Injury Time - Beryl Bainbridge [57]
‘I’ve been raped,’ said Binny.
He found he was smiling; he couldn’t help it.
‘By him,’ Binny said. She looked in the direction of the other room.
He saw Simpson slumped in the armchair with the absurd bow on his head.
‘You’re disgusting,’ she said. ‘You think it’s a joke.’
He moved to hold her, to comfort her.
‘Don’t come near me,’ she warned. ‘I don’t know how I ever let you touch me. I’d need gloves to come near you.’
Troubled, he tried to concentrate. He stared at the silver-coated apples on the window sill; he was dazzled by sunlight. His father’s hand, hidden in a leather glove, was raised to strike. Muldoon had split on him. He was a disgrace . . . not fit to mix with decent folk . . . I’m ashamed . . . I shan’t forgive you . . . The lovely shining badge skittered across a polished table. The field stretched green and sweet-smelling to the boundary line. That rotter Jonas, clothed in white, stood in the slips shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun . . .
Taking up an apple from the ledge, Edward rubbed it along his groin and, raising his arm, bowled from the shoulder at Simpson’s head.
He missed. The apple smashed against the shutters, the silver paper unravelled and the fruit slid downwards, slimy on the woodwork. It plopped on to the carpet.
21
At ten o’clock Ginger ordered Edward and Simpson to help Geoff downstairs. Muriel said it would be far better if one of them carried him slung against their back like a baby in a shawl. That way it wouldn’t hurt him so much.
‘I can’t do anything of that nature,’ said Simpson curtly. ‘I’d fall.’ He didn’t relish the injured woman clutching his throbbing ear. Let Freeman do it. The damn fool seemed to have enough surplus energy – hurling things about the room in that irresponsible way when they were going to be released at any moment. His aim was ludicrous.
Edward experienced great difficulty in helping the woman down the stairs and into the hall. He couldn’t think of her as a man. He didn’t like to grasp her under the armpits in case he touched her breasts. When he dumped her on the floor by the front door he averted his eyes from her exposed thigh. He had dreams of telling Simpson to take his account elsewhere, and then of writing anonymously to the Inland Revenue accusing him of tax evasion.
The gunmen found a ladies’ razor in the bathroom and shaved themselves. Clothes brushed and hair freshly combed, they waited for the police to knock at the door.
‘It’s all nonsense,’ Edward confided to Alma. ‘They can’t possibly have arranged it.’
‘They did, pet,’ said Alma. ‘When you were in the bathroom. They used the telephone.’ She’d asked Ginger twice who he intended to take with him, but he’d refused to answer. She wouldn’t have minded being chosen; she was quite certain they’d be stopped by road blocks once they reached the open road. She wondered if her message about the alarm clock had got through. If it hadn’t, it was possible that Frank and Victor were still fast asleep. If she went as a travelling hostage it would give them more time to wake up, and then none of her ordeal would be wasted. ‘Doesn’t he look as if he’s going on his holidays?’ she said, beaming at Ginger, spruce in his chair, Binny’s suitcase safe between his knees.
22
Some minutes after eleven o’clock, Ginger flung the shutters wide; the broken window let in the night air. They heard vehicles, voices in the street. The women rose in agitation and touched their tousled hair, smoothed their dresses.
‘This is how it’s going to be,’ said Ginger. ‘And I don’t want no mistakes.’ He stood Harry and Widnes shoulder to shoulder in the centre of the room. He placed Edward in front of them, facing outwards. He told Simpson and the women to form a circle round the three in the middle.
‘Ring-a-ring-o’-roses,’ he shouted. ‘Link up.’
Simpson was appalled to find he was holding hands with Ginger. He tried to move places, but the gunman held his fingers in a vice.
‘Not so close,’ Ginger ordered. ‘Spread yourselves out.’