The Loyal Servant (38 page)

52

‘After a quarter of a mile, turn left.’

Angela glanced at the sat nav screen. ‘Pete?’ She reached over a hand and nudged his arm. ‘Pete!’

Pete was lying across the double seat next to her. He moaned.

‘Jesus, Pete! Are you still with me?’

He moaned again.

‘We’re almost there.’

Don’t die on me, you stupid big bastard.

Pete opened his eyes wide and started to cough. A mess of bloody saliva sprayed across the windscreen. Angela slammed on the brakes. A noisy wheeze blew out of his mouth. He wheezed a second time and she realised he was trying to say something.

‘What is it?’ She leaned over, stuck her ear by his mouth. A moist breath blasted against her cheek.

‘Drive.’ Pete gripped the door, white knuckles showing through the purple and blue bruises.

Angela put her foot down. Less than a minute later they reached a set of temporary traffic lights. She stared at the red light for what seemed like minutes. Pete let out another groan.

‘Go!’ he managed.

‘All right!’

She eased past the red light and prayed nothing would appear from beyond the curve in the road. On the other side of the blind bend she saw what was causing the problem. A small red car blocked half the carriageway, a scaffold pole protruding from its windscreen.

‘Jesus that looks nasty.’ She couldn’t help staring into the car as they drove past.

‘Caz!’ Pete said.

‘What?’

He swallowed and tried to draw down a breath. ‘Caz’s… car.’

Angela looked at the wreck as it receded in the wing mirror.

‘Caroline’s car?’

Pete nodded.

Dear God
.

Pete closed his eyes.

‘Pete?’ Angela pressed on the gas and stared through the windscreen, concentrating on the road, trying not to think about what might have happened to Jean.

‘Turn right.’

The sudden interjection of the sat nav made her jump.

‘You have reached your destination.’

She spun the steering wheel and the van squealed into the next turning. Suddenly they left the country behind and entered suburbia.

A white clapboard chalet stood apart from its prefab neighbours, as if it had been picked up in some mid-western American town and dropped clumsily onto a square of scabby lawn. An outsized ‘14’ had been painted on the door.

‘Looks like we’re here.’

Angela stopped the van across the street from the chalet. It was the only vehicle parked on the road. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign. Was it possible Larson’s men had already left? She leaned over to Pete. With each outward breath he seemed to be deflating, his big chest shrinking as she watched.

‘Hang in there, Pete.’

She swung her legs out of the van and dropped to the ground, then heaved open one of doors at the back and pulled out a 12-inch wrench. It felt reassuringly heavy in her hand. She crept along the fence leading to the chalet, the blood rushing in her ears. Her hands had started to sweat and the wrench was slipping from her grasp. She slipped it into her other hand and wiped her palm across the leg of her trousers. Her legs were trembling.

When she reached the front porch she sank to her knees and crawled along the wooden veranda until she reached the first window. She raised her head and peered through the glass, holding her breath. There wasn’t enough light inside the chalet to distinguish one dark shape from another. She looked back out at the lawn. Her heart thudded painfully fast. A set of tyre marks ran all the way along the edge of the grass and disappeared into a track at the side of the building. She switched the wrench from her left hand to her right and wiped the other sticky palm down her jumper. She took a deep breath and tried the front door. The knob turned and the door clicked open. She puffed the breath back out and drew in another, gripping the wrench tighter in her fist. She pushed against the door and stood back.

She waited.

Nothing stirred inside. She slipped through the doorway and strained to focus in the gloom. Her eyes adjusted gradually, each looming shape materialising slowly into heavy pieces of furniture. She was standing in a square living room, the floral curtains, cushions and carpet swirling in a sickening pattern all around her. A door, half glazed with rippled glass, was open on the other side of the room. She gulped down the saliva that had pooled under her tongue and moistened her parched lips. She crept over to the door and waited again, listening for movement coming from the other rooms.

Then she heard it. A crack, the sharp splintering of something brittle snapping in two.

The wrench started to slip from her hand; she grabbed at it but fumbled. It clattered to the floor.

She froze.

A klaxon blasted outside. Angela ran back out onto the porch. She saw Pete slumped over the steering wheel in the van, his face squashed against the windscreen, the horn blaring. She ran towards the van, suddenly aware of another noise – the roar of a revving engine.

Getting closer.

She spun round too late to get out of the way. The motorbike sped by, the pillion passenger’s knee thumping into her thigh as it passed. She staggered sideways and landed awkwardly on her hip. The bike weaved around the van and accelerated away. The blaring horn stopped. Pete was trying to open the van door.

‘For God’s sake, Pete – stay there!’ Angela struggled to her feet and discovered she must have twisted her ankle as she fell. She hobbled back to the chalet, through the living room and into a narrow hall. She flung open doors on either side and quickly inspected the cramped rooms beyond. She limped back into the hall, heading for a rear door at the end.

She stopped.

Men’s voices. Coming from somewhere outside. How many men had Valerie Larson sent? She felt suddenly exposed, standing in the middle of the hall unarmed. Why hadn’t she picked the wrench back up? She stood listening for a moment, trying to make out what they were saying. The talking ceased. Then she heard the sound of metal hitting metal. A sliver of light appeared at the end of the hall as the back door started to open. She tensed.

A man shouted something and the door stopped moving. Then an engine roar erupted outside. An exhaust spluttered and the sound was on the move. She peered through one of the bedroom doorways off the hall and saw a blur of crash helmets speed past the window.

She let out a breath and staggered towards the back door.

She hollered for Ben and Claire as soon as she got outside. She shouted again and headed for a stone outhouse at the far end of the garden.

‘Claire! Ben!’

There was a faint whimper coming from the little building. Angela lifted the latch and flung open the door. Claire was sitting on plank lying across a broken toilet bowl. Ben was curled on his sister’s lap, his arms wrapped around her neck. He turned slowly and blinked at Angela.

‘Where’s my Mum?’

53

Caroline opened her eyes and saw nothing but black. She lay curled, her knees tucked under her chin, on a cold, rough surface. Her legs felt heavy, as if they’d been pinned to the floor. She pressed a hand against the floor and lifted herself up into a sitting position. Hot needles exploded all over her scalp. She collapsed back to the ground and a solid mass of pain radiated through her whole body. She drew in a tight breath.

There was a smell. Something familiar and completely unexpected. She sniffed in another breath and detected the musty tang of dog.

Minty
?

It took her another moment to realise she’d been dumped in the cupboard under the stairs. She pressed her fist into the floor again, pushing up through the pain, through the buzzing in her ears. She reached out her hands in the dark, feeling for the door catch. She located it, threw open the door, and fell out into the hall. She blinked, trying to adjust to the brightness.

‘Dan!’ Her voice was no more than a whisper, a fire burning in her throat.

She leaned heavily on the banister and dragged herself down the hall, grabbed the newel post and propelled herself up the stairs.

‘Dan!’

She pushed into his room.

It was empty.

Oh please no
.

She checked the bathroom, then the other rooms on the first floor. She hollered up the stairs leading to Claire’s bedroom in the loft. She pulled in a breath through gritted teeth and took the steep steps to the attic as fast as she could. Claire’s room was empty too.

She clattered back down both flights of stairs, numb now to the pain, and checked the living room and the kitchen. She rested a hand on the kitchen table and stood lost and hopeless as the room swirled around her. She tried to focus her attention on something that wasn’t moving and spotted an old note her mother had written on the back of an envelope.

Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She threw herself into the hall and across the living room and flung open the door to her mother’s annexe.

Dan’s arms and legs were stretched over Jean’s bed, his head twisted awkwardly to one side, facing the window.

‘Dan!’ She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Hard. ‘Dan!’ She slapped his face. ‘Please! Dan.’

She dropped to her knees and landed on something. It shattered under her weight. A plastic bottle. Jean’s pills.
Please God
. She pressed her fingers into Dan’s neck, groping the flesh, digging in deep. Was there a faint pulse? She shook him again.

‘Dan!’

She pounded his chest with a fist, tipped back his head and blew into his mouth. She leaned into his chest with one hand, released, pushed again and felt her pockets for her mobile. It wasn’t there. She blew into his mouth again and saw his chest rise out of the corner of her eye. She blew again. He needed an ambulance. She didn’t dare leave him to fetch the phone. She pumped his chest again.

‘Somebody help me! Please!’

She called again, even though she knew no one would hear. The whole street had been abandoned.

Please God help me.

She moved back to his mouth, his face slick now with her tears. Again she massaged his narrow chest, her strength faltering, her arms numb and heavy. She knew she mustn’t stop. She was so tired.

‘Dan, please, come on, sweetheart.’

She kissed his forehead and filled his lungs with her breath again. She heard a noise – a scraping at the front door. She puffed out another breath into Dan’s mouth, then turned towards the door and hollered.

‘In here! We’re in here. Hurry!’

The noise stopped.

Caroline pummelled Dan’s bruised and battered chest again.

‘Don’t go! Please. In here!’

There was a bang. Then another, followed by the splintering of wood.

‘In here!’ she shouted.

Ralph Mills froze in the doorway for a moment, his eyes fixed on Dan.

*

The A&E nurse guided Caroline out of the emergency room and onto a plastic chair in the corridor.

‘Please Mrs Barber, Dan’s in good hands.’

Caroline tried to get back on her feet. The woman in blue scrubs held her firm.

‘I promise I’ll let you know as soon as he’s stabilised.’

‘Will he?’

‘Stabilise?’ the nurse said, holding Caroline’s gaze.

Caroline nodded and hot needles exploded in her head.

‘We’re doing everything we can. He’s in the right place.’ The nurse disappeared behind the swing doors.

Caroline closed her eyes and let out a straggly breath.

‘I think I may have gone a bit mad with the sugar.’

She looked up to see Ralph Mills’ sad smile staring down at her. She took the steaming polystyrene cup from him with trembling hands.

‘Any news?’ he asked.

‘There are so many doctors and nurses in there with him.’

‘He’s in good hands.’ Mills sat down.

‘But it’s been so long.’

‘Trust me – that’s a good sign.’

Caroline stared at the vapour rising from her cup, unable to blink.

‘Oh – before I forget,’ Mills said. ‘I found this in your front garden.’ He waved a mobile phone at her. ‘Is it yours?’

She handed back the tea and snatched the phone. She had a voicemail message and five missed calls, all from the same number. She jabbed a bruised thumb against one button, then another and pressed the phone to her ear.

‘Thank God!’ Tate said. ‘I’ve left you so many messages. Where are you?’

‘Angela – I can’t speak to you now. I need to try Claire again…’

‘Haven’t you listened to the messa—’

‘And Mum. Is Pete with you?’

The emergency room doors burst open and a nurse ran out. Caroline shoved the phone in a pocket.

‘What’s going on?’

The nurse ignored her and ran to the end of the corridor. Caroline heaved herself up off the chair.

‘You stay here,’ Mills said. ‘I’ll find out what’s happening.’ He pushed through the swing doors into the emergency room.

Caroline forced out another frayed breath and retrieved her phone. She punched in Claire’s number.

‘Caroline?’ It was Tate again.

‘What are you doing with Claire’s—’

‘I was just trying to tell you.’

Caroline squeezed her eyes shut. She chose Dan.
Christ
. She chose Dan and sacrificed Ben and Claire. She couldn’t take another blow.

‘What’s happened?’ she said, not wanting to hear the answer.

‘Don’t panic!’ Tate mumbled something away from the phone. ‘Sorry – had to deal with—’

‘What is it?’

‘Are you sitting down?’

‘Please tell me what’s happened to my children.’

A man wearing a plastic white apron over his scrubs pushed Ralph Mills back into the corridor. The constable put a hand on her shoulder.

‘Still no news,’ he said. ‘Which is good news. Absolutely.’ He nodded to himself and sat back down.

‘Caroline? Are you still there?’ Tate was shouting.

‘Please. Just tell me.’

‘Claire left her phone with me in case you tried to call – she’s on the ward with Pete at the moment.’

‘What’s wrong with Pete?’

‘He’ll be fine. The doctors seem very confident.’

‘What do you mean, “seem”?’

‘He’s a fighter, your Pete.’

‘You haven’t mentioned Ben. What’s happened to Ben?’

‘Ben’s good – he’s fine. The nurses said it was OK for him to sit in with Jean. As soon as I finish this call I’m going to visit her myself.’

‘Visit? What’s happened to Mum?’

‘She had a… a little prang in the car.’

‘She’s had an accident?’ Caroline’s heart thudded against her ribs. ‘How serious was it?’

‘The car might not recover, but you know Jean, she bounces back quicker than anyone. She’ll be flirting with the doctors before you know it.’

‘Can I speak to her?’

‘I’m not sure she’s up to that.’

‘Ben and Claire aren’t hurt? Did Larson’s men—?’

‘They’re a bit shaken up, naturally. But they are quite unharmed.’

Caroline really wasn’t sure Tate was giving her the whole story. It sounded as if she was holding something back. ‘Will you ask Claire to call me as soon as she can?’

‘Of course. When did you get back to Larson’s?’

‘I… I didn’t…’

‘But I thought you were coming back… God, I haven’t even asked you? Did you manage to get in touch with Dan? Is he OK?’

The fear and dread that Caroline had managed to control by squeezing them into a tight space between her chest and her throat suddenly burst upwards and out. She wretched a mix of bile and tears from her mouth and nose.

Mills snatched away the phone, put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed tight. He shoved a handkerchief into her hands.

‘I know…’ he said. ‘I know. Just let it out.’