Red Alert (14 page)

Her mother’s life could be at stake now, as well as Johnny’s. Her own life too, in a way, because Greg must never know. He had never liked Johnny at the best of times. If Greg found out, he would immediately march Johnny to the police station. She had no doubt whatever about that.

Betty groaned to herself. There was no escaping it. She had to take her mother home. The nurse said that although her voice had not returned and there was a weakness down one side which affected her arm and leg, Mrs Powell was fit enough to go home.

‘It’ll take her a little time to get used to balancing herself with her stick,’ the nurse explained to Betty. ‘And you’ll have to help her to get around at first but let’s hope she’ll make a full recovery eventually.’

Betty lifted her mother’s case and linked arms with her. Her mother jerked away but staggered as a result. The nurse smiled at Betty.

‘She’s so independent, isn’t she?’ Then to the older woman, ‘Now, you’ve got to be patient and accept help from your daughter, Mrs Powell. You’re not able to walk perfectly on your own just yet.’

Betty took her mother’s arm again and felt resentment stiffen through it. This time, however, her mother allowed herself to be led away. They took a taxi home. It was when they came to the close in Great Western Road that it became very difficult. Their flat was up a flight of stairs and it took all Betty’s strength to heave her mother up each step until they reached the Powell front door. Betty propped her mother against the wall at the side of the door until she found the key in her pocket and slid it into the lock.

‘I’ll get you comfortably settled in your chair, Mother, and then I’ll make us a cup of tea.’

There was no mistaking the horror in her mother’s eyes as she stared at the table set for tea. Her eyes took in the plastic tablecloth, the wooden plate that held the chocolate cream biscuits, the mugs, the cheap glass milk jug and sugar dish. Then the plastic stay-hot teapot that didn’t need a tea cosy.

Just in time, Betty dodged a blow from her mother’s stick. She grabbed the stick and wrenched it from her mother’s hand. For a second, she felt like crashing it over the older woman’s head. But she resisted the temptation. She was glad she did. It proved to her that she was her own woman now, and she was not going to be a victim any more, either of her mother or of her own over-intense emotions.

‘Now, Mother, we’ll have none of that nonsense. Just try to calm down and accept things as they are now. You’ve had many, many years of everything being how you wanted it. Now it’s my turn. It’s only fair.’

She poured the tea, added milk and sugar, and put one of the mugs in front of her mother.

‘Have one of these chocolate creams. They’re really very nice.’

With a sweep of her good hand, Mrs Powell sent all of the biscuits on the wooden platter flying to the floor.

Quietly Betty picked them up and replaced them on the platter, but made sure that this time it was out of her mother’s reach.

‘All right then. You won’t have anything to eat just now. I’ll be cooking a meal later on. If you don’t eat that, you’ll just have to go to bed hungry.’ She took a few sips of tea. ‘Tomorrow I have to go to the Art School. But I’ll make you a good breakfast before I go and I’ll leave you something for lunch. I’m sometimes late getting back. But that should keep you going. If you need anything extra, there’s packets of sandwiches in the fridge. Micro chips in the freezer if you fancy them, as well.’

Her mother lifted the mug of tea that Betty had given her and poured it all over the table. It overflowed down onto the carpet.

Betty willed herself to keep calm. No way was her mother going to have any effect on her ever again. No way was she going to ruin her life or her personality ever again.

She sighed. ‘All right, Mother. I’ll just enjoy my tea on my own. You’re only punishing yourself, you know. I don’t care any more what you do or what you think of me.’

It took all of her willpower, however, to sit to all appearances coolly enjoying her mug of tea while her mother’s glare of hatred burned into her face. She managed it, though. Then she cleared the table and mopped up the spilled tea.

‘You’ll have noticed,’ she said, ‘that I’ve bought a television. I’m going to switch it on so that you can watch the news. I’ll leave it on because you might enjoy
Coronation Street
, and I think there’s a police series after that. You must have got quite used to television in hospital. I saw there was one in the ward. I’ve got to go back to the Art School now but I’ll try not to be too late tonight.’

Betty didn’t really need to go back to the Art School for the afternoon tutorials, but she just could not face sitting opposite her mother for the rest of the day and evening. First, though, she went through to the bedroom and wheeled a commode back to the sitting room, and positioned it next to her mother’s chair.

‘I know you’d probably manage to the bathroom with the help of your stick, but until you get more used to walking with it on your own, you’d better use the commode.’

After washing the mugs, Betty left a couple of slices of smoked salmon and a sliced tomato on a plate. If hunger overcame her mother, she’d no doubt manage to get to the kitchen and eat the salmon. It would be her own fault if she remained hungry. She had thought of setting it out on the table in the sitting room, but probably her mother would just throw it at her. No, if her mother wanted anything now while Betty was at the Art School, she would have to hobble through to the kitchen.

It was such a relief once she got there and joined the other students. They all stopped to ask about what happened and she told them truthfully and exactly what did happen.

‘Oh God, Betty. How on earth can you go on putting up with that?’

Betty shrugged. ‘I’m hoping she’ll give up gracefully. I doubt it, but you never know. At least I can escape and come here every day. At least until the show. After that, I don’t know what I’ll do.’

Sandra said, ‘Oh surely she’ll have learned to behave herself by then. The show isn’t for a wee while yet.’

‘Where’s Mr Price, by the way?’

‘Oh, he’s down at some art festival in England, thank goodness. I hope they keep him there for a while and give my Tommy a rest.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m getting seriously worried about him.’

‘I can understand how he feels,’ Betty sympathised. ‘I’ve gone through depression and all sorts of negative moods, as you know, and I wouldn’t wish any of that on my worst enemy.’

They both looked over at where Tommy was sitting at his easel, shoulders hunched, staring miserably at his canvas.

‘He’s so talented as well,’ Sandra whispered.

‘Yes, I know. He’s as good as Price, if not even better.’

‘He is, isn’t he?’ Sandra agreed triumphantly. ‘I keep telling him that but it never makes a bit of difference. He thinks it’s just me. He thinks I just say things like that to please him and cheer him up. He never believes me. Never for a minute. And it’s so true about his talent, isn’t it?’

‘Of course. We all think so.’

‘I’ll try and get him out for a drink after we finish here tonight. Maybe everyone will come with us. At least that way he won’t get to sit alone and feel sorry for himself.’

‘I’ll come anyway and I’m sure everyone else will too.’

‘But what about your mother?’

‘Oh, I’ve no doubt she’ll manage. It’s only her voice and a bit of weakness down one side, and she’s got her stick for that.’

‘Well, it’s kind of you, Betty. I really appreciate your support.’

Betty felt like hugging Sandra. It was so wonderful to have friends. Their affection towards her more than made up for her mother’s lack of any. She would have to avoid going back to Great Western Road and her mother for as long as possible, of course. She always used to dread it. Now she dreaded it again.

‘I could hide in the loft, couldn’t I, Kirsty? No one would hear me and no one would have any reason to come up there. You’d have no need to worry.’

No need to worry? The words cavorted crazily in Kirsty’s brain. She’d have plenty to worry about, all right. ‘The loft’s the safest place, I suppose, but you couldn’t stay there for long.’

‘It wouldn’t be for long, I promise.’

‘It’s so cramped and cold and you’re not strong at the best of times, Johnny. You’d be sure to catch pneumonia, or worse.’

‘I’ll be fine. You’ll see. Paul will have everything fixed in no time.’

But why was this man doing so much for Johnny? There could only be one answer – the stolen money. That was all Paul cared about. Kirsty felt certain of it.

‘How is he going to get you out of the country?’

‘He’s got lots of contacts, Kirsty, with officers and crews from all sorts of ships that dock down the Clyde. They regularly visit the casino and loads of them owe Paul favours.’

‘Tell Paul you must go first, and alone, Johnny. Then see what he says.’

‘All right. I could give him his share of the money once I’m safely aboard the ship. Or tell him where he could find it. I could leave it hidden here if you want. That way you’d have nothing to worry about.’

‘Paul could take all the money beforehand and just leave you here.’

‘No, he wouldn’t, Kirsty. He’s not like that. Anyway, he knows as well as I do that I can’t stay hidden in this house for ever, and if I’m found, everything’ll be discovered, including the part Paul played in all this. After all, he’s an accessory to murder. He’s in it up to his neck too. No, Kirsty, I’m supposed to be dead, and as long as everyone believes I’m dead, I’m safe, and Paul is in the clear.’

Kirsty already had a blinding headache with fear and worry. She scarcely knew what she was thinking or saying any more. She screwed up her face, straining her eyes as if trying to see straight.

‘I don’t like that man, Johnny. There’s something about him. He makes me feel frightened. I can’t bring myself to trust him.’

‘He’s all right, Kirsty. Honestly.’

‘Oh, what do you know?You’re so naive. You’ve always been the same, Johnny. You’ve always been far too impressionable, far too easily taken in.’

A miserable flush suffused Johnny’s face. ‘I’m sorry, Kirsty. I’ll do whatever you say. Just tell me.’

Kirsty sighed. ‘I think you’d be a lot safer if you took that money bag off and hid it. Somewhere Paul wouldn’t know about.’

‘All right, Kirsty.’ He jumped up, struggling to unstrap the bag from his waist, only too eager to please her. ‘I’ll hide it now. But where do you think I should put it?’ His big eyes anxiously roamed around the room. ‘It’s so risky, isn’t it, because Greg comes here.’

The mere mention of Greg’s name caused Kirsty’s heart to pound and it was only with great difficulty that she said, ‘No, not here. Upstairs in my bedroom would be safest. I’ll show you. But quietly, Johnny, for pity’s sake. Don’t even breathe when you’re passing Mum’s room.’

Hand in hand, they ventured into the hall, their heads close, their eyes riveted on their mother’s door.

The sleepy quiet of the night enveloped the house. Outside the wind howled mournfully. They listened, as with painful caution they eased towards the stairs.

How she survived the night, Kirsty didn’t know. She’d been exhausted before it began but by the time she got rid of some of the dust in the loft, made up a camp bed for Johnny and carried up all the things she thought he might need, she was on the point of collapsing. Yet when she finally did crumple into bed, she could not sleep.

Never before in her life had she felt so frightened. If only she could confide in Greg. If only he could do something. She daren’t say one word to him, though. She knew how he felt about Johnny. She also knew his close police connections. Thinking of Johnny huddled upstairs in the cold and airless loft made tears gush to her eyes.

He was alone. He was frightened too. Come what may, she had to try her very best to help and protect him.

In the loft, the hatch had clicked shut with frightening finality. The loft space seemed diminished and more threatening somehow. The camping light cast a small pool of golden light around Johnny’s feet. The roof beams cast looming shadows and he sat shivering with cold and nerves, his mind racing over and over the events of the last few days. It was all one terrible nightmare.

He sat, knees tucked into chest, as time slowly ebbed by. He started every now and then as some tiny rustle or creak took on ominous dimensions in his overwrought mind. He looked at his watch and the hands slowly, so slowly, marked the passing time.

Kirsty arose after dozing fitfully for two or three hours, and on her way downstairs to make breakfast her eyes strayed towards the ceiling. There was no sign of movement. Anxiety made her heart beat a little faster. She prayed that Johnny was all right. He had looked so over-strained, so feverishly excited. She decided to make a flask of coffee and take it up to the loft with a breakfast tray, before going near her mother’s room to waken her.

It was when she was tiptoeing upstairs with the loaded tray that she realised what a problem it was going to be getting food regularly to Johnny. Early morning, or late at night, would probably be the only safe times. Greg dropped in whenever he could and that, it suddenly occurred to Kirsty, was going to prove both nerve-racking and dangerous.

‘Johnny,’ she whispered, as she lowered the folding stairs by which the small entrance to the loft was reached. ‘Johnny, are you there?’

Awkwardly she climbed the stairs, while at the same time clutching the tray in one hand. She thought she heard a scuffling, scraping sound.

‘Johnny,’ she repeated softly. ‘Open the hatch. Hurry up, I’m carrying something heavy.’

A long minute passed.

‘Johnny!’

Slowly the wooden hatch creaked open. Johnny’s nervous white face appeared over the opening.

‘Take this tray,’ Kirsty whispered. ‘I’ve made you a good big breakfast and there’s a flask of coffee for later. Johnny, are you all right?’

The hands that pulled the tray up were blue-tinged and trembling. Then they disappeared, leaving just the dark empty hole in the ceiling. Kirsty hoisted herself upwards and clambered into the loft after her brother. It was a big place crowded with junk and too-big furniture and heaped with relics of the past like school books, teddy bears, and schoolboy stamp collections. Early morning light pushed patchily through the frost-covered skylight, under which a space had been cleared for a camp bed and a little basketwork table.