Dead Pretty (22 page)

‘I've already told the nurse. At the bottom of the stairs. Got him here as soon as I could.'

‘Why didn't you dial 999?'

‘I wanted to get him in straight away.'

‘I see. How did you manage him? He's a big man.'

‘Carl managed to walk a bit. He didn't seem so bad, at first.'

‘You're not Mrs Phillips though?'

‘No. Carl's divorced, almost. Things are almost settled with that. I'm his girl … his partner.'

It had a more solid ring to it than girlfriend. Please don't even think how I got him here, Julie thought. I can't even fucking drive.

‘Is he going to be all right, doctor?'

‘As I said, he's had a very nasty blow to the head. He must have come down those stairs pretty fast.'

‘Most people do, when they fall.'

‘He'll probably need an operation, to remove pressure from his brain. We'll need to contact his next of kin. Would you have an address, phone number?'

‘Can't help you there. There was no contact. Look, can I see him?'

‘He's not conscious, but, yes, for a moment.'

Carl was all wired up. Things bleeped and whirred. Lots of activity going on around him. Just like on the telly, Julie thought bitterly. She'd never felt more alone when that doctor had talked about next of kin. What was she? Someone Carl had picked up in a bar, on grab-a-granny night. His ex had more rights than her. Julie had never been to hospital, apart from having Mark and Shane. Staying healthy had been the Richards' one success story. Healthy in body, at least.

Carl seemed to be breathing all right, but his face was grey. Julie touched his arm lightly, as if she was waking him up to go to work.

‘Sorry, Carl,' she whispered.

If and when he came round, Julie wondered if he'd want to bother with her any more. Mark was still out there, capable of God knows what. This hadn't ended yet, not by a long chalk.

A nurse beckoned her to leave. As she did another woman was coming down the corridor, taller than her, and a bit younger. She knew instinctively that this was Carl's ex-wife. They exchanged glances but Julie stepped past quickly. She had to get out of this place, before she was asked any more awkward questions. Mark's money was heavy in her pocket. He'd given her a few hundred pounds, enough to stay somewhere near the hospital for a while. Julie thought of getting a taxi back to Carl's place to get her suitcase, the one she should have been taking to Ireland, but couldn't face it. Maybe Mark was right about them not knowing, but she didn't feel up to taking a chance. Perhaps she could pick up some essentials in the morning. She left her mobile number at reception and gave Carl's address. She told the pretty, bored receptionist that word
partner
again, more confidently this time. She liked the sound of it.

Julie couldn't do anything for Carl now, so her thoughts turned back to Mark. She didn't want them to but she couldn't help it; it was all true about blood and water. If Mark had told it straight, it wasn't his fault about the girl, yet the mess was still the same. As it had been with Shane. Never Mark's fault, but life still smashed to pieces. Perhaps her son was cursed. Julie trembled in the cold air and waved at a taxi that was dropping someone off.

‘Where to, luv?'

‘Do you know a decent B & B close by, nothing too expensive?'

‘There's a few down the road, like.'

‘OK. Take me to one of them, then.'

‘Travelling light are we?'

Nosy git, Julie thought. People always wanted to know, and anything out of place got a question.

‘Came down to the hospital, with my mother,' Julie murmured. ‘It's an emergency, I didn't have time to pack a bag.'

‘Oh, I see.'

The room at the B & B was all right, and the woman not too interested, not when Julie told her the same tale. Julie dialled Mark's number, but cancelled the call before it could ring. She didn't know what else to say. He was running again. Always to and from danger, it seemed he'd been the same since he'd fought his way out of her. That hadn't been easy either – she'd yelled herself hoarse for a long time before Mark appeared. The father wasn't around. He'd scarpered as soon as she was showing. No maintenance money from men in those days, not that any of her old boyfriends would have had anything to give anyway. At least that sod had kept away.

As Julie gazed out on a landscape of old industry scarring up the coastline, tall chimneys funnelling smoke into the air, she thought of phoning the police. It was the one way to save Mark's life, but a lifetime's training wouldn't let her. She couldn't go through it all again, the endless questions, all the stuff in the papers, television, swimming around like a helpless bloody fish in a bowl. Shane brought back in all his mysterious glory. Anyway, from what she'd seen of those men who tried to kill them, she doubted that Mark would be safe in prison. Better he took his chances. Maybe that made her a bad mother, but at this moment she was past caring.

Julie waited a few hours before she phoned the hospital. An older woman was on the desk.
Partner
got her put through to the right ward, then an agonising minute's wait while someone was fetched. ‘Please, God, please,' she muttered to herself. Hardly aware she was saying it, such words hadn't passed her lips for more than ten years. A young man's voice answered in a foreign accent.
Yes, Mr Phillips has had an operation to remove pressure from the brain. He's stable, but very ill. No, he has not regained consciousness. His wife is with him.

Julie turned the phone off. The doctor's last sentence was a gutter, but not enough to kill the relief that she felt. Stable-serious. She preferred to go with stable. Julie turned the room's comfy chair towards the window. It was threadbare and well past comfy, but still welcome. She lit up a cigarette and watched the sky darken. The steelworks a mile away was bringing out all its colours. Hot reds and oranges gaining strength in the night, necklace-like patterns of lights, and stacks releasing smoke of various densities. It looked like hell, perfect for the way she was feeling, but there was also a kind of beauty in it. It reminded her of those sci-fi and horror videos Mark used to knock off, for a brief time he'd been obsessed by nonsense like alien worlds, and space ships, and the steelworks looked like a giant one landing in the night. A few of the men from the estate had travelled here to work. They were like millionaires compared to the rest, and they got away as soon as they could.

If she could face it, she'd get over to Carl's place tomorrow, and ask the taxi driver to wait while she got her case. That would be long enough. Julie got up and took the thin duvet from the bed and wrapped it around her. It was a double bed, and she did not want to sleep in it.

*

Mark woke at first light. He'd transferred to Julie's bed in the middle of the night. For a moment he thought he was back in the flat in London, encouraged by the residue of Julie's perfume in the room.

The blues ring tone on his phone sounded, breaking the silence in the flat in a very eerie way. He could almost hear Elvis's voice echoing around the room. It was Julie and Mark steeled himself for bad news. It must be, at this time in the morning.

‘Mark, you awake?'

‘I am now.'

‘What's the time?'

‘Before seven.'

‘I didn't notice. Didn't sleep much.'

‘Is Carl …?'

‘He's alive. They had to operate on him. I just phoned now. He's stable, whatever that means. They wouldn't tell me too much. I'm not next of kin, see.'

‘Operate on what?'

‘His head, stupid. Something about relieving the pressure.'

‘Where are you now, Mam?'

‘In a B & B. Couldn't face going back to his place, but I will later. Just to get my stuff. I'm not staying. When the money runs out I'll go back to Penarth.'

‘You can't do that. They know about the flat.'

‘You got any better ideas?'

‘Look, if you stop in Carl's house the money will last a lot longer. They don't know about his place, or him, for that matter. That knowledge died with those blokes up at the church. I'll try to send some more money when I can.'

‘I dunno. It would be freaky going back there. We're not all made like you, Mark. Christ, I never thought I'd miss the estate, but at least you knew where you were up there. Maybe people like us don' deserve nothing better.'

‘Don't talk like that, Mam. You were doing fine. New life, new place, new man. It's not all gone, Carl
will
get through this, and he'll stand by you. I know he will, he's sound.'

‘What, stand by a woman who's going round the twist 'cos she's lost both her sons.'

‘You haven't lost me.'

‘Just a matter of time, innit?'

They had been here so many times before. Hopeless attempts at reassurance that led nowhere. All Mark could hope for was to keep any further chaos away from her.

As Mark stood looking out at the sea he thought of Angelo's last words,
you take an eye, we'll take many.
He was starting to focus on Stellachi now, that hard blond face. He wanted that bastard to suffer, and had nowhere else to go now. Mark felt he knew the man already, but Stellachi's early life probably made Mark's upbringing on the estate seem idyllic.

‘Mark, you still there?'

‘Aye. My battery's running low. I'll have to look for the charger.'

‘Don' know what to say to me, do you?'

‘Well, I'm not going to say something stupid like don't worry, but you
will
be all right, Mam. Stay close to Carl now.'

‘Why don' you turn yourself in to the police, love?'

‘You don't really want that, or you would have phoned them yourself. You must have thought about it. No, no more publicity for the Richards, Mam. I'll keep this as private as possible.'

As he said this, Mark saw Lena sinking down through black water. If he lost out over there, he'd go in a similar way. He'd never be found, he was sure of that. Each of Julie's sons will have vanished and she'd never know the truth about either. The rest of her life would be one of dark guesses.

‘Time I made a move, Mam.'

‘You're going after that man, aren't you?'

‘Better you know nothing from here on in.'

‘I wish you'd kept it that way from the start.'

‘If I could change it, I would, but it's done now. At least we're all still here.'

‘Go on then, go off and get your bloody self killed. What do I care any more?'

But care was shot through her racked voice, Mark heard the tears and felt like he was being kicked in the stomach. He'd always hated his mother crying, though it had saturated his early life. Mark tried to think of something positive to say before he hung up, but it was hopeless, Julie would have been waiting for ever. She ended the call.

The room was very quiet. She hadn't even said goodbye and Mark couldn't blame her. For a moment going to the police was attractive. He felt drained, like he had when the thieving had got too much in the old days. When he became increasingly careless in his house-breaking, careless enough to let himself be caught. It was all he could think to do to end it, after Shane went. To give his mother a break and put himself in the hands of others. The scraps of care and punishment offered by the state, though hated, became a way out and he'd taken it.

Mark turned his own phone off, went to the bathroom and showered. He stood under it for a long time, letting the water penetrate. He'd been grubby as a kid, but even one day on the hills had been enough to tell him how much he'd changed-outwardly. Skanky hair and three-day-old underwear were a thing of the past, and he never wanted to return to it.

Mark got dressed, using some of the clothes that had been on walkabout with him. He looked crumpled but clean. He took a look at himself in the mirror, and the stare back was even wilder than usual, but he hardly noticed this; his mind's eye was focused on Stellachi. That man must stay in central position now, his one image of him, framed by old Rome, waiting for him like the gladiators of old. People forced to kill for money, need, and even pleasure a long time ago, but nothing had changed much in the world. It was a pity he couldn't go back to those times. Meet Stellachi in a bloody ring, winner takes all. Mark made sure the notebook was safe. There were numbers for Stellachi in it. He logged them in his mobile and put the notebook in the inside pocket of his coat. Its contents were mainly unfathomable to him, but his enemies didn't know that. The notebook had to stay next to him at all times, it might be a lifesaver.

Mark emptied the rucksack and borrowed one of Julie's small weekend cases. It wouldn't look so conspicuous. He left what he could, putting Lena's Amsterdam doll on the mantelpiece. It looked at home there, and Julie might not even notice it. A decision had to be made about the guns. Terrorism had made things tough for honest crooks and security at the ports would be too tight to get through. The guns would have to go.

There was milk, juice and cereal in Julie's kitchen. He made himself a large bowl of muesli which tasted of liquid cardboard and drank a glass of grapefruit juice, so sharp it almost cut his throat. When Julie phoned he'd been sleeping soundly. He felt guilty about that, in the wake of so much killing, but survival instinct was taking over. His brain, body, senses were adjusting to what had gone down over the weekend. It no longer seemed dreamlike. Everything had happened and he couldn't change any of it. It was Tuesday morning, day five, PL.

Mark stepped out into a fine, mild day. The weather was all over the place, but he remembered Julie saying how much better the climate was here, just twenty miles away from the valleys. It was still early, not many people about as he walked down to the seafront. There was an old pier here that had been tarted up, its boardwalk sanded and painted. He walked out on it, nodding to an old man getting his fishing stuff ready.