‘Across the moors to Holdwick. The track past my house turns into a footpath and crosses it over there somewhere.’
‘I’d like to explore the moors more while I’m here.’ She felt a slight jolt at the suggestion of not-being-here his words implied. ‘I’ve got this thing about finding places that aren’t really on the map.’
‘Like deserted villages, you mean?’
‘Sometimes. Not even that. Just…signs that someone’s been there but isn’t around anymore.’
‘I don’t know of anything like that nearby.’
‘Yet.’
He smiled in the light from the pub sign above them and without warning leaned over, arm round her shoulder, and kissed her. She put her hand on his neck and held him there for a lingering moment, until the door behind them opened, spilling out light and a gaggle of noisy people.
As he drove them home, wisps of stories grew between them like the sparse patches of mist that gathered in hollows and hovered in ambush on apparently random patches of moorland. They reached the end of the lane through the trees, and saw a light.
‘Looks like there’s someone at the house.’ His voice was harsh and he looked tense in the glow from the dashboard. ‘Were you expecting anyone?’
‘No. Strange, I never get visitors unannounced. Unless it’s Richard Harrington back early. I doubt it, though. He’s got a key but he’d never let himself in uninvited.’
Jay turned the car slowly into the yard and killed the lights. There was no sign of life, simply the yellow light spilling from the kitchen window and pooling out to lap at the doors of the barn. It reflected dimly from sweat on his brow.
‘We’d best go and check it out,’ he said. He released his white-knuckled grip on the wheel to turn the key and cut the engine.
‘You aren’t expecting anyone, are you?’ she asked quietly.
He shot her a look of pained innocence. ‘Of course not. Let’s go.’
He insisted on entering first, grabbing the axe as he passed the woodpile, and opened the door as soon as she unlocked it. The kitchen was empty. Motioning her roughly to stay by the door, he made his way in silence through to the darkened living room. Marilyn obeyed, paralysed by the same kind of fear that had engulfed her as she watched the storm. She glanced over to the microwave, her eyes drawn by the clock flashing. 0:32. Surely it wasn’t that late? The blinking figures ticked on: 0:33. And then the relief washed over her together with a fit of laughter as she realised.
‘Jay, it’s OK, come back!’
He appeared immediately in the doorway.
‘Ssh! What …?’
‘It looks like we’ve got the electricity back.’ She indicated the flashing green digits. ‘About half an hour ago, it seems. That’s why the light’s on.’
He glanced around. ‘What the fuck d’you leave it on for?’
‘I kept flicking the switch out of habit,’ she replied, taken aback by his tone. ‘Must have left it in the on position.’
He relaxed suddenly, broke into a smile. ‘And you refuse to believe some of the things I tell you? Electricity blokes working at this time of night?’
He looked at the axe in his grip as if wondering how it had got there, walked over to the porch and put it back in place.
‘I’m sorry. Really I am. I…I overreacted. You must think—’
‘I don’t think anything.’
He looked even more worried that he’d upset her than he had about the threat of intruders in the house. She gave him a reassuring smile as she put the kettle on. He came to her, put a tentative arm around her and she relaxed into his embrace. It wasn’t only the electricity; she felt as if she’d got him back from somewhere, too.
She made hot chocolate while he coaxed the fire in the living room to a blaze. They lit candles and switched out the lights because it still felt right that way. He told her a story in the fireglow. As they went upstairs, by candlelight as if that had become tradition, Jay paused outside the door of the spare room.
‘Your place or mine?’ he said with a smile.
She stopped short, one foot hovering over the top step, lost for a reply.
‘Sorry, that was…’ He looked at his feet. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘It’s not… You took me by surprise. It… it’s a bit soon. I hardly know you. No, it’s not you.’ She laughed self-consciously. ‘I mean – I swore I’d give myself time. You know, after Matt. At least a year, I said.’
‘What’s a year between friends?’ His laugh sounded equally forced. ‘Don’t feel you have to explain. Mea culpa.’ He turned to go into his room, paused and looked back at her. ‘Night night, then. Sweet dreams.’
‘You too.’
She stared at the closed door for a moment. Going to her own room was an effort, but she told herself it was for the best. She realised she hadn’t even thanked him for a lovely evening. Too late now. He’d know. And if he didn’t… Well, in that case they didn’t understand each other as much as she liked to think. She should be pleased; she’d done the sensible thing for once in her life. But was it sensible? What if she drove him away? If that drove him away, let him go.
Slivers of moonlight found their way round the curtains and she lay chasing sleep in the pale light. The after-image of his expression as he’d shut the door wouldn’t leave her – disappointment, but more; a hint of loneliness that mirrored her own. Her eyes followed over and over again the same fine ceiling cracks she’d traced during endless nights alone. She turned over. She’d got used to it now. Hadn’t she?
Eventually, not sure if she’d dozed or not, she gave in to the need to go to the bathroom. She forced herself not to look at his door as she passed and crept down the stairs, the living room familiar in the fireglow and the bathroom welcoming in the glimmer of the candle she’d left burning out of habit and now thought she’d always prefer to the harsh electric bulb. On the way back upstairs she couldn’t help noticing a faint light showing beneath the spare room door. Before she knew it she was knocking softly.
‘Come in.’
Jay was sitting up against the wall in his sleeping bag among the clutter, holding a paperback with a clip-on book light.
‘I saw you had a light on. I realised I hadn’t even thanked you. I really enjoyed this evening.’
He grinned. ‘Me too. My pleasure. I mean that.’
She nodded. ‘Aren’t you cold?’
‘Not in this sleeping bag. I don’t carry much but I make sure what I do have is good quality.’
‘You’re leaning against a freezing cold wall.’
He shrugged his naked shoulders. ‘I don’t want to go spoiling myself with too much luxury. It’ll be winter before long. It’s surprising how soon—’
‘You weren’t thinking of moving on just yet?’
He frowned. ‘I wasn’t… I’m sorry, I overstepped the mark earlier, didn’t I? I’d understand, you only have to say.’
‘You haven’t overstepped anything, Jay.’
‘You’re not angry with me?’
‘Of course not. Why would I be?’
‘Do you think I’d be daft enough to remind you?’ He reached over and drew a shirt round his shoulders. ‘You shouldn’t have mentioned the cold. Standing there with the door open and a draught coming up the stairs.’
‘Sorry.’ Her hand moved to pull her robe tighter. ‘Anyway I’d better be off now, let you get some sleep.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be sleeping just yet.’
‘Me neither.’ She smiled, looked at the floor, met his eye. ‘So why don’t we go where there’s a bit more room?’
Jay moved as if to get up, paused. ‘It… it sounds inviting. But, Polly, I don’t want to do anything either of us will regret.’
‘No…of course not.’
She stood, deflated, staring at the way the faint light brought out one side of his face in sharp relief, leaving the other in shadow. There was a seriousness about him that contrasted totally with their earlier lightheart
edness. The moment hovered between them as she began to wonder if he was one of those men who, on getting close to what they wanted, were no longer interested.
As she was about to leave, he grinned briefly and scrambled up, taking her in his arms and kissing her. She returned his embrace and felt a flood of relief mingling with her desire, somehow aware that it hadn’t been arrogance or indifference or even respect that had held him back. It had been fear.
As if scared herself that one of them would have a change of heart she held him tight, running a hand down the smooth skin of his back beneath the fabric of his shirt. As he pressed against her she drew away momentarily, catching the soft gleam of his eyes in the halflight and smiling. She led them through to her bedroom, pausing to open the curtains and let the moonlight in to bathe the bed that a short time ago had seemed such a lonely place.
*
‘I still don’t think you boys should have come.’
Zora’s enigmatic smile belies her words. Even before they set off she protested that they should postpone their visit, and has continued to do so; tensions in the area where she now lives could soon boil over and become really dangerous. Yet she has done everything she could to speed their journey, to make them welcome. Guiltily, he studies her for a few moments in silence, even more beautiful than he remembered from last year, with her legs drawn up luxuriously beneath her in the sagging chair and the firelight glinting in her hair. This corner of the room is all the more homely for the air of neglect that pervades the rest of the house.
That will soon change. She has only just moved here from the capital, after all, and with their help will soon transform the run-down farm back into the home it used to be. Her spiritual home, she says. He is sure Ivan feels the same as she does, even though it is also his first visit to this place – they are family, after all. As for himself, he realises, with a sadness like nothing he has felt before, that he doesn’t have a spiritual home. Throwing all his energy into helping repair, clean and awaken the sleeping house, adding a layer of the habitable to the spiritual, he is more than ready to believe her when she says he is young yet and he will know when he finds it. That may be true, but he senses it is something she has always known, that she had no need to discover, and it makes him feel inferior.
And now she has told them they shouldn’t be there. Her smile seems just for him and he is reassured that she is speaking from concern. She looks at him in a way that makes it perfectly clear she does not want them gone.
The sound of the front door opening echoes down the hall. Zora frowns.
‘I didn’t expect him tonight.’
He and Ivan exchange a glance.
A formidable-looking man enters the room and he shivers as he is touched by the fresh, cold night air that accompanies the newcomer. The intense jealousy he feels as Zora rises to greet their visitor, embracing him warmly and kissing him on both cheeks, is irrational but real. The same goes for the fear he feels under the hostile, disapproving gaze. His grasp of the language is insufficient to understand the man’s question and Zora’s rapid reply, which adds to his disquiet.
‘I was telling him my nephew and his friend have come to stay,’ she tells them. ‘This is my good friend Lek.’
Without knowing why, he is fully aware that the man is more than a good friend. Lek’s face is expressionless as she presents them. She introduces him as Šojka, the name she gave him when they first came last year, saying it sounds so much nicer in their language, suits him so much better, than Džej. He agreed willingly; from the moment they first met she has made him feel older, interesting, an exotic foreigner – someone more special than he really is. But now, though his expression does not change, Lek’s eyes bore into him, unequivocally conveying that being named for a bird is something to be despised. It is a challenge.
Unsure of the etiquette, they stand to shake Lek’s hand. He makes himself look straight into the man’s eyes and ensures his handshake is hard and strong. It is a challenge he accepts.
‘You are welcome here,’ Lek says, glancing possessively at Zora, ‘but you will soon wish you had not come.’
The nature of his smile makes it clear he is in deadly earnest.
Chapter 12
The orange-tinged dawn was clearing to a dirty daylight by the time Vinko headed back to the corner shop, his collar turned up against the drizzle. He was grateful it had only just started and he’d managed to do most of the round in cold but clear air. When the weather was right, if he had to choose he might even say he preferred the paper round to his main job at the factory, though he hated both. On mornings like this he would simply think of the extra money through a haze of embarrassment and regret at the impulse that had made him respond to the card in the window a few weeks ago. The other paper rounds were the territory of boys who seemed half his age or less – he couldn’t remember ever feeling that childish. Their initial phase of mocking his accent had by now settled into a respectful distance, and he was happy to keep it that way.
As he rounded the last corner his heart sank as he saw the silver car parked across the road. Giving his uncle a minimal wave he disappeared into the shop to hand over the empty bag and the reflective vest, trying to stall for time by engaging Mr Choudhury in conversation as he bought his tobacco. Today, the shopkeeper was more interested in the customers and getting his own small children off to school on time than chatting to an oversized paper boy.
He lingered in front of the magazine rack gathering his thoughts. Two calls from Novak in as many days had been ignored, but now he had to make some kind of decision. He desperately wanted to feel he belonged somewhere, but although he’d warmed to Anja, Boris had eyed him with suspicion from start to finish and he couldn’t imagine them ever offering him a way in. It would be a while before he could face going back. Now he had to deal with Novak’s insistence. Whatever he felt about the family that should be his, he had no taste for the job he’d been given, either. Then again, if Novak paid him well, he would have no need to depend on anyone. Anyone at all. After a few moments he reminded himself that if he stood for much longer by shelves of headlines that meant nothing to him, he’d miss his bus to work. He steeled himself and stepped out onto the street.
Novak grinned as he crossed the road to the car.
‘Going up in the world, are you?’ He nodded towards the shop.
‘I can’t stop or I’ll miss my bus.’
His uncle gestured towards the passenger door and Vinko reluctantly accepted the offer of a lift.
‘So, have you seen them yet?’
‘I went, yes.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing you’d be interested in.’
Novak turned out onto the main road and put his foot down, swearing as he dodged to avoid two young girls crossing the road.
‘Watch it,’ Vinko muttered, gripping the edge of his seat. ‘We’ll get stuck in traffic whatever you do. No need to kill anyone.’
‘Since when have you been able to drive? Shut it.’ He slammed his brakes on within inches of the last car in the tailback. ‘So, bore me. What did you talk about?’
‘Nothing. My father. The past. All right? I didn’t tell them I knew you, where I live, where I work, so you’ve no need to worry on that account.’
‘Did you find anything out about the money?’
‘I looked in a few drawers. Found nothing. No one said, “Hello Vinko, so lovely to see you, now can we give you a tidy sum to set you up in life?” And I didn’t ask. One thing I don’t do is beg.’
‘That’s exactly what you will be doing if you don’t start showing some respect. Listen, son, you were in trouble when you came to me. The way you’re talking anyone would think you’re squeaky clean. We both know you’re not. I’ve helped you, set you up here, and now it’s your turn. Not even a favour – I’ve said you’ll get your share. My friend’s getting impatient. I need to be able to tell him something.’
‘Tell him I don’t want to know!’
The traffic
lights were on red and Vinko moved to get out. The central locking clicked on.
‘Not so fast. I’ve got some information might help you. Someone my friend would really like to see. If you could track him down for us… Play your cards right and not only will you get yourself a decent financial reward, but he could also help you with old Boris Pranjić. It’s a long shot, but… We’re ninety-nine per cent certain he’s the one who gave them the money, so we think he must be living somewhere in the area. He was a friend of your father’s. I was told to ask if you knew him.’
‘I don’t know anyone.’
‘Then you can help us to look.’
The traffic started moving and they drove the rest of the way in silence. Novak stopped the car a little way down the road from the factory. The expensive glow of the dashboard clock told Vinko he was early.
‘So,’ his uncle said as he offered him a cigarette. ‘Do you know Jay Spinney, by any chance?’
‘No.’ He lit up and inhaled deeply to avoid looking at Novak. ‘What makes you think I would?’
‘Like I said, he knew your father. You’d think he might have wanted to get to know his mate’s lad. Do something for you. But that was down to me in the end, wasn’t it?’ He sighed dramatically. Vinko stared through the windscreen. Much as he hated to admit it, it was true. Novak had been there when no one else was. But that didn’t mean he had to trust the man.
‘Look, what’s going on? Who is this “friend” of yours? If he even exists.’
Novak gripped his wrist so hard it hurt and pushed the glowing tip of the cigarette to within a centimetre of his face. ‘Like I said, boy, time you started showing some respect, right? Let’s just say he’s called Lek. That’s all you need to know – and if you don’t buck your ideas up you’d better hope you never meet. He’s been inside till recently so he needs the money. And he has a strong suspicion our friend Spinney might have had a hand in putting him away, so you’ll understand he’s also got personal reasons for wanting a reunion. Enough information for you?’
Novak released Vinko’s arm, took a drag of his cigarette and produced a photo from his pocket. Vinko was fairly sure it was the same man he’d seen in the picture Anja Pranjić had shown him a few days ago. Young, with short wavy hair and a clean-shaven face – Vinko still couldn’t be certain it was the busker he’d seen in Holdwick. He shook his head. Novak stowed it away. ‘Keep your eyes and ears open.’
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