Blood Sisters: Part 3 of 3: Can a pledge made for life endure beyond death?. Julie Shaw

he asked, bending down. ‘Was that an admission you were spitting out?’ He knelt on the floor amid the blood, piss and shit. ‘Come on, you little cunt,’ he said, right in Gurdy’s foul-smelling face. ‘A bit louder so we can all hear it.’

      ‘Paddy,’ Gurdy gurgled, his eyelids beginning to flicker shut. ‘I never told. Nothing. To no one. About anything. The only person I ever told anything about anything was Vik.’ He coughed and spluttered. ‘Who I trust with my life.’

      His eyes closed, and Paddy stood up. Then he met Vicky’s eyes. Unusually, he found he couldn’t read them. What the fuck? What the fuck? But he couldn’t hurt Vicky. So, abandoning the crowbar, he pulled his foot back then smashed it into the middle of Gurdy’s face, where it connected with a satisfying crack.

      His own bastard bird. His own girlfriend!

      She could clearly read his eyes. The hurt in them. The shock. ‘Vic! You told Vic!’ He screamed, kicking Gurdy’s face a second time. ‘You wanted to shag my fucking missus as well, you cunt?’

      He raised his foot for a third time, but felt strong hands grab his arm.

      Her! His own Vic! Another fucking traitor! He tried to throw Vicky off but she was like a lunatic – and a strong one. And she also had the crowbar in her hand. She surely wouldn’t. Would she?

      ‘Fuck, Vic. Fucking you?’

      She raised the bar. ‘Paddy, stop it NOW!’

      ‘Fuck, Vic,’ he tried again. ‘Him and you?’ He eyed the crowbar. Perhaps she would. Could he block it?

      ‘Vik as in Vikram!’ she screamed at him. ‘He meant fucking Vikram, you stupid, evil bastard! His brother! His brother!’ Tears were streaming down her face, two wet tracks through her make-up. ‘And now you’ve fucking killed him!’ she yelled.

      She swung the bar then, and, his arms flailing too late, it connected.

      He went down slowly, the floor rising up to say hello. Then a brush, a playful thump, almost. Then nothing.

       Chapter 25

      Vicky’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She held them up and was mesmerised. She knew this. Knew about this. She was in shock.

      The memory came from nowhere, bright as freshly spilled blood. School. Being in the hall. A talk from two policemen about road safety. She remembered the screen being erected and a film being shown. The motes of dust dancing in the beam from the projector.

      The images. One or more? She couldn’t quite remember. Just the boy. The little boy who’d been run over by a drunk-driver. She’d never heard the expression ‘drunk-driver’ before then. She remembered the horror, though. The little boy being covered in blood. The way his leg was almost hanging off. Could it have really been? Would they really have shown that to children? She wasn’t sure where reality ended and her imagination had picked up the story, but what she did recall was the way he shook, and his haunted, staring eyes. The way he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t respond to his crying mother.

      That’s the effect of shock, one of the policemen had said, in response to someone’s question. That’s the body’s way of protecting itself.

      She lowered her hands from her face and rolled onto her side. She had no idea how long she’d been lying there, howling. Could have been minutes. Could have been hours. Time had no meaning. But it was dark. Fully dark. A darkness that was protecting her, she knew – as was the numbness in her heart – from the full horror of what she had witnessed. Of what Paddy had done.

      Paddy. She felt a scream rise in her gut and try to escape her. She clamped a hand against her mouth, then the other hand, pressing frantically, tasting dirt on them, and something else, something she didn’t dare even guess at – clamping both against her face as if unable to contain what was inside of her, then pulling her knees up to her chest and shivering, waiting for the shock to re-engulf her.

      More time passed. But this time she was aware of its passing. She was in a kind of fugue but she was still aware of it moving inexorably forward. Coming to claim her from the ‘pause’ button she had pressed. But then a noise. A low moan, and she initially thought ‘Gurdy!’ but when she risked opening her eyes, forcing herself to accept what she couldn’t, the hump on the floor was still there, outlined by the moonlight, still moulded round the upturned metal chair. She stared. And as still as the building itself.