Suddenly, they stood outside her house. Hardly any words had crossed between them, but at the door, as he turned to go, she asked him in. He stood for a moment, his head down. She reached out, fingertips brushing his arm. “Just for a minute,” she said quietly. “Please.”
She held the door open for him, not knowing what might happen, but knowing the air needed to be cleared. David had to understand that life was hard, impossibly hard. Being friends, snatching a few secret moments, that was all well and good, but that was all it could ever be.
He squeezed past her and she felt his body, causing a thrill like an electric shock to run through her. They stood in the hallway, the only sound their breathing. Fast. David looked up and then she felt it all just peel away, all those layers of doubt, questions, confusion. Fear. She stepped forward, hands touching his chest. A tiny sigh and suddenly they kissed.
All the pent-up passion rushed out, the flood gates open at last, and neither seemed able to help themselves. His arms were strong and muscular, the flatness of his stomach, the tautness of his thighs. Youthful, tough and so desirable. Why had she resisted, why had she kept her feelings buried so deep?
They went upstairs and she fell onto the bed. He was kissing her more urgently now, across her throat, down to her breasts. She lay back, overwhelmed by it all, not thinking, just letting it happen. His hands plunged inside her blouse, fingers groping around, urgent, desperate to release her from her clothing and she helped him with her bra. How wanton she felt, how deliciously open. He kissed her on the mouth, his tongue exploring inside and then he sat back and pulled off his trousers and she saw him.
“Oh my God…” she gasped and closed her eyes as he fell onto her again, her skirt torn away, underwear now just a memory and she gasped again as he went into her and she was lost.
“You seem happy.”
Mary looked back from the sink, frowning. “Just been a good day, that's all. You?”
Frank shrugged and sat down, sighing loudly. “Like any other. What's for tea?”
“Scouse. Your favourite.”
“Christ, we haven't had that for ages. What's the occasion?”
She shrugged, went up to him and leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. “Just thought you deserved it, that's all.”
Frank looked up at her frowning. Mary just smiled and went back to the sink, singing softly as she did so. Life had suddenly become a lot more bearable.
But, as with everything in life, the bubble always bursts. And this particular one was destroyed in the most violent fashion. Neither of them knew about it of course, not until his key was in the door. Those dreadful few seconds of disbelief. The look that flashed between them. The terror.
It was a Friday. Mary had manipulated things so that Gran could take Matthew 'just for a couple of hours' whilst she caught up with some household things. And as it was Friday, David was home early. The house was theirs, and two hours was more than enough. By now they didn't need to rush, everything so gloriously slow, especially the feel of him. She glowed and purred. He was so gentle, so considerate of her needs, bringing her to the peak of satisfaction over and over. She wallowed in him, melded her limbs to his, wrapping herself in the sumptuousness of those moments.
And then Frank came home.
Why he came home at that moment she never discovered. Had someone said something? Perhaps it was his mother, suspicious, guessing that something wasn't quite right. But Mary had never given any reasons for such a reaction. She had been so careful. Frank, too, had never so much as given her a look. No, it must have been pure coincidence.
Whatever it was, David had barely pulled up the zip of his trousers when Frank came through the door. For a second, the world stood still. Mary sat on the edge of the bed, grappling with her bra. She pulled up the bed clothes instinctively, eyes wide and wild. Frank stood transfixed, not really understanding what he was seeing, not daring to believe any of it. Three people, caught in time, none of them knowing what to do or say.
From where she sat everything appeared in slow motion. Frank's reaction, when it came, like a bear awakening from hibernation, disturbed in its cave. He bellowed, rushing forward, his hands outstretched. He rugby tackled David around the waist and they both fell crashing against the dressing table, David crying out as the edge jarred into the small of his back, stunning him momentarily. Quickly recovering, he brought both his fists together in a heavy hammer-blow delivered to the back of Frank's neck. Frank grunted, fell forward onto his knees, his grip released. David swung his knee up hard under Frank's chin, lifting him into the air. As Frank fell backwards, David also fell, his hands holding onto his back, his face screwed up with pain.
Mary screamed. Frank, he was on his feet already, the blood dripping from his mouth, but his eyes filled with fire. Fists bunched, he charged again. But this time David was ready and, from his kneeling position, he launched himself into Frank's midriff and they both went down, fists flaying, a mad tangle of twisted limbs. Mary was out of the bed, screaming, pleading with them to stop as they rolled around the floor, first Frank on top, then David. She was beside herself, not knowing what to do, so she pulled at her hair and stood on the bed, the tears pouring down her face. Frank was like something possessed, screeching like a banshee, cursing and swearing repeatedly, trying to find the knockout blow. Mary had no doubts, having felt the force of Frank's fists on so many occasions, that he would prevail. David was too young, too inexperienced. His body was slim and lithe, where Frank's was larger, stronger. It was only going to be as matter of time. And then what would happen, with David laid out on the floor, what would Frank do then? To her? The thought terrified her.
A left jab as they got to their feet, a head knocked back, then a right cross, superbly delivered. Another left, hard into the midriff, followed by the same left cracking into the temple, and another right cross. It was almost like a boxing match. Well-placed blows, superbly timed, delivered with enormous power. The results of hours and hours in the gym, toning the body and the mind. Accuracy and finesses, overcoming uncontrolled aggression. That's what the trainer always said, 'Never lose your temper. Once you do that, you're dead. Keep focused, wait, and then, when the opening occurs, strike!' And he did, the final left hook hitting the mass of nerves just below the ear and the lights went out.
Frank hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, crumpling into unconsciousness, his nose smacking against the carpet with a sickening snap, the blood leaking out instantly.
Mary stopped, hands against her mouth, hardly daring to believe what she witnessed. David stood there, bent double, breathing hard, one hand clamped against his back. He put his other hand out to steady himself, but he missed the side of the bed, lost balance and fell to his knees. Mary jumped over to him, holding him, pressing her face into his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.
It was over. All of it. Not just the fight, but the snatched afternoons, the visits to Vale Park, the wonderful moments in bed together. All of it, destroyed in a few short minutes. When Frank finally came round, what would he do, what would he say? And Matthew? What was to happen? Life had been ripped violently apart into shreds and there was no way it could ever be put back again. So she held onto him, not wanting him to go, not wanting it to end. Not yet, not just yet.
“Christ Mary…” He pushed himself away, wincing as he got to his feet. He looked down at Frank's inert body, pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, rattling breath. “Christ…”
She tenderly led him over to the bed. “Lie down, on your front.”
He did so, happy to let her cool fingers examine the growing bruise across his back. “Don't move,” she said and ran downstairs to the part of the kitchen where she kept the medicines. She came back up at a rush. Frank still lay there, but she couldn't give a damn about him. Sploshing witch hazel onto a piece of lint, she gently dabbed at David's rapidly expanding bruise. He gasped, arching his back as she applied the liquid. “Just lie there,” she said, kissing his neck, “you'll be all
right.”
“Will I?”
“Of course you will. My God, David. I never believed I'd see anyone do that to Frank. How—”
“I box,” he said simply. “I've been boxing since I was seven years of age.”
“You box?” She almost laughed. She obviously knew there was something; he was superbly muscled, his body taut and lean. But his face, there wasn't a mark. None of those tell-tale signs, the flattened nose, the heavy, thick eyebrows. “I never realized.”
“Charlie, my trainer, says I'm good. Taught me everything I know. He boxed for Scotland in the national championships, before the War. Tough as old boots he is. God, he's going to murder me when he hears about this.”
“Murder…?” The word sent a shock wave through her body. Because that was something she knew Frank would be capable of when he finally came round. David rolled over, grinning up at her. His torso was heavy with perspiration and she ran her hands over his chest, feeling the hardened muscles there. “You were amazing.” She looked back at her unconscious husband. “Is he going to be all right?”
“I hope so. Is he still breathing?”
“God, don't say that.”
“Why? Isn't it what you want? To be free of him?”
“Yes, but not like this…God, what the hell are we going to do?”
“I don't know.” He held her arms and slowly sat up, bending forward to kiss her. “One thing's for sure, you can't stay here. Get a bag, pack it with whatever you need, then you can come and stay with me until we figure out what we're going to do.”
But doing that was going to be a long and fraught process, one which might never give them the ending they both yearned for. To be together.
12
On the same morning that Brian Randall received his package, brought to him by a sneering prison warder, Larry took Jed to one side and sat him down in the lounge, a cup of tea in front of him.
“That story Mat told us,” Larry Meres said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, “it got me to thinking.”
“About what?”
“Stuff. Honesty. Being honest.”
“I don't get you, Dad. What are you talking about? Don't you think Matthew was telling us the truth about what happened, is that it?”
“No, not him, Jed. Me. I want to be honest about me.”
“Now I'm really confused.” Jed took a sip of his tea and made a face. “No sugar!”
“Sorry.” It was a welcome pause and Larry went off into the kitchen to get some sugar. He leaned against the sink for a moment, wondering if he was about to do the right thing and sorted it out in his head how best to proceed. He felt like a blind man stumbling down a darkened tunnel, hopelessly lost.
“Dad?”
Larry jumped and turned around. He smiled, handed over the sugar bowl. “Sorry.”
“What's wrong, Dad?” Jed heaped in three spoonfuls. “Has it got anything to do with me going back to school on Monday?”
“No.” Larry sat down and gestured for his son to follow. “I just need you to sit there, listen for a moment and – and try not to judge me too harshly.”
“Huh?”
“Look, this isn't easy, so I'll just come right out with it.” He took a breath. “You know that woman who lives around the corner. Mrs Randall.”
Jed frowned. “Yeah.”
“She's – well, she's attractive, wouldn't you say?”
Jed sat back. “I've never really noticed.”
“No? Well, trust me, she is. Very.”
“I met her son. Brian. He was inside with me, in Risley.”
“Ah, yes…of course. Well, it was whilst you were inside that it happened.”
“What?”
Larry took in a deep breath, head down, staring at the tea, conscious of Jed's eyes boring into him. This was it, the moment. Time to bite the bullet. “I slept with her.”
Brian Randall sat on the edge of his bunk, fingering the photographs in his hand. There was no note, just six photographs, very clear, well focused. They were of his mother and a man, a man he vaguely recognised, both of them locked together in various stages of undress. As he sat, he wondered why anyone would send them to him. She lived her own life, had admirers, but nobody serious, not since Sullivan. And the man in the photograph was not Detective Sullivan, that was for sure. He'd confronted her about the policeman, shocked and disgusted as he was. She didn't say much, offering up no reasons, no explanations. In the end, he put to the back of his mind. And now these. A series of lewd photographs of two middle-aged people having sex. He turned one of them over and thought for a moment. What was the point?
It was the third one that had the name written on it, in thick felt-tip: MERES.
Here was the reason.
Brian looked at the face of the man again, contorted as it was in ecstasy and recognised him. Jed Mere's father.
“I can understand why you're upset, and I'm sorry.”
Jed Sat, unable to think straight, stunned by his dad's revelations. The past few days had flashed by in a sort of hazy, otherworldliness, difficult enough to understand let alone this. His anger boiled, at everyone. Matthew alone revealed the secrets of his family. So he sat and he looked but said not a word.
“At least say something.”
Shrugging, Jed folded his arms, “I'm not upset, dad. Surprised, maybe even shocked, but not upset.” Looking at his dad, the anger slipped away. Dad had lost everything and each unearthed piece of information about Mum forced him to revaluate his feelings for the woman he thought he knew “Are you going to see her again? I mean, is this the start of a new relationship?”
Larry let his head drop. “No, Jed. It was – it was nothing more than a brief and very stupid fling. It was over before it began.”
“So why tell me? Why now?”
“After today, after what Matthew told us, I thought it for honesty and openness. About everything.”
“Everything? I'm not sure if I want to know everything, dad.”
“Everything to do with us, don't you think? Too many unspoken things have gone on, too much hiding in dark corners, frightened of the truth. I wanted you to know before you heard it from someone else. I didn't want you to be on the receiving end of someone's vicious attempt at hurting us. I think we've both been hurt enough.”
Jed stood up, leaving his tea, went upstairs to his room and flopped down on his bed. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to keep his mind blank, letting the moments drift by, emptying his head.
From a hundred miles away or more, the telephone rang. He didn't stir. It was only when his dad called out who it was that Jed sat bolt upright in his bed, suddenly very alert.
It was Jon Kepowski.
13
They arranged to meet by the lake, where Jed had rescued Jon from the icy depths all that time ago. Coming round the corner, it seemed like a very different place, the frost having retreated, snowdrops sprouting. Elderly couples drifted by, mothers pushed prams. Spring was in the air, lightening everyone's mood.
All except for Jed.
“Jed!”
He looked up and saw Jon Kepowski, waving furiously. He appeared healthier, less gaunt. His eyes still burned with the same intensity Jed had first noticed in the hospital. Strangely hypnotic, those eyes drew him in, causing Jed's heart to beat faster, bringing such a rush of emotion he struggled to stop himself from flinging his arms around him.
But as they drew closer, Jed noticed the same ghastly grey pallor and suddenly he was in anguish.
“God, you look awful,” Jed said without thinking.
“Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself.”
“I'm sorry, I mean—”
Jon held up his hand, grinning broadly, his cheekbones prominent beneath the rice-paper skin, the teeth like piano keys, far too large for such a thin mouth. “How have you been?” He hugged Jed without preamble, sending a surge of warmth over him, causing his knees to weaken. Gripping his newfound friend's thin, yet well-muscled arms, Jed beamed, realisin
g nothing else mattered, except being close to his friend. Safe at last.
“I'm fine,” Jed gasped.
Jon held him at arm's reach and looked him straight into the eyes. Jed felt as if he was being spun round in a wild, flamboyant dance, losing control, head whirling, becoming giddy, out of control. From somewhere a voice, calm and soothing, spoke to him, the words indistinct, yet wrapping him in a warm blanket of well-being. He never wanted this moment to end.
Slowly, he grew aware of Jon talking and everything was back as it was. “Come and sit down,” said Jon. He took Jed by the elbow, he steered him towards a park bench. “Now, tell me all about this police nonsense.”
Jed shook his head, still recovering from what had happened, breathless and confused. “Police nonsense?”
“They interviewed you.”
“Ah, yes. It was nothing – I lost my temper, took a few swings—”
“No, I meant about this nurse girl. The one they found murdered behind the library. Do they think you did it?”
“God, I hope not.”
“But they took you in for questioning?”
“Yeah, but they released me…although I'm still a suspect, apparently.”
“I see. Then you hit a couple of policemen and found yourself in remand. Why did they let you go?”
This was like being back in the police interview room. Jed shifted uncomfortably, “They said…they said that there were mitigating circumstances – that because of what happened I wasn't responsible for my actions.”
“With your mum leaving?”
“That's right.” How did he know all this? Who had he been speaking to, and why all these questions. Jed felt a buzzing like a bee in his head. He pressed his knuckles against his temples, trying to ease the increasing pressure. “I don't feel too good.”
“No, I know, but it's all right.” He squeezed Jed's hand, just as he had in the hospital and Jed felt instantly relaxed. “So, they let you go. Just like that. You did a deal with them, is that it?”
Splintered Ice Page 9