ASBO: A Thriller Novel Read online

  “Red beanie hat? Weird twitch?”

  Andrew nodded.

  The girl shook her head and wore a grim expression. “I’d be careful if I were you. He just got out of a young offender’s home, a few months back, and he’s been messed up ever since – in fact he was pretty messed up before.”

  Andrew huffed. “He’s just a boy. I’m not going to let him intimidate me.”

  “Just watch yourself, okay? I mean it; he’s a nasty-piece of work.”

  Andrew stood in the doorway and thought for a moment. It felt wrong to let a teenager frighten him. This was a country where everyone had the right to be free, safe, and happy. No one had the right to take those things away from him. He wouldn’t allow it.

  “What’s your name?” Andrew asked the girl behind the counter.

  “Charlie.”

  “Well, Charlie,” he did his best to smile, “thanks for the advice, but I think I’ll be just fine. You take care yourself, okay?” He pulled open the door and stepped back out into the cold.

  The night had now arrived fully since he’d been inside the chip shop. The world was muted beyond the streetlamps illuminating the small shopping area with their narrow cones of light. As he started his walk back down the road, the sweating aroma of sizzling chips and acrid vinegar made Andrew salivate. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to get home. It was a greasy, unhealthy dinner, but he could stand to put a few pounds on his slender frame anyway. Bit of junk food never hurt anybody. He picked up speed, hunger encouraging him onwards.

  It was only a few minutes before he was rounding the final corner before home. Andrew thought about the teenagers again. It was surprising that his mind had briefly turned to other things, but it’d been easier once he’d decided that this ‘Frankie’ and his followers were not going to intimidate him. Despite that, it was a relief when it turned out that they’d gone anyway, moved on from their previous spot. The street corner was free of their presence now and the street lamps lit nothing but the cracked and worn pavement of the road.

  Cowards. Didn’t have the balls to stay and go through with their threats.

  Andrew was just about to smile, when he heard voices. He narrowed and strained his eyes, seeking out bodies in the darkness, but ended up having to use his ears to hone in on the right direction. The noise was coming from several yards ahead.

  Andrew spotted the teenagers loitering around a Mercedes sat on the curb in front of his house – it was his Mercedes. Frankie was sitting on the softly-contoured bonnet, lent back on his elbows and laughing.

  “Cretin!” Andrew almost spat the word as he marched across the road.

  Frankie saw him coming and waved.

  Don’t you wave at me, you insolent little shit. All of you can just go right back where you came from.

  “Hey man,” said Frankie, his eyes narrow beneath the brow of his beanie hat. “You got my cigarettes?”

  Andrew stomped over to the group and this time felt none of the shock or anxiety that had plagued him during their earlier encounter. This time he was prepared. “No, I haven’t got your goddamn cigarettes! Get the hell off my car.”

  Frankie did as he was told. He slid off the cherry red bonnet of Andrew’s car and then looked back behind him, admiring the vehicle. “Nice motor, mate. What is it, an SLK, yeah?”

  “No, a CLK,” said Andrew. Impatience now enveloped every word that came out of his mouth. “Just step away from it, please. I’ve only just gotten it.”

  Frankie nodded his head and whistled. “You hear that everyone? Brand-new Mercedes. Nice.”

  “Yeah,” said a young girl beside him. Her unkind face was caked in gaudy make-up and framed by streaky-blonde hair. Her breasts were practically hanging out of her flimsy top. “Thinks he’s well bling, innit,” she said, “with his flash motor.”

  Andrew stared at the girl and shook his head. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound, young lady?”

  “Thinks his shit don’t stink,” added a Black youth, identical to the lad stood next to him. They were obviously twins, matching in both genetics and clothing. They wore the exact-same blue jeans and none-descript white t-shirts. Andrew wondered how any of them were able to bear the cold weather wearing what they were. Obviously fashion prevails over common-sense.

  “I don’t think anything like that,” said Andrew. “I just think you should all respect other people’s property, and that pretty young girls should be home this time of night.”

  Andrew didn’t know why he used the word ‘pretty’, as she was anything but (even with all the make-up she was wearing). It was meant only to be a placating gesture to try and stem the animosity. It seemed to have the opposite effect, though, and the girl scowled and spat right at him.

  “Fucking perv,” she said. “You’re a pedo, innit? A sick, child-banging pedo!”

  Andrew’s temper broke its bonds. “How dare you! Show some bloody respect to your elders, you nasty, little cow.”

  Frankie shot forward and thumped Andrew’s shoulder, jarring the plastic bag from his hand and spilling the chips all over the road. He poked Andrew hard in the chest, repeating the gesture with each word that came out of his mouth. “I…think…you…need…to…respect…me…”

  The sudden fright flooded Andrew’s system with a surge of adrenaline. His stomach turned over and he was almost sick over the teenager’s shoes, but he would not allow such an indignity to take place.

  I’m not going to be intimidated by this hooligan again. No way in hell.

  Andrew snarled right back into Frankie’s smug face. “Why the hell would I respect an idiot like you? You’re nothing but a pathetic bully trying to show off in front of your friends.”

  Frankie seemed to enjoy Andrew’s reaction. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the rest of the gang. They were all laughing, still crowded around the Mercedes, but their loose circle was tightening, trapping Andrew at its centre.

  “Now, now,” said Frankie in a voice so patronising it sounded like he was trying to teach a foreign language to a guinea pig. “No need to get upset, mate. We’re just talking. In fact, it’s me that should be upset.”

  Andrew huffed. “Why is that exactly?”

  Frankie punched Andrew in the stomach. The sudden pain was excruciating and took away his breath so completely that it felt like he no longer had lungs. He fell to his knees.

  Frankie crouched down beside him. “I asked you for a pack of cigarettes and you just mugged me off – not to mention perving at my girlfriend. I thought we were friends, mate, but you hurt my feelings.”

  Andrew couldn’t speak. The tightness in his chest and stomach seemed like it would never let up, like he’d never manage to take another breath again. Mortal panic took control of every cell in his body as he struggled to suck in even the tiniest morsel of oxygen.

  Frankie straightened back up and kissed his bony fist like a trophy. “Come on, gangsters. Let’s leave this piece of shit to eat his chips up off the floor. We’ll carry this on another day. Nice trainers by the way, mate. Got to get me a pair of those.”

  Andrew rolled onto his side and groaned as the teenagers left him. Gradually – very gradually – his breath came back to him in great heaving gasps. The noises coming from his throat sounded like dolphins in distress. Part of him wished for his family to run out and comfort him, but another part – a bigger part – made the thought of them seeing him like this intolerable. Andrew tried to get to his feet, using his palms against the gravelly road to steady him. He was shaken and felt sick – sicker than he’d ever been – but his stomach just about managed to control itself. When he looked down at the scattered chips and mashed-up cod on the floor Andrew realised he was crying. Several lonely tears crept down his cheeks and left freezing-cold trails behind them. He didn’t know if they’d been caused by pain, fear, or shame and humiliation. The fact that someone had frightened him to tears made Andrew feel pathetic. The fact that it was a child made him feel even more so.

  He hitched forwa
rd and heaved up the meagre contents of his near-empty stomach, coating the discarded chips on the floor in a steaming broth of the undigested coffee and biscuits he’d consumed earlier. Three minutes later, he wiped his mouth and started the long, lonely journey up the path to his house. It no longer felt like home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Andrew sank onto the bench in his porch and took some deep breaths – each one sent stabbing pains through his chest. He kicked off his trainers and just sat there for a while. He’d already hung up his coat and was ready to go inside, but for some reason he couldn’t. Once he’d sat down on the bench it had become impossible to get back up. Something held him in place, as if his very presence inside the house would infect his family with something terrible.

  Maybe I’m just too ashamed to face them?

  But I can’t stay here all night.

  No one had come out during the attack and that could only mean Pen and Bex hadn’t witnessed what’d happened. It was a major relief for them not to have gone through that, but it still didn’t change the fact that Andrew had just been assaulted.

  What the hell should I do? Call the police?

  Andrew’s mind was a muddle. He couldn’t think straight. In a lot of ways he’d not yet fully accepted reality to the point of resolution. The answers were still murky and unclear. For now, he decided to will himself to his feet and go back inside the house. He wouldn’t find any answers alone inside the porch. He stepped through into the hallway just as Pen was coming down the stairs. She wore her fluffy pink dressing gown and was rubbing at her hair with a towel. Obviously she’d decided to fit in a quick shower while he’d gone to get the chips.

  Damn it! The chips… What do I say?

  “Hi, hun,” said Pen, smiling. “You okay?”

  Andrew nodded. “Fine.”

  “Where’s the food?”

  “It’s…well it’s…”

  Penelope stepped up to him and placed a warm hand against his cold cheek. “Andrew, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he answered quickly. “Bloody chip shop had a problem with their fryers; had to close early. Wasted journey.”

  “That’s okay,” said Penelope. She looked concerned; he could tell she knew something was up with him. “We’ll just order Chinese then, or something else.”

  “Sounds good,” said Andrew. He felt like breaking down in her arms and sobbing right then and there, but he didn’t.

  “Honey, you really don’t seem yourself. Has something happened?”

  Andrew shook his head and pushed her away. “I’ve just got a stomach-ache coming on. Think I’ll have a bath and go to bed. You and Bex eat without me, okay?”

  Pen frowned at him. “You said you’d watch a film with her.”

  Andrew started up the stairs. “Sorry for getting ill. I’ll try not to be so fucking inconsiderate next time.”

  There was no reply behind him and Andrew knew it was because his wife was shocked – no doubt worried as well. Usually, he was a calm person and outbursts were not his style – especially ones containing foul language.

  I shouldn’t take things out on her. She’s just concerned about me.

  Hell, I’m concerned about me.

  Andrew reached the top of the stairs and turned left towards the bathroom. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, pulling the plastic dolphin on the light-cord hanging beside his head. The light fixture flickered on above him, hurting his eyes with its harsh glare reflecting off the porcelain wall-tiles. Somehow, the pain in his retinas seemed to reactivate the discomfort in his abdomen. He dropped down to his knees, in pain, and leant against the bathtub, then reached across and twisted both taps at once. The rhythmic gushing of fresh water soothed Andrew for a few seconds before he slipped the plug into the drain to let the tub fill up.

  When the water was halfway, Andrew stood up and peeled off his shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror fixed to the back of the bathroom door. The deep, grey blemish of a developing bruise bloomed beneath the ribs on his right side. Gently, he ran a finger over the injury and pressed down slightly. The action was met with a sharp, stabbing pain radiating throughout his entire torso. Andrew’s stomach fluttered with approaching nausea and forced him to lean over the sink and take deep breaths. It took several minutes before his insides calmed down again.

  Hands shaking, Andrew unfastened his jeans and let them fall around his ankles; his underwear too. Then he stepped out of the clothes and used his toes to pull off his socks, unable to bend down and pull them off by hand. Once he was completely naked, he stepped over into the bath and gingerly lowered himself down.

  The steaming water sent fresh stabs of pain through his ribs, but after a few seconds the discomfort subsided and was even alleviated slightly as the therapeutic heat massaged his body. He slid back against the tub and placed his head down on the spongy bath pillow that Pen had bought needlessly on one of her extravagant shopping trips. He was grateful for it now, though, and the softness against the back of his skull made him feel sleepy.

  He would have to make up with Pen before he went to bed – apologise to her. Never going to bed on an argument was a wisdom he’d always abided by. Whether or not he shared the reasons why he had snapped at her was something he hadn’t yet decided.

  Don’t want to worry her.

  But I don’t want to keep things from her either.

  Andrew used the toes on his left foot to turn off the hot water tap followed by the cold. He slid lower into the water, letting his chin touch the surface. If he could have, he would have gone completely under, accepting the warm and inviting embrace of the water like a protective womb. He settled for dunking his head under briefly and soaking his hair. Wet, brown strands plastered his forehead when he came back up and he wiped them away with his hand.

  Relaxation approached at last, the tension flowing away into the bath water. Soon Andrew would be able to think things through rationally – to decide whether or not he would call the police, tell his wife, or just keep the whole thing to himself. With a calmer mind, Andrew could at least console himself that things would work out one way or another. He was a middle-classed citizen of the UK, not some impoverished Russian on the mean streets of Moscow. There was order and civility in England; wretched little monsters like Frankie were punished for their crimes.

  He only just got out of a young offender’s home, for Christ’s sake. Is he planning on going straight back to an adult jail?

  A knock at the bathroom’s door.

  “Andrew?” It was Pen.

  Andrew sighed, wishing that the water would swallow him whole. He still wasn’t ready to speak to his wife. But what choice did he have?

  “Andrew, I ordered you some food as well. Just in case you change your mind. I’m worried about you. Is your stomach-ache really bad?”

  “Yeah,” Andrew replied. “But I’ll try to eat something anyway. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

  There was a brief pause, but then an answer. “That’s okay. We all get grouchy when we’re not very well.”

  Andrew felt teary. The compassion of his wife was such a contrast to the animosity of earlier events that it sent his brain into an emotional tailspin, but he fought back the tears and made himself smile (not that Pen would see it from the other side of the door). “I love you, Pen.”

  “I love you too, hun. I’ll see you downstairs, okay? That film is about to start and Rebecca wants you to watch it with her.”

  “Okay. Be right down.”

  Andrew leant forward in the bath and winced against the stiffness and pain that bloomed in his ribs. He yanked the chain attached to the plug and listened to the gurgle as the drain began its suction. Then he lay back down and waited for the water to drain away around him, enjoying the sensual tickle of the water-level dropping against his skin. When the tub was finally empty, he remained there for several more minutes, not wanting to move or face the chill of the air outside his ceramic cocoon.

  When he did fi
nally find the willpower to get out of the bath, Andrew quickly grabbed a towel from the warming-rail and wrapped it tightly around himself. There was a hidden breeze in the room that nipped at his shoulders in places the towel did not cover. He fought back a shiver and began to dry himself, taking care not to be too rough around his sore ribs. Not wanting to add needlessly to the washing pile, Andrew gathered his clothes off the bathroom floor and decided to put them back on again. The jeans were comfortable and would be fine for sitting and watching a film. Perhaps he would get into pyjamas later, after dinner.

  The plush, brown carpet of the landing outside the bathroom felt good beneath Andrew’s feet. He padded over to the stairs and started down them slowly. As he neared the bottom, he could hear the loud blaring of the television from the living room. For some reason, his daughter was unable to enjoy anything that didn’t carry the risk of hearing damage.

  Andrew reached the downstairs hallway and was just about to enter the living room…

  When there was a knock at the door.

  Chinese is here. Andrew changed direction and headed for the porch instead. He stepped inside and tried to make out the figure behind the glass, but it was too dark to see anything, so he opened the door.

  No one was there.

  Andrew stared out into the darkness, straining his eyes for shapes in the shadows. All of the light was behind him, making the velvet darkness outside seem deep and unending. He leant forward and focused his eyes, but still he could see no one. He started to think for a moment that he’d imagined the knock at the door.

  “Alright, mate?”

  Andrew jumped back. A figure appeared from behind the side-wall of the porch and entered the bleeding patch of light from the hallway. It was Frankie.

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Chill out,” said Frankie. “No need to shit your pants. I came to apologise, innit.”

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed further. “What?”

  Frankie moved forward and placed a foot onto the step of the front door. Andrew moved forward to meet him.