Breakers Read online

  ‘I need to go.’ Tyler looked around. A couple of old women at the bus stop, a kid on a BMX doing wheelies along the pavement. Flat grey cloud overhead, the smell of damp earth from the building site.

  ‘This is your chance to say something,’ Pearce said.

  ‘I don’t know about any of this.’

  ‘We’re just starting the investigation and I’m already here. We haven’t even got CCTV from the street yet.’

  Tyler thought about walking down that street this morning with his hood up.

  Pearce shook her head. ‘And forensics. Normally we wouldn’t waste manpower on a burglary, but attempted murder is different.’

  Tyler thought about the gloves he’d worn, tried to picture Barry’s hands, Kelly’s.

  ‘And people talk,’ Pearce said. ‘If they don’t talk to us, they’ll talk to Deke Holt, you know that. The clock is ticking.’

  ‘I have to go look after Bean,’ Tyler said.

  Pearce held his gaze for a moment then stepped back.

  ‘Fine, just one more thing. Castlemound told me you missed a few classes this morning. Where were you?’

  ‘Walking around.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  Tyler waved behind him. ‘Just getting some air.’

  Pearce raised her eyebrows. ‘So if we check CCTV for this morning, we won’t see you anywhere near St Margaret’s Road?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  He thought about standing in the living room of Will’s house, bandaging Flick’s hand at the kitchen sink, racing away in her car. Closed his eyes for a moment and felt tired.

  Pearce reached out and touched his arm and he jumped in surprise.

  ‘I know you feel bad,’ she said. ‘I know you wouldn’t do something like this. But I know you were there and soon I’ll have proof. If you help me I can protect you, I can make sure you and Bethany stay together, that you’re looked after. But if you let this escalate there’s nothing I can do.’

  She reached into her pocket and took out a card, handed it to him. Detective Inspector Gail Pearce, Police Scotland logo, mobile number. He looked at it for a second then buried it in his pocket.

  ‘Call me,’ she said, heading towards the car. ‘Soon.’

  She got in, started the engine and circled out of the car park. He watched the car drive away, feeling the fifteen storeys of the tower block looming over him.

  13

  He came out of the lift and walked towards the flat but he knew he wouldn’t make it. His body was tense as he anticipated the sound of the other door opening, so when he heard the squeak of the hinge it came as a weird relief.

  ‘Tyler.’

  He breathed and turned to face Barry in the doorway. He was wearing a muscle T-shirt with a boxing gym logo on, something generic and fake American. Black joggers and bare feet.

  ‘In you come,’ he said, standing aside to let Tyler past.

  Tyler kept his stride steady as he passed Barry in the doorway. He caught a whiff of vodka, sex and sweat. The door clicked shut behind them and Tyler went into the living room, the layout of the flat an inverted version of the one he shared with Bean and Mum. This place was a tip, booze bottles and pizza boxes on the floor, white powder on the kitchenette worktop next to a rolled-up twenty.

  Kelly was on the sofa, wearing one of Barry’s T-shirts and nothing else, her bare legs lifted under her. She was stroking the ears of one of their dogs, a brown staffie with a bad attitude. They had two dogs, Ant and Dec, Tyler couldn’t tell them apart. The other staffie mooched over, snarled then nosed Tyler’s crotch so strongly that he was pushed off balance. He nudged the dog with his thigh and it snapped at him.

  ‘Fuck off,’ Tyler said.

  ‘He likes you,’ Barry said.

  A gameshow was on television, a version of the penny-pusher games you got at the amusements on Porty Beach. Answer a question, stick a coin in, win a prize. Or not.

  Barry made no effort to get the dog away from Tyler. Kelly looked up from the sofa. ‘Hey, squirt.’

  ‘Empty your pockets,’ Barry said.

  ‘What?’

  Barry stepped closer. ‘You fucking heard me.’

  Tyler put on a face like the instruction was stupid. ‘Why?’

  Barry took another step, his fingers tapping on the kitchen worktop, neck muscles straining. ‘Do it.’

  Tyler thought about the money he still had tucked into the elastic of his underwear as he emptied his pockets onto the worktop. Loose change, chewing gum, his phone. And Pearce’s card.

  Barry picked it up. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I was just coming to see you. I was checking on Bean first, then straight over.’

  Barry had seen everything from the window, Tyler had assumed that, so he might as well play it straight.

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Barry played with the card in his fingertips. ‘Think harder.’

  ‘Obviously I didn’t say anything, why would I?’

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘She said she knew about last night’s jobs.’

  ‘Bullshit.’ Barry crumpled the card in his fist. ‘How could she?’

  Tyler swallowed hard. ‘The second job.’

  ‘What about it?’

  Kelly was paying attention now, as pennies tumbled on the television screen and a contestant jumped up and down, grinning like an idiot.

  ‘It was Deke Holt’s house.’

  One penny was left dangling over the lip of the machine, tantalising.

  ‘Fuck off it was.’

  Tyler nodded. ‘I heard it at school too.’

  ‘What exactly did you hear?’

  ‘Connell told me that Ryan Holt’s mum was stabbed in a burglary. St Margaret’s Road. Her car was stolen.’

  ‘And what did you tell Connell?’

  ‘Nothing, what do you take me for?’

  Kelly spoke up. ‘Shit, this is bad.’

  Barry put a finger out for her to shut up. ‘Let me think.’

  The dog, Ant or Dec, nudged at Tyler’s legs again. The power in those muscles. These bastards could rip a kid to pieces in minutes. He was glad they stayed here, nowhere near Bean. They should be muzzled, but of course Barry would never do that.

  Tyler tried not to stare at Barry putting it all together. They were fucked either way. He glanced at Pearce’s card in Barry’s fist. Tyler had already put the number into his phone under an alias in the lift on the way up, so the card didn’t matter. He didn’t know yet what he might need Pearce for, but his way out of this was getting narrower every minute, so he had to keep his options open.

  ‘So be it,’ Barry said eventually.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Kelly said.

  ‘It means what it means, you stupid cow. We’re in something now, let’s just ride it as far as it goes.’

  Kelly didn’t speak, knew better than to ask the same question twice. Tyler had seen the black eyes, the bruised arms. He’d had the same, of course. They had that in common at least.

  Tyler wondered if Barry had a clue what to do. If he simply hadn’t used the knife, they wouldn’t be in this shit, but Tyler wasn’t about to say that.

  Barry took a swig from a vodka bottle on the worktop, sniffed and rubbed his stubbled jaw. He didn’t seem to give a shit. He uncrumpled the card in his hand and stared at it. ‘I’ll keep hold of this.’

  Tyler picked up the rest of his stuff and put it back in his pockets.

  Barry took another swig and Tyler wondered how drunk he was. He was steady on his feet but he could drink like a fish and seem sober, so that didn’t mean much.

  ‘And you’re sure you didn’t say anything to this bitch cop?’

  Tyler shook his head.

  ‘How did she get here so fast?’

  Tyler shrugged. ‘Someone must’ve talked.’

  Barry thought about that. ‘I’ll put some feelers out. Find out what’s happening.’

  ‘What about
the Holts?’ Kelly said, shrinking as she spoke.

  ‘I’ll deal with those cunts.’ Barry didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Have you shifted the gear from last night yet?’ Tyler said.

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘It’ll make us more traceable.’

  Barry pulled a roll of tenners from his pocket. ‘Tough tits, it’s gone.’

  Tyler felt another nudge from the dog.

  ‘I need to go see Bean,’ he said. ‘She’ll be wondering where I am.’

  Barry narrowed his eyes. ‘Sure. But don’t go anywhere else without telling me.’

  Tyler put his hands out. ‘Where would I go?’

  14

  Bean was parked in front of CBBC eating Pringles from the tube. Tyler walked over and ruffled her hair and she smiled without looking up. He liked that she just trusted him to be there. Sometimes being taken for granted was OK.

  ‘What are you watching?’

  ‘The Next Step.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  She rolled her eyes as if the question was stupid. ‘It’s about a dance studio. They have boyfriends and girlfriends and competitions and bad guys.’

  ‘Sounds daft.’

  ‘You’re daft.’

  Two airbrush-beautiful teenage girls, a blonde and a brunette, were arguing about something in a coffee shop. He tried to remember if the stuff he watched at Bean’s age was any better or worse. He’d been allowed to watch anything, do anything, at her age. Angela had no control and Barry and Kelly didn’t give a shit.

  He weighed the Pringles can and put the lid on it.

  ‘Hey, I’m eating them,’ Bean said.

  ‘You’ve already had half a tube. Have an apple.’

  ‘Can you cut it up for me?’

  He made a crazy sign with his hand to his head. ‘That’s what teeth are for.’

  ‘Pleeeease.’

  He got a knife and cut the apple into quarters. He looked over to the corner, the bags of stuff were gone, right enough. He thought of Barry and Kelly next door. The fact they were having sex and didn’t even care if he knew, that was fucked up. He wondered what DI Pearce would make of incest.

  He stuck the apple pieces on a plate and handed it to Bean.

  ‘Is Mum in?’

  ‘In bed,’ Bean said. ‘Vodka.’

  Tyler had read online that the first ten years were the most impressionable for the human brain. What chance did that give Bean? Her mind was taking shape, her sense of self forming, and all of this bullshit around them was going into it. But then he had the same and he turned out OK. He thought about Monica Holt and wondered about that.

  ‘Did you go in?’ Tyler said.

  Bean nodded. ‘I couldn’t wake her.’

  ‘How hard did you try?’

  ‘Quite hard.’

  Tyler went to the bedroom, careful not to hurry, knocked, waited then walked in.

  Curtains closed, stale booze and fags, the smell of sweat and piss.

  Angela was naked on top of the bed, skin ghostly and blue, dark patch between her legs. He put his hand in front of her mouth, felt her hot breath. That was something. He saw a wet patch on the sheet spreading out from under her. He rolled her onto her front, got an old towel and placed it over the stain, then rolled her back on top of the dry towel. Threw a blanket over her and stood watching for a while. Deep lines around her eyes and across her forehead, even in sleep. Blood close to the skin in her cheeks and nose, a drinker’s complexion. Sores on her upper lip and spots around her mouth. Two chipped teeth at the front from when she fell over trying to get her key in the door. Despite all of that she looked peaceful, no worries for now.

  He picked up the empty bottle but left the half-smoked joint in the ashtray by the bed, having checked it wasn’t lit. He went back to the kitchenette, placed the bottle in the recycling box under the sink. He stood with a hand either side of the sink for a while, thinking.

  He went to his bedroom and got his phone out, looked up the number for Edinburgh Royal Infirmary.

  ‘Hello, ERI?’

  ‘Hi, I’m phoning about my mum, Monica Holt,’ he said. ‘I was just wondering how she’s doing?’

  ‘Just a second, I’ll put you through to her ward.’

  Hold music, too cheery, Ariana Grande.

  ‘Hello, intensive care?’

  Northern Irish accent, curling vowels.

  ‘Hi, I was wondering about my mum, Monica Holt?’

  ‘Ryan?’

  Shit. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No change since you were in this morning, love, sorry.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  ‘Your dad’s still here if you want to speak to him?’

  Tyler’s throat felt like it was on fire. ‘No, it’s OK, I’ll see him at home.’

  ‘OK, dear, take it easy.’

  He hung up and looked around the room. His hands were shaking. He took breaths, closed his eyes, thought about waves lapping on a beach. Eventually he felt the heat behind his eyes dissipate, so he went back through to the living room.

  Bean had finished her apple. ‘What’s for tea?’

  ‘Fish fingers.’

  He stood in the kitchenette, his fingers touching the worktop, and tried to remember how to cook.

  Bean had been asleep for half an hour when Tyler’s phone rang. Nobody ever called. He approached the handset like it was a loose tiger and stared at the screen. A string of numbers he didn’t recognise. He thought about the hospital call earlier, patched through a switchboard. But why would anyone think that call was suspicious? His hand moved towards the phone like it was magnetically attracted.

  He took the call but didn’t speak.

  ‘Hello, hello, this better be Tyler Wallace.’

  Flick.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Just as well,’ Flick said. ‘If you gave me a fake number you’d be a dead man.’

  Tyler thought about Monica’s phone, Deke’s message.

  ‘How would you trace me?’

  ‘I have your name, dummy.’

  ‘What if that’s fake too?’

  ‘Are you an international spy or something?’

  ‘Maybe I thought it best to give you a false name, given where we met.’

  ‘Shut up, I already found you on Instagram.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I bet you weren’t expecting to hear from me.’

  Tyler thought about what to say. ‘I hoped I would.’

  ‘Correct answer.’ There was a pause, she was either drinking or smoking something. ‘Listen, what are you up to?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now.’

  He looked around the room for an answer. He thought about Bean, but she was settled. ‘Not much.’

  ‘I need to get out of this place,’ Flick said. ‘Fancy going for a drive?’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘I don’t know, around. It’s a drive, that’s the point.’

  He didn’t speak for a moment.

  ‘Hello?’ Flick said. ‘Is this thing on?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Great. Text me your address and I’ll pick you up.’

  He checked in on Bean. She was cuddling Panda, covers off, snoring softly. He pulled the duvet up and kissed her. He went into Angela’s room, no change, then he got his jacket and opened the front door. Put the key in the outer side of the lock and turned it so the Yale didn’t click when he shut the door. He stared at Barry and Kelly’s place, imagined the spyhole watching him. He tiptoed away and pushed the stairwell door. He couldn’t stand waiting for the lift, expecting Barry to clatter out at any moment. Down fifteen flights, dizzy at the repetition, then he was outside in the courtyard.

  Five minutes later the Beetle bombed round the curve in the road then braked and turned into the car park. He glanced at the windows above him, wondered if anyone was watching.

  Flick smiled as the passenger window buzzed down. ‘
Hey.’

  She was wearing black leggings and a loose T-shirt with Loser across it in a heavy-metal typeface. Her hair was down and she wore eye shadow and lippy.

  He got in and she looked at the tower block. ‘You live up there?’

  ‘Top floor.’

  ‘Some view, I bet.’

  ‘Yeah, of the building site across the road.’

  She pulled out and followed the road. Tyler was glad it was dark, you couldn’t make out the fly-tips and shit everywhere. They drove past the school then onto the main road, headed into town. Tyler thought about last night, this same journey in the dark, heading west to the posh houses, Barry and Kelly touching each other in the front, all the shit that went down. He couldn’t believe it was only twenty-four hours ago, it seemed like he’d known Flick for weeks. It felt comfortable here with her shifting through the gears then back down at the Cameron Toll lights. He didn’t ask where they were going, just allowed himself to be taken. They drove through Southside past student bars and takeaways, down to the Pleasance and along Cowgate, through the tourists of Grassmarket.

  As they headed into Lothian Road he took Monica Holt’s phone from his pocket. Switched it on. Sat waiting, holding the phone too tight. As it came to life, notifications scrolled up the screen. He went into texts, looked for ones from Deke:

  This phone has been stolen, please contact this number immediately. There is a reward.

  He stared at it for a moment, then realised there was a more recent one above.

  If you took this phone you are dead.

  Sent at lunchtime today. He looked at it until the screen went dark, then switched the phone off and put it back in his pocket. He looked out at the Meadows now zipping past, another piece of misdirection for anyone tracking the phone.

  He realised they were heading back to her ex’s house when she turned at the end of Marchmont Road. Off to the right was St Margaret’s Road but they drove straight on then turned the corner, left again.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said.

  ‘Just driving around.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  She touched his leg. He looked at her hand, dark purple nails, long fingers.