Jessie Keane - Ruthless

‘He’s a shifty little fellow,’ she said.

‘Rory? No, he’s not. He’s a bit on the loud side, I grant you, but…’

‘I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.’

Orla didn’t trust anybody. Rufus felt the words rise to his lips and quickly stifled them. He didn’t want to fight with her.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘Because he’s turned up here unannounced. And why?’

‘I told you why. He’s in the area to look over some horses. We used to go to the sulky races together. He loves the nags.’

‘So he says. When’s he going to get on and do that, then?’

‘Orla…’

‘What? You’re too trusting, Rufus.’

‘I’ve known Rory since we both crawled from our prams.’

Orla shrugged. ‘I’m only saying.’

‘I don’t think your cousin likes me very much,’ said Rory as he helped clear some shrubbery with Rufus one day. He hadn’t gone off to see any horses yet. After that first mention of it, he hadn’t spoken of it again. And Rufus did wonder about that, just a bit.

‘What, Orla? She don’t care to mix much. Take no notice.’

Rufus felt embarrassed by Orla’s behaviour around Rory.

‘He’s nothing but a gobshite,’ she said when Rufus asked her why she disliked him so much.

He couldn’t tell Rory that .

‘If I’m in the way…’ said Rory.

‘You’re not. You’re welcome here, of course you are.’

‘What is it with you two? Are you…?’ He gave Rufus a knowing look.

‘No, we’re not. At all,’ said Rufus.

‘If I’m not welcome, say the word and I’ll go.’

‘Shut up, will you?’ said Rufus with a grin.

Rory seemed to relax then, and they carried on working side by side.

Later, Rufus wished with all his heart that he’d taken Rory at his word that day, and let him go.

Rufus was sleeping soundly in his bed when the light came on, waking him. Orla had entered his room and was leaning over him, her expression almost crazed, her hair tickling his face. He opened his mouth to ask what was the matter – she never came to his room, and he had long since ceased to expect it – but she laid a silencing hand across his mouth.

‘Get up!’ she whispered, her voice full of excitement. ‘I’ve something to show you.’

Ah Jesus, he thought. It would be another batch of mad paintings. He looked at the clock on the bedside table, it was one fifteen in the frigging morning.

‘Orla…’ he started, pushing his hair out of his eyes, feeling exasperated, sad, irritable.

‘Come on, sleepy. I’ll show you.’

Shit, he thought. Nonetheless he stumbled from the bed, put on his dressing gown – she was wearing her winceyette nightie, he saw – anything to humour her.

She grabbed his hand, holding a finger to her lips to keep him silent.

‘Come on!’ she hissed.

He allowed her to lead him from the room and along the hall. More and more he was coming to realize that Orla, his precious Orla, was… well, she was unhinged . Something had made her unstable. Probably poor Redmond’s death.

‘Listen! Here!’ He’d expected her to drag him down the stairs and out to the barn, but instead she’d come to a halt outside one of the guest rooms. Rory ’s room, he realized.

‘What the…’

She shushed him urgently. He could hear a voice. Like a child playing a naughty game, Orla produced a glass from her pocket and held it out to him. ‘Listen,’ she whispered.

‘For God’s sake…’

‘Go on!’

Rufus let out a sharp sigh. How long had she spent doing this, suspecting Rory the same way she suspected any outsider, never mind that he was Rufus’s oldest friend? For all he knew she’d been here eavesdropping every night since Rory arrived, trying to trap him in some imagined transgression.

His mood veering between annoyance and a weary sadness, he took the glass from her and placed it to the door. Instantly the muffled voice became clearer. It was Rory’s voice. And he was talking to someone. He was on the phone.

‘I didn’t pick up the extension because I thought he’d hear the click,’ hissed Orla. ‘I knew he was up to something.’

Rufus tuned her out and listened hard to what was going on in Rory’s room.

Rory sounded near to tears. Which was weird. Rory never cried. He wasn’t an over-emotional man. He was always happy, always upbeat.

‘Yes. I told you so, didn’t I? That’s right,’ said Rory.

‘I know. I know. And he’s OK, is he? He’s not hurt?’ asked Rory.

‘What the hell does that mean?’There was panic in Rory’s voice now.

‘But we had a deal!’ Rory almost shouted.

‘Listen.’ Rory’s voice was low, urgent, angry. ‘I’ve done what I said I’d do. You have to let him go. Yes . He’s here. I told you, Rufus is here. Now you’ve to let Diarmuid go. You swear. You have to.’

Rory was silent for a while.

Rufus stood there, stunned. Orla was right. Rory had come here to betray him. His heart sank as he realized he’d been set up. Big Don had Rory’s nuts in a vice; he’d taken his son, threatened to harm him if Rory didn’t deliver Rufus. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Rory had gone searching for his old mate. And having found him, he’d waited, lulling the household into a false sense of security, until the time came to report back.

‘You see? You see?’ Orla was staring at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Rufus saw. Don would come here, and that would be it. He’d be finished. And what about Orla and the old folks, what would become of them? Don wouldn’t risk leaving any witnesses alive to tell the tale.

He let the hand holding the glass fall to his side. This was a bitter blow. And while he was standing there, wondering what on earth he should do, Orla pushed open the door and hurried inside.

‘Orla …’ he started, but she was already in the room, and Rory was there, sitting on the bed, replacing the receiver, his face a picture of guilt.

‘You treacherous shit,’ she spat at him.

Rory’s eyes were wide. He looked at Rufus, and his cheeks burned with shame at being discovered this way.

‘We heard,’ said Rufus. ‘That was Don, I take it?’

Rory caught his breath and seemed about to deny it: but then his shoulders slumped and he nodded miserably. ‘He’s got my boy, little Diarmuid. Snatched him from his mother, and then said I was to find you or else.’

‘All this time,’ said Rufus on a sigh, ‘I’ve been wondering why he’s left me alone. But he hasn’t, has he? He’s still after me.’

‘Rufe, I’m sorry, I really am. The man’s ill, they say. He’s losing it. He told me the one thing he wants to do before he dies is to find you. To have his revenge. He’s got my kid, Rufus. What else can I do?’

‘I’ll tell you what you can do, you worm,’ snapped Orla, looming over Rory. She snatched up the receiver. ‘You can call your hoodlum pal back and say that Rufus has moved on, caught a flight to the States or something. That he was here, but he realized the game was up and he’s gone.’

Rory was shaking his head. He stood up, started pacing back and forth.

‘I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘I can’t . I’m sorry as hell, but I can’t risk it – he’ll kill Diarmuid.’

‘You can,’ said Orla. ‘And you will.’

‘No, no…’

Orla lifted her hand, and it was only then Rufus saw she was holding a knife. ‘Get on the phone. Do it.’

Rufus felt sick to his stomach. He’d been betrayed by his closest friend, and now Orla, the woman he loved, was waving a knife around like a maniac. Rory’s eyes were imploring as they rested on his.