Double Danger (17 page)

Mr Brown clapped his hands together loudly and called out, ‘Right, guys, let’s line out.’

With much giggling and shuffling, they formed a rough line.

‘OK, boys and girls. When I say the command “seiza”, I want you all to kneel, then I say “sensei nel rei” and we all bow together. That means we are leaving our outside lives behind and training seriously. Any questions?’

‘Yes sir. I thought you were a black belt, but that’s all sort of white and grey and black.’

‘Yes, that’s right, Ian. That’s because it’s very old. It shows I’ve been a black belt for a long time now. I’m what’s called a “third dan”.’

The class started with ten minutes of stretching and warming up before Mr Brown started to teach the basic karate moves – how to stand, how to move and the basic blocks and strikes.

All things considered, it went well. He managed to keep a degree of structure and discipline while keeping it suitably light-hearted for a young group of beginners. Time enough to slowly build up the strict regime needed for success in the martial arts.

Afterwards, Jessica hurried away with her trolley to catch the bus to Glasgow. One of her ambitions was to learn to drive and get a car once she had the hotel up and running. It would transform her life and save such a lot of walking, not to mention time.

Once in Glasgow, she couldn’t resist visiting the Calton area and of course the Barras market.

‘We fairly miss Mrs Mellors,’ one stall holder said. ‘OK, her stall’s being well looked after but the knitting’s not as good as hers was. The stock she left is done now. I hope she comes back as promised. Three months, she said.’

‘Yes. I eventually got her letter telling me she was going. It was held up for ages in Saudi. I haven’t written to her about Brian’s death or anything, so as not to worry her and spoil the lovely time I’m sure she’ll be having with her family. She dotes on that son of hers. He’s always been so good to her.’

After chatting for a time to different stall holders and old friends at the market, she went to visit Evie in the drop-in centre. It was while she was walking through the crowded streets that she realised that what she’d said recently was really true – her heart was not here any more. Her heart was in the wild and beautiful countryside of the Campsie Hills.

The problem there was Patrick O’Rourke. Some people might say he was a unique character and absolutely perfect. Not only was he good-looking and charming and so unusual in his poetic way of expressing himself verbally, but he was a wonderful, knowledgeable, conscientious worker as well. Why, anyone might ask, was she resisting him? She wasn’t sure herself except that perhaps he was rushing her. She feared being dangerously swept away in an orgy of sex because that was what she experienced for him – sexual feelings. She somehow couldn’t feel love for him, feel safe with him, trust him – and she had loved and trusted Brian.

It was lovely to listen to him reciting poetry but there was an unreality about the way Patrick spoke. It was as if he was acting all the time.

She needed reality. She needed Brian.

After a quick snack with Evie, Jessica travelled to the centre of town to the solicitor’s office. Then shopping, then the bus back to Vale of Lennox. By the time she reached Hilltop House, the children were in bed sleeping and Patrick was nowhere to be seen.

Mrs Peterson persuaded Jessica to have a bowl of soup and a cup of tea, and she and Geordie sat chatting with her.

‘I had quite a lot to get sorted out at the solicitor’s,’ Jessica told them.

Mrs Peterson said, ‘I thought it was all arranged and provided for long ago. I mean, expenses and wages and all that.’

‘Yes, that was already all in place. This was something different altogether. You see, I discovered that Brian didn’t leave the property and the estate to me. He left everything to Tommy.’

‘What?’ both Geordie and Mrs Peterson cried out incredulously.

‘Oh, Brian left me well provided for, don’t worry. But it’s perfectly understandable he’d leave the property and the estate to his only son.’

‘Well,’ Geordie said, ‘I’ll be buggered.’

‘I had to check about how much authority I have to make decisions about the place, and so on, until Tommy is of legal age to make them himself.’

‘And did you get it all sorted?’

‘Yes. It’s a bit complicated but it’s OK. We can go ahead with all the arrangements exactly as we planned.’

Jessica and Mrs Peterson began talking about their plans for the next day. They were going to check through all the rooms to make sure that there was a little radio on each bedside table, a Bible in each bedside drawer, water jugs and glasses in every room.

Next day, Jessica kissed the twins before going upstairs and told them to have good fun playing in the garden. But she couldn’t help adding,

‘Are you all right? You’re not too tired or anything?’

They shook their heads.

It was unusual for them not to chat and be eager and active, and Jessica felt worried.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

They both nodded and reluctantly Jessica accompanied Mrs Peterson upstairs and started, notebook in hand, to check all the rooms and note down what was still needed.

Geordie went outside and propped a ladder against one of the walls to continue with his window-cleaning. It was while he was up the ladder that he caught sight of Patrick and called him over.

‘What’s up with you?’ Patrick said. ‘I’m busy.’

‘So am I, but I thought you’d be interested in the latest news.’

‘What news?’

‘Oh aye, very interested.’

‘Spit it out, for God’s sake. I told you, I’m busy.’

‘Well, you know how you plan to get a ring on Mrs Anderson’s finger, get hitched to her so that you can be boss of all that she owns?’

‘So what? That’s not news.’

‘I know.’

Patrick turned to move impatiently away.

‘Go to hell.’

‘She doesn’t own anything. That’s the news.’

Patrick stopped. ‘What do you mean? Of course she owns everything. Her husband owned everything and now that he’s kicked the bucket, it has to go to her.’

‘No, it hasn’t.’ Geordie was obviously enjoying himself.

‘Stop messing about, you old fool. How can it not have gone to her?’

‘Because …’ Geordie paused for effect, ‘her husband left the house and the estate to his son. That’s wee Tommy.’

‘Christ! I’ll kill the useless wee sod.’

‘Yes, everything belongs to wee Tommy and it’s only if something happens to him that it would go to his mammy.’ In sudden anxiety, Geordie added, ‘But don’t you get any ideas, you rotten two-faced swine. Nothing bad had better happen to that wee lad, do you hear me?’

But Patrick O’Rourke had gone, striding – almost running – away to disappear into the thick growth of the garden.

Tommy and Fiona watched him from where they were crouching behind a bush. They had heard every word of the conversation between Patrick and Geordie and now a new terror engulfed them.

There was no way that Patrick would take a telling from Geordie. He would kill Tommy. That’s what he said and that’s what he’d do.

The two children clung tightly to each other, sobbing quietly.

Then they whispered to each other about what they could do to keep safe. Eventually they decided to take the risk of leaving a note for their mother telling her that Patrick was going to kill Tommy and they were going down to the village to get Mr Brown to help them and keep them safe.

This time, they left the note in the bedroom to avoid any risk of Patrick finding it. Then they crept away over the other side of the hill. Once at the foot of the hill, they planned to walk round to the village. It was a much longer way than going down the road or any part of the front area of the garden. But it would mean that neither Patrick nor any of his gardeners would see them.

They’d never been down the other side of the hill before. There was the back garden first, and then there were trees and a drystone dyke, as it was known locally. Or in English, a drystone wall. The twins reached the wall and managed to climb over it, then they set off very nervously down the steep incline.

Back at the house, Patrick had returned to seek out Jessica and tell her that he’d just heard her news about the will and how delighted he was and how they must both treasure the dear wee soul and look after him until he was able to look after himself. Then he’d recite some poem about the love of children. He was trying to think up the best poem to melt her heart and influence her mind when he reached her bedroom and saw the note.

He read it.

The hillside was very steep and, in parts, rocky too. It made the twins feel dizzy as they hurried down, trying not to run but unable to stop themselves because of the steepness of the terrain. Then suddenly a tiny cottage came into view. It had only one shuttered window and a thatched roof. They managed to reach it and cling on to the wall, and then the doorway of the cottage for shelter from the wind that was now howling about in every direction.

An old woman lived in the cottage. Many years ago, so the story in the village went, her two children had been killed falling down one of the gullies. But she kept insisting to everyone that they’d come back to her. Now the cottage door opened and there she was, bent and frail-looking, with a shawl wrapped round her shoulders. On seeing the children, her face lit up with joy.

‘I knew you’d come back,’ she cried. ‘I knew I hadn’t lost you.’

She caught them into her arms and pulled them into the house. The twins were too surprised at first to make any objections.

‘I’ll pour you out a cup of milk and get your favourite biscuits.’

As soon as the old lady went over to a cupboard, the twins got to the door. She immediately drew them back again, but not before they’d caught sight of Patrick O’Rourke racing down the hill towards the cottage. He must have seen them, perhaps from one of the high Hilltop House windows, climbing over the wall and running down the hill. In a few minutes he would have reached the cottage.

They both burst into helpless tears.

‘What’s wrong, my wee lovies?’ the old lady asked.

Tommy said, ‘There’s a bad man coming down the hill and he’s going to kill me.’

‘No, don’t worry. I won’t let him. I’m not going to lose you again. No, never.’

‘But he’ll have seen us come in here. He’ll come in after us.’

‘He won’t find you in here. Don’t worry, you can hide.’

Their weeping intensified with frustration. As far as they could see, it was only a tiny one-roomed place.

‘Where can we hide?’

The old lady smiled. ‘I said there was no need to worry, my wee lovies.’ She pointed upwards. ‘See, there’s a wee loft. See that pole over in the corner? That pulls the loft door down. But first you’re going to enjoy your favourite biscuits. I knew I’d be able to give them to you again. I always knew it.’

Before the children could run over to grab the pole, the door opened. Patrick O’Rourke stood in the doorway, holding up a big iron key.

‘You’re asking for trouble, you stupid old hag, leaving your key in the door.’

The old lady shuffled towards him.

‘Give me my key and get out of here this minute.’

To the children’s horror, O’Rourke felled the old woman with one terrible punch.

‘Now,’ he said to the children, ‘I’m going to go out, lock the door behind me and put the key in my pocket so there’s no chance of you getting the door open. There’s no point in trying.’

He laughed. ‘Then I’m going to set fire to the place and it’ll be burned to a cinder. No one will ever know I’ve been here, or that you little scumbags have been in here either. The old hag’s already a goner. Perfect. Just perfect.’

With one vicious swipe, he knocked the children to the ground. They lay dazed, unable to move. Until eventually they began to cough and choke. They struggled to their feet. Burning coal from the fire had been scattered over the floor and had set alight everything all around. They desperately tried to open the door, but O’Rourke had locked it. In desperation they managed to get the pole in the corner and pull down the loft ladder. They scrambled up into the cramped, low-roofed loft.

A sliver of light was coming in from a small roof window. On peering out, they saw the running figure of Patrick O’Rourke disappearing back up the hill. With great difficulty, they managed to squeeze out of the window and clutching at the jaggy thatch, they got down on to the mossy ground. From there they began running down towards the road to the village again and – they hoped – to the safety of the schoolhouse and Mr Brown.

They were absolutely exhausted by the time they reached their destination and had to sit in Mr Brown’s kitchen for a few minutes before they were able to speak.

‘Try to calm down. Take deep breaths,’ Mr Brown told them. ‘That’s right. Take your time. You’re all right now.’

It was Tommy who recovered first.

‘When Patrick O’Rourke found out that my Daddy left Hilltop House and everything to me, he said he’d kill me.’

Then Fiona piped up, ‘Geordie was there. He heard him say it.’

Tommy went on, ‘And he really has been trying to kill me. And Fiona as well. He chased us to a cottage on the other side of the hill. He locked the door and put the key in his pocket and told us that we’d never get out. He knocked the old lady and us down and set fire to the place.’

Fiona said, ‘We managed to climb out a wee roof window.’

Douglas Brown thought for a moment. Then he said,

‘I’m going to make a phone call, and then I’m going to drive you up to Hilltop House.’

* * *

Not far away, Dr Plockton was sitting at his desk opposite a patient. A few minutes before the patient had arrived, he’d heard a scream and a thump. He’d gone through to the back stairs and found his mother lying unconscious at the foot of the stairs. He had hesitated, then turned away, shutting the door behind him.

He then sat attending to his patient, knowing that his mother could be dying without his help. Knowing that he should phone for an ambulance.

Now the patient was saying, ‘I always feel better after seeing you and having a talk with you, Doctor. Everyone feels the same. We all know what a conscientious doctor you are and we can trust you.’