Devil You Know Page 7

  Lucie was at the park as I walked home. Looking lost, swinging her legs. It was almost dark.

  “Shouldn’t you be home?” I asked her.

  She checked her watch. “Shouldn’t you?”

  I never quite got an answer from Lucie.

  “Police were at my place,” she said.

  “At your house?”

  She shook her head; a clasp fell from her hair. “Not mine, but along our balcony. You could hardly miss them, clomping about with their big feet. They’re checking up on everybody.”

  “Not me, or you,” I said quickly.

  “Bide your time,” Lucie said. “You don’t think you weren’t spotted? Caught on camera?”

  And I remembered again the old man on the television. Shook the thought of him away.

  “Spotted doing what?” I asked her. “I haven’t done anything.”

  She shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “I do say so.”

  “My mum says I shouldn’t talk to you. She says you’re trouble.”

  “Me?” I said. “I’ve never even met your mum. What makes her think I’m trouble? What have you been telling her?”

  She didn’t answer that. Instead she said. “You’re not bad when you’re like this.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  She waved her hands around as if she was trying to snatch the right words out of the air. “On your own,” she said at last.

  “You think maybe some people are a bad influence on me?” She was meaning Baz, of course. I knew she was.

  “Maybe you’re the one,” Lucie said, “who’s a bad influence on other people.”

  I kicked at stones as I walked away from her. Sometimes Lucie said things that made me think. This was one of those times. Lucie bothered me. More than I would ever admit to anyone.

  Twenty-Three

  Over those days after the fire, the estate teemed with police. They seemed to be everywhere. Some of the older boys were taken in for questioning. I kept wondering if Al Butler was too. Maybe they had him in custody already. Then I would start to worry about what he might tell them about us. But no, if he told them about us, he would have to admit he was at the warehouse.

  News about the fire was constantly on television. Questions being asked. Questions answered. Each time I caught sight of a news bulletin I held my breath, waiting to see that old man’s face again, hear his words: ‘Don’t for a moment think you’re safe.’

  But he never appeared. I began to feel I had only imagined it.

  I watched a Crimewatch programme one night and CCTV images appeared, hardened criminals the whole country was looking for, menacing hooded figures with scowling faces, every one of them with a number printed underneath. Would my number come up soon?

  But there were never any images of us. We were safe.

  The days passed, the residents of the burnt-out flats were all discharged from hospital, and no one came after us. Not the police, nor that old man. In my mind he grew older. His face became more wrinkled, like a withered apple, his skin grey, his jaws slack. He was a pantomime old man, wagging his bent bony fingers at me. We had nothing to fear. We were young. We were invincible.

  “Who’s up for a day out tomorrow? Hey, it’s Saturday. We got no school to go to.” It was Baz who suggested it. “And we’ve got something to celebrate, the cops are looking everywhere… except at us. We weren’t caught. What did I tell you?”

  Hadn’t I been thinking the same thing? “Yeah, come on, one day out for the boys. All those people from the fire, they’re all out of hospital, did you hear?”

  Mickey nodded. “And they’re saying it was definitely an insurance job now. They’ve got the owner in for questioning, I heard.”

  That was news – great news – to me. “Are they really?”

  “They found traces of that lighter fluid, even the bottle it was in, so they know it was deliberate, so now it’s the owners they’re after.”

  The owners? That old man? I felt a touch of guilt about an innocent man being blamed for something he didn’t do. But I shook the thought of him away. Now there was no chance of him coming after us, was there? He would have enough to contend with convincing the police he had nothing to do with the fire, so he’d have less time to worry about us, wouldn’t he?

  “Ok, day out,” Claude said. “Where will we go?”

  “Into the city,” Gary said at once. “Where else would you go for a day out?”

  “Into Glasgow?” Mickey looked baffled, as if we had just suggested a trip to the moon.

  “You’re talking as if you’ve never been there,” Claude laughed.

  “I never have.”

  “Oh come on! You, Mickey?” Gary sounded astonished. “I mean, I can understand Logan here never having been in, but you! You’re a native Glaswegian.”

  “Well, I’ve never been into the city. Ok?”

  “It’ll be good,” I said, glad that for once I wasn’t the only one who was an outsider. “I’m dying to see it.” I felt excited at the thought.

  “Hey! We’re going to have an adventure!” Baz shouted.

  “Are you paying?” Gary asked.

  It was Baz who answered. “Me? Pay? Hey, you’re my mate, entitled to my liver and one of my kidneys, but keep your hands off my money.”

  It made us all laugh. Typical Baz.

  Mickey was a bit reluctant at first, but after a while he was up for it too. He wanted to take his perishing dog with him, but we persuaded him maybe it wasn’t a good idea. So it was decided: we would meet at the precinct next morning and head to the station and take the train into the city.

  Twenty-Four

  Baz was going to meet me at my flats first, but I waited and waited, and finally gave up on him. I didn’t want to miss the boys at the precinct. Didn’t want them going without me. So maybe I didn’t wait as long as I should have. I tried to call Baz, but his phone went straight onto voicemail. And, do you know what? I was relieved. It took me a while to realise that was how I felt. But I knew I wasn’t disappointed that he wasn’t there. And as I headed to meet the other boys at the precinct, I kept hoping that Baz wouldn’t be with them either.

  None of the others even mentioned him. I think they felt the same. I was in a great mood, didn’t want anything to spoil it. And I felt guilty even thinking this, but Baz might have spoiled things.

  We had to pass close to the burnt-out warehouse to get to the station. No way to avoid it. For the first time I could see what remained of the flats on the other side of that block, and a couple of shops too. All empty and blackened. There was one shop still open, right on the corner. I was sure this was the one owned by the Asian man I’d seen on TV. It had a sign on the door.

  BUSINESS AS USUAL

  So many people were there sweeping up, cleaning the place up, helping to move things out or carry things in, decent people, standing by a neighbour in trouble.

  The four of us went quiet as we walked past. We kept our heads down guiltily and we didn’t say a word.

  The station was busy with people. Women heading into town for shopping, families going for a day out. I liked trains. We’d come down from Aberdeen on the train, and that was an amazing journey. I was glad none of the boys had suggested taking the underground into the city. I would feel trapped in there. They all laughed at me when I told them.

  “That’s a great way to travel through Glasgow,” Gary said. “Fast and cheap. Nothing to beat it.”

  “I used to read stories about people trapped in the underground. Down in London. They would go down there during the Blitz. Sings songs to cheer themselves up while the Luftwaffe bombed their houses up top. I don’t think singing would have cheered me up.”

  “Must have been scary, but,” Mickey said. “If a bomb hit when you were down there you’d never get out. Trapped underground? My idea of hell.”

  “Mine too, Mickey,” I agreed. “If I was gonny die it would be out in the open air. Not under the ground.” I was totally creeped out by the
very thought of it.

  We were still chatting as the train pulled into Queen Street Station. It had taken us right into the centre of the city. How exciting was that! We came out into a great square, surrounded by impressive, grand-looking grey buildings. “This is George Square,” Gary told me. “This is where they filmed World War Z! Thousands of zombies in Glasgow. Have you seen it?”

  Of course we all had. That set us off running round the square snarling like the undead. Some people smiled at us, others moved away. Maybe they thought we really were zombies.

  I’d lived here for a couple of months and never once come into the city. I wanted to take one of the tour buses, but I found out that Gary knew so much about Glasgow, and not just about zombies, so who needed a bus?

  “Walking’s the best way to see anywhere in Glasgow,” he assured us.

  We couldn’t have picked a better day. The sun was shining, everyone seemed to be smiling. There was a wonderful feeling in the air. We walked down West George Street, and the first thing I spotted was a statue of some guy on a horse with a traffic cone on his head.

  “That’s Wellington,” Gary said. “They’re always trying to stop people doing that: the traffic cone gets taken off, but next day… there’s another traffic cone stuck on his head again.”

  “I hope they never stop them,” I said, because I thought it was so brilliant. “That’s just Glasgow, isn’t it?”

  “Fantastic!” Gary said, and he began to run. “Come on, let’s go to the river.”

  Twenty-Five

  So we wound our way through the pedestrian precincts and the streets, passing musicians and beggars and acrobats. We stopped a few times to watch their shows, then ran like crazy when they came round with the hat for money. Finally we came to the river. The Clyde sparkled in the sun, and the bridges spanning the river glittered like silver.

  “There’s the Squinty Bridge.”

  Gary didn’t even have to point it out, it was so plain to see. Its reflection on the river made a shape like a perfect egg.

  “It’s actually called something else.” Gary searched his memory for the name. Snapped his fingers when it came to him: “The Clyde Arc, that’s its name. But here in Glasgow we just call it the Squinty Bridge.”

  “Typical Glasgow.” I was beginning to like this Glasgow, with its sense of humour and the way they never seemed to take anything seriously. I was beginning to admire Gary even more too. This was a different side to him, a side I’d never seen before. “You really know your stuff, Gary.”

  We walked on towards the bridge. “My dad, he’s really proud of this city. He’s always taking us places, telling us stories about it.”

  I felt a sudden wave of sadness. I had once had a dad like that too. I brushed the feeling away. I didn’t want anything to spoil this day. Instead I said, “Good, you’re a perfect tour guide, then.”

  So we took the walkway along the Clyde and then headed over the bridge. Gary was a blinking encyclopedia of information. He could tell us all the horrible ways men died in the shipyards that had once been here, and the ships that had been built and launched on the river. “Glasgow is the fourth-largest city in Britain, and it used to be called ‘the Second City of the Empire’.”

  “When we had an Empire!” I laughed. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “My dad can trace our family right back to the time of William Wallace.”

  I laughed. “Aye, and they were selling dodgy goods then as well, I bet.”

  Gary looked at me, his face suddenly serious. I patted him on the back. “Shouldn’t have said that, Gary. No offence.” I didn’t want anything to spoil our day, and, after a moment, he laughed too.

  “William Wallace?” Claude had been thinking about this. “I’ve heard of him. Was he the one with the spider?” And then he had us all laughing like idiots.

  “What about you, Logan?” Gary asked me.

  “Me? I come from a long line of Scottish peasants, some Irish too, I think. Nothing interesting.”

  “I’ve definitely got Welsh blood in me,” Mickey said proudly. “That’s how I’m such a good singer.” Then he began to treat us to a rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. “I’m just a poor boy from a poor family…” The rest of us put our hands over our ears and ran. Mickey ran after us, still singing at the top of his voice. Finally he shut up and went into a coughing fit. “Welsh blood, and I can’t sing for toffee,” he said proudly.

  Gary started to laugh loudly. Had us all joining in. “That’s a violation of the Trades Description Act.” He turned to me. “What about you, Logan? Any talents we should know about?”

  “Well, I play football like a one-legged horse. Does that count?”

  “My dad says that’s the kind of horse he always backs in the Grand National,” said Gary.

  “I never knew my daddy.” Claude sounded kind of wistful. “Never really needed him. My ma is all I ever needed, me and my sister, Taylor. My ma probably frightened my dad away. She scares most people.” Then he laughed. “My ma is one really scary lady.” He said it with pride.

  “Where’s your dad?” Gary asked me.

  “Took one look at me and dropped dead,” I told him. Actually, he had died when I was ten, and he had been just a boy himself when I was born. But I remembered him, still missed him every day.

  “Your mum’s married again though, isn’t she?”

  I didn’t want to think about that. There was never a man in my mother’s life after my dad. She’d been as broken-hearted as me when he had died. It had just been her and me until this Vince had come along.

  “I suppose…” I still hated to acknowledge a marriage. I spat on the pavement. “I mean, getting married again… at her age.”

  “I never want to get married,” Mickey said. “As long as I’ve got Ricky, I’m happy.” And that set us all off laughing again.

  I learned more about Gary and Claude and Mickey that day than I had learned since I’d first met them. And they learned about me. We talked the whole day as we walked round the city. Talked and laughed. There was no tension between us at all. Why was that? Only one answer came to mind. Baz. When Baz was there we never talked like this.

  We ended up at the cinema, and Gary warned me before we went in. “No funny stuff. Don’t want chucked out again, eh?”

  I had to hold in the beginning of anger about that. Until I realised he was right. That night before at the cinema I had behaved that way to impress Baz. Baz wasn’t here, so I didn’t have to impress anybody.

  On the way home on the train we were treated to a spectacular gold and red sunset. The end of a perfect day.

  We parted at the precinct, to go our separate ways.

  “Been a great day,” Gary said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Been terrific.”

  Gary patted me on the back as we parted. “Should always be like this, pal.”

  It should always be like this. Why wasn’t it? Because of Baz. We were all afraid of him, afraid to go against him. If he wasn’t here permanently, what would happen?

  I tried to stop myself thinking like that. It seemed like a betrayal. But it was hard not to. That day was so good. We had laughed together, and talked together. And with no Baz there… it was better.

  Twenty-Six

  I could hear Vince and my mum in the living room. They were laughing, getting ready to go out. It was some anniversary or other. I sat in my room waiting for them to leave. Mum popped her head round the door. “You sure you don’t want to come?” She’d been asking me all day.

  I didn’t want her to press me to go, so I smiled. “No, Mum. Go, have a nice time.”

  Things had been better between us over the past couple of days. Mum and I had talked and laughed, and I knew that pleased her. I hadn’t contacted Baz, nor he me. Was that why it had been better? After the day out I had had with the boys, I didn’t want to see him.

  Mum didn’t insist I go with her. She only hesitated a moment longer before she said, “Plenty in the fridge
for you to eat. We won’t be late.”

  I waited till I heard the door closing behind them before I moved into the living room. I grabbed some milk and made myself a sandwich, then I flopped onto the couch. I relished the luxury of it, having the house to myself. And the remote control. Being able to choose what I wanted to watch. I switched on the TV and began flicking through the channels. I was looking for something with a bit of action in it. Eventually I found an old vampire movie and settled in to watch.

  I jumped when my phone buzzed. Gary’s name came up on the screen. Gary? Calling me? Gary seldom called me. I snapped it open. “What is it?”

  Gary’s voice was only slightly louder than a whisper. “Have you got the evening paper there?”

  I looked around. Vince always brought in the Glasgow evening paper. It was lying folded on the chair. “Yes, it’s here,” I said, lifting it.

  I could hear Gary breathing nervously. “Page five. Turn to page five. Read it and phone me back.”

  And then he was gone.

  I had no doubt the item was about the fire. Why else would he call me? Surely we already knew all there was to know? Could there be any more surprises? I flicked over the pages.

  The story actually took up two pages: four and five. On one side there were two photos: one of the blazing flames of the buildings, and another of a grim man who looked like a horse. He was stepping inside the police station, and waving away microphones.

  ‘MAD MIKE’ ANGRY AT FIRE

  The warehouse fire at a Glasgow estate has now been confirmed as arson. We understand that a man was taken in for questioning yesterday, but has been released today without charge. The man’s name is Michael Machan, sometimes referred to as ‘Mad Mike’. He is the son of the warehouse owner, and was arrested fifteen years ago on charges relating to organised crime, but the charges were eventually dropped when two key witnesses withdrew their statements.

  Mr Machan vehemently denies any involvement in this fire. In a statement read by a family spokesperson, Mr Machan declared his anger at the destruction of their property and at the police investigation. He said the family were taking the incident as, ‘an attack on their authority’.