Louise Welsh - Death is a Welcome Guest

‘Boys…’ Father Wingate’s voice was a tremor.

Will put both hands on the table and leaned in close to Jacob. ‘You are the one who wants her. Why don’t you tell her, instead of playing with your pistol?’ He straightened up and said in a louder voice, ‘That man up there is the same type as you. He might enjoy sharing. Isn’t that what soldiers like? Sharing the women they rape?’

Jacob’s tone was weary; a headmaster disappointed with a particularly stupid boy, but his eyes narrowed and his hand sat next to the loaded gun. ‘You had a girlfriend? Good for you. I had a wife and children…’

Magnus got to his feet and took hold of Will’s arm. ‘C’mon, man, it’s been a long day.’ Part of him was tempted to let them fight each other, but he tightened his grip and began to pull him away. ‘It’s up to Belle who she goes with. There are no rapists here.’

Will let himself be towed from the table. They were almost in the hallway when Jacob said, ‘That’s right, go to bed. You wouldn’t have lasted a day on our squad. Where were you when the sweats took hold? Blubbing over your dead girlfriend? My men didn’t have that luxury. We were in the bloody thick of it.’

Will jerked free of Magnus’s grasp and bolted back into the room. ‘You bet you were in the thick of it. The military made that bloody virus. You’re the reason everyone’s dead. Fucking murderers.’ He made a lunge for Jacob, but the priest shoved the table forward, knocking Will off balance. He slammed into a kitchen cabinet and a plate smashed against the flagstones. The bottle of whisky toppled and the contents of Father Wingate’s tin of odds and ends clattered across the floor.

‘Jacob!’ The old man had almost toppled too. He braced himself against his chair, thin and spectral, but a survivor all the same. ‘We mustn’t fight among ourselves.’

Magnus made a grab for the whisky and set it upright, but a good quarter of the bottle had leaked across the table and on to the flagstones. It scented the room; the smell of Christmas Eve, the Snapper Bar, night fishing with his cousin Hugh.

He shoved the memories away and slipped into the soothing tone his father had used to comfort sheep in labour; soft and coaxing.

‘Father Wingate’s right. Let’s leave this till the morning. We’ve an early start tomorrow.’ By Christ, Magnus resolved, he would forget the deal he had made to harvest three fields. He would be gone, away from this mayhem, before dawn. Will righted himself and Magnus saw a kitchen knife in his hand. ‘For God’s sake, man.’ Magnus could hear the fear in his own voice. ‘What the fuck do you think that’s going to do? He’s got a bloody gun. Do you think you can out-stab a bullet?’

The soldier-priest was on his feet too, the revolver less than a hand’s breadth from him on the table. Magnus looked at Father Wingate, but the old man seemed mesmerised by the knife. Will clenched it in both hands, as if it were a much heavier weapon, an axe or a claymore meant for cutting a swathe through ranks of enemies. Magnus saw the way it trembled and took a step backward.

Will said, ‘You keep telling us this is a new beginning, but maybe Harry and Melody are the ones who got it right.’

‘You’re wrong.’ Jacob unlocked the magazine from the gun and slid it out of reach across the table. The soldier’s jaw was still clenched, but Will’s words had hit some mark. Jacob picked up a small metal screw from the table, a remnant of Father Wingate’s box of odds and ends, and rolled it between his hands. ‘Harry and Melody didn’t—’

A crash boomed from the floor above them. There was a moment of stillness and then Will ran for the door, the knife still in his hand. Magnus followed. The hallway was in darkness, the staircase a vague shape lit by moonlight. They sprinted up it, the sound of their work boots muffled by carpet. Magnus heard Jacob’s breath close behind him and wondered if he had retrieved his gun.

Upstairs was silent. Will went straight to Jeb’s room and turned the handle, but something was jammed behind the door and it only opened a crack. A faint glow of candlelight reached into the blackness of the landing, illuminating the door’s outline, like some sci-fi portal.

‘Fuck off.’ Belle’s voice sounded high and querulous from inside the room.

Magnus said, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Go away,’ Belle shouted. It was hard to tell if she was angry or panicked.

Jacob shoved him out of the way. ‘Stop fannying about.’

Magnus said, ‘She doesn’t want us in there.’

Jacob shouldered the door. It refused to move, but then Will added his weight, there was a sound of splintering wood and the two men tumbled into the room, staggering into the remnants of the wooden chair that had been used to wedge it shut.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Belle had the bed sheet pulled up over her chest.

Jeb was in bed beside her. He did not bother to cover himself and his bruised ribs showed dark against the pale sheets. The moonlight shone stronger in the small bedroom than it had downstairs. It stretched in through the open window, touching the edge of the bed, bringing the night closer. A candle glowed softly on the table where Jeb’s bowl of lentils and rice had been abandoned.

Jeb grinned. ‘Nice of you to check, lads, but we’re all right. Whatever that noise was it came from the next room, so you’re welcome to bugger off.’

Will turned his back and left the room. Magnus hovered in the doorway. He saw the flush on the back of Jacob’s neck and wondered again if he had pocketed his gun.

Jacob looked at Belle. ‘Do you know what happened to the last woman he slept with?’ His words were whisky-slurred, schlept with?

The girl had been proud in her fury, like someone acting a part; now a look of confusion trembled across her face. Jeb put a protective arm around her, but she shrank from him. ‘What happened?’

Jeb pointed a finger at Jacob. ‘I heard about Henry. You’re in no position to start throwing accusations about.’

Belle said, ‘What happened to Henry?’ but Jeb’s attention had shifted to Magnus. ‘You let me down, big-time.’

Magnus saw what he thought was the stock of the revolver Belle had given Jeb, jutting from beneath a pile of papers on the bedside table. He forced his eyes away from it. ‘I didn’t tell Jacob anything about you. He used to read more newspapers than I did, that’s all. It took him a while, but eventually he remembered where he’d seen you.’

‘Where had he seen you?’ Belle was hemmed in between Jeb and the wall, caught between a sudden impulse to get away from him and the urge to hide her nakedness from the other men.

Jacob lifted her dress from the floor. He held it between the tips of his fingers, as if it might be contaminated, and tossed it to her. The dress fell short of its mark. It landed in the beam of moonlight and Belle was forced to stretch across the counterpane to reach it. Her fingers scrabbled to get hold of its hem without exposing herself, but then she managed to grasp it and pulled the dress on over her head. ‘Is no one going to tell me what’s going on?’

Magnus said, ‘Jeb will tell you.’ He turned to Jacob. ‘I think we should go downstairs and give these folks some privacy.’

‘He killed her.’ The soldier-priest stood his ground, solid as a pulpit, straight as the barrel of a gun. ‘Her and her child, tossed them over the balcony of a high-rise like sacks of rubbish.’

‘That’s a lie.’ Jeb put his good leg on the floor and steadied himself against the bedpost. ‘He’s the killer. He slit your friend Henry’s throat.’

Belle looked from one to the other, her eyes wide.

Jacob shook his head. ‘Your boyfriend’s a certified liar. He was an undercover policeman who went too far undercover. He forgot who he was, or maybe he discovered who he was. He was sent to jail for a long time. He’d still be there if it wasn’t for the sweats.’