Free Lucas by Kevin Brooks Page A

like him, don’t you? how do you like him? and what about the Boy? the dream? what does that mean? and what’s up with Dominic? why’s he hanging around with Jamie? is he seeing Bill? or Angel? do you care? do you want to care …?
    I wished I knew.
    I wished … yeah, I wished.
    At least the weekend was over. It had been a long one – long, chaotic, and disturbing. Awful. Probably the worst few days of my life. But it was over now, I kept telling myself. It was over. Things would soon get back to normal. The skies would clear and I could settle down to a quiet summer of long hot days with nothing to do and nothing to think about. Just blue skies, good books, cold drinks, and cool nights. No more surprises, no more horror, no more crap.
    That was it.
    That’s what I wanted.
    Nothing to do.
    Nothing to think about.
    No more crap.
    Fat chance.
    On Tuesday afternoon I bumped into Bill in the village. I was with Dad. I hadn’t really wanted to go with him, because whenever we go into the village together it always feels like one of those scenes from an old cowboy movie, when the homesteaders who won’t sell out to the cattlebaron ride into town in their cronky old wagon and all the gunslingers and tough guys are lounging around giving them dirty looks …
    That’s how it feels to me, anyway.
    It’s not that the locals dislike Dad. They might be a bit suspicious of him, I suppose. A bit wary, a bit stand-offish … but I’m sure they don’t dislike him. Well, maybe some of them do. They probably think he’s a bit weird. A bit scruffy. A bit distasteful . He drinks, you know. Smokes pot. Writes books. And, worst of all, he’s not an islander. He might have lived on Hale for over fifteen years, but he wasn’t born here. He’s still an outsider. He’s still Irish .
    So, anyway, I wasn’t that keen when he asked me to go with him, but he’d run out of whiskey, and he wanted to go to the library, and if I didn’t go with him he’d have to walk … and he was feeling a bit down … and I didn’t really have anything else to do anyway … so what else could I do? I fixed a smile to my face, fixed up my hair, and off we went.
    When we got to the village, we parked in the square and headed down the High Street towards the library. There weren’t that many people about – one or two old folks lazing about on benches, young mothers with Jeeps full of kids, a couple of fishermen clomping about in waders with roll-ups dangling from their lips. There were a few bikers moping around by the bus stop giving us dirty looks, and a bunch of kids from school were hanging around outside the newsagent, but none of them saw me, and I was happy to leave it at that.
    The library is a nice old place at the end of the High Street, with crumbly stone pillars guarding the entrance and high windows that glaze the interior with a cooling light. Although it’s small, with only a limited selection ofbooks, it’s got a reasonably good reference section and it’s always nice and quiet, the way libraries should be.
    Dad needed to photocopy something from a reference book, but the copier was playing up, so while he waited patiently as the ancient librarian fiddled around hopelessly inside the machine, I passed the time messing about on the library computer.
    I’d logged on and was checking out the RSPCA website when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
    â€˜Looking for porn, girl?’
    I turned around to see Bill, chewing on a wad of gum, looking down at me.
    â€˜Oh, hello,’ I said.
    â€˜What are you doing?’
    â€˜Nothing. Just browsing, you know.’ I looked around. ‘Are you on your own?’
    She looked a little embarrassed. ‘Angel’s outside.’
    I looked out through the door. Angel Dean was leaning in a doorway across the street talking to one of the bikers. She was wearing a skinny little vest and