Strangers

8

Scott tried to keep on the road and away from the yard as much as possible, but it was a quiet day for deliveries. As well as himself, Barry Walpole and Warren, there were two other members of staff working today, far more than was necessary. A wiry-framed man in his fifties called Alan shifted slabs, and Chez, a streak of piss and wind who could only have been in his late teens or early twenties, helped. Alan, who Scott really wasn’t sure about, seemed to have an unhealthy preoccupation with the dead girl in Ken Potter’s garden. He kept pressing Scott to talk about her, and when he didn’t oblige, Alan just made stuff up instead. It wasn’t just him, they were all seriously pissing Scott off. He was glad when lunchtime arrived, though his relief was short-lived when Barry shut the yard and disappeared off with the truck. That move in itself took him by surprise. This is the twenty-first century, he’d protested, businesses don’t shut for lunch anymore. Then Warren made a point he found difficult to counter: they’d barely had any custom all morning, what were the chances of missing someone at lunch time? The others all went home to eat leaving Scott alone, stranded.

When they returned, just after half-one, Alan had news. There were still no customers and Barry hadn’t yet come back, so Scott, Chez and Warren were a captive audience.

‘Shona McIntyre,’ he announced excitedly.

‘Who?’ Warren asked.

‘Shona McIntyre,’ he said again. ‘That’s her name.’

‘Whose name?’

‘The girl Barry and him found in Potter’s garden yesterday.’ There was something about the way Alan dismissively avoided using Scott’s name which rankled him. It was almost as if he wasn’t there.

‘Never heard of her,’ Chez said. Scott said nothing. He knew no one.

‘And?’ Warren pressed.

‘And what?’

‘That all you got?’

Alan shook his head and continued. ‘The missus says she wasn’t local.’

‘So what was she doing at Potter’s?’ Chez asked.

‘Been out hiking, apparently. She was a student, Marj reckons. It was on the local news. Involved in geography or geology, she was, sumthin’ like that.’

‘But why was she at Potter’s house?’ Scott asked, repeating Chez’s question. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Took me long enough to find that bloody place yesterday.’

‘Maybe she was lost?’

‘So did she get lost and walk there, or did Potter pick her up and take her back to his?’

‘Not sure what you’re alludin’ to,’ Alan said, his tone a little aggressive. ‘You need to be careful what you’re sayin’. Ken Potter’s a good man. I’ve known him years. He taught me and both my kids, he did, and he never did nothin’ he shouldn’t. He didn’t do nothin’ to that girl.’

Scott couldn’t help himself. The words just came out. ‘So who did then?’

They turned on him as one. ‘I reckon you’d be the best person to answer that,’ Chez said. ‘You’re the one what found her.’

‘Piss off. It had nothing to do with me. Anyway, Barry was with me. You think Barry did it?’

Alan cleared his throat. ‘Barry was with you second time,’ he said, ‘but you was on your own when you first went there. An’ you had a run in with Ken.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Scott said, his temper rising. ‘Sure, I had an argument with him, but that doesn’t mean I cut up that girl and left her in his back garden, does it? What do you think I am, some kind of madman?’

‘I don’t know what you are,’ Alan said. ‘I don’t even know who you are. Now Ken Potter had his moments, but he weren’t no pervert and he weren’t no murderer. We’ve all known him for years. You ain’t even been here a week.’

‘I didn’t say he was a murderer or a pervert, I just said I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.’

Alan walked up to Scott, his body language suddenly hostile. ‘Fact is, mate, you need to be careful when you’re throwin’ accusations around in a small place like Thussock, ’specially if they’re as serious as the things you’re sayin’. I don’t know what happened at Ken’s house or why that girl was there. It’s my thinkin’ someone did her in and dumped her body, then Ken found her and panicked. Ken can be a bit of an arse at times, but he’s no killer.’

‘How do you know?’

‘What?’

‘I mean, how much do you really know about each other? You’re quick enough to say how little you know about me, but what about you lot? Chez, do you know what drives Alan wild in bed?’

‘Fuck off. What d’you think I am, a fucking perv?’

‘That’s my bloody point. You just don’t know. We all think we know other people, but you never do really, do you? For all you know, Ken Potter might really get off on slicing up young girl’s fannies. Whatever floats your boat, eh?’

Alan was about to say something, but he didn’t get a chance. Barry Walpole came at Scott from out of nowhere, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and slamming him against the side of the caravan which rocked precariously on its piles of bricks. Scott tried to fight him off, but Barry had surprise and weight on his side. ‘Watch what you’re sayin’ you little bastard,’ he hissed.

‘I’m sorry, Barry. I didn’t mean—’

‘Watch what you’re sayin’, and watch who you’re sayin’ it to, right? This place isn’t like where you’re from. Folks here are less forgivin’, understand?’

‘I understand.’

Barry let him go and staggered back. Scott massaged his throat and chest.

‘To be fair,’ Chez said, doing what he could to calm the suddenly volatile atmosphere, ‘I don’t think he meant nothin’ by it. He just… Barry? Barry, mate, you all right?’

The men crowded around their boss at first, then they backed away. He wiped his eyes. He was crying.

‘S’matter, Barry?’ Alan asked cautiously.

‘Looks like you was right, anyway,’ Barry said, looking straight at Scott.

‘What do you mean?’

Barry composed himself. His anger faded slightly. He looked pained… devastated. ‘They found him.’

‘Found who?’ Warren asked, though he thought he already knew.

‘Ken.’

‘Where?’

Barry paused again. Took deep breaths. ‘He’s dead. Sam Adamson’s kids found him on the train track north of Thussock. Silly bastard killed himself.’

‘Can’t believe it…’ Alan mumbled.

‘Nor me, Al,’ Barry said, the emotion draining from his voice. ‘I don’t know what was goin’ through Ken’s head to make him do what he just did, but I’ll still stake everythin’ I have on the fact he did nothin’ to that girl.’

Scott kept his mouth shut and went back to work, knowing that whatever he said would be the wrong thing.