Paying the Ferryman

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘I can come over,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate the offer. I just want to go home now. I think Tel and I just need to retreat for a while. Sarah is sleeping and Stacy is with her.’

  ‘You’ve been brilliant,’ Steel said. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  Maggie drove back to her home. Tel fell asleep in the passenger seat and she was reminded of how, as a little kid, he used to do that all the time and she used to carry him into the house and lay him down in his little bed. And she cried some more because that time was now long past and because for Joey it had never happened.

  It was after midnight and she wished she’d thought to leave a light on. It always felt so miserable, getting back to a dark and empty house.

  Maggie felt the tears start to flow again. Impatiently she wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands and then reached to shake Tel into reluctant wakefulness.

  ‘Hey, love. We’re home. Time to move.’

  He stumbled from the car, dazed and a little confused.

  ‘You go up and get into bed and I’ll bring you a cuppa. I need some tea and five minutes before I turn in, I think.’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  Maggie let them both in and watched as Tel made his way up the stairs. She hoped that he’d be able to sleep. That he’d just be able to let go and forget for a while. She shed her coat and kicked off her shoes, leaving them in the hall, and then made her way to the kitchen. The first thing she noticed was a draught where there had been none before. The second, as she flicked on the kitchen light, was that the glass in the back door had been broken. The third, hard on the heels of the second, was that Steve Hughes was standing there, and that he held a knife.

  Maggie knew she was supposed to be scared. Instead of that, she realized she was just mad. A slow rage that had built over the past days seemed to bubble within her now. She could hear Tel upstairs, flopping down on his bed, taking off his shoes. The image of Joey Hughes lying in the hospital bed, dying even while she watched over him; that was all she could see. It obscured her vision of the man with the knife. There was no way he was going to do to her son what he had done to his own.

  Slowly, deliberately, eyes fixed on the man with the knife who had invaded her domain, Maggie reached behind her and closed the kitchen door.

  Hughes laughed. ‘You think that will help? I’ll deal with you and then with him.’ He waved the knife in her direction. ‘This is all down to you,’ he said. ‘You came along and turned the boy against us. All down to you.’

  Maggie said nothing in reply. Hughes had begun to move. The kitchen table stood between them. The knife had been taken from her own block. That, she thought, was just a step too far. He broke into her home, lay in wait and threatened her with her own damned knife!

  Maggie consciously allowed the rage to grow, revelling in it, coaxing it into life. Tears forgotten, Maggie knew that now it was all about just staying alive. She grabbed a storage jar from the kitchen counter and threw it towards Hughes. It went wide. She threw another, moving away from him, towards the back door. She saw in his eyes that he expected her to run. The third jar actually hit its target, bouncing off the arm that held the knife. She could see the block he had taken it from out of her reach on the far side of the kitchen, but now he had shifted it was out of his reach too.

  With a yell of sheer fury, Maggie grabbed the edge of the table and, throwing her whole weight behind it, drove forwards, pushing it towards Hughes. She took him by surprise. This was a man who expected to win. Who didn’t expect anyone to fight back.

  She trapped him momentarily against the kitchen cupboards, the table edge hard against the top of his legs. She shoved it harder and to her satisfaction Hughes yelled in pain.

  Up in the room above, she heard Tel move. Heard him call.

  ‘No!’ Maggie yelled at Hughes. ‘Never again, you hear me? Never again.’

  She could reach the knife block now and she grabbed at it, pulling free the twin to the one Hughes held in his hand. She shoved the table again but he pushed back hard and for a moment Maggie staggered, her footing lost.

  Hughes all but leapt across the room. Maggie dropped down, scrabbling away. As he turned, she pushed upward and towards him, knife gripped tight in her hand, and came up behind him.

  Now, Maggie thought. It has to be now. She could hear Tel’s feet on the stairs.

  She plunged the knife deep into Hughes’ back. ‘You bastard. Bastard. Fucking bastard!’

  Hughes groaned and then lay still.

  ‘Mum.’ The kitchen door was thrown open.

  Maggie looked up.

  Tel stood in the doorway, gazing in horror at the scene.

  EPILOGUE

  They drove home the next day, Alec and Naomi, leaving the aftermath behind them.

  Steel had told them about Maggie and Hughes. He had died on her kitchen floor. A lucky strike, Steel said. Through his back and upward into his liver. He’d bled out. Maggie was in shock, but rage was still carrying her through and she told anyone who would listen that he deserved it.

  Steel, Naomi thought, probably agreed. She knew that she did.

  Joey Hughes’ funeral would, Steel said, be in a week or so. He’d let them know; but Naomi knew they wouldn’t go.

  Sarah had been told that she had a step family who wanted to take care of her. Naomi was pretty certain that Alphonso Vitelli would get his way and somehow she couldn’t manage to regret that. It was better, she thought, than being alone. Though, if she needed to escape, she would have the financial means – Lisanne and Victor’s stashed fortune had been discovered, hidden in six overseas bank accounts. They’d used aliases to hide the money – Roddy Bishop and Karla Brunel. The legal process of identifying Sarah as the rightful owner of the money would be long and drawn out, but Naomi was hopeful that the money would eventually make its way to the bereaved teenager. She thought she might mention it to Gregory – just in case.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Alec asked her. ‘We should be home in about an hour.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking about what you said the other day, about us having crossed the line.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I can’t seem to feel angry about it any more. It’s just what is. I can’t change it, just do my best with it, you know?’

  He reached out and clasped her hand. ‘I know.’

  ‘Did Steel ever say what was in the basement? I meant to ask.’

  Alec laughed. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing important. At least not from a criminal point of view. It seems that Lisanne Griffin – well, Thea as she was then – left a few possessions behind. Cards and bits of jewellery and a letter to her daughter. Just personal stuff.’

  ‘One day I’ll find that amusing,’ Naomi said. ‘But not yet.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Not yet.’

  Maybe that was her payment for the ferryman, Naomi thought absently. You left something behind when you crossed the river.

  ‘I want to go home,’ she said. ‘I want to close the door and shut the world out and I want to stay there until I’ve got cabin fever.’

  ‘We’ll have to go shopping first and collect the dog from Mari’s place. There’s no milk or bread. Then we can hide for as long as you like.’

  I’d like that, Naomi thought. She closed her eyes and, lulled by the motion of the car, drifted into sleep.

  Footnotes

  Chapter Nine

  1 See Gregory’s Game