Keep It in the Family

by John Marrs

No one under this roof believes in compassion. Empathy is an alien emotion here.

Then in one swift manoeuvre, his feet leave the floor and vanish upwards, as if the angels have carried him away to heaven. They haven’t, of course. This is a place even angels avoid.

Everyone except their families soon forgets about a missing child. And me. I remember every one of them. Because I am the bait that lures them here.

But for tonight, I intend to have loud, passionate sex with Debbie’s son and scream the sodding roof down if I have to, and I don’t care who hears. If I can’t give him a baby, I’ll at least give him the time of his life.

For all her faults, I could never be without this woman. She came into my life at a time when I needed someone to be on my side, and she has never left. I would die for her, without hesitation. In fact, if it wasn’t for her, I would probably be dead already.

Her head is held straight, her shoulders are thrown back and her stride is self-assured. But her confidence is undermined by the way she clings to his arm for dear life. She is an actress. She needs him more than he needs her.

She’s very different from anyone else I’ve dated. It was a big jump, moving from the girl I was with throughout my teens and early twenties and knew inside out, to someone completely new. But that was part of the appeal. Emma was sweet and kind and would do anything I asked of her, but our relationship was claustrophobic. She insisted we did everything together, which I know is important, but not 24-7. I was already looking for a way out the night Mia and I met. She was a funny, confident force of nature and drunk as a skunk. Oh, and as fit as you like.

All I can be sure of is that for the first decade of my life, they shaped me into the contradiction I am now. I am not like them yet I am them. I kill as they killed but not for the same reason. I kill to save others, not punish them. I walk my own path yet I am always aware of the outlines of my parents’ footsteps before me. Killing is as natural to me as walking or blinking. It’s like bursting a blister or taking a tablet for a headache.

‘That little boy looks like my father-in-law,’ I say. ‘Which one?’ Jasmine asks and I point to a child with a port-wine stain on his forehead and eyelid. ‘Oh, you know Davey Hunter?’ I take a short gasp of air but, before I can reply, a sudden, high-pitched noise rings out around the room, snagging everyone’s attention. Only when it’s followed by a thumping sound do I realise it’s Precious, banging her fists against the armrests of her wheelchair. Her squeal is as shrill as a smoke alarm.

The last time I was here, I was thirteen years old. I remember it as if it was yesterday because you never forget your first premeditated murder. His name was Justin Powell and he was a year or two older than me and much bigger. He wasn’t somebody who needed saving – his death was to save someone else and redirected the course of the rest of my life.

Talk to me, don’t talk about me.’

CHAPTER 39 FINN Fuck.

Sonny is giving me a wide, toothless smile as he sits on my lap and we rock gently back and forth on the swings in the playpark. I can’t tell if he is grinning because he is enjoying this or because of the long fart he’s just let out. But as long as he’s not crying, I’m not complaining.

‘She’s not my friend any more,’ I say. ‘If we don’t go now, you’ll be arrested. The car – is it stolen?’ He nods. ‘So they’ll charge you for that as well as murder. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison?’ He shakes his head. ‘Then we need to get out of here. What’s your name?’ ‘Dave,’ he says. ‘I’m Debbie,’ I offer. Then I grab his arm and pull him away from Precious. Now, it’s him and me running together. To where, I don’t know yet. But with Dave, I already feel safe.

I waited until after my grandfather died years later and there was a brief clearing in the fog of my grandmother’s dementia to ask why she thought they never came for me. ‘They didn’t have the chance to,’ she said, before revealing that my grandfather and a group of close friends had ensured my parents could never hurt another child again. Then he paid a crematorium attendant to open up after hours and dispose of their bodies. ‘But Dad was your son,’ I said. ‘Which is why we were duty bound. We brought him into this world so it was our responsibility to take him out of it.’

‘It’s him,’ she growls, and I know she’s referring to Finn. She barely forgave him for cheating on me but has point-blankly refused to even say his name since he moved into Emma’s house. ‘I’ve left him on the doorstep where he belongs, next to the wheelie bin. He likes to recycle, doesn’t he?’ It takes me a beat to identify this as a thinly veiled dig at his and Emma’s reconciliation.

After a brief respite from the rain, it begins to drizzle again so I zip up Sonny’s puddle-suit and pull his hood over his head.

Puddle-suit. This is adorable!

I place a plastic bag on the ground, remove Sonny from his pushchair and slowly lower him and myself on to it.

I let out a breath I’ve been holding ever since we left the house.

‘You did it so we could bond?’ He laughs. ‘Why not teach me how to swim? Ride a bike? Draw, paint, play tennis, garden, watch Disney movies together, grow vegetables, bake, play board games? That’s how you bond, not by showing me how to fold a kid’s body into a suitcase.

She might’ve suspected there were skeletons in her closet but maybe not in the attic.