The small living-room was gloomy and stale smelling. Like a tomb. The thought popped unbidden into Harlan’s head. It made him feel a little suffocated, and he resisted an urge to fling open the window. Leaflets with Ethan’s face on them were piled on every available surface — the carpet, the sofa, the hearth, the television. “Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked, one hand pressed over his bandage. Susan shook her head. Picking his way through the leaflets, he limped to the sofa, cleared a space and carefully lowered himself onto it.
From somewhere Susan dredged up a smile that only made her face seem more deathlike. “You look worse than I feel.” No I don’t, thought Harlan, as she continued, “Shouldn’t you be in hospital?”
“I wanted to see you. Are you alone?”
“Kane’s asleep upstairs. Poor thing, he’s tired out after what-” Susan broke off with a sheepish glance at Harlan.
He finished her sentence for her. “After what happened last night. I heard about that.”
“It was an accident. I didn’t try to-” Susan started to say, but broke off again, her eyes dropping guiltily away from Harlan’s. She shook her head. “I can’t lie to you. Not after what you’ve done.”
“So you did try to kill yourself.”
Susan glanced at the ceiling. Her voice dropped low. “Maybe I did. I don’t know. All I know is I wanted to sleep. Just sleep and sleep and not have to think about anything anymore.” Her razor-thin shoulders shuddered as she heaved a breath.
“And what about now? Do you still feel the same way?”
“Yes and no. One minute I’m okay. Well, as okay as I can be. The next I’m having all these thoughts.”
“What kind of thoughts?”
“Ugly thoughts. But I’m not going to listen to them. I can’t. Kane needs me.”
“Ethan needs you too.”
Susan’s eyes filled with a bright sheen of pain. She gave a vehement shake of her head. “Ethan’s dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But I am saying it.” Her voice had a shrill note in it, fast edging towards hysteria. “Ethan’s my son, and I’m saying to you that I feel in my bones and my heart that he’s dead.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Yes, yes. He’s dead, dead, fucking dead!” Tears choked her voice. Her head drooped like a flower beaten down by a storm.
“Look at me, Susan. Look at me and believe me. There’s a chance Ethan’s still alive. It’s only a small chance. But there’s hope.”
Susan lifted her eyes uncertainly. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Before Harlan could reply, she answered her question. “No you wouldn’t. You’re the only one who’ll always tell me the absolute truth. I see that now.”
Susan was right, Harlan realised. No one had more reason to hate him than her, yet she was the only person he could bare his soul to without fear. In some twisted way, he was closer to her than he was to anyone, even Eve. “What have the police told you?”
“Only what it suits them to. Just that you were injured rescuing Jamie Sutton from that man-” Susan shook her head, a curl of hatred distorting her lips. “No, he’s not a man. Richard Nash is a sick animal.”
“Have they shown you a photo of him?”
“Yes, but I didn’t recognise him. I keep asking them questions — questions like, what makes you so sure he was the one who took Ethan? And I never get a straight answer. Christ, it makes me feel like I’m a fucking suspect.”
“You are a suspect.”
Susan’s eyes swelled with indignation. “I’d stab myself in the heart before I hurt my own children.”
“I know it’s hard to take, but the fact is everyone’s a suspect until a case is solved. That’s just the way it has to be.”
“I understand that, I suppose,” Susan muttered begrudgingly. She clutched two handfuls of her hair. “But it still makes me so frustrated I feel like tearing my fucking hair out.”
“Just sit down and listen to me, Susan, and I’ll tell you why there’s hope Ethan might be alive.”
Susan perched on the edge of an armchair, hardly breathing as she waited for Harlan to speak. He told her everything that’d happened since he last saw her. Unlike with Eve, he gave her the whole story, leaving out no detail. When he got to the part about Jones, her eyes widened with surprise then narrowed in fury. “I knew that animal was in on this,” she hissed. “I fuckin’ knew it.”
Harlan described torturing Jones. He spoke quickly, feeling lighter as the words poured out of him and into Susan. She took them from him gladly, her tongue flicking over her lips as if tasting something to be relished. “I don’t know how you resisted killing the bastard,” she said.
“Neither do I,” admitted Harlan.
Susan sat silent and rigid as Harlan told her about the caravan, the woods and the caves. She trembled with the effort of holding back her tears, but an agonised sob escaped her lips when he vividly recounted finding Jamie Sutton. “Oh Christ, it’s too much! I can’t bear it!” she groaned, rocking back and forth, her thin arms hugged around herself.
“I know it’s horrifying to think of Ethan possibly being kept like that, but that’s where our hope comes from,” Harlan said gently. “Do you understand?”
Susan nodded. “I don’t want to, but I do.”
Harlan’s wound twinged as he described the fight with Nash. Susan looked at him with what might’ve been concern, maybe even compassion. “They never told me your injury was so serious.”
“It’s nothing compared to what you’ve suffered.”
“No, it’s not nothing. It’s something.” There was gratitude in Susan’s voice.
Harlan suddenly found himself unable to look at her. Her hatred he knew how to handle, but not her gratitude. Lowering his eyes, he continued his story right up to leaving hospital. He didn’t mention Eve — that would’ve somehow felt like an admission of betrayal. A hiss of breath came from Susan as she mulled over what she’d heard. “So let me get this straight, Jones hasn’t been charged with anything yet.”
Harlan shook his head. “They need hard evidence.”
“Evidence.” The word grated through Susan’s teeth. “Give me five minutes alone with him and I’d give them all the fuckin’ evidence they need.”
Susan looked as if a breath of wind could blow her over, but there was such cold fury in her eyes that Harlan didn’t for a second doubt her ability to carry the threat through. “They’ll find a way to get at him and Nash. The old woman, Mary Webster, might be the key to-” Harlan fell silent as a feeling of faintness welled up inside him. His head and eyes rolled slowly back.
Susan rushed to his side and caught hold of his arm, stopping him from falling sideways. “This is crazy. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’ll be fine,” Harlan mumbled, his voice blurring. “I just need a moment.”
Susan propped him up between the sofa’s arm and a couple of cushions. “Can I get you anything?”
“Some water to take my tablets.”
Susan hurried through to the kitchen. Harlan focused on the room, fighting to keep unconsciousness at bay. The mantelpiece was cluttered with cheap ornaments, a silver carriage clock and photos. There were recent photos of Kane and Ethan in their school uniforms. Kane with his usual sullen, angry at the world face. Ethan smiling timidly, his shy eyes slightly averted from the camera. In the middle of the mantelpiece stood a photo that made Harlan’s heart squeeze. It showed Robert Reed and his sons on a beach with the sea shimmering in the background. Ethan was wearing a sunhat and t-shirt that came down almost to the knees of his chubby baby legs. Kane was wearing wet, sand-caked swimming trunks and a smile so broad his eyes were barely visible. Robert was squatted down behind them, one arm around each of their shoulders. He was smiling too. The scene exuded happiness — a happiness soon to be fractured into bloody pieces.
Harlan wanted to look away from the photo, but he was gripped in a vice of guilt. He suddenly had the feeling that he was trespassing on forbidden ground. “She’s right, you shouldn’t be here,” he said to himself. But he knew he couldn’t leave, either. Not with Susan as she was.
“What the fuck’s that wanker doing here?”
Harlan jerked around to face the voice’s owner, grimacing at the sudden movement. From the doorway, Kane glared at him, fists balled. “Don’t talk to him like that,” said Susan, pushing past her son and proffering a glass to Harlan, which he accepted with a smile of thanks.
“I’ll talk to him however I want.”
Susan shot Kane a reproachful look. “You’ll do as I say whilst you’re in my house.”
“No I won’t. Not when it comes to him. Why should I?”
“Because he risked his life to try and help your brother.”
Kane stabbed a finger at Harlan, the same curl on his lips that’d twisted Susan’s mouth out of shape as she spoke about Nash. “He fuckin’ killed my dad!” He turned on Susan, eyes bulging. “How could you do this, Mum? How could you let him in here?”
She blinked, but her own mounting anger kept her from wavering under the force of her son’s glare. “He’s trying to make up for what he did.”
“He can’t make up for it. Nothing he can do will bring dad back.”
“I know that, but-”
“I don’t care what you say!” broke in Kane. “And I don’t care what he does. Even if he finds Ethan, I’ll still hate him and want to kill him.”
“Kane!” For the first time since Harlan had been there, some colour came into Susan’s face. “I won’t have you talk like that. Do you hear me? I won’t have it!”
“Fuck you.” Kane whirled to head back upstairs. Susan caught hold of his arm, but he elbowed her away.
“Get back down here, you little shit,” she yelled, as he hammered up the stairs.
“I won’t. Not until he’s gone.” The walls quivered as Kane slammed his bedroom door.
Susan started after him, but thought better of it. Heaving a sigh, she dropped into the armchair. “I shouldn’t have sworn at him. I hate myself when I lose it like that.”
“Maybe I should go,” suggested Harlan.
Susan shook her head. “I want you here.” She glanced at the ceiling, through which loud rap music had begun to vibrate. “And boyo’s just going to have to get used to the idea. When he’s calmed down, I’ll go speak to him.”
“It won’t make any difference. He hates me, and he’s got every right to.”
“So have I.” Susan frowned as if struggling to make sense of something, some sudden realisation. “But I don’t hate you anymore.” She added quickly, “That’s not to say I’ve forgiven you. I just don’t hate you.” She let out a long breath, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d hear myself say that.”
Harlan had never thought he’d hear it either. He replayed her words in his mind several times, trying to get a handle on how they made him feel. They counted for something, he knew that. More than something, they counted for a lot, but not enough to stop him from hating himself. Nowhere near.
“If I can stop hating you, so can Kane,” continued Susan. “He’s carried too much anger for too long. It scares me. I’m scared that if he doesn’t start letting go of it he’s gonna hurt somebody. I mean, really hurt somebody.”
Harlan’s gaze strayed to the photo and Kane’s face, its smile as untarnished as the beach and the sea. An image rose into his mind of Kane wielding the baseball bat, eyes burning with hate. A monster of his making. The vice turned a twist tighter. “By somebody, you mean me.”
“You or anybody else he takes against.” Susan’s voice grew hesitant. “I’ve never told anyone this before. About a year ago I bought Kane a puppy, a little mongrel terrier. I thought it would, y’know, do him good to have some responsibility. And at first it seemed to, but he soon lost interest. Started kicking up a stink every time I told him to take it for a walk. One day we had this big blow up after I caught him hitting it. When things calmed down, he apologised and promised to start looking after Sandy — that was the dog’s name — properly. And for a few weeks, he kept his promise. But then this…this thing happened. One morning he came running home soaking wet, carrying Sandy. Sandy was dead. He said the dog had jumped in the river. He’d tried to save it, but it drowned. That’s what he said, and that’s what I wanted to believe, but…” Susan’s voice trailed off into uneasy silence. She sucked her upper lip a moment, before continuing, “But something in the back of my mind kept telling me he was lying. I wanted to confront him, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Truth is, I didn’t want to know if he’d killed Sandy.”
Harlan wondered if he’d have pushed for the truth if he suspected Tom of something so despicable. Or would he have preferred the comfort of ignorance too. He wasn’t sure. “That’s understandable.”
“Yeah, but now I’m thinking I shouldn’t have let it slide. I mean, if Kane really did kill Sandy, he needs help, right? Therapy or counselling, or something.”
“I dealt with a lot of counsellors when I was on the force. If you want, I can make a couple of calls, organise something.”
Forehead puckered with uncertainty, Susan sucked her lip again. “What if he hates me for it? I don’t know if I can risk pushing him away from me. He’s all I’ve got left.”
“You let me in here. He’s not exactly happy about that.”
“That’s different. You give me hope.”
“There’s a lot of good detectives on the case. That should give you hope too.”
Susan dismissed Harlan’s words with derisive flick of her hand. “They can’t do what’s necessary. They’ve already proved that.” She pointed at him. “You’re the only one who can bring my baby boy back to me.”
The weight of Susan’s words pushed Harlan’s head down. He stared at the piles of missing-person leaflets. Some had fallen over and were scattered across the floor. What a mess, he thought. He pictured Kane with the dead dog in his arms. What a fucking mess. There was no cleaning it up. It just went on and on, turning everything it touched to shit. His head began to reel again. He shakily pulled out a blister strip, popped a pill into his palm and swallowed it.
“I’d better go speak to him,” said Susan, as the music ratcheted up a notch. With a weary noise, she headed for the stairs. After a couple of minutes, the muffled sound of raised voices came through the floor. Harlan tried not to listen to what was being said, but he kept catching words — words like ‘love’ and ‘hate’. His phone began to vibrate. He took it out. It was Jim. He answered it.
“I phoned the hospital,” said Jim. “They told me you’d checked out. I would tell you you’re crazy, but you know that already”
“How’s it going with Nash?”
“That’s why I’m calling. You were right. The old woman got through to him. She didn’t even have to say anything. As soon as we wheeled her in, he started blubbing like a baby. He seems to really care about her.”
“Has he said anything?”
“Not yet, but we’re working on him. I don’t think it’ll be long now. I need you to do me a favour. We want to arrange a line-up. You remember what Kane heard the kidnapper say to Ethan?”
Harlan remembered. Be quiet or I’ll kill you and your brother. “Yes.”
“Well, the idea is to see if Kane can pick Nash’s voice out of the line-up. I need you to talk to Susan — I’m assuming you’re with her — and convince her it’s worth a shot.”
“When are you arranging it for?”
“That depends on Nash. There’s no point setting it up unless he cooperates.”
“Don’t hammer at him with his crimes. That’ll only send him back into his shell. Concentrate on Mary Webster. Make him think that if he cooperates, he’d be doing it for her.”
“That’s exactly what we are doing, and I’d better get back to it. I’ll be speaking to you again soon, I’m sure.”
Jim hung up. The music was still thumping upstairs, but the voices had dropped below hearing range. Harlan rested his head back against the sofa and shut his eyes. Love, hate. Those two words turned over and over in his mind, like a coin flipping through the air. He sighed out a long breath. The painkillers were wrapping warm hands around him. The noise outside was far away now. The noise inside was fading too. Love, hate, love, hate…
When Harlan awoke, the house was silent, except for the sound of pots and pans being moved around in the kitchen. He smelled the aroma of cooking. He glanced at the carriage-clock. Four-twenty. He’d been asleep for an hour or so. He checked his phone. No missed calls. Nash was obviously still holding out. Slowly, stiffly, he rose and made his way to the kitchen. Susan was stood at a grease-stained cooker, shoving sausages around in a frying pan. A scarred wooden table against a wall of the tiny room was laid with cutlery, salt and pepper and sauce bottles.
Noticing Harlan, Susan said, “Hungry?”
Now that she mentioned it, Harlan realised he was. “Yes.”
“I thought you would be after living off hospital food.” Susan nodded towards the table. “Sit yourself down.”
Harlan did so, and Susan placed a mug of tea and a plate of chips and sausages in front of him. She headed out the room with a second plate, saying, “I’ll just take this up to Kane. Don’t wait for me. Start eating.”
The food tasted good — better than any meal Harlan had eaten in weeks. When Susan returned, he asked through a mouthful of sausage, “How’s he doing?”
“He’s not talking to me. Won’t even look at me. I left the food for him, but I doubt he’ll eat it. Last time I saw him like this was a couple of years ago, when I first started seeing Neil. He didn’t eat properly for weeks. I ended up taking him to the doctor.”
Susan sat down opposite Harlan and sparked up a cigarette. “How about you?” he asked. “Aren’t you eating?”
She shook her head. “I can’t stomach anything. Every time I think about Ethan, about where he might be, about what might’ve happened to him, it makes me want to puke.”
Harlan finished his meal quickly, feeling Susan’s eyes on him the whole time. “You’re a good eater,” she said, reaching for his empty plate. “Rob was a good eater too. I used to love watching him eat.”
Harlan winced internally.
“Neil eats like a bird. It drives me mad watching him peck at his food.” Susan dumped the plate in the sink and scrubbed it clean.
Noticing that she spoke about Neil in the present tense, Harlan asked, “Is it over between you two?”
“He lied to me. I can’t be with someone who lies to me.” Susan spoke with decisive quickness, but there was a quiver of uncertainty in her voice.
“Everyone lies sometimes.”
“Yeah, sure, about small things. But not about things like that at a time like this.”
“He was afraid of losing you.”
Susan turned to Harlan, frowning. “What are you saying? That I should get back with him?” That same little quiver was in her voice.
Harlan no longer had any suspicions about Neil. And looking into Susan’s sunken eyes, he could see she was desperately hoping he’d say yes. But he couldn’t bring himself to. The thought came to him that she deserved better than Neil. She deserved someone who could give her a future free from debt and worries about bailiffs coming knocking, a future where she wasn’t always just scraping by.
Another thought rose to his mind: and who’s going to give her that, you?
Maybe, he replied to it.
And are you going to hold her through the night when all she can see is Ethan’s face? Are you going to be a father to Kane?
Harlan didn’t need to think about the answers to those questions. He could never be there for them in that way, even if by some incredible stretch of improbability they’d have him. He thought back to when Tom was born. Eve had given up work. They’d just scraped by on his salary, but they were happy — happier, perhaps, than at any other time in their lives. He sighed. Maybe Neil was the right man for Susan. But then, who was he to say one way or the other? He gave a weak little shrug, dropping his eyes to his mug.
Susan flinched at a knock on the front door. “Will you go see who it is? Don’t open the door. Just have a peep through the curtains.”
Harlan crept into the living-room and did as she asked. It was Lewis Gunn. He returned to the kitchen and told Susan. The knock came again. She made no move to answer it. After a moment, she said, “Go see if he’s gone.”
Again, Harlan peeped through the curtains. The preacher was walking away. “He’s gone.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Pulling out another cigarette, Susan added a touch guiltily, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything Mr Gunn’s done, but…the thing is, I’m sick of listening to all his God bullshit. I keep wanting to say to him, what kind of fucking God would let this happen? How am I supposed to believe in a God like that?”
“I remember thinking the same thing when Tom died.” The words were out before Harlan realised it. Straight away, he wished he hadn’t said them. He’d never really spoken about Tom’s death with anyone other than Eve. Not even Jim. Like Kane’s anger, his grief possessed him, and he possessed it. Part of him wanted — was desperate — to let go of it, but another part of him recoiled from anything that might cause him to do so.
“Who’s Tom?”
“He was my son.”
“What happened?” Seeing the pained look that passed over Harlan’s face, Susan added, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Harlan was silent a moment, then, almost whispering, as if he didn’t want to hear his own voice, he told Susan what’d happened. When he finished, he saw that she was looking at him with a new understanding on her ravaged face, as if what he’d said had completed a puzzle she’d been struggling to solve. “So you know how I feel,” she said with a softness he hadn’t heard before.
“I know how it feels to lose a child. I don’t know how you feel, and I never want to find out.” Exhausted, more from talking about Tom than from his wound, Harlan lowered himself onto the sofa. “Do you mind if I close my eyes for a while?”
“Go ahead.”
Harlan slipped into an uneasy doze. He lay half-sleeping, half waking, drifting in and out of dreams he didn’t want to remember, thinking thoughts he didn’t want to think, cracking his eyelids every few minutes to check his phone. And with every time he saw that there were still no missed calls or new messages, a heaviness grew in his chest, until it seemed as if a concrete block was resting on it. The fingers of sunlight probing the curtains had been replaced by the cindery glow of streetlamps, when Susan’s raised voice brought him to full wakefulness. “How did you get this number?” she was saying. “No, I’m not fuckin’ interested…I don’t give a shit…Don’t fuckin’ ring here again.” She stamped into the living-room and slammed the phone back into its cradle. “Fucking bastard journalists,” she said to Harlan, her voice taking on that same edge of hysteria as earlier. “I’m going out of my fuckin’ head waiting to hear if my little boy’s dead or alive, and they’re calling me up for a fuckin’ quote.” She took out a cigarette and lighter. When the lighter wouldn’t ignite, she yelled, “Fuck,” and flung it across the room.
Harlan retrieved the lighter, shook it and got the flame going. He held it out to Susan, and she sucked her cigarette into life. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little calmer. As she smoked, Harlan took his next round of pills. Susan switched the telly on. The evening news was just beginning. Like a child watching a horror movie, she put her hand to her face and peered through her fingers. There was nothing new reported — the police were still searching the woods, still questioning an unnamed man. Susan switched the telly off and flung the remote aside. “Christ!” she groaned, her voice raw with emotion. “How much longer? How much longer?”
Not much longer, thought Harlan, not if they’re going to find Ethan alive.
Susan pressed her hands to her head as if to keep it from bursting. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“You can take it,” Harlan said evenly. “You can take it because Kane needs you.”
Susan took a breath and took hold of herself. She lit another cigarette, leaning back against the armchair, inhaling deeply. “Will you stay here tonight? I don’t want to be alone if…if they find anything.”
Harlan nodded.
“I’ll make you up a bed on the floor.”
“The sofa will do me fine”
“No it won’t. Not the state you’re in. There’s a fold-down mattress-” Susan broke off at a knock on the door, her eyes twitching with nerves. “Who the fuck’s that now?” she hissed in a low voice.
The knock came again. It wasn’t like Lewis Gunn’s knock, it was loud and insistent. This time Neil’s voice accompanied it. “Susan it’s me,” he shouted. “I need to speak to you. Please let me in. I’m begging you. I just want a chance to explain everything.”
Susan looked from the door to Harlan, as if seeking his permission to open it. He said nothing.
“Please, Susan, please,” continued Neil. “I love you, and I love the kids. I’d never hurt any of you. You’ve got to believe me.”
Susan rose to her feet, mouth working in mute uncertainty.
“I’m so sorry, Susan.” There were tears in Neil’s voice now. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me. Please give me another chance.”
She approached the door, put her hand on the handle, but didn’t lower it.
“I won’t give up on us. You’re my life, Susan. I’d rather die than lose you. Do you hear me?”
Susan pressed her forehead against the door, eyes closed.
“I’d rather die, I’d rather die.” Neil’s words came in a sobbing murmur. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of a car door clunking shut. Peering between the curtains, Harlan saw that Neil had got into his Volvo. The car began to pull away. Suddenly, Susan came to life, unlocking and opening the door, rushing out into the street. “Wait,” she called, but the car didn’t stop.
She came back into the house, looking tentatively at Harlan. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think it’s none of my business to say what I think,” he replied, returning to the sofa.
“Christ, I hope he doesn’t do anything silly.” Susan sat down, but couldn’t keep still. “I want a drink. Do you want one?”
“I probably shouldn’t, not with all the pills I’m on,” said Harlan, but it wasn’t the thought of the pills that made him hesitant, it was the memory of what’d happened the last time he’d drunk around Susan.
“One won’t do you any harm. Come on, don’t make me drink alone.”
Harlan sighed. “Alright, just one.”
“Is white wine okay with you?” Before Harlan could reply, she added, “It’ll have to be because that’s all there is.”
Harlan shuddered involuntarily as, in a flash of remembrance, Robert Reeds words came back to him, I’ll have a lager, she’ll have a large white wine. Susan fetched two glasses of wine. The smell alone nauseated him, but he forced himself to swallow a mouthful. Susan drank quietly, her brow creased, seemingly grappling with some internal debate. Suddenly, as if she’d come to some decision, she gulped her glass empty, stood and returned the kitchen. There was the sound of glass clinking against glass as she poured herself a refill. Followed by the sound of tears bursting from her. Each low, racking sob jerked at Harlan’s heart. He considered going to her, but quickly decided against it. What would he do if he did? Hold her to him? Murmur reassurances into her ear? No. Those were things he couldn’t do. After several minutes, she stopped crying with a hitching breath. She returned to the living-room, her eyes dry, but red-rimmed and puffy. “Sorry,” she said.
Harlan shook his head to indicate there was no need to be. They sat in silence, cradling their drinks. “Jesus,” Susan sighed, after a while. “How did my life get here?”
How did my life get here? Harlan asked himself that same question almost every day. He’d had so many plans, so many things he was going to do with Eve and Tom. And now what did he have? Sweet-fuck-all, that’s what. For years he’d railed at the unfairness of life. And where had it got him? Here, that’s where. Here in this room, stuck up to his neck in a quicksand of guilt, where the more he struggled, the deeper he sank. So what was the answer? To just accept whatever life threw his way? The idea appalled him. Maybe there was no answer. Perhaps suffering was all there was left to life. Perhaps that was all there’d ever really been, even when he thought he was happy.
Susan finished her drink and stood up. “I’ll fetch your bed.” She headed upstairs, returning a few minutes later with the mattress and an armful of bedding. She cleared a space on the floor and began to make up the bed.
“Where’s your toilet?”
“Upstairs. First door on your left.”
Harlan slowly climbed the stairs, his stitches pulling with each step. As he reached the landing, a door to his right opened and Kane stepped out. He glared at Harlan a moment, his eyes like storm-clouds ready to burst. Then he jerked around and headed back into his room, slamming the door. Sighing, Harlan went into the bathroom. After emptying his bladder, he swilled the taste of the wine from his mouth at the sink. He opened the bathroom cabinet — deodorant, perfume, tooth-floss, Savlon, Valium. His gaze lingered briefly on the sleeping-pills, before he returned to the living-room. The bed was ready and waiting. Susan was sat at the kitchen table, refilling her glass. “Did you see Kane?” she asked.
Harlan nodded.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing. Just went back to his room.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? I mean, at least he didn’t take a swing at you or anything.”
Harlan made a dubious little noise in his throat. He still had some faint bruises on his arms from the baseball bat attack. From the look in Kane’s eyes, Harlan suspected it was only a matter of time before he attempted a repeat performance. He yawned. The bed called to his tired body, but he hesitated to go to it, wondering if it was safe to leave Susan alone with her thoughts, the wine and the Valium. A thin smile curled the edges of her mouth. “Got to bed, and don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything crazy,” she said, reading his mind.
“Goodnight.”
“Night. Call me if you need anything.”
Harlan undressed stiffly and got under the duvet. He thought about the violence he’d seen lurking just under the surface of the Kane’s eyes. It worried him. But not enough to keep him awake. Not the way he felt. His eyelids came together like heavy curtains, snuffing out his consciousness.
Something pried its way into Harlan’s mind — not a sound, but a feeling, a presence in the room. For a moment, he struggled against the glue of drug-aided sleep. His eyes rolled, his hands twitched across the duvet towards his face. The outline of a figure, faintly luminescent in the glow of the streetlamp, swam into focus. “Susan,” he said, slurring the word. But something — some crawling feeling of danger — told him it wasn’t her. He rubbed the blur from his eyes, revealing Kane. The deep, black pools of the boy’s eyes stared back at Harlan from the end of the bed. Tears glistened on his cheeks, but he made no sound of crying. His arms hung rigidly at his sides. Something he held in one hand caught the light. A blade! Harlan’s heart began to throb. He pushed up onto his elbows, grimacing as his stomach flexed. Kane moved the knife threateningly. Harlan dropped back onto the pillows. The knife returned to Kane’s side.
For maybe thirty seconds, they faced each other silently. Harlan’s heart slowed to a steady thud. His voice was calm and clear, as he said, “Kill me. I won’t stop you. Go ahead, if that’s what you want. If you want to become like me.” He closed his eyes. He could hear the boy’s breathing, shallow and rapid. His own breath came slow and easy. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Kane had it in him to kill — he knew he did. Nor was it that he wanted to die. His desire to live, he realised suddenly, was stronger than it had been in years, maybe since Tom’s death. He merely felt that he owed Kane a chance to avenge his father’s death. And if he didn’t take it, if his anger and hatred didn’t consume him, then maybe their flame would begin to burn less fiercely.
Another thirty seconds passed. A minute. Two minutes. Harlan became aware that he couldn’t hear Kane’s breathing anymore. He opened his eyes. The boy was gone, like a ghost in a dream. A queasy, unreal feeling struck at him, as if maybe he was dreaming. But then he heard the creak of floorboards upstairs, and the feeling receded. Releasing a long breath, he let the curtains of sleep close over his eyes again.