Ken McClure - White death

‘It didn’t have to be him,’ said Tally. ‘I still think it’s odds on the fault was in the production process.’

‘Maybe that’s what we were meant to think…’

Tally looked at him questioningly. ‘Very cryptic,’ she said. ‘You could write tag lines for EastEnders… Doof, doof…’ She hummed the theme tune.

‘I just don’t feel comfortable about it. And now they are closing down the company. Something doesn’t ring true.’

‘You’re right,’ said Tally. ‘A company admitting liability and doing the decent thing doesn’t ring true at all these days.’

‘But don’t you see, there was no pressure on them,’ said Steven. ‘The affair’s not going to be made public so there will be no tabloid editors demanding blood, no TV reporters standing outside the building, demanding to know what happened. It’s a small company so there are no shareholders to worry about. Why shut up shop before any detailed investigation has taken place?’

‘I hate to say it but isn’t this a minor consideration, Steven?’ asked Tally. ‘Does the precise mechanism of how the toxin got into the vials really matter in the great scheme of things when the damage has already been done and these children have been harmed? Isn’t it academic?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ insisted Steven. ‘People keep saying this but it’s like the piece of a jigsaw puzzle left over at the end when you thought the picture was complete. You can either hide it and pretend everything’s okay or admit there’s a problem and take a closer look only to discover that some of the pieces don’t really fit at all: it’s all just an illusion.’

Tally looked at him with an indulgent smile. ‘If you say so,’ she said. ‘I don’t know about you but I think I’ve had enough of cold reality for one week. I think we should make good our escape from it by drinking far more than the BMA would recommend and end up behaving in an absolutely outrageous and wanton manner, finishing up in a scenario featuring my bed with my backside bouncing off it… like there was no tomorrow.’

Steven broke into a huge smile. ‘Talk about good ideas…’ he said, slipping his hand slowly under Tally’s sweater. ‘But let’s not rush things…’ He pushed Tally’s bra up and sought out her right nipple with his tongue.

‘If you… say so,’ murmured Tally appreciatively.

‘Oh, I do,’ said Steven. ‘I have a feeling this is going to take… ages.’ He moved his attentions to Tally’s left breast while continuing to circle her right nipple with the side of his thumb.

‘Oh, that is gorgeous…’

Steven saw that Tally had her eyes closed but the smile on her lips spoke volumes. He continued his adoration of her breasts while he loosened her jeans and eased them off: Tally assisted by raising her bottom, letting Steven’s right hand roam freely over her buttocks and between her thighs, taking direction from the sighs and groans he was provoking.

‘You’re all wet…’ he whispered as he slipped his hand into her panties while moving his mouth down over her stomach and tracing a line with his tongue. ‘Deliciously wet…’

‘And you are all hard,’ groaned Tally, reaching down to free what was pressing for release from Steven’s trousers.

‘Time to see if your mattress will take it…?’

‘Absolutely,’ gasped Tally.

‘The sun’s shining,’ whispered Steven in Tally’s ear. She responded by turning away and pulling the covers up.

‘It’s a beautiful day.’

‘It’s Sunday,’ complained Tally. ‘Have you no heart?’

‘No… I think I’ve lost it to a beautiful lady,’ whispered Steven as he kissed Tally’s neck gently.

‘Mmm… You’re a heartless monster…’ she murmured but a smile had settled on her lips. ‘How is a girl to get her beauty sleep…?’

‘She doesn’t need it. She’s already gorgeous.’

‘Too much,’ giggled Tally. ‘What is it you’re after, Dunbar? As if I didn’t know…’

Steven smiled broadly. ‘Well, that too,’ he agreed. ‘But I thought we might have the perfect Sunday. We’ll have a walk in the sunshine, find some place that’ll serve us Bloody Marys while we read the papers and then have a long, self-indulgent lunch… before we come back and watch the football on TV.’

Tally’s eyes shot open. ‘What?’ she exclaimed.

‘Just joking,’ smiled Steven. ‘But I got your attention.’

‘Monster, monster, monster,’ complained Tally as she rained mock blows on Steven’s chest. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

‘Well, first…’ murmured Steven. ‘I thought you might…’

Tally had a fit of the giggles. ‘You are impossible,’ she said but she gave in.

Tally, dressed in jeans and a soft leather blouson over a white T-shirt, slipped her keys into her handbag and gave the flat door a final check before saying to Steven, ‘You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a Bloody Mary before.’

‘It’ll give you an appetite,’ said Steven, slipping his arm round her shoulders. ‘But I’m depending on you to suggest a nice place?’

‘My sister keeps talking about a place called the Riverside Tavern, out by Marley Wood. We could try that?’

‘Excellent.’

They stepped outside into the sunshine and paused for a moment to enjoy its warmth on their faces. ‘Mmm,’ said Tally. ‘This is how weekends should be.’ She looked up at Steven who smiled and hugged her closer.

‘No argument there.’

‘Let’s go in my car,’ said Tally. ‘Then I won’t have to shout directions at you.’

Steven rested his arm on the roof of Tally’s Renault Clio while she got her keys out. He was about to say something about women and handbags when he felt a sudden pain in the back of his left thigh as if he’d been stung by a wasp. He clutched at it and turned to see a male figure who had been walking towards them turn on his heel and run off.

‘What the…’ he gasped as his senses started to reel and he felt his knees become weak.

‘Steven!’ Tally cried out in alarm as she ran round to the passenger side to find him slumping to the ground. ‘What’s happened?’

Steven was fighting a losing battle but he pulled out the thing that was sticking in the back of his leg. It was a small dart — the kind that could be fired from an air pistol. He matched this up with his observation of the man who had taken to his heels. Something about his suit said that he wasn’t English… he was east European, maybe Russian. ‘Sweet Jesus,’ he murmured as he realised that he had been wrong about the two Russians who had driven him off the road. It hadn’t been a case of mistaken identity at all. It had been him they’d been after all along.

Steven looked at the dart through blurred vision as consciousness threatened to leave him. ‘Ricin…’ he murmured. ‘Ricin… There’s no antidote. I’m so sorry.’

Tally, her eyes wide with horror, saw the dart fall from Steven’s hand and did her best to cushion his head as he slumped unconscious to the pavement. She put him in the recovery position and snatched her mobile phone from her bag to dial three nines. With her fingers resting lightly on the carotid pulse in Steven’s neck and feeling a mixture of shock and anguish, she brought out a pair of tweezers from her bag and picked up the dart from the pavement.

‘Welcome back,’ said the voice as Steven blinked at the whiteness of the ceiling and started to take in his surroundings. He tried to focus on the figure in white who had spoken but everything was just too bright.

‘Before you ask, you’re in hospital: it’s ten thirty on Tuesday morning and you are a very lucky man.’

‘Tuesday?’ murmured Steven, suddenly realising that he had lost a couple of days of his life. ‘Tally… must see Tally.’