on the lips that coincided with a slow Jenny Read number that happened to be one of my favourites. So we continued clinging to each other as we moved around the crowded floor until the DJ upped the tempo and the club was once again shaking to the heavy beat of an R and B group.
It was 1 a.m. when we left the club and joined the parade of revellers heading home. The air was warm and muggy and filled with a cacophony of familiar city sounds – drunken laughter, loud swearing, the distant wail of police sirens.
We were both unsteady on our feet as we walked hand in hand through the dingy streets of the grimiest part of Southampton. Drunk, but not paralytic. It was a good place to be. Tomorrow life was going to get a lot more complicated. Maybe even dangerous. But tonight I was relaxed and enjoying the feeling.
We stopped at a mobile snack bar. Bought burgers and chips. Lots of salt and vinegar and tomato sauce. Sheer bloody bliss.
We were crossing the road towards our new home when the roar of an engine suddenly seized our attention. We stepped quickly onto the kerb as a car screeched to a halt right in front of the house about fifteen yards ahead of us.
Then the rear nearside door was flung open, and to my astonishment a man’s body was pushed out onto the pavement by an outstretched arm.
The car then revved up and lurched forward, the door slamming shut as it screeched away along the street, before turning out of sight.
Scar and I rushed over to the figure lying on the pavement. He was on his back and his blood-covered face was bathed in the glow of a street lamp. Blood frothed around his mouth so we knew he was breathing.
I dropped to one knee to take a close look. And that’s when my heart exploded in my chest and I almost fainted.
‘Oh my God.’
Scar lowered herself to a squat beside me.
‘Calm down, Lizzie. The guy’s alive. We’ll call an ambulance.’
I shook my head. ‘You don’t understand. This is Mark. This is my fucking brother.’
The sight of my brother lying there on the pavement instantly sobered me up. I yelled for Scar to call 999, then leaned over him.
‘It’s me, Mark. Lizzie. Can you hear what I’m saying?’
He was conscious, thank God, but I couldn’t tell how badly hurt he was. There was a large dark swelling beneath his left eye and his bottom lip was cut and oozing blood. But most of the blood was coming from his nose, which was red and inflamed.
He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and tight trousers. The shirt was intact, very little blood, and I couldn’t see any knife wounds. That was a relief.
He opened his eyes and his lips parted as though he were about to speak. But blood pooled in his mouth, making him cough.
‘I’m here, Mark. We’ve called for an ambulance. You’ll be okay.’
He scrunched his face up in pain.
‘What’s happened to you? Who did this?’
He swallowed with difficulty, squeezed his eyes shut. I felt the panic rising inside me and fought to control it. Stay calm, Lizzie. He’s not seriously hurt by the look of it. Just battered and bruised. Could have been much worse. At least he hasn’t been knifed or shot.
‘An ambulance is on its way,’ Scar said, kneeling back down beside me. ‘How is he?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m hoping he looks worse than he is.’
My breath grew patchy. I could feel my whole body shaking.
‘So what the fuck is going on, Lizzie?’ Scar said. ‘Why’d they dump him here in front of the flat?’
It was the obvious question and one that had flashed through my mind already. But I was too traumatised to dwell on it right now. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but my brother’s face.
I recalled seeing him like it once before and shivered at the memory. We were kids then and a couple of boys had picked on me in the street, pulling my hair and calling me names. Mark was four years younger than me and about half the size of the boys. But that didn’t stop him wading in to protect me. Trouble was he took a savage beating, during which he hit his head on the kerb and suffered minor brain damage as a result. That was why he had learning difficulties and why my mother stopped loving me.
Now he was twenty-four and fourteen years on I was looking at his damaged features and wondering once again if it was down to me.
He tried to speak, but it was clearly painful, so I told him to stay quiet and stroked his wavy brown hair until the ambulance arrived. Scar wanted to come with us to the hospital, but I told her to go to the flat and get some sleep. She kissed my cheek and squeezed my hand and before I knew it I was in the back of the ambulance watching a paramedic tending to my brother.
‘He’ll live,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Wounds are superficial. Fist damage, I’d hazard.’
Her words were meant to reassure me and I suppose they did to a degree. Even so, for the next hour my nerves were stretched to breaking point. I was worried sick about my brother and I couldn’t shake the image of him being hurled out of that car onto the pavement.
At the hospital, Mark was treated in a cubicle in the emergency department. After he was patched up I was allowed to see him. There were stitches in his top lip and his left eye was swollen almost shut.
He was sitting up on a bed. His face had been cleaned, but he still looked a mess.
He was able to smile, though, and this lifted my spirits. I gave him a cuddle and kissed him on the forehead. I wanted to cry, but managed to hold it in. It wasn’t easy. Emotions were churning inside me like a storm in a bottle.
‘I didn’t know you were out before tonight,’ he said, his speech slow and slurred like always. ‘Why didn’t you call or come to see us?’
‘I was planning to. Tomorrow.’ It was a lame excuse, and I felt the guilt wash over me. But typically my brother did not hold it against me. His smile widened.
‘It’s good to see you, sis.’
I took a deep, stuttering breath to hold the tears at bay. ‘I’ve been trying to phone Mum, but there’s no answer.’
‘She’ll have switched the phone off,’ he said. ‘Always does when she goes to bed. I told her I had a key.’
‘So where were you tonight? And what happened?’
The smile vanished and he stared at a point beyond me, his swollen features taut suddenly.
‘I was at Tony’s,’ he said. ‘He’s a friend. Lives up the road near Iceland. We watched a film and I went home late. I’d let myself in and was pouring a glass of milk when someone knocked on the door.’
He stopped to wipe sweat from his brow.
‘When I answered the door there were two men standing there,’ he said. ‘One had a big tattoo on his chest. I could see it because his shirt was open. They asked me if
