, Pete wangled his way into her life.

She’d been dumped by Neil Uxford, one of Charlie Faultless’s former lieutenants. Charlie had left a couple of years before, soon after Rachel had died. Soon after his own mum had died. Neil tried to take over Charlie’s business, but he didn’t have the brains, he didn’t have the brawn, and he didn’t have the brutality. He dumped her for a forty-year-old ex-prostitute living in Monro House.

“Her ex, he runs some business up north,” Neil had said, “and she says, if I . . . you know . . . if I shack up with her, shell get me in with him. It’s business, darlin’.”

“Was I business?” she’d asked.

He’d shrugged.

Her tears brought Pete Rayner to her door. He could sniff out Tash’s sadness like a bloodhound could hit a trail.

She was fragile. She was young. She was lost. Her heart had been broken. Her hopes shattered. Her future obliterated.

It happened on the couch at her dad’s house. Lucky for Pete, Roy Hanbury was on remand, awaiting trial.

Tash could barely remember the event. She was blind with grief. But nine months later, the result of the episode came along.

And so did that ache in her heart.

She stroked Jasmines hair. The child continued to sleep. She flinched, still dreaming her awful dreams. Tash wanted to keep her safe from those terrible things going through her head. But that was impossible. It was impossible, even, to keep her safe from the outside world, let alone what was inside her mind. Tash was furious with herself for ever doubting Jasmine, for accusing her of lying about her headaches and her nightmares.

She looked through the window. A gray sky loomed. Rain spattered the pane. There was a chill in the air. Tash shivered. Her anxiety grew. Something was here on the Barrowmore estate. Something that was poison. Something that was dark. Something that was evil.

And it was speaking to her and Jasmine through their dreams.

Pillow . . . Was that what she’d heard? Pillow . . .

There was a knock on the door. It made Tash start. She eased herself away from Jasmine and went to answer it.

It was Hallam Buck. He was carrying something. A brown leather briefcase. Her flesh crawled with dread. She’d seen it before.

Jack froze. He stayed very still. The wind ruffled his long hair, but nothing else moved. It was as if he’d turned into a statue. He didn’t blink, and his chest didn’t rise and fall as he breathed.

“You okay?” said Spencer.

They were still on the roof. Spencer was freezing. He was covered in goosepimples and had been shivering for ages.

“What’s the matter?” he said.

“There is a woman and a child,” said Jack.

“You what?”

“There are others, but they’re weak . . . but the woman and the child . . . ”

“What about them?”

“My bones are trembling.”

“Your bones?”

“My blood runs cold.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s freezing up here.”

“They are dreaming me.”

“They’re . . . ”

“I need a ripper.”

“You need a . . . ”

“I must find him.”

“Who—”

“I need a ripper . . .”

“I don’t understand,” said Spencer.

“The woman and child.”

“What about them?”

“They must be ripped.”

“Jesus . . . ”

“But there’s something else.”

Spencer quaked. It was so cold he was burning. His skin was turning red. He couldn’t feel his hands. He couldn’t feel his legs.

“W . . . what else?” he said.

Jack gazed out across the estate. Police cars trawled the streets. Blue flashing lights lit up the gray sky. Sirens wailed over hip-hop beats.

Jack said, “There’s a darkness.”

“A . . . a . . . a what?”

“A darkness in the corner of my eye.”