Son of Heaven (11 page)

Jake raised a hand. ‘Enough… I don’t want to know.’

Only he did. He wanted to ask Tom why. He’d thought Tom was happy with Mary. He’d thought…

Fuck. What
had
he thought? That Tom was some kind of saint?

‘Christ,’ he said softly, imagining it now. ‘That must have been hard. Telling Mary...’

Tom’s eyes were desolate, recalling it. ‘Worst thing I’ve ever had to do. Broke her heart…’

‘But she forgave you?’

Tom’s smile was wintry. ‘Yeah. But things ain’t the same, Jake. They just ain’t the same…’

Jake looked away, his thoughts in turmoil. So
that
was why. He’d thought it odd. But he would never have guessed. Not in a million years.

‘Let’s find that stall,’ he said, gently taking his old friend’s arm, seeing how frail he looked after his confession. ‘And no word of this when we get back,
okay?’

‘Okay,’ Tom echoed; but there was something in his face now that spoke of a deeper, more grievous wound than the one he’d sustained in the ambush – something that Jake
completely failed to see, being so tied up in his own thoughts as he was. Something which ate away at the older man. Something unshared.

A secret.

For the moment, however, things were all right. Back on an even keel.

For the moment.

The undercover market was a big space just off the Maumsbury Road, a sprawling, noisy place of several hundred stalls which, on market days, was one great bustle of activity.
One could buy almost anything beneath its awnings. Anything that was still being made or grown, that was. And even some of the old stuff, from before the Collapse, was still available, at a price.
There were specialty stalls, like those that sold CDs and records, and others that specialized in books and magazines from the old times. There were stalls that sold leather goods – belts and
jackets, harnesses and saddlebags. There were others that sold household chemicals – rat poison and detergent, as well as soap and shampoo. Two or three stalls sold home-made sweets, while a
good half dozen were stacked high with vegetables of every description. Fruit and clothes, candles, tyres and spectacles, blankets, wallpaper, clocks and watches, seeds, toys and sewing materials
– all were sold beneath the market’s brightly striped awnings, along with knives and swords, writing paper and pens. There were even two stalls piled high with broken machinery, for
those seeking spare parts. In shops nearby guns and ammunition were available, along with liquor and wine and cider. One could buy a strong pair of boots or some delicate, elegant shoes. Tapes,
cassettes and videos could be found too, on a stall which flew a banner reading ‘Overtaken Technologies Inc.’. Paint and jewellery, hats and football memorabilia, all were on sale,
while at two adjacent stalls at the very centre of it all, a small crowd queued for haircuts and basic dentistry.

Right now, however, Jake and Tom were looking at the wares on the trinket stall, run by a young woman with a lazy eye, Becky. She was busy, helping them choose their purchases.

‘Now that’s a lovely one,’ she said, her rich Dorset accent rounding off every word. ‘A real bargain, especially in these times. Look at the engravin’ on it!
An’ it’s real silver. Look, there’s the mark.’

Tom studied the leaf-shaped brooch a moment, then looked to Jake. ‘What d’you think, Jake? D’you think she’d like it?’

‘I think she’d love it. Only can you afford it?’

Tom took a long breath. He’d already selected necklaces for his three girls. This last purchase was for Mary, and in light of his recent confession, Jake could see why he took so long to
choose. He wanted to get this right.

‘No discount for bulk purchases, then, Becky?’ Jake asked, winking at her.

Becky was a buxom lass with a fine figure, and but for her ‘funny eye’ she’d have been snapped up by some local male long ago. As it was, however, she would probably never
marry.

‘I wish I could,’ she said, blushing now. ‘But the price of silver has soared, I tell you gennelmen. ’Ard times are comin’.’

‘Not by just a couple of crowns, my sweetheart?’

He could see his flattery was slowly winning her over.

‘I tell you what,’ she said, reaching under the stall and bringing out an old black leather briefcase. ‘You were sayin’ you was lookin’ for a ring… for your
boy… Well, I’ve a few nice ’uns here.’ She snapped the case open and laid it out before Jake. ‘You give me my price for the brooch and the rest of it, and I’ll
take a coupla crowns off the price of the ring. And you gennelmen can sort it out between you.’

Jake was about to say something, but at that very moment he saw it.

‘That one,’ he said, pointing to a simple gold band at the top left of the black velvet-backed display. ‘That’s the one.’

Becky plucked the ring from the display and handed it across.

Jake studied it a moment, then looked to Tom. ‘What d’you think?’

‘It’s nice. But a bit small for Pete-ie, wouldn’t you say?’

Jake looked to his friend and laughed. ‘It isn’t for Peter. Least ways, it’s not him’ll be wearing it.’

Tom looked blankly back at him, and then he clicked. ‘Oh… you mean for Meg?’

Jake nodded slowly.

Tom’s eyes widened, understanding flooding them. ‘You think…?’

‘I know. Least, with your permission.’

Tom laughed, but he was looking very serious now. He turned, facing Jake fully. ‘I think it’s a very good ring, Jake, my dearest friend, and I’d like it very much if your son
were to be my daughter’s partner in life. I think…’

A tear rolled down Tom’s cheek. ‘Fuck it, Jake. You know what? I can’t think of
anyone
I’d rather she were with.’

‘You don’t think he’s too young, then?’

‘Too young?’ Tom shook his head, then wiped away another tear. ‘No, Jake. Not at all. You
know
, you see. It don’t matter how young or old you are. You just
know.’

Jake grinned. ‘Then let’s settle up and go and find the others. Maybe have a wee drink or two to celebrate, eh?’

Jake turned back, looking to Becky, who seemed dewy-eyed at the prospect of one of her rings being the occasion for such happiness.

‘Becks, love, you’ve got your price! It’s a deal!’

And, reaching across, he drew her closer and gave her a kiss on the cheek that made her blush furiously.

‘It’s my pleasure,’ she said, looking at Jake wistfully as Tom handed over payment. ‘Any time, gennelmen… any time…’

Peter was chopping wood out back, when Meg came running up. Seeing her, Boy jumped up and bounded over to her.

‘Hey, Boy,’ she said, kneeling down to stroke him vigorously, the way he liked it. She looked to Peter and smiled.

‘You’ll never guess what…’

Peter stood a log on its end then looked to her. ‘What?’

‘I overheard some’at Ma was sayin’.’

‘Oh yeah?’

He swung the axe, cleaving the log in two. Boy barked, as if applauding.

‘Yeah… seems as Jack Hamilton is lookin’ fer a wife.’

‘A wife?’ He stood up another log, but he was grinning now. ‘Go on…’

‘Yeah… Seems he gave your dad a purse to go purchase ’im a bride in Dorchester.’

Peter had been about to swing the axe, but he stopped, staring now at Meg.

‘Buy a wife?’

‘Yeah… one who can cook and clean rooms and serve ale at the bar.’

‘A skivvy, you mean?’ And he brought the axe down hard, making the two halves of the wood fly up into the air. Boy barked again.

‘Well,
I
think it’s romantic. Even if ’e is in ’is sixties and ’e’s ’avin’ to pay. ’E’s been far too long on ’is
own.’

Peter glanced at her, trying to see if she was somehow alluding to his father, but her words didn’t seem to have any hidden meaning. He set up another log.

‘Mind,’ she said, coming over and placing a hand on his bare arm, ‘it does make you wonder…’

‘About what?’

‘Well… say you had to buy me… what kind of price would you pay? How deep would you dig in your pocket to have me?’

He stared at her, stunned by the words. She laughed, then squeezed his arm. ‘I’m only kiddin’.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah…’ Meg walked over to the wall and stood there, looking out across the fields. ‘I mean… money’s important, but…’ She shrugged, then turned
and grinned at him. ‘You know what? If I were someone else… you know, a young girl, without no prospects and livin’ in some awful town like Dor -chester… well… I
think I might just jump at the chance, even tho’ ’e’s old.’

‘Would you?’ Peter looked crestfallen now.

‘No, silly. I don’t mean me. I mean… Oh, now you’ve got a face on. I knew I shouldn’t ’ave told you.’

He set the axe down and stood up straight. ‘Ask me again.’

‘What?’

‘Go on. Ask me again how much I’d pay for you.’

Meg frowned, then, with a shrug, asked him again.

This time he didn’t hesitate. This time he said it clearly and not just in his head.

‘Every penny I had, Meg Hubbard. Every last penny I had.’

Jake could have murdered a pint when they got back, but their drink had to wait. Ted Gifford was waiting for them by the door, and he had bad news.

‘It’s gone mad, Tom. Totally fuckin’ mad!’

‘What d’you mean?’

Tom sat on the nearby bench. He looked exhausted.

‘I mean the price o’ things has gone through the roof. We managed to get a bit more for our own load, but nothin’ like enough. We’ve no option, Tom. We’re going to
’ave to borrow some money from somewhere.’

Tom leaned forward. For a moment he closed his eyes, then he looked up at Ted again. ‘How much d’you think we need?’

‘I dunno. A coupla hundred crowns… three hundred, maybe? Heating oil alone has trebled in price. As for clips and cartridges…’

‘You’ve been to Hardy’s gunshop?’ Jake asked.

Ted nodded. ‘Frank went. Says it’s absurd what they’re askin’!’

Jake sighed heavily. ‘Three hundred? Even if we could get someone to lend us that kind of sum, we’ll be bankrupt in a month or two at this rate. Is there no way we can make
cutbacks?’

‘We’ve done that. You must have seen how things are.’

Jake hadn’t, but he understood what was happening. In times of trouble, essentials, those things that people
had
to have, went up in value sharply, especially if someone was
hoarding them, while luxuries, those things that were desired only when money was plentiful and people could afford them, went down. Most of the stalls he and Tom had visited – Becky’s
apart, for gold and silver nearly always held its value – were selling luxuries of a kind, and so wouldn’t really have been affected much.

Jake sat down. ‘What d’you think, Tom? Should we ask old Harry? Or maybe Liam, at the stables.’

‘You think either of them can spare that kind of money?’

‘I dunno. But it won’t harm to ask. They know we’ll pay ’em back. We’re old friends, after all, and we’ve been coming to them the best part of twenty years
now.’

‘Then ask.’

Only he could sense, behind Tom’s words, that Tom didn’t like the idea. He didn’t like the thought of throwing himself on someone else’s mercy, even if it was only short
term. He’d rather not buy at all than borrow to buy.

Tom looked to him. ‘I could take back the things we bought…’

Jake was uncompromising. ‘No. You won’t.’

‘But we’ve got to have ammunition, Jake. We’ve got to be able to defend ourselves.’

‘Then we buy some.’

‘But…’

‘No buts, Tom. I’ll go see Harry now. He’s probably in the back bar. What I’ll do is ask Harry for half of it, and Liam for the rest. That way neither man’s too
stretched. Besides, I’ll make it worth their while. I’ll give ’em ten crowns interest apiece. That’s not a bad return, I’d say, and I can bring it back myself, three
days from now.’

‘But, Jake…’

‘No arguments. It’s done. As for you, Tom Hubbard, you need to stretch out on a nice soft bed.’ Jake looked to Gifford. ‘Ted… give me a hand, won’t
you?’

Only Jake didn’t plan to go and see Harry, nor Liam either, come to that. He’d had an idea. Not one that was guaranteed to work, by any means, but he was going to try it anyhow.

‘Give me half an hour,’ he said to Ted Gifford, once they’d got Tom settled. ‘If I don’t have the money by then, then we’ll find some other way of raising it.
I’ll meet you outside Hardy’s, okay?’

‘Okay…’ But Ted hesitated. Jake could sense he wanted to say something.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘What’s goin’ on here,
that’s
what’s wrong. I can’t help thinkin’… well,
feelin
’ rather… like this is ’ow it
felt first time roun’. You know… when it all fell apart. Only… what’s left to fall apart? We’re down to basics as is. So why’s things gone
’aywire?’

‘I don’t know, to be honest. Scarcity of goods is driving some of it, but I don’t know why that should be. There was plenty last month. Maybe Branagh’s hoarding stuff.
He’s certainly put up all the fees.’

‘I never trusted that bastard.’

‘Nor I… But look… let’s just deal with this right now, eh? Let’s get our stuff and get back home, and worry about the rest of it later.’

Jake, too, was worried now. Walking through the crowded space, he kept on seeing that same concern in every face. Normally amiable people were bickering now, arguing over the
slightest little thing. In the past this had been a pleasant place to do business. There had been laughter and a lot of good-natured banter, but now there was a tetchiness about people. He could
see it in the way they spoke to each other. More than once, as he passed by a stall, he would find buyer and seller locked in a bitter, irritable exchange. There was a lot of gesturing and
shouting, too. ‘Fuck you!’ one of them would say, giving the finger, and they’d be off again, the babble of angry voices seeming to grow as Jake got deeper in. None of it came to
blows – Branagh’s men, who were out in force, saw to that – yet there was a simmering anger that could easily have spilled over into violence.

What made it worse, as far as Jake was concerned, was that no one seemed conscious of it. It was like they were all too preoccupied to notice. He stood there a moment, looking about him, feeling
for that instant like the sole still point amidst a swirling mass of humanity. He saw how people were going about their business, saw the urgency with which they made their way from stall to stall,
like tomorrow was the end of the world and they were all stocking up against it. There was an air of desperation mixed with panic, the kind that happens sometimes when no one knows clearly just
what’s going on, only that disaster is imminent.