Shane McLinnie meant to do Zachariah harm; perhaps even her too? Or worse than anything, their baby? All these months of silent intimidation had been building up to something, and she was surprised and even a little shocked at the depth of her loathing for Annie’s son.
It had been there for some time and she could pinpoint the exact moment that contempt and dislike had hardened to hatred. Since that moment on New Year’s Eve when she had looked into Shane’s contorted face she hadn’t known real peace. And it had got worse since Erik had been born. Every time she contemplated that tiny face which was such a perfect miniature of his handsome father, she felt a fierce protectiveness that made her heart gallop. She would kill anyone who tried to hurt their child, she would, and without a moment’s hesitation. But handled right, this could end without any bloodshed.
Alec was right in so much as you couldn’t frighten Shane, and he wouldn’t be stopped with a beating either - even the kind that Alec had in mind - so that left only one option as far as Rosie could see, because the man who had spat his venom at them on New Year’s Eve was beyond reasoning with. He always had been.
Several miles away, Annie was saying exactly the same thing. ‘You’re beyond talkin’ to, that’s the truth of it. I dinna understand you, even if you are me own.’
Shane was sitting at the kitchen table stolidly eating his evening meal. The others had had theirs long ago and left the house for some meeting or other in support of the latest strike at the steelworks; Annie wasn’t sure where, or even what it was all about. He didn’t bother to raise his head as his mother finished speaking. ‘No? Well I shan’t lose too much sleep over that.’
Annie stood looking down at the fair head of her youngest and a surge of terrifying emotion filled her, causing her to turn quickly before she gave way to it. How could you love someone and hate them at the same time? Was it possible? And then the voice was harsh in her head as it said, Don’t ask the road you know. Oh, dear God, dear Lord, help me. Father Bell promised me You would and You have, You have. Don’t stop now when I need You most. He means to do that little lassie and her family some mischief . . .
She heard the sound of a plate being pushed across the wooden table and then Shane’s voice saying, ‘I’m ready for me puddin’.’
Normally she would jump to - he was the only one in regular employment and as such could reasonably demand that his meal be on the table whatever time of the day or night he came home - but this night the pain in her stomach was worse, added to which she knew she had to speak. And so she swung round and reached for the empty plate, picking it up before she said, ‘I’m gonna ask you one more time. What did that dockside scum want with you the other night?’
‘An’ I’ll tell you one more time, it’s nowt to do with you.’
‘I’ll tell yer da an’ the lads--’
‘Me da an’ the lads?’ He parroted her words with sudden viciousness and in the moment it took for her to take a step backwards he had risen so quickly his chair went skidding across the stone-flagged floor to crash against the far wall. ‘How many times have I heard that, Mam? Your da an’ the lads? An’ do you know what you always say when you’re talkin’ about us, all of us? “Our Arthur, the lads an’ Shane.” Or sometimes, “the lads an’ Shane”. I used to think it was because I was the youngest, but I dinna any more.’
‘I dinna know what you’re on about.’ Annie had backed up against the range now, she could feel fierce heat against her back, but still he advanced. Did she say that? And all these years he’d never let on what he’d been thinking.
‘I’m on about me bein’ different, that’s what I’m on about,’ he ground out through clenched teeth, his face a mottled red. ‘You, you’ve always seen to it I’m different, haven’t you. Right from when I was a bairn you’ve seen to it. “The lads an’ Shane.” ’
Annie could feel the skin on the back of her elbows where her sleeves were rolled up beginning to singe, but she didn’t dare move. He was right in front of her, his face an inch or so away from hers as he bent over her, and it was like that he said, ‘Me da’s never made me feel like you do, not once.’
Maybe if he hadn’t been looking directly into her eyes, or perhaps if she had had some warning of what he was going to say she could have prepared herself, but as she felt the words register in her eyes she saw his gaze tighten and she knew he must have noticed her reaction.
‘What?’ He took her arm, and now she actually cried out as he shook her so that her teeth rattled. ‘Why did you look like that?’ And then suddenly she was free, and he had taken a step backwards as he stared at her without speaking and she stared back.
‘No, I dinna believe it,’ he said at last.
‘What?’ His voice had been frightening.
‘Not a great fat piece like you.’
‘What are you on about?’ But she knew what he meant and she also knew she had to deny it and keep on denying it if she was going to live to see another day. There was murder in his eyes.
‘If I thought . . .’ His voice trailed away and then he said, ‘The wrong side of the blanket, aye, that’d explain a lot.’
‘What are you sayin’?’ And then, as though the import of his words had only just hit home, she bellowed, ‘You dirty-minded devil! If I live an’ breathe! For one of me own . . . I can’t believe what I’m hearin’! Get out of me house with your foul thinkin’!’
It seemed to take him aback for a moment, but then he said, very slowly, ‘If I thought you’d done that I’d strangle you with me bare hands, aye, an’ take pleasure in it.’
Annie’s eyes were stretched wide now but there was no time for fear. She had to convince him, she had to, she didn’t dare to contemplate anything else. She drew in a sharp intake of breath, and then, bending towards him and her voice low but weighty, she said, ‘Lad, if you think that for one minute you can get out of me house an’ stay out. I never thought to see the day when I’d turn one of me own out on the street, but so help me, I will. I’ve not had much in me life, an’ God’s me witness to that, but I’ve me pride. Aye, I’ve me pride.’
Again they were staring at each other and she could almost see his brain assimilating what she had said, probing, questioning. He was no fool, her Shane - hadn’t his father been one of the craftiest so-and-sos who ever walked God’s good earth? - so she had to force herself not to sink to the floor in relief when his eyes flickered twice and he said, ‘All right, all right, don’t take on.’
‘Don’t take on?’ She felt the blood rushing over her face and her body in a great flood and prayed he would think it was with fury, and now her voice was high as she said, ‘Don’t take on? Do you know what you just said to your own mam?’
And then she had to warn herself not to overdo the indignation because his gaze narrowed on her hot face and his voice was very cold, and not at all penitent as he said, ‘Aye, like I said, don’t take on. Likely I was wrong, we all make mistakes, but I tell you one thing--’ And now he paused deliberately for some long seconds, his eyes telling her something she had been trying to hide from herself for years - that her son, her own son, didn’t like her - before he continued, ‘You an’ me are gonna have to have a long talk sometime soon, Mam. Aye, a long talk.’
She knew she should have come back with something sharp but for the life of her it was all she could do not to collapse into a chair, and then he had turned and was gone, and she was left shaking from head to foot until the pain in her stomach became so bad she stumbled into the scullery and was sick into the deep stone sink.
The next morning Rosie awoke very early, and by the time Zachariah was awake Erik had been bathed and fed and was back in his cot fast asleep.
‘You’re sprightly this mornin’, lass.’ Zachariah sniffed appreciatively at the bacon and eggs Rosie placed in front of him as he sat down at the kitchen table.
‘I need to go into town for a few things for Erik. He’ll sleep till mid-morning now and I’ll be back before lunchtime if I catch the nine o’
clock tram.’
‘No hurry, lass, you take your time an’ browse a bit if you’ve a mind, you know me an’ him will get along just fine.’
When Rosie arrived in the East End she made for West Wear Street, just off East Cross Street, where the police station was situated. Her heart was in her mouth as she approached the building, passing the terraced houses that stretched down the street without even seeing the children playing on the narrow pavements as she rehearsed what she was going to say for the umpteenth time.
She knew whom she was going to ask for - Constable Browning, the policeman who had dealt with Molly’s first disappearance years before. Although she had only spoken with the ruddy-faced middle-aged man a few times he had been both sympathetic and friendly, and she felt it was something of a link, however tenuous.
When Rosie entered the arched doorway of the building she stood for a moment or two before proceeding to the reception area where a young policeman asked her her business.
‘Constable Browning?’ He stared at her as he wondered what this young pretty lass wanted with his colleague. ‘Aye, I’ll see if he’s about, lass. You come and wait in here and I’ll see what I can do.’
She was guided into a small room which had a bench attached to one wall and a wooden table and two chairs set in front of a barred window. The bars brought her stomach churning but she sat down quietly on the bench, her hands in her lap and her face composed, and then the door closed behind her and she was alone. It was a minute or two before it opened again and Constable Browning entered.
‘You want to see me, lass?’ She had given her name to the young policeman but now, when Constable Browning said, ‘Price? You weren’t Price the last time we met, were you, lass?’ she realized he couldn’t have recognized it.
‘Oh no, no, how silly of me. I got married. You knew me as Ferry? You came to the house when my sister . . . got lost.’
If Constable Browning noticed the moment of hesitation he did not comment on it. ‘Aye, I remember. Well, what can I do for you this time, lass?’
Where to begin? Rosie stared into the kind blue eyes somewhat helplessly as her mind raced, and then she spoke her thoughts as she said, ‘I really don’t know where to start.’
Constable Browning looked at her for a second before walking across to the middle of the room and picking up one of the chairs. He placed it in front of the bench where Rosie was sitting and as he sat down he said, ‘You take all the time you need, lass, and start right at the beginning, eh?’
Rosie told him it all, starting with Sam’s warning to her when she had been a young bairn and finishing with the conversation she had overheard between Alec and Zachariah the night before, although she left out the unlawful suggestions Alec had made pertaining to Shane’s future. Neither did she think it prudent to reveal Alec’s name.
‘Aye, well I can see why you were a mite worried, lass.’ Constable Browning settled back in his seat as she finished talking and surveyed her through half-closed eyes as he shook his head slowly. ‘And you did the right thing in coming here if only half of what you tell me is true. And you’re sure this man, this Shane McLinnie, has been dealing with the Gallaghers?’
She had noticed him sit up straighter when she had first mentioned the name, and now she nodded firmly. ‘Quite sure.’ The name was obviously known to the Sunderland police. ‘And even this man my husband was talking to seemed to think the Gallaghers were the lowest of the low.’
‘He’s right an’ all, lass, and the fewer of their lackeys we have around here the better for all decent folk.’ There was a moment’s silence before the constable jumped to his feet saying, ‘You wait here a minute while I get the sergeant, and then you tell him everything you’ve just told me. All right?’
Rosie nodded.
‘And don’t you be frightened of Sergeant Musgrave, he looks a bit grim but he’s a good bloke.’
She nodded again. Sergeant Musgrave wouldn’t frighten her. There was only one man she feared, and with good reason. It would be stupid for her to assume she was invincible, especially against a man who knew no boundaries of right or wrong and would stop at nothing to accomplish his ends.
Sergeant Musgrave was a slightly older version of Constable Browning, and once Rosie had convinced him it was useless to try to reason with Zachariah, and that her husband would only call off his visit to Gateshead and arrange something else at a different time with his informant if he caught wind of any police involvement, he listened to her without interrupting. ‘And you’re sure you don’t know the name of this man who is going to help your husband?’ There was a long moment of silence, and the sergeant’s face was grim. ‘Think on, lass.’
‘No. No I don’t.’
‘Pity.’ And when Rosie made no comment: ‘In a case like this well-meaning friends can be more of a hindrance than a help.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
He wasn’t going to draw her out, and he must have realized this because his manner became more crisp and businesslike as he made a note of names, times and other details pertaining to the following night.
It was almost eleven o’clock when Rosie left the police station but she still couldn’t buy what she needed to convince Zachariah she had been shopping. The real business of the morning wasn’t finished, not by a long chalk, she thought grimly as she set off for the waterfront.
Very little surprised Alec Piper, but his mouth was agape as he listened to his friend’s wife some thirty minutes later.
For her part Rosie had been taut with nerves as she had picked her way along the quayside in search of Alec’s place, but she had found the building without mishap and although she had nearly jumped out of her skin when Alec’s guard dogs - two massive brutes which resembled wolves - had all but torn the door apart at her knock, she had kept her composure, even if her heart had pounded like a drum.
As she finished speaking Rosie was aware of two things simultaneously: one, Alec was looking at her with more than a modicum of respect, and two, he hadn’t altogether liked what she had related.
‘You’ve got the polis in? Well, there’s no way my lads will show their faces with the law sniffin’ about, lass.’
‘They will if you tell them to, Alec. We both know that.’
Alec stared at the slim young woman in front of him, and it came to him that in spite of her delicate loveliness she was tougher than most of the men he knew; but it was her unconscious charm that was the real killer. And this was confirmed when she reached out and gripped one of his hands in the next instant as she said, ‘You’re Zachariah’s friend and I know you’ve helped us before, and I’m grateful, very grateful, but this is even more important, Alec. You heard Zachariah last night, he won’t change his mind and he thinks he can stop Shane.’
‘An’ you don’t think he can?’
‘I know he can’t.’
They were in a large room on the second floor of the three-storey building, and although the room was furnished in the manner of a sitting room there were numerous boxes and casks and sacks stacked all around its walls, the contents of which Rosie wouldn’t have wanted to hazard a guess at. ‘Aye, well I’d have to agree with you on that, lass, but I’ve never had no truck with the polis afore. We sort out our own problems in this neck of the woods, an’ it goes agen the grain to do the law a favour.’
‘You aren’t, not really; only Zachariah.’ Rosie’s voice was quiet as she released his hand and walked across to the grimy window from which only a patch of blue sky was visible. Funnily enough this was the second window today she had seen with bars. The irony of it would have made her smile in different circumstances. She turned to face Alec, who was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes hard on her, and said, ‘I love my husband, Alec. I love him very much, and the only way we will ever know any peace of mind is for Shane McLinnie to be locked away for long enough for us to make a new life, far from here. It’s not enough that he might be arrested tomorrow for attacking Zachariah, he’d be out in no time,
but if something was found on him when the police take him in . . . That would be a different story.’
‘Meaning . . . ?’
Rosie sat down on a hardbacked chair to one side of the window feeling in need of its support, but she was taut on the edge of the seat as she continued: ‘Something to do with his dealings with the Gallaghers. There is going to be a fight, isn’t there, we know that, and he wouldn’t feel something being slipped into his pocket.’
Alec let his breath out between his blackened teeth in a slow hiss. ‘If this goes wrong an’ the Gallaghers get involved--’
‘It won’t go wrong, Alec, I promise. If some of the stuff Shane is dealing in could be used against him I’d say that was poetic justice, wouldn’t you? And you know the type of man he is, you’d be doing the world a favour.’
‘An’ you think I could get somethin’, is that it?’
‘Alec, I think you could get the crown jewels if you wanted to.’
When Rosie saw the slow smile on his face she knew she was winning, and his voice reflected this when he said, ‘A bit of butterin’ up works wonders, eh, lass? Aye, well I did hear of a job recently that caused a few red faces among some of Sunderland’s finest. Seems Mr Farley, him that lives in Farley Hall an’ is a magistrate an’ close friend of the chief constable? Well, it seems his mansion was robbed an’ his lady wife’s jewellery went missin’. Beautiful pieces some of ’em, so I understand, an’ naturally they’d be inclined to throw the book at the so-an’-sos that did the wicked deed, if they could catch ’em, that is. If somethin’ from that little haul was found about McLinnie’s person . . . Now, just supposin’ that comes to pass, do I take it you don’t want Zac knowin’ owt aforehand?’
‘You know him, he’s as stubborn as a mule at times. He won’t agree to this.’
Reach for Tomorrow Page 33