The Make

‘It’s not a good thing at all,’ said Gracie, aware of her whole body melting, yielding, in the most irritating way when it came into contact with his. ‘It is in fact a very bad thing. Because look where it led us.’

‘Back into bed?’ Lorcan queried, his eyes playing with hers. ‘Sorry, but I still think that’s pretty good.’

‘Yeah, but it doesn’t stop there. It’d be fine if it did. But sooner or later we have to get out of bed, and then we start to fight, and then we get upset, and it’s just not on.’

‘That was five years ago, Gracie,’ said Lorcan.

‘We’re still the same people.’

‘Are we though? We’re both five years older. You’ve had your dream of running your own place in Manchester, I’ve had mine here. Back then, we couldn’t reconcile the two. Now, maybe we can.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Gracie looked at him sceptically. ‘How?’

‘You could let your manager run the damned place, check in with him a couple of times a month, move back in with me here.’

‘Lorcan . . .’

‘Or we could find another place. We could actually start a family together. Your biological clock has got to start ticking soon.’

It hadn’t. And if it had, Gracie would have ignored it, stuck her fingers in her ears and sung ‘la-la-la’ very loudly until it stopped. She loved running the business. But . . . here she was, back in Lorcan’s arms, and it felt so right. Were they just a hopeless pair of fools that they couldn’t make this thing work? Maybe they were both as bad as each other, both wanting to be the boss, the one in charge?

But now Lorcan had thrown something else into the mix. Divorce. So horrible. So final. And it had jolted Gracie, she had to admit that, if only to herself. It would be a clean break, an opportunity for both of them to start again.

Just because the old attraction was still there, that didn’t mean they could live together now any better than they had five years ago. They’d tear lumps out of each other, she was sure of that – just as they always had. She wondered if Lorcan had deliberately played the divorce card, to shock her into reviewing the situation.

She sighed wearily. She was so worried about George and Harry, so concerned for Suze, that anything else was just too much. Now, being back here, being involved all over again, she felt the strong reconnection of that family tie that once had been severed. True, she still felt off-balance, and sometimes the longing to just turn her back and return to her own sparse, yet cosseted way of life, so free of complications, so bereft of hassle, was almost overwhelming.

‘I ought to go back to George and Harry’s flat,’ she said.

‘Not a good idea. You’re safer here.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Look, I have to go out. Something I have to do.’

‘Right.’ Where? she wanted to ask, but stopped herself.

‘Stay here, make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.’

But he was gone so long that Gracie started to feel anxious. She kept herself busy by watching TV until late, then she turned out the lights and wandered into the bedroom. She felt tired, but was too hyped-up for sleep.

Something I have to do, he’d said.

She sat on the bed in the dim light cast by the bedside table lamp and looked at her watch. Nearly one o’clock in the morning, what the hell was he doing at that hour? She looked at the bed, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep until he returned.

Her mind started playing the age-old tricks on her, the ones known and dreaded by every female since the world began. Had something happened to him? If you’d asked her if she gave a stuff either way a month ago, she’d have sworn she didn’t; but she did, and she hated the fact and the gnawing sense of worry it brought with it.

Suppose he’d had an accident? Or suppose – oh God, and wasn’t this the more likely answer? – suppose he’d gone to confront this bastard Deano Drax that Alfie had been telling them about? She felt a cold chill of fear crawl up her spine at the thought of that.

Something I have to do.

Like what? That scene at the hospital flashed into her brain: Lorcan getting madder and madder about Deano Drax.

Oh no.

He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Yes. He would. She knew he would. Lorcan was hot-headed, full of fire. He’d been brooding about Drax’s misdemeanours and now he’d gone to confront him. Gracie picked up her mobile to call him. His phone was switched off.

For God’s sake.

She looked around, wondering what to do. Was she just supposed to sit here like patient long-suffering little wifey, when Lorcan might be in trouble, in danger? Lorcan was still married to her, still connected to the Doyles. And Deano Drax was wreaking havoc among them. Would he draw the line at Lorcan? She didn’t think so. She thought of Brynn, staggering half-alive from the burnt-out flat above the casino in Manchester. Brynn had never hurt a soul.

Deano Drax might have Lorcan right now.

Fear stirring her into agitated movement, Gracie stood up and left the bedroom. She crossed to the apartment’s main door and looked outside. The heavy was sitting there. He looked up at her expectantly.

‘Do you know where Lorcan’s gone?’ she asked.

He shook his head.

Gracie paused for a beat, thinking. ‘Do you know Deano Drax’s club in Soho?’

He nodded. ‘You got a car?’

Another nod.

Gracie nodded too. ‘Okay, get the damned thing revved up, let’s get over there.’

The club was shut by the time they got there. Gracie and the heavy trudged against the thickening sleet and the biting north wind down the alley beside the club. The heavy dutifully tried the metal side door. Locked. He looked above it to the armed and blinking security alarm. He turned and looked at Gracie.

‘What now?’ he asked.

What indeed. Gracie stood there, hugging herself against the cold, looking up and down the snow-clad alley as if searching for inspiration. There were two big dumpster-style rubbish bins beyond the door, blocking the front of what was clearly a disused garage.

What to do, what to do?

Lorcan could be locked inside the club for all she knew. He could be unconscious. He could be hurt. She looked at the side door. It was a solid door, burglar-proof. And they daren’t try to breach it anyway. Even an attempt could trigger the alarm. The alarm could be connected to the local cop shop and if they started the Bill swarming around, that would take some explaining. And they couldn’t risk explanations. Start talking to the police about this, and Harry – and now Lorcan – could be toast.

Then they heard it. A whimpering, like an injured dog.

Gracie looked at the heavy. He looked blankly back at her.

‘You hear that?’ he said.

Gracie nodded. It was a chilling sound. Suddenly she was glad she wasn’t standing here in this freezing cold alley on her own. ‘Where is it . . .?’ she asked, turning, trying to nail the direction.

‘There,’ said the heavy, and nodded towards the bins.

Lorcan?

Gracie felt her stomach knot, felt the heavy lurch of incipient sickness. Oh God – was that Lorcan in there? What had Drax done to him?

She felt herself starting to shiver with dread. The heavy was striding towards the bins. The shadows were deeper back here, the whole atmosphere frozen and ominous. Gracie forced her legs to move, forced herself to follow him.

The heavy was throwing back the cover on the closest one. An aroma of rotting vegetation arose and swirled