The Make

and his writing was odd, like a very old man’s, but he wrote what he needed and waited until the nurse was passing close. He beckoned her over. Showed her the pad.

‘What is it, George?’ she asked. She seemed like a nice girl, a small blonde with concerned blue eyes and a robust country glow about her.

George pushed the pad up in front of her face.

The nurse read what he’d written there.

She looked at him.

‘I’ll do that,’ she said. ‘Right away. If you’re sure?’

George nodded emphatically. Then he thought of something else and wrote some more. Showed this to the nurse. She read it, and said: ‘No of course I won’t let her in here again. Not if you’re sure . . .’ She knew the anaesthetic drugs could be affecting him, even now. Making him imagine things.

George pointed urgently to what he’d written first.

The nurse read it again. Sandy Cole who was just here is claiming to be my fiancee. She’s not. She’s a crazy cow and she’s been stalking me. She hit me over the head with a brick outside my mother’s house after I told her to fuck off.

The nurse hurried off to phone his mother, and the police.

Chapter 73

There was no more time to think. Let herself think, and she’d talk herself right out of it. Gracie grasped the ice pick firmly in her right hand and peeked around the doorframe. Drax’s back was to her.

It was now or never.

Gracie threw herself forward, swinging her arm back as she moved. Drax never even saw her coming. She was right upon him. Gracie, suddenly high on adrenalin, saw a flash of recognition in Harry’s eyes, saw Drax’s huge head start to turn in the direction he was looking. In that instant of clear realization, in the sure knowledge that she would never get another chance and if she failed now there would be no going back, Gracie hit Drax as hard as she could across the head with the blunt end of the ice pick.

There was a hollow, sickening thunk.

Drax pitched forward across Harry’s legs and rolled off them. He hit the floor on his back, one knee raised; then the foot slid away and he was flat out. His eyes were closed, his mouth open. Gracie stood there, gasping, thinking that she’d hit so hard she’d probably killed him.

‘Gracie?’ Harry was staring at her as if he was hallucinating. ‘What the fuck . . .?’

Gracie was staring down at Drax. She couldn’t believe she’d done that, actually hit someone with the sincere wish that they’d die. Blood was seeping out on to the concrete of the garage floor from Drax’s head. She suddenly felt that she might throw up. She swallowed hard, and looked at Harry instead.

Oh fuck. Harry. Only this wasn’t the handsome, carefree, mild-mannered Harry she’d known when he was just a boy. Drax had hacked his hair off; what little remained was sticking up in all directions. His face was pale, gaunt, streaked with tears, lined with anguish. His hands were tied, and three of his fingers ended in bloody messes where the nails had been ripped out. One of them was bleeding steadily even now, dripping on to the concrete floor. She thought of that horrible, heart-wrenching scream she’d heard while she was trying to rouse Alfie, and felt sicker still.

The bastard had been torturing Harry, just because he was a Doyle, just because he was George’s brother and George had had the temerity to rescue Alfie from his clutches. She suddenly felt like she wanted to kick Drax’s prone body until she had no strength left to kick any more. Now she understood a killing rage. She turned away from the sight of Drax with a bone-deep shudder, and concentrated instead on Harry.

She moved around him, started untying the ropes that held him there. He stank like a polecat. The poor little bastard had been tethered here so long that he’d soiled himself where he sat. Fury enveloped her at the thought. Her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly get the ropes unfastened.

‘We haven’t got time for talking, Harry,’ she said, aware that her teeth were chattering now – was she in shock? She thought she probably was. ‘Got to get you out of here. Alfie’s inside.’

‘Alfie? Is he . . .?’

Gracie nodded, knowing what he wanted to say, knowing he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Had Drax sexually abused Alfie, or physically hurt him too? ‘He’s fine,’ she said quickly, her hands working now, untying, unravelling. ‘He’s stoned, but he seems okay.’

Harry’s hands were free. Now Gracie had to get closer to Drax’s fallen body. She didn’t want to, but she had to, to reach Harry’s feet. She shut her mind to Drax’s closeness, refused to dwell on images of him springing up, grabbing her, killing them both.

He’s probably dead anyway, she told herself, and got to work on Harry’s bindings.

Her hands were working better now. All she had to do was be cool, be Gracie, be herself. Forget the horror of their situation, forget all of it. Focus. Block out everything else. Get Harry free.

The last of the ropes fell away. Gracie stood up. She looked around for the ice pick but it was small, the light was bad, she couldn’t see it. No matter.

‘Can you . . .?’ she asked, as Harry sat there. He didn’t leap up. She realized he’d been sitting there for so long the movement had gone from his legs. He probably could barely stand, let alone run.

Shit, she thought in desperation. They had to get out of here.

‘I don’t think I can walk,’ said Harry, and there was a ghost of a smile on his lips.

‘I’ll help you,’ said Gracie, and suddenly she was Big Sis again, helping Harry out of trouble. She bent and put her arm around his shoulders. ‘Come on. One Two. Three.’

On the count of three she heaved and Harry pushed upward. He stood there on his feet, weaving around like a drunk.

‘Okay?’ she asked.

Clearly he wasn’t. Harry was wincing, shivering, obviously in a lot of pain. But he nodded.

‘Come on. You can do this,’ she said firmly.

She started to move back towards the door. Harry came with her, shuffling, trembling like an old man.

How long had he been tied up there?

‘Can’t feel my bloody legs,’ said Harry through gritted teeth.

‘The feeling’ll come back.’

Maybe he had frostbite, out here in the cold for Christ knew how long. He was moving so slowly, so painfully. Gracie supported him as best she could, but he was nearly done for, she could see that. He was within a whisker of just giving up, giving in.

She couldn’t let that happen.

‘Em sends her love,’ she told him suddenly.

She saw a flare of something in his eyes then.

‘Em? You’ve met Em?’

‘Yeah, and she’s worried about you.’ Gracie dredged her fuddled brain for more. ‘She says to tell you she didn’t mean it. That she’s sorry.’

A weak tear trickled from the corner of Harry’s eye at her words.

‘Come on. We’ve got to keep moving,’ Gracie urged.

They moved. Oh so slowly. Gracie could have shrieked with impatience and fear, but she kept herself in check, kept helping Harry on, on. He was trying harder now. What she’d told him had helped.

And then she heard Deano Drax stirring behind them.