Red Alert (7 page)

‘Yes, of course …’

‘That’s it settled then. I’ll help you move your stuff.’

Tommy’s thin face lit up with a smile.

‘It’ll be great, Sandra. I’m beginning to feel in the way at Greg’s place. Oh, not that he purposely does anything …’ he hastily added. ‘It’s just he’s got Kirsty now and she’s there so often, it’s natural they want some privacy.’

It turned out that Tommy had very few belongings. The most he had was an easel and canvases and paints. As well as drawing and painting in the Art School, he worked a lot at home. There were sketches and paintings that Sandra admired so much that Tommy began to laugh at her.

‘You’re no judge of my stuff at all. You’re completely biased in my favour.’

‘No, I’m not. If I thought they were no good, I’d say so. Or at least I wouldn’t sing their praises. I’m telling you, Tommy, you are a wonderful artist. You’ve got something, some sort of spark that even Simon Price doesn’t have. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he’s so rotten to you. He’s jealous.’

‘Oh now, that’s going too far. Everyone can see he’s brilliant. If I practise until I’m a hundred, I’ll never be as good as him.’

‘You mustn’t think like that, Tommy. Have some faith in yourself, for goodness’ sake. Yours is a different style from his. You’re more original.’

‘Will you stop talking about my work. Come here.’

He gathered her into his arms, stroked her fiery hair and kissed it. His lips warmed over her neck and cheek. Then his mouth fastened over hers. She melted with love for him. But it was a protective love, as well as a passionate one. She resolved to do everything in her power to increase Tommy’s confidence in his work, and not to allow Simon Price to continue to verbally destroy it. The more she thought about jealousy as a motivation, the more she believed it. He was using Tommy’s unfortunate surname to get at him, but it was really that spark of originality and brilliance in Tommy’s work that he couldn’t stand.

It was good that Tommy liked her flat in Charing Cross Mansions. He was sorry, of course, that the M8 motorway had sliced apart the original soft, refined elegance of the area and Burnet’s Charing Cross Mansions. The building, with its fine red sandstone and ornate frontage, was illuminated at night, making it a beacon of beauty. Sandra was proud to live in one of the flats, and now so was Tommy.

They’d had Greg and Kirsty to supper a couple of times, and it was good to share each other’s happiness. It added to the enjoyment of the evening and they were all looking forward to the wedding. Greg was champing at the bit and would have rushed Kirsty to the registry office right away.

‘Or,’ he’d said, ‘how about Gretna Green? How about us all going to Gretna? A double wedding. How about that?’

He was such an impatient, rash kind of man and obviously someone who liked getting his own way. But Kirsty wasn’t going to be rushed. She was having none of it. Kirsty was no dumb blonde. She knew what she wanted and that was a white wedding next summer, to be held in the church.

As far as Sandra and Tommy were concerned, they had agreed that they were fine as they were, and would just wait until they’d finished Art School and had started earning a bit of money.

Kirsty’s mother was making her wedding dress and Sandra wondered if she’d make her bridesmaid’s dress as well. She couldn’t afford an expensive, fancy dress. She was lucky, of course, to have the flat and no rent to worry about. She hadn’t liked to ask Tommy but she didn’t think his parents were helping him financially because he’d taken a part-time job at weekends in the local supermarket.

His parents were English but had retired and bought a house up in the north of Scotland, in Wester Ross. As far as Sandra knew, they had never been down to Glasgow to visit Tommy. She didn’t think much of them at all. For a start, why didn’t they change their name? Who in their right mind would want to go through life with a name like Pratt? She certainly didn’t. Before she’d even think of marriage to Tommy, she’d have to persuade him to change his name. Of course, maybe it didn’t have the same connotations in England. Maybe even in Scotland nobody bothered about it. Certainly none of the other students had said anything. It was just that evil bastard, Simon Price.

Anyway, Tommy seemed much happier once he’d moved into Charing Cross Mansions. Apart from the view of the motorway and the ugly modern building on the other side of Sauchiehall Street and the equally awful coffin-shaped Union building, the flat had a good situation.

Sandra and Tommy liked to walk down Sauchiehall Street to their favourite café in the CCA, the Centre for Contemporary Art, where they could sit for ages over a cup of herbal tea and admire all the artwork. Sometimes they met some of the other students there. Everyone among their group was friendly and sociable, except Betty Powell.

‘She’s a loner, a right odd-bod.’

Quite often she could be found on her own, standing in the ‘hen run’, staring out over the city at the carpet of rooftops that undulated in waves away from the Art School, down towards the hidden Clyde. The occasional steeple stabbed the grey skies that loomed overhead. The hen run was one of the brilliant ideas of Charles Rennie Mackintosh. A dark stone staircase twisted and turned, punctuated by little archways like an Escher drawing all the way to the hen run. The hen run clung precariously to the edge of the massive stone building, a transparent floating capsule with its slanting glass roof and huge wall of glass.

Betty would just be standing there on her own. She never even turned to smile and say hello when a crowd of them passed, their feet clattering noisily along the old and increasingly rickety planking of the floor. She was an unattractive, bespectacled girl with her old-fashioned clothes, her pale unmade-up face and mousy frizz of hair. At first, they’d all tried to be friendly with her but she’d shrunk away, avoiding their eyes and saying very little, if anything. Eventually everyone gave up and just let her be.

Tommy had only been living in the flat for a few weeks when Sandra had the idea of being his life model. They had rigged up one of the spare rooms as a studio and they both worked there. They couldn’t afford a television but painting passed their time happily enough.

Tommy liked the idea and so each night, Sandra stripped off and leaned against the cushions of the small settee in the room, carefully draping her limbs into a pose of elegant casualness. She enjoyed the freedom and sensuality. Tommy, confident now that he was in his element, directed and painted her nakedness.

She could see, as he worked, the love in his eyes fading away, and total professional concentration taking its place.

But the love in her eyes never wavered.

When Kirsty returned to the living room after getting a very drunken Johnny into bed, Greg was standing in the middle of the hearthrug, feet planted firmly apart, hands gripped behind his back.

‘One day, Kirsty, you’ll be forced to face facts.’

‘What facts?’ Her voice sharpened with protective anger. Johnny had come in with three of his Goth pals, all of them very drunk. Greg wasted no time in getting rid of the three pals. ‘He’s just been out enjoying himself with some of his friends. This was Paul and Renee’s night off from the casino.’

‘God knows what would have happened with those weirdos if I hadn’t been here. As for your brother, Kirsty, he’s a menace and a danger to himself, as well as everybody else.’

‘You don’t understand.’

How could Greg, always so confident, always so sure of himself, understand someone like Johnny?

‘What’s there to understand? As well as having weirdo friends, he’s in charge of a car and a gun, for God’s sake.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Greg. The gun’s kept in the flat and he wouldn’t have been capable of driving or doing anything in that state.’

‘I’m being ridiculous?’ Greg’s voice rose with sarcasm. ‘Kirsty, the guy’s capable of anything and he knows you’ll let him get away with anything.’

It was just that Greg didn’t know him, she kept telling herself. He hadn’t known Johnny as a sickly child unable to join in the games with other boys of his age. She remembered his hand in hers and his eyes saucer-sized with anxiety staring up at her as he said, ‘When I’m a big boy, I’ll be able to run faster than them, won’t I, Kirsty? When I’m grown up, I’ll be able to do anything better than them.’

He always tried so hard. Even as a child herself, she had seen the terrible fear in his eyes and she had hastened to reassure him.

‘Of course you will,’ she said, and kissed his painfully thin face.

The years had barely changed him. He still needed her reassurance, her protection, and her love, and nobody – not even Greg – could stop her giving her brother these things.

‘You just don’t know Johnny as I do, Greg.’

‘I know he’s a no-good weakling.’

No beating about the bush with Greg. Sometimes Kirsty had to laugh at his startling forthrightness. But she couldn’t laugh now.

‘How dare you say that!’ she cried. ‘He’s got more kindness and compassion in his little finger than you’ll ever have in your whole life, and he’s none of your business.’

She knew she had gone too far as soon as the words flew out of her mouth. In her ensuing panic, she realised how much she loved Greg.

‘Oh, I’m sorry Greg. I didn’t mean that. I’m just upset.’

After a moment, Greg said, ‘Let’s get this straight.’ His eyes were hard, and chillingly cold. ‘When we get married, I don’t want your brother causing any more trouble between us. That’s why what he does, and what he is, is my business.’

She managed to nod and push out more apologetic words.

‘I know, Greg. It’s just that I was so worried about Mum waking up and hearing what was going on. Or Dad coming in. He’s at some late meeting with the directors. And he’ll have been drinking too. I just wanted Johnny to be in bed before Dad came home.’ Fear filled her eyes. ‘Please forgive me, Greg.’

‘Of course I forgive you.’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘I love you and can’t bear to see you worried and upset like this. The quicker we get married and you get out of this house and away from your brother, the better.’

‘The time’ll soon pass to our wedding date.’ She hastily wiped at her eyes and smiled up at him. ‘Sandra and Tommy are really looking forward to it and we’re so lucky to get a hotel booking for the reception with a proper cake supplied and everything. As I told you, sometimes it takes a couple of years to get a wedding booking in such a good hotel.’

Greg sighed and shook his head.

‘Well, I’m glad the lot of you are happy. You know how I feel. I would be more than happy to go to the nearest registry office. No cake, or any of the frills. Just a drink and then home afterwards.’

She gave him a friendly punch. ‘That’s just because you can’t wait to get me into bed.’

He grinned. ‘I get you into bed now. Or had you forgotten?’

As if she could. Since Tommy had left Greg’s flat, and she and Greg could have the place to themselves, she had discovered just what a sexually passionate man Greg was.

Not for the first time, she told herself, she was an extremely lucky woman. She resolved never to mention Johnny’s name to Greg again. It just led to arguments and trouble every time. The time might come when she would lose him. She daren’t take that risk any longer. No, from now on, she told herself firmly, she was going to guard her relationship with Greg. From now on, she was definitely going to put him first.

That didn’t mean, of course, that she was able to stop worrying about her brother. A few days later, she sensed a difference in him. So much so that she got him on his own in his bedroom, and said, ‘Has something happened, Johnny? If there’s something wrong, I don’t want you to worry Mum about it. Just tell me.’

He gave a high-pitched laugh that made her more concerned than ever.

‘Nothing’s wrong.’

‘You haven’t got mixed up with anything dishonest, have you?’

‘I haven’t done a thing.’ He laughed again. ‘What an idea! What would your straight-as-a-die hero say to that? I can just imagine him rushing to tell his police pals all about me.’

Despite the laughter, she saw a glimpse of fear in his eyes before he turned away and left the room. She stood listening to his feet clattering down the stairs, wondering what she should do. He would be on his way now to Paul and Renee’s flat. She thought about following him and confronting him there. She decided against it. He would be furious at her for putting a foot in their precious flat. To Johnny, it was almost a hallowed place. He always insisted it was the first job he’d managed to do successfully and where he was trusted and appreciated, where he was happy.

It would be wiser, Kirsty decided, to wait until tomorrow morning when he was at home and they could sit down and relax with a cup of coffee and have a proper talk. Her mother was always busy at her needlework and sewing machine in the forenoons. She hadn’t seen her mother so happy and relaxed for years. Even her father couldn’t spoil all the euphoria of the wedding plans.

What added to her mother’s happiness, of course, was the fact that Greg was so good to the older woman. Kirsty had teased him about it.

‘Who would believe,’ she said, ‘that a great big hulking brute could be so kind and gentle to an old woman?’

‘Watch your language, my girl!’ He glowered down at her with mock ferociousness. ‘Or I’ll be forced to put you over my knee and deliver some well-deserved corporal punishment. With this …’ He showed her a big, broad palm. She laughed and smoothed her cheek against it.

‘I’m not afraid of you.’

‘Mmm.’ He kissed her on the mouth. ‘I must admit that for such a little, delicate-looking blonde, you’ve an astonishing amount of nerve.’

She had a feeling that she was going to need some of that nerve. Her instinct had always been right about Johnny. And her instinct was telling her now that something was seriously wrong. Johnny was not just anxious. He was frightened.

Betty pushed through the blackened swing doors into the studio. It was bathed in cool, clear light from the huge window that dominated the far wall, soaring up to the ceiling so high above them. She passed one of the other students. He was carrying his large canvas up the narrow wooden staircase to the spacious mezzanine work area that overlooked the main studio.