20

The ancient hinges creaked and the rusting door slammed shut. Nothing had entered except a blast of night air.

‘Wind?’ Razor suggested, his heart racing.

‘Sorry about that—it’s my nerves.’ Kev gave an uncertain chuckle.

‘It’s a heavy door,’ said Razor. ‘Could the wind really have done that?’

‘I know not,’ said Kev, biting his lip.

‘There’s a nasty draught in here,’ Alex whined, making them both jump. ‘I’m cold.’

When Kev handed him another blanket and a cup of coffee, he took them without a word of thanks.

Razor noticed and his uneasiness edged towards anger. He knew it happened too often, and he could slip into it as easily as he could into a favourite T-shirt. In a moment of insight, he knew he hadn’t always been this way—it had only developed after his promotion at Burke and Coe, when work and pressure had piled up. Although in theory his new position had allowed him to delegate, he’d found power addictive and had hated giving any away and losing control. Within weeks, the fuse on his temper had shortened though on the whole he’d retained enough self-control to avoid inappropriate outbursts at work. Too often, he’d vented his frustrations onto Flit. Shame and regret filled him. Alex was right—he really hadn’t been as good to her as he’d believed.

As if on cue, Alex moaned about the coffee being too hot.

‘Shut up!’ Razor roared, his voice reverberating. ‘I’ve had just about enough of you. Give me one reason and I’ll…’

Alex stared, open mouthed, a trickle of coffee on his chin.

‘Calm down, mate.’ Kev placed a hand on Razor’s arm. ‘The man’s had a trying night, and it’s no wonder he’s upset.’

‘Yeah, he tried to shoot me, but okay—as long as he keeps quiet,’ said Razor, mastering the rage. ‘I’ve had some trying months, so he’d better not bother me anymore tonight.’

‘I’m sure he’ll behave,’ said Kev, giving Alex a look.

Alex nodded, his eyes wide.

Though having the upper hand made part of him feel superior and strong, the better part of Razor hated how easy it was to fall into bad old ways. He resolved to transform into a better person when this business had run its course. Looking back on recent days, he suspected he might not be made of the right stuff for a hero, but nothing could stop him becoming a good Samaritan—there were always people needing a helping hand. Furthermore, he might impress Miranda.

‘I’ll take a look outside,’ said Kev. ‘I don’t know why the door opened, but it could have been a homeless person looking for shelter and when they saw it occupied, they left. It’s too horrible a night for anyone to be out.’

‘Alright, but be careful,’ Razor agreed, trying to be charitable though not fancying sharing the confined space with a wet tramp.

Kev pushed the door. Nothing happened. He tried again and grunted.

Razor sighed and nudged the little guy out the way. He shoved, barged and jiggled the door. ‘It’s stuck,’ he concluded.

‘We can’t get out,’ said Kev.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Alex.

Razor glared. ‘Didn’t I tell you to shut up?’

Alex cringed.

‘This might mean real trouble,’ said Kev. ‘There’s no other way out.’

‘The windows?’

‘They’re embrasures for shooting from and they’re far too small.’

‘Let’s see. I’ll give you a leg up.’ Razor squatted and linked his fingers into a step.

Though Kev looked sceptical, he gave it a try. ‘No chance, mate. I can’t even get my shoulders through, never mind anything else.’

Razor set him down. ‘Oh well. If we must, we can break through the wall—the old bricks are already crumbling.’

‘Yeah, but that’s just the lining. They built these things with a core of reinforced concrete—we’d need a sledgehammer at least.’

‘Or we could use Alex’s head,’ said Razor with an evil grin.

Alex winced.

Kev slumped into a corner. ‘We’re stuck here.’

‘No, I reckon Miranda will turn up,’ said Razor, with a glow, hotter than the heat of anger filling his heart.

Kev brushed a cobweb from his face. ‘She might never come this way again. I don’t suppose Alex has a mobile?’

‘I did, but I must have dropped it when I went out the window,’ Alex whispered, keeping a wary eye on Razor.

‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Kev.

‘Sleep on it,’ said Razor and yawned. ‘We weren’t going anywhere tonight, anyway. We’ll be fine.’

Kev looked unconvinced, but Razor had confidence they’d find a way out in the morning when they could see what they were doing and, if they couldn’t, they could always shout for help. Someone would hear them—there were numerous dog walkers in the vicinity. It was just that he hadn’t seen many round here.

Alex groaned. ‘We can’t stay here all night. It’s crawling with spiders.’

‘Frightened of a poor little spider? It wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ said Kev and grinned.

‘Idiot.’ Razor forced a chuckle, trying to appear nonchalant.

Alex bit his lip and stared at the big black hairy thing dangling over his head. ‘I want to get out.’

‘You’ve got far more to worry about than that, and if you don’t stop moaning, I’ll give you something to really moan about,’ Razor threatened, echoing a phrase his grandmother had used. She’d never meant it.

Alex clutched his blankets and rolled against the wall.

Although Razor’s exhausted body craved sleep, he feared Alex and had no wish to wake up with his head smashed in by a brick. ‘We’d better keep an eye on him, Kev,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘We’ll take turns.’

‘I don’t think it’s worth it.’ Kev reached for a blanket.

‘Explain,’ said Razor, aware of Alex listening.

‘He’s no fool and has no wish to be entombed. We’ll stand far more chance of getting out if all three of us work together. If anyone is incapacitated, there’ll be little chance of the others escaping. Am I right?’

Razor nodded.

Kev glanced at Alex. ‘You won’t try anything, will you?’

Alex shook his head.

‘Good,’ said Kev.

A question that had been skulking in the dim recesses of Razor’s brain stepped forward. ‘How did you know about the shotgun?’

Alex looked up. ‘I overheard Kane telling one of the gang about it on his mobile. He’d stumbled across it when he was hiding stolen goods up here. That’s all I know because I made sure to distance myself from that sort of thing.’

Razor nodded. ‘Okay. We should try to sleep now.’

‘I’m… er… sorry, but I need the bathroom,’ said Alex miserably. ‘I can’t hold it much longer—what should I do?’

‘Use the corner,’ said Razor.

Alex unwrapped himself from the blankets, looking thin and feeble as he unbuttoned his trousers. ‘There’s no paper.’

‘Then you’ll just have to improvise.’ Kev grimaced at Razor and they left Alex to his side of the partition.

After a noisy, smelly interlude, they settled down. Razor thought of the happy times with Flit before his ambition drove a wedge between them.

The lantern flickered and went out. ‘What’s it done that for?’

‘Ran out of paraffin I expect,’ said Kev. ‘There wasn’t much left when I came out, but it was the only thing I could find at your place, apart from smelly candles.’

‘It’s mine is it? I didn’t know I’d got one. What about the torch you gave me?’

‘Not a clue, mate—you had it last. I just wish I’d brought some candles, but I was already overladen.’

‘So, we’re stuck in the dark. Great.’

‘Until the morning steal upon the night, melting the darkness.’

‘Better make the most of it then. I’m glad you brought some blankets. Are there any more?’

‘Sorry. Miranda suggested I might need some, but I could only carry three,’ said Kev. ‘Alex has two.’

Razor sighed. ‘I have no intention of going round his side in the dark.’

‘Nor me, so we’d better make the most of the one we’ve got.’

They groped around for dry leaves, scooped them into a pile, and lay down side by side, covering themselves as best they could. Despite the cold and the rain drumming outside, Kev was soon dozing. Razor did his best not to disturb him though the leaves flattened into awkward bumps and there’d never been enough for two bodies. He shivered beneath a meagre portion of blanket, his brain wide awake, his body exhausted.

His mind kept looping, bringing up old memories and examples of his own insufferable behaviour. Deep down, he’d always known Flit had little interest in money, and that his attempts to show off by laying the rewards of long hours of labour at her feet had not impressed her. Too often he’d been away on business or had come home late, scarcely giving a thought to her needs and how she occupied her time. There’d been many occasions during the last months of her life when she’d tried to engage him in a proper conversation and tell him something important, but his own cares had consumed almost all of his attention. Even so, he’d known something wasn’t right and that Alex was involved, which was why he’d suspected an affair—it was part of the reason he hadn’t wanted to listen.

Fearing losing her, he’d devised the brilliant plan of treating her to a night out, just like they used to enjoy. He’d hoped it would draw them back together. In retrospect, it seemed a feeble response though he had only intended it as a first step on the way to improving things between them. He should, however, have let her know. Instead, he’d decided to surprise her, and had come home early, filled with his own virtue. She wasn’t in, her mobile wasn’t working, and when she got back, it was too late for the theatre and the meal he’d planned. His disappointment had turned to fury, even when she pointed out that the battery on her mobile had died and she’d had no way of knowing he’d return three hours earlier than normal. He’d as good as accused her of having an affair. It was now clear she’d been innocent. Even if she’d wanted one, Alex was incapable of sex.

Or so he said.

Razor’s thoughts returned to the past. A week after the failed theatre trip, when his temper had cooled, he’d suggested a visit to the cinema. This time, he told her in advance, made the effort to leave work on time, picked her up at home and drove them to Glevchester. How could it have gone so wrong?

He tried not to toss and turn, hoping the itch on his belly was just that and not a wriggling centipede or worse. Before meeting Flit, he’d been a lonely young man in a strange new town. She’d brought happiness into his life, until he’d started taking her for granted and had allowed ambition to turn him into an angry, workaholic pig. After that, he’d played the role of grieving widower, suicidal hero and had then come perilously close to becoming a thug—even if he could just about convince himself that those who’d experienced the blunt force of his rage had deserved it.

Throughout it all, thoughts of Miranda kept coming back. She was amazing, despite unfashionable clothing, a complete lack of makeup and appearing to have never visited a hairdresser. Still, something about her troubled and intrigued him. First, her apparently frail body held so much strength. Second, she kept turning up when he was in trouble. Third, she, like Kev, seemed so blasé about death. He didn’t understand her and, in truth, was a little afraid of her. Nevertheless, he wished she was sharing the blanket with him—he’d put money on her not snoring and twitching as much as Kev.

‘Shut up!’ Razor muttered, trying to get comfortable without waking him.

More thoughts entered the loop. How had the door opened? Had someone really been out there? Had that person blocked them in? Could they escape, or were they doomed to a horrible lingering end? He didn’t fear death, but had always hoped not to be around when it happened.

Had he dozed off? Perhaps. He could no longer hear the rain though Kev was still snoring. The pillbox held such darkness he wondered if he might have gone blind. He shivered and tugged at a corner of the blanket, gaining temporary control of a fragment until Kev rolled over and seized it back.

Somehow sleep found him.

The world was silent when Razor awoke. Grey morning light filtered into the pillbox and his breath steamed. He was under three blankets and though they felt damp, he didn’t wish to leave the comparative warmth. Groggy and yawning, he staggered to his feet, calling for Kev without a reply. He was all alone. When he tried the door, it swung open easily. The world outside was swathed in fog and looked as cold and murky as the North Sea in winter. He relieved himself into a bush and shouted, but the fog absorbed his words like a sponge and no friendly voice reassured him. Questions tumbled round his head like balls in a bingo cage. Some bounced within reach. How had the door unstuck itself? Where were Kev and Alex? Why had they abandoned him? Were they now working together?

He found no answers and no sound penetrated the murk, other than occasional drips from the trees. Hungry and chilled, his clothes clammy, he decided to go home. It would be impossible to get lost—all he had to do was keep walking downhill and he’d soon reach the village. Anyway, the fog was sure to clear.

After a dozen or so steps, he looked back, but there was no sign of the pillbox, and it wasn’t long before he’d completely lost all sense of direction—he couldn’t even tell if he was heading upward or downward. He ploughed on, beads of moisture dripping down his face, and hoped to stumble across somewhere recognisable. It felt like he’d been wandering for hours when a faint glow appeared ahead. It was the sun, but it should have been behind him. Then, for an instant, he was blinking in bright, warming sunshine, with the fog spread below like a cape.

He was still on the ridge, just in front of the pillbox. Dropping to his knees, he howled his despair and frustration, and the fog swirled back, enfolding him like a soggy bath towel.

He smelled flowers.

‘Good morning,’ said Miranda.

He was back on his feet in an instant, his face red hot. ‘Where are you?’

‘Here.’

‘I can’t see you.’

‘Walk towards my voice.’

He fancied he could make out a darker shade in the murk.

‘You look exhausted,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you home. Follow me.’

‘What about Kev and Alex?’ he asked.

‘They are in your house, drinking your whisky. Kev asked me to look around and I found a bottle of the stuff.’

‘I’m amazed there was one. I hit it rather hard after Flit’s funeral—she was my wife you know.’

‘I know.’

‘She died,’ said Razor. ‘I guess that was obvious. Otherwise she wouldn’t have had a funeral.’

‘Keep walking, Mr Razor, and maybe you’ll be back in time for lunch.’

‘Kev’s a great cook,’ said Razor, much cheered by the idea.

‘Sometimes, but whisky is his weakness. His ability to cook varies inversely with how much he’s taken. He drinks it as if it were beer.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He swigs it by the pint. Especially the good stuff.’

Razor kept walking, comforted by her nearness, but wishing he could see her. It was strange, now he came to think about it, that he’d never seen her in full daylight. It was also odd that she seemed to know where she was going. ‘Where did you find it?’ he asked, because he liked hearing her voice.

‘The whisky? In a recess between the rafters in the attic.’

‘I didn’t know there was one,’ said Razor, ‘so it couldn’t have been mine. Nor Flit’s—she hated the stuff. What sort was it?’

‘The Scottish sort,’ said Miranda.

‘Did it have a name?’

‘Something Scottish. The bottle was in a white cardboard tube with a metal lid. There was a man’s sweater in a tartan plastic bag next to it.’

A thought struck, happy and sad at the same time. ‘I bet they were my birthday presents. She must have got them for me. I wonder how she found that hidey hole? Come to think of it, how did you find it? What were you doing up there?’

Miranda didn’t answer for so long Razor feared he’d lost her.

‘I was searching for something,’ she said.

Razor turned back towards her voice—he’d been about to start walking in circles again. ‘What?’

‘Whatever Alex and Kane had been looking for.’

‘Right… and how did you know what to look for?’

‘I didn’t. However, it was clear they had been searching, and since they’d failed to find it, whatever they wanted was well hidden. I’m good at finding things—and hiding them.’

Razor recalled all the times he’d caught Alex in the house and accepted his explanation that he was just tidying up, even though nothing ever appeared any better. ‘Alex’s attempts to find whatever it was were becoming desperate, so I guess it was important. Did you find it?’

‘I believe I did,’ said Miranda.

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know.’

Razor’s rising excitement deflated. ‘Then how do you know it was what they were looking for?’

‘Because it was hidden.’

‘So was the whisky, but they wouldn’t be searching for that—unless it was a very rare and expensive one. It wasn’t was it?’

‘I wouldn’t know, but even the rarest and costliest drink becomes worthless once it’s inside somebody.’

Razor trudged behind, concentrating on keeping her blurry outline in sight, and worrying about what else she might have discovered while searching through his house. They reached flatter, smoother ground and he heard running water. ‘Is that the river?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re nearly home.’

‘Thank god for that. I’m knackered. Thanks for coming for me.’

‘You’re welcome. Here’s the footbridge, Mr Razor.’

Razor followed her voice into the lane to his house.

The fog cleared and Launcelot’s eerie cry made him jump.

There was no sign of Miranda.

She did not reply when he called her name and although bright autumn sunshine eased his freezing bones, her absence left a chill in his heart as he trudged the final few steps.