Hardened (25 page)

“He’s coming round.”

I rummage around among the tangle of chaotic images that seem to fill my memory right now and latch onto something. Someone.

Molly. That’s Molly’s voice. She’s here, close to me, and that knowledge fills me with something akin to elation.

I fumble around, blindly reaching for her, only to have her cool, slender fingers suddenly encircle my own. I try to squeeze her hand, but again it is she who is the strong one now. She grips my feeble hand between both of hers and presses hard.

“Jared? Can you hear me? Nurse, look at that, his hand moved. It did, didn’t it?”

“Aye, it did.” A different voice now, a male, quite youthful, I think. “May I?”

Molly’s welcome touch is replaced by another, equally gentle but more business-like. The nurse is taking my pulse. Next he shoves something cold against my chest, a stethoscope no doubt. Time to re-join the land of the living.

I apply my concentrated efforts to opening my eyes, forewarned this time about the bright lighting I’ll encounter. Willing my eyelids to remain open I manage to squint around me, and make out Molly’s silhouette against the backdrop of the harsh hospital illumination. I smile, I think, open my mouth to say something but all that emerges is a low croak. A movement catches my eye. I turn to see a male nurse scribbling notes on a clipboard, which he hangs on the foot of my bed. He looks up at me, his smile pleasant enough.

“Welcome back, Mr. North.” He moves around the bed to lean over me. “How do you feel?”

“Fucking awful.” Just about sums it up, I’d say.

“I see. Do you have any pain?”

I nod.

“Can you tell me where it hurts?”

“Everywhere.” I grimace and shift in an attempt to bring Molly back into my sphere of vision, which sends more white-hot spears of agony shooting through me. “Fuck, what happened?”

“You were shot. In the side.” Molly fills in the gap, though my own recollections are now starting to pour in. I remember being in my kitchen, Mikey holding the shotgun and arguing with Stevie. Mikey’d been drinking—my fault, I gave him vodka—but he was becoming belligerent and turning on Stevie. The situation was fast spiralling out of control.

Mikey shot Stevie. I recall that with startling clarity, and I know that Stevie’s dead. Then Mikey seemed to become disoriented, he didn’t know what he was doing. Molly was there, too, tied to a chair. She screamed when the shooting started. Mikey turned to look at her, the weapon still in his hands. He was pointing it at her, and there was one barrel left.

I hurled myself at Molly to send her to the floor, but the gun went off before I made it. I took the shot in my ribs, and that’s the last I remember until a few moments ago.

“I’ll get the doctor to adjust your pain relief. We’ll soon have you more comfortable, Mr. North. Would you like a drink of water?” The nurse’s calm efficiency is reassuring. I might be writhing in agony, but he seems unconcerned and I suppose he’s a better judge than I.

I nod again, testing my parched lips with the tip of my tongue. This time it’s Molly who stands to attend to my needs. She pours fresh water into one of those invalid cups they use in hospitals, plastic beakers with a lid and a spout, then she puts it to my lips and tilts it.

Baby cup aside, the cool water feels wonderful as it slithers down my throat. I swallow, then suck in some more. Molly removes the cup and dabs at my lips with a piece of tissue.

“Do you want more?” she asks, her expression still apprehensive. Perhaps I’m not out of danger after all.

“Yes,” I manage. My throat feels to be made of sandpaper.

Molly holds the cup to my mouth again, and this time I take several long draughts before finally twisting my face away, sated. I glance around the room to find the young nurse has left.

“He went to find the doctor. You’re going to be okay though, they already said that.”

I close my eyes, relieved. I hadn’t been certain of anything, except for the fact that I didn’t want it all to be over with Molly. I want her, I need her, and if I’m to have her I need time.

If she’ll still have me. Christ, what must she think?

And what was I thinking of, ever allowing the situation to arise?

I open my eyes again to find her gazing at me. She’s been crying, I notice, perhaps she still is.

“The police want to talk to you. They’re outside. The doctor won’t let them in just yet. Rachel’s on her way, as soon as she can find someone to mind the kids. She said she’s contacted someone called Charles and he’s on his way too.”

Ah, yes, good old Rachel. Trust her to phone my lawyer before anything else. The interview with the police is inevitable really, and there’s not much point delaying it once my brief arrives, but first I want to get my head around the situation as it now stands.

“Where are Mikey and Brad?”

“In jail. They were picked up about two hours after they left, only got as far as Pateley Bridge. Apparently the van they stole had hardly any petrol in it, so they abandoned it about two miles down the road and ended up on foot. The police dogs did the rest.”

I heave a sigh of relief. At least that danger is safely out of the way. “What about you? Were you hurt?”

Molly shakes her head. “Unless you count shattered eardrums. My head was ringing for hours after that gun went off.” She pauses, then, “Thanks to you. He would have fired at me, he was going to. He did, but you…”

“Don’t, Molly. It’s over.”

“You saved my life. And it almost got you killed.”

“It was me who almost got you killed. I’m sorry, truly I am. I should never have let you come to the barn, not while that lot were still hanging around.”

“But why were they there? That’s what the police are wanting to know too. They asked me loads of questions, wanting to know how you were involved in the robberies.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth, or as much of it as I know. I heard Stevie and the others talking about robbing that security van and I saw Mikey fire at Stevie. But I gather they shot someone else too, a girl, last week.”

“I know,” I groan. Molly’s shocked expression is almost more than I can bear. “I should have turned them in straight away.”

“You knew? I don’t understand. Why didn’t you call the police? Was it because of Brad? I know he’s your brother-in-law.”

“Ex-brother-in-law. And no, it wasn’t that. It’s complicated.”

“It must be, because I can’t understand it at all and I’m usually fairly sharp. Why did you let them hide out at your barn if you knew what they’d done?” Her eyes glint, her temper starting to rise and replace the concern and anguish of just a few moments ago. “Jared, they were dangerous, desperate. Attempted murder. Robbery. I thought you’d put all that behind you.”

“Me too.” Another voice, Rachel this time. She glares at me from the open doorway. “I thought you were going to turn them in if Charles agreed. He told me that’s what he advised you to do.”

“You’ve been speaking to Charles?” A stupid question; it’s clear she has. Typical reaction in my family; at the first sniff of police interest we consult our lawyer.

“Who’s Charles?” demands Molly.

Rachel comes right into the room to position herself at the foot of my bed. “Our solicitor. The best criminal defence lawyer in Yorkshire. I’d have thought this moron might listen to him. He told you to contact the police, tell them what you knew about the robbery and Stevie and Brad’s whereabouts. He said you had a cast-iron alibi and he could have pleaded a decent defence for the accessory after the fact problem. He reckoned he could have kept you out of jail.”

“Jail? Why should Jared end up back inside? I don’t understand.” Molly’s startled gaze swivels between the pair of us.

“It was in the terms of my parole, not to associate with previous criminal contacts. And I never did, not until a few days ago. Even then, they came looking for me. I wanted nothing to do with them and I slung them out after a couple of days. I swear though, I didn’t know about the shooting at that garage until after they left and I phoned Rachel to warn her they might show up at hers. Then I intended to tell the police, but…”

“But?” Molly appears less than impressed with my excuses.

“But, Rachel persuaded me to hang fire. She was worried I might be implicated in the robbery, or be arrested as an accessory because I let them hide out at my place. I spoke to Charles just before I picked you up at the station and after hearing what he had to say I was confident that he could help me convince a court if it came to that. It wasn’t that I was worried I might go down with them. My head knew it was the right thing to do, and I would have contacted the police that same day. I held back because I wanted to explain it to you before I got anyone else involved but events moved too fast and…”

“So you weren’t expecting them to come back?”

“Hell, no!”
What the fuck?
“Christ, I’d never have let that happen, not with you there. It was a knocking bet at least one of them would remember you, and then… shit.”

“They thought I was a bent officer. Maybe they were right. I mean, we did—”

“Officer? What’s all this?” Now it’s Rachel’s turn to be confused. “What is it you’re not telling me? Both if you?”

I gesture to the one spare chair in the clinical little room. “Sit down. This is going to take a while.”

By the time Molly and Rachel are both fully in the picture, and the nurse has made good on his promise to sort out my meds and has succeeded in getting my pain down to manageable proportions, Charles has arrived. I’m ready to face the police interrogation.

Although my injuries aren’t life-threatening, the consultant insists I have to remain in hospital for a few more days at least, so they have no option but to speak to me here. This is infinitely preferable to an interview room down at the local nick. I remember those places, not at all pleasant, though the tea is marginally better than that supplied on the NHS. Naturally, Charles is in attendance to work his customary magic, and by the time I’ve agreed to give evidence against Mikey and Brad in court the police appear content, though the final decision rests with the Crown Prosecution Service. My so-called heroic actions to protect Molly are going to stand me in good stead, though privately I suspect I shall never forgive myself for almost getting her killed.

The question is, will she forgive me?

“Are you sure you’re up to this? We can always leave in a few more days.” I peer at Jared from across the breakfast table. He’s been out of hospital for over seven months now, but I know his injury is uncomfortable at times. The moorland hike we are contemplating will be taxing to say the least.

He grins at me over his coffee cup. “I’m fine. Good as new. But this weather won’t last and by the weekend the whole area’s going to be teeming with day trippers. If you want to do this with the sun on your back and without an interested audience, today’s the day. Come to think of it, the audience would be a seriously bad idea. I can do without a public indecency charge on top of everything else.” Jared gets up to deposit his empty mug in the sink then pulls the zip around on the case of expensive photographic equipment and hoists it over his shoulder. He holds out his hand to me. “Dancing Bear?”

I nod. “Yes. The Dancing Bear.”

We make the trek up the rolling moorland hill in near silence. The late spring sunshine is warm and we’re both glowing by the time we crest the first rise. We continue on through the swaying pale green of the ferns just now emerging from last year’s bracken, and the patches of new heather that are yet to take on their vivid purple glow. Around us the sheep regard us with suspicion, keeping a safe distance as their lambs charge back and forth in rowdy gangs, bleating at the top of their just-born lungs.

I love it here. I can’t even start to work out why I thought I might like to live in London. I tighten my grip on Jared’s hand as we climb higher.

Eventually the Dancing Bear comes into sight. We pause, and I look up at Jared. His eyes are narrowed as he assesses the scene, glances skyward to evaluate the light quality, then down at me.

“Second thoughts?” He lifts one eyebrow.

“Are you sure no one’s going to see us?” I turn to gaze back the way we came. The hillside is deserted but for the noisy lambs and their harried-looking mothers.

Jared shrugs. “I doubt it, but that’s the risk you take for art.”

“This isn’t art. This is just kink.”

“Philistine.” He leers at me. “Come on, we need to get shifting before the light changes. I want to capture you silhouetted against the rock with the sun behind you.”

We stride out again, and reach the Dancing Bear a few minutes later. Jared wastes no time in crouching to unpack the gear he intends to use. He selects his camera, a couple of tripods, various other bits and pieces with functions I’m not certain of, and a long length of rope.

“Get undressed, Molly. Apart from your shoes. You can keep those until we’re ready to take the shots. Oh, and keep the pretty underwear for now.” He straightens and leaves me to obey his commands as he heads off in the direction of the rock, the rope slung over his shoulder.

I slip off my snug hoodie, then my thick hiking top. Underneath I’m wearing a bright crimson bra, which I leave, as per my instructions. I have to take off my stout walking boots to get my jeans off. I peel off my socks too before shoving my feet back into the boots. I fold everything neatly then leave my clothes next to Jared’s bag and follow him over to the rock.

By the time I get there Jared has the rope loosely circling the rock. He ties it in a slipknot and pulls the loop tight to form what looks almost like a rope belt around the bear’s waist, about six feet from the ground.

“That should do. Now for you, Molly mine. Hold out your hands.”

I do as I’m told, and Jared produces a pair of soft leather cuffs from his pocket. He fastens them around each of my wrists.

“Stand by the bear. Lean against the rock, your back to it and your arms above your head.” His tone has lowered, his commands clipped and stern. Gone now is the playful, affectionate companion of just moments ago, his eyes glint with an intensity that demands my obedience. When he looks at me like this, speaks to me in that quiet, modulated tone, something flips over in the pit of my stomach. Already my pussy is becoming wet. Despite the spring sunshine I know that lump of rock will be cold against my naked skin but it never occurs to me to protest. Instead I pick my way over the remaining few yards of grass and rest my bare shoulders against it.