The Pure in Heart by Susan Hill Page A

said. He couldn’t picture what it would be like and when she’d said Kingswood he couldn’tplace it. But it could be a start. For two years he’d been waiting for that – he didn’t like the words ‘new’ and ‘fresh’ but he thought of them. He wasn’t going back where he’d come from and he wasn’t going down the old road that had taken him there. He’d never got much out of it in the first place, though he’d pretended to, and there’d been afew highs, a bit of speed, an escape though he wasn’tsure now what from. Boredom he supposed. And he’d enjoyed being one of them. Spindo. Mart. Lee Carter. Lee Johnson. Flapper. They’d included him, and that had mattered. He’d liked the money as well. Everything had gone fine. They’d done small jobs, then bigger.
    He hadn’t been prepared for it all to go so wrong so quickly. The man had come after him like a mad thing, running down the street; therest of them had been in the van, its engine running, they’d yelled at him. The man had nothing to do with anything, Andy should have left him, should have run and got into the van. He still saw it, the street, the van ahead, the man desperate and sweating, pounding along to catch him, still felt the panic. He panicked too easily. He should have kept a cool head; even if he’d been caught and theman had identified him, he would only have gone down for nine months or a year. So what had he done instead of making for the van? He’d turned on the man, waited until he was close and then gone for him in the stomach, head down like a bull and the man had crashed backwards on to the concrete, splitting his head open.
    Now he got another bottle of the expensive foreign beer, went back to the tableand forced himself not to think about it. His back ached. Sleeping on a blow-up bed in a corner of Matt’s room wasn’t comfortable and Matt didn’t like himbeing there. Andy couldn’t blame him. None of them wanted him, and he knew it, but until he had a job he couldn’t get a place of his own, not even a single room in a lodging house; his allowance wouldn’t run to that and so long as he did havefamily who would put him up he knew he wouldn’t get anyone’s attention in the social services. He wasn’t on the streets, that was all they saw.
    I ought to be happy, he thought suddenly, tipping a stream of beer down his throat. I am in a pub, I can stay or go, I can drink what I like, I can get out and walk or buy a paper. I haven’t been able to do any of this or the rest for five years … I oughtto be happy.
    Three women came into the bar and dumped shopping bags at the table next to him. They were smart. One of them gave him a sideways look. Nothing else.
    You’ve got no idea, Andy thought. Who I am. Where I’ve been. What I’ve done. How would you?
    The last mouthful he took from the bottle was only foam.
    He went out into the street.
    On the other side parked on a double line was a silverBMW convertible. Sitting in it was a big man. As Andy came out of the pub the car slewed away from the kerb and across the road, swinging neatly in beside him as he walked.
    ‘Get in,’ Lee Carter said.
    Andy kept on walking.
    The car slid along, keeping pace with him. Funny, he thought, having the top down in March. There was sun but it wasn’t warm.
    ‘What’s your problem?’ The sound from the enginewas so soft Lee hardly needed to raise his voice.
    Andy had turned out of the shopping street, down a side road. He didn’t know where he was walking.
    ‘Save your legs. It’s very nice. Leather seats.’
    Just walk. Ignore him. Don’t look at him. He’s nothing to you now. Just walk.
    It happened so fast he was lost. The car stopped and Lee Carter was out of it and round the front and pinning Andy againstthe wall.
    ‘I said get in. I meant get in.’
    ‘I’m getting in nothing.’
    ‘I want to buy you a drink.’
    ‘I just had a drink. Two drinks of poncey bottled beer. They even don’t give you a glass in those