The Shadow House(81)

A gust of wind blew in from the open door. Twigs and branches fell on the roof in a scatter of taps, like little feet scurrying above their heads. Reaching back, Michael gently pushed the door shut. The latch clicked and the breeze died.

‘I got your text,’ he said, turning to Alex. His speech was slightly slurred. ‘I got right in the car. Probably shouldn’t have, but I did.’

Renee frowned. Michael knew her neighbour? They’d been texting? ‘What are you talking about? What text?’

‘Alex contacted me,’ Michael said simply, as if that explained anything. ‘She told me you were in trouble; that you were here, and you needed help.’

‘I don’t need help. I’m handling it.’

Michael looked at the axe. ‘Clearly.’

‘Someone’s trying to take her son,’ she insisted, pointing at Alex.

From inside the locked bedroom, there was another loud bang and the doorhandle rattled.

‘It’s okay, Ollie,’ Alex called. ‘Just hang in there, we’ll be home soon.’

Michael’s jaw dropped. ‘Jesus Christ, Renee, you’ve locked him in there? What are you doing?’

‘You don’t understand,’ Renee said quickly. ‘Whatever or whoever took Gabe is doing it again, playing the same sick game. They’re toying with her, just like they toyed with us right before they hurt him.’

‘What the fuck, Ren? What do you think this is, a movie? The stuff that happened to us back then, that was nothing to do with Gabriel. It was – something totally different.’

Renee went to set him straight, to tell him exactly what was happening, but then the air rushed from her lungs. The strange noises outside had stopped, the air was no longer full of menace. The house was just a house. Everything felt very sad and flat and bitterly real.

Another bang.

‘You’ve gotta let that poor kid out.’

‘Not until you tell me what you mean. What had nothing to do with Gabe?’

Michael sighed. Renee waited.

‘What you have to understand,’ said Michael, ‘is that you and I led two very different lives. You lived on a thriving farm. You had family, and money. Your life was comfortable.’

Comfortable. Not the word Renee would’ve used. She thought about Ivory, covered in blood. The shadows under Gabriel’s eyes. His little-big body slouching away down the lane towards the bus stop, getting smaller and smaller until finally he disappeared. Her parents. Michael’s silence. His sour whisky breath.

‘But me,’ he said, ‘I lived in a fucking prison.’

The floor under Renee’s feet shivered: a little tremor. ‘I don’t understand.’

Michael shifted his weight, rubbed a palm across his forehead. ‘Twenty-four seven, Dad used to say. Remember that? Never lets up. Made a real song and dance about never taking a single day off. Sucked in, I used to think. Your choice, mate. Doesn’t look that hard. When he died, I thought even less of him. He’d worked himself into the ground and the stress ate him from the inside out. What did he expect?’

There was a gust of wind outside and the house groaned. Renee looked up as the ceiling ticked and clicked like an old man’s crooked back.

‘When I took over, I set out to do things differently. Told myself it wouldn’t be me in that coffin. I would live life to the full, make some bloody money. I wanted to prove that I wasn’t the limp dick Dad always thought I was, that I was as good as him – as any of ’em. As good as Dom fucken Hassop. I wanted to show that I could do better, that I could win. I wanted to prove it to you, Ren.’ His voice caught; his brow quivered. ‘But I didn’t know how.’

Renee was thrown back into the past. Questions formed on her lips. Michael had done all of those things. The farm had been successful. There’d been some tough times, but they’d more than survived … hadn’t they?

‘I wanted to do everything myself. But I quickly realised that Dad hadn’t chosen to work that hard; he’d had to. And the job didn’t look hard because, actually, he was bloody good at it. But I wasn’t. I fucked it all up. Juggled too many jobs, mismanaged the books, mishandled the drought. I fixed things too quickly, didn’t play the long game.’ Michael hung his head. ‘And then I started defaulting on loans. The bank threatened to repossess. I felt like everyone was laughing at me, all those perfect Dom Hassops on their perfectly tended properties, making it hand over fist. Farm life made sense to them; they didn’t even need to try. And your bloody father was always riding me. The place looks appalling, he’d say. You’re letting the family down, your old man would be turning in his grave.’ Michael laughed sardonically. ‘Don’t know why Dad didn’t hand the farm to Hassop instead of me. Dickhead. Best pals, they were. It was like a fucken private club.’

He paused. Renee could see the swell of his shame, like a river in a rainstorm. He pressed a hand to his chest as if to stop it from cracking like a dam.

‘I couldn’t tell you, Ren; I couldn’t tell anyone. Until one night, at the pub, I broke down and told a friend.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘That friend put me in touch with a couple of blokes. I’d heard of ’em, knew they were loose cannons, but I was desperate. I borrowed some cash. A lot of it. Like, a lot. I thought if I could just patch up the holes and get us back on top, we’d be laughing.