Free Surefire by Ashe Barker

over the passenger side. It’s a mess, and I’m going to need to get it fixed before I can go anywhere. But at least my car’s still here . They could have stolen it. In fact, I’m a bit puzzled about why they didn’t. Why bother going to the trouble of breaking in just to rummage through my glove box? They didn’t even nick my CDs—obviously not devotees of Coldplay and Amy Winehouse. But still, it seems odd.
    Efficient as ever, Nathan’s on the phone sorting out a mobile windscreen repair firm offering a twenty-four hour service. It seems I’ll be good as new again within an hour or so. And Tom’s marching up the path to my wrecked front door, the twisted, scorched uPVC now just a melted tangle. PC Solemn is gone, but the police tape is still in place. They’ve also arranged a boarding up firm to secure a couple of stout wooden planks across the doorway, to keep out prying eyes and no doubt to preserve evidence for the investigators. None of whom are in evidence now. The place is deserted, lonely and abandoned. And that does it for me. I follow Tom to the door, powerfully reminded of another time I walked up this path, alone on that occasion. It was the day I was released from prison, and I came home looking for my mother even though I knew she wasn’t here anymore. I found Sadie then, and now she’s gone too, and someone even tried to destroy my house. On that thought I turn, sit on the step, put my head in my hands and weep.
    And suddenly, Tom’s arms are around me. He’s sitting beside me, holding me. He doesn’t say anything, no useless soothing words, no attempt to stop my tears as the dam bursts and the grief and tension of this awful day flow from me. The shock and terror of this morning when I heard what had happened, and feared that people might have died because of me. Then the desperate rush to drive down here, the shock of actually seeing the damage to my lovely house then the sickening realization that some evil git did this on purpose, someone deliberately tried to burn my house to the ground. Then the horror of realizing the police believed that evil person was me, that I could do such a terrible thing. But then came Julia, sent by Eva. And Tom and Nathan actually followed me, came here to help me, because they knew I needed them. Like some sort of desperate limpet, I cling to Tom, his hands tracing circling caresses on my back as my sobs eventually subside. I sniff into his neck, trying not to leave nasty marks on his clean sports shirt.
    “Here. Use this.”
    I turn, to see Nathan crouching in front of us, a clean hanky in his hand. It’s one of those nice, fancy ones. Real fabric. Seems a pity to wipe my nose on it, but that doesn’t stop me. I dab at my eyes, blow my nose noisily. I consider offering him the handkerchief back but think better of it and shove it into my pocket to wash later. I look from one to the other, my gaze still watery. I’m fragile, but ready to start picking myself up. And I know that this time, it’ll be so much easier with people around to help me. This time, it’s not just me against the world. I start to smile, wobbly, but near enough.
    The smile dies at the sound of a voice, a sneering, coarse, cruel voice, a voice I’d hoped never to hear again.
    “Well, isn’t this nice. Who’re your ponsy friends then, Shaz?”

Chapter Seven
    Kenny’s leaning on my gatepost, his hands in his pockets. Or should I say, Tom’s pockets. He’s wearing Tom’s leather jacket, the one he stole on the river bank in Bristol, although to be fair it looks faintly ridiculous on him, at least three sizes too big. And he’s smiling, an unpleasant smirk signaling distinctly malicious intent. And he’s not alone. There’s a white Transit van parked on the other side of the street, and I count five other thugs pouring out of the open rear doors, coming across to arrange themselves around Kenny. One of them is even trying the doors of Nathan’s Porsche, the others just