Page 73 of The Trouble With Love

I thought of the gentle way Kai had held me, the curative power of his kindness when we’d made love amid the tears and the pain. ‘Well, it was pretty special.’

‘And that’s all? It’s just sex?’

I pulled my hand out of hers. ‘It was a charm. I was doing Vivienne a favour, and now at least I’ve put her mind at rest.’

Megan nodded. ‘Good thinking. A bang with results.’ She went quiet for a moment. ‘So, if you’ve done the charm, why are we up here waiting for the sunrise?’

I sighed. ‘Because it’s the solstice.’ I said enigmatically and turned to face the horizon. I had hoped for something symbolic, the golden glow of sunrise perhaps, but in Yorkshire in December you settle for what you can get, and we got a bleak, bleaching of the darkness to the east, a roil and bluster of cloud barely splitting enough to let a pale pink come through.

‘That colour would make a lovely blouse,’ came Eve’s voice, very matter-of-fact, making Megan giggle.

‘Ssshh. Think solemn,’ I whispered at them out of the corner of my mouth, but I could feel Megan’s hand shaking as she tried to stop the giggles. Nerves were making us all hair-trigger and a touch hysterical. At the end of the line I could see Isobel jigging from foot to foot desperate for the toilet and Vivienne’s body a little hunched over by the weight of contrition.

‘Sorry. But we’re not going to be long, are we? I don’t know how long that rope will hold Rufus.’ We’d tied him up outside the cottage, Meg didn’t trust him either inside or to be left in the car, since he tended to eat soft furnishings and pee against anything upright.

The air lightened still more. A few birds began to get the idea and sleepy twittering broke out in selected trees, a whirl of rooks took to the sky and began a noisy bickering above us as they climbed on the early-morning breeze. I could see the faces of the women now, all a little high on what we were doing. ‘He’ll be fine.’

A nod and I dropped Megan’s hand, walked a few paces forwards and held my arms up into the air. It was a huge coincidence that at that moment the sun broke free of the horizon and let the first rays trickle along, illuminating me nicely. Behind me, Megan was humming ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’’, and I would have kicked her if that hadn’t meant shattering my illusion of serenity.

The sunlight brushed the tops of the trees below us and I let my eyes drop from scanning the heavens to peering through the forest. A ratcheting drone told me all I needed to know. ‘Brace yourselves,’ I muttered. ‘Here we go.’

The first bike broke cover. It jetted towards us in uneven spurts caused by the cloying mud. As it reached the bare hilltop, another shot up behind us, with a third zigzagging up the path until three bikes rode a circle around us, staying just the far side of being offensively close. All three riders were hooded and helmeted, their machines bearing no number plates or identifying marks apart from a rather amateurish double B insignia painted in black on the dark red of the petrol tanks.

I stood my ground, keeping my eyes on the gradually spreading patch of sunlight at my feet. It smelled of moss and crushed grass and was nicely stable, and all the while I could hear that ghastly buzzing and the sound of the women behind me grouping together. Vivienne and Eve had been in on the plan, but I’d kept it quiet from Isobel and Megan. Isobel, because I was afraid she’d panic, and Megan because I was afraid that she’d come armed, and now they were a collective of fear and scared reassurances stamping a defensive circle at my back.

For a few moments it was an impasse. The bikes rode around us as though we were a wild west wagon train and they were some kind of native attack force until I was afraid that this was all they were going to do. Scare us then ride for the hills. But then I realised, incrementally, the circle was growing smaller and tighter. The riders were herding us closer together, almost up one another’s tailpipes in their attempts to stop us breaking free. The smell of exhaust fumes was dizzying. I fought the urge to go round, to try to keep my eye on any one rider, and let them circle. I stood still and waited.

It didn’t take long to come. From an inside pocket, while the rider steered single handed, the shotgun appeared, unfolding its length into the winter sunrise like Death’s calling card. Okay. Now we’re in business.

‘Are you going to shoot me?’ I shouted above the engines. ‘Go on then.’

‘Nah. Too easy.’ The voice came muffled through the black balaclava. ‘Too traceable. One thing I’ve learned, if you’re gonna do something, make sure it leaves no marks.’

‘So?’ I was moving now, keeping him in my line of sight. ‘What’s on the agenda for today? Locking me up in some shed again?’ Keep him talking . . .

The bike dropped to the ground, engine whining until it stalled in a flurry of blue smoke, and he stepped towards me across it. The gun barrel waved at the group of scared women. ‘I’m thinking something more up close and personal. What I should’ve done to you last time, straight off. Thought I’d save you for later, y’see. Big mistake, should’ve done you there and then. And after that, your wog girlie here is going to find out what a white man’s cock is really all about. And if this lot even so much as think about shopping me — well, I know where you all live, don’t I?’

Vivienne squeaked. The two remaining bikes had idled to a standstill behind us. I could feel the eyes, watching and waiting behind the helmets — those unidentifiable helmets. ‘Okay,’ I said.

There was a visible double take. ‘What?’

‘I said okay. Go on, do it.’ And then I made my mistake. Let my eyes flick upwards, beyond the muddy circle to the lone tree which guarded the edge of the path where it entered the forest. To the man standing underneath, arms folded across his chest and legs braced.

‘Shit, she’s got company!’

‘It’s fucking Rhys!’

Sunlight flashed on the gun barrel, arms came from behind and locked me down. Isobel screamed. Eve gave a grunt, there was a sound like a kick connecting and then a muffled swearing but the arms didn’t loosen. They tightened and I couldn’t breathe. There was the smell of sweat and leather, the unpleasant moistness of a damp biker’s jacket pressed to my face like thick skin, no air and the ground falling away beneath me.

The mud hit the back of my neck like a slap and I began to struggle beneath the man holding me down, writhing and biting and jerking my head. But it was too late.

‘He’s over there!’ A shout and then the abrupt violence of the gun firing which cut the noise into nothingness for a second. When I could hear again, it was panic. Eve was moaning, a kind of tearless crying, and the three men were arguing.

‘You fucking moron. You weren’t supposed to hit him!’

‘I was trying to scare him off.’

‘You shot him.’

---