3
3
Fiona got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. She had been living here for a few days now, and free for nearly two years, but she was still able to appreciate the luxury of being on her own, of having her own stuff. Not having to look at or be looked at by anyone else. That had been one of the worst things about prison: the lack of privacy. The guards, the other women. Inside, there was always someone eyeing you up.
At least until you taught them better. Like that woman in the first place they’d sent her, the one who’d given Fiona loads of shit her first day, calling her a skinny bitch, trying to act tough. She hadn’t been so tough afterwards, screaming that Fiona had blinded her, stupid bloody drama queen.
Wrapping the towel tighter, Fiona turned towards the mirrored cabinet above the sink. It was coated with condensation so her reflection was nothing but a blur, a ghost formed of water droplets.
She reached out with a finger and, in the condensation, wrote three names.
First.
Second.
Last.
Her list.
She concentrated on the names for half a minute, then rubbed them out with her palm, knowing she would do the same tomorrow, until she was satisfied that all three of them had paid for what they’d done.
She left the steamy bathroom and went into her bedroom. As she dressed, she stood behind the curtain, looking down at next door’s back garden. It had been raining all morning, just as it had rained every day since she’d moved in. Almost twenty years on, she still couldn’t believe the British had the audacity to call this season summer.
Now, as she watched, the teenage boy – Dylan, that was his name – entered the garden with the dog. He threw a ball, the cockapoo ran after it and brought it back. Both boy and dog seemed bored by this game, as was Fiona. But as she finished dressing, the rain stopped and the clouds parted to reveal a patch of blue sky.
And Rose appeared in the garden.
It was the first time Fiona had seen the girl since she’d escorted her home last Friday. Her mother, Emma, had been round to introduce herself and to thank her. Fiona had also exchanged pleasantries with Ethan when they’d passed on the street. But she’d been so busy – moving in, unpacking, familiarising herself with the area and, most importantly, plotting – that she’d hardly had time to think about Rose and that little tingle she’d felt when she’d first seen her.
That peculiar sense of familiarity.
The girl and her brother were talking. They were too far away for Fiona to read their lips, but Dylan went inside and came out with a dog lead, which he clipped to the dog’s collar. As Fiona watched, they went out through the back gate and began to walk towards the recreation ground, a large grassy area that was mostly used for dog walking and ball games, which everyone here called ‘the fields’.
Fiona made a quick decision.
She went downstairs and slipped her trainers on, then left the house. Not wanting it to be obvious she was following them, she took the longer route towards the fields, out through the gap in the high wooden fence that formed the estate’s northern border, then along the footpath.
It was wet underfoot, squelchy and muddy. The alternating rain and sunshine had supercharged nature, turning the country lush and verdant – the country that Maisie had described to her all those years ago, so different to the desert expanses of Western Australia. Her dad’s parents had been ten-pound poms, part of that wave of British emigrants who took cheap passage down under, arriving on a ship in Fremantle in the fifties. ‘Why don’t you come home?’ Maisie had said, and eventually, Fiona had thought, Why not, indeed? In England, she would make her fortune, and she and Maisie would live like queens.
It hadn’t quite worked out like that, had it?
She stopped because she could hear voices up ahead. Kids’ voices, Dylan and Rose, and a dog yapping. She peered through the trees and there they were, throwing a ball, using one of those long plastic sticks to propel it a great distance. Lola went charging off through the overgrown grass, tongue lolling, and Fiona was about to climb over the stile so she could say hello when she heard a loud buzz coming from across the other side of the field.
It was a small motorbike. A dirt bike, Fiona believed it was called. Stripes of lime green and black. Fiona recognised the teenage boy riding it as one of the brothers who’d been hassling Rose last week. What were their names? Rose had told her when Fiona escorted her home. Albie and Eric, that was it. Albie, who was on the bike, was the older one. His younger brother hurried along beside him, with two huge German shepherds on leads.
Through the trees, Fiona saw Rose and Dylan stiffen. Dylan immediately called Lola to them, urgency in his voice, but she was too busy searching for the ball in the grass.
Fiona watched as Eric unleashed both his dogs, and the two shaggy beasts charged towards Lola like greyhounds let out of the traps. Lola, who was about fifty feet away from her owners, looked up, saw the bigger dogs coming and belatedly obeyed Dylan’s command to ‘Come’. But she was too slow. The German shepherds reached Lola and charged at her, teeth bared, barking and growling.
They’re going to kill her , Fiona thought, and she climbed the gate hurriedly. Dylan was sprinting towards Lola, who was running in circles, the bigger dogs surrounding her.
‘Call them off!’ Dylan yelled. ‘Call your stupid dogs off now.’
Lola let out a yelp as one of the German shepherds went for her. Dylan shouted her name; Rose was frozen in place, staring helplessly. Fiona increased her pace, running past Rose and towards the boys with their dirt bike.
‘Get control of your dogs now ,’ she shouted.
They both turned towards her, and the older one, Albie, who was sitting astride the stationary bike wearing a baseball cap and a baggy North Face T-shirt, sneered and said, ‘Why should I? It’s a free country.’
Eric, the younger one, sniggered.
Fiona was aware of Albie staring at her chest and the urge to slap him was intense. Unfortunately, society didn’t allow adults to go around hitting children, even obnoxious teenagers like this. At least the German shepherds had stopped trying to attack Lola, both of them running over to see who was talking to their humans. They sniffed at her, one of them attempting to shove its nose into her crotch, which made the boys laugh.
‘Mario,’ said Eric. ‘Get away from that bitch.’
‘What did you say?’ Fiona strode over and squared up to him. He was almost as tall as her, long and stringy – the kind of boy her dad would have described as a beanpole.
Albie called over, ‘Hey. Leave him alone.’ He was still staring at her chest, even as he tried to defend his brother.
Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona saw Dylan scoop Lola up, cradling her in his arms. Rose stood beside them, glaring at Albie and Eric. The two German shepherds had now lost interest in both Fiona and Lola. One of them had found some fox poo to roll in and the other had run off in pursuit of a bee.
Then Rose said, ‘I hope you crash that bike and die.’
Albie’s expression was classic. His mouth formed an O, but then he grinned, and Fiona tried to intervene but her words were drowned out by the bike’s engine as Albie started it up again. He rode it straight at Rose, who broke into a run towards Fiona, and the bike buzzed past her, just a metre away, making her stumble. Albie roared with laughter as he sped by, turning the bike in a circle and coming back in their direction.
Fiona shouted, ‘What the hell are you playing at?’
Fiona, Rose and Dylan stood together as Albie circled them on the bike. His brother stood where he was, watching Albie go round and round. Albie didn’t say anything, just kept grinning that shit-eating grin as he sped through the long grass, the engine loud like a prodded wasps’ nest.
Fiona felt it build inside her. Red and hot and strong, spreading through her veins, her stomach, her chest. These little squirts, these nothings ... How dare they? She watched Dylan: he was scared, a sensitive boy, but trying to appear brave for the sake of his younger sister. Rose, though, didn’t seem afraid. She continued to look angry. Ablaze with contempt.
I hope you crash that bike and die.
‘Don’t look at him,’ Fiona said, over the noise of the engine. ‘He’ll soon get bored.’
She was right. Less than a minute later, Albie pulled the bike to a halt, skidding on the damp grass, almost losing control of it. Fiona walked straight up to him. At the same time, Eric came over, with his dogs back on their leashes, which made Dylan, who was still holding the trembling Lola, back away.
It was time to take charge of this situation.
‘You’re going to leave Rose and Dylan alone,’ Fiona said. She kept her voice calm and even.
‘Oh yeah?’ said Albie. His voice was high. He was just a boy, pimply and half-formed. She could picture him in his bedroom, playing video games and sending abusive messages to female celebrities. His younger brother, even less formed, pale and mottled, like he was made of putty that hadn’t set yet, stood there snickering.
‘ Yeah , you are. You’re going to stay the hell away from them and their dog.’
Albie and Eric exchanged amused smiles. ‘Or what?’
They’ll find your bodies hanging from these trees.
‘I’ll talk to your parents.’
They both scoffed at that. ‘They won’t care.’
Fiona took half a step closer to them. She lowered her voice and spoke quietly so Dylan and Rose couldn’t hear.
‘Why don’t you go back to your little house and do what you do best. Wank yourselves into a stupor.’
That shocked them. Their mouths opened in tandem and they looked at each other.
‘You’re sick,’ said Eric.
‘I think she’s a paedo,’ said Albie. ‘Fantasising about boys wanking.’
Eric guffawed and Fiona was about to do it, she was going to bang their heads together, when Albie said to Eric, ‘Come on, let’s go. I’m bored. Let’s get away from this paedo.’
He started up the dirt bike and Eric ambled away, taking his dogs with him. But before Albie set off on the bike, he nodded towards the staring Dylan and Rose and said to them, ‘Next time you might not have your bodyguard with you.’
He drew a finger across his throat, then sped away across the fields, letting out a whoop as he went.
Fiona turned to Rose and Dylan. ‘Are you okay?’
Dylan was shaking like the dog he was holding. He’d gone so pale that Fiona thought he might vomit. ‘We’re fine.’ He kissed the dog’s head. ‘Aren’t we, Lola?’
Fiona turned to Rose. ‘How about you?’
She didn’t reply straight away. She was watching the two boys retreat across the fields. The contempt was still there on her face but Fiona could see something beneath it. A familiar look. The same one she was sure she’d seen the other day.
‘I’m good,’ Rose said. She sounded surprised with herself, as if she didn’t understand her own reaction. The anger that burned instead of fear.
Fiona understood it very well – and, understanding what it might mean, she had to fight hard not to let her excitement show.