‘Er… sorry. I didn’t think you needed me any more.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Trevor realised how ridiculous they sounded and wasn’t in the least surprised by the reaction. He flinched inwardly as his peripheral vision told him that even Sandra was unable to suppress a giggle.
As for Harry, his laughter almost amounted to a guffaw as he swivelled back and forth in his chair. ‘You ‘ear that, Delia? He reckons we don’t need ‘im any more. – Feeling unwanted, are yer?’
The laugh lines on Harry’s face, accentuated as they were by the depth of his tan, morphed into a frown as he compressed his features into an exaggerated pout. But no sooner had it appeared than this too was replaced by yet another expression. This one bore no trace of humour whatsoever.
Trevor sank back down onto the foot of the bed.
‘You can be my insurance,’ said Harry. ‘Just in case your lady friend decides to do a runner or something.’
If he hadn’t been on the verge of crapping himself, Trevor might have laughed at the absurdity of this remark. The man had clearly misinterpreted their relationship. If Sandra saw an opportunity to get the hell out of this mess, she’d grab it without a second thought. What did she care if they beat him to a pulp and left him for dead? But to be fair to her, he knew he’d do exactly the same himself. He decided, however, that there was nothing to be gained by pointing out his worthlessness as a hostage. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and watched MacFarland beckon Sandra towards the door and then follow her out of the room, snatching his jacket from a peg as he went and draping it over his gun hand.
When they had gone, Trevor stared down at the carpet between his feet and, not for the first time, wondered how this would all end. He was certain now that some degree of physical pain was almost inevitable and could only hope that whatever damage they did to him wouldn’t be permanent. – Permanent? What was he thinking of? These were the sort of people who probably didn’t give a shit whether they put a bullet in your kneecap or in your brain. And that’s about as permanent as it gets.
‘Bloody Nora.’
‘What you say?’ said Harry.
Trevor raised his head and met Harry’s gaze, oblivious to the fact that he had spoken out loud. ‘Pardon?’
‘You said something.’
‘Did I?’ Trevor noticed the whiteness of the man’s knuckles as he gripped the arms of the swivel chair. ‘Er… bloody Nora, I think it was.’
‘Bloody what?’
‘Nora?’
‘You ‘ear that, Delia?’ said Harry and rotated his chair a few degrees in his direction. ‘I think our friend ‘ere must be a bit posh.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Delia, who was standing by the window, staring down at the outside world.
‘Bloody Nora, vicar, but it would be simply splendid if you’d care to partake of another of these rather delicious cucumber sandwiches, what.’
It was a rubbish attempt at an upper-class accent, but Trevor decided not to mention it and resumed his detailed study of the carpet pile.
Harry drained his can of beer. ‘Anything ‘appening out there?’
‘Can’t really see from here,’ said Delia without turning round.
‘What you lookin’ at then? Tottie, I s’pose.’
‘As if.’
‘We got this young Greek lad does odd jobs for us at the villa now and again. Cleans the pool and stuff. I might even fancy him myself if I was, you know… that way inclined. You’ll have to come out some time.’
Trevor was too absorbed in the all-too-vivid images of his own painful and bloody demise to have registered much of what had just been said, but Harry’s sudden burst of laughter shook him back into the reality of the present.
‘Come out?’ he was saying. ‘Bit bloody late for that eh, Delia.’
Trevor had no idea what the joke was, and if the lack of reaction was anything to go by, Delia hadn’t got it either – or at least hadn’t found it particularly funny.
Harry’s laughter subsided like a punctured balloon, and he crushed the empty beer can in his fist. ‘Any more of these in there?’ he said, nodding in the direction of the mini-bar.
Delia either had eyes in the back of his head or the crunching metallic sound was enough to convey what Harry was asking. ‘Dunno, Harry. Probably.’
There was a brief pause as Harry seemed to be considering a response, but he said nothing and went over to the mini-bar to investigate for himself. He took out a can and cracked open the ring-pull.
‘Where’s this food then?’ he said. ‘I’m bloody starving.’