CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

JUSTIN

“You mother-fucker!” I scream at Boot as he sets me on my feet knee-deep in snow in the stable yard, “You left him, you coward!  You fucking left him!”  Tears are streaming down my face.  All I can see is the expression in Brian’s eyes as he gave me that last look – a look of longing, and goodbye.  I start back up the steps but Boot grabs me by the neck of my sweater and hauls me back down. 

“Don’t be a wanker!” he yells. 

A small succession of explosions comes from above, and I realise with horror that the fire must have reached the chest with its bottles of turps and varnish.  A second later a great gout of flame billows out of the door and my last hope dies within me.  “Brian...” I moan.

Boot shakes me hard.  “He can get down into the stable through the hatch!  Come on, move your arse!”  He starts ploughing through the snow towards the far end of the stable.

Fuck!  How did I forget the hay hatch?  My heart pounding, I follow as fast as I can, cursing Boot’s long legs as I flounder.

By the time I reach the corner he’s already at the stable doors.  He’s holding the padlock in his hand.  “Please tell me you’ve got the soddin’ key!”

Stricken, I shake my head.

Boot plunges back towards me.   “I’ve got a hammer in the truck.  Don’t fucking move!” he orders as he rushes past me. 

I run to the doors and tug savagely at the padlock.  “Brian!” I yell, trying to raise my voice above the sound of the fire above.  “Brian!”  I kick the wood as hard as can, and then pull frantically again.  I’m tortured by the thought that he might be burning, dying, just feet away from me.  I’m sobbing like a baby.

“Get out the way,” Boot says behind me.

He’s got a big claw hammer clenched in his right fist, and as I step back he distances himself from the door, takes a trial swing, and then begins to rain a torrent of blows against the padlock.  Sparks fly from the metal as the hammer strikes again and again, and suddenly the screws holding it in place tear loose and Boot uses the claw end of the hammer to prise them free.  Then he grabs one of the doors and flings it open.

A cloud of thick black smoke billows out, making us choke, and I dash forward; but Boot wraps his arms round me in a bear hug so I can’t move.  I struggle wildly as he hauls me backwards away from the stable.  “Guvnor!” he bellows.  “Brian!”

The only answer is the dull roar of the flames, the hiss of melting snow and my agonized sobbing.    The seconds stretch out into eternity and I feel myself sag.  If Boot weren’t holding me up, I’d be on my knees.

And then suddenly, incredibly, I hear a wracking cough, and my heart leaps.  Somehow I tear myself free from Boot’s grip and fling myself forward towards the dark figure I can see staggering through the smoke.

He has Lindsay thrown like a doll over his shoulder, and his heavy overcoat covers the pair of them.  Boot grabs Lindsay and I hold onto Brian; coughing violently, he manages a few steps before collapsing on his hands and knees.  He coughs until he retches and throws up, green slimy strings of vomit that steam in the snow.  I don’t care; I drop beside him, my arms around his waist, my chest pressing against his back, not minding the way his suit stinks of smoke, not minding the ash and filth on his face and in his hair.  He’s here and he’s alive, and nothing else matters ... not the studio, not Lindsay; nothing.  All I want to do is hold onto him until I can believe that he’s real.

But Boot has different ideas.  He pulls me to my feet, and I see Lindsay lying nearby on the snow, her eyes closed.  I can’t even bring myself to care whether she’s alive or not.  “You can’t stop here!” Boot says urgently.  “And I’ve got to move the truck so the fire brigade can get in!”  He grabs Brian’s arm.  “Come on, guv.  Can you walk?”

Brian looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes, still coughing.  He nods, and clings to me as he gets unsteadily to his feet.  I grab up his overcoat and sling it around him.  Boot picks up Lindsay and we all move round to the front of the stable block where Boot’s truck is parked, its powerful headlights washing the yard with light.

Brian’s arm is heavy across my shoulders, and he staggers slightly.  I cling to him, trying to support as much of his weight as I can.  But he stops and looks down at me.  “Wait ...” he croaks.  He reaches out shakily and touches my face.  “You’re hurt ...” he mourns softly. 

I’d forgotten.  I raise my hand to check the damage and feel tackiness but not wetness; at least it seems to have stopped bleeding.  “I’m fine,” I assure him, although I feel anything but.  I’m a little dizzy and light-headed, and my stomach is churning uncomfortably.  Please God don’t let me have a panic attack now.

“Was it her?  Did she hurt you, Justin?” he demands hoarsely. 

I shake my head, trying not to shiver.  Away from the heat of the fire, the night is freezing.  “It doesn’t matter.  Don’t try to talk now, Brian.”

But he pulls away and looks at me, really looks; taking in my thin sweater and sneakers.  “You’re freezing ...”  The next second he’s shrugging off his overcoat and wrapping it round me instead. 

“Get a bloody move on!” Boot bellows from the truck.  “The whole bloody place is going up!”

He’s right.  Burning flakes of ash drift through the air towards us, and the doors of the stalls are beginning to blaze.  I can hear the sound of beams falling as the stable roof starts to collapse.  I grab Brian’s arm and tug him to the door of the truck, pushing him up and then climbing in after him.  I have to sit on his lap because Lindsay is sprawled unconscious next to Boot.  I put my arms round Brian’s neck and bury my face in his shoulder.

“What happened to her?”  Boot asks, jerking his head at Lindsay as he guns the engine and begins to turn the truck to negotiate the exit from the yard. 

“I had to slug her,” Brian answers.  He coughs again and then takes a shallow breath, wincing as he does so.  “She wouldn’t stop fighting me ... I don’t think she even really knew what the fuck was going on.”

“She knew,” I mutter.

He looks down at me.  “Justin, tell me what happened.”

So I do.

Boot has guided the truck up the long, snow-filled track to the house and is pulling up at the entrance by the time I’m finished.   Brian wraps his arms closer around me and I can feel him trembling.  “She hit you?  Like ...”  He swallows, hard, as his voice cracks.  “You need a doctor ... fuck, you need a hospital!”  His hands gently examine my head.  “Christ, Justin!  You can’t keep getting knocked out like this!”

“I didn’t exactly plan to,” I snap back.  “And I’m not the only one who needs a doctor!”  I grab his right hand and turn it over.  There are wet red burns on his palm and fingers.

“The back of her Parka caught fire ... I had to beat it out,” he says bemusedly.  “Funny, I didn’t even realise ...”

“And the way you’re breathing!” I go on.  “Fuck, Brian!  What were you thinking of?  You risked everything to save her!  You could have died!  Fucking died!”  The full realisation of it crashes down on me and I huddle against him, shaking.

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” he asks helplessly.  “I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“Why not?”  I flash back, lifting my head to stare at him angrily.  “She was all set to leave me!”

“Jesus Christ, lads, leave it out,” Boot sighs.  He’s climbed down from the truck and, taking hold of Lindsay’s upper arms, drags her across the seat towards him.  She moans and coughs a little, so I guess she isn’t dead.  Boot gets a grip under her armpits and hauls her out of the truck, none too gently it seems to me.  “I’ll dump her inside, then I’ll give you a hand, guv.”

“You keep an eye on her, and call for ambulance,” Brian orders.  “We can manage.”  He starts to grip the handle and then winces, pulling back his injured hand: and all my anger evaporates.

I wriggle off his lap and open the door, sliding out into the snow.  Brian follows carefully.  I keep my hand on his back as he climbs down, partly to steady him but mainly because I need to keep contact with him.  He must feel pretty much the same because the instant he’s down he winds an arm round me too, and together we make our way slowly to the door.

In the main room, Boot has already lit the fire, and now he’s standing by the couch giving directions over the phone.  Lindsay is curled up at the far end, coughing fitfully.  Her blond hair is tangled and filthy and her face is smeared with soot.  She’s cradling her left ankle with both hands, her eyes wide and shocked.  A large purple bruise has bloomed on the left side of her jaw. 

I help Brian into an armchair as Boot hangs up the phone.  “They’ll get an ambulance here as soon as they can.”

“What about the fire department?” I ask.

“We called them as soon as we saw the smoke,” Boot replies.  “They shouldn’t be much longer.  Not that there’ll be anything left to save.”

There’s an awkward silence, punctuated by hacking coughs from Brian and Lindsay.  It jolts me into action.  Brian’s shoes and the legs of his pants are soaking, and he’s shivering.  “I’ll get you some blankets and towels ... you need to get dry, Brian.”

He grabs my hand.  “I’m not the only one,” he croaks, “and you’re the one that’s hurt.  You’re not going anywhere ... Boot can get them.”

“I know where everything is,” I object.  I don’t want Boot leaving; I cast an uneasy glance at the still figure on the couch.

“You sit yourself down, Sunshine,” Boot says kindly, patting my shoulder.  He stands for a moment staring down at Lindsay, while she gazes back with wide, fearful eyes.  “I’ve never hit a woman, and I don’t really want to start,” he tells her.  “But if you so much as move a hair while I’m gone, I’ll twat you.”

She shrinks a little further into herself. 

While Boot goes upstairs I kick off my sodden sneakers and feel the wet legs of my jeans chilling my skin as I crouch to pull off Brian’s loafers and socks, and rub his cold feet between my hands.  I can tell it’s hurting him to breath, and suddenly I’m angry again; angry that he had to be a hero, angry that he had to try to do it alone.  I drop my head so that he can’t see the tears in my eyes, and rub his feet harder so he can’t feel the tremors in my hands.

Boot comes back, his arms full of towels and blankets.  He hands some to me, and drops a blanket on Lindsay’s lap.  “I’ll put the kettle on, make us all a nice cuppa,” he says.  “You’d better call the cops, guv.”  He picks up the phone and tosses it into Brian’s lap.

Brian freezes, and so do I. 

“Fuck ...” Brian breathes.

“You do it or I will,” I tell him bluntly. 

“Justin ...” he looks at me with haunted eyes.  “She’s Gus’ mom ...”

“Some mother,” Boot grunts, “poisoning her own nipper just to buy herself some time!”

“What..?”  I look from one to the other.  “She poisoned Gus ...?”  Tears spring into my eyes again.

“No, no, he’s fine,” Brian reassures me, taking my hand.  “I promise.  She gave him an emetic ... he was just a little sick, that’s all.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay, then!”  I fling him off, and he pulls back, startled.  “As long as Gus was just a little sick, and I just got a little bashed, and she only burned down my studio and not our fucking house, let’s just forget all about it!”

“No,” he says, looking shocked.  “Of course not, Justin.  But ... the cops ...”

“You have to, guv,” Boot says firmly.  “She stepped over the line.  She’s not just a danger to herself ... she can’t be trusted with your son anymore.  And if we hadn’t got here in time, God knows what would have happened to Justin here.  I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with her, but I do know she needs to be put somewhere safe so she can’t hurt anybody else.  And that means you’ve got to involve the police.”

“And I can’t believe you’re even hesitating!” I yell, jumping to my feet.  “Fuck you, Brian!  Fuck you and your fucked-up loyalties!  All the times you stood back and let Michael bait me, and I could never say anything because he was your best friend and nobody was allowed to upset him, not even me!  And now fucking Lindsay drugs Gus and tries to fucking kill me, but you don’t want to set the police on her because, what?  You think you’re grassing her up or something?  Are you insane?”  I feel myself sway, and then Boot’s there, his steadying hand on my shoulder. 

“The lad’s dead right, guv,” he says, “you can’t sit on the fence on this one.”

Brian stares at us; then he lowers his head.  “Fuck ...” he repeats softly.  “Fuck.”   He slowly turns to Lindsay.  “You got anything to say for yourself?” he asks, addressing her for the first time.

She doesn’t answer or look at him.  Only her fingers move, twisting nervously in the blanket still lying on her lap where Boot threw it.  I can hear the harsh wheeze of air as she breathes.

“Well, I guess not.”  Brian straightens his shoulders and his voice hardens.  “Okay.  I’ll call Carl.  He’ll know how to handle it.”

I suppose I should feel relieved.

But really I only feel sick ... sick and tired.

TBC