Donalson, Hackett, Morton and Clay.
Passion decompressed, whipping out through the cracks to leave me icy and shivering. It was suddenly dark and cold enough to see their breath grunting out like cattle as the four of them brutally set about softening me up for what was to come. They’d been drinking, too, and I could still remember the taint of it on their voices. I could feel the wet gravel grating beneath my back, rough hands snatching at my body, ripping at my clothes, lifting me . . .
Eyes wild and totally blind, I began to thrash, twisting and bucking in a pure visceral response. I was dimly aware of a gap opening up and I lunged for it. Everything I’d ever learned kaleidoscoped through my mind and bypassed logical thought to translate straight into action, so fast that afterwards I had no idea of exactly what I’d done.
“Charlie!”
The voice was urgent but calm, if a little croaky.
I blinked a couple of times. The bitter cold receded, leaching away the pain and the fear, sliding them off into my subconscious.
I came back to myself and found Sean was lying flat on the living room floor with me kneeling over him. My fists were bunched in his shirt, forearms crossed so I had one elbow wedged onto his throat. The low table was knocked on its side next to us and what was left of the bottle of Jim Beam was emptying steadily into the pattern on the carpet, making quiet glugging noises. Away in the kitchen, the dogs were barking like crazy.
“Charlie,” Sean said again, his voice soft. Not easy to speak when someone’s half-throttling you. He had his hands open at shoulder height, submissive, not making any attempt to touch or provoke me. “It’s OK,” he murmured, like he was talking down someone on a high ledge. “It’s all OK. Come on, talk to me, Charlie. Who am I?”
Utterly mortified, I released my grip without speaking, tried to rise and discovered that my legs wouldn’t support me. I managed it on the second attempt and staggered to the sofa, sinking down onto it with my head in my hands.
“Oh God,” I said, shaken and ashamed. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what—”
“I do.”
I looked up at him then. A mouse was forming on his cheekbone. There would be a bruise there tomorrow that I didn’t remember causing. But I knew I had.
Sean sat up and leaned over to right the leaking whiskey bottle and put it out of harm’s way. One of the glasses had smashed, too, leaving gleefully glittering shards across the floor.
“You’re afraid of me,” he said quietly.
“No!” The denial was instant, but even as I said it I realised the futility of such an argument in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Hadn’t I just proved my fear in a moment of adrenaline-fuelled rage and terror? “It’s not like that. I mean, I didn’t react like this the last time we . . . in Florida.” I broke off, embarrassed, totally muddled. “Well, it was fine.”
“Only ‘fine’?” Sean’s voice was lightly mocking. “Oh Charlie, you flatter me.”
But despite his attempt at humour I’d caught the flash of pain on his face. One that had nothing to do with the minor physical injuries I’d inflicted on him. I watched in anguish as he gathered back into himself, mentally bringing down the shutters.
I reached out an unsteady hand. “Sean—”
The drive alarm buzzer sounded so loudly in the hallway that it made both of us jump. The dogs kicked off again and Sean swore under his breath. He got to his feet and moved for the door, pausing to look down at me briefly as he passed.
“If we’re having visitors you might want to tidy up some,” he said, impassive, and went out.
I flushed, realising that my shirt was gaping open all the way down the front. My fingers fumbled with the buttons, then I hastily picked up the low table and set it back on its feet. When Sean returned I was on my hands and knees collecting bits of broken glass together.
“For you, I think,” Sean said blandly.
I looked up and found Sam hovering uncomfortably in the doorway. His eyes flicked nervously from my miserable face to Sean’s set and impenetrable features.
He cleared his throat. “Erm, have I come at a bad time?”
Eleven
“Of course not,” I said, determinedly bright. “Come on in, Sam. Can I get you some coffee?”
Sam gave Sean another anxious skim, wavered and almost fled. But he’d come for a purpose and that was enough to make him stand his ground, however hesitantly. He sidled further into the room. “Well, I know it’s late and I don’t want to put you out or—”
“Just sit down and have a bloody drink,” Sean said tiredly.
Sam’s knees gave way at the deadly quiet in his voice. It was lucky there was an armchair behind him at the time.
“Oh, erm, yeah, OK,” he said, with a fearful little smile. His eyes were big and brown and pleading above his beard. “Thanks.”
“Good. I’ll make a fresh pot,” I said. I headed for the door, pausing only to throw Sean a warning glance. “Don’t bully him while I’m gone.”
That almost raised a smile. “I’ll try not to.”
In fact, when I got back I found Sean had shaken off his black mood and somehow drawn Sam far enough out of his shell to recount the tale of my spectacular reappearance at Gleet’s place. I think I preferred it when Sam was terrified and silent.
“So she comes screaming into the yard with this guy right on her tail,” he was saying, drawing air diagrams with those long skinny hands of his. “Charlie, she doesn’t turn a hair. She just heads for this dry stone wall and bails out at the last minute and bang! The guy slams the wall and down it all goes, with her still on top. House of cards. Didn’t she tell you?”
I put the tray I was carrying down onto the table with more of a clatter than I’d been intending.
“No,” Sean said softly, his eyes on my face as I handed him his coffee. “Funnily enough, she didn’t quite get round to mentioning that part.”
I looked away. “What happened after I got chucked out the first time, anyway?”
“Well, there were some nasty rumours floating around about Tess,” Sam said, nodding his thanks as he took a swig of his brew. He sat hunched forwards with his hands wrapped round his mug like the effort of recall made him cold. “There were a few people there who reckoned she wasn’t quite as sorry to see the back of Slick as she made out. They reckon she and Gleet have had a bit of a thing going, on the quiet.”
“Tess and Gleet?” I repeated, almost to myself. I remembered the way Gleet had behaved around Tess at the wake and realised that the suggestion didn’t surprise me. In fact, it didn’t surprise me at all.
“Well that would be a reason, I suppose,” Sean said, as though he’d read my mind.
Sam looked from one of us to the other. “A reason for what?”