5 Abbey Road (Broken Streets #1) Page 3

  Him.

  The cops were coming to take him away to the youth boot camp—like they’d promised to do if he got caught tagging again.

  Kane glanced at the front door, wondering whether he should take off. He grimaced, well aware that it was pointless running. Where would he go? He couldn’t stay with Josh since his mate’s stepdad was the one coming to take him away, while his other mate lived in a one-bedroom unit, not enough room to hide a mouse let alone him. He couldn’t even go to his cousins’ place in Claydon since they’d sold it, moving out of the area. Or maybe he could bunk down with his ex-girlfriend, Kirstin. She still liked him. They’d broken up on good terms, now friends-with-benefits.

  But if he took off without a word, his olds would freak out, and he didn’t want to upset them even more. He leaned against the wall, knowing he couldn’t disappear even for a short time. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t—fucked either way.

  “This is cruel,” his baba said. “The poor boy doesn’t deserve to be punished after what he’s been through.” She sounded like she was standing right in front of him instead of in the kitchen. Baba Sonja always spoke at full volume when she didn’t wear her hearing aids.

  His father’s reply wasn’t so easy to hear, Kane barely catching the “I agree.”

  His baba continued speaking loudly, “He’s far too sweet to be thrown in with hoodlums.”

  Kane’s eyes widened, only just realising they could be talking about Jackson, not him. His li’l bro was the golden child of the family, the ‘sweet boy’ who got great grades and had an even greater future... until now... until he’d smashed Mick’s murderer up, causing some serious damage to the guy’s face.

  But what had happened wasn’t Jackson’s fault. He never wanted to be out that late at night, he’d even asked to go home. Kane wished he’d listened to his li’l bro, because if he had, none of this would’ve happened. Mick would be still alive while the cops wouldn’t be coming for Jackson. If anything, the cops should be coming for Kane, and he’d willingly go with them if it meant that his brother didn’t have to. His stepmum also needed Jackson home. She wasn’t handling things as it was, taking Jackson would be the final blow.

  Kane couldn’t allow that.

  He went to enter the kitchen, but instead jumped at the sound of shattering glass. Wondering what the hell had happened, he stepped through the doorway, spotting his dad picking up what looked like a broken glass tumbler. Orange juice was soaking into the floral tablecloth as well as dripping onto the greyish lino flooring, another glass of juice sitting undisturbed on the table top.

  “Leave it!” Baba Sonja waved her hand angrily, no doubt the culprit, her temper as fiery as her dyed-red hair. She was a solid woman, her features as harsh as her temperament. He’d always wondered how she’d managed to marry his grandfather since he was an attractive man—like his dad, their looks being passed down to Kane, only their eye colour different. Yet, his grandparents’ marriage appeared to work, still going strong after many decades together.

  When his dad didn’t put the glass down, she took the broken pieces out of his hands and dumped them into the rubbish bin next to the table. The both of them were too focused on each other to notice Kane standing just inside the doorway, watching them having a meltdown.

  “The police should be concentrating on that murdering bastard,” she said, “not making things worse for our family. I can’t believe his wife had the nerve to leave that card in the mailbox. I don’t care how sorry she feels for what that monster did to our Mick, she has no right to feel anything, she didn’t lose a child.” A sob followed on the heels of her words, a broken sound from a broken heart.

  His dad pulled her into a hug, his eyes welling up too.

  A door closed behind Kane. He looked over his shoulder at Jackson, who’d stepped out of their bedroom. Even though it was late afternoon, his brother was dressed in his pyjamas, the flannel hand-me-down ones he’d gotten from Kane.

  “What’s happening, Kane?” Jackson asked.

  “Kane,” their baba spoke over him. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long,” Kane replied, looking over at her.

  She walked towards him with outstretched arms while his father grabbed the shovel and broom to clean up the broken glass. Kane stood rigid as she hugged him. As Jackson entered the kitchen, she swept an arm out to pull him into the hug too.

  “I love you boys so much,” she said, squeezing them. Even though she was shorter than Jackson, she had an iron grip that could crush anyone.

  Kane felt Jackson wriggling next to him, probably trying to get free. The front door knocker banged, freezing him.

  “That’ll be Chris,” their dad said, as he went to answer the door.

  Their baba squeezed them tighter.

  Jackson yelped, “You’re hurting me, Baba!”

  Her grip loosened, but she still kept her arms wrapped around them as if she was protecting them from what was to come.

  Kane grimaced at the sound of his mate’s stepdad. Officer Johnson was talking to Kane’s dad in the front doorway, dressed in his blue uniform, with his partner standing behind him. Josh’s stepdad had been nice to him and Jackson the night Mick had been murdered, making sure that they were looked after. When one of the officers in the station had snapped at Jackson to keep quiet, Josh’s stepdad had jumped down the man’s throat, yelling at him to show some sympathy. Regardless, Kane still didn’t want him here, no matter how nice he was.

  Josh’s stepdad and his partner entered the lounge, heading towards him.

  Baba Sonja turned to look at the police officers through the kitchen doorway. “Please don’t do this, the poor boy needs to be allowed to grieve with his family.”

  Josh’s stepdad stopped in front of them. “It’s only for six weeks,” he said, scratching the nasty scar under his chin, a nervous habit he had. Kane had thought he’d gotten it while walking the beat until Josh had mentioned that his stepdad’s father had done it with a broken beer bottle, cutting his own son when he’d tried to protect his mother. Officer Johnson had only been sixteen at the time. Josh had gone on to say that it was the reason why his stepdad had become a cop—so he could make people like his father pay.

  “Even one day away from his family is too much,” Baba Sonja said.

  “I don’t have a choice,” Josh’s stepdad replied, looking pained, clearly not wanting to do it either.

  “Who’s going where?” Jackson asked.

  “Please, Chris, don’t do this,” Baba Sonja spoke over him.

  “The six weeks will fly in no time,” Josh’s stepdad answered.

  Kane winced as his baba shouted in his ear. “No! This is cruel.”

  “He was warned.”

  Kane swallowed, now realising they were talking about him, not Jackson. His li’l brother had never been in trouble with the police, while Kane... He’d been warned many times, the warnings now over, the consequences coming.

  Jackson wriggled about in their baba’s grip. “Who’s taking who?”

  Baba Sonja let go of him and hugged Kane tighter. Kane returned the hug as he watched Josh’s stepdad extended a hand towards him warily. Though, Officer Johnson’s eyes weren’t on him, they were on Baba Sonja, as though he expected her to explode at any given moment, which was a distinct possibility.

  “I’m sorry, Sonja,” he said. “Please let go of Kane.”

  “Why are you taking Kane for?” Jackson asked.

  “He was warned what would happen if he tagged again.”

  Jackson’s eyes widened, understanding finally dawning. “No, leave him alone!” He charged at the man, shoving him.

  Josh’s stepdad took a step back in surprise. His partner moved forward, looking like she was going to grab Jackson, but before she could, Josh’s stepdad took hold of him instead. “Don’t worry, Crawley, he’s just upset.”

  “Lemme go!” Jackson yelled, struggling uselessly against him, so small in comparison to
the muscular man.

  Josh’s stepdad handed him over to Kane and Jackson’s father, but Jackson continued to struggle to get free, his panicked eyes locked onto Kane.

  The female officer clamped down onto Kane’s arm. His baba finally let go of him, probably knowing she was fighting a losing battle. Anxiety crept inside of Kane like a dead rat curling up inside his gut, making him want to puke. He didn’t want to go to boot camp. Although he liked sport, he sucked when it came to dealing with authority. It wasn’t because he didn’t listen, he tried, but he’d been having trouble hearing things over the past year or two. He’d never told anyone because he didn’t want to wear hearing aids like his baba. Kids at school got picked on for shit like that. But it made things hard, especially when his mates had wanted to sit at the back of the class during his first go at Year Eleven. He’d struggled to hear anything from there, gleaning practically nothing from the lessons with the exception of Art and Music. Still, he’d felt like an utter moron for failing last year, and even more of one when he had to do the year a second time round. He just wished that he didn’t need school to get into the Fine Arts programme at Auckland University, though he was considering doing tech instead because he wasn’t sure he could handle going to lectures. All he wanted was to make art, not listen to people drone on about the meaning of art. The meaning was to look at it, to see the colours, the curves, to recognise signature marks, not to see something that wasn’t there, placing your own interpretation over someone else’s.

  “Come with me,” the female officer ordered him.

  “No!” Jackson screamed, still trying to get free from their dad. “Leave Kane alone!”

  Kane exhaled loudly, knowing he couldn’t stretch this out, couldn’t watch Jackson fall apart in front of him. Even though he wanted to stay with him, to spend time with his li’l brother like he couldn’t do with Mick anymore, there was no point in resisting arrest, it would just upset Jackson more. So, he allowed the female officer to lead him to the door.

  Jackson yelled at him to stop. Kane glanced over his shoulder as his stepmum emerged from her bedroom, looking dishevelled and confused. The female cop tugged on Kane’s arm, making him stumble forward.

  “What are you doing to Kane?!” his stepmum yelled, rushing forward, panic taking a hold of her expression.

  Josh’s stepdad stepped in front of her, blocking her from following. “We’ll bring Kane back in six weeks. You’ll also be allowed to visit him halfway through the boot camp.”

  “No, he needs to be with me!” she hollered, pushing past Officer Johnson, not even caring that she was shoving a cop aside. But Josh’s stepdad just grabbed her, holding her back, the man knowing their family too well to arrest her for what she’d done.

  Kane descended the steps and headed towards the police car with the female cop, his stepmum’s yells now combined with Jackson’s. Their shouts grew softer the further he moved away from the house, stopping completely as the policewoman placed a hand on his head and lowered him into the car, locking him in.

  4

  Sarah

  Sarah peered out of the car window. Teenagers dressed in reds and greys were walking towards the main building, some whites sneaking in, the school forever changing the colour of their uniform, only the red sticking.

  “Please, Mum, don’t make me go,” she said.

  “Sorry, Sarah, I don’t have a choice, I can’t keep you away from school forever.”

  Sarah gritted her teeth. It was just over a week since her dad had been hospitalised and charged with murder. They’d been staying at her grandparents’ place, too scared to stay in their home after someone had thrown a brick through their living room window, Murderers painted across the surface.

  “But, Mum, I’ll get harassed.”

  “You don’t know that,” her mum replied, fidgeting with the steering wheel, looking just as nervous as Sarah felt. “We were left alone at church yesterday. Only the priest and the Mulberry family spoke to us, and they just offered help.”

  Sarah shook her head. “Yesterday was humiliating. People were staring at us and whispering. We shouldn’t have gone. Some of the boy’s family were there. One of the ladies was glaring at us the whole time.”

  Her mother closed her eyes and leaned the back of her head against the headrest, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m trying, Sarah, I really am, but you have to try too.” A quiver snuck into her voice. “I know it’s unbearably horrible, you just have to find a way to make it bearable.” She stopped talking all of a sudden and covered her face.

  “Oh, Mum, please don’t cry.” Sarah reached out and hugged her.

  “I don’t want to send you to school, all I want is to stay home with you, but I have to work. We can’t afford for me to take another day off now that your father...” She stopped talking again as her crying picked up.

  “Please stop crying, I’ll go.”

  Her mother lowered her hand and hugged her back. “Thank you, Sarah, thank you so much,” she said, sounding relieved.

  Sarah let go and wiped her mother’s cheeks. “I’ll make it bearable, I promise.”

  Her mother attempted a smile. “You’re such a good girl.” She brushed a hand over her hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail. “If you have any problems, call your nanna.”

  Sarah nodded, even though she wouldn’t, her nanna’s driving terrifying. She had the thickest rimmed glasses, so thick that Sarah was sure everything her nanna looked at was amplified a thousand times. She was always swerving, giving the impression she thought she was about to hit something even though that something, whether a car or a person, was metres away.

  Sarah said bye and hopped out of the car, joining the flow of students, heading under the school arch. The sea of cranberries were making their way to the main building, which was a two-storey, cream-coloured structure with a green roof. To her immense relief, no one looked her way, being invisible so welcome.

  As she entered the building, she listened closely to the conversations around her, trying to glean information on what people knew, or in particular, whether her name came up. They probably wouldn’t recognise her from a bar of soap, but maybe they knew her name, connecting her father with her. But her name didn’t come up, though Mick’s did. His death was still big news, her week away nothing. She was sure even if she stayed away for months they probably would still be talking about it, especially since he was a popular kid. It didn’t help that the media was all over it, even more so with her father’s trial now set. He was being charged with murder even though his lawyer was attempting to downgrade it to manslaughter. That was the word her mother had used. Downgrade. It sounded wrong, because the outcome was still the same. Mick remained dead, while her father was going to prison regardless of whether it was for murder or manslaughter. The amount of time he went to prison obviously made a difference, just not right now, not to her. He was gone.

  She went with the flow of the students, aiming for her homeroom. Up ahead, she saw a handful of boys from Mick’s rugby team. They were surrounding a locker, which was clearly Mick’s. There was a picture of him on it with a colourful array of Post-it notes stuck to the metal surface. The boys’ expressions looked devastated, the week since his death a breath of time for them, too.

  Sarah lowered her head and picked up speed, trying her best not to run or attract their attention, hoping above everything that her usual cloak of invisibility stayed intact. Right now, she was so glad that she was plain, unrecognisable. Hardly anyone knew her name at Wera, if anything, she was sure some of the students in her own class didn’t know her name either. She was too boring to want to know. The only interesting thing about her was that she was good at running, which was hardly interesting to the majority of the school.

  “Sarah, wait up!”

  Sarah spun around as her two friends pushed through the flow of teenagers. They stopped in front of her, the only two that were interested in her—and the only two who would know her connection to Mick’s d
eath.

  “Did you hear about what happened to Kane’s cousin?” Melissa asked.

  When Sarah had first met her, she’d thought her name was Anna-May. The other students had nicknamed her Anime because she had the biggest brown eyes framed by the longest lashes. She was adorable to say the least, her little voice just as cutesy. She sounded and looked more like a twelve-year-old than a fifteen-year-old, her pigtails adding to the effect.

  “I can’t believe it,” Melissa continued, dressed like every other girl in the school in a pleated skirt, white blouse, and red jumper. “They said it happened in Claydon. You live there. Did you see or hear anything?”

  Sarah’s brows pulled together. Didn’t anyone know what her father had done? Yeah, her surname was extremely common. Brown. But still, didn’t they watch the news? Her dad’s face was plastered all over it.

  “Well, did you?” her other friend asked.

  Sarah’s confused gaze moved to Gin, which was short for Virginia. She was Melissa’s stepsister, their parents having recently married—to Melissa’s and Gin’s delight. The two best friends had done everything to set them up, all their planning to get their parents together finally paying off in a wedding that Sarah had missed due to being sick at the time.

  Gin gave Sarah a pointed stare. “I’m waiting,” she said, looking annoyed that Sarah wasn’t giving them all the ‘gos’ on Kane’s brother. Out of the three of them, Gin was the only one who got any attention from boys. She had Cleopatra-styled dark-brown hair and mildly attractive features. But the boys never looked at her hair or face, because they were usually too busy staring at Gin’s large breasts. Sarah barely had any breasts, which was good for running, just not for attracting boys.

  “I’m still waiting,” Gin huffed, probably assuming she knew nothing. Sarah wished that were true.

  “Yes, I’m aware,” Sarah finally replied, still confused over why they didn’t know it was her dad who’d killed Mick. She may have only known the stepsisters for a couple of months, her move from Claydon High not that long ago, but still, they’d met her dad a couple of times. He may be ordinary-looking, but he was still recognisable.