‘He’s never boring, I’ll give the kid that.’
‘Can I pay for anything?’ I asked, scanning the place for any damage.
‘Nah, you’re all right. Just consider him temporarily barred.’
I couldn’t tell if Joe was just unflappable, or whether he was being polite. Regardless, I took the opportunity to get out.
Eamonn was waiting in the passenger seat. I’d been psyching myself up for an outburst, the rant that he deserved, but when I was in the car, engine off, radio silent, I lost the will.
Instead I took out my phone and listened to a voicemail from Daisy. I didn’t feel up to listening to the messages left by Rachel and my kids.
‘Ronnie, I’m super fucking worried about Noel.’
That was the only sentence that stood out to me. Everything else she said was just noise.
‘Ronnie, I’m super fucking worried about Noel.’
I thought of Eli and his smug exit earlier, took out my phone and started to compose a text. It said, How long do you think this mental escapade of yours will take?
There it was, in print, a fucking admission of defeat. I knew I’d only been saying no out of selfishness, because looking for another ghost while I was here was a massive inconvenience. But a bigger fucking inconvenience was sitting next to me in our dad’s car, and I was gonna need all the help I could get.
Eamonn took a breath and began to say something.
‘Shut up!’ I snapped, jamming the key into the ignition. ‘Do yourself a favour for once in your life and shut up.’
*
I met Dad out by the trampoline, where the O’Connell family apparently had all their serious conversations. It was safer than the house and not as exposed as the street, just two grown men sitting, side by side and conspicuous as hell. The neighbours would be bemused if they could see us.
Dad had given up smoking three years ago so I resisted the urge to light up in his presence, which was pretty unfair given that my stress levels around him tended to skyrocket. Rachel claimed that the main reason I’d left the country was because I couldn’t do anything with my dad watching. In a way, she was right. He made me nervous. Things I’d always been able to do without any problems I somehow managed to screw up in front of him. His presence gave me a nervous limp, in all aspects of life, and it hadn’t got better with age or distance.
‘If your brother had to pick a place to sit,’ Dad said, after a silence, ‘and he had to choose between two armchairs and a rock, he’d choose the rock.’
I smiled a little. He’d said it before. It was the perfect analogy.
‘He wouldn’t hesitate either, or feel bad about it, he’d just sit himself down right there on that rock like “Yeah. Damn straight, this is my rock.”’
‘What are we gonna do with him?’ he asked, letting the question hang there.
‘You must have thought about this. We all knew when he was getting out.’
‘I know, I just thought…’ A sigh of abject disappointment. ‘I thought…’
‘You thought he might have changed?’
I felt awful saying it out loud. You shouldn’t wish a fundamental change on family, like their personality was so substandard to you, but we’d all wished it of Eamonn. I think even Mum had, at times.
‘Jail is serious. I thought it would have made him… think more. But it’s like he hasn’t even been gone.’ Dad shook his head. ‘And not in the good way. It’s like this hasn’t fazed him. If anything was gonna get through to him it was this, seeing what it’s done to your mother and… he’s acting like we sent him to summer camp. He’s not even sorry.’
‘I don’t know, Dad, I think he’s sorry, he just… doesn’t say it like normal people.’
I was surprised to find myself sticking up for him.
‘Are you going to take him back with you?’ Dad asked.
‘Do you want me to?’
He took a breath. ‘It might be better.’
‘For him or for you?’
‘There’s nothing for him here.’
‘Why don’t you give him a job then?’
He looked at me as if I were retarded.
‘Dad, he’s gonna need something to do.’ I was starting to lose patience, but I was also losing my resilience to keep saying no. ‘You know what happens to angry young guys with nothing to do? They start committing stupid crimes and get banged up because at least that gives them some direction. Maybe he just needs you to show a bit of faith in him?’
I knew what he wanted to say, but it was too harsh even for him to say out loud. Dad had never been one to fake emotion. He’d never forced a smile for anyone or anything and he wasn’t going to start for his youngest son.
‘We’ve tried, Ron,’ he said. ‘Maybe now it’s your turn. If you have such faith in him.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Daisy
It was half two in the morning and the last customers had left. I went upstairs to find Noel and he was in his office, doing something on his laptop that I couldn’t be sure was work. There was a bottle of Newcastle Brown on his desk.
‘You all right?’ he asked, without looking up.
I shut the door. ‘Can we talk about Edie?’
‘If we must.’
‘She knows about you and Seven, you know.’
His grimace became even more pronounced, but someone had to say her name out loud sooner or later. ‘Fucking hell.’
Something changed in Noel’s face when he’d been drinking for several days straight. His eyes were always too wide, pores open, skin sallow. The outlines of his features became.
I sat down. The silence felt like fresh air now that the club downstairs was empty. I could dimly hear the girls getting changed, chatting amongst themselves, but there was no music, no gross male braying.
‘If Ronnie is away for a while, she’s gonna pin this all on you.’
‘I’m not fucking stupid.’ He rubbed his forehead with both hands, picked up the bottle to check it was empty and put it down again.
‘I know that but I Skyped Ronnie today and he basically said “Yeah, whatever, YOLO”, so sorry, but one of you has to be taking this seriously.’
Noel sighed. ‘I fucked up. No point trying to lie to her about it, she’ll find out sooner or later.’
‘Then what are you doing about it? Have you found out who Seven was working for?’
‘I am not sufficiently fucked to want to discuss this with you.’
‘This isn’t some fucking joke!’
‘You see me laughing?’ He met my eyes. ‘We don’t know who she was working for. Nic’s looking into it for us but, honestly, your fella is expensive and Edie’ll bring in her own people.’
‘So you’re just gonna take this? Not even try?’
‘No, I’m accepting that… I fucked up.’
‘Then unfuck up! Get Ronnie to come back off holiday and unfuck up!’ I didn’t have the balls to tell him to stop drinking. Not right then anyway.
‘Isn’t Nic coming to pick you up tonight?’ Noel asked, blanking everything I’d just said and returning his gaze to his laptop.
Was I being paranoid? His lack of response, the lack of urgency from both of them, was making me feel as though I was just doing too many drugs and that I needed to get a grip.
‘No, he’s… busy.’
‘I’ll give you a lift.’
‘Na.’ I stood up, deflated. ‘No offence, but I don’t know how over the limit you are.’
‘Fine, see you tomorrow.’
I stopped at the door on my way out, and saw him pick up the empty bottle, shake it and put it down again.
I stopped at the bar on my way out to pick up my handbag, checking to see if there was any acid left in my little blue phial. There wasn’t, so I sucked the end of the dropper just in case, and walked home alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ronnie
I had three weeks, according to Dad and according to Daisy, who I’d curtly informed over text. Three w
eeks to help Eli, three weeks until my flight back, three weeks before Daisy refused to continue holding everything together back home, three weeks for Mum and Dad to keep Eamonn out of trouble without my assistance. I told them to help him apply for a visa. It was a provisional gesture, dependent on him not fucking up in any terminal way before I got back.
It started at Eli’s, where he met me with a rented 4x4 in his underground garage. It wasn’t dissimilar to the one he usually drove, also black. Flights were too obvious, he said.
‘So we’re going on a road trip,’ I said, finding it hard to be enthusiastic.
‘See, you’re already making it sound fun,’ he replied, uncharacteristically peppy as he slung a couple of bags into the boot alongside a designer suitcase.
‘Aren’t we a little old for this?’ I looked him up and down. ‘I mean, we’re both wearing two-thousand-dollar outfits. I’ve got kids.’
He smiled, enjoying my discomfort. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you an I heart NYC shirt on the way if it’ll cheer you up.’
‘This is gonna be like Fear And Loathing, isn’t it? Except sober and no fucking fun.’
‘Not if you count ProPlus as a drug.’
I sighed. ‘So we’re going to New York first?’
‘Yeah, here’s the itinerary.’ He climbed into the driver’s seat and handed me a thick dossier.
I took the folder and circled the car to get in beside him. I looked at the dossier and frowned. ‘Eli, do you think it’s maybe not the best idea to go around printing stuff out?’
‘That’s what shredders and fire are for. Calm down.’
‘You haven’t saved all this shit anywhere, have you? Like, online or on your desktop or something?’
A stern look. ‘Of course not.’
I wished I’d worn something more appropriate; sunglasses or a fucking Hawaiian shirt or something that summed up just how disgruntled I was with this experience.
‘Where are we going to sleep?’ I asked, with genuine sorrow.
‘Motels. Nowhere above one star in the cities, they take too much notice of people. Plus, if Seven is remotely smart for a female, she’s going to know you’ll be coming. The longer you can stay out of sight, the better.’
I grimaced. ‘You know when you change that h to an m you lose a fuck-load of amenities. It’s the difference between having a decent minibar or being stuck with a kettle and one of those dwarf hairdryers attached to the wall with curly wire. You know, the ones that have to come with warning labels like “Do not eat” because the place is full of mongoloids who need to be told that kind of thing?’
He started the engine and snorted. ‘Yeah, exactly like that.’
‘And there’s no room service.’
‘I know.’
‘No, I mean it. Absolutely none.’
He drove us up the ramp and back out into the weak sunlight. ‘So you won’t be able to drink soy milk and order gluten-free burgers or whatever for a few weeks. It’ll be good for you.’
I leafed through the pages and was amused to see he’d created a contents page, listing names and locations next to page numbers. It made me feel a little more at ease. It made me feel that, working with someone as meticulous as Eli, the next few weeks might not be as much of a disaster as I’d thought.
The first name on the list, just above the entry of New York, was Thomas Love. There was even a photo, when I turned to his page.
Thomas Love had moved to New York in 2006. Previously an accountant at a UK publisher, he had made the move to take over the same managerial position at the Larsson Group. Love had white-blond hair that reached his shoulders, severe cheekbones and an even more severe fringe.
‘He joined our magazine briefly, for about six months, after graduation,’ Eli said, with a glance down at the page. ‘We were at uni together and he knew Trent quite well, both being super rich. They paired up for a bit after I was given the boot, throwing money at anything that interested them.’
‘Does he sparkle when he goes out in daylight?’
A blank glare.
‘Aw, come on, it was a book reference!’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘I thought you’d like that.’
‘You don’t read but you read Twilight.’
‘Not by choice obviously, I’ve read parts of it to Chantal. It was awkward.’ I shook my head, smirking. ‘So why are we calling on this guy? They still in touch?’
‘I know Trent would have contacted him at some point. We didn’t all leave it on the best terms, but I don’t think Love actually fell out with Trent.’
There was a silence.
I scanned the rest of the list.
Thomas Love. New York.
Cam Hopper. LA.
Trent Byrne. ?
Melissa de Ehrmann. London.
Between Thomas Love and Cam Hopper, I scribbled, Seven. Chicago.
I flipped Melissa de Ehrmann’s page, the only other girl, and exhaled.
‘O-M-fucking-G, Eli.’
‘What?’
‘What do you mean, what? She’s hot.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Is this a recent photo?’
‘From a few years ago.’
I didn’t imagine a few years would make much difference to someone as attractive as Melissa de Ehrmann. She was skinny, so skinny as to be almost androgynous, with red curly hair and tiny childlike features, green eyes. In the photo she looked to be standing with a friend – cropped out – in front of a river somewhere, in summer.
‘You ever tap that at uni?’ I asked, only half joking.
Eli looked in the other direction. When faced with a question he didn’t want to answer, he never became evasive. Instead he had an autistic habit of simply averting his eyes and not saying anything.
Interesting, I thought, and moved on.
‘So tell me something about Trent Byrne then.’
‘If I didn’t know him better I’d say he’d changed his name or something, but…’ He pulled a dubious face. ‘Why would he even feel the need? It wouldn’t make any sense, it’s not like he was some kind of gangster. He was just a businessman.’
‘It’s been a while. People change.’
‘Yeah, but I could never picture Trent doing anything interesting enough to disappear over.’
‘You know what they say.’
‘No?’
‘You know, it’s always the quiet ones?’
I eyed Trent’s photo. Just a guy would be how to describe him. Just a guy.
‘The thing about psychos and people who do things like shoot up offices and fake their own deaths and stuff, they’re always the quiet ones. People who knew them never say, “Oh yeah, he was the life and soul of the party. Always up for a laugh.”’
He didn’t seem convinced. ‘Are you saying psychopaths can never be extroverts?’
I thought I might be onto something. ‘Well, if they had more mates and went out more often, they probably wouldn’t have developed all their social issues and have anger management problems.’
‘But you’re an extrovert.’
‘And I’m an extremely well-adjusted human being.’ I grinned, taking a cursory read of the accompanying biographical details on the hit list.
I knew Eli’s expression would be condescending.
‘I guess LA is gonna be nice this time of year,’ I said, for the sake of noise.
‘Fuck!’ Eli slammed the brakes on and the folder fell off my lap into the footwell as we both snapped forwards.
I rubbed the back of my neck, looked up, and there was the back end of a BMW in front of us, way too close. Windows were wound down. A defiant middle finger attached to a thick forearm was thrust in our direction.
‘Fucking…’ Eli snarled, unclipping his seatbelt.
He was out of his seat before I could say anything, coat billowing. I watched as he stormed up to the side of the BMW just as the offending window was promptly shut.
‘Fuck you! Come out here and say that! Come out here!’ He slammed both hands flat against the window as if he were
about to smash through it with his head. ‘What’s your fucking problem, jerk-off? What’s your fucking problem?’
Whoever the guy was, he revved his engine and drove off sharpish, leaving Eli standing in the middle of the road, frustrated and pacing, as if he was considering giving chase. The car behind us beeped and Eli made a violent gesture as he returned to his seat.
I didn’t say anything. I stared straight ahead, mouth contorting as I tried so fucking badly not to laugh but I couldn’t help it. It came out eventually in an undignified guffaw.
‘Oh, like that ass-hat proves your point,’ Eli scoffed.
‘Dude, you’re the one who blackmailed me into doing this Kill Bill fucking road-trip with you.’ I picked up the folder from where it had landed by my feet and grimaced as the back of my neck twinged. ‘Just saying.’
CHAPTER NINE
I hated New York City. It was an unfashionable opinion; well up there with ‘I really enjoy touching kids’, ‘Cats are a waste of space’ and other similar sentiments. It was as if a whole generation of people lost their grip on the idea of personal space and decided to push the human population upwards, in ever higher and ever narrower imitations of housing. There were adverts everywhere, neon spattered across the sides of every building like a rampaging capitalist Titan had ejaculated over the whole city. Even though I lived in London, so should have been used to this, it made me feel sick being here for too long.
Eli took us to a pizza place in Greenwich Village after the rental car had been hoisted into the air and left somewhere I didn’t bother to remember. There were photos all over the walls, the manager or owner posing with celebrities and autographed faces in black and white. Eli had made a list of the top ten pizza places in the city and apparently this was the best.
‘Tom won’t be easy to talk to,’ he said, folding a monstrous slice of pepperoni pizza in half and speaking around it as he shovelled it into his mouth. ‘But he’s most likely to know where Trent might be. I sent him a text in the car, asking if he fancies a meeting at his place tomorrow, hinted that it might be business-related.’
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