One Night (6 page)

10 PM

After the bedroom door closed and I heard the shower run, I set to clearing
up. Sticky made several vain attempts to jump on the couch until I lifted him
and put him there. He grumbled into his fur and went to sleep.

I washed up, dried, tidied. Cleared
the fridge of the remaining unappetizing food. Then I went to sit on the couch
next to Sticky. The cottage had fallen to a deathly hush. I sat for a long
time, looking around the little room with its warm wood floors and woolly rug,
the curtains drawn tight, the orange-glow lamps.

And thought about what I was doing.

There was no way of knowing if Jake
was who he said he was. He could have been lying to get my sympathy. Perhaps he
was no better than Brent – just another player in the crime scene who happened
to get caught. I had nothing but his word. And yet my reaction to him was
entirely different to the way I viewed Brent. I had to look at the good things
because everything was beginning to look rather bad. One: Jake had made no
attempt to harm me. Two: he had given me useful insight to Brent Sedgeworth. Three:
if Jake had been framed then it was right to help him. Four: I was actually
glad of his company. Five: Jake was good-looking and kind (he had patted
Sticky) and therefore he couldn’t be all bad…

No, scrub that last idea. There was
no way one could know. Looks were the last thing one could depend on…

I got up and tip-toed to the
bedroom door, opened it slowly. Jake was lying naked on the bed, his clothes in
a pile on the floor, a wet towel slung across a chair. In the shaft of light
from the living room, he looked like a marble effigy, a perfect Michael Angelo
sculpture, his head turned theatrically towards the window, his mouth slightly
open.

Feeling horribly intrusive, I drew up
the blanket rucked around his feet and covered him. He didn’t move. His
breathing was low, a soft, putt-putt sound.

I searched for my cell phone.
Couldn’t find it. Then I looked at the pillow under his head. My chances of
reaching it without waking him were nil. Jake still didn’t trust me. And with
good reason it seemed.

I withdrew, gently pulling the key
from the inside lock of the door. For a moment I hesitated, feeling a stab of
guilt. Then I locked the door from the living room side. I put the key in the
fruit bowl on the kitchen counter where I would find it again easily in the
morning. The three candles and the torch unsettled me. I did not want to find
myself alone in the dark with this strange man – however attractive.

Sticky’s growl distracted me. His
fur was on end and his nose twitching. His eyes were fixed on the front door. He
emitted a sharp bark. That familiar floating sensation came back into my
stomach.

Somebody knocked on the front door.

The knock came again, more impatiently. Then a man’s voice, ‘Come on,
Sedgeworth! We haven’t got all night!’ This was emphasized by a sharp rap. ‘Come
on, we know you’re in there.’

Another male voice, ‘Should we try
the back?’

‘Godammit, we don’t have time to
play ducks and drakes. He knows the drill. Where the fuck is he?’

My heart slowed, disappeared
altogether from my chest.

I ran to the window and pulled back
the curtain.

Three people were standing in the
steady glow of the front light; two men in black leather jackets and a girl of
about twenty with a small, battered suitcase. She had a faintly oriental face,
Slavic perhaps, high pale cheekbones, slanted, blank eyes. She was staring at
the front door as though it was the only thing in her vision.

The taller of the two men,
dark-haired, well-built, and armed with intense, predatory black eyes, caught
the movement of the curtain.

‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘Open the fucking
door! We’ve got other things to do, you know. Where’s Sedgeworth?’

The other man, shorter, balding,
sporting a sizable paunch, stepped up. ‘Would you do us a favour, girlie? It’s a
bit nippy out here.’ His pale eyes stared at me in affront, a semblance of
dislike.

It was the girl’s face that swayed
me. She turned her head as she became aware of my presence at the window, her
look somehow tragic in its lack of expression as though she had gone through
the gamut of emotions once too often, and now all that was left was the empty
structure of her face marked by eyes drained of hope, dulled by desperation.

I opened the door.

11 PM

The tall man entered first, followed by the girl. The bald man looked over
his shoulder as if he suspected they were being tailed.

‘Where’s Sedge?’ asked the first
man, his eyes suspicious, speculative.

‘He’s away for the night. Said he
would be back tomorrow.’

‘And you are?’

‘I’m Casey Blaydon. I’m here to look
after the dog.’

Their eyes swivelled to Sticky who
was still growling and trying to look fierce, the whites of his eyes showing.
His plastered leg stuck out awkwardly.

I asked, ‘Who are you? What are you
doing here?’

‘Sedge didn’t tell you?’

‘No.’

He took two swaggering steps
towards the bedroom door. My heart almost stopped. I thought he was going to try
and open it.

‘You wouldn’t be lying now, would
you?’

‘About what?’

‘About our friend Sedge.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘No reason that I would know. But it’s
out of line. He knew we were on tonight. He should have been here.’

‘He’ll be back tomorrow. He said it
was only for one night.’

‘We did change the date,’ the bald
man interposed. ‘We usually drop in the week. This is Saturday, Rod. Maybe the bloke
forgot.’

The tall man stopped. ‘You’re
right. I should have done a check.’

‘What’s this about?’ I asked.

The tall man’s raptor eyes settled
on me. ‘Nothing to do with you, dearie. But this is an awkward situation. We
need to leave the girl here. Will that be all right? Can you put her up until
Sedge gets back?’

I was speechless. ‘I don’t know – I
wasn’t told – where – ?’

‘Oh, don’t worry. Not in the
bedroom. There’s a room out back. Sedge keeps them there.’

There was a moment. ‘Them?’

‘Look – ’ he took on an overly
friendly, persuasive tone. ‘I’m Ron and this is – ’ he indicated the bald man –
‘Max. We’re just the delivery boys. That’s all. Nothing to worry about. Sedge
knows the drill.’

I noted he had made no effort to
introduce the girl. She stood silently staring at me, her look a strange cross
between plea and resignation.

I steeled myself. I had no idea
what was going on, but I wasn’t having any more dramas. ‘She can’t stay here,’
I said. ‘Nobody made that arrangement with me.’

‘Sedge has just forgotten.’

‘She can’t stay. Bring her back
tomorrow when Brent comes back.’

‘You heard of fenced goods?’

I was taken aback. ‘Yes, of
course.’

‘Trick with fenced goods you keep
moving ’em. That’s what we do here. We don’t take anything back.’

‘She’s hardly fenced goods.’

‘In a manner of speaking, darlin’.’

I had no idea what he was talking
about and was fairly sure I didn’t want to learn. Resolutely I repeated, ‘She
can’t stay here.’

The girl moved convulsively,
dropped her case.

‘Please – ’ she said.

Her voice sounded foreign – Polish or
something. But its note of desperation was unmistakable. I looked at her with
an unhappy mixture of guilt and responsibility – as though I’d done something
to put her in this position – whatever that was. She stared at me hungrily. She
was wearing a shabby grey coat, thick stockings and lace up brown shoes. There
was a black wool scarf around her neck. A grey beret allowed a tendril of
almost blonde hair to escape, falling in a single strip of light down her face.

‘Please – ’ she said again. ‘I am
very quiet.’

I had the sudden and compelling
notion that she needed to get away from these two men. My mind flickered. It
would probably be best for both of us if they left. And the only way to get rid
of them was to do as they asked.

‘All right,’ I said reluctantly.
‘Where’s this room out the back that you mentioned?’

We moved together, the girl and her
suitcase flanked by the two men. I unlocked the back door and we stepped out
into the junk-filled yard. I had never noticed another room belonging to the
house, so I was intrigued as much as anything. The taller man, Ron, moved at a
tangent and followed a labyrinthine path to the old shed. He picked fretfully
at a lock on the door.

‘You got the key?’ he asked me.

‘No,’ I said automatically. I stared
at the derelict shape of the shed leaning against the mounds of rubbish, hardly
enough room for the four of us to stand in front of it. A rusty lock hung from
the hasp of a stable door.

‘This is a bugger. Useful if you
had the key.’

‘Well, I’m
sorry!
I didn’t
even know this old shed was in use.’ I felt fractious, useless, stupid. None of
this was making any sense. None of this was right.

Max stepped forward. ‘We can break
that.’

‘I don’t think you should do that.’

He grinned. ‘You can claim from
insurance.’ He drew out a gun.

Both the girl and I shrank back.
‘No,’ I gasped. ‘You can’t – ’

Still grinning, enjoying the drama,
Max swung the gun around in his hand and brought the handle down like an axe on
the old lock. I was surprised at how easily it snapped. The door shook and
creaked open. We looked into its dark, musty interior. Ron fumbled and a light
came on, a bare bulb hanging dully in the centre, highlighting a small cot-bed,
a cupboard and a threadbare mat. There was no room for anything else.

‘She’ll be all right here.’ Ron
glanced at the girl. ‘You keep quiet, now. Sedge will fix you up tomorrow.’

I had a sudden ghastly sense of
error, of foreboding. It looked as though Brent wouldn’t be coming back. What
would I do with this girl tomorrow if Brent didn’t pitch?

‘Where’s she supposed to go
tomorrow? Where can I take her if Brent doesn’t come back?’

Both men looked at me. Ron asked,
‘Why shouldn’t he come back? You said you were here for one night to look after
the dog. You changing your story?’

‘No, I just thought – maybe – you
know – in case…’

‘You know what? It isn’t our
problem.’

He stepped up into the shed and
gestured for the girl to follow. ‘No room to swing a cat, darlin’, but you’ll
be all right?’ He turned to me. ‘You got blankets?’

I squeezed into the cramped space.
Max pressed in behind me. The scent of damp wood filled the air, and a strange
acrid smell reminiscent of burnt rubber. The cot-size bed was no wider than two
feet and only about five feet long. The mattress, an old button canvas style affair
rather like a solid pillow, was heavily stained.

I was embarrassed and bewildered.
What on earth was going on? What were these men doing with this girl? Why had
they brought her here?

I eyed the girl. She had set her
suitcase carefully on the mat with an undisguised sense of arrival. She hardly
looked at us, her eyes half-closed, focused on the bed. She was the most likely
to supply me with answers. I had to be rid of Ron and Max as quickly as
possible. Then I would wake Jake, demand my phone, and bloody well phone the
police!

Angrily, I pushed past Ron and
reached for the cupboard door. ‘There must be a blanket in here.’

I snatched at the handle. It didn’t
budge. I gave a violent tug and wrenched the door open. Something large fell
towards me. I was aware of pale colour, a limpness collapsing, spidery white
shapes flailing, fingering my face. I tried to dodge but a deadweight caught me
on the side of the head, forcing me back into Ron’s chest.

For a moment I couldn’t see
anything. Beside me, the girl was screaming something unintelligible in her own
language.

Max reared away. ‘Fucking hell!’

I fought to free myself, pushing
wildly.

Ron bucked against me, caught
against the wall. ‘What is this
shit
? What’s this?’

There was a slackening, a release.
The shape in front of me slid away and collapsed to the floor of the cupboard,
folding with boneless grace to a graceless heap. There were now recognizable
contours; a head, dark tufts of hair, a rubbery profile, the vacant stare of
one dark eye.

I stood.

In a single stride, Ron leapt for
the door. ‘What is this?’ he yelled at me. ‘What the
fuck
are you doing?
Christ Almighty! What the hell is this?’

The girl, still screaming, darted
back to grab her suitcase. Her look was one of violent disgust. We didn’t need
an interpreter to tell us she had no intention of spending the night here.

Ron was backing away. ‘You’re off
your rocker! You hear me? Out of your tree! I don’t know what’s going on here
but we’re nothing to do with this. This isn’t our play, you understand? Not us,
lady. Not us.’

The girl, gabbling like a plucked
chicken, scrabbled her way back to the cottage behind Max.

‘For chrissake, shut your trap!’
Max grabbed her arm. ‘We’ll take you back, all right? Shut that noise!’

They were stumbling back into the
cottage. Ron threw a look over his shoulder. ‘You’re lucky, darlin’, we’re not
the type to call the law. You tell that fucking Sedgeworth to mind the
merchandise.
That
– ’ he pointed a trembling finger at the shed. ‘That isn’t
on the agenda!’

They scrambled through the cottage
and out the front door without bothering to close it. I heard Sticky’s yelp of
annoyance. There was a stamp of feet, car doors slamming. A soft purr of an
engine floated back as they drove down the track to the road.

And then silence.

The dark chill of the forest.

I stood immobile under the single, stark light bulb as it continued to swing
gently from the impact of Ron’s head. The beam arched back and forth, rolling a
yellow circle over the horror in the cupboard.