Gypsy Girl (26 page)

I was going to die just when Gregory had proved to me that true love did exist. And he was going to die as well. He was wounded, he couldn’t fight now. He was here only because of me. I’d killed him.

I took a deep breath. I couldn’t let that happen.

No time to get scared. No time to worry that I was getting weaker.

As Pony reached out to grab me, I stumbled out of his way, using the last of my strength. I had to stop this mullo, even if my muscles were freezing up. My right arm still had some strength. I lashed out, catching him on his chin. But it wasn’t enough to knock him over. He came right back at me, grabbing me by the throat. I got my hand up and tried to pull his fingers off me, but there was no strength left in me. His foul face thrust into mine. His fist pulled back, ready for the finishing punch.

“Bye-bye.”

Something moved on the edge of my vision. It was Gregory. Somehow he was up on his feet, his face no longer pale, his cheeks red with anger. He was holding something in his hand, like a dagger. The tent peg. Pony flicked him a look. But Gregory didn’t seem much of a threat. He was a nuisance, nothing more.

“Leave her alone!” Gregory managed to croak. “Or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, of course you will.” Pony kept his hand on my throat, but he’d underestimated the danger. Gregory was blazing with fury.

It all happened in an instant.

Gregory gave a roar and lunged at Pony. The tent peg glinted in his hand. Pony saw him coming at the last moment and jerked back. I didn’t know where Gregory was aiming for. I didn’t think he did. It was a last-ditch burst of energy. But as he jabbed his arm forward and Pony turned round, the tent peg hit Pony full in the face. I saw it in technicoloured slow motion. The peg hit Pony’s cheek and carried on right through, fuelled by the power of Gregory’s lunge. Right through his cheek into his mouth, sticking through his flesh like an arrow.

Pony let go of my throat. His fist sent Gregory flying backwards. It was the last punch he’d ever give. I nearly crumpled, but I braced my knees. Pony clawed at his face, mumbling and swearing that as soon as he pulled the peg out, it would be going right through Gregory’s heart. And he would be able to, because that punch had knocked Gregory half senseless again. He was on his knees but swaying and trying to find his balance.

Pony grasped the peg and psyched himself up to pull it out. He gave a tug, but it was jammed in his cheek. He screamed in agony and took a firmer hold on it. The attack had done nothing except make him want to kill Gregory. I couldn’t let that happen. I took a few deep breaths, ignored the burning, freezing pain in my shoulder, and forced my muscles to work. This had to be the kick of my life. I wouldn’t get another chance. I balanced myself, concentrated my power, and exploded into action with every last bit of energy I had left. My foot blurred as I kicked like I’d never kicked ever before.

I could’ve won the Olympics. I could’ve kicked a fly out of the air. My foot soared, turned, aimed, homed in on Pony’s face. My harsh, desperate cry echoed across the clearing. He didn’t stand a chance. Even if he hadn’t been lame and one-handed, he couldn’t have avoided that kick.

It hit him like a hammer to the face. I saw spit fly, his ponytail waving like a piece of dirty white string. The force sent him flying through the air, big as he was. His feet left the ground, and he smashed backwards and smacked into the ground, bounced once, and lay still, his arms and legs trembling as though he was having a fit.

My knees buckled and I dropped to the ground, the weakness flooding right through to my feet. I was a ragdoll. I couldn’t take my eyes off Pony. He was still twitching. If he recovered, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. Gregory was sitting up, clutching his side, his face battered and bruised, one eye closing. He was staring at Pony, a strange look on his face.

“He’s dead,” he said in a voice that shook.

I wished that was true, but there was no way he was dead from a single kick. He wasn’t even out cold, because his legs were still moving.

“Gotta get out of here,” I mumbled. “’fore he comes round.”

Gregory was looking at me now, his eyes so wide there was a rim of white all the way round.

“No, he’s dead, Sammy-Jo.”

As I struggled to my feet, my good hand clasping my burning shoulder, Pony gave a last twitch and his face turned my way. I wish it hadn’t, because it will be in me nightmares for ever. Gregory was right. He was dead. It was the steel tent peg that had killed him. Gregory had stabbed it through his cheek, but it was my kick that sent it plunging up through the roof of his mouth, through his skull. His eyes were staring, his lips pulled back in a death grimace, biting on the tent peg.

I slid to my knees again.

The mullo’s dead, Granny Kate. Dead and biting on steel.

So the wedding’s over.

My beautiful bridesmaid dress is soaked in blood. Crimson on white. The tulle skirt’s missing, and the strapless bodice ripped. My tiara is long gone. My hair is stiffening with dried blood, not mousse. My legs are crumpled beneath me, unable to move. I’m like a rag doll. The black water’s lapping by my feet.

The magpies warned us. Granny warned us. Now she’s dead and gone. I never thought I’d be seeing her again so soon. All my fault. Everything is my fault. I want to hug Gregory, hold him close, tell him I didn’t mean to let this happen to him. But I can’t move.

He’ll hate me now.

I have a gunshot wound in my shoulder. I can’t see it, but I feel it. It’s burning like ice. I can’t move my arm. Can’t hardly think properly. Everything is really bright around me but distant as well, like I’m watching it, but it’s not real. I keep blinking really slowly, and each blink is like taking a photo. A whole line of photos with nothing joining them together.

Blink – Gregory’s leaning over me, his face full of fear. I think he’s trying to stop the blood coming from my shoulder. “Lay down.” That’s not hard. He’s putting something on my shoulder, pushing. He takes my right hand and places it on my shoulder. “Hold it there. Can you do that?” Uh-huh. He’s turning round. Wonder what he’s seen.

Blink – can’t see Gregory now, but I can see Hudson. He’s stirring, he’s up on all fours, shaking his head, dribbling blood. No smile on his face now. Fear rushes through me as he gets to his feet and staggers towards me. But he’s too late; Gregory appears. His hands are shaking, but they’re holding the gun. He’s shouting something, and Hudson turns away and heads for the Jeep, leaving Milo still lying as though he’s dead. Maybe he is.

Blink – the Jeep’s engine is revving. Dust is flying. Hudson’s driving away. Good, I’m glad he’s gone. Gregory’s got a phone in one hand now. He must’ve found it in the car. I didn’t see him get it. I think I’m missing chunks of time. I can see his blood-streaked hair. Bet I don’t look much better.

Blink – I think I can hear sirens. Is it the police? Has anyone at the wedding missed me yet? Just now I thought I smelled blackberry wine and tears trickled down my cheeks and my heart ached. Maybe Granny’s soul is floating around trying to help, and that’s her way of letting us know. But I think maybe I’m getting a little crazy like Granny did before her death.

I try to sit up, holding my shoulder. There’s just me and Gregory now. I can see him sitting by the car. His shirt is covered in blood, like my dress. He sees me watching him.

“Sammy-Jo,” he says. He limps over to me, stumbling and tripping. “Just hold on. They’re coming for us.”

“Hudson?”

“No, not him. Don’t worry. He’s gone. Scarpered.”

I can’t answer him, but I’m so glad he’s talking and he’s OK. I watch every move he makes as he comes closer and closer. Milo is still out cold. Good. No more fighting for me. Can’t move at all now.

“Hey,” Gregory says as he drops to his knees beside me.

I say, “Hey” back to him with me eyes. That’s all I can do. My mouth won’t work. I’m silent for the first time in my life.

His face is bruised. One eye is closing fast, and will be black by tomorrow. But the wound in his side has stopped bleeding, I think. He looks like he’s gone ten rounds in Maltese Joey’s cage. I want to kiss his bruised cheek. I want to hug him, but one arm is useless. Instead he lays me back down and presses on me shoulder again. The sirens are coming closer. I can imagine them weaving their way along the side of the reservoir as the road twists and turns.

What will they say when they see the dead mullo? I can see his feet sprawled across the grass. At least they’re not twitching now. I don’t want to see his face, with the steel sticking through his mouth. That’s how you kill a mullo. Granny must’ve known I’d need that information. Will I get done for murder? I’ve taken a life to save my own life and Gregory’s.

The sirens are close. They’re echoing between the trees, and I can see the reflection of their blue lights.

“I rang 999,” Gregory mutters.

We stay together, me on the ground, him leaning over, protecting me, as we hear the sound of tyres on the track and the engines of two vehicles.

“You’re shaking,” he says. “But we’ll get over this. Me and you. Both of us together.”

I can feel my eyes watering, and I start to cry. I can’t stop myself. No sobs, just tears, streaming from my eyes, down my face and onto the ground. His lips are against my hair. He’s in shock. I can feel him trembling, too.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over this. I want to say sorry to him for all he’s been through since he met me, but I can’t speak. My chest is getting tight, as though a boa constrictor’s wrapped itself around me. It’s getting hard for me to breathe. This must’ve been how it felt for Granny. Did she think old age had come to get her, or did she know that she’d been poisoned? And now I’m wondering whether I’ll see a vardo coming for me, or whether I’m too young for that, and it’ll be a beautiful Airstream trailer, like Rocky’s father has.

There’s something making a horrible noise near me, though, blocking out most of the sounds and getting louder. Like someone gasping. I think it’s me, gasping for air as the weakness gets to me lungs. I can just about hear Gregory shouting. He looks terrified, and he’s crying. He looks more frightened than when Milo and Hudson were beating him up. He’s shouting, “Hang on, hang on, they’re coming!”

And I can see blue lights reflecting, and there’s vehicles pulling in. An ambulance and police cars. Gregory is pleading with someone to help me quickly.

“She got shot in the shoulder. It went through. It’s stopped bleeding, but she can’t breathe.”

Faces looming above me. Green uniform. Paramedics? Someone’s ripping my bridesmaid’s dress even more. Voices all around.

“Shoulder wound … substantial loss of blood … collapsed lung…” I can see a paramedic running over with an oxygen mask, and jamming it over my face. And at first I panic because I think they’re trying to suffocate me, but Gregory’s got my hand and he’s squeezing it. Until the paramedics start on him as well, and tell him to lie down. We’re side by side, and he’s holding my hand, which is sticky with blood – mine or his?

I can hear him telling them about the bullet wound, and I can hear one of them saying, “It’s all right, son, we’ll sort you both out. Just hold her hand and keep calm.”

I take a lungful of oxygen and my chest eases. It’s still too tight. Another paramedic has a needle in his hand. I feel a sting on the back of my hand, and they’re rigging a drip up at the side of me, and the blue lights are wonderful. It’s like a disco as the night falls, and more blue lights join the ones already here. And there’s more faces looming over us. I think I see Rocky and the spiky blonde hair of Miss Stroud.

“You in trouble again!” It sounds like Rocky’s voice, but maybe I’m dreaming.

Gregory seems to be talking to him, though. He’s telling Rocky to go and get McCloud, that all this is McCloud’s fault. And that Hudson has escaped, and they have to get him as well. I see an ambulance man come forward and throw a blanket over Pony. But there’s lots of police around, too. Will they believe our story? What if they investigate McCloud, and nothing can be found, and no one believes us? But I can’t be bothered to think about it now. The paramedics gently lift me onto a stretcher, the drip still in my hand, and a blissful sleepiness seeps through me.

There’s darkness.

And in the darkness there’s a face coming at me all the time, and I can’t get away. The face has a name. It’s Pony. It’s scaring me to death. For a long time I shiver and gasp for breath. Nurses hover beside me, topping up the drip that makes the pain in my shoulder go away. At some point they wheel me into a brightly lit room. Voices move around me, hands touch me. Needles, machines beeping. I remember shouting and struggling at one point because I think Pony’s coming back to get me, but it’s only a nurse trying to clean me scratches and cuts. Sometime in the night I stop shaking and my breathing gets easier. The boa constrictor’s gone away. I don’t know how long this lasts: me lying there as weak as a kitten for the first time in my life, but before I go crazy, it ends.

The darkness retreats, and it’s morning. I open my eyes. I’m back, and I can feel my strength returning drip by drip. My brain starts to work again. I’m Sammy-Jo Smith. It’ll take more than a shark-eyed businessman and his grinning son to plan my death.

My first words?

“Where’s Gregory? Is he OK?”

“Yes,” says the nurse. “He’s even eating breakfast.”

They won’t let me see him, though. He’s in Room 10, I’m in 18. Same floor, but at different ends of the corridor. She tells me there’s a policeman outside guarding the corridor. I don’t know whether it’s to stop me getting out or to stop anyone getting in to me. The policeman tells me that they’ve got McCloud but not Hudson. Sometime in the night there was a police chase, but he got away in his boy-racer Impreza.

I’ve seen Gregory’s father and mother passing by. They went straight past here, they never looked in at me. His wound has been stitched. The nurse says he’s lucky, because the tent peg missed anything important inside him. They’re keeping him in because he’s got concussion. His great-grandaddy is on the floor above us. The nurse says he’s going to be OK, unlike my granny.