The Edge of Sanity

by Sheryl Browne

  Jo offered her a small smile. ‘Take the coat off, Kayla,’ she urged her. ‘It’s sweltering.’ Jo wrapped an arm around Kayla’s shoulders and the two walked on ahead of Steve. ‘The tee-shirt’s plenty baggy enough, hon.’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ Kayla shook her head adamantly. No way was the coat coming off. She’d expire first.

  Jo sighed and handed her the bottle of water she’d bought from the boat.

  Kayla took a grateful swig, and then indicated Steve behind them.

  Jo nodded.

  Kayla nodded in turn, and passed the water to Steve, who was sweating like a pig in the heat.

  ****

  Half an hour later, Jo heaved the windlass to a position where she could better use her bodyweight to open the paddles.

  ‘Ugh!’ She groaned with exertion, but still the mechanism refused to budge.

  ‘Here, let me,’ Steve said, hastening back from the top gate to assist.

  ‘Blimey, it really is stuck, isn’t it?’ He wiped his forearm across his sweat-beaded brow. ‘And people do this for fun? Must be mental,’ he grumbled, and applied his thickset frame to the task again.

  Jo stood back, grateful for his assistance, but tempted to kick his big bulk into the lock, nevertheless. She looked across to Kayla who, struggling with the paddle on the other side of the lock, looked as if she might succumb to heat exhaustion any minute.

  Dammit, she needed to get that waterproof off, before she passed out.

  Jo decided to lead by example and remove her own sweatshirt, which she’d kept on over her tee-shirt, for much the same reason Kayla had kept on her coat.

  Jo clutched at the tails of the sweatshirt and hoisted it mid-waist.

  Then tugged it up, over her head.

  And Daniel reeled on his feet.

  He watched, his heart constricting in his chest, as the psycho’s eyes slid appreciatively over the flat of Jo’s stomach, then lingered over the soft curve of her breasts.

  Jesus, Jo, don’t … Daniel willed her not to, as she reached up to gather her hair into an unruly knot, revealing two inches of flesh between her jeans and tee-shirt, which Charlie wasn’t slow to notice.

  Christ. Daniel prayed hard, his resolve to try and remain detached whatever damage was inflicted on him, dissolving.

  ‘Don’t even consider it,’ he grated, as Charlie turned to give him a slow, but meaningful smirk.

  ‘Yerwhat?’ Charlie blinked, feigning surprise. ‘Blimey, it speaks.’

  ‘If you lay so much as a finger on her,’ Daniel said, a warning edge to his voice, ‘you’re—’

  ‘What!?’ Charlie, who’d been ledged on the rail at the back, shot to his feet. ‘What, am I, hey, Danny Boy? Dead, is it?’

  Daniel didn’t answer, but he kept his eyes locked on Charlie’s.

  ‘Because this …’ Charlie snarled, aiming his sawn-off ‘ … says you are, if you don’t watch your lip. And don’t bloody eyeball me either!’ He gave Daniel a poke in the shoulder. ‘Got it!?’

  Daniel held his gaze. He wasn’t so sure he could hold his temper.

  ‘I do what I want, and who I want, if I want,’ Charlie said, his voice low and menacing as Daniel kept right on looking at him. ‘And if you don’t do what I want, I just might do you, Danny Boy. Get my drift?’

  ‘I see you do.’ Charlie laughed as Daniel looked away, disgusted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  DI Short patted his rumbling stomach, eased himself into his car and chewed hungrily on an indigestion pill. Where the hell was the little scumbag, he thought agitatedly. They’d trawled a net over the city, but Charlie had slipped through it. The visit to the local schools had produced nothing but bittersweet memories of blissful youth. Hours he’d sat on school chairs, and all he’d got for his efforts was a pain in the backside, which was exactly what Charlie Roberts was.

  DI Short was feeling miffed. One way or another, he was going to find Charlie, bang him up, and rid the world of that parasitic little lowlife.

  If he had the slightest clue where to start looking next, that was.

  More legwork was called for, he supposed. DI Short blinked bleary eyes in the rear view mirror and started the engine. Charlie hadn’t been hospitalised or died of an overdose, more was the pity. DI Short had done the rounds. No Charlie Roberts, or aliases answering the description, taking up bed space better reserved for human beings.

  He was out there. And if it took a fortnight of no sleep and a high cholesterol diet, DI Short would find him.

  ****

  Jo stopped dead. An arm extended to prevent Kayla venturing further, she stared, disbelieving.

  Charlie was sitting on the back of the boat, carefully drawing gloop from a spoon into a syringe. He eyed her disinterestedly, calmly tightened the band around his arm, tapped up a vein, and injected. Right there in broad daylight, and in front of her daughter, the sick animal.

  Jo steeled herself and stepped on board ahead of Steve. ‘Where’s Daniel?’ she asked.

  Charlie didn’t answer.

  ‘What you doin’?’ Steve bowled past Jo, incredulous. ‘You freakin’ lunatic.’ He snatched up the syringe and tossed it into the canal. ‘You’ll screw everything up, injecting that stuff.’

  ‘Oh, man, lighten up.’ Charlie smiled languidly, obviously succumbing to whatever he’d injected. ‘I’m on top of it, okay?’ He tightened his grip around the gun, and settled back on deck, looking for all the world as if he were on holiday, about to soak up the sun.

  ‘Dickhead,’ Steve muttered, as Jo squeezed past him into the boat, closely followed by Kayla.

  ‘Daniel?’ Jo called apprehensively, walking the length of the boat to the bathroom—to find Daniel clutching the sides of the sink.

  ‘Daniel …!’ Oh, God. Jo stepped hastily inside. He was bleeding. ‘The bastard!’ Her heart constricted as she realised Daniel was actually spitting blood.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Daniel ran the cold tap full force and shakily splashed water over his face. ‘I’m okay,’ he insisted, glancing past Jo to where Kayla was standing, ashen-faced outside the door.

  Jo got the message and turned to usher Kayla away, but she’d already fled, to crawl into the side berth and curl up like a ball. Jo squeezed into the small space beside her, placed an arm around her daughter, tried to still her rocking to and fro, and found herself rocking silently with her.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ Kayla murmured.

  Jo pulled her close, stroking her hair. Something she hadn’t done in a long time. She wiped away a tear as Daniel came from the bathroom.

  He gave her a reassuring nod, trying to indicate he really was all right, Jo knew. She didn’t need the dark shadows in his eyes to tell her he was anything but.

  ‘Another shirt bites the dust.’ Daniel managed a smile, but winced as he bent to retrieve a clean one from Jo’s hastily packed supply.

  Turning away, he peeled off his shirt, then quickly tugged on the new one. But not before Jo glimpsed the ugly blue-black map adorning his side. She turned her gaze to where Charlie descended the steps stern-end, grinning inanely, but still clutching his gun, and Steve close behind him. What would he be without the gun? Nothing. Take away his courage and his loathsome drugs and he’d crawl on the floor like the vermin he was.

  She encouraged Kayla to snuggle down into the berth, pulling the duvet over her and hoping she might drift off, then made her way carefully to where Steve stood, dragging a hand over his silly shaved head.

  Jo faced him full on. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked bluntly. She’d had a bellyful of tiptoeing around.

  Steve looked blank, then embarrassed, then down.

  ‘Why are you letting him do this?’ Jo ploughed on, glancing angrily at the animal, slumped comfortably on the sofa in the saloon area. ‘Why don’t you act like a man instead of a little lap-dog and make him stop!?’

  ‘Whoa,’ Charlie slurred, leaning precariously forwards, gun swaying dangerously. ‘Shut your trap. And sit down.’

>   ‘And what if I don’t?’ Jo called his bluff. ‘What are you going to do? Shoot me?’

  ‘Nope.’ Charlie stumbled to his feet, cocked the gun and pointed it at Daniel. ‘I’ll shoot him.’ He shrugged indifferently.

  Jo trailed ice-cold eyes over him. ‘You’re disgusting,’ she spat.

  ‘Oh, am I?’ Charlie swayed unsteadily, and moved towards her, but Daniel moved faster.

  ‘Don’t, Jo!’ he said forcefully, catching hold of her arm, to steer her away as Charlie advanced.

  ‘That’s right, Jo. Don’t,’ Charlie repeated. ‘Be a good little wife and obey your husband. Because you see, every time you don’t,’ he paused, smiled, and then turned the gun around to jab Daniel in the ribs, ‘he gets it.’

  Steve flinched, but Daniel fought hard not to. His fingers dug into Jo’s arm, holding her still.

  Holding himself upright.

  Daniel felt Jo’s arm tense, saw her ball her fist at her side.

  Don’t. Please God don’t, was all he could think, as he waited for the pain to subside.

  Jo raked her hair from her face and nodded. Body language indicating surrender, Daniel knew, but her eyes …? Jo couldn’t help her eyes. They searched the animal’s twisted face, full of loathing.

  ‘And you’ll get yours later, darlin’,’ Charlie assured her. ‘Now, go and do something useful and get some grub.’ He dismissed her with a derisive sneer as he sprawled once again on the sofa.

  ‘Move it!’ he snapped, as Jo walked slowly towards the galley.

  ‘And you, do something with that bleedin’ telly.’ He looked at Daniel, and then nodded at the blank, buzzing screen of the TV he’d flicked on. ‘It’s givin’ me a headache.’

  Daniel raked a hand through his hair. He was fast reaching the limit of his endurance, he knew it. And Jo … Jo stood in the kitchen, her back straight and her hands trembling as she fought to control her emotions and actually cook for the twisted piece of scum.

  Christ. He glanced at Charlie, lolling before him, his eyes hazing over. Could he get hold of that gun before the bastard aimed it, he wondered? Before the troglodyte he’d got in tow, got to him?

  No chance. To try would be suicide when he could barely move and Steve was only three strides away. Daniel ran his hand over his neck, rather than his aching side, and headed for the steps.

  ‘Where’re you goin’?’ Charlie sat bolt upright, trigger finger poised. ‘I told you to move when I said so.’

  ‘You just did,’ Daniel reminded him wearily. ‘The TV?’

  ‘Huh?’ Charlie eyed him quizzically.

  ‘The aerial needs adjusting,’ Daniel pointed out. ‘It’s on top of the boat … where aerials usually are.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Charlie nodded. ‘Do it. And don’t get cocky, or else,’ he warned. ‘Go with him Steve.’

  Steve obliged, reluctantly, Daniel suspected. Contempt on a scale of one-to-ten, the look Steve had just given his mate was a good eleven.

  ‘You all right?’ Steve asked Daniel, as he stepped off the boat.

  Daniel looked at him incredulously. ‘Wonderful,’ he said, shaking his head. He would have laughed, were it not for the pain, and the tilt of the boat forcing him to move too suddenly. He clutched at the hull and tried to take a deep breath, which hurt like hell and had him bent double.

  Steve reached out to steady him. ‘Look, just do as he says and try not to aggravate him,’ he said quietly, when Daniel straightened up.

  ‘Right,’ Daniel said, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He looked Steve over, who appeared to be eyeing the top of Charlie’s head nervously through one of the portholes.

  Well, well, the troglodyte had a conscience, Daniel realised, surprised. ‘Thanks for the advice,’ he said, wondering how he might use what he’d learned. ‘I’ll try to bear it in mind while he’s breaking my ribs.’

  ‘He shouldn’t have done that. No need.’ Steve glanced at Daniel, his look a mixture of embarrassment and sympathy. ‘But like I said, you and the missus need to do as he says. He’s all over the place with the drugs. If he starts getting aggressive, I’ll do my best to try and calm things down. Best I can do.’

  Steve shrugged awkwardly.

  All over the place with or without the drugs, Daniel thought bitterly. The guy was a head-case, end of. He studied Steve for a second, and then nodded. It was small comfort, but comfort nevertheless, to know that his sidekick wasn’t too enamoured of Charlie.

  ****

  Charlie had come up on deck when Daniel and Steve climbed back on board. Sprawled out on deck, more like, a pillow under his head, and sleeping like a baby. Rosemary’s baby, Daniel thought, repulsed by the sight of him, let alone open-mouthed and snoring like a stuck pig.

  Still hiding behind his weapon though, spineless freak.

  Daniel eased past, sorely tempted to try for the gun, but decided against. The psycho had both arms folded across it. He’d probably tighten his grip if he woke with a jolt.

  ‘I’ll have a smoke out here and give you and your missus some space,’ Steve said. ‘I can see straight down the boat, mind, so don’t get any ideas.’ He nodded Daniel down and perched himself on the handrail, lighting a cigarette with the nub of the one he’d just smoked, as he did.

  Jo nodded past Daniel, towards the back doors, as he approached her. ‘Do you think his chain-smoking is a good sign, or a bad one?’

  ‘Not a clue.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘I’m not so sure he’s exactly in love with his mate though.’

  Jo exchanged glances with Daniel. They were on the same page, she knew, both hoping that Steve might crack before they did, and be of some kind of help to them.

  She studied her husband. The pain was etched into his face. And his eyes …? They were wretched with the same impotent anger Jo felt. How well she knew him. Yet seemed not to know him at all.

  ‘How is she?’ Daniel asked after Kayla, who was sleeping, too, albeit fitfully.

  Jo paused in her efforts to prise the lid off the beans. Here she was, pretending normality, while all around them was sheer madness. It was a joke. A cruel, sick joke.

  ‘I don’t know, to be honest.’ She sighed, rubbing her temples with her forefingers. ‘She’s okay, I suppose, given what she’s been through, but she goes into herself every time I try to talk to her about it.’

  ‘Give her some time, Jo. She—’

  ‘Don’t, Dan,’ Jo snapped. ‘You said that before and look where she ended up.’ She eyed him accusingly, and felt sorry immediately. She’d just got through telling Kayla they were dumping the guilt, so what was she going to do with it now? Heap it all on Daniel?

  He’d had enough.

  Dear God, they all had. Jo raked a loose strand of hair from her face and glanced past Daniel to double check the animal was still out of earshot. With him on the back and the TV still on, they at least had a little privacy. ‘Time is not really such a great healer, is it, Dan?’ she offered gently.

  Daniel sighed. ‘No,’ he said, running his hand wearily over his neck.

  ‘She’s frightened, Dan. And I don’t know how to help her.’

  ‘I know how she feels,’ Daniel said quietly, glancing towards the front of the boat where Kayla stirred in her sleep. ‘We let her down.’ He glanced back to Jo. ‘I let her down. I should have been there for her. Been stronger. We have to be there for her now, Jo. Both of us. Somehow.’

  Jo looked at him. She’d heard what he had said and it made sense, apart from one thing. The “I know how she feels” bit. How could he know how Kayla felt? How could anyone know how she felt?

  ‘How Daniel?’ Jo asked, because she had to. ‘How can you know how it feels to be abused and humiliated at the hands of a sadistic bully?’

  Daniel dropped his gaze, seeming to agonise before bringing it back to Jo’s. And in his eyes she saw something bordering on haunted. An uneasy feeling crept through her.

  She glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were still alone and then looked ba
ck to Daniel. ‘Talk to me, Daniel,’ she implored.

  Daniel’s eyes flickered away, then back. ‘My father …’ he started, and faltered.

  ‘The one you haven’t got?’ Jo hazarded.

  ‘Yes, him,’ Daniel said flatly, and looked away. ‘He said she’d been taken by the angels. My mother …’ He stopped again, checking behind him, deliberating, it seemed.

  Jo waited, her heart wrenching for the child who’d lost the woman he’d loved. A little boy, whose fragile young life would depend on hers. This was unexplored territory for Jo. Daniel’s mother died when he was ten. An accident, he had said, always reluctant to offer more, so she hadn’t pressed him. She wished she had.

  Daniel raked his hand through his hair. ‘It wasn’t the angels, Jo,’ he said, at length. ‘It was a bucketful of paracetamol.’

  Jo flinched and reached for his arm, but Daniel turned to gaze out of the window.

  ‘He drank,’ he went on, swallowing hard. ‘A lot. Hit out. Hit her. Made her life a living hell in the end.’

  Jo stepped towards him. ‘And you?’

  Daniel didn’t speak for a moment, and then nodded, a small embarrassed nod.

  And Jo couldn’t even begin to imagine. She shook her head, struggling to assimilate what he had said. Oh, dear God. Finally, painfully, the missing piece of the puzzle that was Daniel locked suddenly, sickeningly into place. She studied his strong profile, looked hard at the little boy in the man, looking into his long-buried past.

  ‘Dan?’ Jo reached for his arm, and found it this time. Gently, she encouraged him to turn around, to come back to the present.

  To look at her.

  Daniel did, eventually, but guardedly, Jo noticed, humiliation hot under the shadows that danced in his eyes. What had he done, his own father, that Daniel had drawn a veil so tightly over his childhood? ‘Talk to me, Daniel,’ she said softly.

  Daniel pulled in a breath and glanced at the ceiling.

  ‘Daniel?’

  ‘I hit back, eventually. Just once. Hurt him; badly. Swore I’d never lose it again.’ Daniel stopped, obviously struggling. ‘Big boys don’t cry, Jo,’ he said simply.

  ‘Little boys do.’ Jo searched his face. A handsome face. A strong, honest face. She’d always known Daniel to be that, even when he’d locked his emotions safely away. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Daniel? Why couldn’t you confide in me?’