Ruthless - [29]

He buried Rory, filled in the grave, stood there and mumbled a few words of blessing over the poor bastard. Then he went to Rory’s Land Rover, which was parked up in one of the outside lean-to spaces, and moved it into the far barn, locking the door behind him so that no one could just wander in and see it there.

As he walked back to the house, he wondered what would happen to Rory’s kid.

He’ll kill him for spite, Rory had said.

And he might. Don was hell-bent on taking revenge on Rufus, and he’d been thwarted yet again. There was every likelihood he’d kill the boy to punish Rory. And that would be another death on Rufus’s conscience.

Bone-weary in body and spirit, Rufus went back into the house. While he’d been busy at the grave, Orla had been clearing up in Rory’s room. The metallic stink of blood had been replaced by the smell of pine disinfectant. Everything was clean, and tidy. It was, he thought, as if Rory had never been there at all.

They sat up the rest of the night. Rufus felt as if he would never sleep again. Orla had changed her nightdress for a clean one, and the blood-spattered winceyette gown was soaking in the washing machine. She seemed almost chatty, sharing a glass of whisky with him.

‘I told you, you see? You wouldn’t listen. I’ll tell Ma tomorrow that he’s moved on, don’t worry about it. I was right, you see. All along, I was right.’

‘Yes. You were right.’

But you’re not right in the head, are you?

He’d never seen a woman kill before – let alone kill so dispassionately, as if she hadn’t a feeling in her entire body. His instincts had been telling him all along that something was wrong with Orla. She seemed devoid of emotion. She killed in cold blood. She painted mad pictures. She found sex repellent. She hated babies. She had no time for anyone, and seemed constantly to anticipate attack from any direction. When he looked at her face, he no longer saw her beautiful green eyes. All he saw was the chilling taint of madness.

‘I’m sad that Redmond died,’ said Rufus, draining his glass and refilling it. ‘Because I can see what it’s done to you.’

‘I’m sad about that too,’ said Orla. ‘I’ll be sad until my dying day over the loss of him.’

‘Orla… is that all it is? Is that what’s made you this way?’

Orla took the bottle from him and topped up her own glass. ‘What way is that?’ she asked, smiling.

‘Cold,’ he said. Frigid. Frigid and fucking dangerous.

‘Cold?’

‘You… don’t want to make love,’ he said by way of explanation. And that’s the least of it.

Orla let loose a heavy sigh. ‘Ah, are you still going on about that? I can’t help it. I just don’t like it very much, that’s all.’

‘Yes, but why? Have you never looked into it, asked a doctor maybe?’

‘No. Because I don’t have to.’

‘Why is that?’ He wanted to hear the truth of it. A voice inside him warned that prodding her into some sort of confession might be dangerous, but he was past caring. He’d been staying all this time, living with the constant fear that Don would show up, thinking that was the worst thing that could happen. Little did he know. Nothing could have been worse than the horror he’d witnessed tonight, the loss of Rory, the sheer God-awful weirdness of Orla.

She shrugged. ‘Ah, you know. Old things.’

‘What old things?’

A shrug. Her eyes were fastened on the table. One finger was tracing the grain of it, over and over again.

‘Can you tell me about it?’ he asked, keeping his voice gentle. ‘This is me, Orla. How long have we been friends? For ever. So why not tell me what’s been going on with you?’

Orla’s fingernail dug into the grain, leaving a half-moon mark there. Her eyes flickered up to his face, then back to the wood.

‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Old stuff.’

‘Such as…?’

Again, a shrug. ‘Nothing that matters any more.’

This was driving him mad. He had to know. ‘Come on, Orla, tell me.’

Now her eyes met his. She picked up the dregs of the whisky, drank it down in one.

‘Tory used to come into our room – mine and Redmond’s. Pat too. He liked to watch.’

Rufus sat back with a frown. Of all the things she could have told him, he hadn’t expected that.

‘Come into your room…?’ he queried.

‘To have sex with us,’ she said, and gave a tight little smile.

Rufus sat there feeling as if the marrow in his bones had been turned to ice.

‘You what?’

‘That’s why I don’t like it much. Sorry.’

‘Orla… for the love of God, what are you telling me? You’re saying your two elder brothers abused you? Both you and Redmond?’

She nodded. And then she smiled.

‘But Tory’s dead, and Pat went missing long ago, so I suppose he’s dead too.’

‘Jesus… Orla…’ He couldn’t get his head round it. Her elder brothers, who should have been protecting her, loving their sister as any brother should, had been doing that to her? And to Redmond as well!

‘Don’t feel sorry for me,’ she said. ‘It happened years ago, it’s all forgotten.’

No it isn’t, thought Rufus. You’re scarred right through from it, but you think you’re normal. You poor bitch.

‘I had no idea.’ He was thinking of the lock on her bedroom door, the clenching when he tried to make love to her, the dislike of babies. ‘There wasn’t… I mean, did anything happen after they’d…’ He couldn’t even say it. It was too monstrous, too awful.