Dark Waters(26)

Mrs Sampson stepped inside.

And screamed.


It seemed an age, as if time stopped while they took in what had happened. As they each stepped into the house.

The hall had been trashed. Graffiti was spray-painted over the walls, the furniture was scratched and daubed, the paintings were ripped. The antique unit was almost completely ruined with paint and deep gashes all over it.

And it was empty. All the china. All the silver. All the crystal. Gone.

Mrs Sampson, almost on the verge of hysteria, ran into the living room and screamed again. Carpets destroyed, furniture ruined. Everything that could be carried away easily had been taken.

‘Have they done this to the whole house?’ Ella sobbed.

Dominic didn’t wait for an answer. He was off upstairs to check out his own room.

‘But I don’t understand,’ Mrs Sampson cried. ‘Why didn’t the neighbours hear anything?’

‘Because nothing they did made any noise,’ Col said. ‘Spray paint, slashing furniture, doesn’t make a lot of noise.’

Ella’s miserable face had returned, with a vengeance. ‘You seem to know an awful lot about it.’

Col swallowed, feeling guilty. And something much worse, something he could hardly contemplate. He knew all this, yes, because Mungo had told him. One night when he had drunk too much and boasted of how easy it was to break into people’s houses, how much fun it was to trash their homes, what a challenge it was to do it so quietly that not a soul would hear.

And Col had laughed. Not understanding that real people were involved, people like the Sampsons. People who could be hurt by such destruction of their precious things.

Ella suddenly screamed at him. ‘How do you know so much!’

Mrs Sampson was still crying as she pulled her closer. ‘It’s not Col’s fault, Ella.’

All the life seemed to have gone out of Mrs Sampson. She sank into a slashed chair and began to sob quietly.

Col felt like crying too. He blurted out, ‘I’ll get my brother to find out who did this. Mungo knows things. He’ll find out.’

Ella laughed through her tears. ‘Who are you trying to kid? Your brother did this. He knew we’d be away. The house would be empty. And you probably helped him. Was that why you decided to come to London? To get us out of the way? I hate you! I hate your whole family.’

Col ran at Mrs Sampson. ‘Honest, Mrs Sampson, Mungo wouldn’t do this. Not to you. Never. And I would never do a terrible thing like that. Never. But I will find out who did it. I promise.’

He was babbling, trying to understand what was happening.

And then Dominic came hurtling down the stairs screaming. ‘My PlayStation, Dad. They took my PlayStation.’

The PlayStation Dominic had taken so much pride in, had worked so hard for. Gone.

Ella ran at Col, almost pushing him off his feet. ‘Don’t you dare try to look as if this is hurting you!’ she screamed at him. ‘You don’t care about us.’

Her mother pulled her back gently. She sniffed, stopped crying and stood straight. ‘When it all comes down to it, it’s only material things. Nobody’s been hurt. We can replace material things.’

She aimed these final words at Dominic who was being comforted by his father.

Col knew then that no matter what they found out they would never blame him. If, because of him, their house had been broken into and trashed, they would never regret it. Because it was also because of him they still had Dominic. But knowing this didn’t make him feel any better. He ached with the pain of it. As if someone had pushed a fist hard into his belly and twisted it.

In the end, he did get a taxi home. Not because Mr Sampson didn’t want to take him. But because the police had arrived with a forensic team, and were asking questions about what was missing, about the professional way the house’s alarm system had been disarmed, taking fingerprints with no great hope of finding any. ‘A professional job’ they called it.

One of the policemen took one look at Col, and that look said everything. A McCann and a burgled house, they went together like ham and eggs.

Any other time, Col would have glared at him, challenged that look. Today, he couldn’t even meet his eye. He sat silently in a corner, trying to make himself invisible. Finally, he called a taxi, without telling the Sampsons until it arrived outside their door. They let him leave with only a mild protest. And as he was driven away he turned in the back seat and watched the house disappear into the grey, pouring rain.

‘I’ll probably never go back there,’ he thought. ‘I’ll never be invited again. The Sampsons will never actually blame me, but they’ll want to keep their distance.’