It grew even hotter as they reached the back entrance to the pub. Kenny knew it as the way out that some customers had used for their various assignations – buying or selling the stolen goods often stored in the lean-to; romantic encounters in the courtyard, although that was maybe too fancy a way to describe them. There’d been at least one attempted murder. This doorway had seen it all.
‘We can’t go in there, it’s lethal.’ Iris had to shout above the roar of the flames. ‘Is there any other way?’
Kenny racked his brains. ‘Perhaps one of the big windows around the far side?’ he suggested. ‘Or along the front, ’cos that would be out of the worst of the fire as it is now.’
They retraced their steps and ended up back on the footpath. Iris hoped the young policeman had alerted the fire brigade. The grass and weeds around the pub were dry after days of no rain – she could just imagine how they would catch and then the flames would spread. She’d seen such things take hold on the moors and they could burn for days if unchecked. That couldn’t be allowed to happen here.
Then she could hear voices – a woman, and one that was less easy to identify. It was high and sounded panicked. In contrast, the woman’s was low and measured. Olive. Iris had no idea who she might be with, but beyond the pub, through the smoke, she began to make out two silhouettes. ‘Over there, further along the path.’ She nudged Kenny, who started to go forward.
Iris strained to hear what was being said. ‘Careful,’ she murmured. ‘Something’s not right. She’s trying to calm somebody …’
Kenny nodded but carried on, and they edged around the worst of the heat. The voices were interrupted by the loud crashes of the roof caving in and glass shattering. The whole building was collapsing. If anyone had been trapped inside they would stand no chance.
He halted a few yards away from the couple. He could make out Olive now, facing him, holding up one hand to stop him going any further. The other person, a man from his height and build, had his back to them, and Olive was concentrating hard on his face, Kenny could tell. The man spoke. ‘You don’t understand! I got no choice.’
It was Cliff, but his voice sounded much higher than usual and it trembled with fear.
‘You do, Cliff. You’ve always got a choice,’ Olive insisted. ‘Don’t do anything rash, now.’
‘What’s that, who have you seen?’ Cliff swung around to face Kenny and Iris, and to their horror they could see that he was holding a gun.
Kenny gasped in shock. ‘Cliff! What are you doing with that? You shouldn’t be waving it around, someone might get hurt.’
Cliff’s expression was desperate, made worse by the flickers of flame that lit it. ‘Don’t come any closer. You aren’t meant to be here. Don’t try to take it off me. I’ll pull the trigger, I’m not afraid to.’ He swung his arm and Kenny took a step back, gripping Iris around her elbow.
‘Get away, raise the alarm, he’s gone crazy,’ he muttered, but not quietly enough.
‘Don’t call me crazy! I’m not crazy. You’re not going anywhere,’ he snarled, still waving the gun at them.
Iris took in the situation with a sickening sense of inevitability. History was repeating itself, hundreds of miles away from where Peter, her Peter, had faced this same dilemma. Well, he had not run from the threat. Now it was her turn.
She weighed up the costs. Olive had two young children, who needed her. She couldn’t afford to be hurt, far less killed. Kenny was the light of Ruby’s life. Iris remembered that early conversation with the junior nurse in the little attic bedroom, when she confessed how she was growing to like this man, and how she feared for him. Iris knew things had grown far more serious between them, that love had blossomed and endured despite what they had seen and gone through over the past year.
Whereas she, Iris Hawke, would not be missed in anything like the same way. Her death would cause no one to despair. People might mourn the loss of her medical experience but others could provide that level of expertise. It wasn’t the same as the devastatingly personal bereavement like the one she had suffered when Peter was killed, or even at her parents’ death.
She tried to recall what the witness had said when Peter was shot. His killer had panicked, was out of control. He had felt he had no choice – just what Cliff was claiming now. Somehow she had to diffuse the situation.
‘Let me talk to him,’ she whispered to Kenny. ‘Don’t try to be a hero. I’ve … I’ve got some experience in this area.’
Kenny stiffened. ‘Don’t be daft, it’s my job.’
Iris knew he would be affronted but also that she stood a better chance in this case. Kenny had been wonderful with Larry but that emergency was nothing like this one. ‘Trust me, he’ll respond better to a woman. I’ll be less of a threat. Even less than Olive as I’m not in a warden’s uniform.’
She could tell that Kenny was about to object but Cliff cut him off. ‘What are you saying? Are you talking about me? You can stop that right now.’
Iris took a step towards him, catching, out of the corner of her eye, that Kenny was signalling to Olive to get out of the way. ‘You don’t know me, Cliff, but you have met my colleagues,’ Iris began. ‘I’m a nurse. So you see, I can’t hurt you. You can put that gun down.’
He shook his head, wildly. ‘No, no. I can’t do that. I need it.’
Iris cautiously took another step along the canal path. It really was very hot but she dared not move her hands to loosen her collar. ‘You don’t really, Cliff. You only need it if you’re going to hurt someone and you don’t have to hurt me.’
He would not give in. ‘You don’t understand! It’s all gone wrong …’ For a moment Iris thought he was going to cry but he swallowed hard and continued. ‘There’s nothing left for me.’
She took one more step. ‘Why do you think that, Cliff? You’re a respected warden. People look up to you.’
He wrapped his spare arm around his stomach as if he was in pain. ‘They wouldn’t if they knew. I see that now but I didn’t to start with, you got to believe me.’
‘I do believe you, of course I do. Tell me exactly what you mean.’
‘No! It’s a trick.’
‘It’s not a trick, I promise.’ Iris had almost reached him now. Carefully she crouched down. ‘Come and tell me what you mean. You put that gun down on this grass and come down here and explain why you’re saying such things.’
She thought he was going to object but suddenly he knelt on the sharp stones of the path, seemingly oblivious to them, still clutching the gun. He was shaking all over.
‘Go on, I’m listening, and I’m not going to hurt you.’ She met his gaze and held it. ‘Trust me, Cliff, you can tell me.’
With a deep cry he gave way, recounting the whole sorry tale. How his superior, Henry Spencer, had lured him in, praising him and making him believe he was special and the other wardens weren’t worth bothering with. How they had their little secret, black-market goods being run out of the pub. How easy it was because the landlord’s brother was in charge. He had to keep a low profile because he was a wanted man, but nobody would suspect a pillar of the community like Mr Spencer. He could do whatever he liked and had amassed a small fortune over the past year or so. He wasn’t flash; nobody would have guessed.
Cliff had been recruited partly because things had started to go wrong. Iris recalled the incident months ago at the first-aid station when Gladys had felt threatened. The character Cliff described matched her mysterious patient, somebody the landlord’s brother had had a fight with and broken his nose. The man had done a runner but left a gap in the organisation. The remaining members of the gang had begun to turn on one another, vying for bigger shares of the profits. Spencer and the brother had become deadly enemies but were still bound together by their shared interests. Tonight things had come to a head and the brother had picked a fight. He was taller, younger, fitter; there was only ever going to be one winner. Cliff, terrified, had hidden behind the bar and made his escape when he’d seen the brother carrying the inert form of his boss out of the back door. He could only guess that the man had set the fire to cover his tracks. He had dropped the gun at some point and Cliff had grabbed it in case the man came after him.
‘So you can put it down now,’ Iris urged, keeping her voice level, very aware that the fire brigade must arrive at any moment and that they might panic him all over again.
‘I can’t. I’ve spoilt everything.’ Suddenly Cliff moved and turned the gun on himself, pressing it against his heart. ‘There’s no future for me. Everyone will say I was a thief. But I didn’t know for ages, honest. He said it was private business to start with. I just did what I was told; I had to, he was my boss.’
Iris wasn’t sure if this story would wash or not but she could believe all too readily how Spencer would have made use of Cliff’s vulnerability. He would have flattered him, drawing him in until it was too late to back out.
‘He said he thought of me as his son,’ Cliff wailed. ‘I was the boy he never had, he told me. That’s how he treated me. I couldn’t say no.’
Iris sighed deeply. What a cruel little manipulator Spencer had been. It wasn’t unlike the way he behaved with his wife: demeaning her, bullying her, but keeping her tied to him. Letting her know how much he despised weakness.
‘He was using you, Cliff, you know that, don’t you?’ Iris said gently but insistently. ‘It wasn’t your idea. He picked on you and he should never have done that. Don’t throw your life away before it’s barely begun.’
‘I have no life!’ shouted Cliff. ‘It’s all ruined! Everybody will hate me. I’d rather die!’
‘Cliff, no.’ Iris didn’t know if she was imagining an increase in the background noise, signalling the arrival of reinforcements. The dying crashes of the disintegrating Boatman’s were drowning out nearly everything. There must be little time left before Cliff realised what was happening. She couldn’t let him do what Eddie had tried. She knew first-hand how much pain that had caused to all who loved him. ‘You’re still young and we all know what Mr Spencer was like. Believe me, we know. You won’t be the only person he’s damaged. Look at me, I’m telling you the truth.’ She sensed him wavering at last, even as he continued to press the barrel against his chest. At some point he had thrown off his serge jacket and now wore just his white shirt, which glowed almost luminous in the bright orange light of the fire. ‘Help us do our job. Was there anyone else in the pub?’
Cliff shook his head.
‘There, you’re thinking like a warden again,’ Iris reassured him. ‘You can put that gun down now. You don’t need to hurt yourself or anyone else. You’ll be safe, Cliff. That’s your job, to keep people safe. So start by keeping yourself safe.’
‘No …’ But he was less decisive now.
‘Put it down, Cliff. Put it here on the grass, then you’ll be safe.’ Iris was unbearably hot now, the scorching air from the fire blowing towards them, but she could not break concentration. Still she held his gaze. ‘It can’t hurt anyone if it’s on the grass. Let it go, Cliff, set it down right here.’ She patted the dry grass between them.
She could sense renewed activity now from somewhere behind her. All would be lost if the young man noticed anything. ‘Now, Cliff.’ She did her best not to let the urgency show. ‘Just here. Then you’ll be safe.’ She nodded reassuringly and then, from nowhere, he dropped the gun and folded forward in on himself, holding his stomach with both arms. Iris immediately grabbed the weapon and flung it away in case he changed his mind. Behind her the fire brigade surged forward, too late to save the pub and Henry Spencer, but she ignored them, as she leant in to hug Cliff, weeping inconsolably now, like the young boy that in reality he still was.