The End is Where We Begin

take her down the park and give it to her there, Jay,” said Tom.
“You should give it to her wherever it feels right to you, Jamie,” said Michael. “You could give it to her at the canal…”
“On the bench down the park.”
“In the woods.”
“In the back alley.”
“Ah, shut up!” I snapped, as they burst into laughter. I’d been an idiot to think they might have been seriously trying to help. “You’re so immature.”
“Either way, it’s definitely about time you gave it to her,” sniggered Max, drawing hoots of laughter from the other two.
“Ha ha,” I grumbled.
It was then I thought I heard a scream. The boys were still laughing, throwing out ideas about where I could “give it” to Libby, each suggestion more ridiculous than the last.
“The Natural History Museum. Combine it with education.”
“TGI Fridays.”
“PC World.”
I tried to listen beyond their voices.
“Shut up,” I told them impatiently.
“Ah, we’re just messing with you, Jay Boy,” laughed Max.
“No, seriously, shut up!” I snapped, stopping. “What was that noise?”
“What noise?”
The others came to a halt and we stood there, silhouettes against the night sky, the only sound the distant thud and rumble of the fairground music.
And then we all heard it.
“What the heck was that?” asked Max.
“That was a fox shagging,” stated Tom matter-of-factly. “It’s what they sound like. Like they’re being murdered. It’s well warped. Haven’t you ever heard—”
“That wasn’t a fox,” I interrupted, “that sounded like someone in pain.”
“Sounded like a person puking,” said Max.
“It’s nothing, let’s just get home,” said Michael, sounding nervous, and we all resumed walking.
But a moment later there it was again.
“Shhh!” I hissed, listening hard. “Sounds like someone groaning.”
“It’s over there,” said Tom, heading away from us. There were dark shapes looming around us that, so far, had turned out to be inoffensive run-down sheds, shacks and bushes. But now, with the mysterious groaning in the darkness, every shape appeared threatening. I wondered if I could see something moving.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To see what it is,” said Tom casually. “We’ve got to go this way anyway. Tenner says it’s a fox.”
“Are you sure that’s the way home?” I asked.
“Yes!” called back Tom, sounding irritated to be questioned again.
The rest of us stood there, unsure what to do. After a few paces, Tom realised that no one was following him and turned around.
“What, are you lot scared or something?”
Challenged, I walked in silence across the uneven earth, Michael and Max following behind. I think I was the first to see amber sparks dancing in the darkness.
“Tom!” I called, keeping my voice low, trying to alert him to what must be a fire burning behind… what? A hedge? A shed? It was too dark to tell what the obstruction was. Either way, Tom was too far in front, or I was too quiet. He just carried on walking, the back of his white Metallica T-shirt the only thing keeping him visible.
“Tom!”
I should have run ahead and grabbed him. Because someone burning a fire in the corner of some shabby, abandoned allotments late at night should have struck me as strange. Because I should have trusted myself that the sound I’d heard was someone groaning in pain. And because every instinct was now screaming at me to go home another way.
The obstruction turned out to be a dilapidated metal shed, and by the time I was close enough to figure that out, I could smell the burning. When I got there, Tom was already peering round the side. I could hear voices, deep and mumbling. It could have been a couple of old men collapsed in their deckchairs – the last defenders of the allotments – enjoying the summer evening, relieved to be away from their nagging wives for an hour or so. But I knew it wasn’t. I felt it. Still, I pushed down my instincts. There was nothing to worry about. At least not until Tom turned to me, panic in his voice.
“Shit,” he whispered, “there’s some guy on the ground. I think he’s bleeding.”
Again, again, I have no idea why. Why would I have not just taken his word for it? Why did I have to look? I have no idea now. Disbelief. Morbid curiosity. The same reason I sat through the horror movies Tom put on, watching every rip and cut and scream, even though I felt sick and wanted to close my eyes. Because I had to see for myself.
I inched round the side of the shed. There, not far from us, a man was lying on the ground. He was trying to push himself up. It was hard to tell with his nose pressed against the soil, but I thought he was probably about my sister’s age – around nineteen, twenty. On the opposite side of the fire, three older men were talking, glancing occasionally at the guy on the ground, and swigging from a bottle they passed between them. More bottles lay scattered on the ground around the fire.
“What’s going on?” I heard Michael ask anxiously.
I felt hands on my back and my shoulders as the others tried to peer round me. Max’s heavy breathing was in my ear.
The man on the ground managed to lift himself up slightly, but as soon as he did, one of the other three men stepped round the fire and booted him hard in the ribs. I felt Tom jolt with shock beside me, and I grabbed at his arm and held on tight.
“Jesus!” hissed Michael.
The victim cried out in pain and fell back on the ground. My stomach twisted with fear and disgust. But his assailant was still not satisfied. Straight away, he delivered another powerful boot to the man’s side. This time, the victim let out a short grunt, as if he was giving up on even crying out, and rolled up in a ball on the ground.
“Leave him now,” one of the other men said. He had some kind of accent.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tom whispered, pulling at my arm.
“Yeah,