Mamelon - Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

It seemed to Mick as if he had been running for hours since the krill attack.  The sounds of pursuit had long since died away and he was getting nowhere fast. He might have been going in circles for all he knew. As it was, he could barely see the nose in front of his face. Several of the huge birds that Ricci had called aryds passed over his head, shrieking.

      By now, Mick was too exhausted to care and did not cower as he had previously.  Thankfully, either the birds missed him or chose to ignore him. He suspected the latter, but was too weary even to wonder why.  Resting his aching back against a tree, it was a relief to slide down its smooth trunk. At least the damp ground had become perceptibly less boggy. I should be grateful for small mercies, he supposed grimly. His thoughts turned to Pete and Beth. Indeed, he had thought of little else, except when too tired to think of anything at all but the necessity to keep on running. His head throbbed madly like a persistent drumbeat; now fast, now slowing; now even faster, no slowing; never ceasing, until now. For the drummer in his head, too, was exhausted and could play no more.

      But what of Pete and Beth, and how were they coping in this awful place? They, too, must be feeling frightened and alone, especially if their pursuers had caught up with them. It did not bear thinking about. Hadn’t Ricci said that bog folk sometimes ate people? Mick endured a fit of shivering that only stopped once he succeeded in blocking out the very idea. Pete, especially, would be terrified. He’s just a kid, after all. Mick recalled the red hair and cheeky grin with a rush of guilt. His brother hated the dark. Mick blamed himself. I should have taken better care of them, Pete and Beth both.  They were his responsibility, after all. 

      A solitary aryd swooped low, its bulbous eyes like ghastly flares in the pitch dark. Neither moons nor stars were much visible through sprawling branches. It was as if the trees themselves conspired to heap misery upon misery.  The winged creature seemed impervious to the trees and dived directly at him. Mick cowered and flung up both arms protectively. The bird made a sweeping arc, and then vanished, its shrieks dying away like some malevolent echo in the humid air.

      Much later, heart pounding painfully against his chest, Mick tried to close his eyes but fear prised the heavy lids open again. In vain, he tried to sleep. On the edge of consciousness a familiar strain started up. Without even being aware of it, he began to hum the Okay Song. He was a child again, his mother singing the lullaby in a gentle, low soprano and drawing waves of drowsiness over him like the snuggest duvet.  Yet still his bleary eyes refused to stay shut.

      He neither saw nor heard the figure approach. It loomed upon him with a suddenness that was more awesome than scary, towered over him and spoke with a curious lilt in a language that, rather to Mick’s surprise, he understood perfectly.

      “Welcome, friend. But tell me this. Who comes unbidden to this last sanctuary of elves in such times as these?”

      “I’m Mick,” then drowsily but instinctively correcting himself, “Michal,” recalling Ricci’s preference for the name. Hadn’t there had been another Michal, long ago in some fanciful tale the magician had been telling them just before they were attacked?  But his tired brain refused to supply details.

      “Ah, Michal!” murmured his companion in a tinkling voice that reminded Mick of wind bells that hung over the front porch at home.

      Home... That word again. Mind and body ached for it. He’d have given anything just to be in his own bed, asleep and dreaming instead of…what? He wished he knew. The tall stranger said something Mick did not catch. He saw lips moving then the Okay Song took over and bade him close his eyes.

      When Mick awoke, daylight had come to the forest. Tired eyes and inattentive ears were greeted by a splash of colour and a cheerful clamour of birds whose brightly coloured feathers were everywhere.  At first he thought he was in Birches Wood. Then he remembered. But there was no sign of the stranger. Mick was still wondering whether he mightn’t have been some kind of dream figure when there he was, tall, thin-faced, and wearing an expression that was not unfriendly.

“Good, you’re awake. I’m Pers, by the way. Sorry, I should have introduced myself properly last night. But you took me by surprise, and that has never happened to me before. To stumble across a motherworlder here, of all places… Well, it’s a bit much I can tell you. But one of the bloodline, too… Well, that’s next to impossible.”  The stranger’s smile was amicable enough even if set amongst the oddest features.  Pers was tall, with pointed ears, unnaturally bright green eyes and a coif of reddish hair drooping over a high forehead from an otherwise bald and shiny pate.

Mick was struck by the fact that while the overall effect conveyed by the stranger;s appearance was odd, to say the least, it was, at the same time, peculiarly charming.

“Bloodline…?” Mick yawned, only half listening. A sixth sense urged him to stay alert. But it was hard. He had never felt so wonderfully relaxed.

“…as descended directly from Gar, the first elf king. We are all of the bloodline here in the forest,” explained Pers. Mick shook his blond head. Gar? The name had a familiar ring. Hadn’t Ricci mentioned a Forest of Gar? He started. Elves...

      “That’s right, elves,” the newcomer confirmed as if reading Mick’s thoughts.

      “You’re no elf,” retorted Mick accusingly, “For a atart, you’re too tall, not to mention practically bald.” Elves, indeed! They belonged to childhood and fairy tales. He was nearly eighteen, owned his own motorbike (paying it off, that is, same thing) and had a girlfriend, for heaven’s sake. Elves were simply not in his vocabulary.  He began to panic again as his thoughts turned to Beth and Pete, the horror of their flight from the bog folk and their subsequent separation.

      “You are confusing us with fairies,” said the elf without obvious rancour although Mick thought he detected a note of derision. “Besides, what matters big or small?” Pers enquired airily. Mick winced. Suddenly, the elf’s expression changed and he voiced genuine concern. Tell me what you know, and perhaps I can help.”

      The elf’s soothing tone had such an effect on Mick’s frayed nerves that he was able to relate the tale with almost as much detachedness as Ricci had adopted over supper in the huge marquee.  As he spoke, that other tale became curiously interwoven with his own, elements of each intrinsically linked in a way he could not have begun to justify or explain.  He was no natural storyteller, yet the words flowed easily. 

      Pers listened intently. The elf produced a delicious fruit that looked and tasted like pomegranate, also a canvas-like flask of vinre from a knapsack that had altogether escaped Mick’s notice.  The pair ate and drank companionably while Mick talked.

      “That Ricci!” exclaimed Pers during a pause while Mick took a bite from the fruit and a long swallow of refreshing vinre. “He means well, but…” The elf sighed, “…as if things weren’t bad enough without his interfering. Still, I suppose even he can’t do much harm given all that’s already been done.  He must think you’re…Oh, but less of that for now or things will seem even worse than they are.  You were attacked, you say?”

      Mick nodded, still munching on the fruit. “Bog folk,” he spluttered.

     “Really, are you sure?”  Pers blinked in astonishment. It was almost unheard of for bog folk to attack without provocation.

      “You bet!” Mick shivered at the memory. “I saw them from where I hid. They were disgusting, like corpses dripping with green slime bent on revenge for their own deaths.” At the same time, he couldn’t resist preening a little at a talent for simile that usually eluded him completely. His English teacher at school had berated him on more than one occasion for a limited vocabulary.

      School... Mick winced. He hated school. Even so, he’d have given a lot to be there right now. He took another swallow of vinre and was about to tale another but checked himself, suddenly remembering how, just prior to the attack, Ricci had been talking about his, Mick’s, mother. Why? What could his mother possibly have to do with this absurd half-reality pulling him in all directions at once? 

      Fragments of Ricci’s rambling tale jerked at Mick’s nerve endings like strings on a marionette.  Galia, Gail. Gail, Galia.  Wasn’t she the daughter of Astor who married his namesake, Michal?  Mage of Mages, Ricci had called him and thought to be descended from elves. Galia or Gail would have been part elf then.  Presumably, it followed that, if each was of the same bloodline, he, Mick, was…what, exactly? “Am I descended from elves?” he asked the question aloud and felt ridiculous for even thinking it.

      “It would appear so.” Pers nodded gravely.

      “Through my mother, Gail…err, I mean Galia?” It was all so confusing.

      “Certainly not through the likes of Michal!” retorted the elf.

      “But you weren’t to know that,” Mick pointed out.

     “True. But you were humming an elven song. Our songs are sacred and known only to elves. Besides, none but elves come to the forest.  We might permit the occasional traveller to pass through, but as for communicating one to one as you and I are now… never!  None but elves have The Sight. Gar is invisible to all but the gifted eye.”

      “But it was so dark I couldn’t see a bloody thing!” Mick grimaced.

      “You’re here, aren’t you?” Pers shrugged, unwilling to enter into any discussion on a matter that left him utterly perplexed. It had already occurred to him that any elven blood in this motherworlder’s veins must run so thin as to scarcely account for any degree of Sight. On the other hand, a son of Galia…it was all quite impossible. Well, isn’t it?  A knowing grin lit up the elf’s face. His father would explain.  Didn’t his father always have an explanation for everything? “Come, I’ll take you to my home. We can talk more on the journey.”

      The elf sprung nimbly to his feet and was already on his way by the time Mick had scrambled up, in a state of mild panic and started to chase after his odd friend. “Elves, for heaven’s sake!” he muttered and wondered what Pete would have made of  it all. His expression became grim again. How could he help but be worried sick about his brother and Beth?

     Although Mick’s anxieties continued to oppress him, they became less weighty as he found himself skipping across pockets of tawny grass among elegant trees whose silvery bark and shimmering leaves acted as a balm to his battered senses.  Birds and insects of all shapes and sizes flitted everywhere, a veritable kaleidoscope of ever-changing colours. Now and then, patches of marmalade sky dotted with fluffy clouds of assorted pinkie hues could be glimpsed through busy branches. He almost fancied that was taking part in a Walt Disney movie and half-expected cartoon characters to pop out at him from behind this weird looking plant or that even weirder looking bush. He thought he heard a distant barking and remembered the dog, Ace. Had it been with them as they made their escape from the bog folk?  He really had no idea. Nor did it matter much, he decided. Besides, the noise had already ceased, and he cheerfully put all thoughts of Pete’s adopted pet aside.

      They passed through a corridor of trees that suddenly opened up to reveal what Mick took to be a village. Ring upon ring of what looked like mud huts, with cone shaped roofs of a reddish thatch, converged to form an inner circle. In its centre, stood a giant tree whose bark, branches and leaves were a burnt-orange colour. It was as if a tongue of fire had leapt from the ground and was set to burn a hole in the sky. A glorious, awesome spectacle, the tree gave Mick no sensation of warmth. On the contrary, it filled him with a chilling sense of foreboding. Nor could he quite shrug off the feeling that his own destiny was linked, after a predetermined fashion, with its very existence.

      Pers flung out an arm with an air of grand showmanship as if introducing a star attraction.  His face glowed with pride and the beady eyes were moist with emotion. “Behold the Fire Tree!” he declared. His broad smile froze, however, when he saw his guest’s expression. Mick, though, quickly recovered his composure and was soon nodding and smiling appreciatively. But the elf remained uneasy. A fleeting glimpse of the other’s dark premonition had entered his heart like an arrow. So it would remain, hurting, until forces far stronger than elven would either remove it or twist it further until death relieved him of it once and for all. Pers acknowledged this with his usual passivity, but only to himself. It cut him to the quick, though, that every nuance of intuitive thought should warn him against speaking of it to anyone.

      Pers remained thoughtful. There were such ties here, binding him to this motherworlder; they would not be easily broken. The elf understood this, without quite knowing why. Yet, broken such ties will be. He was sure of that also. Not without a struggle, though, he vowed. Or sacrifice, his alter ego murmured in one ear. If this Michal called Mick is truly a son of Galia, it would explain a few things. But there has to be more, much more…He gazed into the swirling branches of the Fire Tree and took small comfort from the ages-old forces of Salvation and Rule they invoked for all they remained steadfast and true even if the tree itself bore marks of gradual decline. 

      The giant tree stood at the very heart of elfdom. Its roots were as an elf’s umbilical cord. Earth Mother and Godfather, it had always cared for them as they for it.  For the Fire Tree was elfdom.

     A leaf floated down and landed at his feet. Pers followed its passage with a keen eye. And not the slightest breeze to be felt.  It confirmed what he had known for some time. The tree was slowly, but surely dying.  How its roots had survived for so long without water was beynd even elven comprehension. He looked up again and the mighty flame appeared to flicker. How long? he wondered, “How long?” he murmured under his breath a second time and looked directly at the motherworlder as if half-expecting an answer.

      Mick met the elf’s steady gaze and matched the tight smile, muscle for muscle.  Each gave the other a barely perceptible nod. A mute exchange of tangible comfort passed between them like a current. A rapport was established, inarticulate and raw but of the stuff life friendships were made. Pers looked away, satisfied. Mick, in turn, felt hopeful for the first time since he had set foot in Mamelon. It was like a massive weight being lifted from his shoulders. He had made a friend, was not alone any more. Even so, although a sinking feeling dissipated as he turned to face the villagers swarming towards them, he couldn’t help wondering if he wasn’t clutching at straws.         

      Mick liked Pers’ parents. His mother, La, was petite, dainty and much as he expected an elf to be. The father. Ka, was much smaller than Pers and stocky with it. He also wore a beard. Indeed., Ka resembled all the pictures Mick had ever seen of how a dwarf should look although he suspected it might be tactless to say so.  He could almost feel his mother nudging him and fancied he could hear her say, ‘Don’t you dare show me up. Remember, Michael, you’re a guest. Be polite.’  He grinned. Once, his mother’s fussing would have irritated him no end. Now he could only wish it was for real.

      La intuitively understood their guest was unhappy and took him under her wing. Ka, too, went out of his way to entertain the visitor with lively anecdotes, chiefly at the expense of Pers and his younger sister, Irina. For his part, Mick sympathised with brother and sister as misdemeanours, no less common among elves than children the world over, were dwelt upon and embroidered for the sake of comic relief.

      They were sat on the straw floor of a large hut within the innermost compound and could see the Fire Tree from its flap windows. Everyone laughed in all the right places and looked forward to a celebration later in Mick’s honour. No one made any mention of a growing sense of unease. When Ka casually remarked that there would be a Council of Elders immediately after the festivities and that Mick was welcome to attend, even the latter chose to ignore that it was no invitation but a royal command.

“May I come too, father?” Pers put the question lightly enough but it was not only La who was dismayed by the tone of her husband’s response.

      “Why not...?” Ka shrugged and even gave his only son a paternal slap on the back, smiling broadly at Mick as he did so. It was sheer pantomime. Everyone knew it and Mick was no exception. “There is a time for the young and a time for the old,” murmured Ka.  A tremor in the old elf’s voice would have been barely perceptible even to the sharpest ear. La heard it, though, and frowned. For it spoke volumes for one who had always taken pride in never allowing his judgement to be clouded by emotion.

      Pers smelt danger and tasted it on his tongue. He licked his lips and discovered he had an appetite for it. It would be good to be doing something at last instead of engaging in a general wringing of hands at the passing of all Mamelon into such obscurity that would deny even elves a place in history.

     Mick, meanwhile, was enjoying himself. Now and then, nagging feelings of guilt would lap at his mind’s edge like waves on a shore, only to roll away again. The elves were a fun-loving bunch. Later, during the celebrations, there was much music and free flowing vinre. He even danced with Pers’ sister, Irina, and managed not to feel too bad about Beth. It took some time before he realized that all was not quite as it should be.  Suddenly, he put his finger on it. There are no children. Ricci’s tale came back to haunt him and he recalled something about a Spring of Life ceasing to flow. So the Forest of Gar is no exception, he brooded, with a growing sense of disappointment. He would have expected more of elves. Elves!  He pulled a face, and resolved to play this whole weird business by ear. Meanwhile, there was some fun to be had so why not make the most of it? While it lasts, his alter ego added ominously.

      Pers, Irina, and their friends constantly poked fun at Mick’s shambling efforts on the dance floor. Mick, though, was in high spirits, not least because he was drinking vinre like water. He took it all in good part and readily joined in the laughter. Not altogether oblivious to a sense that he was treading on thin ice, he let his hair down, shook his hips and had his audience convulsed. The elves had never seen anything like it.

     Ka slipped away for a pre-Council discussion with elders. La stayed on, but did not dance. Instead, she watched her son and daughter intently, as if determined to capture the scene forever in her mind’s eye.  He was not handsome, her son, but brave and true like his father. Pers would not shirk from whatever must be done. She observed, too, how Irina stole wistful glances at the motherworlder when she thought no one was looking.  

      La pursed her lips. Irina could be as wilful as she was beautiful. She let her gaze linger on Michal, called Mick. He cut a fine figure of young manhood, their guest, with his blond curls and grey eyes. How had she missed those all-consuming eyes?  Oh, he was a trifle clumsy perhaps, but that was only to be expected for a motherworlder.  Pers had found him a loose-fitting red blouson and a pair of green leggings that suited him well. Earlier, she had looked hard for signs of something elven in him and found none. Only when she stopped looking, had she seen the resemblance, although nothing that was elven. Indeed, far from it. Now she fretted for not spotting the resemblance at once, it was so striking. Every nuance of movement, a habit of running the fingers of both hands through his hair whenever he wanted to give an impression of being in control…she knew them so well. If the hair had been raven, he’d have been the spitting image of Astor, Mage of Mages, dear to all elves and to one in particular.

      Instinctively, she looked for Ka. He was nowhere to be seen. La relaxed and let her thoughts wander.  So long now, it was, since she had last seen Astor and so final their parting.  Yet he was never far from her mind’s eye. La wondered, as she often did, if Ka knew or guessed that she and Astor had been lovers.  She hoped not, for she loved her husband dearly.  It was not love with Astor, but something else entirely. She had never understood what or even questioned it at the time, any more than she had been able to resist a pull like that of the earth on a flower or tree.

      At the edge of the ring of dancers, La spotted Kirin, her son’s closest friend. His lips curved in a vivacious smile, he was waving to someone across the floor.  There was a glitter in the eyes, fierce and sad at the same time. She followed his gaze. It fell and lingered on a young couple for which the others had cleared a space, all the better to watch and applaud. Irina was good teacher and Michal wore the flushed look of a young man surprised to discover that he not only enjoyed dancing but, with encouragement, had a flair for it.

La’s eyes flew back to Kirin. She had to put a hand to her mouth the stifle the cry that sprung to her lips. The expression on the face of her daughter’s most persistent of admirers hardened even as she watched. If he had not been elven and as fine a youth as had ever graced her table, she might have felt inclined to describe the look that Kirin fixed upon their guest as one of pure hatred. But this was Gar and elves did not hate. It was but natural, she supposed, that Kirin should be jealous of all the attention Irina was paying Michal. Even so, she was uneasy and became slightly breathless as she rose to go in search of her husband.

      By the time the full Council of Elders had gathered, the twin moons were faintly visible above. It was held in the open. Mick was surprised. He had expected a closet affair. Some scatter cushions had been strategically positioned near the base of the Fire Tree. On these, various male and female villagers squatted whose ages at once seemed to vary greatly and be about the same. Mick shrugged. Early years crammed with bedtime stories had left him well prepared. There was simply no telling with elves.

      It was not a public affair. The open space that had not long since throbbed with music and thronged with swaying limbs had been abandoned by all but a select few. Nor did the proceedings take long. Indeed, Mick had the distinct impression that discussion has already been exchanged and decisions taken.

      Ka-ri, to give Pers’ father his full title, stood on a slightly raised platform and made a formal speech of welcome to Mick, Now and again, his speech fell into a soft brogue that was hard to understand and took all Mick’s concentration to follow. He went on to speak about a doom that had to do with the Spring of Life and the Purple Mountains. Again, Ricci’s tale came back to haunt him. 

      Mick found himself wondering what had happened to the cone headed figure dressed all in yellow. He wasn’t sure that he cared much. It was Ricci, after all, who had brought the whole sorry mess upon them and without so much offering them a choice. Apprentice magician or whatever, Ricci could and should have protected instead of abandoning them.  He’s been quick enough to use magic to save his own skin so why not ours too?  Mick snorted, clenched his fists and derived no small pleasure in imagining how he would deal with the queer fellow should their paths cross again.  Suddenly, he realised that everyone was looking at him with an air of quizzical expectancy. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t quite catch the question.” There were disapproving noises from some of those present. but Ka merely smiled and did not seem in the least put out by Mick’s inattentiveness.  

      “As I was saying,” Ka repeated, “you will want to reach the Purple Mountains without further delay. You did say that is where you and your friends were heading before you became…err, lost?” 

      “I suppose so,” agreed Mick sheepishly. He longed to shout,’ I haven’t a bloody clue so suppose you enlighten me, damn it!’ but managed to restrain himself. They made him feel inadequate, these elves. Moreover, he suspected they were holding out on him. He’d felt the same about Ricci only more so. A chuckle rose in Mick’s throat. Why should it surprise him? Wasn’t this whole business an exercise in manipulation? Does it really matter who pulls the strings? For the time being, at any rate, he had no choice but to play the game and hope for the best.

      “You will need a guide,” Ka was saying.

      “I’ll take him, father!” Pers jumped up and there was sporadic applause mingled with angry mutters.

   “Elves have not set foot outside Gar for Ri knows how many lifetimes!” someone said, “The motherworlder found his way here easily enough. Let him follow his own nose!”

    “Hear, hear!” There was much agreement although Mick sensed it was not unkindly meant. Nor was he entirely unaware of an underlying dread making such ripples of alarm across the hubbub that he could almost see them.

     “I can make my own way to the Purple Mountains,” he affirmed in a strong, resonant voice ringing in his ears like that of a complete stranger.

      An awkward silence ensued.

     “May I go, father?” Pers met his father’s steady gaze without flinching. None but he saw the mouth twitch or the eyes twinkle or the love that shone from the grave, parchment face like that on a full moon. They understood each other very well, his father and he.

      “I will go too!” Kirin leapt to his feet.  “The motherworlder has come to help us. The very least we can do is return the favour.”

      “The very least,” Pers agreed.

      Another, longer silence followed while everyone digested the validity of what had been said.  Murmurs of assent steadily grew to a chorus of approval. “Very well,” intoned Ka as if bestowing a blessing. “If any here object to my son and Kirin accompanying the motherworlder, Michal, to the Purple Mountains, let them speak now or forever keep their peace.” No one spoke. “Go then,” he addressed Mick directly. “You must leave soon. Pers and Kirin will take you there. May Ri, too, go with you all.” He descended from the makeshift dais and walked away. It was the signal for everyone else to do the same. Pers and Kirin converged on Mick wearing broad grins.

      “We’ll have such an adventure.” Pers winked.

     “We will, yes," Kirin agreed. Yet, fleetingly, his sunny face seemed to cloud over as if he were in pain. Pers was momentarily distracted by someone yelling their good wishes and did not appear to notice. Mick wondered whether his imagination mightn’t be up to new tricks, but could not resist glancing over his shoulder. Irina came running towards them, arms outstretched. Was it only wishful thinking, Mick wondered, or did she really have eyes only for himself?  Laughingly, he prepared to receive her. But Kirin stepped in front of him. So it was around the elf’s neck, not his, that Irina flung her arms. An unreasonable anger flared in Mick. but quickly died when Irina grabbed his hand. Seconds later, all three were skipping merrily across the grass.

      It wasn’t long before Pers broke away and hung back. He had seen the look on Irina’s face as she ran towards Michal. Nor had he missed Kirin’s dark expression before he intercepted her. Silently, he gave heartfelt thanks to Ri that his two friends would soon have put many a span between themselves and his incorrigible sister. He would miss her, of course he would. But he knew Irina too well. If she wanted the motherworlder, she would have him. He sighed. Kirin adored Irina although Pers had warned him often enough that he was wasting his time. He and Kirin were like brothers and that was how Irina saw his friend, as a second brother. “Nor will it ever be any different,” he murmured, “Believe me, old friend, you love in vain.”  Time and again he had tried to persuade Irina to tell Kirin so herself. The irony was that she adored him, too, but in her own way. Besides, she loved to play games, his beautiful sister. It suited her have Kirin mooning after her day and night.  ‘He’s so sweet,’ she would say, toss her red hair and go into a fit of girlish giggles. Try as he might, he could not make her see the harm in it.

      “Come on, snail!” Irina ran a hand through her shining hair and urged her brother to catch up with them. Pers, who loved his sister dearly, managed to put his constant irritation with her aside, as he always did, and promptly obliged.  Behind them, in the branches of the Fire Tree, another leaf broke away and floated to the ground…

     The time to leave came all too soon. A part of Mick wanted to stay. He liked these people. Besides, he felt safe here. At the same time, he felt his face burn with shame. He had to finds the others. As the eldest, he was responsible for them…well, wasn’t he? In my own world, yes, he told himself, but here, in this place, this Mamelon? He hadn’t a clue although his alter ego warned him to take nothing as read.

     Mick and the two elves bade a very public farewell. La and Ka gave each a hug. La slipped something into Mick’s hand but her eyes warned him to say nothing. He slipped a smooth, flat stone shaped like a triangle into his pocket and returned the hug. Ka did the same.  The elf king’s expression, likewise, gave out a clear signal. Mick pocketed what might have been a live thing; it was egg-shaped, gave out a faint heat and seemed to wriggle a moment before going quite still in what he still called jeans but the elves referred to as jami or leggings.

      “May Ri go with you all,” said La and Ka together and everyone watching took up the cry.

      “And me. I’m coming too!” announced Irina, emerging from her own quarters. She had shed her female attire and was dressed much like the others. On her back, she carried a knapsack similar to theirs. In her eyes, the light of battle flung an unspoken challenge.

     To Mick’s consternation, no one argued. Kirin was plainly tickled pink.  Ka’s pensive frown quickly lifted and he embraced his daughter. La sighed, saw that Irina’s mind was made up and caved in gracefully. There was nothing else for it. She and Ka must give her their blessing. It was unthinkable that their daughter should sneak off without it. Irina, as both parents knew only too well, was capable of doing just that. 

      La tried to catch her son’s eye. Instead, she saw Pers glance covertly at Kirin and did the same. Kirin’s face had been flushed with pleasure a moment ago. Now a shadow had fallen across it. Then she saw that Irinia was poking out her tongue at Michal in fun. Only, there was something more than faintly suggestive about the way it curled and stroked her upper lip. As she kissed her son and held him close for as long as she felt would not embarrass him, she could sense his own unease and was fearful for she trusted Pers’ instincts implicitly. But, “Take care, my son,” was all she said.

     “I will, mother.” He grinned. No one would have guessed that there had been any subversive interchange between the two. While father and son understood each other very well, rapport between Pers and his mother was tuned to near perfection.

      “Doesn’t the Council have a say in this?” Mick protested and was rewarded by hoots of laughter from the crowd.

      “The Council does not concern itself with female matters.” It was Irina herself who answered with an irony lost on none present, the majority of whom had long both lamented and admired her feisty temperament. “If I choose to go, I go…unless anyone objects?” She looked around, the beautiful eyes twinkling with mischief.

      No one said a word.

To be continued

Sacrilege - Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

There was no sign of my mother or Marc back at the house. I scribbled a note to say I had returned to London and caught a bus to the railway station.

I arrived at the widow Finn’s mid-evening and found that formidable woman visibly upset and being comforted by Jackie.

“Thank goodness you’re back,” said Jackie, “It’s a good thing I was here and knew better than to wait around for you,” whereupon she promptly fled into the kitchen. I perched on the edge of an armchair and regarded the widow with rising concern. She was uncharacteristically distraught.

“It’s my fault. I should have seen it coming. I should never have left them alone together. But I swear to you I wasn’t out of the room five minutes,” she told me with tears in her eyes.

“Left who alone together?” I asked, increasingly anxious to know what the devil had been going on in my short absence.

“Andrew and Danny,” she explained, “Apparently Andrew called Danny a nasty piece of work, or something like that. Danny lost his temper, and by the time I returned the two of them were rolling on the floor trying to bash each other’s brains out. Why it is men love to behave like naughty children given half a chance, I will never know.”

I would have burst out laughing but thought better of it. “So what happened next?”

“I told them to get up off my floor immediately or I’d call the police.”

“And you did?” I was gobsmacked. She wouldn’t have gone that far, surely?

The widow shook her head and gave me a withering look. “Really, Laurence, would I? No, I had to wade in to separate them, though, and it wasn’t easy I can tell you. Andrew may be old enough to be Danny’s grandfather, but he used to box in his younger days and still has trick or two up his sleeve. Danny didn’t have it all his own way, not by a long chalk.”

I thought I detected a note of pride in her voice although her expression remained an unhappy compromise between upset and angry.

“Danny should have known better,” I sighed, “There can be no excuse for fighting with a man Andrew’s age, former boxer or no. He could have given the old chap a heart attack, for goodness sake.”

“Danny was provoked.”

“Even so…”

“Both looked the worse for wear, I have to say. But there were no bones broken as far as I could tell. I packed Danny off to the bathroom to clean himself up, but only because I wanted to talk to Andrew alone. The stupid man took everything I said the wrong way and accused me of taking sides. He said I was more concerned for Danny’s welfare than his. When I tried to talk some sense into him, he barely let me get a word in edgeways, and then stormed off to his own house in a vile temper.” She paused and shook her head impatiently. “I dare say I should have gone after him. But I was angry and upset. Why should I pander to his moods? No. Start as you mean to go on, May Finn, I told myself, and left him to it.” She heaved a huge sigh. The leathery face brightened considerably, however, when Jackie returned with three mugs of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits on a tray.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “If you didn’t call the police, how come Danny’s under arrest and what the devil for?”

“Andrew called them later. Two officers turned up at the door, said there had been an allegation of assault and took Danny away. Naturally, I rushed next door to find out what Andrew thought he was playing at. He refused to come to the door. When I tried to use my own key, I discovered he’d put the chain on. I shouted, even pleaded with him to let me in. But, no, the stubborn old goat refused point blank. Can you believe he even had the audacity to tell me to go away and mind my own business? I ask you, is a brawl in my own sitting room none of my business?” She paused, fuming. For my own part, I was relieved to see something of the May Finn I knew and respected. “Then Jackie turned up looking for Danny,” the widow went on, “and she’s been a godsend, an absolute godsend. You’ve known me for years, Laurence. Am I some feeble old woman who can’t look after herself? No, I am not. Heaven forbid. But this stupid, stupid, business has shaken me up more than I’d ever have thought possible.” She sat back in the chair and sipped her tea, lower lip trembling with emotion. “I must be getting old,” she added crossly.

“I went down to the police station to suss out the lie of the land,” Jackie told me, “but I might as well have been something the cat dragged in for all the notice they took of me. In the end, I gave up and left, though not before giving some miserable piece of goods at the desk a piece of my mind. I’d have given a lot more, too, only she looked as if she wanted to arrest me on the spot. So I left, discretion being the better part of and valour and all that.” Jackie tossed me a wicked wink and I couldn’t help chuckling.

“I’m glad you can find something to laugh about, Laurence,” May Finn was quick to admonish me. “I only wish I could. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me? I could use a good laugh.”

Not for the first time, I found myself wilting under the widow’s reproachful gaze. Suddenly, the front doorbell rang. It was like music to my ears. “I’ll get it,” I said and rushed to answer it. I flung open the door, half expecting to find Philip waiting on the doorstep.

It was Danny.

“Danny!”

“Hi dad,” he said grinning and we hugged.

Immediately, warning bells sounded in my head. Danny invariably called me that when he was feeling emotional and enjoyed a hug for much the same reason. On this occasion, he clung to me a fraction longer than usual and I could feel his body trembling slightly. I knew better than to ask questions. Danny would reveal all in his own good time. “It’s good to see you,” I said gruffly.

“It’s good to see you too,” Danny mumbled.  In other words, we were overjoyed to see each other, not to mention relieved.

Even the widow Finn gave Danny a hug. For all that he raised his eyes to heaven at me over her shoulder, I could tell he was relishing the attention.

“You’ll be famished, I expect. Go and have a bath and change while I fix you something to eat. How does an omelette sound, with some chips and grilled tomatoes? I think I might have some bacon left too,” the widow fussed.

“Can I eat first?” Danny asked hopefully.

“You certainly cannot. For a start, you smell. Don’t they ever clean police cells? I suppose it’s hard to keep pace with drunks and drug addicts throwing up all over the place, never mind the criminal element…” She went off into the kitchen, muttering under her breath.

“Did they charge you with anything?” Jackie wanted to know.

“No. Old grumpy guts next door had second thoughts so they had to let me go. If you ask me, they had a bloody cheek keeping me in overnight. It wasn’t my fault, dad, honest. I was provoked.”

“Dad…?” Jackie’s ears pricked up as they had once before when Danny called me that.

“A slip of the tongue,” I told him a second time and glared at Danny.

“Sorry dad.” He grinned and dashed upstairs.

“Dad…?” Jackie repeated.

“Let it go,” I told him, “Danny is like a son to me. Sometimes he calls me dad, especially when he’s upset and needs some reassurance. He’s not the kind of lad to admit to either,” I added.

“Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t criticising. On the contrary, I think it’s rather sweet. You obviously love each other to bits. It warms the cockles, it really does.”

I could feel myself blushing. “I’ll go and see if May needs any help,” I muttered. We both knew she wouldn’t. I retreated into the kitchen. Much as I expected, I was sent away with a flea in my ear.

Later, we were all sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and watching Danny devour a huge supper.  “I know where Teresa is,” he mumbled with a mouthful of bacon.

“Oh and where might that be?” Jackie asked, showing more interest than I would have expected. After all, she knew Marc was safe. She had no reason to involve herself in Danny’s affairs any more.

“How do you know?” I demanded.

“I went to see Ginny.”

“You did what?” I yelled across the table.

“Sounds risky to me,” Jackie observed.

“Ginny wouldn’t drop me in it,” Danny was confident.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” I disagreed. “She’d sell her own grandmother, that one, if the price was right.”

“Nah,” Danny insisted, “Ginny’s okay.  She’s no saint, that’s for sure. But who is, eh? We all have our good side and our bad side. The trouble with you, dad, is that you’re too quick to see the bad side.”

“Where my sister is concerned, it’s the only side that shows,” commented Jackie with feeling.

“Get on with it,” I told Danny.

“Yes, get on with it,” chimed in the widow Finn, and made us all jump. We had forgotten she was there.

“Teresa’s at Vince Packard’s place. It seems he’s really stuck on her. Mind you, that won’t stop him passing her around…for a price, of course. By all accounts, his house is like a fortress. Dogs, guards, CCTV…you name it. But I’ve got a plan.”

I groaned audibly.

Danny flung me an aggrieved look while continuing to eat and talk at the same time. “Vince has a thing for dirty movies, right? I dare say he could be persuaded to rent out Teresa’s services to the right punter, especially if he’s getting a ringside seat.”

“That’s preposterous,” I exclaimed.

“Worse than that,” the widow protested, “it’s cruel and immoral.”

“It might work, I suppose,” put in Jackie, scratching her chin thoughtfully. “Don’t look at me like that either. I can have an opinion can’t I?” She regarded the widow and me with wide eyes. “It’s no use taking the moral high ground with these people. It will get you nowhere fast.”  She turned to Danny. “So what, exactly, did you have in mind?”

“The way Ginny tells it, Vince Packard swings both ways.  The word is, though, he sees sex as more of a spectator sport.  So he won’t be able to resist a hot threesome, will he?  Apparently, he has a particular fancy for Goth boys. So, we present him with a punter who is not only loaded but has a Goth boyfriend who’s up for just about anything, right?  Before you know it, the geezer’s hooked. With my black hair, some make-up and a few accessories, I’ll be the belle of the balls, so to speak.” Both he and Jackie laughed aloud. “We’ll have to check out the layout of the place first of course then take it from there…”

He was looking directly at me. “We…?” I spluttered.

“Come on, dad, who else? Don’t say you’re not up for it. You’ve come this far, you might as well go the last mile.”

“Are you mad, or what?” I shouted across the table. “Besides, we’d never get away with it.”

“Keep your hair on. By the time I’ve finished, my own mother wouldn’t recognize me. Besides, don’t forget Vince Packard has never set eyes on either of us. Oh, I dare say he’ll have heard of us by now, yeah, but…so what? Nope. No worries on that score. It will be a piece of cake. We get all buddy-buddy with our Vincent, and play the rest by ear. The first thing is to get to Terri and let her know she’s got friends.”

“It’s far too dangerous,” I said categorically.

“It sounds horrible,” May Finn appeared to agree before adding, “but if that’s what it takes to rescue the poor girl, what choice do we have?” Three faces stare at her wearing equally stunned expressions. Even Danny was plainly taken-aback by the widow’s tacit approval of his hare-brained scheme. “Why are you all looking at me like that? I don’t like this any more than you do. But if there’s the slightest chance we can rescue this poor girl from the clutches of these awful people, surely that has to be out first priority?  Not a word to Andrew though,” she added.

“Not on your Nelly!”  Danny plainly needed no persuasion on that score.

“We should tell the police, of course,” she went on, “But I suppose that’s not an option.” It was not a question, and the subsequent heavy silence spoke volumes. “I’ll make some fresh tea.” She rose and went to the hob.

“When do you intend putting this crazy plan of yours into action?” I demanded testily.

“I need to get some gear together. That reminds me, I need some cash.” I groaned again and reached for my wallet. “Thanks, dad, and don’t look so worried. I can take care of myself. I’ll be sure and take good care of you, too, I promise.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” I told him.

“I can’t wait to see your Goth look,” murmured Jackie, “I used to be one once, you know, when I was a screwed-up youth. We girls have better taste, of course. Besides, sad but true, one comes to realize one has to grow up sometime and stop hiding behind layers of make-up.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Danny joked. Everyone laughed, even the widow Finn. The tension in the room lessened, but did not entirely evaporate.

I felt restless and uneasy. If only Philip was around to help. He always talked such good sense, irritating though that could be sometimes. Better still, he was always good for a kiss and a cuddle…and whatever else it took to make things right between us. But Philip is not around to help, and I have precious little choice but to grin and bear it and, for now at any rate. Let’s just hope Danny doesn’t get too carried away and see us all despatched to an early grave…

It was inevitable, I suppose, that I should make my way to Bow and seek what comfort there was to be had in Ryan Banks.

I was bowled over by Ryan’s enthusiastic greeting. He hugged and kissed me with a passion unlike anything he had demonstrated towards me before. Previously, he had held back. His embraces had been warm and sensual, our lovemaking a pleasure. This was quite different. In no time at all, we were in the bedroom, tearing off each other’s clothes and frantically enjoying each other’s nakedness…all within a few minutes of my arrival. He literally swept me off my feet. More fool, me, I lapped up every second of it.

“I love you,” he whispered in my ear.

“I love you too,” I whispered back before I realized what I was saying. Did I love Ryan, I kept asking myself as his mouth crushing mine, his hands exploring and exciting me in a way no one else had ever done. “Do you have a condom?” I inly just remembered to ask.

He shook his head. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that, but…” I tried to tell him, but was already caught up in a frenzy of making love and past caring.

It wasn’t until later, as we lay spent and content in each other’s arms, that I found myself wondering if Harry, my first love, hadn’t felt much the same way about the person with whom he had betrayed me and contracted the virus that drove him to commit suicide? Poor Harry, he couldn’t face telling me he had AIDS. No more, I reflected miserably, than I could face telling Philip I’d not only been unfaithful but also practised unsafe sex.

. What had I done? What did I think I was playing at?

I must get an HIV test, I told myself, but with no immediate sense of panic, only guilt. Even the guilt, though, the second Ryan pressed his naked body against mine and kissed me. I could only respond with an irrational desperation that cast all other feelings aside. All else paled into insignificance. We surfed waved after wave of relentless passion, made love again and… Oh, but it was so GOOD to feel wanted, loved, be able to slam the door on people and thoughts that persisted in making my life so complicated and rarely came close to giving me the simple, happy life I craved…or, did I?

Only in passing did I wonder if we aren’t inclined to idealize happiness. Or maybe we can’t see it for looking?

As far anyone else was concerned, I was visiting an old friend and might well stay over. On my return the following morning, neither May nor Danny made any further comment. Only Jackie, a frequent visitor now, gave me the occasional old-fashioned look that told me she did not believe a word I said.

A few days later, Danny announced that the Packards were throwing a party and we were invited. “Well, not so much as invited as there’s no chance we’ll be turned away,” he told me with an enigmatic expression I knew only too well and which did nothing for my self-confidence.

“So how did you manage that?” I asked warily.

 “A little bit of this, a little bit of that. It’s easy once you know how,” was all he would say.

“I was hoping you’d forgotten,” I muttered.

“Don’t look so worried dad. I’ve put all that behind me. You know I have. But there are some things you don’t forget, yeah? We learned a thing or two on the streets, Poppy and me. I’m just putting some of it to good use, that’s all.”

“If you say so,” I remained unconvinced.

“You’re not getting cold feet are you? It will go like clockwork, you’ll see. It’s not as if we’re even going to pull a fast one just yet. Tomorrow is all about putting a toe in the water. No more, no less.”

I was not in the least reassured. “Suppose someone recognizes me?”

“They won’t. No offence, dad, but you’re a pretty nondescript kind of bloke. So don’t look so worried. You have nothing to worry about, I promise. Play your cards right and you’ll have Vince Packard eating out of your hand.”

“Oh, yes, and how do you work that one out?”

“You’ll have a gorgeous Goth boy on your arm, remember?  When he sees you’re a kindred spirit, he’ll be all over you…if only to get all over me,” Danny added with a chuckle that hit a nerve.

“You can’t honestly expect me to go along with that?” I was incensed. “It’s sick, that’s what it is…sick!”

 “Oh, but that’s bollocks. It’s all in a good cause, right? Get a grip, Laurence. Once we’re well in with Vince, the rest will be plain sailing, you’ll see.”

“No, I won’t do it. I know I said I would, but I must have been mad. It’s a stupid idea and far too dangerous. If they latch on to us…well…Who knows what these people are capable of?  I won’t do it!” I leaned forward and banged my fist on the coffee table. “Ouch!” I yelped.

Danny was unsympathetic and quick to retaliate. “If you back out now, I’ll tell Phil the first chance I get how you’re doing the dirty on him behind his back. Staying with an old friend, my foot! Who do you think you’re kidding?”

We glared at each other across the room. Not only did I feel a complete fool but also knew there was no point in trying to deny it. “You’d do that after all I’ve done for you?” I was genuinely mortified.

“Here we go. Is that the only string you know how to pull? Yes, I owe you a lot, just about everything in fact, and I love you for it. But I’ll tell you what, shall I? I am sick to the back teeth of being grateful.”

Danny stormed out of the house.

The widow Finn appeared in the doorway. “Whatever’s going on? I could hear the pair of you shouting the odds upstairs. What’s got into Danny?”

“It’s this screwball plan of his. I can’t do it, May, I just can’t. It’s…gross. I don’t want to let Danny down, but…What else can I do? I’m just not cut out for all this crime fiction stuff and nonsense. Look what happened last time. We were lucky to escape with our lives. This is all too much déjà vu for me. Nor can I ever forget what happened to Poppy and Nick Carter. Whose turn will it be to get killed this time, I wonder? No, it’s too bloody dangerous. I can’t go through it all again, I just…can’t.” I slumped into the sofa.

“Sometimes, Laurence, we get stuck with situations we’re not cut out for. You don’t need me to tell you that. Yes, let’s look what happened last time you got involved with the criminal fraternity. Not just you, either. I was dragged into all that too, remember. But we survived. We’re still here to tell the tale. Because that’s the kind of people we are, Laurence, survivors. This girl, Teresa, she sounds like a survivor too. But she needs our help.  If we don’t help her, who will? The way I see it, we have no choice but to go along with Danny’s preposterous little scheme. And don’t you dare look at me like that either. I don’t like the sound of it any more than you do but…” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Heaven knows, if all our choices in life were easy ones and everyone was assured of a happy ending…Well, we wouldn’t even need God, let alone Heaven.”

A woman of few words usually, this was the equivalent of a monologue from Shakespeare for the widow Finn.  She was also a committed Christian. If this was touching on blasphemy, it was the closest I would ever hear her come.

“I’ll make a pot of tea,” she said, looking uncharacteristically flushed and out of sorts as she disappeared, predictably enough, into the kitchen.

I clenched my teeth, hammered on the sofa arm with my fist and immediately regretted it. My knuckles were still sore.

Why is it that some people are always right?  It put it another way to an increasingly self-conscious alter ego. How is it that some people always manage to put me in the wrong? “It’s not fair!” I heard myself cry out, and felt no better for it. I sighed. A cup of tea might not solve every crisis but, invariably, it was as good a start as any.

While I would have liked to adopt a heroic pose, I suspect it was with a martyred air that I rejoined the widow Finn in her kitchen.

“How are things between you and Andrew?” I ventured to ask.

“Fine, as far as I’m concerned. As for Andrew, I really have no idea. I haven’t seen him to talk to since that fracas with Danny.”

“Maybe you should…at least…well…clear the air?” I suggested.

“He knows where I am,” she said in a manner that firmly put a lid on the subject.

We sat and drank our tea, each engaged in our own thoughts and barely aware of the other’s presence. She’s right, of course, as far as my having little if any choice is   concerned…

Danny and I avoided each other until the day of the party when he joined the widow and me for late afternoon scones.”

“Are you coming tonight or not?” he demanded.

“Do I have a choice?”  I countered, glaring.

“Of course you have a choice. You don’t honestly think I’d snitch on you to Phil, do you? I thought you knew me better than that. What you get up to is your business. But that goes for me too. I’m going tonight so don’t try and stop me, okay?”

“I wouldn’t dream of trying,” I told him.

“Good. We understand each other.” He rose to leave the table.

“Stop squabbling like children, the pair of you, and eat up,” said the widow in a non-nonsense tone. “If you must go into the lion’s den, young Daniel, you will do so on a full stomach. I won’t have people thinking I don’t look after you properly.”

It wasn’t meant to be funny, but Danny and I exchanged knowing looks across the table. I found my lips twitching in response to a wicked gleam in the dark eyes. I gave an involuntary snort and sighed wearily. Danny merely grinned, sensing victory. He really was impossible. At least, I tried to reassure myself without much success, it was to his credit that he hadn’t enquired further about Ryan Banks.

 I was not exactly brimming with self-confidence as Jackie drove Danny and me to Vincent Packard’s house in Richmond that evening.

It was beautiful house, reminiscent of the one in Sawbridgeworth, emanating the same odour of nouveau riche and stink of corruption. There were CCTV cameras everywhere.

Danny looked spectacularly Gothic, wearing make-up and dressed head to toe in PVC. We were greeted at the door by a bald gorilla in a tuxedo. After expertly frisking us, gap-tooth grin in place throughout, he handed us over to a tall, raven-haired woman. She, in turn, introduced herself as Mercedes before leading us into a space comprising several through-rooms where a party was in full swing.

It was a noisy, boozy affair.

Danny quickly found himself surrounded champagne swilling acolytes of both sexes while I lounged in a corner wondering how on earth I had let myself be persuaded to come.

“A delightful young man,” murmured a voice in my ear. I turned to find a well-built man who wore his hair in a ponytail standing next to me. He was immaculately dressed.  Not handsome but a fierce bulldog expression and prematurely grey hair oozed a charisma that more than compensated. I followed his line of vision to where Danny was lapping up the attention. “Is he as sensational as he looks in bed?”

My hackles rose. Then I remembered Danny was supposed to be my boyfriend. “He’s a good lad,” I mumbled self-consciously.

“That has to be the understatement of the century so far, surely?” was my companion’s drooling response. “But I don’t think we know each other, do we? I’m Vincent Packard.”

“Larry Finn,” I said - another of Danny’s bright ideas - and we shook hands. His handshake was warm and firm. When he smiled, his face lit up and where only seconds before there had been ferocity, a hint of threat even, nothing remained but an easygoing, relaxed charm.  It was bizarre. Nonplussed, I distracted myself by contemplating the sure knowledge that my passionately heterosexual father must be turning in his grave.

Someone came by with a tray of full glasses. The hand in mine withdrew and Packard retrieved two glasses, handing one to me and sipped absently at the other, his attention again riveted on Danny. “He’s simply adorable. Where did you find such a treasure?  No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. Would it be that wonderful public house in Camden, the more so for being the last bastion of Gothic culture left in London?  I know it well although I have never seen the likes of…what did you say his name was?”

“Daniel,” I told him, as Danny and I had agreed.

“Daniel! Ah, yes, I see it all.”

“Oh?” I commented politely.

“You know, Daniel, in the lion’s den and all that crap? Such a tease, don’t you think?”

Before I could answer, Packard had taken my arm and was steering me towards a corner of the room where Danny was amusing a small crowd with a stream of dirty jokes. The appreciative audience parted to let us through. Everyone laughed as Danny uttered a punch line for which I was hard pressed not to give him a sound telling off.  Instead, I forced a titter that was drowned in Packard’s roar of approval.

“Very funny!” he cried and broke into a slow handclap. “Crude, though. Oh, very crude. Sounds to me like someone needs his mouth washed out with soapy water and a bloody good spanking.”

Someone snickered.

“If that’s what turns you on, be my guest,” parried Danny with a devilish grin.

Packard roared again. “Why, aren’t we a cheeky monkey? Didn’t your ma ever tell you it’s rude to be cheeky, not to mention crude, when you’re a guest in someone else’s house? You’re setting my other guests a bad example.”

“My ma would have wet herself for laughing then taken ’em off where she stood and wiped your ugly face with ’em for talking to me like that,” an unrepentant Danny retorted before adding mischievously, “Besides, I’ve heard you’re up for a lot worse.”

Packard’s eyes narrowed.  The gathering around Danny began, subtly, to disperse while the remaining few fell ominously quiet.

“Meaning what, exactly?” asked Packard in a deceptively mild voice that made my flesh crawl.

“Meaning whatever you want it to mean,” Danny giggled again.  Was this an act, I wondered or was he drunk?  Ignoring my protests, he’d been knocking back the champagne since we arrived. “Whatever, I’m game if you are. So is my friend, Larry. Aren’t you Larry?” To my horror, and without any warning, he all but threw himself at me, flung his arms around my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek.

“Get off me!” I spluttered and forcefully disengaged myself. I was reaching for a handkerchief to wipe away what I imagined must be a black lipstick stain when I remembered I was supposed to be Danny’s sugar daddy.  I could feel my already flushed face turn crimson as I mopped up beads of sweat with the handkerchief. Vincent Packard was not alone in regarding us both quizzically and with suspicion.  Did he smell a rat?  I continued to mop my face and seek sanctuary in my handkerchief.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” I heard Danny say, “Larry’s the best pimp me and my girlfriend ever had. It just so happens, we both swing both ways. He’s a shy boy. It’s a pimp ego thing, you see. You’re not supposed to fuck with the merchandise. Not good for business. I suppose you could say me and Larry, we’re sort of in the closet. Well, we were. He turned to me and giggled. “I’m sorry, Larry. It must be the champagne.”  He turned back to his audience. “Me now, I’m anybody’s if the fuck’s good and the price is right,” he added with another giggle.

A startled silence was quickly followed by loud guffaws, not least from Packard.  I caught my breath and emerged cautiously from the handkerchief.

“I like you, boy!” Packard boomed. At the same time, he swung round and glared at the small crowd that had regrouped. It promptly dispersed.

“A nice place you have here,” said Danny.

“Would you care for a guided tour?” our host responded with a broad leer that made me suspect an ulterior motive. My heart sank. But wasn’t this why we were here, to look around? I perked up as Packard took Danny’s arm and proceeded to lead him towards the handsome spiral staircase. I hesitated.  Had I been included in the invitation, I wondered?  My heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t happy about leaving Danny on his own with Packard.

I began to panic.

However, I needn’t have worried. The pair paused. Packard turned his head. The beady eyes sought me out, and a curt nod gestured for me to follow.  I did so, albeit shakily. As if having to contend with a heady mixture of relief and apprehension causing me to sweat buckets wasn’t enough, I badly needed to go for a pee.

As we climbed, I thought I heard a door opening and sensed someone looking down at us. Instinctively, I looked up and it was all I could do not to cry out. She looked different, older perhaps than I remembered. Yet, I was in no doubt as to the identity of the young woman waiting to greet us without a trace of welcome in her expression.

It was Teresa Karmali.

 To be continued on Friday

Predisposed To Murder - Chapter Thirty-Two

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“Colin and I have come to take you home Pip,” Nina Fox treated the pale figure in a hospital bed to her best smile. “Not before time, either, if you ask me. You look as white as a sheet. What or earth have they been doing to you in this place?”

“She’s just tired aren’t you Pip?” Colin Fox interposed, “If I remember rightly, you don’t get much sleep in hospitals. You’re kept awake half the night listening to people groaning and snoring, and then just when you’ve dozed off at last, some nurse wakes you up again with a cup of tea! Right, Pip?”

Pip nodded and flung them both a rueful smile. “I can’t wait to get out of here,” she confessed.

“There’s just one thing…” Nina began.

“Not here, Nina. It can wait.” Fox cautioned her.

“No it can’t,” Nina protested.

“What is it? What’s up?” Pip was anxious to know.

“Nothing’s up,” declared Colin Fox. Pip ignored him and studied Nina closely, quizzically.

“Before we go back to London, there’s something I have to do.”

“Nina…” muttered her brother warningly.

But Nina was determined. She had recognized the handwriting on the note pushed through her letterbox as the same as on previous notes. She still could not be sure it wasn’t Max’s since he could have disguised it and she had never been any good at recognizing handwriting. A sixth sense warned her not to tell anyone else although she had wanted to confide in Fred Winter and had even driven to Watford, but he was out when she called. “I need to go back to the cottage,” she told an astonished Pip, “I know it’s sounds ridiculous but it’s something I have to do if only for peace of mind. I keep having the most awful nightmares. I see Max lying in a pool of blood and that awful ‘Gypsy’ woman lunging at me like something out of Return of the Mummy. The police will have finished with it by now. It will be just as it was, an ordinary cottage like any other.  I need to see that. I need to feel…Well, ordinary again.”

“You could never be that,” muttered her brother.

A touch of sarcasm in his tone wasn’t lost on Nina who chose again to ignore him. “You don’t mind, do you?” she put itnto Pip, “You don’t have to come in with me. You and Colin can stay in the car. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“You’re mad,” said Fox flatly, “It will just bring everything flooding back and the nightmares will get worse.”

“They can’t get any worse,” Nina glared at her brother.

“I have them too,” Pip admitted and smiled encouragingly at Nina, “You’re right, it will probably do us both the world of good to go back. Colin can stay in the car while you and I…”

“Take a pleasant trip down Memory Lane?  Fox suggested.  “I don’t think so!” He let rip with an angry snort before stomping off in a huff wondering why Nina had let Pip stay in a general ward. He’d have expected his celebrity sister to insist on a private room. He sighed. Nina had always been full of contradictions. That same issue was still bugging him an hour or so later as he waited less than patiently in the car while both women braced themselves at the front door of number 22, preparing, he could only suppose, to wrestle with their demons within.

It was Nina who fumbled with a key in the lock, tentatively pushed open the door and was first to step inside. In a trance-like state, she walked through to the kitchen and stared at the spot where she had found Max lying in a pool of blood; there was still a stain on the floor. She sniffed. An odd smell was coming from somewhere but she couldn’t tell from where. She opened the back door to let in some fresh air.

 Everything was much as she remembered it. Although she was certain the police would have made a thorough search, there were no obvious signs. She turned to remark on this to Pip but the girl had already entered the master bedroom and was staring intently at the bed. Nina joined her nervously, more than half expecting to encounter the woman ‘Gypsy’ Kate in the doorway. “What are you doing?” Pip was leaning over the bed, both hands placed in the centre of a neatly fitting bottom sheet.

“This sheet is still warm,” she declared pensively, turned to face Nin and gave a little gasp. “Max!”

Nina swung round to fins Max Cutler at her elbow wearing only a lopsided smile and a pair of boxer shorts.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors,” he muttered sheepishly before crossing to a wardrobe from which he took a shirt and jeans sharing the same coat hanger and proceeded to dress quickly, without a trace of self-consciousness.

“Max!” Nina exclaimed again, completely at a loss for words.

“We’ve been so worried about you Max,” said Pip. “For all we knew, you were dead.”

“There was a time I wondered about that myself,” responded Max cheerfully, now opening a drawer, now sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on a pair of socks.

“That woman, ‘Gypsy’…” Nina began

Max looked up sharply, “What do you know about Kate?”

“You do know she’s dead?” said Pip.

“We thought you…” Nina’s voice trailed away miserably.

“You thought I’d killed her?” Max was incredulous.

“Don’t worry, we know you didn’t… now,” Pip interposed. “The police already know who killed her.”

“It was that man Williams,” Nina murmured to no one in particular and went to sit down on a stool in front of the dressing table before her legs gave way under her.

“He’s dead too,” Pip told Max in the same helpful tone she might have used to give someone directions.

“Williams is dead?” Max stammered. The handsome face, already pale, had turned a shade of grey.

“I killed him,” Pip added casually. “He tried it on so I…”

“Killed him, just like that?” Max plainly did not believe her, nor was Nina in the least surprised since she still had some difficulty accepting the fact herself. The task was made no easier by hearing the girl calmly admit to Max that she had killed a man, elfin face impassive, voice utterly devoid of emotion. 

“He tried it on,” Pip repeated. “What was I supposed to do, let the bastard go ahead and rape me?”

“Rape you?” To the amazement of both women, Max threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“It isn’t funny, Max,” Nina snapped, putting one hand to her head that had begun to throb.

Max stopped laughing as suddenly as he had started. “You’re right, it’s not funny.  The very idea of a nymphomaniac fending off any man is bloody hilarious,” he snarled at Pip. The two glared at one another without speaking.

“It’s true then?  You two are... lovers.” said Nina after a long silence, looking from one to the other with undisguised contempt.

“Hardly lovers,” Max sneered. “Oh, I can’t deny it was good sex, but…lovers? No way were we ever that.”

“So why…?” Nina demanded although, even to her own ears, her voice sounded small and pathetic.

Max shrugged. “The little bitch was blackmailing me, why else?”

“Blackmailing you?  Why should a sex maniac like you need to be blackmailed before he’ll jump into bed with a seventeen year old girl still at school?” asked Nina, jumping to her feet and flinging them both a withering look.

“Go on, Max, tell her,” Pip purred encouragement. “Go on, I dare you. Tell her why I was blackmailing you. Or shall I?” she added with such viciousness and scorn in her voice that Nina, feeling herself go weak at the knees, sat down hard on the stool again.

“It was an accident,” Max glanced pleadingly at Nina before glaring at Pip again. “You were there, so you know damn well it was an accident.”

“What was an accident?” Nina’s head began to throb more wildly than ever and she felt faint but willed herself to remain attentive.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Max shouted at her and his voice ripped through her head like machine gun fire.

“Who, kill who?” she asked dazedly.

“Why, Ray of course.” It was Pip who answered, fixing Nina with a queer smile. Through a mist starting to form before Nina’s eyes, the girl’s face took on a fiendish look that she kept telling herself had to be in her imagination but wasn’t entirely convinced.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Max repeated, looking directly at Nina. “We argued. He’d been cutting sandwiches…was carrying a knife…somehow I…stabbed him…He fell…I panicked…ran…just kept on running…kept on running,” he repeated with tears in his eyes.

“Poor Max,” it was Pip’s turn to sneer,” No thought for your dying boyfriend, only himself.” She glanced at Nina when the latter made no comment. “You don’t have a problem with your bloke being a pouf?” pointing disparagingly at Max.

“Why should I?” Nina replied evenly, “You obviously don’t,” she flung at the girl, angrily shaking her hair so that it caught the sunlight streaming through a window and might have been a shower of sparks. “But Nathan…” she tossed his name into the arena, struggling to come to grips with what was being said. “Why should Nathan…?

“Lie?” Pip almost spat at her, “Why should Daddy lie? Why, but to protect you of course.”

Nina wanted to protest, but no words came to her rescue. Hadn’t she suspected as much?  So why, oh why, hadn’t she insisted that Nathan see her and made him voice his suspicions so…? So, what? So she could convince him that she hadn’t killed Ray, accept that he could have thought her capable of such a thing?  It was the latter, after all, that had destroyed their relationship, more even than his being in prison. It had left her with nothing.

Max, Nina reflected grimly, was not the only one guilty of running away. In a frantic effort to deflect attention away from her own thoughts, Nina turned on Pip. “You knew this? You knew, but said nothing and let your father take the blame? How could you do that? What kind of a monster are you?”

“If he was daft enough to carry the can for you, more fool him,” Pip hissed. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s you. If he hadn’t loved you, he’d never have put himself in the frame like that, never!”

“And that’s what you can’t stand isn’t it, that he loves me?” Nina hissed back.

“Dying?” said Max suddenly and stared at Pip, “You said I left Ray dying. He wasn’t dead then?”

“Not right away, no,” Pip admitted.

“So why didn’t you call for a bloody ambulance?” Nina was on her feet, screaming at the girl.

“It probably wouldn’t have done any good.” Max sank on the bed, head in his hands. “If only the silly sod hadn’t kept hold of that bloody knife! He looked up at Nina. “It was an accident, I swear. I didn’t mean to stab him.”

“Once maybe,” said Nina between clenched teeth, “But twice, three times? A frenzied attack, the police said, “and you’re asking me to believe it was an accident? You make me sick!” she glared at Pip, “The pair of you make me want to throw up!”

“I only stabbed him the once,” Max protested, and looked genuinely shocked.

“You were probably so spaced out, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Nina shouted, “Been snorting coke had you, Max? And where did that come from, eh, your girlfriend ‘Gypsy’ Kate? Is that what this latest little caper of yours is all about? Eh, Max? Rubbed a few people up the wrong way, have you? So why am I not surprised?” She was screaming at him now without even realizing it.

“I only stabbed him the once,” Max yelled back at her. “We fought, the knife slipped, and he fell. I saw he was bleeding and panicked. I went to stay with friends in Dorset. I didn’t even know Ray was dead until I read it in the newspapers and how Nathan had confessed. I was devastated.”

“But not so devastated that you were prepared to take the blame yourself,” Nina put to him coldly. Her voice had dropped to a throaty whisper. Her head was swimming. She put a hand to her forehead and was forced to sit on the stool again. “Oh, how the two of you must have been sniggering up your sleeves at me!” she groaned.

“You were the last thing on our minds,” Pip jeered.

“The knife slipped,” Max was saying to himself. “It did! It just…slipped. There wasn’t any frenzied attack, that’s absurd!”

“Then they can’t have the same radio, television and newspaper reports in Dorset as they do in the rest of the country,” Nina retorted, “or you’d know that’s what happened. It was headline news at time and all over again during the trial. But I dare say you were stoned out of your mind then too,” she flung at him bitterly.

“Maybe,” he muttered. “Well, can you blame me? Do you think I liked having someone take the blame for something I did?”

“So why did you?”

“Because…”

“You’re a coward,” Nina told him bluntly. “A killer, a coward and…God only knows what else...!”

“I did not attack Ray,” Max repeated and turned, imploringly to Pip, “You were there, damn it. You saw what happened. Tell her. Tell me.”

“I was behind the sofa,” Pip reminded him.

“What?” Nina exclaimed.

“Don’t ask,” Max told her and continued to question Pip. “So what, exactly, did you hear? Did Ray say anything before he died?”

Pip looked from one to the other, a strange look on her face, and took her time. “There was so much blood…so much blood,” she said again. A strange light appeared in her eyes that emanated neither shock nor grief. If anything, Nina was inclined to describe it as excitement. A sudden, terrible suspicion made her blood run cold. “There was nothing I could have done for him, nothing anyone could have done, so where was the harm in…” Pip went on and   turned on Nina, eyes blazing, “You were late!” she screamed. “Why were you late? You weren’t supposed to be late. It wasn’t meant to happen like that. It’s your fault Ray’s dead. It’s your fault Daddy’s in prison. .Everything is your fault. This whole bloody mess is your fault!”

“It was you...You killed Ray.” It was not a question. Nina’s voice was barely a croak as incredulity turned to horror.

“Pip?” it was Max’s turn to sound incredulous.

Pip quickly recovered her composure. “Prove it,” she hissed.

“But…why?” Nina was feeling faint again but managed to retain a focus of sorts on the petite figure standing, forlornly it seemed to her, by the door.

Pip shrugged. “It happened. How was I supposed to know there would be a fight? I was upset, angry.” She turned on Max. “I saw you and Ray in bed. It was horrible, horrible! He deserved all he got. You’ll get what you deserve too, both of you, just see if you don’t. I hate you.”

“But your father is in prison, and you put him there,” Nina murmured wearily, fighting to keep her eyes open.

“At least he’s out of your clutches,” Pip sneered. “He hates you, too. That’s why he won’t see you. It’s me he loves, and that’s why he only wants to see me.”

She’s mad, star raving mad.  The thought crossed Nina’s mind even as she swallowed some bile rising in her parched throat.

“You’re mad!” Max echoed Nina’s thoughts. The accusation stung Pip all the more forcibly for the quiet, flatness of his voice.

“I’m not the one of the run,” Pip reminded him. “So tell us Max, since it appears to be confession time all round, what or who exactly are you running from?”

“Yes, tell us Max,” said a new voice.

Three pairs of eyes darted to the doorway where Colin Fox stood, pointing a gun directly at Max.

Nina slipped off the stool and sprawled across the floor in a dead faint.

To be continued on Wednesday