Wishing and Hoping (33 page)

Off that ladder he came and slid down the second one sloping in the opposite direction.

On coming to the third he slid to the bottom, undid the ropes tying it in place and watched as it clattered downwards taking planking and pieces of protruding pipe work with it.

The blood clouding his vision, he looked upwards, just about making out three pale faces looking down at him.

He didn't hang around. Terrified out of his wits he had to seek safety. The police station was the obvious place to go, but he'd never trusted the police – not even back in Ireland. There were a few outstanding charges he had no wish to face. Oh no, he had no wish to go back to Ireland but he needed to be safe with people who would not betray him.

The streets were turning dark and the night was turning cold. Keeping to the shadows he made his way through the gloomy streets until he saw the lights of a church. The sign outside declared it to
be dedicated to the Sacred Heart. It could only be a Catholic church with a name like that.

Exhausted and blinded by blood, he pushed open one half of the church door and staggered inside.

IT FELT STRANGE
driving with Allegra in the car beside her. Tonight they were both having a night off: Marcie from going to the nightclub and Allegra from looking after the children, who were asleep in the back of the car. Carla had offered to look after them. All Marcie had to do was drop them off at Carla's place on the way.

Marcie couldn't help taking furtive glances at her friend who was sitting beside her dressed in a plain black dress. A white headband kept her hair back from her face and a large silver cross hung from her neck.

Marcie couldn't help stating the obvious. ‘You already look like a nun.'

Allegra's smile was as enigmatic as that of a plaster saint, almost as though she knew a secret that nobody else was party to. ‘I'm beginning to feel like one.'

Marcie was tempted to say that of course she was; she'd had little to do with men since parting with Victor. In fact it was becoming obvious that Allegra was loath to be left alone with male companions, as though not trusting herself or perhaps not trusting them.

‘Little angels,' said Allegra, looking over her shoulder at the sleeping children. ‘Kiss them goodnight for me.'

Marcie watched as Allegra alighted from the car and made her way up the steps into the church. A shaft of amber light fell out into the darkness immediately reminding Marcie that Christmas was coming. After Christmas Allegra would be gone and, although it saddened her, she comforted herself with the knowledge that her friend was truly committed to the religious life. It had occurred to her that the action might be some form of repentance for falling into sin and giving the resultant child away. Whatever, if Allegra felt it was the right thing for her at this moment in time, then so be it.

Inside the church Allegra headed for the confessional. A red curtain covered the door halfway up. The bottom half of the door was made of shiny red mahogany. There wasn't really that much to confess, so little in fact that she was sure that Father Beretti, who was eighty years old if he was a day, had fallen asleep on the other side.

He needed a little prompting to wake him up. ‘How many Hail Marys was that, Father?'

She quite often had to shout and more or less declare her own punishment for some very minor sins.

A gentle snore came from the other side of the fretwork screen.

Allegra sighed. It seemed such a shame to wake him. And what for? Because she'd been tempted to contact Victor, purely to ask for his help in fingering the people who had got Michael put in jail? Or being annoyed when she'd broken a fingernail when she'd been scrubbing the bathroom floor? She used to have a daily come in and clean for her. Now she did it herself, considering it fitting practice for the convent life to come.

As she sat there contemplating what to do next, the oak door to the church opened and shut rapidly. Hurrying footsteps tapped over the white marble floor.

Thinking that some other poor soul was in greater torment than she was, Allegra came out from beneath the red velvet curtain.

The person who had come in from the cold fell onto his knees. Blood from a gaping wound dripped onto the floor.

Allegra gasped. ‘You poor man!'

His eyes were curtained behind a veil of blood. He tried to open them but could surely see little. ‘Sister! Help me!'

His chest was heaving. His hands were dirty and, despite the wintry night, he was soaked in sweat.

She reached out her hands. He grabbed them with as much fervour as a drowning man.

‘You're hurting.'

He apologised. ‘I'm sorry! I'm sorry! But you have to help me.' He looked terrified.

‘Do you wish to confess? The priest is . . .'

She was going to say that the priest was already in situ awaiting the next abject sinner in need of forgiveness. She didn't get the chance.

‘I did something terrible and a man was arrested for murder. I did it for money and to impress my pals. Rafferty told me to do it. “Put the gun in the desk drawer,” he said, and I did it. And then I got drunk and told a few people and Rafferty got to her. He'll kill me, he will that. Will you help me, sister? Will you help me?'

Allegra's first thought was to contact the police but the moment she mentioned doing that the man, who gave the name Gerry Grogan, went berserk.

‘I can't go to the police, woman! I'm wanted meself back in Ireland. No way! No bloody way!'

On flicking the blood from his eyes, he seemed to come to and suspect that he wasn't speaking to a nun at all.

Allegra thought quickly. It was imperative that she heard what he had to say. Michael had been incarcerated unfairly, that much was for sure. Now here, within her grasp and in the Holy Mother Church, was the key to everything that had happened.

‘Wait,' she said, glancing swiftly over her shoulder
to see if the din had awoken the old priest. ‘Come on. I'll take you into the presbytery.'

Once they were alone together, she got him to sit down. She even found a drop of communion wine to loosen his tongue. It wasn't really meant for such occasions, but she prayed God would forgive her, seeing that it was all in a good cause.

He told her all about the night he and his mates went drinking with Tony Brooks, her best friend's father. He also told her about being paid by Paddy Rafferty to leave the incriminating weapon in the office of Michael Jones, the owner of the Blue Genie nightclub.

‘But I don't want to speak to the police,' he repeated urgently.

‘But we need to speak to someone,' Allegra countered.

Marcie was signing some papers Jacob had brought in when she received the telephone call from Allegra.

Her heartbeat went into overdrive as she listened to what her friend had to say.

‘Oh my God!'

‘I've promised him that we won't inform the police,' said Allegra.

‘Of course we have to!'

‘Marcie! I gave my word.'

‘You're not a priest, Allegra,' Marcie snapped angrily.

‘No. But I am about to join a devout order.'

‘
You
promised him. I didn't.'

‘Marcie! Surely there's someone else we can tell? Someone who can deal with Paddy Rafferty?'

Marcie held her breath. She had no wish to compromise Allegra's promise. On the other hand, she desperately wanted her husband home and, on hearing about the note Charlie Baxter had left, had thought the day was imminent. What a wonderful Christmas present that would be! However, there was still the matter of the gun and nobody – nobody at all – thought Baxter a likely suicide case.

‘He might not admit to anything unless he feels safe. Then where would we be? Can we protect him, Marcie? Can we?'

Although not entirely willing to protect this man from the law, Marcie held her anger in check. Who else could she contact? She decided there was only one person who might know what to do.

First of all Marcie phoned Carla and asked her if she could come round and look after the kids. Carla asked her if there was a problem. Marcie had no choice but to tell her the truth. Time was of the utmost.

‘OK,' said Carla and made a quick telephone call before rushing over.

Tony Brooks was making love to a very sexy nightclub hostess and exotic dancer named Coco Chocolate. If Desdemona who he lived with when in London was his full-time partner – not counting his wife of course – then Coco was his bit on the side. She reminded him of Ella, a married Jamaican woman whom he'd never quite dismissed from his mind.

He ignored the phone at first, but Coco grabbed it, reaching her long arm over him to take it from its cradle.

‘Hello,' she said, in her usual gravely voice.

‘I need to speak to my father. It's urgent.'

Coco waved the phone in front of Tony's face. ‘One of your kids.'

Tony groaned. He was aching to have Coco under him, bucking like a bronco as he rode her to a topflight orgasm.

‘What's it about?' he groaned, his lips closing around the erect nipple that protruded upwards from Coco's shiny right breast.

She repeated the message to Marcie.

‘Tell him it's about a bunch of drunks, a gun and the Blue Genie nightclub.'

Coco did as directed.

Tony immediately stopped what he was doing and grabbed the phone. ‘Marcie? Who told you?' He raised himself up onto one hand and eased his body away from his latest hot bed partner.

‘Never mind that.'

‘Where are you?'

‘At home. I'm going to ask Allegra to bring him here.'

Once the call was ended, Tony swung his legs out of bed. For a moment he just sat there, staring into space.

‘Something wrong, honey?' asked Coco, a hand draped over his shoulder.

‘Yes. Me,' he said, feeling like a heel.

AT THE BEGINNING
of the week Marcie had phoned the hospital to check on her grandmother's progress. The doctors weren't happy that the wound left open following surgery had failed to heal.

‘Doctor would like to keep her a little longer and try a different approach,' explained the ward sister. ‘I only hope we can keep her here. She keeps telling us that she wants to go home. We can't allow that. Not just yet.'

Marcie decided that she had no option but to accept whatever they advised. Some staff were off sick at the nightclub. There was no one to cover for her at short notice and it pained her deeply. She was desperate to get down and see her grandmother. Garth also concerned her. She wondered how he was coping at home alone.

When she next got down to Sheppey she would also be paying her stepmother a visit. Marcie bristled at the thought of Babs. Boozy, blousy and brash was the best way to describe her. Any woman worth their salt would have been round seeing that Rosa was all right. As far as Marcie knew, her stepmother hadn't been near the hospital.

It was now Friday night and Allegra was due to arrive with Gerry Grogan. The phone rang and she answered it, half expecting Allegra to say that Grogan had chickened out. But it wasn't him. It was Babs, her stepmother, calling with wonderful news.

‘Rosa can come home next week. The doctors weren't too keen, but she said she'd walk out if they tried to keep her in. Then they said she could but only if the district nurse called in on a regular basis to change the dressing. I've said she can come and stay at our place, but she's being stubborn. But the doctors have insisted that she can't live alone – and Garth doesn't count,' she added as an afterthought.

Marcie felt as though she'd been hit in the face with a tennis racquet. Babs, offering to accommodate her grandmother? Well, that was certainly a first! Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law had never seen eye to eye.

Marcie fully understood why her grandmother had no wish to move in with Babs. Like Marcie she was perhaps questioning her intentions. The obvious one was that Rosa was not long for this world and the cottage would be sold. Babs would have no trouble spending the money.

‘I don't think she's being stubborn,' said Marcie. ‘She's lived in that cottage for years. It's her home. It was her and Granddad's home and she feels close to him when she's there.'

Babs sniffed. ‘That's as may be, but I still think she'd be best here.'

‘It could be for years, although she is ill. Her family are very long lived. You know what they say, a creaking gate can last for years and years.'

She could easily imagine the look on her stepmother's face. Babs had been banking on a short-term arrangement, probably a year at the most. What purgatory that would have been for Rosa – as well as for Babs.

‘Anyway, I was going to make arrangements to have her here. There's also Garth to think about.'

‘He's not family,' Babs retorted hotly.

‘That's not the point. Gran is fond of him.'

Babs sounded deflated when she said goodbye, the fervour with which she'd presented her plan totally absent.

Marcie couldn't help it. She had to check with the hospital to make sure that Babs was telling the truth. It hurt in a way. She felt obligated to have her grandmother stay with her. A little voice in her head told her to be sensible. She had two kids, a husband in prison who she needed to visit in order to keep his spirits up, a nightclub and Michael's other business interests to attend to.

For the first time ever she wished that her husband hadn't been so successful. She wished they could be ordinary, just one big happy family.

But there was no turning the clocks back. What had to be had to be. Besides, Babs mightn't make too bad a job of looking after her grandmother and Rosa might even exert a positive influence over her stepmother's chaotic life.

One thing at a time said that little voice in her head.

She made herself a cup of coffee and sat down to await the arrival of Allegra and the man who had caused her husband to be accused of murder.