Chapter 1.

It took him a minute to realise the man was trying to speak. It took him longer to realise he should stop hitting and listen.

- He's alive. I'll tell you where.

That's what the cock was trying to say. Through the blood and spit. Stop it Cook. Stop and listen. It's about Freddie. You'll be fucked if he dies on you.

Cook stopped. He leaned over, his face close to the man on the floor, putting his weight on the bat in his hand.

- What the fuck are you saying mate? Because if this is you trying to save your life, and you're lying, I'll kill you harder.

- I'm not. I didn't kill him.

John Foster closed his eyes. His eye. The one that wasn't closed already.

- I'm a healer, not a killer.

Cook kicked him in the kidneys.

- I thought you were a psycho, but you're just a deluded lying bastard.

John Foster didn't say anything. Then, without opening his eyes,

- he's in the loft. There's a ramsay ladder.

- You smashed his head in with a baseball bat and put his bloody clothes in plastic bags like some kind of second rate Ted Bundy. You expect me to believe he's still alive?

John Foster looked at him then.

I'm a doctor. I kept him alive.

He made a sound that could have been a laugh.

- You don't understand power, do you?

Cook straightened, and raised his right arm.

- I do now mate.

***

He was pretty sure he wasn't dead. Don't fuck this up. He left John Foster on his side and tied his hands and ankles together with electrical cords. In the plastic box with Freddie's clothes he also found his phone, turned off or out of battery. Cook put it in his pocket. Then he shut the windows and pulled the shades, leaving the lamp on. If the fucker managed a resurrection and untied himself, no surprises. Check his pockets. Keys. No phone. No wallet.

The house was big, but there were lights on. Cook climbed three flights of stairs. He was limping but he felt weightless. The top landing was dark. When he found the switch he could see a hatch in the ceiling that had a lock on it; the paint around the lock was scuffed. He needed one of those pole things. But how the fuck did he get up there to open the lock? A pole thing and a step ladder.

There were four doors opening off the landing, all closed. One had a small photograph stuck to the door. He hadn't noticed. Cook stepped closer. What the fu… It was Effy. A blurry picture, taken from a distance, probably with a phone. She was standing at a window, the sun on her, looking out and away from the camera. Into an invisible distance. Her bare arms shone white.

Cook covered his face with both hands, pressing his palms into his eye sockets until he saw sparks. He was crying. Pull yourself together man. He pulled up his shirt and wiped his face, then opened the door. In the rectangle of light from the hall he could see it was a girl's room, but not a girl like Effy: a single bed lined with teddies, bookshelves, a desk with no computer, posters of paintings of ballet dancers. He slammed the door, the sound so loud he jumped. Focus. Another door led into a toilet, but the third was a linen closet with shelves, and everything he needed.

The small key on John Foster's bunch opened the padlock.

The loft was big like the house. Standing on the ladder, his head and shoulders above the level of the floor, Cook could see something at its far edge where a small orange nightlight was plugged in. Something like a mattress. Cook hauled himself up. He didn't think to stand up; he crawled to it. A mattress with a body laid out on it, a sheet pulled up to it's chin, head completely wrapped in bandages. John Foster had sent him up here to show off the body.

Everything was black. The colour of rage; not red, black.

Then Cook realised that the ragged sound wasn't his own breathing, because he wasn't. Every bit of him was still. The sound was Freddie dragging air into his lungs through cracked lips. Little sips of air.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cook leaned over him. Freddie's chest was moving slightly. Even a psycho wouldn't bandage the head of a dead man.

- What a fucking numpty, eh Freds. We're going to get you out of here mate. Then it'll be payback time for Doctor Foster. Did you see the room downstairs? What the hell was he playing at? Going to brainwash Effy and keep you up here like some kind of Misery remake? Only this is Bristol right, not fucking Wisconsin or wherever.

He was babbling. Don't look at the face. Or where the face should have been; instead, a pulpy bruise.

Freddy moved. Very slightly. And out of him came a groan that escaped as barely a whisper but hit Cook like a wall of moving water. Drenching him, opening his eyes wide. Do something. He pulled out his phone and called Freddie's house, the landline. It rang for a long time before Freddie's dad picked up. Then it got simple. Cook told him everything that had happened, in the fewest words he could find. Leo said three things. Stay where you are. Text me from Freddie's phone. I'm coming over now. Then he hung up.

Cook picked up Freddie's phone and turned it on. He almost opened the full inbox, messages from him and Karen and Freddie's dad and Effy and JJ and everyone. The most from Effy. But instead he texted help me bn attkd at john fosters ridge ave pls come dad he will kill me.

It took them 20 minutes. Freddie's dad wouldn't let Karen in to the loft. When Cook climbed down the ladder she was sitting on the landing with her back against to the door to the girl's room, tears and snot running down her face onto her pink pyjamas. When he knelt down and hugged her she put her arms around him and whispered – thank you for finding him Cook.

He sat next to her.

- You were right Karen. You know him better than all of us.

She leaned her head on him.

- The police are going to be here. You better go.

- The fugitive, duh duhn.

- You're going to tell her next, aren't you.

- Freds would want me to.

- This is her fault. Fucking nutjob. It's all her fault.

***

Nobody knew where Cook was, but by then no one cared. Karen had gone to bed, JJ was asleep, so Thomas and Panda took her home. No one said much but when they left Effy at her door and walked away, it was together. Effy stood watching them. Before they got to the corner Thomas reached for Panda's hand and she didn't push it away.

The lights were on. She took a deep breath and opened the front door. It was quiet; when she looked in the lounge her mother was asleep on the couch with an empty bottle of wine next to her and the TV on.

- I'm back Mum. You can go to bed.

Anthea started up.

- Oh, I must have fallen asleep. How was your night darling? You okay?

- Yeah fine. Tired. I'm going to bed.

She was already halfway to her room when her mum called – Night night, darling, I love you.

She'd been waiting all night to open the red notebook again, but when she did she didn't get past the second page. She didn't realise, at first, but then her mother was on her bed, holding her, stroking her hair, and she understood. The terrible broken sound was coming from her. She couldn't cry, there were no tears, but she couldn't stop either. Eventually they fell asleep like that, Effy curled up like a child, the red book clutched to her chest.

The doorbell woke them up.

- Stay here darling. I'll tell whoever to fuck off. Jesus, it's 4:30 in the morning, said her mother, catching sight of the clock. She slid off the bed carefully, as if Effy might break.

Effy lay with her eyes closed. The voices were whispering quietly, as if plotting. They'd been silent most of the night and now they'd want revenge. One of the voices was familiar, out-there familiar. Effy sat up. It was Cook. Anthea had left the bedroom door open and she could hear them in the hall.

They didn't notice her coming down the stairs. Cook was covered in blood, his own or someone else's. Her mother was saying – Oh god, oh god – and pulled him against her, hugging him. That's when he looked up and saw her. Standing on the stairs, amazed that it was hope she felt, when she knew it should have been fear.

He pulled away.

- Effy…

- Cook..

They spoke at the same time. Her mother's voice a warning. Cook ignored her.

- We found him.

Effy stared. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

- He's in a bad way Eff. He's been done proper. But he's alive. He's…

- What happened Cook? The words sounded like they'd been scraped out of her throat with a knife.

- Cook..her mother said again, stepping forward as if to stand between them. To shield Effy with her body. But he spoke around her.

- It was John Foster. He got Freddie to his house and went at him with a baseball bat. He's been keeping him there. But he's alive. He's alive Eff.

Effy was frowning, as if he'd been speaking in a language she didn't understand. She looked at her mother and back at Cook. They both stepped forward, because it seemed like she was falling, but it was running: past them, through the house to the kitchen where she vomited into the sink. She was sick for a long time, spasms shaking her shoulders as Anthea mother rubbed her back and tried to pull her hair away from her face. Cook watched, not knowing where to stand or what to do with his hands. Finally Effy stood up and turned around, wiping her mouth with her forearm. The lines on her inner wrists were shiny white.

- Take me to the hospital.

***

It was getting light, a dawn the colour of an oyster shell. There were already patients outside the hospital with their IVs and oxygen tanks, having a fag. Nobody even looked at the three of them, invisible in place full of blood and hurt.

The morning routine was starting, orderlies wheeling trays of food through the halls, but Freddie's wing was quiet. No one ate in this part of the hospital. Karen was sitting on a plastic chair outside his room, an oversized parka zipped over her pyjamas, starting at the wall in front of her. The door to the room was closed.

She didn't look up, despite the loud squeaky sound of their shoes on the floor. Cook stopped them with a hand, wait, then knelt down and put his face in front of hers.

- Karen?

She had to work to focus her eyes on him.

- Is he in there Karen?

She nodded, her eyes following him as he stood up. She registered Effy and Anthea, standing like actors waiting to join a scene.

- You've got some fucking nerve.

Effy said nothing. Standing now, Karen bunched her fists, looking like a furious, hurt child.

- This is all your fault you crazy bitch. This never would have happened if you hadn't decided you would stop fucking Cook and take an interest.

- I know. I'm sorry.

- He'd have been better off if you'd just stayed gone.

- I know. But I love him.

Karen laughed. There were tears running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin onto her father's coat.

- I love him. My dad loves him. Even Cook loves him.

Effy was crying. Her mother tried to put an arm around her; Effy shrugged her off and took a step towards Karen.

- He loves me.

- He loves you? He loves us too but it didn't nearly get him killed.

- That's enough Karen.

Leo was standing in the open door to Freddie's room. He stepped out and closed it behind him. No one moved.

- He's stable. Karen, come with me now. We're going to see him, and then you're going to let Anthea take you and Cook home. You're both going to get some sleep. Cook, you can stay in Freddie's room. I don't think the cops will come looking today. Anthea, would you mind?

She looked at him startled, like an animal in a beam of light.

- Of course Leo.

- Effy, would you like to see him?

Effy didn't say anything, but Leo nodded once, and reached out an arm for Karen. She went to him. It looked, as they went back in through the door to the room, as if she was the one supporting his weight. They came out again 10 minutes later the same way. Anthea hugged Effy – I'll be back for you soon yeah, as soon as I drop these two off and get them settled – and Cook and Karen went quietly with her.

Leo put his hand on Effy's shoulder, briefly. It was heavy.

– Go on. He wants you there. I'm going to get a coffee. The nurse's station is just around the corner.

He started walking off down the hall, then stopped. Effy had her hand on the door.

- No one can help who they love. It's what they do about it.

He couldn't have heard her say thank you. She pushed open the door.

She stood just inside the doorway looked at him lying in the dim room, only a raw swollen cheek and hand pierced by tubes visible. He'd stood like this and looked down on her, bandaged in different places, and felt what she felt. My fault. He'd sat beside her, in a hospital chair just like that one, and when she'd opened her eyes and told him to go, he'd gone. How many times can you push someone away before they stop coming back?

The real scars love makes are the ones you can't see.

She sat in the chair next to his bed and, leaning carefully over, kissed each of the fingers that rested on the sheet.

They came and went the rest of the day. Leo came back and sat with her awhile, then Anthea, then later JJ and Emily and Katie. None of them could look at his face after seeing it for the first time. His eyes moved under his swollen lids as if he was dreaming. The nurses scolded if more than two people were in the room. Karen and Cook came back. Karen took the chair, with Cook sitting on the arm, and talked to Freddie while Effy sat on the floor on the other side of the bed. Leo brought a chair for her, then she sat in the corner. She wouldn't leave. They all went to get dinner in the canteen. She wouldn't leave. Anthea gave up trying and brought her pills. Nurses came and went. Effy got her chair back, and laid her head on the bed next to Freddy's hand.

I love you I love you I love you. All she could say out loud was – please be okay.

She'd didn't know she'd fallen asleep until she woke up. It was getting late; there was no edge of light around the blind on the window. All she could see was the white sheet. Something was moving against her forehead.

His fingers.

She sat up. Under the rim of white bandage, out of the bruise, two eyes watching her.

- Freddie?

It came out a whisper, the barest hope.

- Eff.

The rawest sound that could still be a human voice.

- I'm here. I'm here.

She stroked his hand with her fingertips. He closed his eyes.

- How did I get here?

- Cook found you. At his house. He was keeping you in the loft.

She couldn't say his name. John Foster.

- It's not your fault.

She didn't know she had any tears left, but when she leaned over him they fell onto the front of his hospital gown. Careful not to touch any other part of him, she kissed his cracked lips.

- You deserve better.

She'd said it before, but when she looked at him she knew it was true. She sat back in the chair and wiped her face with the heel of her hand.

- I don't want better.

He was breathing hoarsely.

- I want you. I always have.

He closed his eyes again, and didn't open them. She thought he'd fallen asleep.

- Eff?

He didn't open his eyes. The words came out slowly.

- My legs don't hurt. I can't feel my legs.

- It's going to be okay now. You're going to be okay.

She lay her head down on the bed again so that he couldn't, if he opened his eyes, see what she was thinking. Liar.

She heard the door open, she wasn't sure how much later. Leo came in with her mother, the two of them talking in whispers. Anthea was settling comfortably into the role of stalwart, like slipping on a practical cardigan: it was a version of persona one she'd taken on in Italy with Flo, and then adjusted for her mental daughter. Nice of her to decide to take some fucking notice. All it took was a suicide attempt.

Effy sighed. And sat up. It was pointless, the anger. It had started creeping back, with the voices, but mostly she just felt tired. So tired.

- He woke up. For a bit.

Her mother came up behind her and started stroking her hair. She resisted pulling away.

Leo stood and the end of the bed, looking down,

- He opened his eyes for a few minutes earlier on.

- You didn't tell me. She was angry again, although she knew she had no right to be.

- You'd gone out. His voice was hard too, then softened.

- He didn't say anything. Did he talk to you?

- He said he can't feel his legs. What's wrong with his legs?

Leo and Anthea passed a look between them. Leo rubbed his face with both hands.

- What's wrong with his legs? Louder.

- They don't know. They're not sure. Her mother spoke in the voice she used for toddlers. And pets.

- Don't fucking patronise me.

She jerked her head back, away from Anthea's hands.

- That's enough of that.

Leo's didn't sound mad. Just tired too.

Effy looked at him, and knew she deserved to be spoken to like a child.

- Please just tell, she said softly. Just talk to me. I can handle it.

- There's a lot of swelling. Maybe damage to his spinal cord. They'll know when the swelling goes down. But right now they don't think he has any sensation from the waist down.

The feeling was like she'd swallowed ice: the coldest cold radiating out from deep in her stomach, freezing her limbs, making her teeth chatter against each other when she said, through her thickened tongue,

- What?

It was her mother who spoke, from behind her.

- He's paralysed Effy.

***

- If you get ash in my bed I'll make you eat that spliff.

Cook smiled at her, put the spliff in his mouth, and stood up. He performed an exaggerated stretch, like a callisthenics instructor, and wandered over to the window. The sun felt good. A shower would feel even better.

- And put these on you bloody exhibitionist!

She tossed him his pants. Cook ignored them where they fell, turned around, and sat on the window ledge, looking at her. This is fucking weird. But it feels okay like. Weird.

Karen was lying with her pink duvet pulled up to her chin, eyes shut against the morning light falling onto the bed. She looked okay, for the first time in two days. Peaceful.

She opened her eyes, putting a hand up to shield them.

- I needed that.

- Know what you mean love.

She rolled her eyes.

- I mean, I needed to feel something. You know, something that wasn't sadness or worry or whatever. Something good.

- You came to the right place. Literally.

- You're such a fucking child. And don't flatter yourself, a dildo would have done as well, you were just handier.

Cook laughed. She folded her arms over her chest and squinted at him.

- Are you still in love with her too?

Cook made a show of roaching the spliff and putting it neatly away.

- Fine, you don't have to say it. It's obvious anyway. I don't get it. I mean, she's fit and all, but she's been a cow to both of you, and she's certifiable.

Cook pulled on his jeans.

- Jealous?

- Of course I'm fucking jealous! It's not easy, by the way, having a brother who's more beautiful than you are. Why do you think I dress up and shake my ass around? You get tired of being the cute one.

He looked down at her, frowning at him.

- You aren't just the cute one, kid, unless you choose to be.

He crawled onto the bed and kissed her nose, then pulled the duvet down.

- Definitely not just cute.

- Get off!

As he left her room for the shower, he heard her yell after him,

– that was instead of the blowjobs, by the way. We're even!

When Cook got downstairs Karen and her dad were sitting at the kitchen table drinking mugs of tea and eating toast. Leo gestured with his head to a place that had been set for Cook, cup still steaming. More than his mum had ever made him. He ducked his head – thanks – and sat down.

- So we need to talk about your situation, don't we James.

It wasn't a question.

- Guess so.

- Do you know why I got you to send that text from Freddie's phone?

Cook chewed slowly and looked at him.

- Cause I was never there?

- Smart lad. You're a serial fuck up, but you've been a good friend to my son.

He looked at Karen. She was staring at her hands.

- So if it wasn't me, who did John Foster?

- We don't know, and we don't care. I'm sure we'll find out a lot more about that psychopath in due course. That young lady had a lucky escape, I think.

But not Freddie.

- That said, you've got to do your time. Are you going to do your time James?

- Yeah.

- Good. We have an understanding. In the next few days I'll take you in, say I found you hiding in my son's shed. In a few days. In the meantime, you can stay here and give those bruises a chance to go yellow.

Leo stood up and started to clear the table.