The Wrong Kind of Clouds

by Amanda Fleet

  ‘Help me?’ he breathed, fighting to keep the blackness at the edges.

  ‘Jesus,’ muttered the man, staring down at Patrick’s body.

  ***

  ‘If we’d come in my car, we’d have had a blue flashing light to put on the roof,’ said LB, irritated.

  ‘If we’d come in your car, we’d be tiptoeing around these holes at two miles an hour and the blue flashing light would mean fuck all!’

  The Land Rover lurched, bouncing through potholes as it raced down the narrow roads, making LB grip the strap above the window fiercely. Grimly, he acknowledged the point of bringing Summer’s car. He wished it was Sandy at his side. Sandy might not be as burly as he was, but he was big enough and knew how to handle himself. He could also talk to Sandy about what might be up ahead. He wasn’t so sure he could do that with Summer. He stared at the road.

  ‘Do you think he’s dead?’ Summer asked, negotiating a deeper hole with skill.

  ‘Until we find a body, we have to assume he’s alive,’ said LB, though as he said it, he realised there was no conviction in his words.

  Summer reached across and hit LB, though the angle she was at and the need to keep her eyes on the road made it pathetically weak.

  ‘Don’t fob me off with that! I’m not a child!’

  ‘Okay, yes!’ snapped LB. ‘You want me to stop feeding you the party line? Yes. I think he’s dead and probably disposed of. I think when we get there, things will be damned difficult because so far, I see no sign of any blue flashing lights coming to assist us. I think that Macdonald—or more likely one of his henchmen—has killed Patrick and that he will not be an easy man to deal with. And if you step out of this fucking Land Rover when we get there, I will knock you to the ground myself. Are we clear on this?’

  He never swore normally. He thought it weak and pointless. But his stress had boiled over and now it had dissipated. He looked across and tried to touch her arm to apologise but she snatched it away as if he’d branded her. She wouldn’t look at him. He remembered that this was her ex-lover he’d just described and felt a complete shit.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice low.

  ‘No need to apologise. I kept pushing. Did I hurt?’

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘Not really. Not as much as my words. Turn right here.’

  She turned her head away, slowing the car and nosing it into a side track ‘How far from here?’

  ‘A mile. A difficult mile.’

  The Land Rover jolted its way over the rough track, slowing as it ploughed through the rutted and broken surface. Finally, they approached the house.

  ‘That’s it.’ Summer slowed down. ‘And there’s a van.’

  As they inched forward, LB raised his hand slowly. ‘Pull in here, out of sight.’

  She edged the Land Rover into a small clearing just off the track.

  ‘Stay here.’ LB popped his seatbelt and leaned over to curl his hand round the back of her head and kiss her quickly. ‘Stay here,’ he repeated.

  ‘Or you’ll knock me to the ground yourself?’

  ‘No.’ He smiled, abashed. ‘That’s really not my style.’ He kissed her again and slid out of the car.

  As he approached the house, he looked over at the van, but there was nothing to distinguish it from any of the million white vans on the roads. He walked up to the front door, all senses alert. He could hear voices inside. He cocked his head, listening, finally convincing himself that what he could hear was a radio. He tried the front door but it was locked. As he turned to check the rest of the house he almost walked into Summer.

  ‘I told you to stay in the car,’ he hissed through clenched teeth.

  ‘What if you need help?’

  LB shook his head, planted his palms on her shoulders and propelled her backwards.

  ‘Go back. Now.’

  Her eyes were wide as she looked at the house, the tinny sound of the radio filtering out. She held her ground. LB took her face in both his hands.

  ‘Summer. Please. Go back to the car, lock the doors and wait until I fetch you. This is dangerous and likely to be very unpleasant.’

  She stared at him. He stared back. He would carry her back if he had to. It wasn’t necessary. She nodded meekly. He watched her go back to her vehicle and then crept round to the back of the house. The kitchen door was unlocked and he opened it gently. The room was empty and he lifted the snib to stop it locking behind him. Stacked against one wall were crates of counterfeit whisky, the branding freshly painted on the sides. The tang of the paint prickled his nose.

  His feet treading softly, he walked through to the hallway, glancing into empty rooms on either side. He swallowed. Could he wait for backup? He made his way back to the kitchen, hugging the wall, careful to avoid the wet paint on the crates. There was another door that he assumed led to a pantry. He opened it silently to check and found himself peering into the gloom of a basement. At the bottom of the stairs, he saw the inert form of a man sprawled on the floor.

  LB’s pulse quickened. He stepped back silently into the kitchen and pulled out his mobile, clicking his tongue as he saw there was no signal. His eyes darted around, searching for a weapon, finding nothing. He tiptoed back to the doorway, ears pricked for sounds. All senses pinging, he jogged down the steps to the body, glad that Summer couldn’t see it. The room stank—a pungent mix of excrement, blood, infection and fear. LB bent over the man, his fingers seeking the groove next to the Adam’s apple. He dug his fingers in, his eyes on the doorway above him. If anyone came back, he was trapped.

  He could feel a weak pulse. He pulled his phone out again but still had no signal. He was about to return to the main house when he heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. He half hoped it was Summer disobeying his instructions but the weight of the footsteps as they approached the kitchen told him it wasn’t. He stood quickly and ducked under the steps. A thickset man jogged down the stairs towards Patrick. LB recognised him as Gavin Tolland, a no-nonsense thug who’d worked for Macdonald in the past. Before Tolland could do anything, LB stepped forward.

  ‘Police,’ he said, holding up his warrant card. As he did so, he saw the Stanley knife in Tolland’s hand.

  ‘Gavin Tolland, I am arresting you for the abduction of Patrick Forrester. You are not obliged to say—’

  He didn’t get any further. Tolland sprinted up the stairs with LB close behind him. At the top, Tolland turned and lunged at LB. The pain took a moment to register. LB looked down to see the Stanley knife embedded in his shoulder. One centimetre deeper and the blade would have pierced his lung. LB grabbed Tolland, his hold slipping. He was aware of a warm feeling spreading out across the left side of his chest and knew he wouldn’t be able to fight for long. He tried to wrench Tolland’s arm behind his back but the ferocity of Tolland’s resistance threw him backwards. He twisted, desperately maintaining his grip on the other man as the two tussled at the top of the stairs. A solid forearm connected with LB’s jaw, throwing his head back, and he felt his balance begin to go. He tightened his grip on the thug’s arm, dodging blows.

  ‘Just come quietly! There’s no way out of this.’

  Tolland punched again, knocking LB to one side. He lost his footing and pitched diagonally, seeing the steps veering inevitably upwards to meet him. He locked his grip on Tolland’s arm and the two fell heavily down the steps, landing only inches from Patrick. The fall twisted the Stanley knife out of LB’s shoulder and he yelled, releasing his hold on Tolland who scampered up the steps. It felt like half his shoulder had been ripped out along with the blade. LB struggled to his feet and up the stairs. As he lurched through the doorway into the kitchen, he saw Tolland disappear into the hallway and out towards the front door.

  ‘Oh, God. Summer.’ He staggered to the front door, in time to see Tolland haring for freedom.

  As Tolland passed the end of the building, someone stepped out and swung something at his head. He slumped to the ground, poleaxed. Summer stood beside him, a
car jack hanging limply in her hand, staring at him as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Tolland started to get up.

  ‘Summer! Get out of there!’ yelled LB, willing her to move, but she stayed rooted to the spot.

  Tolland was on his feet and making a grab for her. His fingers were millimetres from her arms when LB rugby-tackled him back to the ground and pinned him down with his weight. He wrenched Tolland’s arms behind his back, blood streaming from the wound in his shoulder.

  ‘Gavin Tolland,’ he gasped. ‘I am arresting you for the abduction of Patrick Forrester.’ He moved to hold Tolland’s legs still with his knees, his head hanging.

  ‘You are not obliged to say anything. But anything you do say will be noted down and may be used in evidence.’ He breathed heavily, pausing before being able to complete the caution. ‘Do you understand?’

  Silence.

  ‘Do you understand?’

  Silence.

  LB wrenched Tolland’s arms back viciously, making him howl.

  ‘Do. You. Understand!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you have anything to say?’

  Tolland shook his head. LB watched as Summer tapped on her phone. He shifted his weight so he could inspect his wound, his vision swimming.

  Merde alors!

  ‘Police and ambulance.’

  LB locked eyes with her, relief flooding through him as she made the call.

  ‘You didn’t arrest him for murder,’ she said once help had been summoned.

  ‘Patrick’s not dead. Summer, do you think you could come and apply pressure to this’—he nodded at his shoulder—‘before I bleed to death?’

  Summer glanced round the muddy ground. Seeing nothing useful, she took her coat off, peeled off her blouse and put her coat back on. Balling the shirt, she kneeled next to LB and jammed the wad into his wound. He hissed and screwed up his face but didn’t shift his hold on his captive. Summer wriggled to support him, letting his head rest against her neck.

  ‘What happened? How’s Patrick?’

  ‘Alive, but he’s not in good shape. I’m sorry… Press harder.’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Collided with a knife… I told you… to stay in the car.’ He struggled to breathe.

  ‘Good job I don’t listen to you.’

  ‘Mmm. For once… it’s welcome.’ He gasped, desperately trying to stay conscious.

  The discordant noise of sirens billowed loudly across the countryside and LB turned to look. Against the dark green of the hillside, he counted three vehicles—an ambulance and further back, two police cars.

  ‘Not long now,’ Summer murmured to him, kissing his brow.

  He nodded. Her white shirt had turned crimson and he knew that if Tolland tried to make a run for it, he wouldn’t be able to stop him. He was pinning him down by sheer mass at the moment. She pushed her hand harder against his shoulder and he winced.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

  The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. Paramedics rushed over to LB.

  ‘Basement’—he inclined his head to the house—‘worse than me.’

  One of the paramedics headed over while the other tried to treat LB.

  ‘I can’t move… I’m holding… this man… under arrest. Go and treat… the man… in the basement,’ he wheezed.

  Summer glanced up as the police car rattled its way down the track. ‘They’re here.’

  ***

  A few minutes later, Tolland was cuffed and in the back of the police car and LB was lying on his back with a drip in the back of his hand, his wound dressed and bandaged. Patrick had been stretchered out to the ambulance. Summer had gasped when she’d seen him and run to his side. The kaleidoscope of colours almost overwhelmed her—horror, shock, fear, relief. She felt battered by them.

  ‘Patrick?’

  His eyes opened a crack and he stared dully at her. ‘Summer? Huh? You found me.’

  ‘Oh Jesus, what happened to you?’

  She didn’t get an answer. The paramedics elbowed her politely out of the way and carried Patrick to the ambulance. LB joined him a few moments later, leaving Summer staring into the vehicle, still rocked by intense colours.

  ‘I’ll follow,’ she said as the paramedics closed the doors. Her eyes were on the receding image of the ambulance as the policeman nodded.

  ‘Are you okay to drive?’ he said, scrutinising her.

  ‘What? Oh. Yes. Thanks. Yes, I’m fine.’

  She looked down at herself, her hands still bloodied, her trousers covered in mud, and smiled. Yes. She was fine.

  Saturday Evening

  Summer paced the corridor outside the ward where Patrick had been taken. The glimpse she’d had of him hadn’t been encouraging, and the nurses and doctors hadn’t given her any hints about his condition. LB had been taken straight into surgery and she wouldn’t be able to talk to him for hours.

  A nurse came out and Summer stepped forward to block her path. ‘How is he? Is he awake? Will he be okay?’

  The nurse scanned her, then nodded. ‘I think so. I hope so.’

  ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘Not just yet.’

  ‘But he’s awake?’

  The nurse nodded and eased past Summer, her face stern.

  About half an hour later, one of the doctors came out. ‘Are you Summer?’

  She nodded rapidly.

  ‘He’s asking for you. You can’t see him for long. Just while we get a bed in intensive care sorted. Two minutes.’

  Mauve relief flooded her and she scrambled after him.

  ‘Patrick?’

  She swallowed. Patrick’s skin resembled the insides of a haggis and he was hooked up to a myriad of tubes and beeping monitors.

  He smiled at her. ‘You found me.’

  Tears prickled her eyes but she forced a smile to her lips. ‘Yeah. I found you.’

  ‘I dreamed of you.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Mmm. You were taking pictures while Kate and Helen burned me to death.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He coughed slightly and tried to sit up. ‘Do you know who…? Who was behind all this?’

  ‘Probably Paul Hampton. It seems Kate tried, unsuccessfully, to kill herself when she realised she’d not only screwed her career and her marriage when she screwed you, but then realised her husband’s a nutter too. Though frankly, you do seem able to piss a lot of people off.’

  A thin smile cracked his lips and he touched his tongue to the split.

  ‘What did you need all the money for?” she asked. “You stole from me, you sold all your stuff, borrowed from a loan shark… why?’

  ‘Myamiko.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘The kid with the heart problem?’

  ‘Mmm. I promised Moyenda I would help him. The money was to pay for an operation in South Africa.’

  ‘Oh. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘You wouldn’t speak to me.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her guts twisted. ‘Someone attacked Moyenda.’

  Alarm flashed across Patrick’s face. ‘Oh, Christ. What happened?’

  ‘He was trying to find out what was happening to the missing kids.’

  ‘Oh shit. Is he okay?’

  She smiled to herself. Moyenda was probably in better shape than Patrick. ‘Yeah, I think he’ll be okay. I’ll call him in a bit. I need to tell him you’re okay too.’

  Was he okay? He didn’t look great. The doctor hovered nearby as if to chivvy her out of the room.

  ‘I want to write about the boys,’ said Patrick, glancing up at the doctor.

  ‘Won’t that damage Samala?’

  ‘Maybe. Probably. But someone there is selling children!’

  ‘Can you protect Moyenda? And the other kids?’

  ‘I don’t know. I need to go out there again. See what I can do.’

  She hoped he would pull through and be able to. ‘Okay. You recover fully and I’ll pay for you to go out there. De
al?’

  ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘For Moyenda’s sake. Just find a way to stop it without demolishing Samala?’

  The doctor came closer. ‘Time’s up. We need to take him up to ICU.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll come and see you later. When they let me. Get better.’

  Summer was ushered out of the room and she waited while Patrick was wheeled past her. Ignoring the sign forbidding the use of mobiles, she called Chifundo and asked to speak to Moyenda. ‘Moyenda? It’s Summer. How are you?’

  ‘I am fine. How are you?’

  ‘I’m okay. We found Patrick. He’s not in a great shape, but he’s in the hospital now.’

  ‘Oh, thank the Lord. He will be okay?’

  ‘Hopefully. He’s in the right place, anyway.’ She bit her lip. ‘Moyenda, he wasn’t attacked because of the kids. But you were. You need to be careful.’

  ‘I will be, my friend. Wilson thinks that his cousin’s fiancé will be able to help.’

  ‘Really? Who’s the fiancé?’

  ‘A good man. I don’t want to talk on the phone. I will email you.’

  ‘Okay. Patrick wants to come out to Malawi when he’s recovered. Will you be safe until then? Will the kids be okay? It might be weeks.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think so.’

  A nurse bustled over, pointedly indicating the sign about mobile phone use. Summer nodded. ‘Okay. Sorry, I have to go. I’ll call you again soon. I’m glad you’re okay. Stay safe.’

  ‘I will. Tell Patrick we are all praying for him.’

  ‘I will.’

  ***

  Kate listened to the murmurs and beeps surrounding her. Christ, she felt awful. It had been a close call. Would it be worth it? Paul was sitting at the side of her bed, fiddling with her hand, turning her wedding ring round on her finger. She didn’t want to open her eyes just yet and confirm she was awake. Let him suffer a bit longer.

  Her brain sifted things, working out where the problems would be, rehearsing solutions. As long as Paul held his nerve, things would be fine.