A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series)

by Adrienne Vaughan

  Recognising the man from his earlier vicious encounter, Monty had surreptitiously climbed aboard the yacht.

  “Come on now lads, don’t make it any worse for yourselves.” Dermot was standing at the rail, Ryan beside him, their guns out of sight. Phileas just glared back.

  “Dermot, I’m telling you one last time, you and fucking Tonto get out while you can. If this shipment doesn’t end up where it’s supposed to, there’ll be trouble, big trouble for everyone,” Shay said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Dermot replied, just as Monty launched himself at Phileas’ ankle, sinking his teeth in as far as the bone. Phileas screamed, Shay lifted his boot and kicked Monty the length of the deck.

  “Bastard!” Marianne shouted, and in a flash she too was aboard the yacht. She pushed Shay to floor, then slithered along the deck on her knees to where Monty lay in a ball. He shook himself and gave his tail a wag, he was fine.

  With Marianne in danger and Shay on the deck, Ryan leapt onto the yacht. He grabbed Phileas, pulling his hands behind his back. Shay got to his feet, smacking Ryan between the shoulder blades with the anchor chain. Ryan’s knees buckled.

  “Enough!” shouted Dermot, standing on the cabin roof, now level with the yacht’s deck. He pointed a pistol at Phileas. “Final warning, come quietly.”

  Phileas swung round, a shot rang out. Dermot dropped to the floor. Phileas had shot him in the foot. Dermot’s gun went off. Bang, a soft thud as a bullet pierced the yacht’s hull. Silence, then a low boom.

  “What’s that?” Shay shouted at Phileas. “What the fuck did you start shooting for, we could’ve just sailed away.”

  “He started it,” Phileas screamed back.

  Ryan was on his feet. He climbed up the steps to the wheelhouse, crouching beneath smoke billowing up from below. Shay spotted him, lunged, pulling his legs from under him. Ryan twisted in his grip, punching him squarely in the face. Shay fell back. Ryan jumped on top of him, pinning him down. Shay reached back, grabbed a boathook and smashed it across Ryan’s chest. Ryan rolled off, winded. Marianne grabbed the boathook, she threw it like a javelin to Ryan, who caught it just as Shay wrapped a line round his ankle, hauling him downwards. The line released a chain uncoiling rapidly like an angry snake. The anchor landed on Ryan’s elbow, bones cracked apart.

  “Noooo!” screamed Marianne, running to reach Ryan.

  Phileas caught her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides.

  “Now back off,” he shouted at Dermot, who, still armed had dragged himself upright, holding onto the rail of the other boat. Phileas held the gun at her temple.

  Snarling and baring his teeth Monty ran along the tarpaulin covering the tender and took a flying leap at the man holding his mistress captive. Phileas spun round, took aim and fired. The little dog took the bullet. He let out an ear-piercing yelp and dropped to the deck like a stone. Seizing his chance, Dermot fired one shot. Phileas took it in the chest, the force of it sending him flailing off the steps and into the sea.

  Dermot turned the pistol on Shay. “What’s it to be?” Without looking back, Shay dived off the yacht.

  Marianne ran to Monty. Finding it hard to grip, the deck wet with oil and water, she dropped to her knees and pushed herself along, sliding up to him, taking him up in her arms. The bright brown eyes flickered at her.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay, Mont, nothing to worry about.” She held his head, pressing her thumb over the hole where the bullet had pierced the white fur, not noticing her fingers, hand, sleeve suddenly seeped in blood - Monty’s blood.

  Ryan dragged off his jacket, wincing with pain as he pulled the sleeve off his useless, broken arm. Sliding along the deck on his knees towards her, he went to wrap Monty in his jacket, reaching out.

  “Don’t touch him!” Marianne screeched. “Don’t touch him,” she whispered, “he’s going to be fine. We’ll get the nice vet to take the bullet out and he’ll be fine, good as new.” She buried her nose in the space between Monty’s ears. The blood seeped like ink into his bright white fur. She cradled him to her; his eyes were closing now.

  “Monty, no, no Monty,” She shook him, he opened his eyes again. “Stay with me, Monty, come on stay, we’ve been through worse than this, this is nothing, come on now, Monty, try harder.” She gritted her teeth. “Try, try for God’s sake.”

  The beautiful brown eyes looked into hers, glazed over and closed, very slowly. The little dog’s head flopped to one side. Marianne let out a sound as if she had been stabbed. She could not breathe. There was a deep thud below, another explosion.

  “Marianne, we have to go,” Ryan said.

  Wrapping the little animal up in her arms, she squeezed him to her as tightly as she could. She started to rock to and fro.

  “Marie, listen to me, we have to get out of here, the whole place is going to blow,” Ryan said, reaching out to her, as she sat with the bundle of fur, huddled in a corner of the stern. She stared at him as if she did not know who he was. A loud crack splintered some of the deck between them, smoke filled the air.

  “Marianne, we have to go,” Ryan said firmly. He reached out his good hand, “Now!”

  She shook her head, “I can’t leave him.”

  “Monty’s not going to make it love. He’ll be in heaven with George and Oonagh. Come with me now, we have to get back before the boat blows up.” Ryan tried to keep his voice steady.

  “He’s still warm, I can feel a heartbeat. If I leave him, he’ll get cold,” Marianne said desperately.

  “Marianne, he’s been hit.” Ryan swallowed.

  She glared at him, wild-eyed. “He comes too.” Another explosion, closer, they were taking a lot of water, the boat listed to one side.

  “Okay, but move now, out of here before we all die.” He dragged her to her feet, wrapping his jacket around the dog. He gave her back the bundle, and taking her hand led her towards where they could see Dream Isle in the water. Dermot gave one wave of recognition, easing as stealthily as he could towards the steps.

  “We’re going home now, baby.” Marianne said to the bundle in her arms, as Ryan guided her down the steps to take the leap of faith onto Dermot’s waiting vessel. Marianne, still clutching her bundle, just made it, when a huge boom rang out, and the yacht, turning gracefully on her side, slid beneath the surface. As the deck began to disappear, Ryan took a dive into the water.

  In the nick of time, Dermot skilfully swung Dream Isle round and out into the ocean, before the wash from the sinking yacht dragged them down with it. Marianne looked up to see the boat disappear as Ryan hit the water.

  “Jesus, Dermot, where are you going? You’re going away. Go back, go back for Ryan,” she roared at him.

  “It’s okay,” Dermot tried to assure the stricken woman, “he’ll find us. We need to get as far away from the wreck as possible.” He pushed the boat on. No sign of Ryan. Marianne thought she was going to die, there on the spot. She sat in the boat, the still warm bundle in her arms, staring at the flat ocean.

  Bubbles broke the surface. There was a splash and Ryan appeared. Dermot had a fix on him and, powering the boat on, headed straight to him. He hauled his friend out of the water. Ryan’s shattered left arm swung uselessly by his side.

  “Shit, how did that happen?” Dermot asked.

  “Ran into a little trouble my stunt double couldn’t handle,” Ryan quipped through white lips, before turning green and puking over the side. Marianne started to weep. Dermot looked at his battered cargo.

  “Hold on, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride,” he said, giving the boat all the welly he could, trying to balance on one leg.

  As they rounded Widow’s Peak blue flashing lights appeared in the distance.

  “The cavalry’s late,” Ryan said.

  “Yeah, guess they were told not to show until it was all over,” Dermot said, grimly.

  Chapter Thirty One

  May The Road Rise Up

  Sinead had a busy night ahead and was much relieved Doctor Brian Maguire was back on
the island, having returned from New York that very day.

  As soon as the message came through, they set up a temporary surgery in the back room of the pharmacy and he and Sinead had everything prepared by the time the walking wounded arrived.

  Dermot, in the meantime, insisting his was only a fleshwound, had been airlifted to hospital on the mainland and because of the pressure on the emergency services - out looking for any survivors - Brian assured the police they would handle the casualties on the island as best they could, and would make a full report.

  The doctor took a look at Ryan’s shattered arm and gave him a shot of painkiller. He would have to wait to be treated. Monty was the main cause of concern. The little dog had slipped into a coma, his pulse very faint. He was dying.

  Laying him out on the table, Sinead cleaned the wounds just above his left eye and to the right of his ear. Brian ordered Marianne to go and drink some hot sweet tea; he wanted to see what they were dealing with before giving his distraught daughter the prognosis.

  “The good news is the bullet went in here and came out here, hence the two wounds,” he showed her. “What we don’t know is, how much damage it caused as it passed through. Brain damage possibly, his hearing almost definitely, but beyond that, I don’t know.”

  Marianne held her hand out to the limp little scrap of fur, willing the gaping holes to close up and heal, imagining she had the superpowers to do it.

  “Can’t we do anything? Have him airlifted to a vet?” she whispered.

  “I’ve spoken to a friend of mine, a brilliant veterinary surgeon, one of New York’s finest. His advice is, clean the wounds, stop the bleeding and if Monty’s body has gone into a voluntary coma, leave well alone. It might be doing stuff on the inside first. It’s like everything has closed down while Monty’s dealing with what’s happened,” he spoke slowly as if to a child. “We’ve done all we can for now, we’re just going to have to give this some time.”

  Sinead was hooking up a drip. Marianne dampened some cotton wool, wiping Monty’s eyes, mouth, nose.

  “We’re going to see to Ryan now, get his arm strapped up, okay?” she said.

  Marianne turned to look at Ryan, her heart clamped in a vice, he looked so broken. He tried to give her a reassuring smile but the pain was sickening now.

  “Stay with Monty,” he said, “I’ll be fine.”

  Dawn was breaking when Sinead slipped back into the surgery to find Marianne still sitting, staring at Monty.

  “Any change?” she asked.

  Marianne shook her head.

  “Why don’t you go home for a while, you’re exhausted,” Sinead told her. “I’ll keep an eye on him, he seems stable enough for now.” Sinead checked his pulse and temperature.

  Marianne did not want to go home to Weathervane, empty without Monty. By now Ryan and Joey were tucked up in Maguire’s. How she longed for one of Joey’s clingy cuddles, smelling of talcum powder and rusks. Bridget and Erin would be sound asleep too, Padar would have seen to that, she recalled the ravaged worry in his eyes, standing at the seawall, watching anxiously as the police launch guided them back to the marina.

  Sinead sensed her reluctance.

  “Just go and get some air then, no point in you making yourself ill too.” Sinead showed her out. Marianne stopped in the doorway.

  “I’m really pleased for you, about the baby, and sorry about Phileas too, a terrible loss.”

  Sinead shrugged. “I lost Phileas a long time ago, Marianne, he’s been dead to me these many years.” She squeezed her friend’s hand. “When you know what you want you have to go for it, don’t you?”

  Marianne nodded, “Sure you do,” she said, distractedly.

  “Hey,” he said softly, crouching down beside her in the sand, trying to keep his balance with his left arm in a sling. The sea was a sliver of silk along the beach.

  “Hey,” she said back, not taking her eyes off the ocean, arms clasped about her knees, holding herself together. The breeze was gentle, a pale moon hung above, too dull to shine, too bright to fade away.

  “You must be chilled, Marie, you’ve been out here for hours, come home now,” he said. She did not answer. He waited a while. “Want anything?” he reached out, letting his fingers fall away before he touched her.

  “I want Monty back,” she said. He let the words hang there.

  “I know you do. I want him back too.” He joined her, looking out to sea, the waves barely breaking, hushing to a soft ripple on the beach. He turned to look at her: pert nose, determined chin, auburn hair rammed up in an old tweed cap. She looked down. He saw her take a tiny breath, fighting tears. How could there be any more tears? She looked back out to sea.

  “What were we even doing there, Ryan? You were supposed to be out fishing with Dermot. I was on a day out with the girls and the children. There was danger out there. You knew about it, yet you let us go.”

  “We’d no idea the stuff was on Padar’s boat. Do you think I’d let you, Joey, any of you, anywhere there was danger, where you could get hurt?” he asked.

  She sighed, “I know you wouldn’t but you shouldn’t have got involved. Life’s not a movie, people get hurt, guns kill, there is no happy ever after.”

  He had never known her like this. She always saw the upside, she was his shining light, she made everything right, she was his happy ever after.

  “There will be a happy ever after, you see. Everything’s going to be fine, just fine.” He stood, brushing sand off his jeans. “See you later?”

  “Not if I see you first,” she said. Their joke, one of the first things he ever said to her.

  “Too late. I love you,” he replied, walking briskly away.

  Monty had not moved all night. No change in his breathing, no flutter of eyelids, no flicker of life. Marianne was back at his side, having picked up his blanket and favourite toys, when Erin and Miss MacReady appeared. Her mother threw her arms around her, clutching her tightly.

  “Erin’s after telling me all about it. What a terrifying experience. God forbid, you could have all been killed,” she said tight-lipped.

  “We’re fine, all fine, except ...”she turned to Monty, her voice caught in her throat. Miss MacReady blessed herself.

  “Poor lamb. I believe he was defending you when he took the bullet, such a brave little chap,” Miss MacReady’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank goodness Brian’s here, at least he knew what to do.”

  “Not much help though is he? Look at the state of it?” Erin pointed at the dog.

  “Maybe if there’d been a vet on the island,” Marianne shook her head.

  “It’s not a vet he needs, it’s a fecking miracle,” Erin said in her frank way. She and Miss MacReady locked eyes.

  “That’s an idea, we could take him to Knock, the shrine, it’s famous for its healing powers, it might do the trick,” Miss MacReady offered.

  “Good plan,” Erin agreed, “Come on, Marianne unhook him off that drip, wrap him up. We’ll get him there as fast as we can.”

  Marianne blinked at them. She looked at the lifeless scrap on the table. He needed a miracle alright.

  “I appreciate you trying to help, ladies, but have you two lost the plot altogether?” she asked, surmising they had been going over yesterday’s events with a bottle or two between them.

  “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” asked Erin.

  Brian appeared at the door; he had overheard the madcap suggestion.

  “I appreciate things look a bit desperate from here, but a bit more time is needed I think. Some peace and quiet and a bit more time.” He nodded for the ladies to leave. Suitably admonished, Miss MacReady and Erin withdrew.

  “We’ll keep lighting candles anyway. I’ll have the place ablaze, every deity known to man will be called upon.” Miss MacReady said as they left. “Do you know any spells, Erin?”

  Brian put his arm around the young woman he now knew to be his daughter, he looked into her face, etched with anxiety, terrified she was going to los
e this little soul, her closest companion; she turned huge eyes on him.

  “Don’t let him die, Brian. Maybe that’s why you came back to us, so Monty won’t die. Maybe you’re the miracle.”

  Brian patted her shoulder and pulled up a chair beside her. They would stay with the dog through the day and the night, and if things got worse, a lot worse, he might do something he had not done since he had last been on Innishmahon, he just might pray too.

  She must have slept, because when she opened her eyes Brian was bent over the table and Ryan was holding something at Monty’s mouth. She got up.

  “What is it? What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Ryan’s been on the internet. He seems to think if you give someone in a coma something they like and will remember, it can stimulate the brain, helps bring them back.”

  Ryan was holding a pork scratching under Monty’s nose. The little dog’s nose twitched.

  “No way,” Marianne bent down to him. Ryan did it again, the tip of a pink tongue popped out and licked the treat.

  “Monty, it’s me, look, open your eyes, come back, come back to me,” Marianne said. Monty’s eyelids fluttered, flickered again and opened. Marianne let out a cry. Monty tried to focus; he looked from one to the other.

  “Ha, ha, there he is, bet you’ve got one hell of a headache, haven’t you boy?” Ryan asked him, holding a paw in his hand. Monty’s tail gave one thump against the table.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Marianne repeated, dropping her head on Ryan’s chest with relief.

  Ryan tried to wrap his arms around them both, forgetting his arm was still in a sling. “Ow!” he winced.

  “Don’t start looking for attention now Monty’s on the mend, your arm’s only broken, don’t make a big deal out of it,” she teased, squeezing his good arm affectionately, her smile brighter than the sun shining through the windows onto them.

  The excitement in Maguire’s that evening was building to a crescendo. Not only had Monty come round enough to attempt a wobbly sit-up on Marianne’s knee, Brian had proposed to Miss MacReady in the village gift shop that very afternoon, buying her a souvenir sliver Claddagh ring with a moonstone in the heart of it, promising to replace it with a diamond from Tiffany’s as soon as he could.