Page 8 of Her Last Walk Home

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Isn’t everything?’

The lights switched to green and he turned left on the bridge, still driving slowly, trying to get his thoughts focused on what he wanted to do with her.

‘Hey, that’s my turn. Over there.’ She pointed to the right, swivelling around, but was restrained by the seat belt. She grabbed his elbow. ‘You missed the turn for my estate. Let me out.’

She really was pathetic.

He flung out his arm. His elbow caught her in the throat. She flopped forward, chin drooping onto her chest. Regaining his composure in order to navigate the large roundabout at St Declan’s Asylum, he blinked in time with the wipers, breathing in and out in the stagnant air of the car. He smelled her female scent mingling with the raindrops on her clothes, and felt a flurry of excitement in his groin.

Don’t look at her, he warned himself. Keep driving. It wasn’t that late, he thought, he might still have time to go back and get another. That cheered him up as he drove.

7

The green glare from the digital clock was imprinted in Diana’s eyes. 02:00. Where was Laura? She was really pushing it now. She tried her daughter’s phone again. The little witch had it switched off. At least her grandson was asleep. Not a peep out of him. She flung back the bedclothes and made her way down to the kitchen in darkness.

She opened the refrigerator and the light swept an arc over the floor. Grabbing a carton of milk, she let the door swing shut and was once again enveloped in the night.

By feel she got a glass and poured the milk. Thirty seconds in the microwave. Then she went back to bed. Warm milk should help her sleep. Laura was in big trouble this time. Diana sipped her milk propped up by pillows and tried to figure out exactly what she would say to her daughter when she walked through the door.

George Kenny pulled back the curtain and looked out at the rainy night. His sister, Shannon, was really getting on his nerves.He couldn’t rely on her. He glanced at the time on his phone. 02:15. And she was still out.

He let the curtain fall back in place, reprimanding himself for thinking like his mother used to sound. Three years they’d lived without her presence, and in those years he’d assumed the mantle of mother and father. Because of Shannon’s problems last year, he felt there was little he could do now. They were both adults, though she acted like a spoiled child. No point in staying awake worrying about her. She could look after herself, couldn’t she?

Tucking the phone under his pillow, he turned over and went back to sleep.

The clock ticked over to 2.30. Lottie had heard Chloe come in from work a half-hour earlier. Had she slept through Katie coming home? She’d dozed but hadn’t properly slept. The job of minding Louis meant she was on edge. He could choke on a cough in the night. His asthma was getting worse and she knew the damp house was partly to blame.

She wondered if Grace had arrived at Boyd’s. She was looking forward to having him back on the team. He’d been around at hers a good few evenings. Sergio loved Sean. Or maybe he loved the PlayStation games more. Sean loved Sergio too, so that was a positive in a world of negatives. Boyd was pushing for them all to live together and Lottie felt it wasn’t practical. She humoured him while being non-committal.

Up on her elbow, listening, she thought it would be comforting to have Boyd lying beside her. Life continuously conspired against them. Surely they were due something good soon? But her life rarely delivered what she wished for.

Another glance at the clock. ‘Where the hell are you, Katie Parker?’

8

FRIDAY

Rex didn’t want to go to school. He’d had enough of bullies. Ginger this. Ginger that. He’d even thought of dyeing his hair, but his mother threw a wobbly when he suggested it. He wanted it cut short, and she’d clipped him on the ear and said no way. He was only seven, but he knew younger kids who’d at least got a fade. It wasn’t too much to ask. His mam had even started tying up his hair at home, it was that long. He toyed with robbing her scissors and cutting it himself. But she’d kill him. The row between his mam and dad last night had been so bad that this morning he’d grabbed his school bag, fixed it to his back and crept out the front door before they were even awake.

It was still dark, not yet six, but he wasn’t scared. He was way too early for school. Maybe he could take the day off. Sneak into the cinema that was close to his estate and curl up on a soft seat at the back for the day. If he could sneak in.

A foggy mist lingered over the GAA pitch and it made him want to sit in the middle of it; to let it swallow him up. He glanced up the road at the cinema. Was it a good idea? Howwould he get in without anyone seeing him? It didn’t open until noon. That was a problem. But Rex wasn’t one to let problems stop him. Unless it was his mother laying down the law about his hair. Sure what harm could a day off do? A day without taunts.

His mind made up, he turned to his right, away from the school and town, and walked towards the cinema complex. Maybe he’d find out what it was he’d seen last night through his bedroom window.

The barrier was locked, so he hopped over the wall and moved slowly through the long grass. There were a load of shops situated around the cinema, even a coffee shop that sold smoothies. He was mentally counting the change in his pocket when his foot touched something. Making to sidestep whatever it was – probably a dead fox – he couldn’t help himself. He glanced down at it.

Two muddy feet. No shoes. A pair of jeans, wet and dirty. Further up his eyes travelled, over the bloody chest, the twisted arms, until they rested on the face. A woman. A girl maybe. It was hard to tell with only the street lights in the distance for illumination. She was so pale. And dirty. Black streaks under her eyes trailed onto her cheeks. And her lips were almost as chalky as her skin.

Afterwards, Rex would wonder why he’d been so calm. Why he hadn’t screamed and run away. Instead, his seven-year-old feet were rooted to the wet grass. He took out his phone, which he wasn’t supposed to bring to school, and switched on the torch. The scene before him was shocking. Still he remained mute, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He felt his eyes bulging from their sockets at his terrible find. He could feel them stretching the skin.

He’d seen his granddad dead in his coffin, so he knew this woman was dead. He should call the guards. But he didn’t wantto have to explain to them, to his parents, his teacher, why he was there at godawful o’clock.

He switched off the torch and sat on his school bag on the wet grass. Cocking his head to one side, he studied her broken body, and wondered who she was and how she’d ended up bloodied and dead at his feet. And then he wondered who had killed her. Would they kill him too?

9

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