The Concrete Grove

CHAPTER THREE





NIGHT WAS FALLING in slow shades as they walked along Grove End, past the dark hulk of the primary school, and headed towards the Grove Court flats. The long nights were drawing in. It would soon be Christmas. Tom hated Christmas.

He was so aware of Hailey strolling along at his side that he could think of nothing else, not even the things he hated. He knew that Helen would be expecting him home to prepare dinner, but he could barely even picture her face. All he could see was the girl.

Tom realised that after the initial near-sexual thrill he’d experienced his feelings towards Hailey had faded to something more like fatherly concern. The girl was in some kind of trouble, that much was certain. He didn’t believe her story about fainting and not knowing how she came to be lying unconscious at the side of the road, half a mile away from where she’d been roaming.

“Just down here,” she said, as if she were deliberately trying to break into his thoughts. She turned, smiled, and then faced forward again. Her strides were now long and even. She seemed much more in control than when he’d first found her. Perhaps he should just leave her here, close to home, and be on his way?

No. If she had been accosted, as he suspected, that would be a foolish thing to do. She was a young girl and it was growing dark. He was duty-bound to accompany her at least to her front door.

There was also the voice at the back of his mind, the soft, purring one that suggested if the girl was this pretty, then her mother must be beautiful. There was no father around, and she might be so grateful that she invited him in for coffee…

Tom laughed softly.

“What’s wrong?” Hailey glared at him, her blue eyes flashing in the growing dimness. “What you laughing at?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was nothing. Just a silly thought I had, that’s all.” He smiled at her and hoped that she couldn’t see through his mask.

Hailey coughed, and then glanced slowly around, as if she were looking for someone. “I don’t like it here. The closer you get to the centre, the weirder it feels. Don’t you feel it? It’s like something in the air – a gas, or something.”

Tom was confused. He didn’t know what she wanted him to say. “This is a run-down area. There are people here who you don’t want to meet after dark. That’s all.”

Several lights had come on in the front rooms of houses and flats. Television light shuddered like a submarine’s lamps through thin curtains. Tom knew what the girl meant. This was a strange place, especially after dark. That was why he didn’t like coming here, why he wished he could run the other way… any way, just not deeper into the estate.

They turned right onto Grove Mount and then crossed the road. There were two cars parked alongside each other at the mini roundabout at the end of the street, young drivers leaning out of the side windows to make some kind of exchange. Tom thought it was probably a drugs deal, but it could be something worse. He’d heard rumours of all kinds of things changing hands down here, and lethal weapons being given to kids who were stupid and desperate enough to use them.

“Which number is yours?” He tore his gaze away from the illicit transaction – although, part of him reasoned, it couldn’t be that illicit if it was being carried out in plain view. Another, more cynical voice replied: it’s more a case of nobody giving a damn. The air was turning cold, and his legs prickled with gooseflesh.

“Number eleven,” said Hailey, slowing down. “Just here, the one on the corner.” She approached the squat block of flats – a two-storey building with a grass verge outside its spiked metal railings.

“You’ll be fine from here. I’d better get back… my wife will be wondering where I am.” He pulled back, away from her, taking a few backward steps across the footpath.

“No, come in and meet my mum. She’ll want to thank you for helping me.” Her smile was impossible to ignore; he felt his own come to life in response, as if it were a bloom flowering in sunlight. “Just for a minute.”

Tom felt his legs move towards her, dragging his resistant body behind. He had the feeling that he might regret this, but still he followed her through the gate and along a narrow concrete path. He didn’t try too hard to leave her and go home.

“It’s here somewhere…” Hailey fished inside her blazer pocket and produced a set of keys. She opened the main door to the flats and walked inside, clearly expecting him to follow.

Not knowing what else to do, Tom paused for a moment to glance both ways along the street, and then he quietly stepped inside the building. The external darkness gave way to a smoother, duskier darkness inside the building. Hailey didn’t bother to turn on the lights as she ghosted across the ground floor. She opened a door and turned towards Tom, smiling. “Come on up.” Then she walked through the doorway and Tom was forced to hurry before it closed.

They climbed the stairs without speaking, their footsteps echoing on the tiled treads. Tom felt apprehensive. Would her mother really welcome him or would she think that he was some kind of pervert in his daft shorts and sweat-stained T-shirt? “Maybe I…” But he didn’t finish. Hailey had reached the landing and was opening another door; this one let out light as it swung wide, and Tom could do nothing but follow.

The hallway was clean but narrow. At one end there was a glass fire door – presumably this led out onto one of the tiny balconies Tom had seen from the street. He stayed a few steps behind Hailey, wishing he’d just turned and walked back down the stairs. But it was too late now; he’d gone too far to risk looking like a fool. An even bigger fool, he thought as he glanced again at his bare legs.

As he watched, someone walked quickly past the other side of the glass door. Then, abruptly, they returned and crossed in the opposite direction. He waited for them to do an about-face and repeat the pass, but nothing moved. For some reason he felt a prickle of fear across his back; his muscles tensed, an involuntary reaction.

Then one of the doors in the hallway opened.

“Hailey! Where have you been?” The woman standing in the doorway was beautiful. Tom stared at her, wishing that he wasn’t there, dressed like an idiot, but he was also glad that he’d accompanied the girl home. It was worth the hassle just to catch sight of this woman, to see her leaning out into the landing and clutching her shirt collar shut across her pale throat.

“This is Tom. He brought me home.” Hailey’s voice had lowered an octave, her whole manner changing and becoming surly, that of a stereotypical teenager.

“Hello… listen, I’m sorry.” Why the hell was he apologising? He’d done nothing wrong. “I found her out in the street, near Far Grove. She’d fainted. I just brought her home. So she’d be safe.” He was backing away, raising his hands and probably looking like he was trying to escape. He might as well be wearing a T-shirt with ‘Guilty’ printed across the chest, rather than the message about the Beer Tent.

The woman turned to Hailey, her brow furrowed with worry. “Did it happen again? Did you black out?” She pushed fallen hair out of her face with a thin hand. Her hair was so black that it looked blue beneath the cheap hallway lighting. Her hand was like a small animal, snuffling along her neat hairline.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. He helped me.” Hailey turned to face Tom, pouting. She suddenly seemed much younger than she had before.

Tom smiled. He didn’t know what to say.

“I suppose I should thank you.” The woman stepped out of the flat. Her feet were bare. She was wearing an ankle-length skirt along with a white blouse – the outfit made her look vaguely bohemian. “I didn’t mean to be so unwelcoming. People round here… well, you know. Some of them are a bit grim.” When she smiled her dark eyes blazed. Her cheeks flushed red.

“I didn’t do anything. Just brought her home. I thought she might’ve been mugged.” He was poised for flight. Just one wrong move on her part and he felt like he might flee. What was wrong with him? Was she so alluring that he was afraid of her?

Yes. Yes, he was. She was terrifying.

“Please. Come in. Have a drink. Let me thank you properly.” She stood aside, and he caught a glimpse inside the flat. It was small, poky really. Bland white paper on the walls. Cheap carpet on the floor. “You must think I’m terrible. Fancy a beer before you go running off again?” She gestured with her head, raising one eyebrow as she looked at his shorts.

“Oh. Yeah, I was out for a run. I don’t usually wander around the streets in this get-up. Not after dark, anyway.” This exchange finally broke the tension; he felt calmer now, in control of his emotions.

“Drink?” She made a drinking motion with her left hand. He noticed that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

“That would be lovely,” he said, and took a step forward. A single step that felt like he had recommenced the journey started outside, when he’d decided to escort Hailey home. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“If I minded, I wouldn’t have asked. By the way, my name’s Lana. Lana Fraser.” She held out a hand. Her fingers were extraordinarily long – he hadn’t noticed before, but they seemed distorted above the top knuckle. He reached out and shook her hand, feeling those weird fingers. They were cold to the touch.

Tom walked into the flat. Hailey was already inside, vanishing into a room – presumably her bedroom – on the right hand side of an entrance area that was too small to be called a hallway. Another door up ahead – this one open – led into what must be the living room.

“Go on in. Make yourself at home.” Her voice was close to his back. He imagined that he could feel her breath on his neck, but that was silly. He knew that she was standing a few paces away, closing the door, locking it behind them. “I’ll be just a moment.”

The living room was small, but cosy. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, just a TV, a slightly battered two-seater leather sofa, two mismatched armchairs, a coffee table, a bureau shoved against the wall and a bookcase stacked with hardbacks. Tom made for the latter, crossing the rug that lay over the laminated floor. He had always been an avid reader, and loved to check out people’s book collections.

He could hear voices in the other room, the one Hailey had entered. They were raised, but not shouting. A concerned mother checking that her daughter was okay.

He ran his fingertips along the worn spines of Lana’s books, noting the fact that these were well-thumbed copies.

“Tea, coffee, or a nice cold beer?”

He turned, surprised for a moment that she had managed to sneak up on him so quickly. “Oh, I think a beer would hit the spot.”

“I think I’ll join you,” said Lana, heading for the open-plan kitchen that took up one whole side of the room.

The cooking and living/dining areas were separated by a series of floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves and a narrow breakfast bar, which helped give the impression of two rooms where there was really only one. Tom watched Lana moving behind the shelves, catching sight of her through ornaments and knick-knacks as she bent to the fridge and then crossed to the sink. Then he turned back to the bookcase. He spotted a couple of Graham Greene novels immediately, and nodded his approval. The books were in no particular order that he could make out – unless it was a purely personal system – and each one was a hardback edition, either with or without a dust jacket. Steinbeck stood next to John Irving; Tom Sharp rubbed shoulders with Dickens; Shakespeare snuggled up next to Stephen King.

“Are you a reader too?”

He turned, clutching a battered copy of Norman Mailer’s Tough Guys Don’t Dance. It was one of his favourite novels. “Yes, I am. I love books, always have done.”

“Good,” said Lana, handing him a glass of pale beer. “That’s something we have in common from the start, and I think that potential friends should start off from a shared interest.” Her smile was radiant… it was also cheeky; he felt as if she were teasing him.

“So we’re going to be friends, are we?” He took a sip of his drink. It was ice-cold. He closed his eyes briefly, savouring the taste.

“I think it’s the least we should do, don’t you? Seeing as you were kind enough to help my daughter.”

“Is she okay? I mean… unharmed?”

A flicker of something dark passed across Lana’s already dark eyes. She shook her head; a vague gesture that Tom failed to read. “She’s been having these mini blackouts. They don’t last long, just a few minutes. The doctor says it’s nothing to worry about, just stress from the move and some stuff that went on back where we used to live.” She waved her hand, dismissing the subject. “Yes, she’s fine. Thank you for being so concerned.” She smiled to show him that the comment was genuine, but her eyes remained shaded.

“Shall we sit?” She moved across the small room, heading for the sofa, then changed her mind and lowered her thin body into one of the armchairs. Tom followed her, and sat on the sofa. He had almost finished his beer. “Refill?”

“Only if you are,” he said.

She nodded, stood, took his glass. Their fingers touched again, and this time it felt strange, like a tiny electrical current had passed between them. She stared at him with those dark, dark eyes, a puzzled expression on her face.

When she returned from the kitchen she was carrying a tray. Upon it were their refilled glasses, and two more cans of beer. “One for the road,” she said, winking.

“So,” said Tom, a panicked feeling welling in his chest. “You say you haven’t lived here long?” This woman was confusing him. There was a mutual attraction here, he could feel it, but it seemed that they were both trying to ignore the connection.

“Do you live here, in the Grove?”

Tom shook his head. “No. I… not that there’s anything wrong with living here, of course.” He felt his cheeks burning. He was talking himself into a corner. “I mean… shit. Sorry.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry. It is shit here. I’m not fooling myself otherwise. Hailey and I used to live in Newcastle. It was South Gosforth, to be exact, right next to the Metro station. We had a nice home, I had a good job. Then a couple of years ago it all went tits-up when my husband bailed on us and his debtors. We lost the house and we had to come here. It was the only place the council would give us; according to their stupid little points system we didn’t have a high enough rating for anywhere decent.” She took a long swig of her drink, closed her eyes and swallowed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so nosy.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs, then realised that the action made him look like some kind of madman. He stopped, held up his hands. Then he picked up his glass and drained it. “Listen, I should go.”

Lana nodded. She licked beer foam from her lips. “Is the wife waiting for you at home?”

For some reason he could not identify Tom felt guilty. “That’s right. She’s… she’s not well. There was an accident several years ago and she relies on me.” Why did he feel the need to justify himself? Was it because, really, he didn’t want to leave? He wanted to stay here and drink into the night with this woman, trading histories, telling stories, laughing and bonding and becoming friends – perhaps even more than friends.

He stood, tugging at the hem of his shorts, trying to cover the goose pimples that had appeared above his knees. “I should… you know. I should leave.” He felt dizzy, like the world was spinning faster beneath his feet. He tried to hold on, had to hold tight. If he didn’t, he thought that he might fall off the edge of the planet.

“Thanks again,” said Lana, following him as she walked to the door. “Listen, I didn’t mean to come on too strong then. It’s just that I don’t have any friends here, and I think I get a bit needy. Just ignore me.” She reached out, as if she were about to touch his arm, but then let her hand drop away.

“It’s fine. I can be your friend.” Jesus, did he really just say that? “How f*cking corny,” he added, pausing by the door.

“Just a bit,” said Lana, smiling now, looking happier than she had done only seconds earlier. “But it was a nice thing to say.” She turned her head slightly to one side, and he caught sight of a faint scar along her jawline.

When he left the flat he had to fight not to look over his shoulder, just to catch another glimpse of her as she closed the door. He heard the locks slide into place, and paused to listen for her footsteps. But of course he couldn’t hear them; there was no way her bare feet could be heard through the door. Yet he told himself that she was standing on the other side, thinking about him.

Tom descended the concrete stairs, and left the building. He glanced at his watch and was shocked to find that it was now almost 9 PM. The street lights were on. Voices drifted towards him – kids’ voices, filled with intent. The song of distant sirens accompanied him as he jogged back along Grove End, along the side of the school and towards Far Grove. He felt like he was leaving something behind, something that might just prove to be worthwhile. Never before in his life had he experienced feelings like these: it was terrifying, but it was also liberating. Had he ever felt this kind of thrill when he and Helen had first met? He thought back, to the time when they’d swapped phone numbers in the university canteen, and realised that what he had felt then had been but an echo of this, and not a very strong one.

The voices receded, far behind him. Laughter. Running footsteps.

In the silence that rushed in to replace the sounds, Tom became aware that he was being followed. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder and saw a quick, light movement as something shot through a gap in the school fence and padded across the yard. He felt his feet slowing; his hands clenched into fists. Run, he thought. Just keep going. But his body refused to obey. It felt like all the blood was rushing out of his feet. The beer he’d consumed pooled in his lower stomach.

Despite this physical reluctance, he pushed onwards, aware that whatever had entered the school was now moving back in his direction. It drew level with him, keeping pace behind the high metal railings. He saw its dark, glistening flanks as it ran. The shape darted between pools of sodium light, and for a moment he thought that it was a child loping along on all fours. Then, gasping with relief, he saw that it was a short-haired dog. Of course it was. The relief was displaced once again by fear when he remembered that there had been sightings of packs of stray dogs in the area – he even recalled a story about someone being attacked one night by a mangy mongrel.

Tom tried to look away, to look straight ahead, but he was unable to take his eyes from the beast that ran alongside him, loping between patches of lamplight. The road was narrow here; the creature was so close that he could have reached out and touched it through the gaps between railings. There was moisture in his eyes; he felt like weeping.

Then the dog turned its bristly head to face him. And Tom felt an emotion that at first he could not explain. Never before in his life had he experienced real fear – the kind of fear that makes you realise that you are always a single moment away from death. One thought filled his mind, casting everything else in shadow: the dog’s face was human.

It was a hound with the features of a person, a male. A boy.

In the split second during which the thing looked his way, Tom made out its wide green eyes, its strangely hairless cheeks, its flaring nostrils and thin, curling lips. He was struck with a sort of nostalgic horror as the face of a young boy smiled at him from the body of a dog. Nothing he could have imagined would have scared him as much. He had not been this afraid since childhood.

And then it was away, bounding further into the school grounds, towards the dark classrooms. He tried to tell himself that what he had seen could not be real. That it was impossible. After all, he’d experienced but a single, snatched glimpse and not a prolonged look at the thing. He even managed to fool himself for a while, as he peeled away from the school railings and ran along in the middle of the road. Then, when finally he reached the brighter area where the road bisected Far Grove Way, he admitted all over again that what he had seen had been something from a nightmare, a nightmare that he should have remembered from long ago.

Even if his eyes had deceived him, it must have been his brain trying to tell him something, to warn him that he was close to making a big mistake. He shouldn’t be here, in this godforsaken wasteland of the Concrete Grove. In fact he should never come here again.

Helen was waiting for him back home. Behind him, at Lana’s flat, there could be only trouble. It was time to go home to his wife, and return to the life he had chosen many times, whenever he had been called upon to make the decision.

Running hard now, quickening his pace towards a full sprint, he tried to rid his mind of the shame and the guilt and the slow-burning rush of illicit pleasure. But no matter how fast he ran, and how far he went, Tom knew that he could never outrun himself.