Isle of Waves (2 page)

R
AGE
BUILT
inside
Wig as he watched Nibs pick over the shards of blue and white china scattered over the floor with a gentleness and despair that was uncharacteristic of the large man. Nibs had been in the same position since they had walked into their restaurant to discover it had been trashed while they were at Liam and Sam’s wedding. Twenty minutes of mourning over their shattered world. Nibs hadn’t spoken at all.

Wig stroked the back of Nibs’s neck. “Babe, we need to get up and get the place ready for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

He flinched as Nibs threw a relatively undamaged plate across the room, and watched it shatter on the wall opposite.

“What’s the point? What’s the fucking point?” Nibs got to his feet and stomped into the kitchen. The door shut behind him.

Wig stood in the remains of the restaurant, unsure whether to follow his partner or start clearing up the mess. Instead, he dug in the jacket of his suit pocket and fished out his phone.

“Wah?” Paul’s voice was slurred. He’d been well on the way to being trashed when they’d left.

“It’s Wig.”

“I thought you were still here.”

“We left half an hour ago to set up for tomorrow.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Listen, just to warn you, someone has broken into the place.”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly Paul sounded a lot less drunk. “What place? The restaurant?”

“Yeah, we haven’t got as far as the flat yet. Someone smashed all the crockery. There’s nothing left. I haven’t checked to see what other damage they’ve done.”

“Have you called the police?”

“When we got in. They’ll send someone when they can.” Wig didn’t mention that they weren’t particularly interested in attending the call as there was no imminent danger to their persons.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can get a cab.”

Wig heard Paul shout for Skandik. “You don’t have to do that. I just wanted to warn you for when you came back.”

Paul Owens, youngest brother of one of the grooms, and his American something—not quite boyfriend, more than a hook-up—Olaf Skandik, were staying with Wig and Nibs for the duration of the wedding.

“Don’t touch anything. We’re on our way.”

Wig disconnected the call and looked at the mess that littered the floor of their restaurant. He’d intended to find a broom and start sweeping up, the mess offending his neat and tidy soul, but he couldn’t find the strength.

The break-in probably signified the end of their life here. They could replace everything, but what was the point? A thriving restaurant a year ago, even before the break-in it was barely worth opening up each day. Eighteen months ago, new neighbors had moved in next door and opened an Indian restaurant, the Royal Taj. Initially the new neighbors—Ghuram Sawar, his parents, and his cousins—had been pleasant, and Wig and Nibs had enjoyed more than a few meals in their restaurant. After a few months, however, it became clear Ghuram Sawar wanted Nibs and Wig’s place, the Blue Lagoon restaurant, so that he could knock through to make one massive restaurant. Initially he had offered to buy Nibs and Wig out at a more-than-generous price. Wig and Nibs gave it serious consideration, but they were happy in Sandown, on the Isle of Wight, and didn’t want to move. After their polite refusal, the relationship with the Sawars had turned icy, and that had been the start of an insidious campaign to drive away Nibs and Wig’s customers that had left the Blue Lagoon almost on its knees.

Nibs came out of the kitchen. “We ought to clear up.”

Wig hated the flat, dead tone in Nibs’s voice. They’d been together for more than ten years and he’d never heard his man sound so defeated.

“Paul said he’d be over here as soon as they can get a cab.”

“They shouldn’t bother. There’s nothing they can do.”

“I know, babe, but you know what Paul’s like. He said not to do anything until the police get here.”

They’d be lucky if the police turned up at all. The sneering voice of the woman when he’d reported the incident made it clear a break-in was way down their list of priorities.

He jumped at loud banging on the door. In the reflection of the light outside, he could see a large number of people, and for one awful moment, he thought they were going to be attacked.

“Open the fucking door,” Paul yelled.

Wig took a deep breath and went to let in the invaders; these ones friends, not foes.

The bottle-blond-haired Paul came in, followed by his tall, quiet lover, Skandik. Wig was unsurprised to see more of the Owenses. They were like the bloody von Trapps. Colin and Dan—Paul’s brothers—and Jim and Mattie—their parents—came in, Mattie immediately giving him and Nibs a hug. He
was
surprised to see Sam, one of the grooms.

“What are you doing here?” Wig asked. “Shouldn’t you be tucked up in bed with your new husband?”

“Liam made me come. He was worried about you.” Sam sounded very grumpy about the fact.

“And you weren’t?” Col said. “You dragged us all away before we could finish our drinks.”

Sam had the grace to look sheepish. “Liam wasn’t well enough to come, so he’s gone back to the hotel.”

Sam’s husband of less than a day, Liam, was recovering from a hit-and-run accident a couple of months before, and he wasn’t back to full health yet. The man looked drained and exhausted most of the time, although few people said it to his face, in case Sam overheard them. Sam could be extremely loud; it was an Owens family trait.

In other circumstances, Wig would have found it funny, but his focus was on his lover, who just stood there so silent it was unnerving.

“Oh, boys,” Mattie said as she took in the devastation. “You must be so upset.”

Nibs turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen.

“I’ll go after him,” Col said. He and Nibs had been friends for a long time.

Wig looked after them, hurt to the core that Nibs had just walked
off.

Sam put his arm around Wig. “We’ll look after you,” he promised. Wig let himself slump for a moment against Sam’s larger bulk. He’d been holding himself as taut as a violin string from the moment they had discovered the break-in, and he felt ready to snap.

“Mum, don’t touch anything yet,” Paul said. He was a policeman in the Metropolitan Police Service in London. “When are the police going to get here?”

Wig shrugged. “The dispatcher told me they’d come when they could to the ‘alleged’ incident.” He allowed his bitterness to show through.

“What did they say?” Paul’s voice went dangerously low.

“It’s not a priority,” Wig said. “It’s Saturday night, the kebabs are flying in the takeaway. They’ve got bigger priorities.” He wilted in Sam’s arms, wishing it was Nibs holding him close.

“I’ll take some photos,” Skandik said, “if someone’s got a camera.”

“Let me make a call, and you can use my phone.” Paul waggled his mobile and walked away.

“Use mine.” Jim handed over his iPhone to Skandik. “We’ll make tea for everyone. Come on, Mattie.”

Paul returned after a minute with a set implacable expression Wig hadn’t seen before. “The police are on their way. I trained with one of the officers on the island.”

“If they’ve got other priorities….” Wig gave an involuntary yawn. He’d been up since early morning, opening for breakfast and then catering, and he was shattered.

“It’s a quiet night,” Paul said.

“Tea’s up.” Jim came forward with a tray of mugs.

Wig managed a weary smile. “Don’t let Nibs catch you, or he’ll charge you for the drinks.” Nibs was notoriously tight with money.

“Coffee for you, Skandik.”

Skandik looked surprised. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We’re used to Liam and your American obsession with coffee.”

Paul snorted into his tea, but before he could respond, another rap at the door interrupted them.

Two police officers came in, one of them grinning at Paul. “Wotcha, Sergeant Owens, good to see you again.”

“Biggsy. Hear you’ve made sergeant now.”

“How did you know that?”

“Bunch. You know he gossips worse than an old woman.” Bunch was another sergeant at Paul’s police station.

Mattie coughed and Paul looked over. “Sorry, Mum. I haven’t seen Biggsy since we trained together.” He indicated the mess. “You can see what’s happened.”

“How did they get in?” Biggs asked.

“The back door was kicked in,” Wig said.

Biggs nodded to his companion, who said, “I’ll take a look.”

“I’ll show you.” Skandik took him out the back.

Biggs looked around. “Who is the owner?”

Wig raised his hand. “I am. Wig Tobias.”

The policeman raised his eyebrow. “Wig?”

“Toby.”

“Toby Tobias?” Paul laughed. “What were your parents thinking?”

Wig scowled at him. He’d received enough shit about his name over the years. He didn’t need a repeat from a Billy Idol wannabe.

“Shut up, Paul.” Dan whacked Paul over the head.

Biggs ignored the brothers. “Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Tobias?”

“I don’t know. We came home from the wedding to discover the mess.”

“Who got married?” Biggs asked.

“I did,” Sam said.

Biggs’s eyes opened. “You got married?”

Sam beamed.

“Uh, where is your… husband?”

“You remembered he’s a flaming poofter, then?” Paul said.

“I could hardly forget,” Biggs said dryly. “Do you remember the party after we passed out?”

Wig watched Sam’s cheeks flame red. Despite his irritation at the byplay, he was curious about the cause of Sam’s embarrassment.

Paul burst out laughing. “How could I forget?”

“Parents here, remember?” Sam hissed.

Mattie waved her hand. “Nothing you and Paul do shocks me anymore.”

Biggs grinned. “Congratulations, Sam. Was that your husband?” He nodded toward the back.

“That’s his boyfriend.” Sam pointed to his brother.

“Why does that not surprise me?” Biggs said.

“I hate to interrupt the reunion, but Wig looks as if he’s about to fall asleep on his feet.” Mattie guided Wig over to a seat.

“I’m sorry,” Biggs said to Wig. “It’s not often I get a chance to see Paul. Let’s get down to business.”

He sat down opposite Wig and took out a notebook. “What time did you get back from the wedding?”

“About midnight. We’ve been gone the whole day, so I’ve no idea what time this happened.”

“Perhaps your neighbors might have seen something.”

Paul snorted. “There’s a possibility that they are the perps.”

“And why’s that?” Biggs asked, as he looked between Paul and
Wig.

“It’s not the first time they’ve caused trouble for us,” Wig said.

“What sort of trouble?”

“Steering customers away on the street. Harassing delivery drivers. Leaving dead vermin at the back. Small-time damage to the property.”

“Did you report these incidents?”

“We reported all of them,” Nibs said harshly as he came out of the kitchen with Colin hard on his heels.

“And you are?” Biggs asked.

“Nibs Tyler.”

“Nibs?”

“Justin. Don’t call me that.” He sat down next to Wig and tangled their fingers together.

To Wig’s relief, Nibs sounded more like his old self. “You okay?”

Wig hummed, although he really didn’t feel remotely okay. He wanted everyone to go away so he could clean up and mourn the loss of his restaurant.

“Why are you here?” Biggs asked Paul.

Wig was starting to get irritated. The policeman seemed far more interested in catching up with an old friend than in dealing with the incident.

“Skandik and I stayed here for the wedding. Nibs and Wig are good friends of ours.”

“We’ve reported all the other incidents. This is the first time you lot have bothered to come here, and that’s only because Paul is here.” Nibs huffed. “Are you going to take a statement, or do you just want to give us an incident number so we can contact the insurance company?”

Before Biggs could respond, Skandik returned with the other policeman.

“The door has been jimmied, Sarge,” the young police constable said. “We’ve checked the rest of the building, but there’s nothing out of place except in here.”

From Wig’s jaundiced eye, he looked like a kid playing dress-up. Wig felt old. He leaned against Nibs, who kissed the top of his head.

“Have there been any specific threats?” Biggs asked.

Wig shook his head. “Our friends are all show, rather than tell. They prefer to actually destroy our business rather than talk about it.”

“Can we start clearing up now?” Mattie asked.

Biggs nodded. “Good idea. Mr.… er… Tobias and Mr. Tyler can take me through the sequence of events. PC Mayer can help with the clearing up.”

PC Mayer looked distinctly unimpressed, but he went with Mattie and Jim to the kitchen after Nibs told them where the cleaning cupboard was.

“Let’s go through to the flat to give them a chance to work,” Wig said. Wearily, he led the way, and they sat on the comfy sofas.

Biggs looked him and Nibs expectantly. “Tell me what
happened.”

Wig went to the bureau and dug out a typed list of previous incidents. Biggs read down the list, the frown on his face getting deeper. Eventually he looked up.

“And you say nothing’s been done?”

Wig shook his head. “You’re welcome to take that with you, although there’s at least three copies already filed with your colleagues. You could make them into paper aeroplanes and have a race.”

“Did they say why they didn’t pursue the matter?”

“Apparently this—” Wig handed him a flyer. “—is not a hate crime; it’s just business.”

Biggs read the flyer, and Paul came over to read it over his shoulder. Paul muttered something to Biggs, who nodded.

“Can I take this with me?” He waved the flyer.

“Help yourself. There’s at least twenty more sitting in the bureau. They were kind enough to plaster them all over our property and down the road. Now the whole neighborhood thinks we’re AIDS-ridden and trying to infect all our customers.”

“They don’t actually say you’ve got AIDS.”

“As good as,” Wig said.