Читаем The Hunter полностью

When light powerful as day ignites outside and floods in around the curtains, she doesn’t move. Her mind is a blank; there’s nothing in it to answer this. For a wild lurch of a second she thinks Bobby Feeney’s UFOs are real and have landed, even though she doesn’t believe in that shite. For another lurch she thinks she must have fallen asleep and it’s morning, but on the telly the same tosser is still quacking away. Trey switches him off. In the sudden silence she hears engines revving, loud and deep.

She stands in the middle of the sitting room, listening. There’s no movement from the rest of the house. Banjo, tucked away in his corner by the sofa, is snoring peacefully. In the blue-white glare the room looks like something in a nightmare, familiar objects suddenly incandescent and humming with menace. Outside, the engines pulse on.

Trey moves, very quietly, down the corridor towards her bedroom. She’s thinking of the window, but before she even reaches the door she can see the same blue-white light spilling out through the opening. In the glow from the window Maeve’s sleeping face is luminous and unnatural, like she’s deep underwater, unreachable.

“Mam,” Trey says, not loud enough to be heard. She has no idea whether she wants her mam to wake up. She has no idea what she expects her mam to do.

Maeve turns sharply on the bed and makes a protesting sound. Trey doesn’t want to deal with Maeve awake and demanding explanations. “Mam,” she says, louder.

In her parents’ room there’s a stir and a murmur, and then quick footsteps. Sheila opens the door in a flowered nightie, hair messy on her shoulders. Behind her, Johnny, in boxers and a T-shirt, is pulling on trousers.

“There’s something outside,” Trey says.

“Shhh,” Sheila says. Her eyes flick around the corridor. Maeve is sitting up, open-mouthed; Liam is calling.

Johnny pushes past Sheila and Trey and heads down the corridor, towards the front door. He stands still, his ear cocked to the door, listening. The rest of them gather behind him.

“Daddy,” Maeve says. “What is it?”

Johnny ignores her. “Come here,” he says to Alanna, straightening up, but she backs away with a high muffled whimper. “You, then,” he says, catching Liam’s arm. “Don’t be whinging, for fuck’s sake; no one’s going to hurt you. Come on.” He pushes Liam in front of him, opens the door, and stands in the doorway.

The light hits them full in the face from all directions. It turns the night air to a white haze. The rev of the engines is louder, a full deep snarl. On every side amid the haze, too blinding to look at straight, are circles of condensed light, paired like eyes. It takes Trey a minute to understand: high beams.

“What’s the story, lads?” Johnny calls cheerily, raising his arm to shield his eyes. The note of his voice jars crazily against the scene. “Is there a party on and no one told me?”

Silence; just the growl of the engines and a strange flapping sound, like wind-whipped washing on the line. Trey, craning past her dad’s shoulder, sees flames. In the middle of the bare front yard is a galvanized metal barrel. Inside it is fire. The flames surge avidly, feet high, a tall ragged column swaying in the restless breeze.

“Ah, here, lads,” Johnny calls, shifting his voice to a mix of tolerance and exasperation. “I’ve children trying to sleep. Go home to your beds. If ye’ve something to say to me, come up tomorrow and we’ll have a chat like dacent men.”

Nothing. The breeze catches a flaming scrap from the barrel and scuds it away till it blinks out, high against the sky. Trey squints, trying to see the men or even the cars, but the lights are too bright; everything behind them is erased into darkness. The air is fever-hot.

“Shut that door,” Sheila says sharply. “Whether you’re in or you’re out.”

Johnny doesn’t look around at her.

“I said shut it.”

“Fuck’s sake, lads,” Johnny calls reproachfully. “Cop yourselves on. Go on outa that and sober up. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He pulls Liam back inside and closes the door.

They stand in the cramped corridor, barefoot and ragtag in the odds and ends they wear for sleeping. No one wants to move. Around them, every doorway is alive with the blue-white glow.

“Who’s out there?” Alanna whispers. She looks like she might cry.

“Lads messing,” Johnny says. His eyes are moving, assessing options. His bruises look like holes in his flesh.

“Why’s there a fire?”

“They mean they’ll burn us out,” Sheila says. She says it to Johnny.

“What’s burn us out?”

Johnny laughs, throwing his head back. “Christ almighty, would you ever listen to yourself,” he says to Sheila. “The drama outa you, holy God. No one’s burning anyone out.” He squats down to put a hand on Alanna’s shoulder and the other on Liam’s, grinning into their blank faces. “Your mammy’s only messing, sweethearts, and so are those lads out there. They’ve had a few too many pints, is what happened, and they reckoned it’d be funny to play a wee joke on us. Aren’t they silly aul’ fellas, acting the maggot at this hour?”