Watching You, Chapters Thirty-Five and Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Five

 

Kelly saw the envelope on the mat the moment she entered the house. It was addressed to Mrs Kelly Stafford in bold, black handwriting and marked ‘confidential’ in the top left corner.

She switched on the light, slit the envelope open, her anxiety rising.

Joe’s coat wasn’t on the peg, and his shoes weren’t in the lobby.

Mrs Stafford. As a result of a serious accident while returning home yesterday evening, your husband has been conveyed to Cumberton General Hospital; contact 972468 for further information. Signed P.C.874 Harrison.

She shuddered, felt faint. She might be pissed off with Joe, their relationship might be at the end of the road, but he’d still been her husband all these years. Why hadn’t they contacted her at work? Unless Joe was so badly injured he hadn’t been able to tell them – and then another thought struck her – that in their present state of relations, Joe might not have wanted them to.

Damn!

Her other problems suddenly blanketed under a new cloud, she snatched the lounge phone with trembling fingers. The hospital was slow to respond; it was four-thirty. She envisaged sleepy staff, then reprimanded herself on the thought. When her call was finally answered, she was transferred to the Charlton Ward. There was instant relief it wasn’t intensive care until she realised it might be ICU under a less disturbing name.

‘Staff Nurse Elwood,’ she heard an efficient-sounding voice say, ‘Mrs Stafford, you’re calling about your husband, I see. Just bear with me a moment, please.’ She heard the line rustle for a second, heard another female voice in the background, ‘Your husband is resting comfortably at the moment, Mrs Stafford. He’s had preliminary surgery on a broken hip and will undergo further treatment and tests tomorrow.’

She raked a hand through her hair; it felt hot and sticky. ‘How – how did it happen?’

There was a pause, more conferring. ‘I’m not sure I’m willing to discuss that now, Mrs Stafford. We’re fairly busy at the moment; we’ve had several admissions during the night.’

Kelly rubbed her forehead, felt the itchiness there. ‘Why wasn’t I informed earlier?’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Stafford, I wasn’t on duty at the time …’

‘Can I see him now?’

‘Well, Mr Stafford is sleeping now. Certainly, in the morning when he’s rested …’

Kelly felt her irritation rising; it seemed like a conspiracy to keep her away. But of course, it wasn’t – her frustration was clouding things. ‘I promise I won’t disturb him.’

‘Very well.’ The staff nurse didn’t seem too keen. ‘The Charlton Ward, Mrs Stafford. Fourth floor.’

Asking herself what she was achieving by visiting at this unearthly hour, Kelly quickly showered, towelled herself dry, and donned a fresh set of clothes. Was it her conscience pricking her? She’d told herself she didn’t give a fig about what happened to Joe, but aside from her other problems, there had been that feeling of anxiety through the night, and when she’d seen the envelope on the mat, it had hit a new peak.

She’d just known something was wrong.

Kelly sighed. Oh, what the hell. Sleep wasn’t going to be easy coming, no matter what. One thing was for certain: her resolution to find digs had been put on a back burner; from the sound of Joe’s condition, he wasn’t likely to be coming home for a while, no matter what.

But it was Joe’s condition that bothered her now, surprising though it was.

She slammed the door, hurried down the path, and without shutting the gate, jumped into her car.

Ten minutes later, she was at the hospital, through the swing doors and into the lift that took her to the Charlton Ward.

The ward was open plan, bays consisting of four beds, each separated by a wide central aisle. Ward reception lay midway along it, recessed so she could only see the top of the control desk.

Quiet as Kelly had tried to be, her footsteps must have resounded on the smoothly polished wooden floor as the staff nurse’s head appeared from within the nurses’ station.

‘Mrs Stafford?’ The pert woman, several inches shorter than her, stood up, pressing her hands together. ‘I’m Staff Nurse Elwood.’ She walked from behind the desk. ‘Come with me,’ she whispered, ‘your husband has really taken a nasty knock, but he’s a lucky man, all things considered.’

Lucky? How the hell did you work that one out?

Kelly looked down on the staff nurse. ‘Before you take me to him, haven’t you any idea at all about how it happened?’

The staff nurse nodded grimly. ‘Perhaps you’d better come into the office.’

She was led behind the desk into a small office beyond. The nurse leaned her back against a medicine cabinet. ‘It seems your husband was somewhat intoxicated, Mrs Stafford. He stumbled down a kerb, lost his footing, and was struck by the side of a passing car. His injuries aren’t life-threatening, but obviously, they could so easily have been. He’s as well as can be expected in the circumstances.

Kelly nodded, ran her tongue along her bottom row of teeth, ‘Why did nobody phone. Joe carries …’

‘According to what I’ve read, Mrs Stafford, it was your husband’s own request that you not be bothered. I’ll take you to him.’ Staff Nurse Elwood took her arm gently as if assisting an injured warrior from a battlefield. And they had been warriors in a sense, she and Joe, inflicting emotional injuries upon each other. And right now, it seemed he’d delivered the telling blow.

To her conscience.

She was guided along the corridor, the nurse pushing open the door to a single-bedded side ward. Her mind conjured up a brief picture of Joe swathed in bandages, his legs dangling from a gantry, and what flesh she could actually see, cut and bruised.

It wasn’t quite like that, but the whole of his right side was in plaster, and his leg was in a hoist.

‘I’ll leave you alone,’ the nurse whispered and shut the door gently.

Kelly slipped quietly into a high-backed chair beside the bed. Joe’s eyes were closed, though she wasn’t sure he was asleep. His face wasn’t as cut up as she’d imagined, just a lump on the right side of his forehead where he must have fallen.

‘What the hell do you want?’

The words were so quiet she hadn’t heard them at first.

‘Come to gloat, have you?’ His lips barely moved.

‘No, Joe, I was worried.’ She sighed, wanting to reassure him of that, place her hand on the side of his face, on his shoulder, anywhere that might have transmitted something of what she was feeling. Whatever that was, she couldn’t be sure.

‘Why else would I be here at five o’clock in the morning?’

‘So you could check out my condition before running to lover boy. Why else would you come?’

‘I just told you. I was worried.’

It was hopeless. She could tell he didn’t believe her. Eyes narrow and accusing; right now, it made her feel like a traitor who’d betrayed her best friend.

‘When I get out of here,’ he said slowly, eyes fixed on her, ‘I’ll be out of your life for good; don’t worry about that.’

Kelly could only stare back. She hadn’t come to gloat, hadn’t come to check before running to lover boy.

Right now, there was no lover boy.

Right now, there was only confusion and despair.

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Six

 

McCain parked just past the curve. From here, he could see the bitch’s house, some thirty metres distant. A terraced house, just like many others, but the large wheeled bin with the numbers 156 clearly daubed in white paint marked it as plainly as a buoy at sea.

But it was the absence of another marker that angered and confused him.

No sign of her car.

A glance at his watch told him it was seven forty-five. So where was she? She’d need sleep, should have driven straight home. Why the fuck wasn’t she here?

Prepared to bide his time until the jerk she called her husband left for work, he’d parked up just after five. But that was another thing – no sign of him leaving, and not much chance of him doing so via the back either; it didn’t provide access to the street.

What the hell was going on?

He’d devised a plan during the night. As the old saying went, ‘two birds with one stone.’ He’d managed to locate his contact in the ‘nick’ of time.

Nick of time – he smiled at the pun, but that was just what it was. His contact from the lofty corridors of power – his boss if the truth were known, though the fact galled him – but also his passport to being in the know – had recruited three men who Withers wouldn’t recognise and provided them with uniforms. Withers would have no reason to doubt their respectability.

The deal was this – for Withers to regain his freedom, there would be a price – his own safe passage out of the area. No, his boss had gone further, told him to quit the country. He’d been told bluntly he’d be wiped out if he set foot on British soil again.

That was fine by him. He’d sample the delights of Southern Ireland. He’d spent years perfecting the brogue after he’d changed his name.

Changed it from Robertson to McCain.

So that was part one of the plan. Part two needed effecting immediately. Every part of his being demanded it.

But Kelly Stafford, fuck her, wasn’t at home.

Or didn’t appear to be –

But he needed the jerk out of the house; he couldn’t risk accounting for two.

If he were in the house –

If either of them was.

Somehow, he had to know. He had to finish this today.

He switched on the ignition, let the engine idle, and cruised past the house. The gate was open, but apart from that, it was just like any other in the street. It didn’t tell him a thing.

He parked at the far end of the street, just short of a set of lights, sat and thought. His head was clearing of the whisky from the night before. He hadn’t totally blown the witch’s confidence. Couldn’t have done. Less than twenty-four hours ago, they’d been lovers. What was wrong with the phone in his pocket? He could call her, apologise, ask after her. If she wasn’t there, he could try her mobile.

He lit a cigarette, blew smoke high into the air, and absently watched it rise to the roof and circle the interior. Veins pulsed in his neck; he could scarcely stem his thirst for revenge at her treachery.

But he’d do it.

He’d do it for the sake of getting even.

He slipped the phone from his pocket, his forefinger touching the first digit as it rang.

Kelly, was this the bitch?

‘Main Man? Where the hell are yer – we were told you’d …

‘You got Withers there?’

‘Yeah, he ain’t going nowhere but …’

‘Just make sure he doesn’t slip …’

‘We were told you’d be here; it’s part of the deal.’

Fuck the deal; he felt the thought rack through his brain, almost uttered it aloud. His desire for revenge was stronger than ever. His heart thudded in his chest like a hammer on an anvil.

He swallowed, took a deep breath. ‘Something came up; I need to tie up a few loose ends.’

‘Okay.’ The voice on the other end sounded uneasy. ‘You’re on shit street – I wouldn’t spend too much time tying them up.’

McCain flipped his mobile shut before his anger got the better of him. A few more deep breaths, then he’d called the bitch’s number. One ring, two, three, four – five – perhaps she really was in bed asleep. And hubby didn’t seem to be there either –

That would be A-plus.

Except he didn’t really think she was there.

He rang her mobile, not really expecting an answer.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s me, McCain.’

He heard a deep sigh.

‘Kelly, can we talk?’ McCain’s hands tightened on the phone.