Driftnet (18 page)

Fiona was
gratifying delighted at the forecast that Edward might better the
last Labour majority.

‘That would be
a kick in the teeth for that Labour chap, what’s his name?’

‘George
Rafferty.’

‘Horrible
little man.’

‘Fiona.’

‘Well, it’s
true.’ She pouted at him from above. ‘Pour me a whisky Edward. I’m
almost ready.’

She disappeared
upstairs leaving a heady whiff of perfume. Edward took a deep
breath and went through to the sitting room. He liked the smell of
women.

Amy had
refilled the decanter with the whisky Sir James had given him. He
poured two glasses of the golden liquid and walked through the
French windows to the garden. It was a glorious evening to sit
outside. The herbaceous border was bright with blossoms. He noticed
that the gate from the garden into the woods was standing open. He
thought about a quiet walk down by the river to recharge his
batteries before tomorrow. He hadn’t been down there for a while.
It had been his favourite spot at one time.

Edward’s
thoughts drifted back to a particularly luscious dalliance with a
legal secretary. She used to bring his papers to the house for
signing and always had time for a stroll through the woods.

‘Penny for
them!’

Fiona took her
whisky.

‘Oh, just
thinking how glad I am you found this place for us.’

‘Yes. It is
rather nice.’ She followed his gaze across the garden. ‘But that’s
what I’m good at,’ she turned and smiled, ‘discovering things.’

Edward looked
at his wife sharply. It was always difficult to tell exactly how
much Fiona knew. Ever since they had it out over Jennifer (the
first one after their marriage), she had given him the impression
that she didn’t want to know. They made a good partnership and that
was why she was with him. She expected him to go far and she
intended to go with him. Fiona accepted that power enhanced men’s
appetites.

They had never
spoken of it again.

‘Fancy a
stroll?’ he asked, thinking longingly of his favourite tree.

‘No.’ Fiona
settled herself in a wrought iron chair. ‘Let’s just sit and
relax.’ She lifted her legs onto the matching stool. The flimsy
material of her dress parted revealing her curved calves.

‘I want to tell
you,’ she began, ‘about my conversation with your little friend,
Rhona MacLeod.’

Whenever Edward
had to deal with Rhona, his mind seemed to seize up. Alarmingly,
something resembling a conscience would begin to surface. Normally
he could suppress any symptoms of conscience, especially when Fiona
was voicing the well-rehearsed arguments with which he fed himself.
But this particular subject was different. His emotions were
intrigingly unpredictable when it came to this.

Edward had
never doubted that adoption was the right decision. Rhona would not
consider abortion. But the ‘what if?‘ scenario still insinuated
itself. What if he had married Rhona? What if they had kept the
child? He didn’t like the idea there was unfinished business
here.

Fiona
interrupted his reverie.

‘She told me to
forget it. She’d found out what she wanted to know and she was
surprised you had discussed ‘the incident’ with me at all.’ Fiona’s
voice rose in righteous indignation.

Edward could
imagine. It made him wince. So much for woman to woman.

The adoption
had always been between the two of them. It’s our baby, Rhona would
say, emphasising the word ‘our’. We have to decide. So they had
decided (Edward liked to pretend it was fifty-fifty) and told no
one. How it had hurt Rhona not to tell her precious father. For him
to have told Fiona would be a betrayal in her eyes. Well, what did
she expect? Fiona was his wife.

‘I told her
there were no secrets between us,’ Fiona was saying, raising her
elegantly plucked eyebrows at him, ‘and I suggested that it was in
everyone’s interests that the matter go no further.’

‘What did she
say to that?’

‘She said,
“really?” and hung up.’

Edward took a
sip of his whisky. He had no idea how Rhona could have found out
where the baby had gone, or even if she had. Either way, he was
sure she would tell no one else.

Chapter
26

The row was the
usual one.

Money.

Chrissy got up
from the table and took her plate to the sink.

‘Go on Chrissy.
Just a fiver.’ Joseph’s wheedling tone made Chrissy want to slap
him. Of all her brothers, Joseph was the most persistent cadger of
money.

‘You heard what
she said, Joseph.’

Her mother, the
eternal peacemaker.

‘Chrissy has no
more until pay day.’

Blessed are the
peacemakers for they shall inherit the Kingdom of God.

‘I don’t think
so.’ Joseph’s expression changed to a sneer. ‘I heard she’s got
other sources.’

‘What d’you
mean?’ Chrissy glared at her brother.

Joseph was like
a circling dingo, not quite brave enough to strike.

‘You know what
I mean. Who I mean.’

Chrissy took a
quick look at the door and imagined herself walking silently
through it. Joseph could not, would not do this to her. She’d had
to tell him what she’d done about Patrick. He couldn’t know any
more than that.

She was
wrong.

‘Fucking
queer!’ Joseph’s contempt was whispered He gathered strength for
the kill.

‘Rents out his
arse to any queer that will pay for it.’

‘Joseph!’ her
mother was horrified. ‘What are you saying? Are you talking about
Neil?’

Forgive me
Father for I have sinned.

‘I’m saying,’
Joseph shot a vicious look at his sister. ‘Your precious little
Miss whiter than white is having it away with a well known rent boy
of this city.’

‘A rent boy?
What does that mean Chrissy?’ Her mother looked at her
pleadingly.

‘Forget it mum.
He’s lying. He always lies when he needs money.’

‘Is that
right?’ Joseph’s voice was triumphant. ‘Well, ask her who she went
camping with and what was going on in the fucking tent.’

‘Stop it!’
shouted Chrissy.

‘Did you ask
him where it had been before it got to you?’ Joseph’s face twisted
in malice.

‘Don’t Joseph.
Please don’t,’ Chrissy whispered.

Her mother was
looking on with incomprehension. Then, with a huge effort, she
said, ‘You go upstairs Chrissy. I’ll come up in a wee while.’

Chrissy climbed
the stairs like an automaton. If Joseph was prepared to tell her
mother, he would tell her father too. Once he found out, the house
would descend into bedlam. He would force her to tell him about
Patrick as well. He would ban Patrick from the house. Her mother
would be destroyed.

Chrissy lay
down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Since Patrick left,
her home had become a prison. She only chose to stay there because
of her mother. Chrissy could not abandon her.

Your duty as a
good Catholic daughter is to obey your father.

Chrissy got up
and opened the window. The curtain danced in the breeze, reminding
her of what freedom could do for the soul.

Eventually the
talking downstairs stopped and Chrissy heard the back door slam.
Her mother must have found some money for Joseph. It was the only
thing that would get rid of him.

A tap on the
door brought her eyes from the ceiling. Her mother asked quietly if
she might come in. She had been crying. All her life, Chrissy had
tried not to make her cry.

‘Is there
somewhere you can go tonight?’ she asked, coming in and sitting
beside Chrissy on the bed.

Chrissy nodded
wordlessly.

‘Will you go to
this lad?’

‘I... I don’t
know if Neil’s in Glasgow.’

‘Joseph says he
phoned here just before you got back. Asked him to tell you he was
home. That’s what set your brother off.’

‘That and no
money,’ suggested Chrissy.

‘Aye.’ Her
mother’s eyes were very sad. ‘Will you go to him?’ she asked
again.

‘I could go to
Dr MacLeod. Rhona would let me stay.’

She watched her
mother wince with embarrassment.

‘I don’t know
what your father will do when Joseph tells him.’ Her mother was
smoothing invisible creases from her skirt.

‘It’s okay,
mum.’ she said wearily. ‘I know where to go.’ She patted her
mother’s shoulder. ‘Will you be alright without me?’

‘Are you sure
you’ll be alright?

Chrissy nodded.
‘Don’t worry about me.’

Chapter
27

It was nine
o’clock and still light. The day had been hot and there was a smell
of rain in the air. Somewhere the heavens had opened.

Chrissy hitched
her bag over her shoulder and set off.

A bus appeared
in the distance. It would take her near the town centre. She would
go to Neil’s flat. If he wasn’t there, or if he wouldn’t let her
stay (Chrissy could not think of that happening), she would phone
Rhona.

Neil’s street
was deserted. There were no cars parked outside and none passed her
as she walked along.

The close had
been washed out. Strings from a distintegrating mop still clung to
the shiny stairway and there was a pungent reek of disinfectant.
Chrissy coughed a few times at the bottom, in case the woman she’d
met before was already at work, but there was silence from the
landing above.

When she
reached Neil’s door she paused, unsure. What if he was with
someone? Neil had sex for money. Neil had sex with her. No. Neil
loved her. There was a difference between having sex and making
love, she told herself. TheTheir lives would change. They must.

Chrissy knocked
hard and watched aghast as the door moved under her hand.

She stood
motionless, her heart drumming in her ears. She gave a small push
and the door swung slowly backwards with a moan, and the air began
to fill with the sickening stench of singed skin.

She gagged.
Desperate for fresh air, she staggered back and leaned over the
banister, breathing deeply. When she felt better, she opened her
bag and took out a tee-shirt and held it over her nose. This time
she pushed the door open wide, shouting Neil’s name as she stepped
inside.

The gas fire
hissed furiously and the room was like an oven. Chrissy crossed the
room, pulled back the curtains, threw open the window, and turned
off the fire. Only then did she brace herself to look for the
origin of the smell. The bed was a mass of blood and vomit, but it
was empty.

Chrissy crossed
to the bathroom. The door resisted at first, then opened with a
sucking sigh, fighting the draught from the window. Under her feet
lay a film of pink water.

She mouthed a
prayer before she pulled back the shower curtain. Water dripped
into an empty bath.

Someone had
washed themselves in here. Someone who was bleeding badly. Chrissy
turned away, not daring to hope.

She went back
to the living room and followed the bloody footprints to the
kitchen door, all the time praying, to whom or what she didn’t
know, the words tumbling over themselves.

Forgive me
Father for I have sinned, Hail Mary full of Grace. Please God don’t
let him be dead, and pushed open the kitchen door.

A bottle of
vodka stood on the draining board, the cap beside it. Someone had
drunk straight from the bottle, leaving a faint pink hand print on
the glass.

It took Chrissy
an hour to clean up.

She stripped
the bed and put the sheets and pillowcases in a bin bag and took
them downstairs to the street. It had started raining. She went
back up and found some disinfectant and wiped the watery
bloodstains from the bathroom and the kitchen. Then she found clean
sheets in the drawer and remade the bed. She kept the window wide
open, ignoring the raindrops that skited over the sill and landed
on the carpet. When she had done everything she could think of, she
sat down on the rickety sofa with a glass of vodka, to wait.

Chrissy opened
her eyes.

Dawn was
touching the rooftops. She jerked up and examined her watch. It was
five o’clock. The hum of a diesel cab traced down the street. That
was what had woken her, she realised. The room was cold now, but at
least it smelt fresh. She pulled the window shut and let the
curtain fall back.

It was then she
heard someone at the door.

Chrissy moved
quickly, making for the bathroom. She slipped in and stood behind
the door, crushed herself against the wall and peered through the
crack. She heard the front door open, then shut, and then there was
silence. Someone was standing in the hall. Then the living room
door was pushed open and the light came on.

‘Jesus, Mary
and Joseph.’

‘Neil.’

‘Christ,
Chrissy!’

She ran over to
him. He winced as he drew her into his arms, but he burrowed his
face in her hair, then slid his mouth over hers. He tasted of blood
and she pulled back. His face was like pummelled beetroot. One eye
was completely closed. She noticed a white bandage under his
shirt.

‘What have they
done to you?’

‘I’m okay. It’s
not that bad. Believe me,’ he tried to make a joke of it, ‘I was
the good looking one in A and E.’

Somehow the
swollen mouth managed a smile. She helped him over to the bed,
hearing herself mutter crooning noises as if he was a baby. He
lowered himself down.

‘Lie beside
me,’ he said and took her hand.

She heard
herself start to cry.

‘Don’t Chrissy.
It’s okay. Sshh, now.’ He stroked her hair. ‘They won’t come back.
The bastards think they’ve shut me up. They came for the photos and
they had to have their fun as well.’

‘Did you give
them the photos?’

‘Oh aye, I gave
them the photos alright.’ He winced as he turned towards her. ‘But
they bastards didn’t get what I know.’