The Tied Man (46 page)

‘This is why I’m an atheist.’ A thin sleet began to pattern the surface of the lake.

Finn was hunched over a small paraffin lantern. ‘I don’t get you.’

‘We’re the good guys, Finn.  If there is a god up there, she should be on our side.  Instead, right now she would appear to be backing
Blaine
bloody Albermarle, and I’m not prepared to believe that.’

Finn placed the lantern on the damp wooden floor, tucking it into a corner where there was no risk that it could be seen from the hall.  He put his arms around my shoulders and pulled me in so that his chin rested on the crown of my head.  ‘You don’t have to do this, Lili.  I know I’m wasting my breath saying it, but I can’t lose you.  If it comes down to something happening to you out there, or me staying here for the rest of my life...’

‘...Then I’d lose you, and
I
can’t do that.’  I buried my face in the warmth of his fleece shirt and kissed his chest. ‘We’ve been through this.  It’s not as risky as it looks.  Honestly,’ I tried to reassure us both.  ‘I’ve swum ten times that distance before, and I’m in better shape than I’ve ever been in my life.’  This at least was true;  my daily runs across the island’s hard terrain had served as perfect training for what I was about to do.  Even my asthma had finally begun to wane as I regained control of my life, although my inhaler was still safely bagged and tucked in a pouch inside my neoprene suit, right next to my car keys.

I thought Finn might have one last attempt at dissuading me, but he finally released his grip.  ‘Then I’ll be right here, waiting.’   He smiled.  ‘If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s hangin’ around on dodgy corners in the middle of the night.’

I mustered a grin in return and shrugged out of my coat.  ‘Let’s get going then,’ I said, and strode barefoot into the lake.

‘
Fuuuck...
’  The profanity melted on my lips as I waded up to my waist.  In these first moments it felt as though liquid nitrogen was being injected into the space between wetsuit and skin and I forced myself to exhale.  I allowed myself one backward glance at Finn, then lifted my feet from the slime and shingle of the lakebed, and swam.

Lilith cut through the water like a sleek, black seal.  With only the sparse glow of the lantern for light I lost sight of her by the time she was no more than twenty yards from the shore, although I stared out into the gloom long after that.  She might not have had any belief, but I whispered a prayer to Saint Christopher on Lilith’s behalf.  The words were snatched away from me by the savage wind, and all I could do was wait and hope.

I desperately wished there was more I could do; that I was stronger, fitter, cleaner than I was; or simply that I could walk in a straight line without lurching along like some street-begging cripple. 

‘Ah, give your head a shake,’ I muttered.  Lilith might well deserve so much better than me, but for now, I was all she had.  That was all there was to it.  I pulled my hood up and wrapped my coat a little tighter around me, and lit a cigarette as I kept vigil.

On the far shore, Finn waited for me.  Nothing else mattered.  Not the cold, nor the frustrations of the last hour, or the nightmare return swim that awaited me.  Just the thought of Finn, standing ready to drag me from the lake and keep me warm and safe.  I thought of the strength it had taken for him to come this far for me, and once more, I walked into the oil-black water.

It was no warmer the second time around, and I was exhausted before I began.  Just as I was about to strike out, a searing pain bit into my left thigh and I yelped with shock.  I staggered back to shore and in the meagre light of the distant street lights I inspected the damage.

‘
Shit
,’ I hissed.  The leg of the wetsuit was ripped open from the top of my thigh to my knee, shredded on a submerged branch.  Blood mingled with water, and although the wound wasn’t deep I could already feel the sullen throb in my leg.  Worst of all, the wetsuit was now useless – a great flap of neoprene had been torn away and I knew I wouldn’t be able to swim with it dragging in the water.  For a moment, sheer panic froze me; I was stranded on the wrong side of the lake, with nowhere to run. 

It was the sober realisation that I only had one option that got me going again; I unzipped the suit and felt my skin spasm with the cold blast of air as I stepped out of its protective layer.  I had to keep moving now, simply to survive.  I dragged the useless thing over to a bin that stood next to the jetty, pulled out the stinking contents and stuffed the wetsuit to the very bottom before burying  it as best I could under the rubbish. 

I recalled reading some climber’s autobiography, where he’d stated that getting to the top of a mountain was only half the battle; you then had to haul your dead beat body back down again before it counted as a success: failure meant just another frozen carcass on a mountainside.  My return swim was now going to be the equivalent of doing the descent of Everest in vest and pants.

On that cheerful thought, I focused on the distant flickering that was the paraffin flame of Finn’s beacon lantern, and ran back into the lake before my body caught on to what I expected it to do.

Tim
e had stopped.  Lilith had been away too long for things to have gone as planned, and I looked out helplessly across the lake, hoping to see some sign of her return, but there was nothing except churning water and darkness.  I didn’t even dare raise the lantern in case Coyle chose that moment to glance out of the window, or someone on the shore became a little too curious about the moving light.  Just as panic threatened to engulf me, a pale shape floated into the very margins of my sight.

I threw myself down the shingle slope as Lilith staggered to her feet in the shallows, letting the frigid waves lap around her, and  I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t clambering out, or why the hell she wasn’t wearing her wetsuit.  I was about to call out to her when she collapsed face first into the water.  I plunged into the lake, nearly falling myself as the excruciating cold wrapped itself around me, and hoisted Lilith over one shoulder.

My left leg threatened to give way and pitch us both to the floor as I scrabbled up the shifting gravel, and I almost regretted telling Henry to fuck off when he’d offered me a walking stick.  I didn’t dare check on Lilith yet; I was too terrified at what I might find.  Instead I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, taking us both to the refuge of the kitchen.

I booted at the door, and staggered into the kitchen.  I used my free hand to grab at the edge of the table before I toppled.

‘Finn?  What in heaven’s happened?’  Henry stared in terror at the limp form I had hanging off my back.

‘Don’t know,’ I gasped, and lowered Lilith to the floor by the stove.

‘But why isn’t she wearing...’

‘How the fuck do I know?  She just washed up like this.’

Henry didn’t move from the doorway.  

‘Blanket,’ I snapped.  He scuttled to the stove top and passed me one of the blankets he’d had warming for our return.  I wrapped it around Lilith then and sat on the warm tiles of the kitchen floor and hugged her close. 

‘Aren’t you meant to rub her arms or something?’  Henry offered, hovering over us.  I considered flinging the cast iron doorstop at his head.

I remembered a stupid little leaflet I’d been handed years ago –
Keeping Safe Outside – Tips for Sex Workers
. Some do-gooder’s funding finally put to use.  ‘No, you thick bastard.  Need the blood going to her heart, not her fingers.  Just make yourself useful and put the kettle on, will you?’

‘But will she be all right?’

I looked at Lilith.  Her eyes were shut and her fingertips and lips were pale blue.  She was breathing at least, but so lightly that it took agonising seconds to check.

‘I don’t
know
.’ My voice cracked as I spoke.

Henry approached me with a second blanket. ‘You’re shivering.  Let me -’

I bunched my fist, ready to swing at him.  ‘I swear to God if you so much as touch me, I’ll...’

Henry was saved by a muffled, tuneless rendition of ‘The Town I Loved So Well’ drifting down the corridor;  Coyle O’Halloran, drunk and hungry, staggering to the kitchen to raid the larder, and bringing the potential to destroy everything.

‘What do we do now?’ Henry pleaded.

‘‘We?’
You’re
going to get out there and stop that fucker from coming in here.  If he catches me and Lilith here like this, we’re dead.’

Henry stood there, rooted to his immaculate slate floor tiles in panicked silence, the proverbial rabbit in the headlights.

‘Get out there or I’ll bloody kill you myself,’ I hissed, and Henry grabbed his cup of tea and shot out into the corridor.

I held Lilith close and silently promised her that I would fight Coyle to the last breath if he set foot over the threshold, no matter how hopeless my odds would be.

Suddenly there was an enraged squeal, followed by the thud of something – or someone – heavy hitting the wall.

‘You clumsy fucking poof twat!’ Coyle roared.  ‘You tryin’ to
castrate
me or somethin’?  Jesus, I’m fuckin’ scalded to the bone!’

‘Sorry!  So sorry!’ came Henry’s wittering, pathetic apology in reply.  ‘I tripped – didn’t expect to meet you... was just going back to my room with a drink...’

‘Shut up and get out of my way, faggot.  Gonna to have to change my fuckin’ cacks...’

I held my breath, fully expecting the door to swing open and a furious Coyle to burst in on us.  Miraculously, the sound of his shuffling, pissed gait receded, and Henry staggered over to the kitchen table, empty mug in hand.  Blood dripped from his nose and splattered onto the oak.

‘Did you just fling tea over his bollocks, little man?’

‘Id wad de odly thig I could thick ob.’ Henry tore himself a sheet of kitchen roll and held it to his face.  ‘Ow.’

I began to shudder with silent laughter, and  Lilith stirred in my arms.

‘Something funny?’ she asked, and I planted kiss after relieved kiss in her sodden hair.

‘Just Mr Masterson here, taking one for the team at last.  All that practice makin’ a brew, just for this moment.  Sent Coyle back to his room with a boiled ball-bag.’  Despite his injury, Henry managed a shy smile of pride.

‘Easy for you to say.  Bloody hell, I’m cold.’  Even with the blanket swaddling her, Lilith was shaking in my arms. ‘Any more of that tea still in the pot, Henry?’

  ‘Oh God, Lili, you scared me shitless out there.  What the hell was the deal with stripping off, huh?  Going swimming in a December storm not hardcore enough for you?’ 

‘Wetsuit ripped.  By the lock-up.  It was either ditch it or drown.’  She nestled a little deeper into my arms and sighed. ‘You know, I think I
may
have underestimated just how tricky that whole thing was going to be.’

‘Really?  Well you do fuckin’ well surprise me, Ms Bresson. ‘Cos it looked like a piece of piss from where I was standing.’  I kissed her again, this time on the lips, relishing the taste of her steadily warming skin.  ‘It doesn’t matter.  You’re here, and not at the bottom of the lake.  I’ve still got you, and that’s all that matters.’

‘At least you tried, love,’ Henry said. ‘More than anyone else could have done.’

‘Oh, shut
up
, you pair of maudlin, defeatist bastards.’  Lilith wriggled from my embrace and sat up, wearing the blanket like a superhero cape.  ‘Not everything that happens in this unutterable hole has to end in crushing disappointment and despair, you know.’

‘What, you mean...’ I didn’t dare finish the sentence, but Lilith managed to stop shivering long enough to give a rictus grin.

‘I did it, Finn.  It nearly bloody killed me, and I didn’t realise how long it would take to dial a number when I couldn’t feel my fingers, but I did it.’  She returned my kiss and whispered,  ‘Game on.’

A week to the day since our last meeting, Blaine and I rode out together.  She was on Bruno, and once again I took Ruby.  The little chestnut mare was still skittish and ill-tempered, but she was far calmer than the day I had ridden with Finn, and despite the company I relished the exhilaration of a flat-out gallop over frozen fields.  There was also something particularly satisfying about pulling three lengths ahead as we thundered uphill on a track away from the village.

We came to a halt on an exposed rise at the estate boundary wall, so that
Blaine
  could survey her fiefdom’s winter splendour.  Leafless trees stood in stark contrast against a clear lazuline sky, and in the distance, woodsmoke curled lazily from half-a-dozen holiday cottage chimneys;  the last guests of the year enjoying a break before the ski-season began. 

Blaine
was poised and technically perfect in the saddle, but she wore a discreet pair of spurs that she used on Bruno’s sweating flanks, and he fretted and mouthed at his bit as she held him on a tight rein.  ‘So, now you’ve proved that you’re the superior rider, are you going to tell me what you want from me, and what you’re prepared to give in return?’