Fragments Page 5

  The next day Charlotte makes me clean the house from top to bottom, even though it doesn’t really need it. She’s even more brittle and snappy than usual. At midday a woman arrives with various bags and she’s all smiles then. They disappear off upstairs together.

  Various cars and vans arrive and the kitchen fills up with people cooking and shouting orders to each other. Women with towering displays of fresh flowers shout, ‘’Scuse me!’ as they jostle past and arrange them on gleaming surfaces. I peek in at the dining room and see it has been laid out as if for a banquet. Ariella is chatty and hyped up and it’s hard not to let a little of the excitement rub off.

  When Charlotte emerges later, she’s had her hair done so that it swings, shiny and smooth, around her face. She’s wearing make-up that hides the purple shadows under her eyes and is dressed in a black clingy dress and shoes with killer heels.

  I say, ‘Wow, you look great,’ and she purses her scarlet-lipsticked lips in a way that’s almost threatening to be a smile.

  ‘Who’s coming?’ I say, pushing my luck. She closes up so fast I almost hear the snap.

  ‘Old school friend of my husband,’ she says tightly. ‘But he’s an important man. Just make sure you and Ariella stay out of the way.’

  I turn and make a rude face as she tip-taps out of the room.

  Ariella’s in the bath later when I hear raised voices and laughter. I go to the bathroom window, which looks out over the gravel driveway at the front of the house.

  There are three large black cars with darkened windows. Each one has the distinctive number plate of the Counterinsurgency Squads. A tremor of worry ripples through me. CATS? Why are they coming here? I have to remind myself that now Cal has gone I have no more to fear than any other citizen. They have no way of knowing I was in that Torch house.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking about the explosion again. I hope they didn’t know what was going on. That the end came quickly…

  ‘Are you crying?’

  I come back to myself. Ariella has made a beard out of bath foam. She peers at me through the bubbles.

  ‘No, course not,’ I say, with a strangled cough. ‘Come on, let’s get you dry before you end up wrinkled like an old prune.’

  Giggling, she gets up, covering most of the floor in soapy water.

  I’m combing out her damp hair when my curiosity takes over.

  ‘So who’s this special guest coming tonight, then?’ I say.

  Ariella looks sideways at me with wide eyes. ‘Daddy says he is a big cat and I asked him if he meant like a tiger. And then he laughed,’ she says, very seriously. ‘But I don’t think it’s funny because tigers eat people, don’t they, Kyla?’

  I try to give her a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, ‘he’s not a real tiger. He’s just a man. Daddy was making a joke.’ He’s a right comedian, your dad.

  Satisfied, she pops her thumb into her mouth.

  I’m thinking about this visitor. He might not be a real tiger. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.

  I do exactly what Charlotte says and keep out of the way for the evening. When Ariella is safely tucked up in bed, I scoot into the kitchen and grab some chicken from the fridge, some crisps and an apple to take up to my room. I can hear loud voices and laughter coming from the dining room. I rush past.

  Going up the stairs I glance out of the window and see two men in CATS uniform standing in front of the house. They both have assault rifles slung across their chests.

  Whoever this visitor is, he’s someone important. I stand back from the window, feeling uneasy.

  I’ve been at Craydale Farm for a couple of months now. My cheek has healed and although the bad memories still chase me, I’m getting stronger by the day. I like Ariella, even though I won’t let myself love her. But I’m not ready to move on.

  I like being under the radar.

  But what if I’ve been kidding myself that I’m safe here?

  CHAPTER 7

  electricity

  I go to bed early but can’t shut off my mind. Worries about staying here seem to roll through my head constantly. And I keep thinking about Jax and Cal.

  I keep wondering why Mick has got some CATS boss on a sleepover too. Even though I’m not wanted for anything specific, I don’t really know if I’m on any kind of security list. And, let’s face it, when I lived with Zander I spent my time taking part in robberies. Maybe my face was caught by a buzz drone.

  It’s after two a.m. when I decide I need to go and get some water. In the past I’d have thought nothing of getting it from the bathroom tap. But I’ve got fussy since I’ve been here, I guess. All the flooding has done something to the reservoirs and now they’re saying you should only drink water from certain taps, like the one in the kitchen here.

  I don’t have a dressing gown so I pull on a cardigan over my nightie and step into one of the longer skirts I’ve been given for a bit of warmth. Surely no one will be up to see my weird outfit anyway.

  I pad carefully down the stairs and stop abruptly when I see the shadow of one of the guards against the front door. He’s not moving and I wonder if he’s sleeping on his feet, like a penguin. I would have laughed at this but my teeth are chattering with nerves in the chill night air.

  The house is quiet, apart from the tick-tocking of the grandfather clock that sits at the bend in the staircase and the odd pipe banging. My own heartbeat seems loud in my ears as I push open the kitchen door and hurry over to the sink.

  The only light comes from the displays of the cooker, microwave and dishwasher. That suits me fine. I’ll grab a glass of water and leg it back to my room.

  I get a tall glass from the cupboard over the sink and fill it with water. I take a greedy gulp and then a sound behind me seems to tip it from my grasp. The glass smashes into the sink. I spin round. Mick sits at the nearest end of the table. It’s too dim to see him clearly but I can make out the shine of his eyes.

  ‘Oh dear, bit clumsy, are we? Bit of a butterfingers?’ he slurs.

  He gets up unsteadily. He’s drunk as anything and not tall, but he’s fat and much, much stronger than me. I try to sound confident.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll clear it up.’ I pick up the biggest piece of glass and stand up, ready to get the dustpan and brush from the cupboard across the way.

  He’s standing less than a metre away from me now.

  ‘You better had, hadn’t you?’ he says in a low hiss. ‘You’re an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you? We let you into our home and you think you can damage our property, is that it?’

  He moves fast, so fast I don’t get time to react. His hand is up against my throat, pushing me back against the sink. His other hand is on my leg. It’s hot, sweaty, disgusting. I can hear his rapid breathing, see the too-big pupils in his glazed eyes. ‘I expect we can work something out, though, hmm?’ he says. The smell of cigars and whiskey makes me want to gag.

  ‘Let me go,’ I say through gritted teeth.

  He leers, showing teeth stained with something. Red wine? I don’t know. It reminds me of blood.

  ‘Where would you go, little runaway Kylie?’ he says in a quiet, silky voice. ‘No one is missing you, are they? In a bit of trouble, are we? Is that why we found you, all scratched up in the barn, eh?’ His breathing has got faster now and he’s pushing the weight of his body against me. I can’t move at all. ‘We help each other out around here,’ he says now. ‘You get to stay in my house and enjoy my hospitality. My baby girl likes you. The wife likes you. Well, as much as she ever likes anyone. I like you too. All you have to do is be a bit more friendly, eh?’

  His red, sweaty face looms in close and his hand wanders up my thigh. Everything shrinks inside. Disgust crawls over my skin like biting ants and then my anger expands outwards, filling me up.

  I spit. It hits his cheek and slides down his face. There’s a hitch in time, like neither of us can believe what I just did. His eyes widen in shock. My head snaps to the side. I didn’t
even see his hand move. My hearing’s gone all muffled and funny and I’m dizzy. He grabs my throat, muttering, squeezing so I can feel myself starting to black out. His wet fish lips touch mine and sick rises inside. No. No. I won’t let this happen.

  I reach behind, fumbling for something, anything I can use to make this stop.

  They close around the heavy bottom of the broken glass. I swing it round and it catches the side of his face. A crimson gash opens like he’s been unzipped. He roars with pain and clutches his face, stepping back. His eyes bulge with hate as he swings a punch. I duck and he almost topples over.

  Got to get out of here! I shove him, hard, in the chest and he stumbles backwards, still roaring. I can feel the energy of a waking house as I run out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

  ‘What the hell is happening here?’

  The commanding voice stops me in my tracks. I turn round. A big man with glasses is tying a navy blue dressing gown around his middle. The glasses glint and I can’t see his eyes.

  Mick stumbles out of the kitchen. Blood drips from the fingers clamped to his face.

  ‘Little thief!’ he yells. ‘She’s the au pair, Alex! I caught her going through my wallet and she attacked me!’

  Two large bodies seem to appear from nowhere behind me. From the corner of my eye I see starched blue uniforms and smell the damp night air on them.

  ‘He’s a filthy liar!’ I yell. ‘He attacked me! I was defending myself!’

  ‘Why, you little . . .’ Mick lurches forward again and I know he’s going to hit me. I step backwards but feel strong hands gripping my upper arms. I cringe away from the blow, turning my face the other way. But it doesn’t come. Panic pushes my breath out in fast pants. I look back and see the other bloke has one hand lightly on Mick’s shoulder. Mick is looking at him and then back at me.

  ‘How many times have I told you,’ says the other man in an icy voice, ‘that you are to call me Alexander? We’re not students any more.’ He turns to look at Mick, who has a cringing expression on his face. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Sorry, I, um —’ says Mick but ‘Alexander’ cuts him off. ‘I think one of my men should drive you to hospital to get this . . .’ he gestures vaguely in the direction of Mick’s bleeding face, ‘stitched up.’

  Mick nods, looking as pathetic as a kicked dog. The other man turns away. ‘Now I’m going back to bed. I have an early start in the morning.’ He throws his voice to the men behind me. ‘As for that. You can lock her up. We’ll drop her off at a police station in the morning and they can deal with her.’

  Alexander starts to walk up the stairs. One of the CATS men releases my arm and moves towards Mick.

  All I can hear is the word ‘that’ in my head. Like I’m a bit of dirt that must be scraped off and disposed of quickly. The rage explodes again. Hot and clean, like a fire that will melt them all to ashes.

  Mick and the other guy disappear into the kitchen. The one holding my arm says, ‘Come on then, you,’ in a weary, disgusted tone. I feel the grip on my arm loosen for a second.

  I don’t even think. My body is pure movement. I swing my arm up at the elbow and feel a crunch as my fist makes contact with the guard’s nose. He cries out and goes to grab me but I lift my knee and ram it into his groin. He crumples like he’s been shot, groaning. I start to run down the hallway but the other guard is almost on top of me straight away. I jab at his eyes and he pulls back so that I can swing my foot round and smash it into his chest, winding him. I’m almost there . . . almost at the door. A crazy urge to laugh bubbles up inside. Freedom!

  And then pain shrieks through every part of my body, fizzing, frying me with hot agony. Crying out, I fall onto the ground and huddle into a ball. Another wave slams into me. I bare my teeth like an animal and the warmth around my legs tells me I’ve wet myself.

  ‘That’s enough,’ says a voice somewhere distant. ‘You’ve made your point. Throw her in the van and we’ll deal with her tomorrow.’

  I’m lifted up roughly under the arms. My head lolls. The sharp slap around my face barely registers, nor the hissed, angry words that tumble, hot, into my ear.

  ‘Little cow. There will be more of that if you try anything else.’

  They throw me into the back of a van. My head throbs in waves that seem to expand then shrink tight into a pinprick. My clothes are damp and cold and I’m suddenly ashamed about wetting myself. I pull a rough sheet of material around me and lie there, shivering. I know that I have to try to lie still. I’ll feel better if I just give it time, I tell myself.

  I’ve never been volted before. Zander had, more than once. Used to boast that they needed to use a more powerful volter on him because he was ‘resistant’ or something.

  God, I’m practically missing Zander. This is so messed up.

  Bastards . . .

  Self-pitying tears rise up inside and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  What’s going to happen to me now?

  I’m so cold. I can feel myself shuddering against the hard floor of the van. A headache rattles around my skull and my wet skirt clings to my legs, rubbing them sore. I can hear the rain outside, drumming onto the roof of the van. My wrists and legs are tied with some sort of strong, stretchy stuff. I try to bite it but it hurts my teeth. I can only move my hands and feet a little way apart. If I try to stretch the binding further, it shrinks, so I stop.

  Somehow, despite all this, I drop off to a muddled sleep.

  I’m jolted awake when the doors of the van open and daylight blasts in. I crack my swollen eyelids open. The events of the night before fill my mind and I go limp with fear.

  The rain falls warm onto me as they drag me from the van. I’m so thirsty. I never even got my glass of water last night. I let the rain run into my mouth, even though it has all sorts in it, they say. The guards from yesterday jerk me roughly as they carry me towards a massive black car. One of them whispers an obscene thing into my ear. I wince at his sour breath. He has a piece of gauze strapped across his nose and I want to laugh that someone of my size could do that to a thumping great man, but I think he’ll hit me if I do so I lower my eyes, meek as a lamb.

  Lamb of God, have mercy on us . . .

  I remember Mum saying that prayer when I was small. I believed her when she said prayers protect you.

  My bound feet drag behind me, churning up mud, and then I’m thrown into the back of the black car. A sheet of plastic has been put over the seats and as the door is closed behind me, I look around and see that man Alexander from last night, looking at me with a wrinkled nose, like I smell. I do smell.

  He turns away and looks out of the other window. The windows are tinted, so the greyness outside is deepened and intensified.

  The next thing I know, he’s holding up a phone.

  My phone. And the screen is filled with the picture of Cal.

  Oh, God . . .

  ‘Who is this?’ he snaps.

  I swallow, trying to keep my eyes completely blank.

  ‘No idea,’ I say in the boldest voice I can.

  ‘Isn’t this your device?’ he says crisply. He has a weirdly womanly mouth with a bow-shaped upper lip.

  ‘No.’

  This seems to surprise him because he pauses before speaking again. I force myself to wait.

  ‘Why was it in your possession then?’

  I roll my eyes, hoping this isn’t overdoing it. ‘Because I stole it, didn’t I?’ I say, as though he is the stupidest man alive.

  I got that phone recently. I only texted Jax from it and I never sign off texts. I didn’t use the email. There wasn’t time for anything much before my life fell apart. There’s only one photo on there. Why did I take that photo? I haven’t even been able to bring myself to look at it since then so it had no purpose. And now it might get me into even more trouble than I’m already in. Cal escaped from the Facility but he’s dead now. Still, I can’t let them know there was any connection between us.

  I risk speaking again. ‘Didn’t your
old mucker Mick tell you I was a dirty little thief? That was right after he tried to rape me. You might remember.’

  A muscle in Alexander’s cheek tightens and I’m frightened I’ve gone too far. I shrink back against the door like a kicked dog, expecting a blow.

  But the man next to me just gives a loud sigh. ‘This is a convenient place to stay sometimes,’ he says through tight lips. I notice they are completely without colour and seem to blend into his face. ‘He’s no friend of mine, whatever he thinks.’ He pauses and then his voice is sharp and full of authority again. ‘So where did you get the phone?’

  ‘I lifted it from some lad’s pocket in Sheffield. We were in a crowd. It was easy.’ I shrug, praying that I’m putting on a convincing act.

  A long silence fills the car. I can feel my heart stampeding in my chest but force myself to look into his eyes. Or, at least, where they lurk behind those glasses.

  Finally he says, ‘You’re quite something, aren’t you, young Kyla? Thief. Vicious little wildcat. A devil with the face of an angel.’

  This makes me look down at last, heat creeping up my face. Is that what I am? I don’t like that description. That’s not who I want to be.

  But he’s speaking again.

  ‘I have a proposition for you. I’m not interested in debating its pros and cons. You either take it or you don’t, I really don’t care.’ He pauses and then turns to me. His eyes behind those shiny lenses are still hard to see and I realise the glasses are tiny screens. He’s probably reading emails and surfing for holidays or something while he’s talking to me. Or arranging for some people to be arrested. Of course he is. Why would he waste time even looking at someone as worthless as me?

  ‘Do you understand?’ he says.

  I find myself nodding. He has that sort of voice. Cold and low and assuming you will do what it says, always.