Fearless

by Jessie Keane

  ‘You know what?’ Claire’s eyes held Shauna’s steadily. ‘I’ve been frightened of you for a long, long time.’

  ‘Well, you’re right to be.’ Shauna gave a mirthless, faltering grin. After getting shoved about by Jeb, it was good to feel in control again, on top of the situation. ‘Shame you didn’t do as you were told in the first place, and stay clear.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that,’ said Claire. ‘Not when I met up with Josh again. We loved each other.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Shauna, raising the gun, the grin dropping from her face. ‘Just shut your fucking yap or I’ll finish you right now.’

  ‘You know Josh was Fearless Flynn? Well, aren’t all us Romanies meant to be that, really? Fearless? But I’ve lived in fear for too long. And now I’m sick of it. I’ve had enough. So I wanted to come here today, and tell you that I’m not afraid of you any more.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Shauna, holding the gun steady on Claire’s heart. Christ, it would feel so good to pull the trigger, to see her go down for the last time. This bitch who’d stolen Josh off her.

  ‘Easy to be brave with a gun in your hand,’ said Claire.

  ‘With or without the gun, I could sort you out. Easily,’ said Shauna.

  ‘Yeah, but you couldn’t stop Josh loving me, could you?’

  ‘You bitch,’ said Shauna, the gun quivering in her hand.

  ‘He was mine. Always,’ said Claire. She spread her arms. ‘So go on then. Get it over with. You want to kill me? Do it. I’ll be with Josh then and we’ll be happy. But, Shauna – you will still be alone.’

  Shauna felt her finger itching on the trigger. Do it, she thought. Christ, just do it. Her hand shook. She blinked. Nervous sweat was stinging her eyes.

  ‘What’s stopping you?’ asked Claire.

  Shauna’s hand was shaking harder. The gun wavered.

  ‘You’re like all bullies, aren’t you?’ said Claire, staring at her old enemy. ‘You feed on the fear of your victims, but at heart you’re just a lousy coward.’

  ‘Shut up!’ yelled Shauna. The gun shook in her hand.

  ‘So do it. Go on,’ said Claire.

  Somehow she couldn’t hold the damned thing steady. ‘Shit!’ Shauna said, explosively, and she slapped the gun down on the countertop and then clutched at the counter, her head spinning, feeling sick, feeling faint and weak.

  Claire walked over to Shauna and stood there looking at her. Shauna raised her head and stared into Claire’s calm, pitying blue eyes.

  ‘Shauna?’ said Claire, leaning her head down close to Shauna’s own.

  ‘What?’ Her mouth was trembling; words were difficult to get out.

  ‘Just this,’ said Claire, and hauled her arm back and struck Shauna hard across the face.

  Shauna reeled away, clutching at the countertop, a hand flying to her cheek. She stared at Claire and knew she’d lost. The bitch was right. Dead or alive, Claire had always held Josh’s heart. So she’d won.

  ‘Goodbye, Shauna,’ said Claire, and she walked out of the kitchen, out of the house, and away.

  153

  Shauna didn’t know how she drove over to Chloe’s, but somehow she made it. She was shaking like a leaf in a high wind after her meeting with Claire. What was wrong with her? She should have killed that bitch while she had the chance. And she was flooded with fear for Connor and Aysha. Jesus, what did I start the day I decided to mix with the Cleaver boys? All those years, Jeb had been at her beck and call, but now she was aware that her hold over him had grown perilously thin. She had to think this over. Think what her next step should be. She had so much to deal with. Too much.

  Chloe greeted her with the usual false show of affection. She was air-kissed on both cheeks, hugged, ushered inside. Chloe took her raincoat and hung it up.

  ‘Dahling, how lovely to see you,’ said Chloe, masking her surprise, thinking that Shauna looked like a drowned rat and one side of her face was vivid red, like she’d been slapped or something. The rain was torrential. Shauna must be demented, driving about in this weather.

  ‘I thought we could talk over the seating plan for Friday night,’ said Shauna, her movements jittery. She walked ahead of Chloe into the lovely lounge with its purple-and-gold colour scheme. Easy to see a redhead lived here.

  ‘The seating plan? Yes of course,’ said Chloe. ‘But I thought . . . with Josh going like he did, I’m sorry, I should have phoned you, but I thought you’d be so upset still . . .’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Shauna, walking over to the big picture window and looking out over the expanse of striped green lawn and down to the river. When she and Josh had lived next door, their view had been practically identical to this one. Then she focused, frowning. There was something big and yellow moving down there. The loud hum of motors penetrated the double glazing.

  ‘Oh, I see you’ve noticed,’ said Chloe, coming to stand beside her. ‘It’s most inconvenient,’ she tutted. ‘So noisy. And the smell when the mud comes up! I tell you, I can’t even go out in the garden, it’s unbearable.’

  ‘What . . . ?’ Shauna was aware of her own heartbeat, very fast and painfully heavy in her chest. Her head was humming. She wondered if she was going to be vomit, or pass out. She watched the men, watched the machine. ‘Oh Jesus,’ she said.

  ‘I suppose they had to do it eventually, because of the flooding,’ said Chloe. ‘Nearly left it too late, didn’t they? It’s been raining non-stop this past fortnight. Now at long last they’re dredging the river.’

  154

  Connor went back to his flat. He couldn’t eat, he felt too keyed-up. He phoned Benedict, told him what had happened in the park and told him to keep an eye on Aysha.

  Fucking Mum.

  His sister could have been banged up right now and destined for a life in Holloway if their mother’s poison had done its work. He made tea, and then sat there and thought of Suki. Pale hair, long legs, eyes that could break a man’s heart. All right, he’d followed her back to the hotel because . . . she fascinated him. Because she was stunning. And because . . . he wanted her. He wanted her in bed, just as soon as he could get her there. If he could get her there. Which seemed pretty damned unlikely, given the circumstances. But first, he had things to do.

  He’d heard so many conflicting stories these last few days, it was hard to know what to believe. Time he went looking for answers.

  He picked up his keys and went back out to the Porsche.

  Connor drove past Winchester and carried on going until he reached the place. Avoiding the campsite where Josh had spent his childhood, he parked up in the lane and walked down through the fields until he reached the disused church. It was unlocked because there was nothing in there to steal. He stepped inside, hearing the echoing silence and feeling the steady chilling march of centuries all around him.

  Slowly he walked up the aisle, looking left and right. Creepy in here, his footsteps echoing in the darkness. It had happened here, Claire’s rape – that’s what Suki had told him. He paused at the top of the aisle and looked down at the grave she had told him about, the one in front of the altar. The inscription read:

  HERE LIES POLLY JAMES

  FIANCÉE OF WILLIAM CODY

  1745-1762

  Died of the fever on the night before her wedding.

  MAY SHE REST ETERNAL

  Something Old

  Something New

  Something Borrowed

  Something Blue

  He stood there and stared at it for a long time, then he turned and walked back outside, closing the door behind him.

  155

  Aysha opened the door at Benedict’s place to find Connor standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Oh! It’s you,’ she said, her face falling. She turned without another word and led the way back into the lounge. Benedict looked up from the sofa. Then the phone started ringing.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he said.

  ‘So what do you want?’ said Aysha.

  ‘Don’t be like
that, Aysh. I saved your bloody bacon. You ought to be grateful.’

  ‘I should have done it.’

  ‘For what? Mum was pushing your buttons, that’s all. You can’t alter history, Aysh. I know it’s hard for you to hear, but if he’d lived, Dad was going to divorce Mum and marry Claire. Look – he was our dad and we both loved him. D’you really think he’d want harm coming to her? Or her daughter? Do you?’

  She stared at him, arms folded. ‘She told me he’d never loved me.’

  ‘Well, I think he did. She was being a bitch, that’s what she does best. She was manipulating you into doing something fucking stupid, and you fell for it. Just be glad you didn’t do it and fuck yourself up for good.’

  ‘I wanted to kill that—’

  ‘I know. But you didn’t. That’s what counts. Come on, Aysh. Let’s not fall out. I need your help.’

  Benedict came back into the room, pulling on his jacket. ‘Going out.’ He kissed Aysha’s cheek, flashed a grin at Connor. ‘See you both later.’

  When the door closed after Benedict, Connor looked at the window. In a little over an hour, it would be full dark.

  ‘Put the kettle on, Aysh,’ he said, settling down on the sofa. What they had to do was best done at night, under the cover of darkness. They had time to kill. And then, at last, he was going to find out once and for all what was lies, and what was truth.

  156

  ‘Shauna? Are you all right? You look . . .’

  To Shauna, Chloe’s voice seemed to be coming from a thousand miles away. Her eyes, her whole being, was centred on what she could see through the window. The roar of the machinery, the massive grab of the thing swinging up and down, dipping like a huge feeding animal, scooping up vast dripping weed-hung sections of mud from the bottom right of Chloe’s garden. It was heading toward the house next door. The house where Shauna and Josh had lived. And the rain had stopped.

  ‘They put a note through the door, told everyone up and down the road. But the stench! You would not believe it. We’ve complained, of course, to the council, but . . . Shauna? Where are you going?’

  Shauna was hardly aware of moving, but she turned and walked to the end of the big lounge, then through the hallway and out into the kitchen. She didn’t stop to get her coat. She unlocked the back door and set off across the terrace and down the steps.

  ‘Shauna?’ called Chloe, following her out. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Shauna was panting, walking fast. Her stiletto heels caught on the rain-softened turf and she stumbled. She paused, kicked the heels off and then she carried on, barefoot, toward the monster machine and the men in the hi-viz jackets on the bank, who were watching as the driver manoeuvred the thing.

  ‘No, no, no . . .’ she muttered under her breath. This couldn’t be happening!

  She broke into a shambling trot and then into a run. She had to stop them.

  ‘Shauna . . .’

  Chloe’s voice was growing fainter as she struggled to keep up with Shauna’s pace. Shauna raced on, because if she got there in time she would stop them.

  Stop them how?

  She didn’t know. She would think of something.

  ‘Stop!’ she started shouting.

  The light was fading. It would be dark soon. Then they would have to stop.

  The men had their backs to her and the machine was making its hellish noise; they didn’t hear her.

  ‘Stop for God’s sake!’ she yelled, aware that she was crying, that this was the final straw and now her life really was in bits.

  ‘I said stop!’ she screamed when she was within ten paces of them. She fell to her knees on the grass, the pungent smell of the churned-up river mud making her gag.

  ‘Stop, for Christ’s sake, stop it,’ she moaned, sobbing.

  Chloe hurried up to Shauna, bent over her.

  ‘God, Shauna, are you all right?’ she asked, but all Shauna could hear was the machine roaring like a lion, all she could see was the gang of workmen, the looks on their faces as they turned one by one to stare at her. But one of them was still watching the grab, and he stiffened as something caught his eye.

  He put up a hand, waved. Stop.

  The machine’s roar died to a shuddering halt.

  One of the men turned back to the river. Then another. And another.

  Shauna’s breath caught in her throat.

  ‘What . . . ?’ Chloe said, her hand on Shauna’s shoulder. Now she looked ahead, too.

  ‘What the fuck?’ asked one of the men loudly.

  Shauna looked. Hanging out of the side of the grab was a skeletal hand and arm. The bones were a pale luminous green-white from years submerged in the river.

  ‘Christ!’ said Chloe, putting a hand to her mouth. ‘That’s—’

  ‘Holy shit! That’s someone’s arm, that is,’ said one of the men.

  They all stood there, frozen, fascinated. Disbelieving.

  ‘Better call the police,’ said one of the other men, his face white as milk. ‘Tell them we’ve found a body.’

  157

  Night had fallen. The torch was weaving back and forth in Aysha Flynn’s hand, which was shaking hard. Its cone of light, feeble in the total country blackness of the night, was wavering all over the place.

  ‘Hold it steady, damn it,’ snapped Connor.

  Aysha put both hands on the torch. Teeth chattering with nerves, she tried to do as her brother said.

  ‘This is wrong,’ she told him. ‘This is crazy.’

  They were inside the tiny church near the gypsy camp, way out in the middle of nowhere. No one came here. It was near-derelict; no alarms, nothing. According to Connor, who’d looked it up, the church hadn’t been in use since Gilbert White trotted past it on his famous white horse in the eighteenth century. It had never been big enough to seat more than twenty people, tops. It had no electricity, no heating or light. It was a place of deep peace and tranquillity.

  Tonight, it was being desecrated.

  We’re going to be cursed for this, thought Aysha with a shudder.

  Connor had brought a sledgehammer and a pickaxe along. Then he had led the way to the big gravestone at the top of the aisle, the one that lay right in front of the altar; last resting place of Polly James, 1745–1762, fiancée of William Cody. The inscriptions had almost been worn away by footsteps over the years, but Aysha could still read them, just about.

  MAY SHE REST ETERNAL

  Jesus! Spooky, or what?

  Polly James had died the night before her wedding, it said. And then there was the old wedding rhyme:

  Something Old

  Something New

  Something Borrowed

  Something Blue

  Connor tried to get the pickaxe under the edge to lift the stone. But it was huge and too bloody heavy for one man to budge. So now Connor flung the pickaxe aside and took up the sledgehammer again. He was taking aim . . .

  Oh shit, thought Aysha.

  . . . and the hammer swung fast, up and then down. It hit the ancient stone and bounced off.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Connor, peeling off his shirt and tossing it aside.

  Despite the bitter chill, there was a sheen of sweat on his brow and an alarming intensity to his face when the torchlight caught it. Aysha watched him, thinking that this was crazy, that they couldn’t be doing this, that he must be wrong.

  Connor shot his sister a look. ‘Steady,’ he said, and swung again.

  No luck.

  ‘Connor, we shouldn’t—’ said Aysha.

  ‘We have to,’ he cut her off, and swung again, and again, and . . .

  Suddenly it happened: the stone cracked. Connor hit it once more, and the crack widened into a fork and split. Connor downed the sledgehammer, grabbed the pickaxe again and levered one of the smaller sections away. It tipped up and then crashed to the side, echoing mournfully in the tomb-like silence of the church. Dust plumed up, and Aysha recoiled, coughing. Connor levered the pick under the remaining section, and heaved. Tha
t too gave up and fell aside.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ asked Aysha, her voice shaking as she focused the torch’s beam on what was revealed.

  Connor leaned forward. He’d hoped to find nothing but an ancient skeleton. It was Aysha who stretched down a hand. With a shiver of revulsion she brushed away dirt from the stuff Connor’s blows had revealed.

  ‘It’s fur,’ she said. ‘Grey-blue fur. Oh yuck.’

  ‘Something blue,’ said Connor. ‘Holy shit. That’s Blue. That’s Claire Milo’s dog. They killed him and put him in here. You know what this means? It’s true. It’s all fucking true.’

  ‘What?’ Aysha looked ghostly pale in the torchlight.

  ‘Fuck it,’ said Connor.

  He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but here was the proof. The Cleavers really had killed the dog and raped Claire on his mother’s say-so. Given her a child; given her Suki. He believed it all now.

  158

  There was very little left of Blue except fur, bones, teeth, and bits of catgut where he’d been stitched up time and again by Claire’s dad after running through barbed wire after hares.

  ‘Christ,’ said Aysha, coughing and almost gagging as Connor started lifting bits of the dead dog out to see what lay beneath. The smell in here was ancient, dusty. It clawed at the back of her throat and made her breath catch.

  Blue crumbled and fell apart as Connor moved him, rib bones detaching, leg bones coming loose, bits of insect-eaten fur detaching and drifting around like dust motes in the torchlight. Bit by bit, Connor laid the pieces of the dead dog beside the open tomb.

  ‘Hiya, kids,’ said a male voice behind them in the darkness.

  Then something smacked Connor hard behind the ear and the torch fell. Blackness and light merged into a kaleidoscope and he pitched forward across the skeleton in the grave like a lover. He heard Aysha scream, and then there was nothing.

  159

  Connor was coming back to himself, inch by inch. His head hurt. He could hear someone crying. He opened his eyes and he was in a room. It was a dump of a room. Old beer cans all over the place, big dogs roaming around, threadbare sofas and enough dirt on the floor to plant an acre of spuds. The smell in here was ripe, fetid.