The Last Weekend
Page 23
‘Right,’ said George, ‘that’s that.’
Indigo drove the bike and trailer back into the barn as the others walked back to the lodge in silence. He parked it up, locked the barn door behind him and went over to the house. JacktheRiffer was coming out of the building, clutching a set of car keys. He pressed the button and a four-by-four beeped, the lights flashed and the doors opened.
‘We need a way out of here,’ he said to Indigo in response to the questioning look he got. He opened the door and sat in the driving seat.
‘We still don’t know where we are,’ said Indigo.
‘Aha!’ said JacktheRiffer. ‘Satnav.’ He pressed buttons and called up a list of addresses. ‘Here we go … I think it’s safe to assume “murder house” is where we spent the weekend. The airport is in here, as well.’
‘Come on,’ said Indigo, ‘let’s get the others and get back to The Last Weekend house. We can get cleaned up and pick up our things.’
***
A short while later, the foursome reassembled in the dining room of the house where three of them had spent such a harrowing weekend. They had cleaned up and Indigo had retrieved his prized leather jacket, his last gift from his beloved Emily; he and the others had their bags packed, ready to go.
George looked like a different man; he was showered and shaved, and dressed in clothes that had belonged to DeadManWalking. ‘It’s back to the streets for me,’ he said, ‘but to be honest I’ll feel safer there.’
‘Come back with me,’ said JacktheRiffer. ‘I’ve got a spare room and I wouldn’t mind some company, after this.’
George didn’t hesitate. ‘Okay, I will, then,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Let’s get out before we pass out,’ said Mayfly. The smell of petrol was intense; they had put the contents of the jerry cans JacktheRiffer and SpeedKing had spotted in the shed to good use and the house had been liberally doused in it.
‘You lot go on,’ said Indigo, ‘I’ll take care of this.’
‘Be careful,’ urged Mayfly.
They all trooped outside as Indigo lit fires on the staircase and in the downstairs rooms, then hurried out to join the others in the four-by-four.
He jumped in the driving seat, the satnav was reprogrammed and they set off down the drive, out though the wrought-iron gates and onto the open road. The house crackled and burned behind them; no one looked back.
Epilogue
Jimmy Wilson let himself into his flat, shut and locked the door, then heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy meeting up with his old friends, just that coming home was always such a joy. He heard The Sisters of Mercy playing in the sitting room, hung up his black leather jacket and went in.
‘Hey, you’re back,’ said Anna. She put down her tablet and got up to give him a hug. ‘Did you have a good time?’
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘I’m a bit concerned about Frankie’s plan for my stag night, mind. You might be marrying a man with no eyebrows and a cock and balls tattooed on his forehead.’
Anna laughed. ‘You’ll be fine, they wouldn’t do that to you. Might put you on a ferry to Denmark, though.’
‘Lord, don’t say that in front of Frankie – he’s got enough ideas!’ They sat down. ‘So, what have you been up to?’
‘Checking out some stuff online. Making plans for the honeymoon.’
‘Oh?’
‘Checking museums and sightseeing tours and stuff.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘I’ll get us a drink,’ Anna said, and she stood up again and headed into the kitchen.
Jimmy checked his emails; there was a message from John Pargeter. George had landed a job and recently moved into a bedsit; he was doing well. As for John, he was working again, but his big news was that he had met someone. He was starting to get over Caz and the trauma of The Last Weekend. Baby steps, putting things back together after the traumatic time they’d all shared.
Jimmy hadn’t been on the End of Days website in months, and neither had Anna. And, so far, they were doing okay. There were still good days and bad days, days when the voice inside piped up with insults and bad advice, and there probably always would be, but there were also strategies for coping. There was music and meditation and, when it was needed, medication. There were things to look forward to. There was a future to plan. It all helped. Again, baby steps.
Anna came back with a glass of whisky for each of them. ‘Here we go,’ she said. ‘Cheers!’
‘Cheers, love. To the future.’
‘The future. I’ll drink to that.’
And they did.
###
Thank you for reading.
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Acknowledgements
Thanks as always to Steven Miscandlon, not only for doing such a great job of editing the book, but also for providing such a fantastic cover.
http://www.mlwritingservices.co.uk/
Also by Julie Morrigan
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Short Story Collections
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Show No Mercy
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Wired
Bad Times
Novellas
Untouchable
Get Rich Quick
Cutter’s Deal
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The Cutter Trilogy