The Make

But there was no one to help.

Whatever was going to be done, she would have to do it.

Urgency gripped her now. If Drax was hurting Lorcan, she just couldn’t let that happen. She might already be too late. Leaving Alfie reclining there in his drug-hazed stupor, she went quickly to the door leading into the hall and with a hesitant look out there she slipped through.

Shaking, feeling so frightened she could have vomited on the spot, Gracie went back to the interior kitchen door and opened it just a crack. She peeked through. She thought Drax was going to come shouting and cursing at her, but no, the kitchen was still empty, the outer door still slightly ajar.

She felt at any moment that her legs were just going to give way beneath her. She wanted to run, far and fast in the opposite direction, but Lorcan was out there, he was in danger, and she loved him too much to let any harm befall him. And what about Harry? He could be out there too. Hurt. Needing help.

She crossed the kitchen quickly, not allowing herself time to think. If she did, she knew that she would simply lose her nerve and flee. She opened the door and slipped outside.

Instantly she could see nothing. It was very dark. Slowly her eyes adjusted after the glare inside the building. She could see faint light still spilling out from the garage. And now she could hear someone sobbing.

Sobbing.

And – oh fuck, oh help – it sounded like a man.

What the hell was he doing in there?

A cold, compelling rage gripped her as she thought of what could be happening. She got her legs moving, forced herself to head in the direction of the garage. She had no idea what she would find in there, but it wasn’t going to be pretty. She crept along the side of the house, using a hand against the wall to steady herself. In her other hand, she clutched the pick so hard it hurt.

Now, having heard that blood-curdling scream, she wished she’d had the nerve to pick up one of the knives instead. But she wasn’t a killer.

Yeah, but you might be dealing with one here, said a quiet voice in her head. You fight fire with fire, don’t you?

The ice pick was going to have to do. She crept closer, closer, until now she was outside the garage door, she was right there, and she could hear tortured breathing and then . . . oh fuck, someone laughed. Someone actually laughed.

It was Drax. It had to be.

She edged closer, wanting to turn tail but unable to. She had to see this through.

‘So now come on, join in,’ said a hard, harsh male voice.

Drax.

Gracie braced herself and took a peek around the edge of the doorframe. She could see . . . the back of a huge man, bald-headed, bulky, wearing a camel overcoat, hopping from one foot to the other, dancing around someone sitting in a chair.

‘You like the modern stuff? Okay, we’ll sing them then, shall we? What would you like? That Chris Rea, I like that one. “Driving Home for Christmas”. You like that, Harry?’

Harry. It was Harry he had there. So where the hell was Lorcan? Was he here somewhere too?

‘Yeah,’ she heard Harry say tiredly, his breath ragged. ‘Yeah, why the fuck not? I like that one. Get it over, will you? I’m tired of this. Just fucking-well shoot me, Drax, will you?’

‘Not until we’ve sung a couple of Christmas songs together, Harry my son,’ said Drax, and his voice sounded reproachful, almost hurt.

It was Harry who’d screamed. Harry he was hurting. And . . . did he really have a gun?

Gracie’s rage was icy now. That twisted, horrible bastard. She didn’t know anyone gentler than Harry. And he was tied there, imprisoned, being hurt by this arsehole.

Gracie risked another peek around the door. Drax was facing her.

Shit!

She drew back, her heart seizing up in her chest. Had he seen her? She didn’t know. At any moment she thought he was going to emerge from the garage, grab her too. For a moment it was quiet inside there. She held her breath, not daring to move an inch.

He did, thought Gracie in cold horror. He saw me.

‘So what game shall we play now then, Harry? Hm?’

‘What the fuck do I care?’ mumbled Harry. He sounded tired, frightened, finished.

Gracie was standing there, frozen, still not daring to move. He hadn’t seen her. If he had, he’d be out here by now, grabbing her, hurting her too. Slowly, she exhaled. Drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

‘Now that’s not nice, is it Harry?’ chortled Drax. ‘I know. We’ll play Russian roulette again, how’s that?’

Oh my God, thought Gracie. He has got a gun.

Lorcan stopped the car outside the open gates of Deano Drax’s place. Just as well they didn’t have to go any further because up ahead looked pretty much impassable anyway. It had been a struggle, just getting this far. He switched off the engine and the lights and darkness fell around him and Paul. He glanced across at his companion. Paul looked done for. He was slouched back in the seat, eyes closed, and he looked deathly pale.

‘You okay?’ asked Lorcan.

Paul’s eyes flickered open. A wry grimace touched his mouth. ‘This wasn’t how I’d planned to spend Christmas,’ he said.

‘Nor me,’ said Lorcan.

‘I feel weak as a kitten.’

‘Just the after-effects of shock,’ said Lorcan. ‘You’d better stay here, in the car. I don’t want to take it any closer, announce my arrival.’

‘Think if I try to stand up I’ll just fall down anyway.’

Lorcan nodded. He looked up at the lions rampant on each high brick-built post, rearing up against the buffeting snow.

‘Here goes nothing,’ he said, and got out of the car and started walking up Deano Drax’s long, winding driveway.

Chapter 72

Sandy had spent Christmas Day evening holding George’s hand as he lay in intensive care. She had slipped out of the house, saying she was going over to her Mum’s place, and Noel was zonked out, stoned as usual, he didn’t give a fuck. George was awake now, conscious, eyes wide open, apparently doing well. He still couldn’t speak, he still had this weird thing in his throat, but he had indicated by clumsy sign language that he wanted a pencil and a notepad to write something down on. Finally, after several more sessions of desperate writing movements, the nurse brought him what he wanted. When he saw Sandy coming into the room, he hid the pad and the pencil under the bedclothes.

Sandy had been there for over two hours, wittering on to him about how crap her Christmas had been, and how wonderful it was to see him getting better, and that when he was out of here they would just take off somewhere together, have a lovely holiday.

George lay there and wondered where Alfie was. And where was Mum when you needed her? All he could do was lie there and listen to Sandy droning on and on while he kept an anxious eye on the nurse, hoping she wouldn’t go too far away. She didn’t. He was only just out of the woods, so she was still watching him closely. Sooner or later, Sandy was going to have to go home, wasn’t she?

At last, she did. She kissed him on the lips and – thank God, at last – she left.

The minute she was out the door, George got out the notepad and pencil and started writing. He felt weak