‘Look Rita,’ he pleaded again.
She pushed the gun towards his chest. Billy held his hands up in surrender.
‘You had no right.’
‘Okay,’ he said stepping back.
Rita could see the sweat glistening on his forehead.
‘Get out of my way,’ she said firmly.
He stepped to one side and she raced from the room and up the stairs. The key slipped from her hand and she crawled around the floor to find it, tears blurring her search. Then she had it and finally, with panting breath, she fell into her bedsit slamming the door behind her.
*
He’d heard the yelling as he’d approached the house. At first, he’d thought it was Billy’s television, but then he’d recognised Rita’s voice, anxious and scared. He stopped, uncertain what to do. Had his misgivings about the landlord been proven right? Perhaps he shouldn’t get involved. No doubt someone had called the police already. But Rita’s screams frightened Henry and for a moment he hesitated between turning back or going forward. He wasn’t a man to get involved in other people’s business. He certainly wasn’t a man to fight. Henry kept clear of trouble. He fleetingly considered knocking at a neighbour’s house and asking for help but when Rita screamed, ‘Get away from me, get away’ he felt sure the neighbours must have heard anyway and would soon come running to her aid.
His hands were shaking when he rang the bell. No one answered and Henry rang it again.
‘Hello, Rita, it’s Henry.’
He should have barged in but barging in wasn’t Henry’s way.
*
She listened but could only hear her heart thumping in her chest. Then she heard him. He’d followed her. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, now his fists were pounding at the door, yelling her name. She couldn’t breathe, the fear was suffocating her. Her stomach cramped so badly from the kick that she couldn’t think straight. He was shouting but her ears were ringing so badly she couldn’t understand what he was saying.
‘Oh God,’ she moaned. Billy had a key. He had a key to her room. She stepped back nervously until her body hit the windowsill.
The police, she must phone the police. But her handbag was still in Billy’s living room, her phone inside it.
There was the sound of a key turning in the lock. Rita found herself rooted to the spot, frozen and clammy, her hands clenched around the gun until the knuckles turned white. The door swung open and Rita screamed. She was trapped like a rabbit caught in headlights. There was no escape.
Tears blurred her view. But she could sense him and smell the sweat that emanated from him.
One minute he was there in the doorway, more alive than he had ever been, and the next he was meat on the landing. A little squeeze of a finger, that’s all it took. It had been less trouble than peeling an orange. The bullet had spat out of her hand, red in the darkness. It hit him in the thigh, propelling him backwards in an awkward cartwheel. Rita’s sweaty hand dropped the gun. She stared uncomprehendingly at the body. Blood was spurting from his leg. He was writhing on the ground. Oh God, she’d done it again.
‘Father?’ she murmured.
She shivered. It was suddenly very cold. The branches had hung low with the weight of the snow, she’d remembered. Just like her mother's arms when she returned from the greengrocer’s, laden with winter vegetables for their stews. Father had bled to death in poppy red snow. Had he been afraid? Had it hurt much? Now, it was happening all over again. Billy’s leg lay misshapen on the landing floor. Oh God, please, please stop the bleeding. Not Billy too. But it wasn’t Billy lying on the landing at all. Billy was standing on the top stair, his eyes glued to the bleeding body.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Billy had opened the door to Henry, his features contorted in anger.
‘What the hell do you want?’
‘What’s going on?’ Henry had said bravely. ‘Rita, are you alright?’ he’d yelled up the stairs.
He could hear her sobbing.
‘Mind your own business mate,’ Billy had said.
Henry had known he was no match for Billy, but he couldn’t just ignore a woman in distress. Especially as that woman was Rita. He’d hurried up the stairs and knocked on her door, but she wouldn’t open it.
Had she been hurt? Had Billy hit her again? Not poor Rita Meter Maid.
‘Rita,’ he called. ‘Open the door love?’
