‘Holly, you’re not being fair,’ Susan had pressed her. ‘It was an easy decision for me, you’re my own flesh and blood, but Keith didn’t have to take you in. He was so good about it, and now this…’ she’d nodded to Holly’s bags, ‘this is how you repay him?’
Holly had stopped packing at that point and looked up.
‘Your husband is a slimy, creepy excuse for a man, Aunt Susan.’
‘You little…’ Keith had stepped forward, incoherent with indignation, but Holly had raised her voice above his garbled complaints.
‘He walks in on me when I’m undressing before bed. He makes lewd comments about my knickers on the clothes dryer and he pushes up against me whenever he walks past me in the hallway.’
‘She’s a lying little bitch, Susan,’ Keith had hissed, his face paling.
‘Oh yes, and he watches porn DVDs in the living room when you’re at work.’ Holly had slipped on her denim jacket and grabbed both her bags. ‘So don’t tell me I’m lucky, because I can’t wait to get away from the dirty pervert. I’m just sorry you’ve always chosen to turn a blind eye to it all, Aunt Susan.’
Both speechless, they’d parted at the doorway as Holly pushed through.
‘Thanks,’ she’d called as she bounded downstairs, glancing back at their incredulous faces. ‘For nothing.’
Keith had started shouting then, but she hardly heard any of his insults as she darted out of the front door, leaving it wide open as a final act of defiance.
Freedom! The air had felt fresher, the ground firmer beneath her feet.
‘Manchester, here I come,’ she sang operatically in the street, and laughed out loud as she drew a frown from a passing dog walker.
When she’d arrived at the bus station, Markus had been waiting for her, looking just as bright and relieved as she was to be leaving. Together they’d boarded the coach and he had opened a miniature bottle of vodka, with which they’d toasted the city they were leaving behind.
‘Bye, Nottingham, I won’t be back.’ Holly had taken a swig of the vodka, coughing as it bit the back of her throat. ‘Onwards and upwards.’
‘Onwards and upwards,’ Markus had agreed as he finished the tiny measure.
And now, ten years later, here she was. Back in Nottingham again.
She had come full circle and managed to do it in the worst way possible.
Chapter Nine
David
I push my plastic snack box, which Mother has packed to the brim with fruit and treats, into my small grey rucksack and leave the house.
After closing the door behind me, I stand for five seconds or so surveying the street. All seems quiet and safe, so I brace myself and set off down the short path to the wooden gate that leads out directly onto the pavement.
The bus stop is just a seven-minute walk from the house, and as I stride briskly up Baker Crescent towards the main road, I draw in a lungful of freezing air, relishing the burn of the late frost on the back of my throat.
As I pass the Browns’ residence, I wonder if either of them is watching me from behind the curtains.
I once saw a news special about sniper killers in America. How their high-powered rifles can pick people off even from a fair distance away.
If someone shoots me in the back of the head now, there’s nobody around to witness it. No Good Samaritan to call an ambulance. Theoretically, the killer could get away scot-free.
I pick up my pace but I don’t run. I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m in the least bit spooked.
Even though spring is just around the corner, this unusually cold weather always serves to remind me of Guy Fawkes Night. The scent of the bonfires from early November seems to linger in the early chill.
I detest the various bonfire celebrations that pepper the district at that time of year. The big organised event at nearby Wollaton Hall always brings hordes of families to the area.
It’s not that I mind people having fun. In fact, I’ve often wondered what it might feel like to attend such an event, to stand in the open air with one’s friends and watch the staggering light displays that split the sky. To enjoy a hot toddy, be relaxed and at ease… instead of watching the fireworks as I usually do from behind glass, alone at my bedroom window.
It always amazes me how readily people embrace these events, feeling comfortable and knowing exactly how to act. The very thought of it brings me out in a cold sweat.
Last year, I actually got as far as pulling on my quilted jacket and wellington boots. In the end, however, I couldn’t quite muster the courage to go through with it.
‘Get going, man,’ Brian bellowed as I dithered at the door. ‘You might find yourself a young filly, have some fun. You’re not going to get any how’s-your-father stuck up in that bedroom, that’s for sure.’
The last thing I wanted was to pick up a woman, to use another of Brian’s unfortunate phrases. After everything that had happened, I couldn’t imagine ever having the confidence to do so again.
I shrugged off my outdoor clothing and marched back upstairs, leaving Brian’s crude remarks hanging in the air behind me.
It was just the thought of all those anonymous bodies surrounding me, pushing up close. Personal space didn’t exist when you were in the middle of a crowd, did it?
Theoretically, anyone could slip their hand into your pocket and relieve you of your wallet. A swift punch to the head could floor you, and you could end up trampled before the people around you even noticed you’d gone down.
In a crowd like that, people could watch you quite easily. Without you even realising it.
I glance behind me now, pulling my thin scarf up around my mouth.
At least work gets me out of the house each morning, and sometimes, whilst I’m there, I can even forget the past completely… for a while, at least.
The fact that Kellington’s is so conveniently situated close to home was one of the reasons I was persuaded to apply for the job in the first place.
Granted, part-time car park attendant didn’t sound the most exciting of career moves at the time, but when Mother read out the details of the vacancy from the local newspaper – ten months ago now – it instantly appealed to me.
I knew the exact location of this rather grand shop, with its small private car park to the rear. The successful candidate would be managing the parking space and, by the sounds of it, working quite autonomously for the daily four-hour morning shifts.
Set back from the busy thoroughfare of Huntingdon Street in the centre of town, the car park can be accessed by vehicle only from a quiet, unobtrusive side street.
Of course, that doesn’t stop some drivers trying it on. A stone’s throw away from Nottingham’s most popular shopping mall, the Victoria Centre, it remains a desirable and convenient space for harassed shoppers who don’t fancy negotiating the jammed, expensive multistorey car parks nearby.
I’ve noticed there’s a big emphasis on being a team player in the jobs market, something that’s overrated if you ask me. I used to work in a busy printing and lithography office in Lenton, fetching and carrying for the more important members of staff there, who took great delight in having fun at my expense. Banter, they liked to call it.
There’s a lot to be said for relying on your own initiative and getting on with a job with the minimum of fuss.
My resolve to work at Kellington’s was cemented the day I was called for interview, when I set eyes on the small external kiosk with windows that looks as if it’s been tacked on to the side of the store.
The existing attendant, a rotund, seemingly jolly man, nodded to me from his swivel chair as I cautiously made my way to the back entrance, as per the interview letter. I couldn’t help noticing that from this spot, the attendant had an unimpeded view of the entire car park.
I watched as a car reversed out of a nearby space. The attendant punctiliously recorded its departure on the impressive list of handwritten car registrations in front of him.
And it occurred to me, at that very moment, that life at Kellington’s might not be so bad.