Papercuts 2: The Return of the Native

By Colin Bateman

Through world wars and civil strife, the Bangor Express has never missed an issue, but now it is losing money hand-over-fist and Rob Cullen, fresh off the plane from his London news desk, has absolutely no idea that he's the man to save it. Lured back to Northern Ireland for the first time in 20 years by the demise of his one-time mentor, the Bangor Express makes Rob an offer he can't refuse and the Guardian reporter can't resist sticking around. After all, it has been a long time since Rob had a real story to get his teeth in to... and with the Bangor Express, that's just what he's going to get.

When Mark Dillon is released from prison after serving a sentence for killing a small child in a drink driving accident, Bangor Express reporter Alix knows there is bound to be trouble. And when the parents of the child are none other than Alix's best friends Roy and Ailsa, she can't help taking the law into her own hands. This feisty young journalist doesn't realise is that she's playing with fire and that writing her revenge story will only fan the flames...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Feb 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781784973711

Colin Bateman

Colin Bateman is an author, screenwriter and playwright. He is the creator of the BBC series Murphy's Law and was listed by the Daily Telegraph as one of the Top 50 crime writers of all time. Find out more at colinbateman.com

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About Papercuts #2: The Return of the Native

About Colin Bateman

Reviews

About Papercuts

Also by Colin Bateman

Table of Contents

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For Matthew and Isaac

Johnny Cash shot a man in Reno,

just to watch him die.

Rob Cullen bought curly kale in Tesco’s,

just to watch it wither.

CONTENTS

Cover

Welcome Page

Display Options Notice

Dedication

Epigraph

The Return of the Native

About Papercuts #2: The Return of the Native

Reviews

About Colin Bateman

About Papercuts

Also by Colin Bateman

An Invitation from the Publisher

Copyright

When Alix Cross first applied for a job on the Express she thought it would help her cause by writing that although she was currently living in Belfast she was ‘Bangor born and bread’. It was only when she came down for an interview and editor Billy confused her by quizzing her on her knowledge of local bakeries and she was clearly floundering that he put her out of her misery with a big laugh and pointed out her mistake, ‘Born and bred, honey, b-r-e-d, not as in sliced pan.’ He’d her CV printed out before him and he was nodding and said, ‘You grew up in Kilcooley?’ She’d nodded and a little cheekily said, ‘You’re surprised someone from Kilcooley went to university?’ and he said, ‘No, I’m surprised someone from Kilcooley went to school.’ He had a point. It was a huge, sprawling estate, and it had a lot of problems, not the least of which were the successive generations of kids who managed to avoid getting any kind of education at all. The estate had been built in the seventies to house those forced to flee sectarian ghettos in Belfast, and it was a shock for the middle-class town to suddenly have to cope with an influx of tough- minded refugees who were no respecters of their nice, genteel ways. It was said that property prices went down overnight. Though she’d always wanted out of Kilcooley, Alix didn’t have a problem with it. She hated the way it was controlled by ex-paramilitaries like Bobby McCartney, but it was still her home, she had family there, and memories, happy ones. Billy had said, ‘Forget about your degree, what I want you to do is write three hundred words on why you want to be a journalist here in Bangor.’ He sat her at a desk and a laptop and told her she had ten minutes. She spent the first minute thinking about how many other applicants had been set just this task, and how much bullshit they’d written, and she knew that that was exactly what she should do as well. She should write that she loved towns like Bangor, loved being part of a community, loved the huge variety of stories she would get to do on a local paper, that she loved meeting people, was interested in local history and sport. And though a lot of that was actually true, she convinced herself that she should write something completely different; that she shouldn’t do exactly what every other candidate was sure to have done; she should be brave and bold. So she wrote: ‘I need the money. And I’ve a Jack Russell to feed.’ It was a lie, of course. There was no Jack Russell. She admitted as much when Billy called to offer her the job the next day. He laughed and said it was a good line. She said, ‘Is that why you’re offering me the job? Because I was 289 words short on my article.’ Billy said, ‘No, I’m offering it to you because the money is rubbish and nobody else applied.’ She was never quite sure if he was serious, and now she would never know. That was two years ago. In the old days, Peter said, there was a three-year apprenticeship before you were considered a fully fledged reporter, but like so many other traditions and practices this had been quietly dropped. Now you were expected to hit the ground running. Peter, older and wiser, allegedly, never tired of reminding her that she was still technically a cub reporter. She never tired of telling him to bugger off.

During that two years she also discovered that the huge variety of local stories she’d been looking forward to covering – well, actually, there wasn’t that much variety. The same situations and characters kept coming round.