The Ladykiller Page 13

  It wasn’t until Bert’s clothes caught fire that George felt a shiver of apprehension. He watched as the trouser material began to curl up and melt, his excitement growing stronger as Bert did nothing to help himself.

  Then all at once the settee was a fireball. It just seemed to burst into big red and yellow flames that snaked over the arms and on to the floor.

  George stepped back towards the door, the heat from the flames touching his aching face.

  Then he heard an almighty roar. The flames were standing up and coming towards him.

  He backed out quickly into the hallway, his woollen socks making him slip and slide in his haste. The terrible agonising roar came from the flames again. The man was stumbling round the room in panic. George saw Bert grab the brocade curtains and watched in fascination as the flames began to creep up them as well. Suddenly, everywhere was pandemonium. Edith was behind him and her screams brought George back to himself. He watched as she pulled the tablecloth off the kitchen table and ran back into the front room and tried to put out the flames on Bert with it. He was lying on the floor and Edith was patting at the flames.

  ‘Go and get some help, George, for goodness’ sake. Hurry UP!’

  He snapped into action and collided with Joseph who came careering down the stairs at the noise.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Joseph’s voice was incredulous.

  Then he was out of the front door and running up the garden path in his pyjamas. George turned back to the scene in the front room.

  Edith’s nightdress was burning, the hem was beginning to glow blue, and he ran into the room and pulled on his sister’s arm.

  ‘Your nightie! Edie, your nightie!’ She allowed him to stamp it out with his woollen socks.

  ‘What the hell’s going on here?’

  Nancy’s voice was loud. She stood in the doorway blinking rapidly.

  The room was blazing now and Edith pushed George towards the door.

  ‘Mum . . . help me pull him outside. For God’s sake, the whole place is gonna go up.’

  Nancy threw George out of the front door. He stood in the rain, his feet beginning to freeze, while Nancy and Edith dragged Bert’s bulk from the house. Thick black smoke was coming from the front door and the smell of burning was everywhere. Little flakes of grey ash were trying to rise up with the smoke but the rain was forcing them down on to the pavement and eventually into the sewers.

  Lights were now on all over the little cul-de-sac and people were coming from their houses in fear and excitement. George felt Mrs Marshall put a heavy coat around his shoulders and pull him from the garden. Her slender arms were gentle as she propelled him towards her own house. He watched the proceedings from her lovely warm front room. He stared out of the lead light window and across the road with a feeling of unreality.

  The clamour of the fire engines made him start. The firemen were clearing everyone away from the burning house. Bert was taken from the garden on a stretcher, a blanket covering his face.

  George was elated. Bert was dead. He was dead. Bert Higgins was dead. He turned to Mrs Marshall and she mistook the light in the boy’s eyes for unshed tears. She pulled him into her sweet-smelling embrace and kissed the top of his head gently.

  ‘Poor little mite, aren’t you?’

  He had never felt so powerful. He had rid the world of Bert Higgins.

  Mrs Marshall put him from her and looked into his face. ‘Shall I make you some nice sweet tea?’ She placed him gently on her settee and went out to her kitchen.

  Joseph walked into the room and sat beside George. His face was ashen.

  ‘Mum’s gone to the hospital with Bert. Edith’s gone with her. We’re to stay here until they come back.’

  George slipped his hand into his brother’s, and Joseph squeezed it tightly.

  ‘Mrs Marshall’s making some tea, Joseph, do you want some?’

  The next day George and Joseph raked through the ruined house. They managed to salvage quite a bit of stuff and piled it carefully in the front garden. Edith and Nancy came home from the hospital in the afternoon.

  Nancy went straight into Mrs Marshall’s, Edith came for the boys.

  ‘Bert’s dead. Mum was sedated and I had to stay there with her. Are you two all right?’

  ‘Where are we going to go?’

  Edith shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know. But don’t worry, things will turn out all right, they always do somehow.’ Her voice was tired and George felt a great sadness for her.

  ‘Mrs Marshall made us eggs and bacon this morning. She might make you some if you ask her nicely.’

  Edith smiled at him wanly.

  ‘I’m not very hungry.’

  George shrugged and resumed his searching.

  ‘Do they know how the fire started, Edie?’

  ‘Well, as far as I can gather, they think Bert fell asleep with a lighted cigarette. I know he was a pig, but to die like that . . . His face was twisted up in torment, it was terrible. Skin was burnt off the bone in some places. He died in agony, Joey, mortal agony.’

  Joseph put his arm around his sister.

  George had heard everything and smiled to himself. Then he began to giggle out loud.

  He ran out into the road, and holding out his arms began to spin round and round like a whirling dervish, until he fell, dizzy and exhilarated, on to the pavement.

  He lay there in the wet, his mind reeling. He had a secret.

  Edith knelt beside him and he smiled up at her. His secret smile that just showed his teeth.

  Chapter Eight

  Kate went for a bath at seven thirty. She put plenty of bubble bath in the water and lay back, letting the hot water seep into her bones. Her long hair was pinned on top of her head and her face scrubbed free of make-up. She closed her eyes tightly. She was really feeling this case.

  Earlier Lizzy had tried on all her finery and Kate had watched her twirling around the tiny lounge and suddenly felt as if a hand had gripped her heart. Supposing this man, this murderer, took her daughter and did to her what he had done to Mandy Kelly and Geraldine O’Leary? She pushed the thoughts from her mind. Nothing was going to happen to Lizzy. Kate would make sure of that. With luck Mandy Kelly would recover. She was a fighter, that much was evident.

  Kate pushed her shoulders under the water. Her skin had erupted in goose pimples and it wasn’t because of the cold. She closed her eyes again. She had fought hammer and tongs to get Christmas Day off, and all Lizzy had time for was her father.

  Dan did look well, though. After dinner one of Lizzy’s friends had come round. Joanie of the acne and the braying laugh. Kate chastised herself. What on earth was the matter with her? Poor Joanie was a nice girl. But the worshipful look she had given Dan had annoyed her. It wasn’t fair the way Dan affected women . . .

  She heard the bathroom door open and smiled. Lizzy with a nice glass of wine, or better still a cup of coffee. She opened one eye and sat up in the bath with shock, water going everywhere.

  ‘What do you want?’ Her voice was a loud whisper.

  She crossed her arms across her breasts.

  ‘I brought you a glass of wine and a cigarette, that’s all, Kate. Don’t worry, I’m not going to rape you.’ Dan’s voice was normal and she felt a fool. He placed a glass of wine in her hand and, wiping her free hand on a towel, as if she was a child, he gave her the lit cigarette.

  ‘You looked done in so I thought I’d try and help you relax.’

  Kate settled back in the water, glad now of the concealing bubbles. Dan sat on the toilet seat and laughed.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re going all modest. I do know what you look like undressed, remember.’

  ‘What are the others doing?’ She was having difficulty keeping her voice light.

  ‘They’re watching James Bond, my dear. I taped it for them last night. How’s the case going?’

  His voice was conversational and friendly. Kate was taken back, over the years, to when they had bathed togeth
er. When it had been good between them, before Lizzy had been born.

  ‘Not very well, actually. We haven’t even got a suspect.’

  ‘I admire you, you know, Kate. The way you’ve built yourself a career.’

  ‘It’s called working, Dan, you should try it some time.’

  He smiled, showing his perfect teeth.

  ‘Put the claws away, Kate. I know what you think of me but I’ve changed, you know. I realised a long time ago that I needed to grow up, and believe me when I say I’m working on it.’

  Kate took a gulp of the wine and a long draw on her cigarette. This close, Dan made her feel uncomfortable. He slipped to the floor and knelt by the side of the bath.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kate’s voice was suspicious. Her hands were full and she didn’t trust Danny Burrows one bit.

  ‘I’m not doing anything. I was just going to wash your back, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t want my back washed, thank you very much. Now if you don’t mind, Dan, I want to get out.’

  She sat up again in the water, looking around for somewhere to dump the cigarette and wine. Dan took them from her.

  ‘Look, Kate, all I’m trying to do is make myself useful, that’s all. While I’m here . . .’

  She didn’t let him finish. ‘While you’re here, Dan, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. We don’t lock doors in this house and I’d hate to have to start now.’

  ‘Can’t you even try and be friendly?’

  His blue eyes were puzzled and for a few seconds Kate felt sorry for him. Dan honestly didn’t know what was going on. To him, if you wanted something you took it. He never realised how much he had hurt her in the past. How many times had she taken him back over the years, only to come home from work to find he had gone again? No note, nothing. Just her mother’s pitying face. Too many times having to tell Lizzy that Daddy had gone again. That he worked away, a long, long way away, that’s why he didn’t write very often or call.

  As he traced his fingers along her arm, she felt a response inside her. She still wanted Dan sexually, she admitted that, but she’d deny herself that satisfaction before she let him scramble her brains all over again.

  ‘You’re the only woman I ever really loved, you know, Kate. Whatever you might think of me, that at least is the truth.’

  She stood up and pulled a towel from the rail, wrapping it around herself. The funny thing was, she knew it was true. Dan chased excitement. A new woman to him was as necessary as water to everyone else. If she had been able to accept that, then they would never have parted. But Kate wanted someone one hundred percent. And that sort of commitment was beyond Danny Burrows.

  ‘Leave me alone, Dan. I mean it. You had your chance and you blew it. I have no intention of going through all that rigmarole again. I stopped wanting you a long time ago. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to get myself sorted out.’

  He gave her one of his winning smiles.

  ‘Well, you can’t blame me for trying, Katie, you’re still a very attractive woman.’

  You should know about attractive women, Dan. Christ himself knows you’ve had enough of them.

  After he’d left she felt flat and cheated, because she hadn’t been with a man since Dan had left her for the last time, five years earlier.

  Though he didn’t know it, he was the only man she had ever slept with in her whole life.

  She picked up the wine from the window sill where he had placed it, and drained the glass. Her hands were shaking, and it wasn’t with fright.

  Sometimes, when they’d had a bad domestic, there would be a woman battered black and blue. The man would have a restraining order placed on him, the woman would be taken to hospital. Then Kate would hear that the woman had gone back to her husband, wanted the charges dropped, and the others would say what a fool the wife was. But Kate had sympathised. Some were like the little girl with the curl. When they were good they were very, very good, but when they were bad they were bastards. There were other ways of battering women too, ways that did not involve physical violence, and Kate sometimes thought that the mental battering was worse.

  Unless, of course, you were dealing with the Grantley rapist. With a husband or boyfriend at least you had an inkling of what you were up against.

  With him, you were on your own.

  Kate’s thoughts strayed to Patrick Kelly, keeping a lonely vigil by his daughter’s hospital bed. She dried between her legs and felt the stirrings there. Kelly brought out feelings she had forced down for years. She closed her eyes to stop the pictures that were invading her brain. She was tired and lonely and Patrick Kelly had affected her for all the right reasons - he was an attractive man. Dan, on the other hand, affected her for all the wrong reasons. Namely, because he was here now, and she knew exactly how their lovemaking would be.

  She hoped that Kelly’s daughter pulled through, she really did. He had such faith in himself, he had such a strong belief that Mandy would open her eyes and look at him as though she had just had a nap. Kate wanted that for him too.

  Of course, Patrick Kelly kept invading her thoughts because of his daughter’s terrible predicament. She forced that thought into her head and held on to it. It was just pity.

  But she knew she was lying to herself.

  She fancied Patrick Kelly with all her heart and soul. He was the first man she had fancied for over five years.

  She heard Dan’s voice coming up from the lounge and Lizzy’s laughter. After all, he had given her Lizzy. For that reason alone she would forgive him an awful lot. But their days of bedding down together were over.

  Patrick Kelly looked at his watch. It was just after seven. He realised that he had not eaten for over twenty-four hours. Putting his daughter’s hand gently back on the bed, he walked from the intensive care unit. In the small waiting room he lit a cigarette and took a hip flask from the pocket of his jacket. The brandy burnt his empty belly. He was unshaven and unkempt.

  The young PC who had been staying at the hospital, in case Mandy awoke and said anything, came into the room.

  Patrick watched him as he sat down. He was only a kid. Twenty at the most.

  ‘The nurses are turning her and that.’

  His voice was apologetic. Patrick felt an enormous surge of sympathy for the boy. Christmas night and he was stuck here waiting for a half-dead girl to say a couple of words when he would much rather be at a party or something.

  He offered the boy his hip flask.

  ‘Go on, son, have a shot.’

  The PC took the flask and had a few sips, coughing as the liquid hit the back of his throat.

  ‘Merry Christmas, son.’ Patrick’s voice was sad and flat.

  ‘She’ll pull through, sir. It’s amazing what they can do now.’

  The boy was talking for effect. They both knew that.

  Suddenly they heard the frenzied high-pitched bleeping of the monitors attached to Mandy. They stamped on their cigarettes and ran from the room.

  Mandy’s bed was surrounded by nurses and doctors. The sister pulled Patrick away from the scene as they tried to save his daughter’s life.

  Finally, everything was quiet and all that could be heard was the low buzzing sound of the heart monitor. Then that was unplugged and all there was was a deathly silence.

  ‘I want to use the toilet again. George, Joseph, help me to the toilet.’

  They helped their mother heave her huge bulk from the settee. This was the sixth time they had toileted her since she had been in the house.

  As they walked her from the room Elaine glanced at the clock. Eight thirty. They would be leaving soon, thank God.

  ‘So how’s Betty these days, Lily?’

  ‘Fine. She’s a buyer for a big fashion store as you know. She’s doing very well. Of course, we don’t see as much of her as we’d like . . .’ She left the sentence unfinished but even without the words being said, Elaine knew why. Nancy was hated by her grandchildren.

  Nancy sat on the toilet.
Her two sons stood outside the door, puffing and panting. Getting Nancy Markham up the stairs was a major event. Both the men were aware that she could walk perfectly well, yet like everything in their lives that had to do with their mother, they studiously avoided mentioning it.

  George could see the blue tinge around Joseph’s mouth. His mother would put him into an early grave.

  ‘I’m ready!’ Nancy’s voice broke through the air like a thunderbolt. The two men opened the bathroom door. The smell of faeces was overpowering.

  ‘You can wipe, George. Joseph did it last time, and made a bloody awful job of it.’ She held a warning finger up. ‘Do it properly or there will be hell to pay!’

  Nancy stood, forcing all her considerable weight on to her sons’ arms, before deliberately letting herself drop to her knees. Joseph and George were dragged to the ground with her.

  ‘Fuck this!’ Joseph’s voice reverberated around the tiny bathroom. George looked at his brother, amazed.

  Joseph had sworn in front of their mother!

  Nancy had been on all fours on the floor. Before she had time to think what she was doing she was standing up of her own accord and staring down at her eldest son, hands on ample hips.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  George pulled himself from the floor and sat on the edge of the bath, giggling nervously. He was enjoying himself. Joseph lay on the floor. His arm was killing him where his mother’s weight had nearly wrenched it out of its socket.

  ‘What’s going on up there? What’s all the crashing about?’

  Elaine’s voice, which could outshout Nancy Markham’s on her better days, carried up the stairs and into the bathroom. George heard the thud of her slippers coming upstairs.

  ‘I said, what did you say Joseph Markowitz? Answer me!’

  Elaine stared into the bathroom in bewilderment. She saw her mother-in-law prod Joseph’s thigh with her foot.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mother. It just slipped out.’

  Nancy, realising that she was standing up of her own accord, held her chest, her eyes rolling up into her head.