Speak No Evil Read Free Page A

money,’ said Calvin, trying again to go round him.
    â€˜First taste is always free,’ the dealer said, ‘an’ if it’s not your first taste I’ll pretend it is. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?’ He sounded like a salesman in a kid’s body.
    Calvin shook his head, tried to move forward. The dealer still didn’t budge.
    â€˜You don’t know what you’re missin’,’ he said, trying to sound encouraging, unable to suppress his anger. ‘Go on, sort yourself out good.’ It sounded like a command.
    Calvin tried again. Couldn’t get round. He knew the dealer would be armed, that there would be a blade somewhere on him. Calvin was starting to panic. If he kept saying no, the dealer might force him. Or worse—
    â€˜Will you fuckin’ shift, man!’ Calvin hadn’t expected the words to emerge so vehemently.
    The racers glanced round. Saw what was happening. The dealer still didn’t move. Calvin didn’t want to stay there a moment longer. He kicked the dealer as hard as he could in the leg. The dealer, unprepared, crumpled to the side. Calvin ran.
    There was stunned silence from the racers, then jeering laughter. Calvin didn’t look back. Behind him an angry voice started shouting. The dealer. He was called something unpleasant, something that he would have been expected to square up to and fight to make the speaker take it back if it had happened at school or anywhere nearer home. But he didn’t stop to challenge, to rise to it, he just kept running. A description was then spat out of what the dealer would do when he caught up to the little kid who had disrespected him in front of his mates. That made Calvin run all the harder.
    He ran and ran, not looking back once. Just going forwards. Ignoring the aching in his chest, the pains in his legs and feet. Eventually he could run no more. He found a side street, ran round the corner and dropped to the ground.
    On his back, gasping for air, thinking his lungs were too small to cope with the amount he needed to take in. Every breath hurt. But not as much as what the dealer would do to him if he caught up with him. He put his hands to his ribs, hugged himself. Looked around.
    He had no idea where he was.
    Panicking, he sat up. He didn’t know if he had run further away from his home or nearer to it. The place was all rundown factories, old buildings, rubble and weeds. He stood up, trying to ignore the sudden light-headedness that affected him. Scoped. Factories, industrial units. Streetlights. Beyond them, trees. Beyond them an estate. Hope rose within him. Was that the Hancock Estate? If it was, all he had to do was walk through it then at the other side he knew the way home.
    Behind him, he heard the roaring of engines. The racers were off.
    â€˜Shit,’ he said out loud, then chastised himself. He didn’t want to be heard. They were looking for him. He knew they were. They had to be. He turned and, dragging his protesting little body, ran towards the trees, the estate.
    Anne Marie Smeaton slept. Sprawled on the sofa, Scott Walker whispering to her in the background.
    But her face betrayed her dreams. Her features were twisted, contorted, her breathing ragged and quick. She moved her head from side to side, flung her arms around. Her mouth made sounds. No words, just moans, sighs. She was trying to hold them back, but she seemed to be losing.
    The bad spirits were breaking through.
    *
    Calvin was lost. The Hancock Estate was like a maze. He had thought he was on the right track, knew the way. But every time he moved forward in the direction he wanted, the street or walkway took an unexpected twist and left him somewhere else entirely. He had tried to keep track of the corners, keep a sense of direction in his head, but it was hopeless. Now, he didn’t know whether he was going forwards or backwards. And the cars were still revving.
    They were circling him, getting