Split Second - страница 20

Andrew’s father found him on the stairs. ‘You need a hand with those?’

Andrew looked down, bewildered at the bags in his hands, felt the ache in his fingers and wrists, the numb pain across his back. He tried to remember what was in the luggage and where he was meant to be taking it.

‘There’s a site for Jason,’ Val said, her eyes glittering painfully, ‘on Facebook. Look.’ She pushed the laptop along the table. He turned away.

‘All his friends,’ she said, ‘and people who never even met him. Thirteen thousand already,’ she added.

Andrew stared down at the table. People jumping on the bandwagon, pseudo-grief, trite platitudes from strangers.

‘There are some lovely messages,’ Val went on, pulling the laptop back. ‘And photographs.’

The anger came without warning, a bolt of it, driving him to his feet, pushing him away from the table, roaring in his ears, drowning out the murmurs of shock and concern.

He bowled out into the conservatory and wrenched at the patio doors, locked of course. Beat at them with his fists. The garden beyond draped in snow, a splash of yellow on the witch-hazel, frilly flowers like shredded crêpe paper, the old stone bird table and footsteps leading to and back, the shocked flight of robins and magpies as he shook the doors.

‘Andrew.’ She was behind him, tears in her voice. Her hand on his shoulder, her head on his back. ‘We have to do this,’ she said. ‘We weren’t the only ones who loved him. And there are things we have to do: the arrangements, the funeral, work out what he’d have liked.’

What he’d have liked? Christ, the preposterous notion made him choke back a laugh. What he’d have liked! He’d have liked to live, he’d have liked to get a degree and drink too much with his mates and play the field, he’d have liked to grow up and get hitched and maybe have kids himself, see something of this world and smell the fucking daisies.

Andrew shifted, turned to her.

‘We’ll do it together,’ she said. She was always so strong, so sure. She put her hands to his face, kissed him.

Martine had information for them. The police were releasing the name of the victim – the one Jason had gone to help. Luke Murray.

Andrew felt a spike of anger, a needle inside, hot and piercing. ‘Why would they do this? Beat up this Luke and then take a knife…’ he demanded. ‘Why?’ He had to stand up. Move.

‘We don’t know,’ Martine said. ‘Once we’ve identified them-’

He spoke over her. ‘There must be a reason.’

‘Once we’ve apprehended the suspects, we might have more information.’

‘Was it a racist attack?’

‘That’s one avenue we are exploring. I understand it must be very frustrating for you both,’ Martine said.

‘It doesn’t matter why,’ Val said. ‘There probably isn’t any good reason. But they’ll pay for it.’ Her lips trembled.

Andrew’s anger drained away. He sat back down. Val took his hand. As Martine talked about the investigation and how it was going, Andrew was back in the garden, his feet cold and wet on the snow, seeing the lurid stain against the white, the ruin of Luke Murray’s face, watching Jason screaming for him to call the ambulance, seeing the smallest boy flailing and then running to the gate, his accomplices, their faces contorted as they screamed. He felt his throat spasm, mouth water, then a convulsion in his abdomen. He made it to the downstairs toilet and puked until he was spent. He gazed bleary-eyed at the face in the mirror, wiped the string of drool from his chin, his fingers white and bloodless. There was something odd; he stared, puzzled over it, then realized that he hadn’t shaved, his face was shadowed with thick stubble.

Someone came to find him eventually, someone always came after him even though he wanted to be left alone.

Their house was pictured on the news again, police tape fluttering in the slight breeze, which snatched the lightest dusting of snow and blew it round in a fine spiral. Outside their fence, bouquets of flowers and cards and candles. The photograph of Jason, and then two images of Luke Murray. The second one showing his horrific injuries. Val murmured in shock and Andrew groaned. The bare facts of the case were narrated, then the man leading the inquiry appealed for information.