‘Oh, I’m a council house girl. Not that it was exactly mean streets of Dunfermline. It was one of those 1930s estates with lots of grass and trees and corner shops. People looking out for each other. Pretty sheltered too, really.’
‘No Johnsons.’ Flora managed a smile.
‘Definitely no Johnsons.’
‘I have to try to make Neil see that the Johnsons are a threat to Beckie. That we should be doing everything in our power to keep them away from her, not thinking about initiating contact.’
‘Surely after this… At least you can get things moving now with a non-harassment order.’
Flora looked at the leafy shadows shivering on the wall behind Caroline as a breeze whipped at the lilac tree at the window, sending its branches dipping and dancing. No doubt Neil would agree that doing things by the book was the way to go. But was it? With people like the Johnsons, what protection, really, did the justice system offer them?
18
They’ve pulled the curtains closed, aye, but there’s a wee gap where I can get my neb in. And there’s Bekki, sitting between they bastards on the couch in their fucking Grand Designs kitchen, playing a game on her iPad and chucking crisps in her gob.
The brass neck of Mair, making out like I was too obese and addicted to chicken fucking nuggets to look after Bekki, and here’s that fat fucking bitch feeding her crap. The bitch puts her hand on Bekki’s head and strokes her hair.
That’s our wean.
That’s our couch she should be on and that’s my chebs she should be coorying in to.
There’s some rocks in a circle under a tree with faces painted on them that’re going manky with dirt and green shite. I get one of them, a tarty Miss Piggy face with rosy cheeks and big red lips and yellow hair, and airch it right at the patio doors.
Bang!
Bounces off the fucking safety glass.
I get it again and airch it at the same bit.
This time there’s a kind of a crunching and then a tinkling as all the wee bits of glass round where it hit shower down.
Ya dancer!
Out of pure badness I get another, a wee pirate with an eye patch, and airch it at the other door.
And then I get my arse outta there.
Flora stared at the policewoman. ‘Well, even if they do all have alibis… they could have got someone else to do it.’ The Johnsons were all at a wedding, apparently, and had been there since three o’clock that afternoon. ‘And it was definitely Travis Johnson this morning. Beckie and I both recognised him.’
The policewoman smiled patiently. ‘Travis Johnson’s whereabouts have been established from 8:30 am to 1:30 pm today. He was working in a garage – he works there on a casual basis doing tyre changes and so on. There are a dozen witnesses attesting to his having been at the garage all morning – both staff and customers.’
They were back in Caroline’s front room yet again, she and Neil and the policewoman; Beckie was asleep – Flora hoped she was, anyway – in Caroline’s spare room, with Caroline watching over her. In the morning, a team would be out to process the ‘scene’ of the ‘incident’ on the patio.
Caroline’s centre light fitting, a cheap branched thing in yellowy brass, cast a flat, harsh light over the room, turning the beige walls a stark white and bouncing off the glass of the one picture, above the fireplace, of wishy-washy poppies.
‘What garage?’ asked Flora.
‘I can’t tell you its name. But it’s a branch of a well-known dealership.’
Neil was looking not at the policewoman but at Flora. ‘You were pretty sure it was Travis Johnson.’
‘Yes, because it was him. The Johnsons have obviously got a hold of some sort over the people at the garage, if they’re not in cahoots…’
Neil raised his eyebrows. ‘All of them? And their customers?’
Whose side are you on? she wanted to yell at him.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ she said tightly.
The policewoman stood. ‘The team will be round to process the area around the patio in the morning. Please don’t touch anything there. They’ll phone to let you know they’re on their way. You’re not staying in the house tonight?’
‘I am,’ said Neil. ‘Flora and Beckie will sleep here.’
He had been adamant about this. Flora had felt awful for resenting him earlier in the day for not being here for them. When the patio doors had suddenly exploded, he had leapt into action, bundling her and Beckie into the loo with his mobile and telling her to lock the door and call the police, while he, despite her protests, had gone to investigate.
He’d been pretty good in this particular crisis.
Then, after the police had arrived and they’d decamped to Caroline’s, he had said he’d arrange for CCTV in the morning and take a few days off work to get it all set up.
At least, that had been the plan. But maybe the doubt sown by the Johnsons’ ‘alibis’ was going to change that.
When they’d shown the policewoman out, Caroline appeared in the little hallway.
‘She’s fine. Sleeping like a baby on benzos.’
But neither of them could take her word for it. They tiptoed into the darkened room and bent over the bed. Under the covers, in the big king-sized bed, she was so little, hardly there at all.
Flora gently smoothed the covers over her.
Back in the sitting room – Caroline had tactfully disappeared into the kitchen – Neil said, ‘Right. I’d better get back.’
‘I think you should stay.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘What, because you don’t believe the Johnsons had anything to do with it? You believe their so-called alibis?’
‘The police seem to think they check out, Flora.’
‘So it’s all just coincidence? Some random yobs, one of them the spitting image of Travis Johnson, decide to harass us in the street after my car mysteriously runs out of petrol, and another random yob decides to lob rocks through our doors?’
‘Well, you know, it could all be coincidence. I was thinking – remember the tulips getting vandalised a while back, and you suspected Mia? Maybe you were right. And maybe she thought it would be a laugh to throw stones at the glass doors. Or, I don’t know, how about Mr Rapist-Hyphen-Serial Killer? Wouldn’t put it past him to lurk in people’s gardens, getting up to mischief. We mustn’t automatically assume that anything bad that happens is down to the Johnsons.’
‘So I suppose this means no CCTV? And you’ll be going back to work tomorrow as if nothing has happened?’
‘No. I’m not going back to work, and of course I’m going ahead with the CCTV… Beckie’s pretty freaked out, isn’t she?’
‘Given that her psychotic biological family have just tried to force their way into our home, that’s hardly surprising.’
He sighed. ‘Nobody actually tried to get in… Look, I don’t think it’s a good thing to fill her head with –’
‘With what? Hysterical nonsense?’
‘I’m going back to the house. I’ll have my camera at the ready for any more dramas, don’t worry. And we’ll get the CCTV.’
‘Be careful,’ Flora managed to say as he left the room.
She almost hoped that something did happen tonight, that the Johnsons did come back while Neil was alone in the house… Almost, but not quite.
She took her phone from her bag, which she’d left perched on the arm of Caroline’s sofa. She’d had to buy a new phone – her old one had never turned up.