“Anyway,” he said, starting a new subject, “got a plan on what to do next?”
Steph nodded. “Damien said the barrel is just too heavy to get up the stairs so we should all come down here to start a fire. He said a small windowless room like this would be easier to heat anyway. We just need to leave the door at the top of the stairs open so we can breathe.”
“Good idea,” agreed Harry, immediately wondering why Damien hadn’t cried bloody murder over his earlier mistake. The lad knew it was Harry’s fault; that when the drum had been only one step away from the top he had dropped it. Yet, for some reason, Damien made out as though it had been an impossible task to begin with and nobody’s fault. Tonight had muddled Harry’s entire opinion of the lad. He wasn’t ready to trust Damien just yet, but had at least started to consider it.
“Everyone’s upstairs,” said Steph, “gathering stuff to burn. We’re going to leave Peter in front of the fire. Jess said she’d stay with him.”
Harry nodded. “We’ll have to keep an eye on them both. It may not be safe for her to be alone. I’ll go see if she needs anything and then go help the others.”
“Okay, Harry. I’ll get Old Graham nice and comfy then get this place lit up. See you in a bit. Mind yourself in the dark.”
Harry moved aside to let Steph past with her candles and then he started to climb the stairs. He was taken back to earlier when he’d tried to climb up with the barrel. He had a lot of making up to do to Old Graham that was for sure, but at least Damien had turned the disaster into a sustainable plan B. It would indeed be warmer in the cellar once they got the fire going and Harry started to feel far more hopeful about their situation just thinking about it. Prior to now, he had been scared that they would all freeze to death. It seemed silly now.
The corridor at the top of the stairs was pitch-black, but Harry could make out a dim, flickering light coming from the bar’s candles at the far end of the hallway. He felt his way towards them and found Lucas standing at the bar. The Irishman was busy gathering beers and a big bottle of Famous Grouse whiskey into an empty crisp carton.
“Getting essentials, I see?” said Harry as he entered the bar.
Lucas held up an uncapped beer and swigged from it, letting out a lip-smacking sigh at the end. “Don’t ya know it! I asked the old fella what he needed and all he said was beer and plenty of it. Can’t deny an injured pensioner now, can I? What kind of man would that make me?”
“Never thought of it like that.” Harry fired off a mock salute. “Keep up the good work, private.”
Lucas returned the salute. “Will do, Major Jobson, sir!”
Harry continued on from the bar and walked over to Jess at the fireplace. She flinched, as though he had startled her. It wasn’t surprising really; sounded as if the poor girl had been through worse than anyone tonight.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“Fine,” she replied, stroking Peter’s forehead with a damp cloth she had no doubt warmed in front of the fire. “I can’t leave him here alone, and I don’t think it would be right to move him either. Jerry has gone to find us some snacks. He’ll be back soon to keep me company. Anyway, I have this if I get into any real trouble.” Jess reached down beside the sofa and came up with a great shiny piece of metal.
Harry nodded. “The call bell. Good idea. Not a single man whose ears don’t prick up at that sound. Just ring if you need help, okay?”
Jess seemed proud for a moment, but her sombre expression soon returned when she went back to nursing Peter. When she spoke again, she did so without looking Harry in the eye. “How is Graham doing? His leg seems painful.”
Painful wasn’t a good enough word to describe the result of Harry’s stupidity. He smiled to reassure her. “Luckily, there’s no bleeding. I think it’s broken, but he’s okay for now. Chipper as ever, long as he has us bringing him beer all night.”
“He seems like a nice old man,” she said. “I hope he’s okay.”
Harry nodded. “Me too.”
He thought Jess was going to carry on the conversation a little longer, but instead of replying he caught her looking over his shoulder. Her eyes went wide as if something concerned her.
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. Why is she staring like that? Is something behind me?
He spun around, and found Damien standing up against him. As usual the lad’s face was a thick, syrupy mixture of frowns and scowls, but there seemed to be something else in his expression too. Harry felt his wariness of the lad return. Had he really been thinking that Damien wasn’t dangerous? That he was a good person deep down?
Idiot, Harry. He’s probably looking to stamp your kneecaps in for dropping the barrel. God knows I deserve it.
Damien’s expression didn’t change as he pointed over his own shoulder with a thumb. “Come with me,” he said, walking off in the opposite direction and leaving Harry wondering what to do.
Should I follow? Or should I grab a weapon and prepare to fight for my freakin’ life? Harry didn’t know and decided that, until he did, it would be best to just play along.
Damien had headed over to the back exit corridor; the one leading outside or off to the toilets. It also led to the seldom-used dance floor at the back of the pub. Harry doubled his pace to catch up; managing to get there a second or two before Damien stopped and turned around.
“Take a look.” Damien pointed to the exit door. “Look through the window at the top.”
For a second Harry had visions of doing as he was told and having his head rammed through the glass. Wasn’t that the kind of thing gangsters do? Made you dig your own grave? Harry sighed. If something was going to happen, it was going to happen. He stepped toward the door, waiting for an attack.
“Look through,” Damien ordered again.