Strangers

20

Scott drove into town with George. There was a police cordon around the side of the community hall. A small crowd of people had gathered there, mostly school kids, held back at a distance. Scott just kept driving and didn’t even look up. He didn’t know what had happened and he didn’t care. It was nothing to do with him and he wasn’t about to give anyone any reason to think otherwise. Sergeant Ross was in the middle of it all as usual, and he could see that fucker DI Litherland too. Scott was paranoid that one of them would see him driving past and jump to another immediate, baseless, incorrect conclusion.

He parked outside the Co-op, and it was only when he had his hand on the door to get out that he stopped and realised where he was and what he was doing. This was where that McBride bloke had worked. Did the other people who worked here know who Scott was and what he’d done? For half a second he considered starting the engine again and going somewhere else, but there wasn’t anywhere else and, anyway, why the hell should he? ‘If they’ve got a problem with what happened then I’m happy to talk about it,’ he told George who didn’t understand and who wasn’t listening anyway and who, most importantly, wouldn’t answer back. ‘I’ll happily tell them what that pervert did and why I punched his lights out. They’re wrong about me. They can all go to hell for all I care.’

He plucked his son from his booster seat, shut and locked the car, then took a trolley (he might have left this trolley here, the bloke who died) and loaded George into the seat facing him. The automatic doors opened as he approached and he disappeared inside, and for a few seconds the familiarity and normality of the bright supermarket interior came as a relief. He worked his way around the fresh produce first, shopping list in hand, remembering all the things Michelle always said whenever he came back with the wrong stuff: check the best before dates, get bananas that are still a little bit green, check all the apples for bruises, don’t automatically pick up every offer you see; that second pack of mince might look cheap, but if we’re never going to eat it you’re actually spending more money, not less… Most of the time he didn’t give a shit, couldn’t bring himself to be so bloody petty, but it was different today. ‘Can’t give Mummy or Jeremy any reason to have a go at Daddy now, can we son?’ he said. George just looked at him.

For a shitty little store in a shitty little town, the supermarket was reasonably well-stocked. He managed to get most of what they needed, placating George along the way with sweets. He was looking at coffee, trying to remember which brand he liked best, when he felt someone watching him. He looked back over his shoulder, and a woman looked down as soon as he made eye contact. He didn’t recognise her, hadn’t ever seen her before as far as he was aware, so why was she so interested in him? And she definitely was, because when he’d chosen his coffee and crossed the aisle to pick up something else, he caught her staring again. Does she just not like strangers, or is there more to it than that? Does she know what happened with the police? Did she see them taking me into the station? Does she think I’m the killer…?

George moaned, still hungry. ‘Won’t be long now, sunshine,’ Scott told him. ‘Got to get nice food in for our special guest. Can’t have precious Jeremy thinking we don’t know how to look after ourselves now can we?’

‘’kay Daddy.’

‘We’re playing happy families tonight, mate.’

‘’kay Daddy.’

Shit. There was another one watching him now. Another fucking busybody watching his every move. One of the women on the tills was giving him evils, looking down her nose at him, almost sneering. Bitch. And now another dozy fucker, a kid who could barely see out from under his bloody floppy fringe, was waiting to get past. Dumb little bastard. Scott was about to say something but he thought better of it. No point, he told himself. You’re better than all of them.

He swung the trolley around the end of another aisle and almost collided with a family coming the other way. A man and a woman, two kids. The bloke looked shifty. Dodgy hair, even dodgier dress sense. The woman was about half his age and she was looking at Scott, staring at him. What the hell was wrong with all these people? Scott felt like going home, locking the door and never coming out again. He’d make sure he’d kicked Jeremy out first, of course.

‘Hello, George,’ the woman said, taking both Scott and his son by surprise. The woman was grinning broadly at Scott. She held out her hand. He just looked at it. ‘You must be Scott,’ she said.

‘Yeah…’ he replied, unsure, and he bit his tongue before he could follow it up with and who the fuck are you?

‘I’m Jackie,’ she said, still grinning. She waited for an acknowledgement which didn’t come. ‘Michelle’s friend Jackie from playgroup?’

‘Yeah, sorry… I’m not with it today. Nice to meet you.’

‘This here’s Dez,’ she continued, and Dez grabbed Scott’s hand and shook it vigorously.

‘Good t’meet you, pal,’ he said. ‘Heard you’d had a bit of grief lately.’

Jackie shot daggers at her partner but he remained belligerent.

‘You could say that.’

‘That Graham was a freaky fucker, mind.’

‘I noticed.’

‘Dez, don’t… not here,’ Jackie said, turning to apologise to Scott. ‘I’m really sorry about him. He doesn’t think.’

‘No worries,’ Scott said. ‘He was right anyway. The bloke was a freak.’

An awkward standoff followed, both sides blocking the other’s way through. Scott wanted to go, Jackie wanted to know more about what had happened but didn’t dare ask. Dez, however, remained completely ignorant. ‘I’ll tell you sumthin’ for nothin’, mate, this town is full of bloody odduns.’

‘What?’

‘Odduns. Weirdos. Freaks.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ Jackie said, embarrassed.

‘S’true.’

‘Aye, Dezzie, but your definition of a weirdo is different to the rest of us. In your book a weirdo’s just someone who don’t do things your way, and as there ain’t no one else who does things your way, it looks like that’s all the rest of us.’

Scott managed a wry smile. He quite liked this woman. Nice face, great tits, and she seemed to talk sense. Couldn’t see what she was doing with this prick, though. George moaned again. ‘We should go,’ he said, glad of the excuse.

‘Course. Oh, how’s the kitchen coming along?’

‘What?’

‘The hole in your kitchen wall… it’s going to look lovely when you’re done.’

How the fuck does she know what’s happening in my house? ‘Not had a lot of chance to work on it this week,’ he said, swallowing down his anger. It wasn’t Jackie he was angry with, it was the others. He hated being kept in the dark and being talked about, and he’d have Michelle about it as soon as they got rid of Jeremy.

‘Course,’ Jackie said. ‘I should keep my nose out.’

‘You probably should.’

‘Let’s get on then,’ Dez said, urging Jackie forward.

‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, pushing her trolley around the end of Scott’s.

‘Aye,’ Dez added, ushering his kids away. ‘See yous around.’

Scott watched the family walk away. Fucking inbreds… Talk about strangers, are there any stranger round here than that bloke? With his eighties clothes and nineties hair, married to a woman who looked young enough to be his daughter… there was definitely something odd going on there. He was wearing a frigging Dr Who T-shirt, for fuck’s sake, and it was the old Dr Who at that. Wonder where he was the night Graham McBride died? Wonder where he was when the rest of them were killed?

Scott finished the rest of the shopping quickly, passing the family a couple more times in the next few aisles, the awkwardness increasing each time they met. He waited for an age at the one checkout which was still open. The woman who was serving barely even looked at him. Are you this rude to all your customers, or do you feel the same way about me as I do you? He loaded up his bags and pushed the trolley out to the car, keen to get out and get home until he remembered who was there.