Stone Cold Red Hot - страница 26
I had done a little bit of work that morning. I watched the video – it was blurry at times and the light wasn’t brilliant but it was adequate in terms of seeing what was actually going on. The sound was muffled, I might need to tell people what the youths had been shouting, but even without the words the pictures said it all. Reviewing the behaviour of the gang made me tense with anger again. The cruelty of their taunts and the ugliness of their behaviour revolted me. I tried to work out how they must feel about themselves to be so ready to attack others?
I dispatched a courier with the videotape for Mandy Bellows. I included a note asking her to let me know as soon as possible whether the tape was all they needed. I could then return the camcorder.
I also checked the e-mail for answers from potential Jennifer Pickerings; everyone I’d contacted had replied and none of them was the right person. The woman in Scarborough even referred to the fact that she’d been contacted before, by a member of the family. Roger, I presumed. Of course he’d have checked for her online – it was his field of work but I consoled myself that at least I was being thorough.
On the Saturday night it was dry enough to have a bonfire and burn the debris from the garden along with some scraps of wood from the cellar that Ray had no use for. There was also an old wooden cupboard, riddled with woodworm, that had been rotting in the shed. The kids took great delight in helping to break it up.
There’s an old paved area at the bottom of the garden, in one corner. I’m not sure why it was laid there as it’s no suntrap but it works fine for the children to ride bikes on and it’s ideal for bonfires. I used a couple of rows of broken flagstones to form a small circular fireplace and then I built a pyramid of scrunched up paper, kindling and sticks. I lit the fire. It was smoky at first until it burnt off the moisture then the twigs crackled and hissed and I gradually added larger pieces of wood.
I called Ray and Laura and they brought out the food; baked potatoes with cheese and tomato sauce and sticks of carrot and celery to crunch on. Maddie and Tom drank dandelion and burdock, the rest of us had some bottled beer that Laura had contributed.
“When’s bonfire night?” asked Maddie.
“A while yet,” I said.
“How many weeks?”
“Can we have fireworks,” said Tom, “very, very loud ones?”
“I hate loud ones. We should just have sparklers. Is it next week?”
“No, about six weeks.”
“That’s ages,” she complained.
“Look in the fire,” I said, “what shapes can you see?”
The chunks of wood were burning slowly, revealing their intricate grid design, charring into little squares, echoing the structure of bark. The patterns always reminded me of the fine network of lines on our skin, too.
“A witches face,” said Maddie, and a little house. There,” she pointed.
“I can see a dog being sick,” Tom boasted.
“You’re sick,” said Maddie.
“And a willy,” he found this absolutely hilarious and nearly choked on his dandelion and burdock.
We let the children carefully add wood to the fire, warning them not to throw anything on which could knock it all down and put out the flames.
Laura and Ray sat close and every so often Tom would launch himself onto Ray’s knee and wriggle off after he’d got a bit of attention.
“We used to have huge bonfires at home,” said Laura to Tom, “so big the men had to climb up ladders to put the guy on top.”
“Where was it?” I asked. I knew she’d been raised in the country and she still had a soft burr to her voice not common in Manchester.
“Lincolnshire,” she said, “middle of nowhere.”
“They’re all inbred like mad,” Ray joshed.
She punched him on the arm.
“Did you live on a farm?”
“No, my Dad worked on a farm nearby but we didn’t live there, we had a house in the village.”
“Did you have to go to school?” asked Maddie.
“Yes, and do you know how many children there were in my school?”
“How many?” Maddie’s eyes danced.
“How many?” echoed Tom.
“Twelve.”
“Twelve!” I couldn’t imagine it.
Laura shivered.
“You cold?” Ray asked her.