Chapter 4 – unfriendly locals – help from a huge hoodie

OK, I admit, I had just a rough idea of what I was going to do when I got there, probably carry out a quick reassessment to stop him running to the papers, get some emergency provision in place. It was only when I got to Hilltown I realised it might have been a good idea to have brought someone with me. Not just to act as an assessment witness but to keep an eye on Martina after parking up and leaving her to the mercy of the locals.

It isn’t as if Hilltown is violent or anything. It’s more run-down, an estate of depressing tower blocks populated by pensioners and bored teenagers. There was a group of kids hanging about a nearby bus stop and walking towards them in the direction of Davey’s flat I felt them checking me out out of boredom. I couldn’t help glancing back at Martina and there was some cheeky laughter of the ‘Us, nick that?!’ variety and I felt some injured pride on Martina’s behalf. But they didn’t seem the types to start any trouble and I was too focused on finding block 27 to pay them much attention. When I found the right door though I was forced to wonder just how friendly the locals actually were.

The door to number 27 had ‘FUCKING FREAK SCUM!’ painted across in dripping red. This sort of thing had started up shortly after people with Abilities were allowed to claim benefits and certain papers began reporting how they were getting better housing, better jobs, government paying for everything. You heard about this sort of abuse happening but to actually see hate like that in action, knowing it was directed at someone as nice as Davey…I shoved at it fuming but typically, this was one of the few doors in the area where the lock worked. I stuck my thumb on the buzzer for 3F3 and held it there. Nothing. Tried again and again but after no responding buzz I backed out onto the street, stared up at the windows, tried to work out which one was Davey’s. Counting along I figured it must be the flat with a small top window above the main one propped open. ‘Hey! Davey! Davey Robertson! It’s Cathy! Cathy Burns! I got your emails, go’an let me in, eh, Davey!’

After a couple minutes yelling I knew I was on a hiding to nothing. Dug out my mobile and did what I should’ve done before I’d left the office, gave him a call. All I got was some electronic woman telling me the line was disconnected but somehow I knew he was up there. Couldn’t tell you why exactly but Alan at work was always saying I should get my ability to pick up on trouble checked out as an actual Ability. 

‘Hie! Copper! You’re too late, your mates have gone!’ One of those teenagers was shouting and it took me a while to realise she meant me. Copper? Cheeky wee cow. Even in my jeans and Superdry jacket they’d been able to sniff out I was someone Official. There were three girls, two skinny guys in their trackies with those stupid big baseball caps on but I was past being careful. Angry with myself and Davey I headed towards them, shouting back, ‘Mates? What you on about? D’you know anything about this?’ and I pointed at the graffiti, ‘Eh?’

It did flicker through my mind I was about to get stabbed but the closer I got I could tell their bark was worse than their bite. Although I’m small I give off the air I could break your nose before you could blink and while the girls were giving it ‘Who’s this bitch think she is?’ the guys were twitchy, tugging at the peaks of their hats, eyes flickering for escape routes. 

‘You accusing us, eh?’ The girls were in charge, the one speaking the boss in her pink tracksuit with white piping, the kind of pink that’s so bright it’s an act of aggression. Her hair was pure white, tied back, no roots showing here. While the boys skulking behind her were as pale as a slice of pan loaf, she and her two wing-girls had an Irn-Bru glow about them that hadn’t been granted by Dundee levels of sunlight. She was about eighteen or so and there was a hard intelligence in her eyes, narrowing as they sized me up, that had me hoping her life had more to offer than an HNC in hairdressing and early babies. 

‘I’m not accusing anyone, I’m just after some information about a friend of mine, he lives in that block there.’

‘What are you then, police or the Social or -’

‘What, have I got DWP tattooed on my forehead or something? OK, so he’s not a friend so much as a client and I think he’s in trouble. I’m not here to shop him or anything, I’m here to help. His name’s Davey Robertson, you know him?’

‘That weirdo, the freaky guy?’ piped up the girl to the right, a miniature Cheryl Cole to this one’s Lady Gaga. Younger, maybe only fifteen, and for an instant I was this close to asking ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ until I realised what a Mum that would make me sound. 

‘Shanice, will you fucking shut it,’ snapped Blondie and Shanice’s flush made its way through that tan. ‘What, but he is -’ but Blondie’s glare was strong enough to strip nail polish at fifteen paces and Shanice shut it. 

‘Yeah. That’s right. The freaky guy,’ I said, nodding slowly as if I was trying to work out where they’d stashed the red paint. Blondie tutted, ‘Ignore her, right, Shanice is being an idiot -’

‘Kelly, I am not, right, he went mental at my mum down in Iceland that one time because she told on him to the security guard because he was, like, melting the cabinets, sort of sticking his hand through the glass stuff to get to the -’

‘Shanice!’ and while Shanice and Kelly were having this staring stand-off the girl to the left, shyer than the other two, turning bright red as she spoke, said, ‘We didn’t have anything to do with that. We’re not like that. Yeah, he was mean to Shanice’s mum but he’s nice enough and we -’ and she faltered, confidence all used up because Kelly had switched her attention to her, giving her a stare that told her what nasty things she could do with a nail-file. Then she was back to me. 

‘Look we haven’t seen anything, we don’t know anything so why don’t you get back in your car, meet up with your mates and fuck off back to…wherever -’ 

‘Listen, Kelly,’ I raised my hands, trying to show I wasn’t any kind of threat. Kelly was edgy about something and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just me. They’d seen something and were still deciding if it was safe to tell me or not. ‘You keep on going on about my mates but I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

‘Aye you do.’ It was one of the dumb lunks at the back who’d spoken up, Kelly rolling her eyes, fed up with her thick-as-mince gangmates. ‘The guys who were here a minute ago with their fuck-off black car and suits and everything, like fucking ‘Men in Black’, eh? We were shiteing it, you an’ all Kelly, eh? Because we thought maybe they were here for -’ and he stopped, eyes wide with panic and I was about to ask, ‘Here for…?’ when Kelly jumped in.

‘They went over to where you were, pressed the buzzer, went in, then a wee while later they were sprinting like fuck back to their car.’

The low-level dread I’d been feeling since reading Davey’s emails started to build. ‘And they were wearing black, right? Did they have…were they wearing hats?’ I asked and I was thinking back to those two Knoxians but Kelly was frowning. ‘Naw but…’ and the quiet girl spoke, talking to me but looking at Kelly, ‘they had this sort of…vibe. Creepy,’ and she shivered, a movement that rippled through the other two girls. 

‘Aw shit,’ I groaned, because I knew whatever their reason for visiting it had been bad news for Davey Robertson. ‘Right, I’m going to have to -’ and my brain went blank. What were my options? The Police, that would maybe be my best bet although what would I tell them? The Fire Brigade, I could tell them I was worried, they could maybe get me in… 

‘Do you…do you need help?’ It was the quiet one, looking concerned and even Kelly was looking at me worried as though I was going to collapse any second. ‘Because we could…Kelly?’ and Kelly looked doubtful but then glanced over at Davey’s block. ‘Kevin…yeah. He could probably…but…he’s not supposed to get in any more trouble remember.’

‘But this, this is more like helping,’ the quiet one persisted. Then before Kelly could stop her she called out, ‘Kevin! Hey, KEVIN! It’s safe!’ and I’m thinking, ‘Kevin?’ as what I’d vaguely thought was a rounded navy tent or shed thing behind the bushes to the left of the shelter, started lifting and moving. Then it turned and I saw a huge eye in a massive face lifting up, a giant of a teenager propping himself up, most of him previously hidden behind a block of flats and the sun dimmed as he stood up because there was so much of him and I couldn’t help but shout out,‘Of course! Kevin Hendry! The Huge Hoodie of Hilltown!’ as Kevin boomed out, ‘MISS BURNS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? IS IT ABOUT MY CLAIM? IF IT’S ABOUT THE WINDOW CLEANING JOB I’VE TOLD THEM BEFORE IT’S THE BUCKETS THAT ARE CAUSING THE PROBLEM. MY HANDS, THEY’RE TOO BIG TO FIT. AND MISS BURNS, THAT DEPOT IT’S BLOODY FREEZING, THAT BLANKET YOU GOT ME ONLY GETS TO MY ANKLES, SORRY FOR SWEARING BUT IT’S NO JOKE.’

See how bloody ungrateful clients could be? As if it was the easiest thing in the world to find a job for a fifty-foot-high kid, one who could easily squish a work colleague under a massive pair of Converse.

‘No Kevin, I’m not here about the window -’

‘EH? MISS BURNS, I CANNAE HEAR YOU, YOU’LL HAVE TO – ’

I took a deep breath, remembered how on the couple of occasions I’d spoken to Kevin when he’d come down to the office we’d have to go up to the top floor while he leant down and I yelled in his ear, him giggling because it tickled. His wee gang were killing themselves at the sight of the woman from the Social getting a talking to from fecking Not So Jolly Teen Giant. I tried to retain some dignity as I yelled up as he knelt and wobbled, nearly taking the bus shelter out as he steadied himself, ‘NO KEVIN, YOU’RE ALRIGHT, YOU DON’T NEED TO WORRY. I’M NOT HERE ABOUT THE WINDOW CLEANING.’ Although, truth be told, I was making a mental note to call that company up once I’d got back to the office, asking them how difficult could it be to keep an eye on someone as tall as two double decker buses? ‘BUT YEAH, I SHOULD BE ABLE TO HELP YOU OUT WITH YOUR HEATING PROBLEM. JUST NEED YOU TO GIVE ME A BIT OF A HAND. PARDON THE PUN.’

‘…WHAT?’

Fuck’s sake. The sight of a teenager’s blank expression magnified a few hundred times was truly a depressing sight. Thankfully the shy girl was more on the ball. ‘SHE WANTS YOU TO HELP, KEVIN. GIVE HER A LIFT TO SEE WHAT’S GOING ON IN THE FLAT OVER THERE.’

‘Is that not like, blackmail, like?’ Oh, right, this apparently was the perfect time for the other boyfriend or whatever he was to start talking. Yeah, now he’d got his massive mate to back him up.

Kelly butted in with ‘Yeah, shouldn’t you just be sorting out his heating anyway? Cos you’re like the government and you’re supposed to do that sort of thing. It’s like your job,’ which is when I lost it ever so slightly.  

‘No, my job is to look after people who come to me for help,’ I told her, taking a few steps closer until I could practically feel the radioactive glow off of Kelly’s tracksuit. ‘And for your information,’ I pointed at baseball boy, ‘blackmail would be me saying to you that if you lot don’t shut it, I’ll do everything in my power to find out your names and stop the benefits of anyone who’s got the misfortune to share fucking breathing space with you, got it? Now, can I get a bit of co-operation here!’ 

Kelly folded her arms slowly, looking as though she was deciding whether to head-butt or high-five me. I had to work pretty hard not to show how chuffed I was when she shouted over her shoulder, ‘KEVIN! C’MON, QUIT FANNYING ABOUT, MISS BURNS HERE NEEDS A LIFT!’