Crossfire (14 page)

FOURTEEN

Alison had not yet shaken off the drowsiness of sleep, and this was why she was unable to mask any of the surprise and distaste which rose within her when she saw her former husband seated on the sofa.

‘Oh, Wayne,' she muttered, managing to make the name sound like a disease. ‘I heard voices; thought I'd come out to see who it was.'

‘Hello, Alison,' responded Wayne cautiously. He was careful not to falter in his speech and hint at his drunkenness. ‘I called in to see Luke.' But he couldn't resist the chance of a bitter remark so he added sarcastically, ‘Hope you don't mind.'

‘I have no objection,' said Alison with cold formality.

Luke knew what was going to happen and he was terrified. With the two of them trapped in the same room it was only a matter of time before they began to snap and curse at one another. God knows, the few words they had exchanged already had been nasty enough. But this time there was a horrible danger that had never occurred before in a meeting between his mother and father. His father was drunk and on the floor not a metre from his hands lay a gun. For a second he hoped desperately that Alison would be able to see the rifle from where she stood behind his chair, but he realised that from where he sat, his eye followed almost the same line as his mother's towards that hidden corner of the sofa. As he could not see the weapon, his mother would also be unable to spot it.

How could he stop her from launching into one of her tirades against Wayne, an attack which on this occasion might provoke the unthinkable? He considered saying calmly, almost as part of the conversation: ‘Mum, Dad's brought his gun along with him. It's sitting on the carpet next to the sofa.'
Ob, don't be ridiculous,
he told himself. How could you possibly slip that statement casually into the stiff and measured sentences that were being exchanged. It was too obvious and if his father took offence, he could retrieve the gun in an instant. Besides, he could just guess at Alison's response to this revelation. She would hit the roof and start screaming at her ex-husband. Just the thing for a man with too much booze in his blood.

All of this went through Luke's mind in a flash, as Wayne and Alison eyed each other off sullenly.

‘What were you talking about?' asked Alison.

Luke cursed his mother under his breath. She knew damned well what he and his father had been discussing; she was intent upon using this as a stick with which to beat his dad.

Wayne, for his part, said nothing as he sat on the edge of the sofa holding an empty glass and an empty beer can. There was deep worry in his face, a fear of Alison which Luke had never seen before. It dawned on Luke that Wayne still believed Alison to be ignorant about the hunting trip, and that he had convinced himself that if she discovered the truth she would instantly cut his access rights to Luke. The last thing Luke wanted, with that gun so near to hand, was for Wayne to feel threatened. So he answered his mother's question himself.

‘I've been explaining to Dad why I don't want to go on any more hunting trips for a while.'

‘Oh, I see,' chirped Alison, as if the topic had never entered her head. Both she and Luke looked towards Wayne to gauge his reaction, though each did so from a different viewpoint. Wayne's face had lost its colour and he had taken on the darting-eyed dread which actors used on television to portray a criminal in a courtroom drama.

‘It's okay, Dad. Mum and I have been talking about it for a few days now.' Luke was about to rush on and say more to put his father's mind at rest, but Alison beat him to it.

‘Yes, you don't have to worry, Wayne. Your son has just about talked me into ignoring the whole sorry business.'

Luke almost sighed aloud in relief. He could have jumped up and kissed his mother.

The feeling lasted about ten seconds, then Alison began to speak again.

‘Of course, I shouldn't ignore what amounts to about the most irresponsible stunt you've ever pulled, Wayne. Behind my back, too. I'm laid up in hospital for a few days, Luke's suspended from school, and what do you do? You take him on your drunken one-man-war against everything that moves. I suppose I should be thankful just to have him back in one piece instead of several. I really don't know why you didn't take him crocodile fishing so you could use him as bait. He'd be about as safe.'

‘Oh shuddup, Alison,' said Wayne irritably. ‘He was never in any danger.'

‘Never in any danger?' goaded Alison. ‘You nearly blew his head off, do you realise that? He was in danger just standing near you, Wayne. When you've got a gun in your hand you're a menace to life itself.' Alison paused, though not long enough to allow Wayne to reply. The clever words which slashed and tore at Wayne came so easily to her. He had no defence against her. She knew from experience exactly how long it would take him to gather his words for a fight back, and she began firing again just in time to cut him off. ‘Well, I'll tell you one thing, Wayne. Luke might still want to spend time with you, though I can't imagine why, but there is no possibility that he'll ever go out west shooting with you and Jacko and whatever other clowns you lumber along with you.'

A few minutes earlier, Wayne Aldridge's face had been white, but with this onslaught he became as flushed as the fury bubbling within him. Luke watched it rise, like a flood victim noting with helpless horror the steady rise of the water which will eventually engulf him.

‘Mum,' hissed Luke in desperation. ‘Calm down, will you?'

‘Don't start protecting your father, Luke. It's about time he faced his own foolishness all by himself. You've been lucky, Wayne. First your parents stood up for you, then it was me, and now it looks like your son wants to take on the role. Well, I won't let it happen, not to my son. If you want to waste your own life that's fine, but you're not going to drag Luke along with you so that he turns out the same way. He's got some courage about him, has Luke, the kind of courage that makes someone face growing up. You haven't noticed that about him, have you? You've been too busy teaching him the useless sort of bravery you imagine you have, taking pot-shots at animals.'

Alison went on relentlessly: ‘You have to manufacture your courage. You have to prove you've got any by slaughtering hapless animals. But when it comes to real guts, to looking in the mirror and asking ‘Have I ever done anything in my life for somebody else? Have I ever done anything I didn't want to do? Have I stuck with it because other people needed me to do it?' the answer is
no.
You just haven't got any stomach for that at all. Far easier to live in a dream world where you can be the brave hero. There's always some fool who'll look after you, even look up to you until the truth starts to seep through.'

‘That's enough!' shouted Wayne. ‘I don't have to listen to this garbage.' His hands were curled into tight fists, as though at any moment he would launch himself at his former wife. Instead, he turned his attention to his son, pleading: ‘Luke, you don't believe this, do you. Is this what she's been saying to you all week? Don't listen to her.'

Luke had no answer. He found it difficult to look at his father. Clouding his vision was the image of Kieran Doggitt leaping down to grab the Winchester and fell the pig before it gored his stranded, screaming father.

Finally, Wayne's control crumbled. ‘You bitch!' he yelled, hurling his empty glass at Alison's head. In his drunkenness, his aim was poor and Alison easily evaded it, but the incident distracted Luke's attention. He had been waiting for the slightest sign that Wayne was reaching for the gun, but as the glass sailed through the air he naturally followed it with his eye … and it was then that Wayne shifted to the edge of the sofa and grabbed the rifle. Luke caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and knew immediately what it meant.

He leapt to his feet, diving to trap the gun against the floor so that his father would be unable to lift it. He was too late. Wayne snatched it away before he landed, and in the second it took for Luke to recover and spring to his feet, he heard his father crank the lever down then up: the gun was ready to fire. On his feet again, Luke latched himself onto the rifle with both hands and pulled it close to his chest. Because his father was so much stronger, this meant closing up tightly against Wayne. They stood glaring into each other's face, hugging the gun with the stock and barrel protruding from opposite sides.

‘Let it go, Dad. You'll do something stupid,' gasped Luke.

‘I've finally had it, son. I'm sick and tired of your mother's tongue. I'm going to shoot it out of her mouth for her.'

‘Mum, get out of here!' called Luke. ‘He's drunk and the gun's loaded.'

But Alison had no intention of fleeing, not while Luke was struggling with Wayne. She was still frozen to the floor behind Luke's chair, but at these words, she came round towards the wrestling figures to lend her weight to Luke. Wayne saw her coming; mustering his strength, he yanked the rifle towards himself then thrust it hard into Luke's face. Luke gave a yelp and fell to the floor, his lower lip split and bleeding. Wayne had the rifle to himself now. Quickly he snapped it round so that it was pointed at Alison, who screamed at the sight of the barrel directed at her navel.

‘Dad!' begged Luke from the floor.

‘Shut up, both of you,' shouted Wayne. ‘Especially you, you bitch,' he hissed at Alison. ‘One more word and I'll blow you in two. Ask Luke. He's seen what this little beauty can do.'

Silence. Alison had enough sense this time to save her own life; for the time being at least. The seconds ticked by. No one moved, no one spoke. At last, feeling his power, Wayne relaxed a fraction. ‘Sit down,' he told Alison, who thought it wise to obey, easing herself into the chair Luke had occupied earlier.

Luke gambled that he could speak now and get away with it. Watching his father's face, he said to Alison, ‘Dad brought the rifle along so he could teach me how to use it. We're going to take it deep into the bush. Somewhere safe. Dad says I should be able to handle it if he shows me how.'

Not surprisingly, Alison made no objection. Her eyes were riveted on the muzzle of the gun, the tiny hole from which death might emerge at any moment. But Luke wasn't quite finished. He wanted to warn his mother against making a sudden escape dash, for there was no safety to be found behind walls or doors. ‘That's Dad's new thirty-thirty, Mum. Very powerful. It would easily shoot right through the walls in the house here, even the outside walls.'

This information, given for Alison's benefit, soothed Wayne noticeably. The power of his weapon had been recognised and his foe brought to heel by his control over this power. He was totally in charge of the situation now. This confidence helped him find his voice.

‘You always could beat me in an argument, Alison. You never gave me a chance. Well, things are a bit different this time. You can't make a fool of me while I've got this gun in my hands, can you? This is all your fault, you know. Luke told me before that he doesn't want to go shooting with me ever again. You put him up to that, didn't you. You're turning him against me, so he won't even want to see me any more.'

‘No, I'm not,' retorted Alison. ‘You're doing that quite nicely by yourself.'

Wayne was incensed. ‘Don't speak. I warned you. Not a word!' he bellowed. He gripped the rifle closely towards him, as though bracing to fire with the gun slung low.

Luke was horrified. What the hell did his mother think she was doing? Wayne had only to pull that trigger and that was the end for her. What did it matter what he said, what rubbish he threw at her? And if only she would stop using that infuriating tone of voice …

Wayne ranted on. ‘I'm sick of things going wrong for me, of people deserting me left right and centre. Danny goes and leaves me and then the slave-drivers I work for show me the door just because I'm away for a few days, and now you're trying to make Luke desert me as well. Well, I'm not having it. You're going to tell Luke right now that he can do whatever he likes. He doesn't have to listen to you. He and I can make our own rules. This gun lets us do that — doesn't it, Luke? Nobody argues with a gun and gets away with it; it doesn't matter who you are. Now you just tell Luke that he can go hunting with me any time he chooses. Go on.'

Alison said nothing. Defiance and hatred blared from her eyes.

‘I'm waiting, Alison. Tell him.'

Still the woman hesitated, determined to resist no matter how great the folly.

‘Tell him!' bawled Wayne, and in his fury he raised the rifle to his shoulder, taking aim at her chest.

Luke could see that his mother was close to fainting; he knew that if she staggered even slightly his father would fire.

‘All right,' gasped Alison at last. ‘Luke, you can do what you like with your father. Go about murdering mindless beasts like he does, for the glory of mankind.'

Wayne retreated from his fever-pitch of frustration. He had made Alison bend to his will. He almost smiled, lowering the gun from his shoulder but still keeping it trained on his adversary. He wasn't about to surrender his advantage.

‘What did that achieve, Wayne?' asked Alison, managing a remarkable calm in her voice. ‘You know that as soon as you're gone from here any promises I make to your miniature cannon here will mean nothing.'

Luke couldn't believe it. His mother had just averted death by the thinnest of margins and she was immediately on the attack again. His father might be drunk, but his mother had become stupid with rage, unable to comprehend her own danger. With a sickening jolt, Luke realised that if a tragedy was to be avoided here, it was up to him to take control. Only he could save his parents from each other.

Slowly, making sure his father was aware of his movements, he rose to his feet and inched his way forward. The pain from his lip was forgotten. His body could feel only one thing at that moment: an enormous fear of what he was about to do. Still watching his father, he stepped into the line of fire, making sure that his father's view of his mother was not obscured but that his clear shot at her was interrupted.