‘I‘d like one more week before doing as you suggest,’ said Gordon.
‘You have an idea then?’
‘Maybe.’
Seventeen
Gordon arrived at Lucy’s house carrying a bottle of wine he’d bought at the supermarket on the Bangor Road and some flowers from the stand outside the filling station: there simply hadn’t been enough time to go back into town. He knew Lucy would understand.
As he walked up the path to the front door, he thought how good it was to see lights on in the windows again; it reminded him of how happy the house had been at Christmas and please God, it was the harbinger of better times to come. Lucy heard his feet on the gravel and looked out the corner of the window to smile and wave before coming to open the door.
‘Good to see you home,’ smiled Gordon.
‘It’s been a while,’ said Lucy.
Gordon had been apprehensive about how Lucy might feel once she was actually back in the house, knowing that this would be a difficult psychological step to take, but there was no outward sign of a problem. ‘How are you?’ he asked, as he was ushered in to the living room where a fire had been lit and table lamps created a cosy atmosphere, although for some reason, maybe the obvious one, it all seemed a little unreal.
‘I’m fine,’ said Lucy, adding, ‘really I am,’ when Gordon looked at her to see if she was telling the truth. ‘I suppose it’s you I have to thank for cleaning the mess off the walls?’
Gordon had hoped that Lucy might not notice the occasional small smudge of spray paint remaining from his clean-up operation — at least, not right away, but he should have known better. Now he didn’t quite know what to say; he hoped she wouldn’t ask about the words. In the event, his obvious discomfort told Lucy all that she needed to know and she smiled affectionately. ‘I’m grateful, Tom,’ she said, adding, ‘again.’
Gordon nodded.
‘Well, there weren’t too many yellow ribbons in evidence when I got back and the good folks of Felinbach haven’t exactly been rushing round to say, “Welcome home, Lucy”, but it’s still good to be back,’ said Lucy. ‘In spite of everything.’
‘I’m glad you feel that way.’
Lucy folded her arms and looked serious for a moment. She said with cold determination in her voice, ‘The way I see it is, the bastard who did this to John and I took away my baby, and my husband too. He’s not taking away my home as well.’
‘Good for you,’ said Gordon.
Lucy went through to the kitchen but kept talking. ‘This is not exactly going to be a culinary extravaganza, I’m afraid, but I did want to see you and thank you for all you’ve been doing. I can’t imagine how I would have coped without you.’
‘That’s what friends are for,’ said Gordon.
‘Seriously,’ said Lucy, returning to stand in the doorway. ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’
Gordon who suddenly felt embarrassed said, ‘Shush, I’ll open the wine, shall I?’
The Palmers’ dining room was one of two bay-windowed rooms that looked out on the front garden, one on either side of the door. Lucy had set up the table by the window and Gordon looked out over it down to the lights on the Menai while he waited. He felt he knew the wall beneath that particular window intimately: it was the area that had given him most trouble during the clean up, the spot where the paint had run in rivulets down the rendering. Subconsciously he rubbed the knuckles of his right hand gently. The skin there was still raw in places.
Just before she brought the food in, Lucy came through and lit two candles on the table. They were of odd sizes and stood in different holders, a tall white one in a silver stick and a small coloured one in the middle of a plastercast Beatrix Potter scene.
‘This one is for John,’ said Lucy as she lit the white one. ‘And this one is for Anne-Marie; John bought it on the day we got her home for the first time and we lit it that night. The next time was going to be on her first birthday... but it hasn’t quite worked out that way.’ There was a short silence before Lucy stood back and said, ‘Bless them both.’
‘Bless them both,’ echoed Gordon, raising his glass.
The food was simple but good. Compared to his own efforts in the kitchen, Gordon found that this was the case with most food he came across. Lucy had made pasta with a deliciously spicy sauce and followed it up with lemon cheesecake and strong espresso coffee.
‘Last time we spoke you seemed to think you were on to something?’ said Lucy. The hope in her voice was muted but unmistakable.
‘I’m still working on it,’ replied Gordon, wondering just what to tell her. It was difficult to separate fact from what was imaginary in his own mind. He was pretty sure that Thomas’s unit was involved in something underhand, possibly illegal, but the only thing to tie Anne-Marie Palmer into the scheme of things was the fact that Thomas had her medical file in his lab.
‘There’s some kind of experimental work going on up at Caernarfon General,’ he said. ‘At the moment I don’t quite know what it is but I think there’s a chance that Anne Marie’s death is tied up in it in some way.’
‘What kind of research?’ asked Lucy.
‘Genetic manipulation.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Lucy as if it was the last thing in the world she expected to hear.
‘There’s something going on in Professor Thomas’s unit, involving children who were born there.’
‘But what could such experiments possibly have to do with Anne-Marie?’ exclaimed Lucy, sounding far from convinced. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I know, but there’s a link somewhere and that’s what I have to find out,’ said Gordon.
Lucy tried to cover up her obvious disappointment at not having been given more encouraging news by changing tack and offering to top up Gordon’s glass.
Gordon pushed it across the table but just at that moment, something came hurtling in through the window and hit the glass: it burst into fragments. He shut his eyes and flung up his hands as flying glass peppered his face and Lucy’s screams filled his ears.
Almost immediately, he felt blood running down his cheeks and he found that he couldn’t open his eyes properly to see what was going on. As soon as he tried, he felt a burning pain that made him fear that his sight had been damaged. It was a nightmare thought that induced its own panic. He tried to see again, wiping away the blood and managed to make out a blur that he thought might be Lucy’s face. He saw it only briefly before she toppled backwards off her chair.
Gordon felt the table cloth go with her and heard plates and glasses crash all around his feet as he was forced to close his eyes again to get some respite. Suddenly there was a terrible smell of burning in his nostrils. A yellow blur flared up in front of his eyelids and a sudden blast of heat made him recoil. The toppling candles had set light to Lucy’s dress and she was now screaming in pain and fright as she writhed on the floor, fighting to free herself of the toppled chair and the general mess around her.
Gordon was aware of the bright glare of the flames but not much more as he struggled to find the table cloth at his feet and get a grip of it. He needed something to smother the flames with and this was it. He found a corner of it, recognising it by its thickness and tugged at it ferociously until he had it in his hands and could make an attempt to extinguish the flames that were now engulfing Lucy. He fell on top of the brightly glowing bundle, using his own body in addition to the cloth to snuff out the bright blur but paid the price as the fire found his own skin to add to his pain.
Lucy had stopped screaming but she wasn’t unconscious; she was whimpering and gasping, obviously now in shock. Gordon was pretty sure that the flames had been smothered because there was no more heat only the sickening smell of charred flesh and burnt fabric. The smoke and fumes caught in his throat as he staggered to his feet and started to feel his way to the door, knocking over a succession of unseen and now unimportant objects on his journey.