old wallet. The one with the threadbare lining sticking out. He took the last tenner and crumpled fiver from inside. ‘Here.’ He placed the cash on the floor.
‘Is that it?’ Dugdale glowered at the two sorry notes. ‘ALL OF IT, OR I SNAP HER NECK IN HALF!’
Baboon Boy’s chant died. ‘Paedo …?’
The kicks were getting weaker: those Nike trainers barely moving.
Her wee friend snivelled. Wiped his top lip on the back of his sleeve. ‘Please, mister. Don’t hurt my sister …’
‘That’s all the money I’ve got, OK? Now let the girl go.’
Dugdale growled, then chucked the little girl at Callum.
He ducked for the fifteen quid as Callum dropped the tatty wallet and caught her wee body before it hit the pavement. And that’s when everything slowed down.
The tatty wallet bounced off the paving slabs, spinning away, its torn lining waving like a flag.
‘Aaaggggh …’ She hauled in a huge whoop of air, both hands wrapped around her throat – as if Dugdale hadn’t done a good enough job throttling her and she was having a go herself.
But Dugdale didn’t snatch up the money, he kept on going, smashing into Callum and the wee girl, sending them slamming back into the Volkswagen. Rocking it on its springs.
A fist connected with Callum’s ribs. Arms and legs tangled. Flashes of sky, then concrete, then rusty metal, then sky again.
Then bang – everything was at full speed again.
Callum yanked the pepper spray from his jacket pocket. The little girl wriggled her way out from between them, trainers digging into his thigh as she went. Callum flipped the cap off the spray and thumbed the button, sending a squirt of burning pepper stink out at Dugdale’s face.
Missed.
Dugdale didn’t. He rammed his hand into Callum’s crotch, grabbed hold, and squeezed.
Oh God …
But when Callum opened his mouth to scream, all that came out was a strangled wheeze – eyes wide as every single ache and pain in his body disappeared, replaced by the thermonuclear explosion going off in his scrotum. It raced out through his stomach, down his legs, up into his chest – a shockwave ripping out from ground zero as Dugdale twisted his handful like a rusty doorknob.
Oh sodding Jesus …
Dugdale let go, but the nuclear war still raged.
No …
Water filled Callum’s eyes, making the word go all soft focus, but the pain remained pin-sharp. He lashed out with the pepper spray, swinging it in an arc with the button held down.
Someone bellowed in pain.
Then scuffing feet.
Argh …
The clatter of a very large man tripping over a fallen bicycle.
A dull thunk, like a watermelon bouncing off a coffee table.
Oh that hurt …
‘BLOODY PAEDO!’ Some more thunks.
‘Come on, leave him!’
Thunk, thunk, thunk. ‘BLOODY BALDY PAEDO WANKER!’
Ow …
‘Willow, come on! Before he gets up!’
The sound of someone spitting.
‘Grab the cash, Benny. No, you spaz, get the wallet too!’
Then trainers on concrete, the rattle of bicycles being dragged upright, and the growl of tyres fading away into the distance.
One last cry of, ‘PIGGY, PIGGY, PIGGY!’
The sound of that big black Mercedes pulling away now the floor-show was over.
And silence.
Callum cursed and panted and wobbled his way up to his knees, one hand clutching his tattered groin.
Sodding … for … ooogh …
Deep breaths.
Nope. Not helping.
He scrubbed a hand across his watery eyes.
Dugdale lay on his front, one hand behind his back the other limp in the gutter. His face looked as if someone had driven over it with a ride-on lawnmower.
Callum dragged himself over and slapped on the cuffs. ‘You’re nicked.’
Ow …
‘Little monsters …’ Never mind saying thank you – no, that was too much to hope for these days, he’d only saved her life, not as if it was that big a deal – but did they have to take his sodding wallet?
Dugdale twitched and groaned, eyes still closed, the blood crusting on his battered nose. A swathe of red crossed his face, following the pepper spray’s less than delicate path, swollen and angry looking. Like the lump on his head. It was going to be impressive when it finished growing – about the size and colour of a small aubergine. Probably have himself a gargantuan headache when he finally woke up. Maybe concussion too.
Good. Served him right.
Callum pulled out his mobile, staying where he was – standing, hunched over almost double, one hand on his knee, holding him upright as he dialled.
Three rings and then a woman’s voice came on the line, sounding small and concerned. ‘Hello?’
‘Elaine, it’s me.’
‘Callum? Are you OK? You don’t sound OK. Is everything OK?’
He gritted his teeth as an aftershock rippled its way through his groin. ‘No. Can you phone the bank? I need you to cancel my debit and credit card. Someone’s snatched them.’
A sigh. ‘Oh, Callum, not your dad’s wallet …’
‘Don’t start, please. It’ll be bad enough when McAdams gets here, don’t need you kicking the party off early.’
Silence.
Yeah, way to go, Callum. Smooth. Nice and understanding.
He took a deep breath. ‘Sorry, it’s … I’m not having the greatest of days.’
‘I’m not your enemy, Callum. I know it’s been difficult for you.’
Understatement of the year. ‘All I get is snide comments, nasty little digs, and crap. It’s been three solid weeks of—’
‘It’s for the best though, remember? For Peanut’s sake?’
Peanut.
He closed his eyes. Tried to make it sound as if he meant it: ‘Yeah.’
‘We need the money, Callum. We need the maternity pay to—’
‘Yeah. Right. I know. It’s just …’ He wiped a hand over his face. ‘Never mind. It’ll be fine.’
‘And we really appreciate it, me and Peanut.’ A pause. ‘Speaking of Peanut, you know what he’d totally love? Nutella. And some pickled dill cucumbers. Not gherkins: the cucumbers, from the Polish deli on Castle Hill? Oh, and some onion rolls too.’
‘They stole my wallet, Elaine. I—’
‘I didn’t ask to get pregnant, Callum.’ A strangled noise came down the phone, like a cross between a grunt and a sigh. ‘Sorry. I don’t … There are times when I need a bit of support coping with all this.’
Support? Seriously?