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BEFORE
HE HOLDS HIS breath as the counting stops. Seventeen. He hadn’t managed to stay hidden for long. Good places are becoming harder to find.
Rough hands pinch his upper arms as he’s pulled from the cupboard.
He stands in front of his father, eyes averted to the ground. He knows his father will be looking at him, thinking, deciding what to do next. He glances toward his father’s belt, still fastened around his middle. His father sees him and laughs.
“Not tonight, Eli. Not tonight.”
He grabs his arm and pulls him across to the television. His father’s old armchair sits in front, his usual position for the football game that Elijah knows is on now. A pint of beer waits for him on the side table, along with his packet of B&H.
“Sit there,” his father directs, pointing to a patch of carpet to the side.
Elijah glances at his mother, confused. She’s standing nervously in the doorway, picking at the skin on her split lip. Her eyes dart between her son and her husband.
The man slumps down in the chair with a grunt. He gestures to his wife; she turns on the television. Instantly, the brightness fills the room, the sound of the commentators and the roar of the crowd. He reaches to his side, selects a cigarette from the nearly full pack and lights it, taking a long drag.
Elijah stays as quiet as he can. Small light breaths, not shifting a muscle. He thinks his father might have forgotten him. Maybe there’s no punishment tonight.
“Hold out your arm.”
Elijah doesn’t move. He’s frozen in place.
His father shifts position, turning around to look at him. His eyes flash with anger. “I said, hold out your arm. Here.”
He points to the arm of the chair. Elijah stares at it. At the loose orange threads, at the stains from the curries and pizzas ingrained in the material. Then he slowly pushes his arm toward him.
His mother takes a step forward, her hands fluttering.
“No, Maurice. Leave him be,” she pleads.
He looks to her, leers, then grabs Eli’s wrist tightly. With the other arm, his father pushes his sleeve up, revealing pale, clear skin, before he pushes the cigarette butt hard against it.
Elijah cries out. He hears the crackle of fire, the smell of tobacco. He sees the black as his skin scorches. The burn of pain. He instinctively tries to pull away but his father holds fast, turning the cigarette until the flame is out. Then he takes it away, flicking the spent butt at the television.
Elijah collapses into a ball at the side of his father’s chair. He knows better than to try and get away, but his mother leaps forward. But she’s not as quick as his father. A fist catches her on the side of the face, and she falls to the floor, still pleading.
“Do it to me, Maurice. I’ll take it for him. Please.”
“Shut it,” his father snarls. “Or I’ll double the punishment.”
He turns back to the television and takes a sip of his beer.
Elijah grips his arm with his free hand, squeezing tightly, trying to stop the burn that throbs deep into his skin. He looks at the open packet of cigarettes.
One down, he thinks, biting back the sobs. Sixteen to go.
CHAPTER
43
ROMILLY SAW ADAM that morning. At first she thought she was imagining things, but once she went back into the house, she properly looked out her window. And yes, there he was. He looked like shit, shifty as hell as he scuttled away. But definitely him.
Now, she makes a cup of tea, feeling an odd mixture of concern and confusion. Why was he lurking outside? Should she have called to him, invited him in? But what would she have said?
Things with Phil are still tense. He made an effort that morning as he left for work, trying to keep things normal, maintain what was left of their relationship. But the same undercurrent remained. He didn’t want her seeing Adam. He wanted her to go back to work, forget about her ex-husband. Leave Pippa’s murder to the cops. All things she knew she couldn’t do.
Phil’s worries about Adam are warranted; he’s been on her mind more than an ex-husband should be. Thinking about him as she drifted off to sleep, as she ate breakfast this morning. She thinks about Pippa too, the sadness for her murdered friend close to overwhelming, but when the tears come, comfort from Phil isn’t what she needs. She wants Adam.
