Breakers Page 5

  Tyler went to the front door and picked up the mail from behind the door. Bills and junk. Judging by the number of letters, no one had been in the house for weeks. But they were still getting bills sent here, so it was the family home. Fotheringham, Jason and Charlotte.

  He replaced the mail and went to the kitchen. Black slate on the floor, chrome fittings, a long breakfast bar in some white stone or other. He went to the fridge, almost empty. They weren’t planning on rustling up a snack anytime soon. The freezer had homemade stuff in Tupperware – lasagne, chicken cacciatore, venison stew. Ben & Jerry’s cookie-dough ice cream and a bottle of Grey Goose. In the cupboards he found biscuits and crisps, tins of tuna and kidney beans. He took a Kit-Kat and unwrapped it, then heard a crash of breaking glass.

  He stopped chewing the chocolate biscuit and listened.

  The ambient piano music was still playing in the other room.

  He walked towards the kitchen doorway and looked into the hall but couldn’t see anything out of place.

  Another crash. More glass and a thump from the living room.

  ‘Fucksticks.’

  He looked up the stairs. He had a clear run from here, could be up the steps in half a dozen bounds, out the landing window, nobody any the wiser.

  But something about that voice.

  He stared at the living-room doorway as piano notes drifted out. Someone grunted.

  He walked to the doorway with the Kit-Kat still in his hand.

  A window was smashed, chunks of glass sprayed over the rug, a smooth stone from the garden sitting in the middle. The window was unlocked and pushed up and a girl in a red school blazer was clambering in, holding the palm of one hand in the other.

  ‘Fuck.’

  She was slim and bony, a few inches taller than him, about the same age. She wore a white blouse under the blazer, a navy skirt to her knees and navy tights, flat black shoes. Her strawberry-blonde hair was tied in a ponytail. As she righted herself, Tyler noticed her features, pointy nose and green eyes, strong cheekbones and jawline, small mouth.

  She turned. Her eyes showed surprise, went from his face to the Kit-Kat, then up and down his uniform.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ she said.

  ‘I was just thinking the same thing.’

  ‘This isn’t your house.’

  Tyler thought about the Fotheringham family photos. ‘Ditto.’

  ‘You’re trespassing.’

  ‘Right back at you.’

  She sighed. ‘This could go on all day.’

  She looked at her hand and Tyler saw it was dripping blood onto the rug, the same red as her blazer.

  ‘Whoever you are, do you know where I can find a bandage?’ she said.

  Tyler turned. ‘This way.’

  9

  He turned on the cold water at the kitchen sink and looked over his shoulder. She’d followed him, leaving drops of blood on the floor. She came close, her eyes narrow, staring at him.

  ‘Hold it under the water,’ he said.

  She did it and winced, keeping her eyes on him. He watched the pink water swirling down the drain. He wondered where he would keep a first-aid kit in a house this big. He walked to the utility room at the side of the kitchen, washing machine and tumble dryer in there, winter jackets and boots stowed. He found a zip bag with a cross on it in the second drawer, full of plasters and antiseptic, stuff for insect bites, a roll of bandages and scissors. He brought it back through, dumped it on the draining board and held out a tea towel.

  ‘Let me see.’

  She lifted her hand. There was an inch-long gash across the heel of her hand, long but not deep, blood blossoming along it as they watched. A little lower and it would’ve been on the wrist, across the vein.

  He was aware of her watching him, felt his cheeks flush.

  ‘Can I?’ he said.

  She held out her hand to him and he patted it with the tea towel. It felt weird, like a religious ritual.

  ‘I think it’s dry now,’ she said eventually, and he blushed.

  He dropped the towel, tipped some antiseptic onto a cotton pad and took her wrist. He’d dealt with enough stuff with Bean to know what he was doing.

  ‘This’ll sting.’ He dabbed.

  ‘Jesus wept.’ She flinched and pulled her hand away. He was left touching her fingers with his for a moment, then she offered her hand again. He dabbed at it as she sucked her teeth and breathed heavily.

  ‘Think it needs stitches?’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s not deep.’

  He measured out some bandage, cut it to size, and placed the start in the crook of her thumb. ‘Hold that.’

  She pressed her finger on it. He wrapped it round the back and over the cut, around the wrist and up, testing tightness as he went. He found a small safety pin and pinned it.

  She lifted her hand, flexed her fingers and made a fist. ‘I look like a boxer.’ She made a couple of jabs, feinted one way then raised an upper-cut with her other hand.

  ‘How are you going to explain it?’

  She looked at him. ‘Who do I need to explain it to?’

  Tyler shrugged.

  She smiled. ‘I’ll just say I was self-harming, everyone at school is at it.’

  She pointed at the badge on her blazer, a thick red cross surrounded by leaves, some Latin across the top. ‘Inveresk.’

  The posh boarding school in Musselburgh. He’d never met a pupil from there before, they kept separate from the regular kids in town to avoid trouble. The school had high stone walls and lots of security to keep the locals out.

  Tyler read the inscription on her badge. Spartam nactus es, hanc exorna.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s some ancient guff about Sparta. It literally makes no sense, like “Sparta is yours, embellish it”. These days they say it means “develop your talents”. All very motivational.’

  He tried to think of his own school motto, but he wasn’t sure they even had one.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she said.

  ‘Tyler.’

  ‘I can work with that.’ She held out her damaged hand to shake. He took it but didn’t squeeze, felt the contrast between her soft skin and the rough bandage.

  ‘I’m Flick,’ she said. ‘Since you’re never going to ask. It’s Felicity, but no one calls me that except my parents, and I never see them.’

  Tyler shook hands until it felt awkward.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Flick.’

  She dropped his hand and looked around theatrically.

  ‘So, why are you in my ex-boyfriend’s house on a Tuesday morning?’

  He began putting the stuff back in the first-aid kit then zipped it up and put it back in the drawer in the utility room.

  ‘Strong, silent type, eh?’

  He came back in and leaned against the sink. ‘You’re the one who broke in.’

  ‘So did you.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘I bet I can find evidence.’

  Tyler thought of the open upstairs hall window, the ladder propped against the garage wall outside. ‘Not tons of glass on the living-room rug and blood everywhere.’

  Her mouth was puckered, like this was a game.

  ‘You’re not one of Will’s friends.’

  ‘Who says?’

  She made a show of examining him. ‘Because you couldn’t be more different from that arrogant sack of shit.’

  Tyler should be gone, he should’ve bolted when he heard the glass from the living room. But he was still here enjoying looking at Flick’s face and the curve of her hip, and he could smell her too, something citrus.

  She touched the end of her ponytail. ‘So you’re a thief?’

  Tyler put his hands out. ‘Do you see me robbing anyone?’

  ‘Maybe I caught you in the act.’

  ‘Yeah, you sneaked up and caught me red-handed, with all your smashing of windows and bleeding.’

  ‘OK, smart arse.’

  Her accent wa
s posh Edinburgh, the kind of voice you heard from newsreaders or daytime TV hosts. He’d never met anyone who sounded like that in real life. Her voice had a confidence that came from never having to worry about buying food or paying the leccy, those things weren’t on her radar. He made a mental note to look up the fees for Inveresk.

  She nodded through to the living room. ‘What’s with the music?’

  It was only when she mentioned it that he realised the album was still on, spacey music floating through.

  ‘It’s relaxing.’

  ‘You broke into someone’s house to listen to piano music.’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t break in.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  He stepped away from her and picked up the tea towel. ‘We should probably clean up the mess you made.’

  She frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘So they don’t know we were here.’

  ‘What if I want them to know?’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s just stupid. You want to be arrested?’

  She gave this some consideration. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘We can’t hide the broken window, so we leave the glass and stone, close the window, remove any traces of blood, that’s the main thing. Then maybe it just looks like some idiot chucked a rock at the window. They don’t have CCTV, so that’s not a problem.’

  He ran the towel under the tap and squeezed it out then wetted a cloth in the sink and handed it to her.

  ‘Come on.’ He began retracing their steps, checking the floor, kneeling to wipe where he saw blood. The slate and the marble were no problem but the rug in the living room was harder. But it was dark and patterned, they might get away with it.

  She knelt next to him and dabbed at a spot.

  ‘Careful,’ he said. ‘There’s glass by your knee. The last thing we need is more blood.’

  She sat back on her haunches and examined him. Looked around the room then went back to the floor. ‘Why are you helping me?’

  ‘Why not?’ He scoped the room. ‘That’ll probably do.’

  ‘Won’t they call the police?’ Flick said. ‘Get forensics out?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have thought about that before you threw a stone through their window and climbed in?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

  He got up, closed the window and locked it. Rubbed at a drop of blood on the wooden frame until it came away.

  She stood up. ‘Don’t you want to know why I’m here?’

  He put his hands out, inviting her to speak.

  She walked over to the mantelpiece, stared at the family photo and pointed at the younger of the two brothers. ‘This prick treated me like shit. He promised things. It was all lies. He was screwing Tabby the whole time, probably others. I want revenge.’

  Tyler went over and took the cloth from her then they walked to the kitchen. He rinsed the cloth out and placed it on the draining board, then wrung out the tea towel and shoved it in his pocket.

  ‘Can’t really leave this,’ he said. ‘Too obvious.’

  ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’ Flick said.

  She was standing close enough that he could smell her perfume again, lemons and flowers.

  ‘Why, if you’re not taking anything?’

  He thought about the woman on the floor in her own blood, Barry stepping past her, the shotgun under the bed. He thought about Bean on the roof, his mum crashed out on the sofa, the dog in the abandoned building.

  ‘What exactly are you doing here?’ he said. ‘“Revenge” is pretty vague.’

  She waved her bandaged hand around. ‘I don’t know, mess some shit up. Take something. Set fire to his room.’

  ‘Get done for arson? Great idea.’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest?’

  He wasn’t sure if she was really after ideas or not. Her smile suggested she wasn’t sure either.

  ‘Anything you do just shows he got to you,’ Tyler said. ‘Plus it’s almost guaranteed to get you in trouble. If you let him know you were here, and he’s the dick you say he is, then he’ll get the cops on you.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So act like he’s nothing. Forget him and move on.’

  Flick chewed at her lip, thinking it over. ‘You’re kind of wise for a small guy.’

  Tyler guessed they were the same year at school but he didn’t say anything.

  Flick was smiling now. ‘Can I at least pee on his bed?’

  ‘Some guys might get off on that.’

  She made a face. ‘Actually he might, knowing him.’

  In the living room the music finished with a scratch and clunk. The silence felt like it exposed them to each other. They walked through and Tyler lifted the record with his fingertips, put it back in its sleeve, then returned it to its place on the shelf. He looked at the glass and the stone on the rug, at the broken window, then he heard a noise that made him freeze. Footsteps on the gravel outside, louder as the person walked towards the house. Flick threw him a look, but he just shook his head. The steps got louder then they stopped and the bell rang. Tyler grabbed Flick and pressed her against the mantelpiece. They stood in silence. He heard a shuffle of feet on the step outside, then the flop of letters coming through the letterbox, dropping onto the mat. If the postie took a step to the side and looked in, he’d see them. Even if he just turned this way he’d spot the broken window. Tyler moved his foot and cringed as it knocked against the fireplace grate, a scrape of metal on stone. Flick raised her eyebrows. Tyler stared at the window, waiting to see a face. A few more seconds, silence in the room and outside. Then the scrunch of footsteps retreating down the driveway.

  Tyler thought about the ladder leaning against the garage, out of sight from the front of the house.

  ‘We should go,’ Flick said. ‘Any idea how to get out of here?’

  Tyler smiled.

  10

  Tyler resisted looking back at the house as they strode down the drive. Act like you belong, as if this is all yours. The wind bristled the silver birch, sparrows fluttered around the pond to their right, a cat watched the birds from the edge of a rhododendron bush.

  He could feel the energy between them, the thrill of transgressing together. Flick seemed electrified by it. He never felt like this on the nightcrawls with Barry and Kelly, never felt like part of something, as he did now.

  They reached the bottom of the drive and Tyler made to turn right towards the bus stop but Flick touched his arm and nodded the other way.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘You have a car?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And a licence?’

  ‘Provisional. Technically I’m not allowed to drive without a fully licensed passenger, but who’s to know?’

  The BT workers were standing around their van and the hole in the road, doing nothing. There were hardly any cars parked in the street, since all the houses had driveways. The nearest was a bright-red Volkswagen Beetle Cabriolet, standing out like a throbbing thumb amongst the grey road and stone walls.

  ‘Please don’t say that’s it,’ Tyler said.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  She headed towards it getting her key out. The workmen across the road stopped talking and watched as she walked by. She was something to watch. He should turn and walk the other way.

  ‘Come on,’ she called behind her.

  He followed her to the car and got in. The inside smelled of leather and new plastic. She started the car and the engine purred, then she pulled away.

  ‘If they suspect anything at the house, you’re not exactly being anonymous.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Those workmen will remember you.’

  ‘They don’t know me.’

  Tyler shook his head. ‘A pretty girl in a red blazer driving a flashy car. You’ll be easy to track down.’

  ‘You think I’m pretty.’

  ‘That’s what you got from that?’

  She smiled and moved th
rough the gears. She was driving fast, oversteering, revving the engine. She pressed play on an iPod between them and the new Paramore record came on.

  ‘It’s like you want to get caught,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just drive like a normal person.’

  She didn’t slow down. ‘Where can I drop you?’

  They were at Cameron Toll already.

  ‘Anywhere.’

  She frowned as they pulled away from a pedestrian crossing with the engine at a high whine. ‘Are you ashamed of where you’re from?’

  He didn’t speak. She stole glances at him as she negotiated the roundabout and headed east.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said eventually. ‘That was uncalled for.’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘Please just tell me to shut up.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  She laughed and he liked the sound of it. He looked out of the window as perky guitar music filled the space between them. As they passed Peffermill he looked at his watch.

  ‘You could drop me at school,’ he said. ‘I should probably go to class.’

  ‘Where is that?’

  ‘Not far. Off to the right in a bit.’

  ‘Craigmillar?’

  ‘Niddrie.’

  Those two names carried such weight, so much reputation. The hardest and most deprived parts of the city, up there with the worst in the country, bywords for poverty, crime, drugs and the rest. Every cliché of social deprivation and he was the embodiment of it. He felt dirty in this clean car, like he was soiling Flick’s pristine life with his presence. He imagined what he looked like to her and felt queasy.

  They drove in silence until he pointed to the turn-off, past the medical centre and Aldi. She rattled over speed bumps and round corners, braking outside the school gates. A couple of younger lads bunking off school stood and gawped at the car.

  She flipped her phone out of her pocket, unlocked the screen and handed it to him. ‘Stick your number in.’