Authors: David Wingrove
Only how would they do that? People got away. Word got out. Word always got out.
It all ended inconclusively, two hours later. Nothing had been decided. Ted Gifford had suggested that they send a party east, to see if they could find out more, only no one
was keen on going and the idea of an expedition fizzled out.
One thing
had
come out of the meeting, however, and that was a general disbelief that anyone – aside from the odd band of thieves and murderers – was actually interested in
Purbeck.
Will Cooper perhaps expressed it best.
‘It ain’t exactly fuckin’ Tibet now, is it?’
The general consensus was that it would all blow over; that they’d need to be extra vigilant these next few weeks, but after that…
Jake stood outside, on the patio at the back, looking out across the fields towards the south. It had been an eventful day. He had killed a man and found a good friend dead. Tomorrow he would go
and bury Margaret, then deliver Jack Hamilton his bride.
Which reminded him. He had to go and tell Becky that they’d be delayed setting off for Wareham in the morning. If he was to see to Ma Brogan, it would be best if he did it at first light.
Yes, and alone. Peter had seen enough.
Peter was with the other village kids, standing idly around, down by the outhouse where it had all happened. Jake went over to him.
‘You okay?’
Peter nodded.
Jake looked around. ‘Where’s Boy?’
‘Meg’s taken him home. He was hungry…’
‘Look… I’ve just got to nip in to Corfe. I’ve got to let Becky know we’re setting out a bit later tomorrow. I told her eight, but if I’m to… you
know…’
‘I know. Shall I light a fire?’
Jake grinned. ‘A fire would be nice.’
‘Then I’ll see you later on.’
He left Peter and went back inside. Josh was just about to leave. He was heading back on the wagon with Geoff Horsfield and John Lovegrove, but on hearing that Jake was heading his way, he
latched on, holding on to Jake’s arm for support, then sitting beside Jake in the back of the wagon as they made their way back.
‘Ted was sayin’ that Rory ’as a daughter,’ Josh said as they entered the darkness of the tree-lined lane.
‘He has, and a lovely girl she is. Roxanne…’
Josh sang two lines of the old song, then laughed. ‘Bet she gets that a lot.’
‘Not from the young ’uns…’
Josh fell silent for a moment, then: ‘Did you get me anything, Jake? You know… at market?’
Jake hadn’t yet given Josh his surprise. He had meant to tomorrow, after he’d sorted everything else.
‘I got you
something
.’
Josh chuckled; a chuckle that became a cough.
‘You all right, Josh?’ Geoff said, speaking from the darkness just ahead of them. ‘Chest not playin’ you up?’
‘Chest’s fine… it’s my bloody legs.’
‘Didn’t sound like your legs,’ John Lovegrove said, laughing.
‘Been a strange ol’ day, ain’t it?’ Josh said, ignoring him. ‘Can’t say I’m not glad it’s over.’
‘Strange you should say that…’ Jake said.
‘Why’s that, boy?’
‘You’ll see.’
Josh touched his arm sympathetically. ‘Been a hard day for you, I know… Poor ol’ Maggie…’
‘Maggie? Oh… you mean…’
‘Ma Brogan… as was…’
‘No one blames you, Jake,’ Geoff said. ‘I’d have done the same.’
‘Me, too,’ John quickly added. ‘I’d ’ave cut ’is fuckin’ balls off, if it were me!’
‘And fed ’em to him! Bastard!’
Jake looked down. It was strange hearing such vehemence, such anger, from his old friends. They were such kind men. Kind but unforgiving.
‘Killing him… that was nothing… he was worth no more… only…’
There were grunts of agreement. They all knew what Jake was talking about. They knew him too well not to.
‘The boy’ll understand, Jake,’ Geoff said more quietly. ‘He knows you. Knows that you wouldn’t’a done it without good reason.’
‘Yeah, but…’
‘Geoff’s right,’ John said emphatically. ‘The boy’ll be fine. ’E just needs to understand how things are. Needs to know what’s wrong and what’s
right. An eye for an eye.’
Maybe. Only Jake had never liked ‘an eye for an eye’. It was distinctly Old Testament, and in his mind he associated it with a kind of right-wing severity that he’d always
mistrusted. Not only that, but it seemed to place him there alongside men like Charlie Waite and Frank Goodman, and he wasn’t sure that that was where he wanted to be.
Necessity, he thought. That’s what it comes down to, necessity.
Only he knew that what he’d done had damaged him in his son’s eyes.
He changed the subject.
‘You were quiet tonight, Geoff…’
‘Was I?’
‘Yeah… I’d have thought you’d have had a lot to say on the subject, being a historian and all.’
‘Well, maybe I have. And maybe sometimes it’s best not to say a word.’
‘Yeah?’
Geoff was silent a moment, then, ‘You free tomorrow afternoon, Jake?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Then come and see me.’
‘Sounds ominous,’ John Lovegrove said.
‘Well, maybe it is,’ Geoff answered him. ‘And maybe I’m wrong. It’s the thought that I
could
be wrong that made me hold my tongue earlier. After all, I
don’t want to go scaring souls for no reason.’
‘You think what you’ve got to say would scare people, then?’ Jake asked.
Geoff chuckled darkly. ‘I dunno. But it fuckin’ scares me, I can tell you!’
Back in Corfe, Jake helped Josh back indoors.
‘D’you know where Becky’s putting up for the night?’
‘Right here, boy,’ Josh said. ‘She’ll be in the bar, I warrant. Likes her drink, that girl…’
Jake said goodnight, then went through to the bar. Only Becky wasn’t there.
‘She went up a while back,’ Dougie, who was cleaning up behind the bar, told him. ‘She’s on the first floor at the front. Room Three.’
He went upstairs and knocked.
‘Who’s that?’ she called from inside.
‘It’s me… Jake… I wanted to give you a message.’
‘Hang on…’
Becky came to the door. In the candlelight, he could see she had been getting ready for bed. She had washed her hair and thrown on a nightgown.
She smiled. ‘Jake… ’ow lovely to see you… come in a minute…’
‘No… look, I can’t stop…’
But she was having none of it. ‘
Come in
,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve been waiting all day to have a word.’
As she closed the door then turned to him, she laughed.
‘What?’
‘Just that you almost caught me.’
‘Caught you?’
‘With my patch on… I wear it sometimes… when I’m on my own. I hate seein’ it, see… in the mirror.’
‘Ah…’
He looked about him. The room was small and rather shabby, with a threadbare carpet and cheap-looking teak furniture from the nineteen fifties. There was a wet towel on the bed, and on the
bedside table, beside the candle, was a bottle of whisky and a tumbler.
She saw where he was looking. ‘You fancy a nightcap, Jake? It’s a single malt. A Laphroaig. From before the Collapse.’
He’d meant just to tell her and leave, but the sight of the whisky swayed him.
‘Okay… just a little one…’
She grinned, then went across. ‘So what’s the message?’
‘Just that I’ll be a bit later than I said. There’s something I’ve got to do first thing. I thought… well, that you might like a bit of a lay in.’
‘Before the big day, eh?’
She poured out a large measure, then turned, offering it to him.
Jake went across. ‘Cheers!’ he said, taking the glass and raising it to her. ‘You all right about tomorrow? I mean… you’re not having second thoughts about
marrying Jack Hamilton?’
She looked down. ‘It’s just… well, it’s going to be strange… tied to one man…’
‘Yeah?’
She met his eyes. ‘Yeah… and a much older man, too… I just wonder…’
‘What?’
She hesitated. ‘Can I tell you a secret, Jake?’
‘Go on.’
‘I like sex. I like it a lot. And the eye… well, I was born with it, and things ’appenin’ as they did, I never got a chance to correct it. But that’s not all bad,
see… because it’s given me an excuse… you know… not to get too involved.’
‘Yeah?’ Jake said uncomfortably. It was a bit too close to the nub. He took a sip of the malt. ‘Christ, that’s good!’
‘Ain’t it?’ Becky took it from him a moment and had a sip herself. ‘Hmm… only one thing better I can think of.’
‘Sex, you mean?’
She handed the glass back.
‘And is that it? Is
that
what’s worrying you? That you’ll have to be faithful to Jack?’
‘Partly…’ She laughed and looked down. ‘That’s if I can… I’ve got some bad ’abits, Jake. Some very bad ’abits… An’ I’m
not sure as marriage’ll cure ’em.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
Again she met his eyes. It was disconcerting, certainly, but a man could get used to it. ‘Right now I’m going to bed.’
‘Oh… right…’ Jake took a large swig of the malt. It was a truly magnificent whisky. He loved the way it burned in your throat afterwards, the delicious after-flavour of
it. He looked to her. ‘I’d better go, then...’
She took the glass from him, sipped from it, then handed it back.
‘That’s just it… I was ’oping you wouldn’t. I was ’oping… well… that you’d stay a bit and let me show you just how grateful I
was.’
‘Becky…’
‘No, Jake. Hear me out. You see, travelling back in the wagon I kept thinking to myself, what can I do for Jake? Seein’ as ’e’s been so good to me. And I thought to
myself, I could fuck his brains out… that’d be a good way of saying thank you, wouldn’t it now?’
Jake swallowed awkwardly. ‘And?’
Unfastening the belt, she let the gown fall from her.
‘I’m a very grateful girl, you see, Jake Reed. I know who my friends are and I treat ’em well…’
Jake stood there, mouth open, taking her in. There was no doubting it, looking at her. She had a lovely figure, and it was years since he had seen a naked woman. Only this was wrong. He would
never be able to look at Jack Hamilton again.
No, nor himself.
She stepped closer. Taking his hands she placed them on her breasts.
So warm they were, so perfectly formed.
‘Becky… I can’t…’
‘Why not? You ain’t doin’ Jack no ’arm. ’E don’t even know I’m on my way to ’im. An’ seein’ ’ow it’s the last time before
I become an honest woman…’
Jake closed his eyes, feeling her hands at his neck, her lips on his cheek. What harm would it do? What harm?
‘Becky… I’m flattered… really I am… you’re a beautiful woman…’
That much was true. In the candle’s light she looked the very picture of desire, like a Botticelli Venus. Even so, he knew he couldn’t stay. To even think of starting something with
her was madness. And besides, there were ghosts. Only it was hard to tear himself away. The warmth of her flesh against his palms, the soft delight of her mouth against his neck.
‘Becky,
please
…’
‘You can have me, Jake. Tonight… you can stay all night if you want…’
‘I can’t… my son…’
‘An hour, then… Please, Jake… I’ll do whatever you want…’
He groaned as her hand moved down to gently cup his sex.
‘Becky, I can’t… I
can’t
…’
But the stiffness there betrayed him.
‘Hush, my darlin’ boy… course you can… that’s what Becky’s ’ere for… to make you feel alive again…’
‘Becky…’
But he was lost. Lost and no way back. Her hands, her lips, the fullness of her breasts… He had forgotten the magic of it all.
She smiled at him lovingly as her fingers nimbly, expertly unfastened him. ‘You’ve been dead too long, Jake, my love… Come, my darlin’ boy… Come to bed and forget
about tomorrow…’
It was gone two when he returned. Peter had waited up, worried that he’d not come back. The fire in the grate had burned down to ashes.
‘I’m sorry… I had some business.’
‘Dad…’ He could see the boy wanted to scold him, to tell him off. And not only for being late. For everything. For the whole damned mess.
‘I’m sorry, lad. I shouldn’t have stayed out. I…’
Coming back from Corfe he had hurried through the darkness, his thoughts in turmoil, not knowing what to feel or think.
He had not slept with a woman since Annie’s death. Had not killed a man like that, up close, for what? Eight years and more. But today…
‘Uncle Tom’s not well,’ Peter said, breaking into his thoughts. ‘Cath came across an hour back…’
‘An hour? Oh shit… Has Mary sent for the doctor?’
‘I said you’d come, as soon as you got back. Only you didn’t…’
‘I’m sorry… Look, I’ll go there now… D’you want to come?’
Peter grabbed his coat and nodded, a surly look on his face. Boy at once jumped up out of his basket.
‘Dad?’
‘What?’
Peter looked down, embarrassed. ‘Perhaps you ought to wash…’
‘Wash?’ Then he realized what Peter was saying.
‘Oh…’
He went through to the old butler sink at the back of the house and washed.
Peter was right. It wouldn’t have done to have turned up at the Hubbards’ stinking of another woman. And not simply for the reasons Peter thought.
For that too had crossed his mind, even as he lay in Becky’s arms – that in sleeping with her he was somehow betraying Mary.
Absurd, he knew, but true.
He went back through, joining Peter and Boy out front.
‘Did Cath say what the problem was?’
‘He’s running a fever…’
‘A fever?’
Jake stopped, then reached out and took his son’s arm. There was so much anger in the boy right now.
‘I’m sorry,
right
… It’s been a hard day.’
And it isn’t going to get any easier. But he didn’t say that.
‘Come on… let’s see what we can do.’
Tom was in a bad way. You could see it as soon as you walked into the room.
‘What is it? Jake asked quietly, not sure whether Tom, who had his eyes closed, was sleeping or not.
Mary turned, looking up at him. She had been crying.
‘It’s his shoulder. It’s begun to swell up again.’
‘And the doctor?’