Tara (76 page)

She sat on the side of the narrow bed, dressed and ready, and tried to control the rising panic within her. When she finally heard footsteps in the passage Tara almost shrieked with joy. She jumped up, slid the Stanley knife into her pocket and handed the rope to Harry.

'Just stay where you are,' she whispered. 'If one of them bends over you, use this. You aren't strong enough to stand.'

She had only the briefest look at him as the outer door was unlocked. His eyes were almost closed with pain, his breathing laboured, his mouth boyish and vulnerable.

She kissed him, stroking his face gently.
1
love you, Harry.'

The key was turning in the lock. Tara stood close by it, poised for action.

'Take me up to speak to Joe?' she said the moment the door opened. It wasn't Micky as she'd expected but an older man with short mousy hair, possibly the one called Carl Harry had spoken of. 'It's really important. I must speak to him.'

'Now hold on.' The man was surprised by her calm. 'My brief was just to let you use the bog, nothing else.'

'You must be Carl?' Tara widened her eyes and moved closer to him, reaching out and putting one hand on his arm almost seductively. 'I'm sure a real man like yourself wouldn't want to hurt a lady, particularly if she's got some information which will help you all.'

'I'll have to ask.' Carl's eyes were constantly on the move, flitting nervously round the room. 'Get back in there while I lock the door again.'

The door slammed shut and was locked. After a second the other door slammed behind him.

Tara used Harry's comb to tidy her hair, wishing she had some make-up or could even clean her teeth before she had to face Joe. What if he refused to see her? What if he wouldn't speak to her alone?

Harry was right out now and the bandage was soaked in blood again. He still held the length of rope in his hands but he would never be capable of defending himself.

Footsteps came back down the stairs. Once again the doors were opened and Carl looked in.

'All right, come on,' he said, looking over to Harry. 'But don't even think of any funny business!'

It confirmed everything. Joe knew who she was!

Carl held her arm the whole way, fingers digging into her as if he was prepared for her to make a dash. She had expected to be taken to the kitchen, but instead he marched her right up the stairs to the first floor.

They were all in the room at the front where she'd seen the sleeping bags. Micky was lying down, another young man with dirty straw hair and pale blue eyes was crouching over a radio and Joe sat by the window on a fishing stool. There was a great deal of equipment in the room – wet suits, flippers, fishing rods and the kind of large plastic boxes fishermen use to keep their bait. Tara's eyes scanned it quickly, and she took deep breaths to combat the feeling of panic.

'What's so important?' Joe looked up at her. It was difficult to assess whether he was smiling or scowling, but as Tara looked into his deep brown eyes she knew she was right about his identity.

'It's something only for your ears,' she said in a small voice. She could see something in one of the open fishing boxes that looked remarkably like a gun. 'Could we talk alone?'

Joe looked round at his men and back to her. 'Go and take a walk,' he said.

Carl's fingers still dug into her arm and as Tara took a step nearer Joe his grip tightened. Micky and Frank got up, shot curious glances at her and sauntered out.

'Could he wait outside, too?' Tara asked. 'What I've got to say is very personal.' She didn't dare look directly at the fishing box in case he followed her eyes, but she was ninety-eight per cent certain it was a gun.

Joe got up from the stool, rubbing his back with his hands in a gesture she remembered clearly from her childhood. He was fit now, not a trace of belly hanging over his trousers. The flabby jaw she remembered was tighter, the undamaged skin on his face glowing with health even though he needed a shave. If he had his dark hair back and kept his left side towards her, he would look almost the same as he did in his old Army snaps.

'OK, Carl,' he snapped. 'Wait outside. I'll give her five minutes.'

The moment Carl walked out of the door, Tara moved closer towards both Joe and the box.

'Well, come on,' he said impatiently, sitting down again on the stool. 'What's all this about?'

'Take a good look at me,' she said softly. 'The hair colouring, the eyes.'

She looked straight at him, opening her eyes wide. He knew who she was, she saw it in his eyes, but to her surprise she saw consternation. 'You didn't mind killing me while I didn't know you, I suppose,' she said softly. 'You made the mistake of giving me too much time to think.'

'How did you know?' His voice had lost its harshness.

The baldness and the scar distracted me,' she said slowly, inching closer towards the box. It was a gun, a small pistol like ones she'd seen in films. Was it loaded? Could she actually fire it if necessary? 'But you couldn't change your voice.'

He was knocked off balance. She could see an almost tender expression, and knew she had to act now before he snapped back to his customary hardness. She opened her arms just a little, as if intending to embrace him, and moved forward.

'Did I turn out as you imagined?' She kept her voice sweet and warm, her eyes on him while she gauged the point at which she must bend and snatch up the gun.'I changed my name because Anne MacDonald didn't sound like a designer.'

'I never imagined you so pretty.' His voice was hoarse with emotion. 'You were real ginger when you were little.'

The bob down to grab the gun looked like nothing more than a bend to scratch a knee, or even to sit on the sleeping bag lying on the floor. Her hand going to the box could be interpreted as merely steadying herself. But in that split-second her fingers closed round the stock and she drew it out, pointing it at him.

'Back to the same point we left one another all those years ago!' Her voice was strong, even though her hand was shaking.'I wasn't wrong about you, Dad, not that time, not ever. I should have blinded you with that poker.' She had to bring her other hand up to steady the gun. Sweat was trickling down over her forehead and the sunshine through the window was almost blinding after the cellar's murky light.

'Give me that gun.' His voice roared out with all the power she remembered as a kid.

She smiled then. Had it not been loaded his eyes wouldn't be popping out of his head.

'Well, Joe Spikes,' she drawled the name sarcastically. 'The boot's on the other foot now, isn't it? I've got the gun and I intend to shoot you if you even attempt to take it off me. So you'll just obey my orders for now.'

'Come on, darlin'.' He tried to smile but he just looked even more evil. 'I'm yer dad, for God's sake!'

'You'd have killed me regardless.' She raised one eyebrow. 'You killed my gran, didn't you, and that old priest. Paul panicked when he thought you were coming after him, and he died too. So tell me, Dad, what do I owe you?'

'You don't know the half.' His eyes looked wild. 'Paul wasn't my kid, he was George Collins', she deceived me, lied to me. She got George to grass me up. I loved her.'

'You never loved anyone but yourself,' Tara spat at him. 'Paul was your son, he was the very image of you. Mum loved you even after all those beatings, even when she was humiliated and broken. She even cried when the police told her you died in that car crash.'

She could see this shook him by the trembling of his twisted lips, a blurring of his eyes.

'She turned on me,' he said. 'When I came out of prison the first time.'

'Well, you poor bloody thing,' Tara sneered. 'Never occurred to you that she almost starved while you were inside. She adored you, but you just had to ruin everything with your thieving, gambling, drinking and brutality, didn't you?'

'You don't know how things were!' His tone was almost petulant.

'Don't I?' Tara taunted him. 'I've heard Mum's stories about what a prince you were, how you stood up to Gran, even what happened in the garden here.'

He looked up quickly, surprised.

'Yes, she told me,' Tara snapped. 'Don't you feel any shame that you'd plan to kill me in the same place I was conceived in love?'

He couldn't answer that. For a moment his head drooped and she knew she'd touched the part of him that had once been a war hero and a tender lover.

'I didn't expect you to turn up here. You should never have found out about this.'

'Why kill Gran?' she asked. 'What could an old lady do to hurt you?'

'I only wanted to find out where you and Amy were.' His head shot up in defiance. 'I didn't know you all lived there then. I just crept in intending to look through her things and find an address.'

'Gran heard you?' Tara relaxed the gun just enough to be comfortable.

'She caught me in the kitchen.' His eyes flashed dangerously, just the way she remembered. 'She knew who I was immediately.'

Tara lifted the gun a little, just in case.

'But why kill her, a defenceless old woman?'

'She weren't never defenceless, not that one.' He shook his head. 'She'd have shopped me. Both you and Amy would have been shamed.'

'You mean you'd be doing a life sentence as a priest killer.' Tara's lip curled back in disgust. 'Don't make out it was for our benefit! But I've heard all I want to. Now you're coming with me.'

The gun was a bonus she hadn't expected, her plan had consisted of little more than an emotional appeal. But six inches of potential destruction in her hand changed everything. She could force Joe and his men to change places with Harry, call the police and get them to round up the whole gang.

But Joe was looking up at her in astonishment, not taking her seriously.

'I said you're coming with me,' she said more firmly. 'If you don't, I'll shoot you. It's all the same to me.'

He stood up reluctantly. 'Don't do this, Anne!' It sounded like a threat. "The others, they'll jump you. Let me talk to them and find a way round it.'

'I'm not Anne, I'm Tara.' She tossed her hair back from her face. 'And you mean nothing to me. If anyone tries to jump me I'll kill them, or you. Now move it, to the door, and call Carl.'

Did they have more guns? The question jumped into her head and stayed there. What if the threat to blow Joe's head off didn't work? Could she really squeeze the trigger?

He opened the door. 'Carl!' he yelled. He opened his mouth to add something else, but Tara dug the gun in the small of his back.

'Don't! I explain things.'

Carl came running up the stairs. He paused as he turned on to the landing, instantly suspecting something.

'I've got a gun at his back.' Tara spoke in a strong, clear voice. 'If you do as I say I'll let him go later. If not I'll shoot him, then you. Understand?'

'Eh, yes!' He was clearly startled by this turn of events.

'Have you still got the keys of the cellar?' she asked.

He nodded, his eyes flitting between her and Joe.

'Right then, we'll go down.' She prodded Joe for-ward. 'Where are the other men?'

'In the kitchen.' Carl turned back to the stairs.

'Well, we'll walk slowly down there. When we get to the kitchen you call them to come out and they join us. Any trouble, any smart moves, Joe gets it and I'll go on shooting till the bullets run out.'

Her mouth was dry, her heart pounding with fear as Carl began to move down the stairs. She prodded Joe and the pair of them followed Carl.

'Call them out, Joe,' Tara ordered as they reached the kitchen. She could hear Frank talking to Micky and she wondered whether Harry was right in believing that Micky would help them if the chips were down.

'Frank, Micky!' Joe's voice boomed out. 'Here.' It was ridiculous for her to even think they'd be loyal to Joe, she saw that immediately in Frank's foxy, mean face. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen and looked contemptuously at her.

'Down the stairs to the cellar,' Tara ordered. 'Go on, or I shoot.'

'I don't give a fuck who you shoot, lady,' he sneered. 'It won't be me, that's for certain.'

'Don't push me,' she said. 'I want Harry out of that cellar and I'll do whatever it takes. Tell them to do it, Joe!' She prodded his back, but she was feeling dwarfed now by the four men all packed into the narrow passage.

'You heard the lady,' Joe said, but she couldn't see his face and she sensed he was giving them some silent directive. In panic Tara stepped back on to the stairs so she could see above their heads. Joe was now just a couple of feet from her, Carl perhaps a yard in front. Frank stood scowling in the kitchen doorway, Micky was just behind him. It was another five feet or so from the kitchen to the cellar stairs and she knew they could easily overpower her there. She had to scare them now.

'Get moving.' She forced herself to keep her voice steady and she lifted the gun, moving it from side to side to imply she hadn't decided who she would shoot. 'Frank, you first. Down to the cellar.'

He leaned back on the doorpost and crossed his arms defiantly; she saw he had 'love' and 'hate' tattooed on his knuckles and a spider's web round each elbow.

'I said move.' She shouted this time, lifting the gun and aiming it at Frank's legs. 'Or you won't move under your own steam again.'

He just shrugged his shoulders and stared insolently at her. Anger rose like bile in her stomach. She waved the gun between them, brought it to rest pointing it at Frank's knees and squeezed the trigger. The bang and the impact made her stagger back. A trail of smoke hid Frank for a moment but she could hear a howl of pain.

'Does that show you I'm serious?' she screamed, going up another step and looking down at all four of them. Frank was clutching at his crotch, bent over double and blood spurted out on to the floor. 'I'm not a good shot. I aimed at his knees, but I suppose that has the same crippling effect.'

'You fucking bitch.' Frank looked up at her, eyes streaming, lips quivering.

Tara waved the gun again, looking to each of the men in turn. Joe turned towards her and she saw a glint of admiration.