Surefire (10 page)

“I was pregnant. It was Kenny’s baby too, but he didn’t care, didn’t want it. He just thought it was my problem, and a nuisance. As if I’d done it on purpose. Every time I was sick he complained. Or sneered. When I was tired he told me I was lazy, making excuses not to go to work. And we needed the money, my wages. He needed my money. I worked as a cleaner in an office block, most evenings, till late. I’d been at work that night we met you, when we, when we…”

“I know, love. It’s all right. Don’t worry about that now. Tell me about David.”

“I never meant to get pregnant. It was at Christmas, he was drunk and he—and he… forced me. I was fighting, struggling, didn’t make it easy so he just didn’t bother with a condom. Just held me down and, and…and a few weeks later…well, I knew.”

The pain and humiliation are as vivid now as they were then, the recollection enough to catapult me right back there into that grimy room, Kenny’s drunken fumblings, his hands rough and hard, his breath tainted by beer, cigarettes and a two day old cold chicken biryani. I shudder, and Tom’s gentle hands draw me once more into the here and now, urging me to continue my story.

“The day David died it was about a month after we—saw—you. I was six months pregnant, I’d had a cold, still had a cough—I felt rotten. I wanted to stay at home, stay in bed, miss work that day, but he wasn’t having that. He dragged me out of bed around lunch time, sent me to the fish and chip shop for something for him to eat. When I got back I’d forgotten the salt and vinegar, and of course we had nothing like that in the house, so he was angry. Again. He punched me. Again. And this time I fell. I fell heavily, against the arm of the sofa, catching my ‘bump’. It hurt. Straight away I knew I’d done some damage. Something was wrong. The sharp pain went dull, but didn’t stop. Never went off. It was coming in waves like a cramp. I lay down on the sofa, on my side, hugging my bump, holding my baby close, as if I could protect him. I wanted to protect him. I even tried praying. Kenny just swore and carried on eating his chips, grumbling. I lay there, scared, hoping it might all die down, the pains might stop. They didn’t, and when I went to the loo I was bleeding. I told Kenny, said I needed to go to the hospital. He said ‘no’, told me to go to bed if I had to. Even told me I could have a night off work after all. But I said I was okay, that I’d go to work later.

“Except I didn’t. I had to wait, I waited in bed till it was time to go to my cleaning job, then I went out. Went straight to the hospital, and they admitted me. They did a scan, and that’s when I knew it was all over. No heartbeat, my baby was dead. He’d been alive that morning, I’d felt him move. The doctor tried to explain, that the placenta had been dislodged, come unstuck, and that my baby had starved. It didn’t take long, only a few hours. And I just thought, I’ve always thought, that if I’d gone to the hospital when it first happened, maybe, maybe they might have…done something. Anything. David might not have died. But by the time I could get away from Kenny, it was too late. By then no one could help.”

I stop, crying silently now, drowning in the misery of that awful day, and waiting for Tom to point out the obvious, that I should have left Kenny weeks, months before it came to that. Or even defied him on that day, put my baby first.

Instead though, his response is soft, measured, reflective, “That bastard. Sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault. It shouldn’t have happened like that, but there was nothing you did wrong. You did all you could, as soon as you could. You have to believe that.”

“I wish, I wish…”

“You did all you could. You loved your baby, I know that. You know it too.”

I hesitate, but maybe I just needed to hear it from someone, someone I can trust. “I—yes. I still love him. I’ll never forget him. Never.” Then, a thought occurs suddenly. “His grave, it’s here. In the cemetery in Gloucester. I’ve never been back, not since the day we buried him. Maybe I could…”

“We’ll go. That’s a good idea.”

“My mother too, she’s there as well.”

“Your mother too. We’ll go together. Visit them both.”

I consider that possibility, reflecting sadly on the tragic events of nearly two years ago. I hadn’t expected ever to go back to that cemetery in Gloucester, would not have wanted to. On my own, I doubt I ever could. But with Tom? Yes, with Tom it would be possible.

He waits, not intruding on my private thoughts, until I shift in his arms, my signal that I’m okay now.

Only then does he continue, “But there’s more, isn’t there? What about Kenny? Why’s he so vindictive toward you now? I can see why you’d hate him, but what’s his quarrel with you?”

I sigh, stiffen and shuffle around to huddle beside Tom on the bed, no longer hiding my face as I continue my story. “I hated him. Hated him for what he’d done, what he’d caused. I decided while I was still at the hospital that I was going to leave him. And when my mother turned up, offered me the chance to go home with her, I jumped at it, my escape route. I left the hospital in Bristol and came straight back here, with her. We planned David’s funeral, just the two of us. And then the very next day, the day after we buried baby David, Kenny arrived, demanding that I go back to Bristol with him. He even threatened to kill Sadie—my mum’s cat—if I didn’t do what he wanted. I couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let him hurt anyone else, so I packed my stuff and went back with him. Back to Bristol.

“But I hated him. Absolutely hated him. I couldn’t bear the sight of him, couldn’t bear him to even touch me. And he wanted sex. Said I’d been gone ages, and he had needs for Christ’s sake!” I glance up, see Tom’s face harden, his jaw clench, But for me, he smiles softly.

“Go on, love. What happened after you went back to Bristol?”

“I said I didn’t want to, you know…”

He nods. “Yes, I know.”

“I was still bleeding, from when David was born. He was disgusted—that’s the only reason he didn’t—force me again. But he didn’t, not straight away, and so I had a bit of time. I wanted rid of him, had to get rid of him. I’d tried the obvious, tried just leaving, and he’d come after me and brought me back. Even though he knew I didn’t want to come, didn’t want to be with him anymore. And apart from my mum’s I’d nowhere else to go. I felt trapped, scared, desperate to be on my own, anywhere away from him. So I needed to do something, anything to get rid of him.” I glance back at Tom, willing him to understand.

His face is expressionless, he waits quietly.

I take a deep breath, hold his gaze as I confess what I did. “So, I turned him in.”

Tom’s mouth turns down, thoughtful, and he nods. Just once, his eyes never leaving mine. But it’s enough to tell me he approves, accepts, understands why I did what I did.

“I phoned Crimestoppers, told them about Kenny and that he was part of some ram raiding that had been going on. They came and arrested him, questioned him. Then they let him go. Just let him go, can you believe it? I was past caring by then, at my wits’ end, scared, desperate. I phoned Crimestoppers again, told them where the stuff from the raids was hidden. And at last, that was enough. His fingerprints were there, the evidence was clear. He got sent down, got three years for it.”

I stop, watch Tom’s face carefully for some reaction, some sign of how he’s taking all this. He frowns, obviously something not adding up still.

“But, you went inside too. You lied for him, gave him an alibi. Why do that, if you wanted him in jail? Why lie for him? And why carry on lying even when it was clear he was guilty?”

I can explain this. “I was covering my tracks. Well, trying to. I thought, if I gave him an alibi, convinced him I was on his side, he’d never work out it was me who told the police. I was terrified of what he’d do if he found out.” My voice drops to a whisper,
“When
he found out. He knows. He must know it was me. And that’s why…”

At last, Tom leans back against the headboard, apparently satisfied. Or more or less so.

“Ram raiding? Not a solitary occupation, I’d guess? Were there others involved?”

I think about that. I suppose there must have been. “Yes, I guess. Probably. I never thought…”

“Could they have been some of those tossers we met today? Could there be more than just Kenny with a score to settle?”

The blood drains from my face, my heart skips as I finally realize the implications. I’ve been so fixated on Kenny, on avoiding him, on getting him out of my life, I never thought about the wider ramifications, the others involved in his criminal past. My past, now apparently catching up with me fast. Tom nods, looking thoughtful.

“Now it makes sense, explains why he was so mob-handed, why six big tough thugs would make the trip up here just for one skinny little girl.” He grins at me. “No offense, love. They were all pissed off, and they all wanted a piece.”

“Oh, God. They’ll kill me. Won’t they? They’ll come back, next time you might not be there…”

“Nope. They’re not gonna get the chance.” Tom’s voice is firm again, hard, confident. The Dom, once more in charge. “I somehow think, after today, most of them will have lost their enthusiasm. Kenny now, I suspect with him it could be more personal. But he might have had enough as well, who knows? In any case, I suggest we finish up what needs doing here, talk to your lawyer, the insurance, get the repairs to the house sorted out, visit the cemetery and then we head back up the M6 as soon as we can. And while we’re here, you’re never going to be on your own. There’ll be me or Nathan with you, all the time. Preferably both of us. Speaking of which, we’ll need to fill him in on all of this. He needs to know what he’s up against, what’s behind all this. Agreed?”

I nod absently as I look at him and wonder if it could be true. Can he—they—protect me? Would they? He’s grabbed his phone from the low table beside the bed and he’s punching in a text then fires it off to Nathan. Again, he catches my gaze, smiles his reassurance, his resolve as he stands up, ambles over to unlatch the door.

And I start to believe. I mouth the words—“Thank you.” He strolls back to the bed, sits down and beckons me to him, and I go immediately. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck as he traces my collar bone with his lips.

“I wish, I just wish you’d told me all about all of this at the beginning. Why didn’t you, Ashley?”

I think back to that crazy, confused time and the overwhelming emotion I felt then, the powerful driver that controlled everything I did in those early days and weeks at Smithy’s Forge. “I was scared. Just plain scared I suppose. Scared of you, absolutely terrified of Nathan. After that first day, with you, it was—strange—but I didn’t think you’d ever do anything worse to me than you had that day. I could cope with that. But Nathan—I was sure he was going to tell the police about me, and then I’d have gone back to jail. And—if that happened, I’d have still been inside when Kenny got out. He’d have been waiting for me. And I don’t think I’d have ever managed to get away again…”

And there was something else I now realize, now recognize. It’s personal, leaves me vulnerable, but I owe him an explanation. He’s my Dom, I can’t lie to him. “And I was lonely. Isolated. I couldn’t go to Black Combe any more, couldn’t talk to Rosie or Grace, I knew no one in the area except you. You were…my anchor. My visits to Greystones were the highlight of my week, my only chance to talk to anyone, the only human contact I had. I couldn’t risk having you turn me away too. So I kept quiet about what had happened before. Our relationship was fragile, but it was all I had…”

With a groan he tips my face to his, kisses me. Then, “Christ, what a pair of absolute bastards we were, me and Nathan. When I think of what I did, how we treated you those first few weeks…”

“It doesn’t matter now, it’s done with.” I’m kissing him back, wriggling closer as the towel slips to my waist and his hands cup my breasts. He flips me onto my back, leans in to take control.

“Bloody hell, you two, I’d suggest you get a room but…”

Shit! I never heard Nathan come in. Tom swears under his breath, turns his head to regard his friend sternly over his shoulder. “Don’t you ever fucking knock?”

Nathan’s grin is unrepentant as he settles himself in the one chair in the room, tips his half full glass at us cheerily. “Hell, bro, I was invited.” He pulls his phone from his jeans pocket, makes a show of checking his texts again, then, “Yes, definite invitation there. So, are we planning a little ménage here? That’s not our usual style of course, but if you insist I don’t mind joining in, just by way of helping you out you understand…” He shakes his head, smiling at my shriek of embarrassed outrage.

I’m struggling under Tom’s weight, trying desperately to make myself decent. Tom takes pity, raises himself slightly and tugs my towel back into place before rolling off. I can’t help noticing his own towel has borne up far better than mine.

“Shit, you pick your moments.” He settles himself on the bed, propped up against the headboard and motions for me to join him there.

I do, and he casually drops an arm across my shoulders, indicating his support, his solidarity. And I appreciate it, I definitely do.

“Okay, we needed a word with you. Ashley’s been telling me what all this stuff with Kenny’s all about, and we agreed you need to be in the picture too. Okay, Ashley?”

I nod reluctantly. I can see why we need to tell him but still. Buoyed up—if only slightly—by Tom’s support I look Nathan in the eye, his face now serious as he waits to hear what we—I—have to say. I start with my customary apology.

“I feel so embarrassed by all this. It just confirms what you said, when I first arrived at Smithy’s Forge. I’ve brought you trouble, just like you said I would. I’m sorry…”

Tom stiffens, starts to protest, to reassure me yet again, but it’s Nathan’s hand that’s raised, silencing us both.

“I know, I know all that, know exactly what you’re going to say. Heard it all before, too many times. So understand this, Ms McAllister, because I don’t want to have to repeat myself. If I hear one more word from you about being sorry, about bringing trouble our way, about being a burden or any more of that fucking crap, I’ll be holding Tom’s jacket while he puts you over his knee and spanks you. Then I’ll take over and spank you myself. And believe me, neither one of us is going to be gentle. So enough now. We care about you. We all care about you, and we’ve all done things we’re not proud of. Let’s move on. Please.”