Dead Man's Grip

sea air, then looked at his watch.
    Shit.
    He was due to see his tutor in twenty minutes. If he pedalled like hell, he might just make it.

4
    Click. Beeehhh … gleeep … uhuhuhurrr … gleep … grawwwwwp … biff, heh, heh, heh. warrrup, haha …
    ‘That noise is driving me nuts,’ Carly said.
    Tyler, in the passenger seat of her Audi convertible, was bent over his iPhone playing some bloody game he was hooked on called Angry Birds. Why did everything he did involve noise?
    The phone now emitted a sound like crashing glass.
    ‘We’re late,’ he said, without looking up and without stopping playing.
    Twang-greep-heh, heh, heh …
    ‘Tyler, please. I have a headache.’
    ‘So?’ He grinned. ‘You shouldn’t have got pissed last night. Again.’
    She winced at his use of adult language.
    Twang … heh, heh, heh, grawwwwpppp …
    In a moment she was going to grab the sodding phone and throw it out of the window.
    ‘Yep, well, you’d have got pissed last night, too, if you’d had to put up with that prat.’
    ‘Serves you right for going on blind dates.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘You’re welcome. I’m late for school. I’m going to get stick for that.’ He was still peering intently through his oval wire-framed glasses.
    Click-click-beep-beep-beep.
    ‘I’ll phone and tell them,’ she offered.
    ‘You’re always phoning and telling them. You’re irresponsible. Maybe I should get taken into care.’
    ‘I’ve been begging them to take you, for years.’
    She stared through the windscreen at the red light and the steady stream of traffic crossing in front of them, and then at the
clock: 8.56 a.m. With luck, she’d drop him off at school and get to her chiropody appointment on time. Great, a double-pain morning! First the corn removal, then her client, Mr Misery. No wonder his wife had left him. Carly reckoned she’d probably have topped herself if she’d been married to him. But hey, she wasn’t paid to sit in judgement. She was paid to stop Mrs Misery from walking off with both of her husband’s testicles, as well as everything else of his – correction, theirs – that she was after.
    ‘It really hurts, still, Mum.’
    ‘What does? Oh, right, your brace.’
    Tyler touched the front of his mouth. ‘It’s too tight.’
    ‘I’ll call the orthodontist and get you an appointment with him.’
    Tyler nodded and focused back on his game.
    The lights changed. She moved her right foot from the brake pedal and accelerated. The news was coming up and she leaned forward, turning up the radio.
    ‘I’m going to the old people this weekend, right?’
    ‘I’d rather you didn’t call them that, OK? They’re your grandparents .’
    A couple of times a year Tyler spent a day with her late husband’s parents. They doted on him, but he found them deadly dull.
    Tyler shrugged. ‘Do I have to go?’
    ‘Yes, you have to go.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘It’s called servicing the will .’
    He frowned. ‘What?’
    She grinned. ‘Just a joke – don’t repeat that.’
    ‘Servicing the will?’ he echoed.
    ‘Forget I said it. Bad taste. I’ll miss you.’
    ‘You’re a lousy liar. You might say that with more feeling.’ He studiously drew his finger across the iPhone screen, then lifted it.
    Twang … eeeeeekkkk … greeeep … heh, heh, heh …
    She caught the next lights and swung right into New Church Road, cutting across the front of a skip lorry, which blared its horn at her.
    ‘You trying to get us killed or something?’ Tyler said.
    ‘Not us, just you.’ She grinned.
    ‘There are agencies to protect children from parents like you,’ he said.
    She reached out her left arm and ran her fingers through his tousled brown hair.
    He jerked his head away. ‘Hey, don’t mess it up!’
    She glanced fondly at him for an instant. He was growing up fast and looked handsome in his shirt and tie, red blazer and grey trousers. Not quite thirteen years old and girls were already chasing him. He was growing more like his late father every day, and there were some expressions he had which reminded her of Kes too much, and in unguarded moments that could make her tearful, even five years on.
    Moments later, at a few minutes past nine, she pulled up outside the red gates of St Christopher’s School. Tyler clicked off his seat belt and reached behind him to pick up his rucksack.
    ‘Is Friend Mapper on?’
    He gave her a ‘duh’ look. ‘Yes, it’s on. I’m not a baby, you know.’
    Friend Mapper was a GPS