Chapter 32
In the end, it’s another two days until Tom is released from Salisbury hospital.
Two days in which it rains steadily, and Eve trudges on long, wet walks up into the hills, and into the valley of the River Nadder.
Jack rings her on each of these days, but they don’t meet; he’s in London, attending a series of meetings with charitable trusts and foundations who, he hopes, will fund his youth work.
On the second day, Eve’s walking along a chalk pathway at the edge of a coppice of dripping trees.
As the rain slices across her face, she can’t help wondering about Oxana on her yacht, moving inexorably towards a finale which she may not survive.
Why did she return, like a lost sheep, to employment by the Twelve?
Why is she taking this insane risk on their behalf?
What is she trying to prove, and to whom?
The answer, when it comes, strikes her with such force that she sits down heavily on a stile and stays there, unmoving, for the best part of fifteen minutes.
The Twelve are Oxana’s malign parents. They chose her, they freed her, and they nurtured her.
They told her that she was special, an instrument of destiny, and they provided her with the nearest thing to love that she’s known since the death of her mother.
When the world condemned her psychopathic behaviour, they reinforced it, rewarding her with a luxurious lifestyle most people could only dream of.
In short, they took a severely damaged personality, and like expert swordsmiths, forged it into a weapon.
Of course she’s their creature. Of course she will lie and deceive to safeguard her relationship with them.
Of course she will risk her life for their approval.
She may say that she ‘loves’ me, whatever that means, or meant, but she will always be loyal to them.
The rain runs down the back of Eve’s collar, tracing wandering lines down her spine. The knees of her jeans darken. She sits there motionless, staring at her boots and the wet chalk at her feet. Eventually she stands, turns back the way she came, and starts to walk.
When she gets back to the house, she finds Tom there, lounging on the couch in track pants and a Soft Launch T-shirt.
Philippa’s cooked him a late breakfast of bacon, beans and fried bread, and when he’s worked his way through this, and three cups of tea, she and Eve encourage him to talk about the attack.
‘At the time, it didn’t hurt. I mean, I knew I’d been stabbed, but it felt more like being punched. When I got to hospital, I was pretty out of it, but later…’ He shakes his head. ‘Later was rough. My shoulder hurt, like normal pain, but my guts…’
Philippa bares her teeth. ‘I tell you, if I ever see that Finbarr Williams…’ She shakes her head. ‘He’ll regret he was ever born.’
‘It wasn’t him, Mum.’ Tom’s as pale as his mother is flushed. ‘It was the other guys.’
‘Yeah. The other guys working for him.’
Eve watches them. Finbarr Williams can’t hide forever.
By all accounts, he’s too distinctive a character.
What’s protected him so far, she guesses, is the skill with which he’s played his role: acting as a charismatic and terrifying figure to his teenage recruits, while distancing himself from the actual day-to-day handling of drugs.
The police have probably known for some time what he’s up to, but he’s clearly danced circles round them.
With Tom’s stabbing, Eve knows, a new avenue of inquiry has been opened up.
If Tom agrees in principle to testify against Williams, the police can begin building a case with a view to persuading the Crown Prosecution Service to take a charging decision.
If the case goes to court, and Williams is convicted of taking a leading role in a county lines operation, he’ll be facing years in prison.
If he’s also found guilty of conspiracy to murder, he’ll be looking at a life sentence.
Which gives him a very strong motive indeed to prevent Tom from testifying.
‘Drop it, Mum. Please.’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re not gonna…’
Philippa rounds on him. ‘While that man is out there, you are not safe. He needs to be locked up.’
‘He’d just be replaced,’ Eve says gently. ‘Within days, probably. Nothing would change. The drug operation would carry on as before.’
Unless… Unless I give up my hiding place and drag my past into the present.
A word to Johnny, and the nightmare that has enveloped Philippa and Tom would simply go away.
But that would mean the loss of my new life, and a return to everything that I needed to escape.
It would be a surrender, a bitter capitulation.
But I’m in debt to Philippa. She saw that I was lost and hurt and invited me into her life with unconditional and unquestioning kindness.
Now I have it in my power to return the favour. Should I do so?
‘I don’t give a shit.’ Philippa starts to tidy the room, her movements sharp and angry. ‘I want that bugger to suffer.’
Eve regards her levelly. ‘If they’re going to convict him, they’ll need Tom to testify. Which puts you both in danger.’
Philippa pauses, a cushion in her hand.
‘So please, please think carefully. Is there anywhere else you can go? Anywhere you can stay? With relatives, or—’
‘I’ve got a cousin,’ Philippa says doubtfully. ‘Other side of Warminster. I could give her a bell.’
‘Why don’t you do that? I can stay here and keep an eye on the place. And on Pye.’
‘Wouldn’t you be in danger?’
‘Why would I be? I’m just the paying guest. If anyone asks me, I’ll say that you’ve gone on holiday and left a contact number in, I don’t know, Spain or somewhere.’
‘And if they ring the number?’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. But whatever you decide, I think you should get out of here. Today, preferably.’
‘Today?’
Eve shrugs. ‘Finbarr Williams certainly knows Tom’s out of hospital. He probably knows he’s come back here, too. Can you ring your cousin?’
‘I suppose so.’ Philippa picks up her phone and walks into the kitchen.
Eve and Tom look at each other. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, placing his breakfast plate on the floor by the couch. ‘I’ve been a bloody idiot.’
Eve shakes her head. ‘Sometimes all that matters is to get out in one piece. Sometimes that’s enough. You don’t have to be the prosecution’s star witness against Finbarr Williams. Life isn’t Netflix.’
‘I owe it to mum to… try and put things right.’
‘Getting yourself killed isn’t putting anything right. You two need to think about each other.’
Philippa steps out of the kitchen, pocketing her phone. ‘I rang Linda. She can take us.’
‘Great,’ Eve says. From the corner of her eye, she watches Pyewacket approach Tom’s breakfast plate, extend a paw and draw a strip of bacon rind from the plate onto the carpet.