Читать книгу I Dare You - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 29

Monday 17th July – 2 days before

When would the little shits let him be?

Billy Cawley saw the shadows, heard the scurrying of feet and the giggles just moments before the banging on the front door. He was tired. So bloody tired of it all. He’d lost count of how many months he’d been hounded by the kids.

Kids. Part of him wanted to let it go – they didn’t know any better. But he couldn’t. They should know better. Their parents should be teaching them better. Did they even know where their bratty children were? What they were up to? And the people of Mapledon had dared to give him a hard time about his parenting. Fucking cheek. They all needed to be taught a lesson. He’d begun chasing the kids out of the cul-de-sac – running after them, shouting like a madman. He’d almost got hold of one lad just last week, but now that he wasn’t keeping himself as fit, having given up on the gym after … Well, after life had turned to total shit, he didn’t have the stamina.

Christ – twenty-five years old and already being outrun by kids. Mind you, not only didn’t he have the body or fitness of a twenty-five-year-old, he didn’t have the face of one either. That was evident when he overheard the taunts, the whispers and nicknames whenever he ventured out of his comfort zone of the bungalow – ‘Old Man Cawley’, ‘Creepy Cawley’ and the like. He had had worse nicknames though – some of the more cruel, unfounded things people said really boiled his piss. But he no longer had the motivation, the desire to look good or worry unduly about what the folk of Mapledon said about him. There was no one to impress now. Not now they’d taken everything from him.

A loud crash at the kitchen window startled him.

‘Bastards!’ He rushed to the door, flinging it open in time to see two boys hare down the road. He’d never catch up with them. Billy strode outside, stepping over all the crap in his garden. He kicked a doll’s head hard, sending it flying through the air. It landed by his truck, then rolled awkwardly behind the back tyre. He walked around to the kitchen window, and on inspection of the ground he found a large stone. He picked it up; it was pretty weighty – he was amazed it hadn’t gone right through the glass. None of the kids had done more than play Knock, Knock, Ginger before. It seemed they were getting braver.

Maybe it was time for him to do the same.