Chapter Twenty-Three
Gordon did not take precautions the next morning. He merely walked to the front door and left 53 East Street forever. No one was going to chase after him, because no one wanted him – not really. He was alone, an object of utter contempt, a thing to be mocked and despised. There was only one possible escape, and Gordon had to concede that he was probably as stupid as everyone said not to have seen it beforehand.
He avoided the school. Home aside it was the place where he had suffered the most. Instead he headed for the park, remembering that first invitation to Bradley to visit his ‘secret place’. It had all been part of a well-rehearsed routine to lure Bradley into his father’s trap. And as his father had told Gordon so often he really did not need to try very hard to wind people up. He was bait, whilst the great white shark was circling out of sight. It had been different this time, though; maybe because he had things in common with Brad beyond a uniform and a favourite crisp flavour. He thought about his absent mother and the look on Bradley’s face whenever he talked about his. Those were the ties that bound a true friendship, he decided.
The sun came out around noon, its warmth quickly filtering through his threadbare clothing. Several adults frowned his way, but none could be bothered to challenge him over what he was doing out of school. A fresh, light wind ruffled his hair like an avuncular hand. At lunchtime he took the twenty pound note he had stolen from his father’s wallet after breakfast and spent the lot on cakes, milkshake and a length of washing line.
By three o’clock it was clouding over again, but at least the rain held off. He went back to the park, and fed the birds with what was left of his cake. He sat on a swing for nearly an hour, staring into space, and then popped into the gents for a piss. In the doorway he looked out across the grass and pictured his first real friend jogging towards him on that wonderful afternoon.
Five minutes before the end of school time Gordon set out on his final journey.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bradley was never going into school that day, any more than his father could have gone to work. If he had, he would not have expected to see Gordon there anyway. He’d read Mum’s letters now over and over. There were no great secrets; nothing specifically for Bradley to be angry at Dad for beyond the fact of concealment itself. Indeed, the letters were curiously upbeat and optimistic, as if his mum were trying to convince him that she really was just taking a short break at her sister’s. He tried to feel positive, too, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how Gordon’s mother had drifted away to start a new life without him, despite her best intentions. Gordon’s dad was different from his, mind – fundamentally different.
Of course he was hurt by what his father had done – and guessed that he might be a lot angrier later on as it sank in properly – but there was still an overwhelming sense of relief in the confirmation that his mother was all right. But there were other people involved now. He thought about Gordon (kept thinking about him again and again) and how he would react when he saw him after half-term. ‘Awkward’ did not do that scenario justice. They could never speak again; probably not even make eye contact. Bradley remembered his initial dislike of Gordon and wondered how such strong feelings could evaporate almost overnight.
Dad was out. Firstly to contact Auntie Roz in Islington, and secondly, he said, to kick start collecting the money for Moore on Friday - Moore had sent another text from Bradley’s stolen mobile. Dad promised not to be too long. Bradley noted how composed he seemed, how determined. Ten grand was one serious payout, especially now the extra blackmail leverage in the summerhouse could be discounted. Why didn’t he call his bluff? Dad’s resolve – almost enthusiasm - to pay up in full could only be based on the threat of greater violence, surely. At least now they were batting together on the same side. Tears stung his eyes at the thought that he’d only recently relished the prospect of joining forces with his father’s adversary.
Dad had promised to drive him to see Mum tonight if he could arrange it, though that seemed a tad over-confident in Bradley’s eyes. Still, he felt a lot more optimistic about the future – or at least he would from Saturday onwards. Dad was really trying hard to make everything all right; but maybe trying too hard explained why he had held onto Mum’s letters in the first place. Suddenly the prospect of entering the adult world one day soon seemed like the scariest thing of all; governed as it was by a set of rules that made no sense whatsoever.
One day in the months to come some other family man would get a nasty surprise, in a dark alley or a car park. Gordon would ‘befriend’ some disaffected kid and help draw that person’s family into a well-practiced scam. Had Gordon really been totally innocent throughout their ordeal? From what he’d seen of Mr. Moore it seemed likely that Gordon was pretty powerless to do anything but exactly what he was told. Bradley hoped he would one day forgive him for the terrible things he had said and done – although whether he could forgive himself was another matter. Maybe under different circumstances they might have become genuine friends; although that coin collecting lark was a non-starter, he smiled to himself.
The front door slammed and in swept Dad, looking healthier and happier than he had in ages. He slapped his hands together and almost shouted, ‘All done!’ Chris’ smile faltered momentarily. ‘She’ll only see you, though. I’ll have to wait outside in the car.’
‘Because of the letters, right?’
Chris tried to force a smile, just like Gordon did when he was cornered.
‘Did you get his money?’
Chris’ ebullience returned and he patted the inside pocket of his jacket, though it seemed hard to imagine how all that money could have fitted in such a small space. ‘Down to the last centime,’ he grinned.
Bradley stayed silent. There was something unsettling about Dad’s upturn in mood.
Chris bent down to the coffee table where Mum’s letters lay scattered and stacked them neatly. ‘Actually, let’s get lunch out somewhere,’ he said, ‘treat ourselves.’
‘Can we afford it?’
‘Don’t look so worried, Brad,’ Chris laughed. ‘I swear I won’t make you eat vegetables!’
His dad was far too happy, elated almost. There was a lot of making up to do between father and son, Mum was refusing to see him, he seemed to have aged ten years in as many days, and he would be ten grand worse off by the weekend – and yet...
If he’s lied to you once…
‘And don’t worry about school tomorrow. We’re staying away tonight. I’ve organised a surprise,’ his father laughed.
But hadn’t they had enough of those recently? Bradley stared at the letters, letters that had been within reach through every sleepless night. He looked back up at his father, and forced himself not to see anything wrong. ‘I’ll get my coat.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
An hour earlier Chris had stood outside the station, cursing his former pride and indecisiveness. If he’d taken this step earlier it would have saved everyone so much suffering. If he knew anything for certain it was that the blackmail would not stop at ten grand. And even if it did the scam had to be stopped. Because one day he’s going to kill someone.
Marching through the foyer Chris headed for the part of the bus station undergoing renovation, the part that specifically told him to keep out. But there was no one around to challenge him. He saw Max straight away and they wound their way together through hardboard corridors and scaffolding. Max even gave him a fluorescent jacket and a hard hat. Finally they came to an open patch of ground with a portakabin on it; inside Terry and Mick were waiting.
‘We could end up inside if this goes wrong,’ Terry frowned. ‘Are you sure there’s no other way?’
Chris was too tired to argue, but he owed them some sort of explanation. ‘I’m way out of my depth. The guy’s a psycho. I think he actually enjoys it when I fight back.’
‘Has he threatened Bradley?’ Max asked. Chris could only shake his head, with a dozen golf balls in
his throat. ‘But he will, right?’ Chris nodded.
‘Where and when?’ asked Terry.
Chris gave them directions to the meeting place by the railway line, told them when he was expected; and it was that simple. Now it would be Chris that had something on Moore, the threat of anonymous muscle should he ever bother the Haynes again. As for Bradley, he hated replacing one secret with another, but his priority was to protect him. He looked at the three men before him, their broad shoulders and tattoos, and felt suddenly sick, as he always did around violence.
‘Don’t worry, we won’t break anything,’ Max said, punching him on the shoulder. Even after all these years Max was the sort of older brother who he liked to remind Chris of who got their head out first.
‘Yer,’ joked Terry. ‘We’ll just bend him a bit.’
Tiredness soaked through into his bones like flu. He found himself a café for tea and a toasty, and phoned his sister-in-law whilst he ate. In spite of everything a smirk crept into the corners of his mouth at the thought of Moore being ‘bent’ where no one could hear him scream. All that remained was for Chris to go home and give Bradley the good news – or at least the gist of it – jump in the car and drive away.
The end was in sight.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The back gate was locked, so he had to climb it. There was a lot of pain in his chest still, just under his armpit, but he struggled over; then ghosted across the lawn, looking up briefly at the house – had Brad got back from school yet? - and pulled open the summerhouse door. Familiar smells brought back memories of his previous visit with Bradley, though he preferred to think of their underlying friendship rather than the circumstances that threatened to spoil it. Even brothers had fights.
He closed the door behind him, his resolve unshaken. Inside there was still plenty of light to see the single wooden cross beam in the roof. From his torn rucksack he removed the length of clothesline and ran one end under his nose, smelling its freshness. Outside the sun was kissing the roofs of nearby houses, and unhurried shadows reached out across the grass. Using an old garden chair, Gordon fed the clothesline over the beam and tied a noose as he’d seen demonstrated on the internet. He’d been practicing in the park and got it right first time. He tied the line off tightly and standing in the dusty half-light, pulled the noose over his head and tightened it at the base of his neck.
The advice from one website flittered through his mind: No need to leave a note. If anyone wanted to read it you wouldn’t be doing this, would you? Gordon stared down at the floorboards below, his balance on the garden chair already precarious. With a smile he remembered the trust Brad had shown by bringing him in here, an act of true comradeship surely. You want to see the scene of the crime, don’t you? Maybe this way Brad would never be able to think of his mother without thinking of Gordon too; the two most important people in his life resting at peace together. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and smiled. That was what made his plan so perfect.
He wobbled on the chair, ready to surrender his equilibrium. His knees were very weak, his thighs hot and aching. The rope tightened and there was a squeezing sensation at the back of his head. He was halfway there already. There would be no need to jump or kick the chair away. All he needed to do was let go… Everything started to go red and he felt himself rising upward through the roof. It was always going to end here, Bradley had said, as if he had known all along that this was how he and Gordon would be bound together forever.
Two new shadows spilled out across the lawn near the house, one longer than the other. Gordon could see them from far above the garden, it seemed. His heart beat harder. A boy and a man; the latter with his right arm draped protectively across the other’s shoulder. They looked relaxed, happy even. The man said something, and the boy looked up and laughed. Gordon felt happy, too. His forehead throbbed, thick with pain.
Gordon continued to rise, higher and higher, his fear running through his feet like an evening shower, a snakelike grip around his windpipe. He wouldn’t have long to wait for what he wanted – no, for what he deserved.
He opened his eyes, the dusty interior of the summerhouse swimming back into focus. Panic roused him from his torpor like a bucket of cold water thrown into his face. The panic intensified, a hot gushing tap dropping into his screaming mouth. He stared at the chair beneath his feet and then back outside at the silent, empty lawn. You’re alone and no one’s coming… he heard his father hiss. No one really wants you, remember?
The snake coiled itself a little tighter around his throat. He didn’t want to die, not here, not now. Brad wasn’t much of a friend by normal standards, but he was still the best friend Gordon had had by miles. And those things they had in common made them almost like brothers; soul mates even. This didn’t need to be the end at all, he realised, but a new beginning.
Gordon reached up to the knot behind his head but it had shortened by several inches. It was hard to breath and his legs felt like they were shrinking by the second. Every movement threatened to tighten the noose. He looked over at the house again; the empty house. Bradley wasn’t in, of course. So where was he? Gordon’s bag lay at the periphery of his vision. Inside was his mobile phone. But didn’t his dad still have Bradley’s mobile anyway? Not for first time Gordon was trapped.
But Bradley would come back – within the hour or maybe longer - just as he always had. A great serenity overtook him. It was all still a waiting game: waiting for Dad to stop and Mum to come home, and now this, the latest Chapter. Why had he supposed it would be any different? Soon the light would fade away and Gordon would have to stay here, teetering in the dark, for as long as it took. But he wasn’t afraid. He had been through much worse and with no new hope to sustain him – until now.
He forced himself to remember the adventures he and Brad had been through already, with the promise of more to come. And with these memories the calmness settled into his shaking body and softened his thumping heart. He could wait all night if he had to.
A best friend never let you down.
THE END
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About the Author
Gary Kittle has written a dozen screenplays for short films, a full length stage play performed in London to critical acclaim, as well as countless short stories and flash fiction. He is also a member of the DT Film Productions team, whose work has already enjoyed nearly 54 million views on YouTube. Twice shortlisted for the Essex Book Festival Short Story Competition, he lives in Essex with his family and pets.
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