Mirror Man by Jacques Kat (ereader for textbooks txt) 📗

she said between clenched teeth. ‘He’s just broken into my boy’s shop!’

He hummed. ‘And what evidence do you have of this?’

‘The back door was wide open.’

‘Were you in the shop at the time?’

‘Yes, I—’

‘And did you hear or see the so-called burglar?’

Mum sputtered. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Answer my question, Mrs Chester.’

‘I… Well, no, I didn’t. But the man is smart, he—’

The officer raised a silencing hand in front of Mum’s face. ‘And was anything stolen?’

‘No,’ Mum growled. ‘But—’

‘Then why,’ the officer interrupted, ‘are you here?’

‘We need protection from that maniac!’

‘I’ll get right on that, Mrs Chester.’ The officer’s chin dipped towards his newspaper which lay open in front of him. He picked up a pen and filled in a few squares on the day’s crossword.

Mum’s fists clenched at her sides. ‘Oh, if you weren’t a man in blue, I’d—’

‘Do not finish that sentence, Mrs Chester…’ the officer warned and dropped his pen. ‘You and your son need to go home and stop wasting police time. You probably left the back door open yourselves and forgot, but you’ve allowed yourself to become deluded by the boy’s stories.’

‘Deluded?!’ Mum spat, but the officer continued.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Chester.’

For a moment, Mum just silently seethed. ‘You haven’t heard the last of me,’ she finally said, then turned back to me. ‘Come on, son, let’s go.’

We left to the sounds of chortling as the officer filled in another who’d shown up.

I’d been right. They weren’t interested in the slightest. Mum was furious. She huffed and puffed all the way back to the shop.

Chapter Twenty-three

The day of Mr Phillips’s funeral arrived; a day I’d been dreading.

I wanted to get out and clear my mind beforehand, so I went to sit on my favourite bench, not because I wanted to follow anyone, but because I’d always been happy when I sat there.

I wasn’t going to find that happiness today, however, as I noticed a figure sat there. I knew that bench was for anybody, and obviously other people used it—their names were written all over it—but I’d never had to share it with anyone else.

As I got closer, I noticed it was Tab Hunter, and my heart sank further. I didn’t want to listen to his ramblings, and what if he spoke to me? What would I say? Would he accuse me of murder too?

I sat down as far away as I could from him on the small bench. His bike had been leant against the back. In front of him was a plastic bag. I couldn’t see what was in it. He stank of cigarette smoke, and he was mumbling incoherently.

I looked at my watch and decided I would stay for five minutes. I didn’t want to get up straight away, or he would know I was leaving because of him.

I’d missed most people going to work, and the street was more or less empty except for Tab Hunter and me. I leant back against the bench and heard him clear his throat. I ignored him, but he did it again, louder this time, as though he was trying to get my attention.

I hung my head and swiftly turned to my right to glance at him as quick as I could through my lashes.

‘Ay-up, lad,’ he said.

I looked to my left to see if he was talking to someone else, but there was no one there.

He chuckled. ‘Yes, I’m talking to you, lad.’

‘Oh, okay. Hi, mister…’ I said, not really knowing what else to say and wondering if I should get up and leave now. I’d never seen him talk to anyone before.

‘I’ve seen you about,’ he said, then rustled about in his plastic bag. Next, he clicked a lighter. It seemed he had retrieved a tab end from his plastic bag. I had always wondered where he kept them. He must have had hundreds in there.

‘You don’t like looking at people, do you?’ he asked me.

‘No, not really,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been able to look at people since…’ I’d been able to look at The Suit, though that was through sheer force. Then I’d been able to look at Fred, but it had faded away after that awful day. ‘… since I was young. I don’t mind looking at people through reflections, though’ I told him. ‘I’m trying to work on it.’

He hummed. ‘I’ve noticed that, laddie. Now, you listen to me. Don’t let anyone tell you what you’ve been doing or how you act is wrong, do you hear me?’ He raised his voice at the end, making me flinch away from him. I’d never heard Tab Hunter string a full sentence together before.

I nodded my head vigorously, part out of fear and part out of wonderment. I carried on nodding until he spoke again.

‘You just be who you want to be, lad. Ain’t nobody else’s beeswax—’specially them police.’

‘Umm… yes, mister.’

I heard the bag rustle as he got up, retrieved his bike, and started his mumblings again.

‘Well, I wonder…’ I whispered under my breath. Grandad would never believe this when I told him. I wonder if he knew the man was Scottish.

*

At the church, it was the first time our family would interact with the rest of the community properly since Mr Phillips’s death, and I hoped they would still come despite everything. Grandad said that today, all that mattered was laying Mr Phillips to rest—nothing else. He hoped people would put their thoughts aside for an hour to pray for Mr Phillips.

As we all sat in the front pew, I tugged on Mum’s jacket to get her attention as she scanned the church behind us.

‘Mum, are you sure I should be here? I can easily slip out before the service starts.’

She tutted. ‘No, you aren’t leaving. You have every right to be here just as much as everyone else, alright?’

‘Okay, if you’re sure…’

The vicar gave a lovely speech, but there were a few hushed whispers behind our backs when he mentioned that Mr Phillips saw me as family. Mum put