Page 11 of Conviction
It was the local corner shop. Me and two mates found the back doors to the local corner shop open one night, and we nicked some cigarettes and some bars of fucking Galaxy. We were kids, we had the opportunity to nick some fags and make some money; it wasn’t an armed robbery. We didn’t hurt anyone. We didn’t realise we’d been caught on CCTV, and it didn’t take long for the shopkeeper to recognise us and for the police to come knocking on our door. I was fourteen, I’d never been in trouble with the police before, so they gave me a caution, and my dad gave me a black eye and a split lip. I think he cracked a few of my ribs too, but I wasn’t allowed to go to the hospital to find out. My only other offence was a caution I got for fighting. Once those stories were reported, some nosey young journalist decided to dig even deeper into my past and found out the details of my mum’s murder. Then everything changed again, and I was ‘Poor Reed’ or ‘Broken Bad Boy Conner Reed’s Heart Breaking Past Revealed.’ Or some other bullshit, piss poor headline.
But right now, right at this moment, it all becomes clear. They all died because of me. I was four-years-old when I unknowingly opened the front door to my mum’s drug dealer. He choked her to death. Strangled her while I hid between the sofa and the wall. My brothers came home from school and found her dead and me still hiding. We were all sent back to live with my dad after that.
My mum had left him and moved us off of the army base six months before. But being back in London, back to the estate she grew up on, she’d soon fallen into all her old habits from her single days, one of which was heroin. Within weeks she was hooked and selling herself to pay for her hits. She was just out of rehab when my dad met her and had stayed clean for ten years, but as soon as she returned to London and her old friends, that all changed.
My dad had just left the army when we all moved back in with him. He’d gone back to Surrey and was living in a bedsit. Because of the circumstances and the fact that he now had four boys to raise, the council re-housed him and moved us all into a three bedroomed house. We lived in the rougher part of a nice area, and for a few years, despite not having a mum, we had an idyllic childhood. The trauma that had affected our young lives, mostly forgotten. My dad was fundamentally a good, hardworking man who loved his boys. He worked nights as both a nightclub bouncer and a supermarket security guard so he could be there for us during the day. But he’d never gotten over my mum leaving him and he’d never recovered from her death. He’d always drunk heavily, it was the reason she left him, but gradually, by the time I was about eight or nine, he was drunk all the time. He lost his jobs, which just gave him more time to drink. My two eldest brothers got out as soon as they turned sixteen and were working. Miles didn’t actually mind living at home, my dad ignored him for the most part, but me, he’d take a swing at me every time I walked past him. I’ve no idea what I’d done to suddenly make him hate me so much. If I could have afforded it, I’d have moved out as soon as I turned sixteen too. But I wanted to go to college so I could study music, and I did for a while, but then once Meebs and me had come up with our plan to run away, I’d packed in college, started working and saved every penny that I could. I spent as little time as possible at home, and as my dad was usually at the pub or unconscious on the sofa, we rarely came into contact with each other.
I was seen by countless counsellors after my mum’s death, but I didn’t have anything to tell them. I couldn’t remember a thing. I dreamt about her often. I dreamt about the scruffy man with the tattoos, how he pulled up her nightshirt, held on to her hair and laid down on her back as he moved his hips backwards and forwards. His jeans were pulled down slightly, and in my dream, she’d scream silently. He’d put his hand over her mouth and pull her hair harder. She kept her eyes open and just stared at me the whole time, putting her finger to her lips, warning me to be quiet. I’d squashed myself into a space between the wall and the end of the sofa. I often dream of the same man sitting on my mum’s chest, he smacks her around the face a few times, blood running from the corner of her mouth, but she just keeps her eyes on me. It’s almost as if in this dream, I remember the other dream, I remember that she warned me to stay quiet. So, I remained in my hiding spot, and I kept quiet as I watched him wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze until she stopped moving, her eyes bulging out of her head, looking right at me. I have no idea if I dreamed what I’d actually witnessed or if it’s what my brain has invented, but it never changes, it’s the same two dreams all the time, and sometimes both scenes become part of one dream. The so-called ‘experts’ had no idea if I’d just blanked it all out, or if I genuinely didn’t see anything. The dreams and occasional flashbacks told me that I’d probably seen it all, but I remained silent, keeping it to myself. I didn’t want anyone else poking around inside my head, and I didn’t want my brothers to have to know what I saw that day, so I just stayed quiet, kept it locked away.
They’d caught the man responsible the very same day. I picked his picture out of a book and told the nice lady that gave me Fruit Pastilles and Smarties that he was the man that came to our house that morning. He was the man that I opened the door to, but that was all I told her about that day. My evidence, combined with the DNA they’d removed from the scene and my mum’s body, was enough to convict him. He’s dead now. Died in prison but I still keep it all locked away.
Lawson’s voice breaks into the horrors of my past and drags me into the nightmare of my present.
“Why did you tell him you were leaving the band, Reed? I don’t understand why you would say that to him?” I knock back the drink in my shaking hand as he repeats his question.
“Did he start with the relationship shit again, Reed?” Gunner asks. He was the only one I’d ever confided in about Jet’s propositions. We’d caught up in England a couple of years ago while the band were on a break and I’d told him all about it after Jet had bombarded me with a series of texts, declaring his undying love.
I nod my head. I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat, but I don’t cry. I learnt not to cry after the first few beatings my dad gave me.
“What relationship shit?” Lawson asks.
I take a deep breath and try to speak without my voice wobbling, “Jet, he wanted… He had this idea that me and him should be together.”
“What the fuck? What, you mean like together, together?” Dom asks. I nod my head, which is now pounding with a headache. Lawson’s phone rings and he heads out into the living area of the suite, talking to someone about a press release and waiting until family members have been notified.
Dom’s phone rings next, and he looks across at me as he speaks, “No baby, it’s Jet. Reed’s fine. Well, not fine, he found him, but he’s safe.” He covers his eyes with his hand and starts to cry as he explains to Jade, his wife, what’s happened. He stands and walks into the bathroom as he talks. Gunner and I stare at each other in silence for a few seconds.
“Someone needs to let his dad know,” I say.
“I think that’s what Laws is arranging.”
“You told Chelsea?” I ask him.
He nods. “I told her while you were still in with the old Bill. Her mum and dad are flying over to look after the kids while we get this all sorted out.”
Fuck, we were supposed to fly home today. I can’t go anywhere until I go to the police station and they take a full statement, they’ve already told me that. Then there’ll be the funeral.
“The press are gonna be a nightmare with all this happening. I wanted to send the kids home, but Chels wants them close.” His eyes come up to meet mine. “You okay, have you called home to let anyone know? Chels said social media is going off about what’s happened. Most are reporting that it’s you or Jet. You should let your brothers and your dad know.”
Fuck. Yeah, my dad, Tyler and Jordan will be freaking out. I look around the bedroom trying to think where I last had my phone. I pick my jeans up from last night and find it in the pocket. It’s on silent, and I have dozens of missed calls. I text both my brothers and tell them I’m fine and ask them to call my dad. Then I call Tyler first.
“What the fuck’s going on, Reed? Jenna and Ethan are fucking beside themselves here, and Sandra’s trying to stop Dad from getting on a plane over there.”
My headache increases tenfold at the thought of what they’ve all been going through. “I’m sorry, the police wouldn’t let me talk to anyone.” I take a few deep breaths. “Ty?”
“What mate, what’s happened? Just tell me you’re okay? Ethan’s in meltdown. It came up on his Twitter feed that you were dead, then all his mates started texting and Facebooking him. Dad’s here, he couldn’t sit at home waiting for news, and Sandra wouldn’t let him catch a flight to you, so he came here. What the fuck’s happened?” I can hear the panic in his voice.
“I’m okay Ty, its Jet...” I pause for a few seconds, “It’s Jet, he killed himself. I found him in the bath and…” I trail off. I don’t want to be doing this. I don’t want to be explaining this again. “Ty, tell dad, Jen and the kids I love them, and I’m sorry. I had to give a statement, and I couldn’t make any calls till it was done.” Again, my thoughts are a scrambled mess. I just want to go home now. Go home and be with my family. “Tell Ethan not to repeat any of that. Let them all know that I’m okay, but they can’t post anything online till Jet’s dad has been told.”
I hear him sigh into the phone. “So I take it you won’t be home tonight?”
“No, no I won’t. I’ve gotta go to the police station and make a formal statement, and then there’ll be the funeral. It’s pointless coming home just to fly back, and the press will be up my arse everywhere I go anyway.” I look around and realise everyone’s on their phones. Dom’s still in my bathroom, Lawson’s out in the living area, and Gun’s still sitting in the chair he was in earlier. I’m not sure who he’s talking to, but he is wiping tears from under his eyes. He’s a big bloke, always working out. His arms are bigger than my legs, and he’s probably taller than me by a couple of inches. Watching him cry is just breaking my heart right now, but I still manage to keep a hold of my own tears.
“You gonna be all right on your own with all of that, Reed? I can fly over if you want?” Now I really want to cry.
“I’m all right Ty, honestly. You stay there with Dad, Jenna and the kids. If you have any trouble with the press, ring Sharee at the label on the number I gave you before.”
“Have you rung, Jord?”
