The Dead of Summer. Camilla Way

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СКАЧАТЬ we had escaped Mike, and we had done it together, and I felt that it somehow meant something. That it meant I was a part of things then.

      There’s no way back to Greenwich from the Isle of Dogs other than that tunnel. It took us ages to get home. As we wandered through those wasted docklands, that no-man’s land of lonely estates and random forgotten terraces, we could see signs of the regeneration, the glory that was to come. A lone digger, a crane, an air of quiet flux and expectation. Like a battered housewife who’s suddenly been promised the stars but has been beaten down too much to believe it. Yet still an air of grudging hope. A place wanting to believe it was on the brink of something big. Like we were, like we were.

      We finally found a bus to take us home and Denis and I went over and over what had happened, laughing at our cunning and luck. We shared a fag at the back of the top deck, each taking a puff then passing it on, our feet hanging over the seats in front of us. I will always remember that bus ride, how happy I felt just to be there with them.

      Eventually Denis turned to look admiringly at Kyle. ‘I can’t believe you told Mike his dad sucks cock,’ he said, his voice hushed with awe. Kyle shrugged and looked out the window, but he definitely smiled.

      When Denis got off a couple of stops before us, he waved from the stairs and said, ‘See you later, yeh?’ and me and Kyle nodded, and said, ‘Yeh.’

      But as we made our way up Myre Street a silence fell between us. Suddenly Kyle’s face was tight and closed again, his head bent almost to his chest, and when we got to my house he barely seemed to notice when I said goodbye. I watched from my step as he walked up to his front door, saw how his scrawny shoulder blades tightened under his thin jumper. As he stood there a man with white hair appeared and after saying a few words, ushered him in, the heavy front door slamming closed behind them, the light in their hall snapping instantly off.

four

       New Cross Hospital. 4 September 1986. Transcription of interview between Dr C Barton and Anita Naidu. Police copy.

       He shut me down there with them, pulled the boards and the girders across so I couldn’t get out. I don’t know why he did that. Why would he do that? Why would he keep me down there with the other two dead? They’re saying he was a psycho, that’s what the police are all saying but he was my best friend. I sat there for hours. I had my arms wrapped around my knees and my eyes closed tight because I didn’t want to see how black it was and I didn’t want to touch anything or anything to touch me. And I didn’t know what was worse, the whole time I was down there, I couldn’t make up my mind which would be worse: being left down there, or him coming back.

      By eight o’clock the next morning I was up, dressed, and staring out the window like a dog needing a walk. Had Denis said ‘See you tomorrow’ when he got off the bus last night? Or had it just been ‘See you later’? Had he meant that he’d be seeing both of us later, or just Kyle? What if yesterday had been a one-off? Eventually I left my spot behind the front-room curtains and wandered irritably back upstairs.

      My sisters were lying in bed, chatting about the night before. Esha, a cigarette in one hand, a can of Coke in the other, was blowing smoke rings at the ceiling while Bela painted her toenails pink. They both had yesterday’s eyeliner on their cheeks and matching Care Bears on their pillows and they were deep in conversation.

      Esha was saying, ‘So then he goes to me, “Was your mum and dad retarded?”’

      Bela looked up from her foot. ‘Cheeky git! Why’d he want to know that?’

      ‘That’s what I said,’ replied Esha. ‘So he goes, “Cos, my sweetheart, there’s something really special about you!”’

      Bela cocked her head for a moment to consider this, the nail varnish brush poised in mid air. ‘Aw! So what did you say?’

      ‘I said, “In that case I’ll have a Martini and lemonade, ta very much.”’ My sisters both cackled appreciatively.

      ‘So then,’ Esha shot me a glance and lowered her voice. ‘So then he goes, “Do you want to come outside and look at my motor?” ‘

      ‘Nah!’

      ‘Yeh! So I goes, “Not bloody likely, you’re old enough to be my dad, you!”’

      ‘As if!’ agreed Bela.

      Esha stared thoughtfully at her cigarette for a moment. ‘But I did, like. In the end.’

      ‘Yeh,’ said Bela, squinting at her toes.

      ‘Well,’ said Esha. ‘He had bought me six Martinis and lemonades after all.’

      ‘Aw,’ said Bela. ‘Well, that’s nice then, innit?’

      ‘For God’s sake, Nit,’ Esha suddenly shouted. ‘Will you please just pack that in?’

      ‘Pack what in?’ I asked, continuing to bash out the ‘Match Of The Day’ theme tune on the window with a cigarette lighter.

      ‘That!’ She threw her pillow at my head and I went back downstairs.

      The possibility of seven empty weeks filled with bollocks-all to do finally forced me first onto our front step and then to the kerb outside No. 33, where I sat with my feet between two parked cars, looking down the street for Denis.

      Two hours later and I was still there. I had brought Push’s PacMan out with me and eventually became so caught up in beating his highest score that I didn’t even hear the door behind me open. I looked up to see the old man from the night before staring down at me, Kyle hovering just behind him and clearly not thrilled to see me sat there, like a fag butt in the gutter.

      ‘Hello,’ I said.

      Kyle nodded briefly. The old man was staring at me in surprise. ‘Hello, dear,’ he said. ‘Was it Kyle you were waiting for?’ His voice was gentle, a bit Scottish or something. He was buttoned up in a smart tweed jacket as if he was going somewhere special.

      I shrugged and looked at Kyle. ‘You and Denis coming out today?’

      Kyle barely glanced at me. ‘Nah,’ he said.

      ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Right.’

      I looked up at Kyle’s granddad who was smiling now like something was funny. But he had a nice face. I looked at his white, bushy brows for a bit. Finally, to fill the silence, I said, ‘I’m Anita.’

      I saw Kyle roll his eyes. The old man held out his hand. ‘Very nice to meet you, Anita. I’m Patrick.’

      ‘I live opposite,’ I muttered, jerking my head towards the other side of the road. The old man nodded and looked politely across at our tatty little house, put there to fill a hole a bomb had left once, the bins spilling beer cans and Kentucky Fried Chicken boxes onto our steps. I blushed, aware of how crappy it looked compared to theirs and the other big old-fashioned ones in the street.

      ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And were you waiting for my grandson here?’

      I looked at Kyle and said pathetically, ‘Wondered what you and Denis were doing today.’

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