Louise Welsh - Death is a Welcome Guest

‘I like to think they’re real and that one day I’ll be able to hold them both again.’ A tremor passed through Raisha. ‘Belle has her own horrors. She said that there was something about the way that Melody’s body was turning on the rope that was too horrible to bear. It was as if she were calling all the dead into the barn. Belle ran out of there, back to the big house and hid in her bedroom. When Henry went looking for some tool or other and found Melody, Belle heard the commotion and came to her senses. By the time she reached the barn Jacob had cut Melody down. When Belle saw how hard he was working to revive her, it occurred to her that Melody might still have been alive when she found her. That was when she went into hysterics. She kept repeating, She was alive, she was alive .’

Magnus said, ‘And no one else went into the barn before Henry, except for Melody and Belle?’

‘They couldn’t have without my noticing.’

A high-pitched whine sounded in the distance. It took Magnus a second to grasp what it was and then he recognised the faint roar of motorbikes coming from somewhere towards the south. There were more than two of them, but beyond that he could not be sure. Magnus realised that he was holding his breath. He whispered, ‘Did you hear that?’

Raisha nodded. ‘I’ve heard them before, always at a distance, but from different directions, as if they’re circling the district.’ She had lowered her voice as well, as if the distant motorcyclists might be in danger of overhearing her. ‘I think there are more of them this time.’

‘More survivors.’

Raisha got to her feet. The view of open countryside was blocked by the high hedgerows that edged the lane, but she stood on her tiptoes, as if there might be a chance of catching sight of the motorcyclists. ‘More survivors.’

Magnus said, ‘Are they the real reason you’re going? They might be a better prospect.’

Raisha turned her back on him and crossed the lawn to her bike. ‘Being too eager to join up with people hasn’t worked out well. I’ll take more care next time, if there is a next time.’

The sound of the motorbikes had dislodged Melody’s death from Magnus’s mind, but the realisation that Raisha was about to leave focused him. He followed her across the grass.

‘Belle could have knocked the chair away from the body in her panic to get out of the barn.’

Raisha had fixed a tent and two saddlebags to the back of the bike. She tugged at their fastenings, checking they were secure.

‘If she did, then Jacob was mistaken and Melody’s death was exactly as it seemed: a straightforward suicide.’

Magnus said, ‘But it still wouldn’t explain what happened to Henry or Jacob.’

Raisha bundled up her hair, put the cycling helmet on her head and buckled its strap beneath her chin. The helmet was sleek and modern. It tapered in a point down the nape of her neck, like the skull of an extra-terrestrial in a sci-fi movie. Her brown eyes met his and this time there was no flirt in them.

‘As far as I’m concerned Henry committed suicide and your friend Jeb killed Jacob. If you really want to find your family you should stop wasting time and be on your way.’

Magnus said, ‘You know there was more to it. I can see it in your eyes.’

Raisha held his gaze. ‘You can see nothing in my eyes. There is nothing left in them to see.’

Magnus stood at the gate and watched Raisha cycle away from him. She wobbled a little as she rounded the bend. He held his breath, half expecting her to take a tumble, but she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. As soon as she had gone a sense of his aloneness hit him, as hard and as sudden as Johnny Dongo’s fist. Magnus sank into a squat and took a series of deep breaths. He should not have let her go, but even though Raisha had told him there was another bike in the garage of the house he waited, breathing in and out, while the distance between them grew longer.

Six motorbikes were propped on the gravel outside Tanqueray House, waiting for their riders like horses tied outside a saloon in a cowboy movie. Magnus stood on the edge of the overgrown drive under the shelter of the trees, willing his brain to work. He had cycled back on the companion to the bicycle Raisha had commandeered. The sleepless night had exhausted Magnus, his damp jeans had chafed his skin and the lanes’ twists and turns had been testing. Newcomers were not necessarily bad news, but Magnus felt uneasy and ill-equipped for strangers.

He could ride off, find a clean bed, sleep the day away and then head north under the cover of night. Magnus thought of Jeb locked in the dark foundations of the building. If their positions were reversed, would Jeb take risks to save him? Magnus doubted it, but the only way to vanquish the sweats was to return to a point where life was sacred. Freeing Jeb and discovering Jacob’s murderer was part of that.

It was cold and dank-smelling beneath the trees. He hid his bike in the undergrowth and made his way past the barn where Melody had hanged herself, to the back of the house. Magnus pressed his spine against the kitchen wall, remembering the escape from Pentonville and the way Jeb had kept his silhouette narrow. The wall’s rough stone snagged against the back of his T-shirt as he edged towards the window.

The men in the kitchen looked as tired as he felt. There were five of them, hunched round the table, spooning soup into their mouths. Father Wingate was with them. The priest’s face was animated. He was talking, moving his hands in the air to illustrate a point, but Magnus could not hear what he was saying. He moved closer to the window, trying to see if Belle or Will were in the room. Father Wingate’s eyes met his through the glass. The old priest looked away and Magnus drew back, knowing that if everything had been okay Father Wingate would have beckoned him inside.

From where he was standing, his body flattened against the wall, Magnus had a clear view to where Jacob had been shot. Jacob or Jeb would have been better equipped to deal with the invaders, if that was what the men were, but the soldier-priest was dead and Jeb locked in the dungeon. Magnus edged his way to the side of the house and the door Father Wingate had half-jokingly referred to as the tradesmen’s entrance.

Voices rumbled deep and masculine from somewhere in the front rooms of the house, but the passageway was empty. Magnus jogged along it until he reached the door to the basement. He had eased it open when he heard a clatter of claws against the tiled floor and saw the puppies rushing to greet him, their tails wagging wildly. One of them gave a welcoming bark and a hand grabbed Magnus’s arm. Fuck! The word escaped him; a whisper of breath and spit.

Belle put a finger to her lips. She nodded at the door and followed him into the damp darkness beyond, careful to leave the puppies in the hallway. They whined and Magnus feared the dogs would give them away, but then he heard them clattering off on some new adventure. Belle clicked on a torch and led the way to a twisting stone staircase. Magnus waited until they were another level down before he spoke.

‘Who are they?’

‘I don’t know.’ Belle’s face shone pale in the gloom. ‘But I’m staying clear of them.’

‘Do you know what they want?’

‘They say they’re just after a bit of food and shelter, then they’ll go on their way.’

‘But?’

‘You remember the gang I saw in London?’

‘The women chained together? These are the same men?’

‘No, but they remind me of them. I hid when I heard their bikes, but I’ve been watching them. They’re like a pack of dogs, growling at each other, competing for position, out for what they can get.’