Warhol's Prophecy

healing ribs. He paused a moment, sucking in lungfuls of air, as if the effort of clambering out of the Astra was too great. He straightened up, then made his way slowly towards the front door, Becky close by.

Once inside, Becky hurried off to play in her room. Rob wandered into the sitting room and slumped in an armchair.

‘Do you want a coffee, or something stronger?’ Hailey asked.

He sat in silence for long moments, gazing around the room as if he’d never seen it before.

‘Coffee, please,’ he told her. ‘Whisky doesn’t mix too well with the painkillers they gave me.’

‘Do you want anything to eat?’

He shook his head.

‘Can I get you the paper?’ Hailey persisted.

‘Stop treating me like a fucking invalid, Hailey,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not a cripple.’

‘I’m just trying to help,’ she protested.

‘Then let me do things on my own. You might not always be around.’

She pushed the sitting-room door shut. ‘Meaning what?’ she demanded.

‘You might not be here if there’s something I want,’ he repeated. ‘I’ve got to learn how to manage. Besides, it’s only two cracked ribs I’ve got, not a broken spine.’

‘The doctors said you had to take it easy for a week or so,’ she reminded him.

‘I can’t afford to take it easy for a week or so,’ he told her. ‘I’m going in to work as soon as I can.’

‘Rob, for Christ’s sake!’

‘What do you want me to do? Sit around here in an empty house every day feeling sorry for myself? Thinking about how lucky I am to be alive? Thinking about the bastard who did this to me? Thinking about other things, too?’

She knew what he meant.

‘I’m not going to keep telling you, Rob,’ Hailey said wearily. ‘Nothing happened between Walker and me.’

In fact, Adam had asked if there was anything he could do to help.

Rob didn’t answer.

She crossed to his chair and sat on the arm.

‘What have I got to do to convince you?’ she wanted to know.

He could only shake his head.

‘What about that coffee?’ he asked finally.

She reached out a hand and gently touched one of the yellowish bruises on his left cheek.

‘If I knew who’d done this to you,’ she said softly, ‘I’d kill them.’

Rob met her gaze. ‘Am I supposed to say thanks?’

‘Don’t make it any more difficult than it has to be, Rob.’ Hailey got to her feet.

‘If it’s any consolation, I now know what you felt like – when you found out about me and Sandy.’

‘No, Rob,’ she told him, one hand on the door, ‘it isn’t any consolation.’

92

SANDY BENNETT TURNED the key in the lock, then twisted the handle once or twice to check it was secure. Satisfied, she made her way towards the lift and jabbed the CALL button.

She rode it to the ground floor, then strode out into the cool night air.

She paused for fleeting seconds, looking up at the darkening sky, searching the heavens for signs that it was going to rain or turn colder. She wondered about returning for a heavier jacket, but finally decided she’d be fine in what she wore already.

The black trouser suit was made of wool; it should be absolutely fine.

She selected her car keys from her pocket and wandered over towards the Nova. It was, she realized, the first time she’d been out socially since she was sacked from her job at BG Trucks. A friend of hers she’d known since college had called and asked her out for a drink. Sandy had hesitated, then finally decided that she couldn’t spend the rest of her life living like a hermit, so had accepted the invitation.

She was looking forward to it now. It would give her a chance to forget about Rob.

The bastard!

She was angry with herself for even thinking about him. Where would he be now? At home playing happy families with his wife and kid?

Forget about him.

She opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel.

Her brother was out for the night, and she didn’t even dare to imagine what he might be up to.

Sandy was wondering how much longer she could let him stay with her. How long before he became a burden? She knew all the cliches about family and blood being thicker than water, but all the same he couldn’t stay with her indefinitely, could he?

She twisted the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

No spark. No sound.

She tried again, glancing at the dashboard.

Flat battery?

‘Shit,’ she murmured. Typical! Her first night out for Christ knows how long, and the car’s playing up.

She turned the ignition key again.

Still the car didn’t react. Not even the splutter of an engine trying to start.

Sandy banged the wheel irritably, and swung herself out.

She had two choices now: either ring the RAC and stand around waiting, or call a taxi and deal with the car tomorrow.

Sandy looked at her watch. She wasn’t due to meet her friend until 8.30.

Taxi or RAC?

She slammed the door and headed back towards her flat, where she dialled a cab.

He’d be there in five minutes, he told her. Still slightly irritated, she made her way back outside again.

The Nova stood there defiantly.

Try it once more. If it works, you can always cancel the cab.

She crossed to the car and slid behind the steering wheel again.

Sandy pushed the key into the ignition and turned it.

This time the Nova started immediately.

‘Yes!’ said Sandy, fists clenched in triumph.

It was then that she noticed the condensation on the windscreen.

It was on the inside.

As if someone had been breathing on the glass.

Someone inside?

Someone . . .

She heard a grunt behind her, then came a terrifyingly powerful impact just below her left ear.

Sandy felt agonizing pain, but she couldn’t scream.

Not even when she realized that the knife had been rammed into the angle between her jawbone and skull, so powerfully it practically shattered the lower mandible. Blood erupted from the wound and spattered noisily against the side window.

She felt her head flopping backwards. Felt a strong hand grabbing her hair, slamming her back against the headrest.

Then she felt the freezing blade against her throat. Felt the grazing as its serrations rasped against her flesh.

Then the knife was drawn across her throat with incredible force.