Her Last Promise Page 6

  Leo hovered over Mateo’s body, hardly daring to touch him. ‘Mateo, can you hear me?’ He gingerly stroked his brother’s brow, then leaned down and kissed him in the same spot. ‘Mateo, please.’

  He took off his shirt and laid it across his brother’s battered body. Mateo was breathing and that was all that mattered in this moment. He noticed the chunks of apple in the straw, bruised and turning brown. He shook his head. ‘Ah, Little One, did you come to feed Diablo?’

  His mother appeared at the door, wispy strands of sweat-soaked hair across her face. ‘Oh, Mateo, my baby.’ Marissa crouched beside her younger son, pushing Leo out of the way. ‘Is he alive?’ She worked her hands underneath his limp body, trying to lift him out of the straw and into the safety of her lap.

  ‘Yes, Mama, he’s alive.’

  Mateo lay across his mother’s knees, his arm hanging grotesquely by his side. ‘I think his arm is broken, Mama.’

  Felipe stood over his wife, his hands on her shoulders as he tried to keep his voice steady. ‘I’m going for the doctor, Marissa. Keep him warm.’

  Gabriela whipped off her shawl. ‘Here, cover him with this.’

  Marissa wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. Her tone was measured but Leo did not miss the angry undercurrent. ‘Go after that devil horse, Leo. You make sure you find him and when you do, you take your father’s pistol and you shoot him right here.’ She pointed to the middle of her own forehead. ‘Do you hear me, Leo? That horse does not come back to this yard.’

  Leo struggled to his feet, his back still aching from his earlier fall. ‘I’m really sorry, Mama.’

  He brushed past Gabriela in the doorway, crossed the yard and entered the warm kitchen, where the remains of their evening meal were still scattered on the table. He picked up the bottle of Calvados and took a long slug, the warm liquor making his eyes water. He pulled down the lid of the old wooden bureau and found the tiny brass key nestled beneath a pile of old bills. He stared at the key as it lay in his palm. Despite its small size, it felt heavy in his hand, as though it carried the weight of what he had to do. He climbed the stairs to his parents’ bedroom and from underneath the huge cast-iron bed pulled out the locked rosewood box in which his father kept his gun.

  He had been walking for hours and now, over in the east, the sky had begun to redden. His worn leather riding boots, which had fitted him perfectly for years, had started to rub his toes and he was finding it harder to ignore each agonising step. He stopped by the creek, threw his bag onto the grass and removed his boots. The ice-cold water in the stream temporarily deadened the pain. He took a hunk of bread from his bag but it was already a day old and rock hard. He tossed it into the river for the fish. There had been no sign of Diablo. Last night, the horse had clattered out of the yard and jumped the fence into the paddock, and his hoofprints had been lost amongst the others. He could have gone in any direction, but Leo guessed that he would have maintained the same trajectory and just kept going, free of his shackles at last, flying over any obstacles in his way. Leo hadn’t intended to come this far – if he had, he would have come on horseback – but he needed to walk, to clear his head, think about what he had to do. He lay back on the grass, using his bag as a makeshift pillow. Tiredness pulled at his eyelids and he reluctantly closed them. He would allow himself five minutes’ rest before continuing his quest.

  He was tugged from his sleep an hour later. The air was still and there wasn’t a single sound. No birdsong, no rustling of the grass, no rumble of distant farm machinery. He knew he’d been woken not by noise but by the warmth of the sun on his face. He propped himself up onto his elbows and squinted at the heavy sky, the clouds dark and threatening. He touched his cheek, frowning. There was no warmth to the day at all. He heard it then, it was so close. A gentle snicker, then a warm breath. He turned to see Diablo standing right beside him, his head hanging so low his muzzle almost touched the ground. ‘Diablo?’ Leo shook the stiffness out of his legs and stood up, wincing as his bare feet found the sharp stubble. ‘Hello, boy. Where’ve you been?’

  Without taking his eyes off the horse, Leo picked up his bag and removed the halter and lead rein. He advanced towards Diablo with his arm outstretched, prepared for the horse to bolt at any moment. Diablo lifted his head and tossed his mane but beyond that he didn’t move. Leo hardly dared to breathe as he touched Diablo’s muzzle. He held his palm still and let the horse sniff him. With his other hand he reached up and tickled behind his ear, the fur there as soft as a puppy’s. Murmuring platitudes and comforting words, he managed to ease the halter over the horse’s head and attach the lead. It was only then that he allowed himself to breathe. ‘Good boy, Diablo.’ Leo pulled on the rope, and Diablo followed him to the nearest tree, where Leo secured the rope with a double knot.

  He stepped back and took a long look at the horse. His flanks were mud-caked and there was white foam around his mouth. He’d also lost a front shoe and his damaged fetlock had been bleeding again. It could have been a lot worse. ‘Are you thirsty, boy?’

  He took his canteen of water and squeezed some into his palm as Diablo gently sucked on his hand.

  ‘Oh, Diablo, what have you done?’

  He thought about his little brother, lying in the straw, surrounded by dung and little pieces of apple. He remembered the splintered stable door, and the way Diablo had reared up and knocked him to the ground. But most of all he remembered his mother’s anguished cries as she cradled her younger son, fearing his life had already ebbed away. Leo wiped his hands down his jeans and backed away without taking his eyes off Diablo’s face, he felt around in his backpack and when his hands fell on solid cold metal he could look at the horse no more. He closed his eyes and pulled out the gun.

  He’d witnessed his father do it many times before. There was certainly no pleasure to be gained from the actual act, but afterwards as the horse lay still, its once-tight muscles relaxed and its eyes half-closed, free from whatever pain had made its last few weeks miserable, there was a sense of calm relief. Deep sadness too, but no regret. All the horses at the Perez family farm had a good life but more importantly they also had a good death.

  Diablo stood still, only the muscles on his flank moving, twitching away the biting insects. Leo tucked the gun into his waistband and removed his shirt. He stroked Diablo’s neck, his soothing tones belying his inner turmoil. ‘I’m sorry, boy. Whatever life is waiting for you after this one, I hope it’s one you deserve. You’re not evil, you’ve just been around evil people, that’s all. Once it’s over, you’ll be free. You’ll never again have to suffer the pain and indignity of being shackled. You’ll be free to fly, Diablo. Free to be the magnificent horse you were always meant to be.’

  He finished tying his shirt around the horse’s head. There was no way he wanted Diablo to see what he was about to do. He pulled the gun from his waistband and took two steps back. Death would be instant. Diablo’s legs would buckle but Leo had no way of knowing which way he would fall.

  Leo raised his arm and closed one eye. Still Diablo did not move. He kept his head still, as though he wanted to make the hideous task as easy as possible for Leo.

  Leo’s arm ached, his bicep quivering, his palm moist. He closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger gently to the point where he felt resistance. He heard the crack as the bullet left the chamber and felt the kick reverberate down his arm as he altered his aim and sent the bullet into the sky. He couldn’t do it, he wasn’t capable. If his life depended on it, he couldn’t take the life of an innocent horse who had done nothing wrong. He dropped the gun and rushed forward, whipping the shirt off Diablo’s head. Whether the horse had been startled by the gunfire, Leo could not tell. He hadn’t made a sound.

  ‘Diablo, can you ever forgive me, boy? I wasn’t thinking straight. My mind was full of Mateo, but I know this is not what he would want either.’

  He untied the lead rein and led the horse to the edge of the stream. Diablo dipped his head and drank thirstily as
Leo pulled his shirt back on and stuffed the gun into his backpack.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, when the horse finally lifted his head, the water dripping off his muzzle. ‘We’re going home.’

  It was late afternoon when Leo rode Diablo into the yard. After several hours of hobbling through the pain of his blistered toes, Leo had admitted defeat. He’d led the horse alongside a low stone wall and gingerly climbed onto his back. Diablo had tossed his head in the air and danced on the spot but had soon settled under Leo’s expert guidance. It was as though an understanding had passed between them and without complaint, the horse dutifully carried home the man who had spared his life.

  After turning Diablo out into the small paddock closest to the farmhouse, Leo hurried into the kitchen. All was quiet, the fire in the grate reduced to greying embers, the shutters firmly closed.

  ‘Hola? Anybody home?’

  With some trepidation he began to climb the stairs, unable to shake the image of his little brother’s tiny body lying in a heap of urine-soaked straw. He opened Mateo’s bedroom door. He was sitting up in bed, a book about training horses propped up in his lap.

  ‘Little One.’ Leo rushed to his brother’s side. ‘How are you?’ He smelled of sleep and antiseptic.

  Mateo pouted and rubbed at the bandage wrapped round his head. ‘The doctor says I have to stay in bed and rest, but I’m OK, so I don’t think that doctor knows best. Did you find Diablo?’

  ‘Yes, I did. He’d gone a long way but he’s alright.’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ insisted Mateo. ‘I went into his stable to give him some apples but I dropped them on the floor and startled him. He started kicking and rearing but it was only because he was frightened and felt trapped.’

  Leo nodded at the sling. ‘What about your arm though? And your nose?’ The cut there now sported a bloody crust.

  ‘Dis . . . dislocated. It’s a bit sore but I’ve got some tablets for the pain and it’s not dislocated anymore because the man at the hospital put it back where it should be. My nose is fine. Only hurts when I do this.’ He wrinkled his nose to demonstrate.

  Leo winced. ‘You’re such a brave boy, Little One.’

  Mateo frowned. ‘If I’ve told you once, Leo . . .’

  ‘Yes, yes, sorry. I think you’re a big boy now . . . a big brave boy.’ He stopped and lowered his voice. ‘Where’s Mama?’

  ‘I’m here, Leo.’

  Marissa stood in the doorway and jerked her head backwards, indicating he should follow her.

  ‘I’ll be back in a while, Mateo.’

  Out on the landing, Marissa pushed Leo into the master bedroom and closed the door. ‘You took your father’s gun?’

  ‘Yes, Mama, I did, but . . .’

  ‘Did you find the horse?’

  Leo nodded.

  ‘And did you shoot him like I told you?’

  He took hold of his mother’s hands and squeezed them, trying to make her understand. ‘I’m sorry, Mama, I couldn’t do it.’

  The breath seemed to leave her body all at once. Her shoulders sagged and her head fell forward. When she looked up, tears had swelled in her eyes. ‘Thank God, Leo.’

  ‘But you said . . .’

  She pressed her finger to his lips. ‘I know what I said, but that was in anger. I was worried about Mateo. I thought he might die, Leo. I thought I might lose my baby boy.’

  He took her in his arms, revelling in the reassuring bulk of her. ‘It was an accident, Mama and I’m truly sorry.’

  ‘So am I,’ she sniffed. She placed her hands around Leo’s face. ‘I was terrified when I saw you’d taken the gun. I was wrong to ask you to do that and Mateo would never have forgiven me either. Where is he now?’

  ‘Diablo? I’ve turned him out into the paddock.’

  Marissa nodded. ‘Take me to see him, will you?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He held Marissa’s hand as they approached the paddock. The clouds had reshuffled, allowing the sun to highlight Diablo’s glossy coat. Leo clicked his tongue and Diablo twitched his ears but kept his head down, nibbling on the stubby grass.

  ‘Here, boy,’ called Leo.

  ‘Why isn’t he coming?’

  ‘He will, Mama.’

  ‘Diablo, here, boy.’

  This time the horse took notice and ambled in Leo’s direction. His mother withdrew her hand and crossed herself. ‘Is he going to charge?’

  Leo laughed. ‘He’s not a bull, Mama.’

  Diablo stopped at the fence and snorted. Marissa took a startled step backwards. ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘It’s just his greeting. Honestly, Mama, you’ve lived around horses all your married life. I don’t know why you’re so nervous.’ He stroked Diablo’s long face, his fingers resting on the point between the horse’s eyes, the white star, the place where he had intended the bullet to land.

  He shook his head to dislodge the memory. He would only look forward from now on.

  11

  2018

  Out on the street, I fumbled in my bag for my phone and automatically rang Ralph’s office. The receptionist informed me he was working from home again and offered to put me through to his blue-rinsed secretary but I declined the offer on account she scares me. I called his mobile but it went straight to voicemail and I struggled to find the words to sum up what I had to tell him. ‘Erm, Ralph, look, something’s . . . oh never mind.’ I rang his landline and predictably Susie answered. ‘Is Ralph there?’ There was no need for pleasantries, we both know we can’t stand the sight of each other.

  ‘He’s taken Lily and Jasmine to Baby Aerobics.’

  Several thoughts clamoured for my attention. What’s he doing pratting around with the twins in the middle of a work day? Why did he never find the time to do anything with Dylan when he was that age? And what the hell is Baby Aerobics? I ended the call without bothering to say goodbye.

  Next, I rang Dylan but his phone went to voicemail too. I tried not to get too irritated because he only ever switches his phone off when he’s in a lecture. Nan’s mobile phone also went to voicemail but this wasn’t unusual as it takes her so long to find the correct button to press to answer it. A double-decker bus hissed past, its exhaust spewing out an obnoxious cloud of smoke. Its brakes squealed as it came to a halt at the bus stop and disgorged its weary-looking passengers. It was no good, I couldn’t talk out on the street. There was a wine bar type thing over the road. I found a table in the corner and ordered a glass of the house white. I dialled another number and mercifully Moira picked up on the first ring.

  ‘Moira, thank God.’

  There was immediate panic in her voice. ‘Tara! What’s up?’

  My mind went blank and I struggled to know where to start. ‘I’m in London.’

  ‘I know, you told me.’

  Of course I did. I tell her everything. ‘That letter . . . well it turns out somebody’s left me a key to a safe deposit box.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. All the answers lie in that box.’

  ‘And probably more questions too.’

  I love Moira. She’s so down-to-earth and very wise. She’s wasted scrubbing loos and ironing shirts for a living.

  I tapped Loxton’s business card on the table. ‘I’ve got an appointment with the safe deposit box company this afternoon.’

  I was booked on the first off-peak train home so I’d got the time, but I had hoped to spend the afternoon on Oxford Street.

  ‘Right,’ said Moira and I could hear her clattering about in the kitchen. The woman never stopped. ‘Ring me as soon as you come out. I’m dying to know what’s in it.’

  I promised to do just that as I caught the barman’s eye and pointed to my empty glass. He got the message and trundled over with a refill. I spread out the little tube map that Jamie had given me and tried to memorise the route to Loxton’s. I was determined not to have to ask someone and get labelled a clueless northern coun
try bumpkin.

  It wasn’t too bad as it turned out. Four stops on the Bakerloo line and as long as I was heading south, there wouldn’t be a problem. I tried Ralph’s phone again but it still went to voicemail. Baby Aerobics must be a serious business, I thought.

  The tube was fairly quiet and I managed to find a seat easily. A combination of tiredness and two large glasses of wine had made my eyes heavy. I dared to close them, but there was no danger of me falling asleep and missing my stop – I was far too agitated for that. Thirty-seven years since something had been placed in that box for me. I did a quick calculation. In 1981, I was eighteen. I was pleased the wine hadn’t addled my brain too much even though I’ve always had the mental arithmetic skills of a professional darts player. I was living with my grandmother in 1981 and we came to London that year to watch Lady Di marry Prince Charles. With the help of Nan’s tenacity and sharp elbows, we’d secured a spot outside St Paul’s where we waited for hours with only a mound of egg sandwiches and a packet of mint Club biscuits to sustain us. Each time Nan lifted the lid on the Tupperware box, the sweaty sandwiches released their obnoxious odour to the groans of our fellow Royal watchers. When the soon-to-be Princess climbed out of the glass coach there was a collective gasp and my Nan’s voice rang out above all others. ‘Ooh, looks like she forgot to iron the dress.’ Poor Lady Di. A creased wedding dress would turn out to be the least of her worries.

  Loxton’s was a plain-looking building with none of the shiny brass plaques and gilt-edged revolving doors that Irwin Fortis possessed. No pretence, just functional. There were more formalities to go through and out came my passport again. I was shown into a room with just a table and a chair; there wasn’t even a window. Ten minutes went by before the door opened and in came a young woman in a tight pencil skirt and vertiginous heels. Her red satin blouse strained against her marshmallow bosom, acres of creamy flesh on show. She was wearing a long silver pendant but whatever was on the end of it was trapped in her cleavage. She placed the metal box on the table. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She pointed to a buzzer by the door. ‘Just press that when you’ve finished.’ I heard a click as she closed the door. I was sure she’d just locked me in.