Ruthless (11 page)

Rufus didn’t tell Rory that he knew Megan had betrayed him all those years ago, summoning Don’s men the moment his back was turned. Only good luck and keen eyesight had saved his arse that day, and he couldn’t forgive the cow for it. But it hadn’t been Rory’s fault.

‘We split up. About a year after little Diarmuid was born.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Rufus, although he wasn’t. He thought Rory could do a lot better than
that
bitch.

‘Don’t be. It was all feckin’ arguments, a living hell. I was glad to be out of it.’

‘But you still see the child?’

‘Ah, sometimes.’ Rory’s mouth turned down. ‘Truth to tell, I don’t see either of them very much.’

‘I can’t say I took to her,’ admitted Rufus.

‘Ah, forget her. It’s good to see you again. I couldn’t believe it when you just cleared off without a word.’

Rufus shrugged, his eyes averted from Rory’s. If he hadn’t slipped away, Don’s boys would have nabbed him, and he’d be dead by now.
Thanks, Megan,
he thought.
You cow
.

‘I’d outstayed my welcome,’ he said.

‘Never,’ said Rory.

‘Megan didn’t want me there – and that was understandable, what with the child and everything.’

Rory couldn’t deny it. ‘So what have you been up to?’

‘Oh, travelling, stuff like that.’

‘Seeing the world.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Lucky bastard.’

Yeah, with Don on my tail every inch of the way
. ‘You?’

‘Mechanic jobs, same as always. Boring, but it pays. Still doing a bit on the nags, too.’

‘Drink up. We’ll have another,’ said Rufus.

24

‘I don’t like him,’ said Orla as time wore on and Rory stayed.

‘What?’This had come out of left-field for Rufus.
Everyone
loved Rory. He was chatty and charming. Certainly Orla’s mum adored him, making no end of a fuss, and even Davey seemed to enjoy his company.

‘He’s a shifty little fellow,’ she said.

‘Rory? No, he’s not. He’s a bit on the loud side, I grant you, but . . .’

‘I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.’

Orla didn’t trust anybody. Rufus felt the words rise to his lips and quickly stifled them. He didn’t want to fight with her.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘Because he’s turned up here unannounced. And why?’

‘I
told
you why. He’s in the area to look over some horses. We used to go to the sulky races together. He loves the nags.’

‘So he says. When’s he going to get on and do that, then?’

‘Orla . . .’

‘What? You’re too trusting, Rufus.’

‘I’ve known Rory since we both crawled from our prams.’

Orla shrugged. ‘I’m only saying.’

‘I don’t think your cousin likes me very much,’ said Rory as he helped clear some shrubbery with Rufus one day. He hadn’t gone off to see any horses yet. After that first mention of it, he hadn’t spoken of it again. And Rufus did wonder about that, just a bit.

‘What, Orla? She don’t care to mix much. Take no notice.’

Rufus felt embarrassed by Orla’s behaviour around Rory.

‘He’s nothing but a gobshite,’ she said when Rufus asked her why she disliked him so much.

He couldn’t tell Rory
that
.

‘If I’m in the way . . .’ said Rory.

‘You’re not. You’re welcome here, of course you are.’

‘What is it with you two? Are you . . .?’ He gave Rufus a knowing look.

‘No, we’re not. At all,’ said Rufus.

‘If I’m not welcome, say the word and I’ll go.’

‘Shut up, will you?’ said Rufus with a grin.

Rory seemed to relax then, and they carried on working side by side.

Later, Rufus wished with all his heart that he’d taken Rory at his word that day, and let him go.

25

Rufus was sleeping soundly in his bed when the light came on, waking him. Orla had entered his room and was leaning over him, her expression almost crazed, her hair tickling his face. He opened his mouth to ask what was the matter – she
never
came to his room, and he had long since ceased to expect it – but she laid a silencing hand across his mouth.

‘Get up!’ she whispered, her voice full of excitement. ‘I’ve something to show you.’

Ah Jesus,
he thought. It would be another batch of mad paintings. He looked at the clock on the bedside table, it was one fifteen in the frigging morning.

‘Orla . . .’ he started, pushing his hair out of his eyes, feeling exasperated, sad, irritable.

‘Come
on,
sleepy. I’ll show you.’

Shit,
he thought. Nonetheless he stumbled from the bed, put on his dressing gown – she was wearing her winceyette nightie, he saw – anything to humour her.

She grabbed his hand, holding a finger to her lips to keep him silent.

‘Come on!’ she hissed.

He allowed her to lead him from the room and along the hall. More and more he was coming to realize that Orla, his precious Orla, was . . . well, she was
unhinged
. Something had made her unstable. Probably poor Redmond’s death.

‘Listen! Here!’ He’d expected her to drag him down the stairs and out to the barn, but instead she’d come to a halt outside one of the guest rooms.
Rory
’s room, he realized.

‘What the . . .’

She shushed him urgently. He could hear a voice. Like a child playing a naughty game, Orla produced a glass from her pocket and held it out to him. ‘Listen,’ she whispered.

‘For God’s sake . . .’

‘Go on!’

Rufus let out a sharp sigh. How long had she spent doing this, suspecting Rory the same way she suspected any outsider, never mind that he was Rufus’s oldest friend? For all he knew she’d been here eavesdropping every night since Rory arrived, trying to trap him in some imagined transgression.

His mood veering between annoyance and a weary sadness, he took the glass from her and placed it to the door. Instantly the muffled voice became clearer. It was Rory’s voice. And he was talking to someone. He was on the phone.

‘I didn’t pick up the extension because I thought he’d hear the click,’ hissed Orla. ‘I
knew
he was up to something.’

Rufus tuned her out and listened hard to what was going on in Rory’s room.

Rory sounded near to tears. Which was weird. Rory
never
cried. He wasn’t an over-emotional man. He was always happy, always upbeat.

‘Yes. I told you so, didn’t I? That’s right,’ said Rory.

‘I know. I know. And he’s OK, is he? He’s not hurt?’ asked Rory.

‘What the hell does that mean?’There was panic in Rory’s voice now.

‘But we had a deal!’ Rory almost shouted.

‘Listen.’ Rory’s voice was low, urgent, angry. ‘I’ve done what I said I’d do. You have to let him go.
Yes
. He’s here. I
told
you, Rufus is here. Now you’ve to let Diarmuid go. You swear. You
have
to.’

Rory was silent for a while.

Rufus stood there, stunned. Orla was right. Rory had come here to betray him. His heart sank as he realized he’d been set up. Big Don had Rory’s nuts in a vice; he’d taken his son, threatened to harm him if Rory didn’t deliver Rufus. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Rory had gone searching for his old mate. And having found him, he’d waited, lulling the household into a false sense of security, until the time came to report back.

‘You see? You see?’ Orla was staring at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Rufus saw. Don would come here, and that would be it. He’d be finished. And what about Orla and the old folks, what would become of them? Don wouldn’t risk leaving any witnesses alive to tell the tale.

He let the hand holding the glass fall to his side. This was a bitter blow. And while he was standing there, wondering what on earth he should do, Orla pushed open the door and hurried inside.

‘Orla
. . .’ he started, but she was already in the room, and Rory was there, sitting on the bed, replacing the receiver, his face a picture of guilt.

‘You treacherous shit,’ she spat at him.

Rory’s eyes were wide. He looked at Rufus, and his cheeks burned with shame at being discovered this way.

‘We heard,’ said Rufus. ‘That was Don, I take it?’

Rory caught his breath and seemed about to deny it: but then his shoulders slumped and he nodded miserably. ‘He’s got my boy, little Diarmuid. Snatched him from his mother, and then said I was to find you or else.’

‘All this time,’ said Rufus on a sigh, ‘I’ve been wondering why he’s left me alone. But he hasn’t, has he? He’s still after me.’

‘Rufe, I’m sorry, I really am. The man’s ill, they say. He’s losing it. He told me the one thing he wants to do before he dies is to find you. To have his revenge. He’s got my kid, Rufus. What else can I do?’

‘I’ll tell you what you can do, you worm,’ snapped Orla, looming over Rory. She snatched up the receiver. ‘You can call your hoodlum pal back and say that Rufus has moved on, caught a flight to the States or something. That he
was
here, but he realized the game was up and he’s gone.’

Rory was shaking his head. He stood up, started pacing back and forth.

‘I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘I
can’t
. I’m sorry as hell, but I can’t risk it – he’ll kill Diarmuid.’

‘You can,’ said Orla. ‘And you will.’

‘No, no . . .’

Orla lifted her hand, and it was only then Rufus saw she was holding a knife. ‘Get on the phone. Do it.’

Rufus felt sick to his stomach. He’d been betrayed by his closest friend, and now Orla, the woman he loved, was waving a knife around like a maniac. Rory’s eyes were imploring as they rested on his.

‘Do it,’ said Rufus.

‘Rufe, I daren’t . . .’

‘Do it,’ he said, and this time his voice was loaded with hurt and rage.

His hand shaking, Rory reached for the phone and dialled. They all waited, holding their breath. Then Rory stiffened.

‘Don? He’s gone,’ he said. ‘I’ve just been to his room and looked. Rufus is gone. He must have got suspicious and done a runner.’

There was an angry sound from the other end of the line.

‘I
know
that,’ Rory shouted. ‘Don’t you think I know that? But I’m telling you, I just checked his room and he’s not there.’ Rory’s eyes met Orla’s. She jabbed the knife at him:
Go on
.

Rufus gave her a look.
Let him speak
.

‘He was talking about moving on to the States,’ Rory babbled. ‘He was keen on the idea, my guess is that’s where he’s gone. So I can’t help you any more. You’ve to let the boy go.’

The angry voice jabbered away. Rory’s eyes grew wide with panic.

‘What do you
mean,
“we’ll see”? I’ve done all I can do. Rufus has gone, that’s all I know. I can’t . . . hello?
Hello?
’

The line had gone dead. Trembling, Rory replaced the receiver.

‘He’ll kill him for spite,’ he mumbled, his eyes vacant with fear. ‘He will. He won’t let him go.’

‘Rory . . .’ started Rufus, wanting to comfort his old friend, to say that he had done what any father would have done in the circumstances, that he wasn’t to blame.

But Orla moved in with the knife and before Rufus realized what was happening, she lunged hard, sticking it squarely in Rory’s midsection.

Rory let out a breathless scream of pain and shock. Orla yanked out the knife, blood flying in a wide spurting arc, spattering the front of her nightdress. And then she struck again, plunging it up to the hilt in Rory’s windpipe. He sank to the floor, the blade embedded in his throat, gurgling, blood bubbling and foaming on his lips. Then Rory’s eyes turned up in his head and he toppled sideways, hitting the ground with a thump.

Rufus stood frozen, sick with shock, unable to believe what he had just seen. Orla had
killed
Rory. He blinked, shook his head. He couldn’t take it in. He hadn’t thought for a moment that she would actually use the knife or he would have snatched it off her. But she’d done it. She’d killed his friend.

Orla was breathing hard. Spattered with blood, she sat down on the bed, staring at the corpse at her feet.

Not a word was spoken for a long, long time. Rufus was shaken and filled with cold horror. He wanted to wring her neck with his bare hands. His eyes kept returning, again and again, to Rory, lying there dead on the floor.

But . . . but he loved her.

Didn’t he?

Then she looked up at him, and she smiled.

‘You see?’ she said, happy to be vindicated. ‘I
told
you he was not to be trusted.’

26

When he could force himself to move, to acknowledge that this nightmare was real, Rufus went down to the barn and fetched a tarpaulin, praying that neither of Orla’s parents would wake up and ask what was going on. Because what could he say?
Your daughter has just knifed my best friend?
But all was quiet, thank God.

He carried the tarp to the bedroom and was sickened to see that during his absence Orla had reclaimed her knife from Rory’s throat, and was wiping it clean on the front of the dead man’s shirt.

Between them, they wrapped the body and all Rory’s belongings – Rufus kept the Land Rover keys to one side – in the tarp and heaved the bundle down the stairs and outside to the little stand of woodland not too far from the house. Then Rufus fetched a shovel and started digging. He’d go down four feet, he reckoned, that would be deep enough to stop the foxes getting poor Rory out again.

He dug. And he wondered if Don was going to show up at any second, thinking that Rory had duped him – which was the truth – and then the game would be up, he’d be caught.

The way Rufus was feeling tonight, he would be glad of it. He was sickened by what Orla had done, killing a man without a qualm. And he had lost the only true friend he had in the world. So if Don were to show up, yes, Rufus would be relieved. It would mean an end to all this running, all this hiding. He was tired of it. Tired of life. Tired of the whole awful, shitty mess.