“Thank God he’s gone,” said the doctor. “Well Will, a couple more days and I think we’ll be able to release you.”
Moira swallowed hard and kept her gaze on the floor.
“When the wounds have had time to heal we can discuss plastic surgery options.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, more concerned with not seeing his nurse again than his face.
“Right, I’ve got to continue with my ward round. I’ll leave you in Nurse McDiarmid’s capable hands. She’ll clean you up. I’ll be back to check on you later.”
When the doctor had gone Will and Moira glanced at each other then looked away, Will not wanting to show her his face full on in case she ran out screaming.
“How does it look, really?” he said.
“Not as bad as you think.”
“I don’t know how you can look at me.”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?”
“I can’t,” he said, the prospect horrifying.
“The longer you leave it the harder it’ll get,” she said, taking the small mirror down off the wall.
“No please, I really can’t,” he said, holding up his hands.
“Yes you can. Look.”
But he refused to.
“For me, please.”
Will found himself unable to resist the lure of that voice. “Fine. I suppose if you haven’t run out screaming then I should be able to manage it.”
“I’m not going to leave you Will,” she said.
“Thank you,” he replied in a small voice.
He took the mirror and she watched as he slowly raised it with shaking hands then lowered it again. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can. Let me help,” she said, taking the mirror from him and holding it. “Look,” she whispered.
Not wanting to appear weak and stupid in her eyes he forced himself to look at his reflection and his heart sank. He was a mess, face a patchwork of ugly scars and jagged lines, his upper lip misshapen. He was a terminally ugly bastard. Plastic surgery might help but it would never cure.
“Oh Christ,” he sighed, turning his back on the mirror.
Moira hung it back on the wall. “It’s not so bad.”
“My life’s over. No one’s going to want to employ me or date me. I’ll be jobless and alone for the rest of my life.”
“No you won’t, you’re still good looking.”
“You don’t need to lie.”
“I’m not.”
He forced himself to face her. This good woman deserved nothing less. “You have such a kind heart but please don’t lie to protect me.”
“I’m not. I think any woman would be lucky to have you.”
He snorted derisively. “Yeah, right. Who’d want to kiss a mouth like this?”
“I would,” she blurted out before thinking.
He gaped at her and she blushed.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, scurrying for the door.
“Wait, don’t go.”
She stopped and turned to face him.
“You haven’t cleaned up my face yet.”
Blushing furiously she took a pair of latex gloves from a box on a table and pulled them on then picked up a tray containing everything she needed and placed it on the bed.
“Why won’t you look at me?” he said. “Is it because of my face?”
“Not at all. It’s because I’m embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“You know why. Don’t make me say it,” she replied, dabbing at one of the cuts on his cheek with cotton wool, avoiding his searching blue eyes.
He took her hand and gently lowered it.
“I really need to clean you up,” she said.
“It can wait.”
Heat went racing through her body. His voice was soft and gentle with a gravelly tone. After he’d been silent for so long it was like music to her ears.
They gazed at each other, Will raising his hand to touch that pretty soft face. Hastily he lowered it again when the door opened. An overweight middle aged woman dressed like a teenager in leggings and a tight t-shirt waddled into the room, red-faced and sweaty.
“Jesus H Christ Will, look what they did to your lovely face. You’ll get some fucking good compo for this.” She frowned at Moira. “Who’s this weegie?”
Will sighed and rolled his eyes, looking apologetically at his nurse. “So you finally made it Mum?”
Freya slept very badly that night. Deciding it would not be sensible to return to the boat where they would be isolated and which would be as restful as a rollercoaster to sleep on she and Craig had agreed to spend the night at Nora’s cottage. Freya hadn’t found it easy to sleep in a house where she’d almost been killed and Gary had his head bashed in. Rather than stay in the spare room where the attack took place they’d slept in Craig’s old room.
When she had eventually managed to drift off she’d been disturbed by the door slowly opening to reveal Martin Lynch in an advanced state of decomposition. He’d opened his mouth to speak and his lower jaw had dropped off, fetid water pouring from the black hole. She’d only just managed to stifle her scream as she’d jumped awake. Sleep had eluded her after that and she’d turned away from the door, afraid to look at it in case it opened to reveal her nightmare so she’d nestled into Craig, listening to the wind raging outside. Occasionally the roar was punctuated by a crash or bang as something was blown over. At one point there was an almighty smash. Freya went rigid, straining to listen. It hadn’t sounded too close but close enough and she wondered what it was. Briefly she contemplated getting up and peering out of the window but she was afraid of what she’d see so instead she pulled the sheet around her tighter and pressed her face into Craig’s shoulder, pining for her safe little flat in Glasgow. The weather was getting worse, which meant it wasn’t over.
Mercifully dawn arrived early this time of year. Glad to see its light she leapt up and peered through a chink in the curtains, not wanting to disturb Craig. Her heart sank. The boats were still being thrown about on the choppy sea, which was being agitated by the strong wind. Could they even sail in this weather? She felt seasick just thinking about it. Debris was strewn across the main street, a large fishing net sitting on the pub steps.
“Jesus Christ,” she exclaimed when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her waist.
“Did I make you jump?” said Craig’s voice in her ear.
“Just a bit.”
“Sorry. I hope Gordon doesn’t trip over that when he opens up the pub,” said Craig, indicating the fishing net.
“Can we sail in this weather?”
“No way, it’s too dangerous.”
“Shit,” she sighed.
“We could always leave the boat here and go somewhere else. I don’t want to go home until we know where Mandy is. We could take the ferry over to Arran.”
“Will it be running this weather?”
“Course it will. The wind will only be affecting Blair Dubh, like it always does.”
“The trouble might follow us there.”
“You don’t seriously believe Doggett’s talk about evil, do you?”
“Going off past experience, yes.”
“He’s full of shit.”
“I don’t think he is. He understands.”
“He’s a weirdo and his weird talk has put these ideas in your head. Mad Mandy will be rounded up soon and everything will be fine. There’s no evil waiting to get you.”
“Look at the weather Craig.”
“It’s just weather. This is Lizzy’s fault too talking about Black Blair and curses. I’m a police officer, I’ve seen a lot of evil up close and it’s all one hundred percent human, trust me.”
In the cold light of day it did seem a bit ridiculous. “You’re probably right.”
“The weather has always been temperamental here, you know that. This wind would have kicked up whether we’d come here or not. Now come back to bed. We need to start relaxing and enjoying our holida
y,” he said, kissing her neck.
“Craig, someone might see,” she said when he pushed her up against the window. It was lucky she was wearing a black t-shirt.
“There’s no one out there, look,” he said, gesturing to the window. He glanced out and his face fell. “Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
“Doggett.”
Freya turned to see Graeme standing beneath their window, staring up at them.
“It’s only five o’clock. What’s he doing?” said Freya.
“Being a fucking freak,” said Craig, releasing her and pulling on a t-shirt and jeans.
“You’re not going out there, are you?”
“Course I am. I’m not letting him get away with that.”
“He might just have been taking an innocent walk,” she said, pulling on her own clothes and hurrying after him down the stairs. “Please Craig, leave it,” she called, but he was already out the front door, letting in a huge gust of wind.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, staring up at our window?” demanded Craig, shoving the man in the chest.
Graeme stumbled backwards, just managing to remain on his feet. “I wasn’t staring. I was only making sure Freya was okay.”
“You’re a fucking pervert,” Craig yelled over the wind, pushing him again.
“Craig, stop it,” cried Freya, running out after him and putting herself between them. She pressed her hands to her husband’s chest and attempted to push him backwards but he was immovable.
“I’ve had enough of this creep,” Craig yelled, jabbing a digit at Graeme. “He corners you in the church just when your parent’s graves are dug up, he stares at you in the pub and now he’s here, having a good nosy at our bedroom window.”
Graeme didn’t reply. Instead he stood stock still, seething.
“Please Craig, leave him alone.”
Craig looked down at her, his dark eyes hard. “Why are you so scared of him?”
Freya’s mouth open and closed soundlessly, not sure how to reply without sounding insane.
“Craig, what are you doing?” demanded Nora, rushing out of the house wrapped in her dressing gown, hair in curlers. “Stop brawling in the street like a common thug. Get inside now.”
“This perv was watching us through the bedroom window,” retorted Craig, eyes never leaving Graeme, whose dark gaze was becoming more ferocious by the second.
“How did he do that? You were on the first floor,” she replied.
“We were at the window and he was standing there, watching.”
“What were you doing at the window?”
“What’s this about?” called a voice.
Freya was delighted to see Bill marching up the street, his black and white collie dog at his heels. She rushed up to him. “They’re going to fight. You have to stop them.”
She moved out of the way so Bill could put his bulk between the two men, who had begun shoving each other again, the dog running between their legs, barking and tail wagging. “Now calm down the pair of you, this is ridiculous,” he said.
The three of them started to bicker, hardly able to hear each other over the noise the dog was making.
“Stop staring at her,” exploded Craig when Graeme’s watery gaze settled on Freya again.
He and Graeme lunged at each other and started to fight, the latter putting up a surprisingly good struggle even though physically he was slighter. Bill tried to pull them apart but they were too determined and the fight continued, the dog interspersing its barks with growls.
“Craig, I said stop that,” screeched Nora, slapping him hard on the back, but he didn’t even notice.
Freya retreated a few steps to avoid getting caught up in the scrap. Roused by the noise more residents were coming out of their homes in their nightwear, some of the men running over to help break it up. She sighed and shook her head, really angry with Craig. This so-called holiday was getting worse.
A sharp pain shot through her lower back, making her wince. With a frown she reached under her jumper and felt something wet. When she took her fingertips away they were stained with blood. Freya stared at the sticky mess with a puzzled frown.
Bill had pulled Craig and Graeme apart, holding Craig in a bear hug while Jimmy and Gordon restrained Graeme.
“Craig,” murmured Freya, holding up her fingers, feeling her knees go weak and her head start to spin.
They all turned to look at her.
“Freya?” said Craig, his face falling.
She was saved from falling by someone grabbing her by the neck and pressing a knife to her throat.
CHAPTER 23
“Freya,” yelled Craig, breaking into a run.
“Stay back or I’ll cut her,” screeched Mandy.
Craig skidded to a halt, face white as a sheet while Nora let out a scream.
“Let her go right now you stupid awful woman,” cried Nora, eyes filling with tears.
“Shut it you old hag. I knew you’d like her more than me. You never did have any taste.”
“You sick, evil, twisted cow. Put the knife down.”
“Mum, calm down,” Craig told her. “Everyone just stay back, don’t crowd them.”
They all did as they were told, deciding he was the most qualified to handle the situation.
“Mandy please, put the knife down. This isn’t the way,” he said reasonably, his voice almost drowned out by the dog.
“I’m doing it for you baby. She’s cast her spell on you. I have to set you free.”
“Put the knife down then we can talk, I promise.”
“No. She has to die or you’ll never see what she really is. You’ll never realise that it’s me you truly love.” Annoyance filled her eyes and her head twitched unnaturally. “Will someone shut that fucking dog up?”
“Jessie, come here,” ordered Bill.
Obediently the dog went to sit beside her owner and ceased barking when he petted her head.
“That’s better,” breathed Mandy.
“So that’s what this is about,” replied Craig, desperately trying to keep his voice calm and reasonable when all he wanted to do was tear the bitch apart. The sight of that blade against Freya’s throat was more than he could bear. “I…I never stopped loving you Mandy,” he said, having to force the words out. “But if you hurt her we’ll never be together, they’ll lock you up and I couldn’t stand that.”
She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “You don’t mean that. You’re only saying it to stop me hurting her.”
“No Mandy, I do mean it. How could I not? You’re so beautiful.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
She’d smiled then, telling Craig pandering to her vanity was the right way to go. Feeling more confident he took another couple of steps forward, focusing on the knife, relieved when it wasn’t pressed any harder against Freya’s throat. “Yes you are, the most beautiful woman I ever saw. I think about you a lot,” he said, the words choking him.
“I think about you too Craig, all the time. I can’t stop thinking about you, you’re always here,” she said, repeatedly slapping the side of her head with her palm. “I can’t get you out. I have to get you back, I have to.”
“And we can be together again,” he said, daring to close in another couple of steps. “But you have to put the knife down first. If you don’t you’ll be arrested and you’ll be taken from me forever.”
Hope soared within Mandy, he looked so earnest, but she was still a little mistrustful. “I’ll put the knife down on one condition.”
“Anything,” he replied, trying not to sound too relieved.
“You have to say Freya’s ugly.”
Craig exhaled noisily, wanting to rip her head off. His anger was threatening to get the better of him but he couldn’t let it. If he did Freya would die. He glanced at her. She looked pale and scared but defiant too. She was furious. When their eyes met she gave him a long slow blink, telling him what he must do.
“She’s u
gly,” he mumbled.
“What? I can’t hear you over this wind,” shrieked Mandy.
“I said she’s ugly,” he retorted.
Her smile of triumph made his stomach turn.
“Why is she ugly?”
“Because…because…” His mind went blank. To him Freya was perfection, sexy as hell and he was stuck for an answer, but his wife’s life depended on his reply. He decided to think about this from Mandy’s point of view and tell her what she wanted to hear. “I hate all the black, it’s morbid and does nothing for her,” he said, voice coming out shaky. He glanced at Freya, whose face had gone impassive. He could only imagine how humiliating this was for her and she was resorting to her old street tactics of suppressing all emotion.
“And she’s fat, isn’t she, with those horrible big tits,” said Mandy.
Craig ground his teeth together. What he wanted to reply was that he thought Mandy was the ugly one with her ironing board body and invisible breasts. “Yes,” he said, spitting the word out.
Graeme watched the mad woman with the knife pressed to Freya’s throat and was almost overcome with frustration. If only he had his trusty little friend with him he could have taken her head off but that was carefully hidden away back at his cottage. He knew everything Freya had endured in her young life and it broke his heart what she was being put through now by her husband’s jealous ex. It was so wrong. He was furious at the man, he shouldn’t have allowed things to degenerate to this. She deserved better than him.
Craig took another couple of steps closer, his eyes constantly flitting between Mandy and the knife. He couldn’t look at Freya, she would distract him too much, he couldn’t allow emotion to get the better of him. Just another few steps and he’d be within striking distance. He could pull the knife from Freya’s neck and drag her to safety.
“You want to be with me, don’t you Craig? You wish it was me you married?” continued Mandy desperately.
“Yes,” he said in what he hoped was a tender manner. “I want you and only you. I never should have let you go in the first place, I must have been mad. Freya turned my head but you’ve brought me back to my senses.” Another step forward. His heart hammered so hard it made him feel light-headed. He wasn’t sure if the roar in his ears was the wind or the blood thundering around his body. “I love you Mandy. Let’s get back together.”
The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) Page 20
