It could be true; in some ways it all adds up. Geoff tries to get his brain around the evidence. Laura never talks about her past except to say that she was a ‘tearaway’ and that she ‘fell in with the wrong crowd’ and had a ‘rotten boyfriend’. Then there’s Jim. Geoff thinks back to all the times he’s seen them together, and there is always something wrong with the picture, something secret. Then, with a sudden rush of sickness, he remembers Bonfire Night and finding them asleep together on Jim’s couch.
‘Christ.’ It’s all falling into place. This is why she was so interested in what he was going to say to Barry tonight. She was worried Barry would give up the secret. This is what he has always been afraid of: he knew he was punching above his weight. He knew something like this would happen. He wants to vomit. His testicles ache.
He’ll give her a chance, one chance to explain, but if it’s not right, he is going to leave there and then. He’ll leave and he’ll take the ticket with him. He’ll claim his money and he’ll go somewhere none of them will ever find him again.
Geoff stands up and looks around the bedroom. His duffel bag is on top of the wardrobe. He pulls it down and stuffs it with a couple of changes of clothing, selected at random. Then he goes downstairs, to the kitchen, opens a drawer, and pulls out his passport, his counterpart driving licence, and a credit card. He chucks them into the bag, zips it closed, turns out the lights, then sits down and waits.
In the dark, he tries to imagine what it would be like to be without her, but he can’t feel anything except the anger. All he knows is that if it’s true, he can’t stay whatever happens. He has an escape, right now, and he can’t waste it.
A car pulls into the drive. Geoff stiffens. There’s a door slam, and then another, and then voices as the front door opens.
‘Is he in?’ That’s Jim. Geoff grips the sides of his chair.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I can stay, if you like.’
‘No, me and Geoff have to deal with this ourselves. Thanks for looking after me.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, I’ll have to tell him, won’t I? I’ll have to tell him before Barry does.’
Geoff stands up. He’s heard enough and there’s no point in sticking around now. He picks up his bag and slips out of the back door. He doesn’t stop to cry until he is a long way down the street.
17
For a moment, as I wake up, I am warm and contented. Then I remember Laura banging on my door last night and regret even opening my eyes. I roll over and stare at the wall. The only comfort I can take is that whatever turmoil has been unleashed is now completely out of my control. All that is left to do is to look after myself, which for the immediate future means going to the Spar to secure my usual Sunday treat: a delicious TV dinner and a bottle of Scotch.
I get up and leave the house. Outside, the world seems more drab and miserable than ever. It’s a cold, grey day and it looks like rain could come at any moment. I walk quickly – the sooner I can get back in and turn on the fire, the better – so it only takes me ten minutes to get to the shop. I’m about to walk through the door when the cash machine outside reminds me that I should check my bank balance; I haven’t worked since the day of Mac’s accident.
Predictably, I’m not well off. I never spend very much, but without an income I’ll be in trouble pretty quickly. Breaking into my modest savings isn’t an option. I put that cash away – bit by tiny bit – with the idea that one day I might do something with it. I’m not sure what that something is, but it doesn’t involve sitting on my arse and spending the money on living expenses. In short, I need a new job.
I retrieve my card and stand there, tapping the edge of it against the keypad of the machine. Fuck it. I may as well call him while I’m thinking about it. I pull out my mobile and scroll through to Lee’s number.
I’m about to press ‘call’ when I see Barry walking down the opposite side of the street. He kicks his way through some fallen leaves, hands in his pockets, head down. He hasn’t seen me yet. He crosses the road and heads for the shop. I step round the corner of the building, and after a few moments, I hear the beep that happens when the door opens.
Then there’s silence, broken only by the sound of passing cars. Why did I hide? Surely by now Barry has played his hand, or had it played for him. He’s got nothing left to hold over me. I lean against the wall, and as its cold seeps through my jacket, I feel an even colder fury spread in my belly and the back of my throat. I want to do something, but I don’t know what. The door beeps again.
I peek round the corner and see Barry walking away, back the way he came, with a folded News of the World stuffed under his right arm. I let him cross the road and turn right at the T-junction up the street. Then I set out after him.
When I get to the junction, he is a long way ahead of me. It’s an effort to hold myself back – for some reason, I want to keep him in sight – but from here I know which way he has to go, so I measure my pace. He doesn’t stop, or deviate, or look around. He knows this place – it holds nothing new for him – and he thinks he knows exactly how this journey will end.
Once upon a time – and I mean years ago, when we were all tiny – Barry was a sweet lad. When my granddad died, he made me a card with a crayon drawing on the front. He said it was a picture of my granddad in heaven. Maybe everyone is still sweet when they’re that age, and maybe Barry was always destined to become a bastard, but his brother and father made damn sure they beat all the softness out of him. They wanted him to be tough and hard like them. He never quite measured up and it turned him sour.
I follow him, from a distance, until he takes the footpath that runs behind the primary school. Then I speed up to close the gap, turn onto the footpath, and slalom my body between the offset metal frames designed to frustrate cyclists. There are tall railings to one side of the path, and a hedge of bramble, elder, and hawthorn to the other. Barry and I are the only people here, and I’m closer now. I can see the frayed fabric at the hem of his jeans and the glint of his wedding ring when his left hand swings back.
The school building is new – it was finished last year – and construction debris is still scattered here and there. Broken bricks are trodden into the mud or just lie at the base of the hedge. A long piece of carcassing timber, split and rotting and tangled with weeds, runs against the railings. Then I notice an iron spike, sharp at one end and with a tight curl of metal at the other. I stop walking. The spike is pressed into the mud, but I could turn it up easily and then…
‘I don’t need this.’ The words appear in my mouth, but feel as if they are spoken by someone else.
‘Are you following me?’
I look up. Barry faces me.
‘What did you say to Geoff?’
‘What are you going to do? Kill me? You’re the first door they’d knock on.’
I don’t move. ‘What did you say to Geoff?’
Then Barry smiles. ‘The truth. Well, the basics. I told him he should ask you for the details.’
‘You what? What does he know, Barry?’
‘I don’t know why you’re angry. If they break up, you’ll get your chance.’
‘Chance?’
‘Howay, man, don’t act innocent. I know there was something going on with you and her. You were spotted.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Fuck off. I had an eyewitness account. Anyway, I’ve done you a favour.’
‘You’ve ruined my best friend’s life.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘Why?’
‘The time for fucking talking was last night, but you fucked it up. I’m going now. Nice seeing you.’
The spike is still there, but Barry is walking away and whatever made me follow him has dripped out of me. I test my will, but my hand doesn’t want to move.
‘Leave it, boy!’
It is a dog-walker, coming up the path behind me and dragging his Jack Russell along o
n a red lead. He gives me a strange stare and then passes.
I walk back the way I came and emerge from the footpath. I lean against the metal frame and watch a crisp packet scuttle along the gutter. There is blankness in my head, until a sudden thought forms: I can’t let this stand. I need to go and face Geoff. I may have hidden the truth from him, but I can’t let him believe this lie.
—
I walk up his drive and knock on his door, but I have no idea what I’m going to say to Geoff. In the event, it’s Laura who answers. She wears the same clothes she did when I dropped her off last night.
‘Hello.’ It’s the best opener I can come up with.
‘He didn’t come home.’
‘Shit. Has he called? What did he say?’
‘He hasn’t called. He’s gone. He took a bag. Clothes, his passport.’
‘Fuck. Laura, something bad’s happened.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Let me in. I need to talk to you.’
She shrugs and turns back into the house. I follow her through the front room and into the kitchen. She gestures at the kettle.
‘Tea?’
‘Uh, no, thanks.’
She nods and then closes the door to shut out the noise of the TV. It’s uncomfortably intimate; the kitchen is just a narrow galley at the back of the house and there’s nowhere to sit, no social space for me to occupy. I’m standing right in the middle of her private life. I lean back against one of the worktops and focus on a band of light reflected from the rim of a plate on the draining board. Of her, I can only see the legs now, in the left of my peripheral vision. She has propped herself against the door. I keep the plate front and centre.
‘So?’ Her voice sounds far away.
‘I talked to Barry.’
‘And?’
‘He told him.’
‘Yeah, well, we’d guessed that.’
‘I was still hoping he hadn’t really done it.’
‘Fat chance. He’s a bitter, evil man.’
‘Aye, I’ve been coming to that conclusion myself. Look, that’s not all – he told Geoff there was something going on between you and me.’
She doesn’t say anything. I manage to turn my head and look at her, but she’s completely still and just stares past me, through the window. Then her lower jaw moves, almost imperceptibly, as if it was frozen and she was struggling to form the shape of words. ‘I…I…’ The first sounds come as a faint stutter, and then, ‘I was always afraid that I couldn’t really have this, but it was the truth I was scared of. I never thought anyone would have to make something up, you know?’
‘Aye, I know.’
‘I mean, it’s not much to ask, is it? All I wanted was a normal life, nothing special. He’s hardly the man of my dreams, is he? But he’s sweet to me and I thought I could have a nice life with him, a good life. I just wanted to be like everyone else, and I wanted a proper home. And now the silly fat bastard’s run off and ruined everything.’
Her voice tremors with the approach of tears, and suddenly there’s a twist and lurch somewhere in my own insides and I’m moving towards her and putting my arms around her and my voice is saying stuff that hasn’t even passed through my brain. ‘Come here, pet, it’s not that bad. He’ll be back soon and you’ll get it sorted out. He knows what’s good for him.’
‘He won’t even answer his phone!’
‘Don’t worry about that. He’ll have a think and he’ll be back.’
‘Will he? And what then? He knows what I was and it’s always going to be there. It’s not fair. I tried so hard to leave it behind.’
The side of her face presses against my chest, and the top of her head just brushes under my chin. ‘It’s going to be OK. Just give him some time. He’ll do the right thing.’ She squeezes me tighter. I can smell her hair and skin. I remember the last time she was this close to me and feel sick. I’m lying to her, and we both know it. I have no idea what Geoff will do, and he has no reason to believe anything she or I say. Even if he did, the truth is bad enough.
She looks up at me. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘You just sit tight, OK?’
I don’t tell her about the eyewitness, and I don’t tell her that I know who he is, but in my mind’s eye I see Steve scurrying away that day at the ponds – just after he saw Laura kiss me.
18
Sinister Steve deals in many things – cash, illegal fags, car stereos – but he has a particular penchant for acquiring and distributing general knowledge. I know this because whenever I’ve made the mistake of being in the Admiral when the Sunday-night quiz takes place, Steve has always been there, paying rapt attention and eagerly scribbling his answers. It’s for this reason that I settle myself in a corner of the pub with a pint and a newspaper.
I’m early, but I wanted to come in unnoticed, and in any case I needed a change of scenery. Sadly, there isn’t much to look at except the blinking lights of the fruit machine and some sort of variety show playing on the TV over the bar. I have spent a fair proportion of my life in here, and looking around, I’m unable to see a good reason why. Still, I feel better now, although I’m apprehensive. I’m about to do something bad, but at least I’m doing something.
The TV programme ends and another, equally worthless, programme starts. I open the newspaper and half read a feature on celebrity addiction, while trying to stay aware of what happens around me. As the evening proceeds, the bar starts to fill and soon paper and pens are handed round. People form teams and sit around tables, chatting and drinking. Frank, the landlord, tests a microphone with a flick of his finger and the percussive thud of it pops from a speaker above my head. I should have sat somewhere else.
Steve isn’t here yet and I become annoyed with myself for arriving here like this and expecting everything to fall into place. Perhaps he is somewhere else tonight; perhaps he’s busy. Frank is going to start soon. He walks around the barroom with a clipboard and a pint pot, taking team names and entry fees. Then Steve slips in through the door.
I feel relief, and then a strange kind of excitement, even though I have no idea how I’m going to get him alone. I watch him cross the room; he scuttles through the spaces between people and slides to the bar, where he waits for service but keeps his head flicking from side to side like an animal tasting the air. I view him as an animal now, as prey, or simply a pest to be dealt with. He wears a black bomber jacket, black jeans, and white trainers. He is slight of build, and not as tall as me.
Steve buys a drink and asks for pen and paper, and then he sits alone at the other end of the room. There is nobody who would form a team with him. I have finished my pint, and an idea occurs to me. I go to the bar.
‘Smith’s, please, and a shot of JD. Neat.’
With the drinks in hand, I make my way over to Steve and sit down with him.
‘All right, Steve?’
‘All right.’
‘Here, make it a double.’ I pass him the glass of bourbon. I’m pretty sure it’s what he takes with his Coke.
‘It already is.’
‘Well, then make it a triple.’
‘Thanks.’ He pours the shot into his own glass.
‘You doing the quiz?’
‘Aye.’
‘Fancy teaming up?’
He tips his head to one side and looks at me cautiously. Then he shrugs. ‘All right. Didn’t know you did the quiz.’
‘I never have. Just needed a diversion. It’s been a funny few days.’
‘Right.’ He takes a drink, and then Frank appears.
‘Three pounds, please, gentlemen.’
We split the fee, and while Steve digs in his pocket for change, Frank gives me a questioning look. I just smile and spread my hands. We name ourselves the Cupid Stunts and Frank sighs as if this signifies the end of civilization.
‘I saw your mate Geoff last night,’ says Steve once Frank has buggered off.
‘You what?’
‘Aye, up at the Top House.�
�
‘That’s funny. Did he say anything?’
‘Not really. He was just having a quiet pint.’ Steve seems to be watching a point just over my left shoulder.
‘OK.’ Frank’s voice bursts from the speakers in a welter of feedback, followed by a bout of swearing as he adjusts the volume. ‘OK. Welcome to the quiz! Round one is general knowledge.’
It takes over an hour, during which I manage to buy Steve a further three very strong Jack and Cokes, and, miraculously, keep smiling. We manage eighteen out of twenty on general knowledge, sixteen out of twenty on sport, but perform so miserably at guess the song that we finish fifth.
‘I always fuck up on that.’ Steve is drunk. ‘It’s always bloody 1960s stuff. Never heard of any of it.’
‘You got Smokey, and Martha,’ I observe.
‘That’s soul, it’s a different kettle of fish. I’m talking about all the jingle-jangle shite.’
I nod enthusiastically, but I’m bored and ready to make my move. ‘Steve, I’ve got something to discuss with you, but I can’t talk here.’
‘Eh?’ He tries hard to focus on my face, then gives up and flings his glass to his lips, almost spilling drink on himself.
‘I’ve got a proposition for you. You could make a bit out of it, like.’
‘How much?’
‘Let’s just say I’m after a certain high-margin item.’
‘How high?’
‘I don’t want to talk here. I’ll meet you round the back in a couple of minutes, right?’
‘Fair enough. I’ll see you there.’ He raises his glass to me.
‘Good man.’
In the alley, I lean against the wall. It’s almost pitch black out here and it takes some time for my eyes to adjust to the point that I can see objects. The mouth of the alley opens onto the pub car park and provides a rectangle of light through which I’ll be able to see anyone approach. It’s cold. I zip up my jacket and put my hands in my pockets.
I don’t know if this is a good idea. I don’t even know if I’m still capable of this kind of thing, but I’m about to find out.
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