Son of Heaven (12 page)

Which made it all so much more of a mystery, for as yet he’d not heard a word of rumour that made sense.

Right now, however, he had something to do; something which, if it worked, might kill two birds with a single metaphoric stone.

Becky looked up as he stepped in front of the stall, her vaguely troubled look becoming a beaming smile as she saw who it was.

‘Jake! ’Ow lovely to see you again. You come to buy something else?’

‘You could say that…’ He hesitated, then, ‘Look… I know this is asking a lot, but could you close up for half an hour? I need to talk. I… well, I thought
we might go to a tavern… somewhere quiet, and have a word or two.’

She looked surprised.

‘I dunno… half an hour…’

‘I’ll pay you. Pay you well.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘I ’ope you don’t think…’

He put his hands up defensively. ‘It’s nothing like that. But I do have a proposal for you. One I think you might find to your advantage…’

‘Yeah?’ But he could see she was intrigued. ‘Okay. ’Alf an hour. But you pay me ten crowns for loss of trade.’

Jake smiled. ‘Sure.’ And as he said it, he wondered what would catch Jack Hamilton’s attention most, that disconcertingly lazy eye of hers, or her voluptuous figure. Either
way, both he and she could do much worse, and she would be her own mistress still.

He watched her as she covered things over, then got her neighbouring stallholder to keep watch for her. Then, and only then, did she come round to him, smiling and taking his arm.

‘All right, Jake. Let’s go and ’ave that talk,’ she said, pressing against his side. ‘You got me right puzzled, you know that?’

‘I know,’ he said and grinned, knowing in that second, for a certainty, what her answer would be.

Ted was waiting where he said he’d be, outside Hardy’s gun shop at the southern end of the market, Frank Goodman, Eddie, Dick and the rest in tow.

‘Did you get the money?’

‘I got two-ninety of it.’ And he handed over the big leather money pouch Jack Hamilton had given him at Wareham.

‘But that’s…’

‘Ours, till we see Jack again. I got him a bride, like he asked, and for free. She’ll be travelling back with us. In the meantime we’re going to use our good friend’s
money to buy what we need. We can pay him back when we next see him.’

They were staring at him now, wide-eyed.

‘A bride?’ Ted asked. ‘For
nothing
?’

But Jake wasn’t going to be drawn. ‘You’ll see. Now let’s get what we came for. Frank… take one-eighty of it. That should be enough, don’t you
think?’

‘It’ll do,’ Goodman said, turning to Ted, who had begun to count the money out.

‘What else are we lacking?’

‘We need some spectacles for Ginny Harris…’

‘And boots for young Sam Webber…’

‘We could do with some more seed…’

‘And scissors…’

Jake raised a hand. ‘Okay. Let’s make up a new list. Prioritize. There’s things we have to have. Seed, yes. Candles… Petrol for the generator… what
else?’

And just like that their anxiety was gone.

‘I’ve never seen them like it,’ he told Tom, two hours later, when he was back at the inn, sitting at Tom’s bedside. ‘That one small thing – that sudden rise
in prices – and it was like their whole world had been undermined.’

‘Yes, but it’s not just that,’ Tom said. ‘It’s a feeling in the air. We’ve both had it, I know, these past few weeks. Only here… well…
it’s heightened, I guess.’

Jake nodded. ‘You’re not joking. It’s like some form of mass hysteria. I just hope it blows over. Winter’s coming and hopefully that’ll put a lid on things for a
while. And then maybe, in the spring, we’ll feel differently.’

‘We’ve had it easy for too long,’ Tom said quietly.

‘You think? It’s felt like it’s been hard to me.’

Tom chuckled. ‘Then you’ve a bloody short memory, Jake Reed.’

‘Yeah?’

Jake looked around the room. As ever at market times, the landlord, Harry Mason, had crammed six beds into the room, to take advantage of demand. Tom’s was pressed up against the wall,
beneath the casement window. From outside came the noise of the market. It would be closing in two hours.

Jake got to his feet, then, for want of something to do, leaned across Tom and felt his brow. It was hot, but not feverish. And his colour looked better than it had been.

‘I’m going to ask that doctor if he’ll come.’

‘What’s the point? We’ll be back home tomorrow evening.’

‘Yes, and when you are, Mary can fuss over you as much as she likes. Until then,
I’m
in charge. And
I
want the doctor to look at you again.’

Tom seemed agitated suddenly.

‘No, Jake. It’s a waste of money, and money’s tight right now. I’m fine, really I am.’

‘I don’t care. He’s going to look at you, and that’s that.’

‘Jake…’

‘I’ll send the pot boy to get him. Not now, but later. Last thing. Maybe he can give you something to help you sleep.’

Tom tried to get up, but he was clearly weaker than he thought.

‘Jake…’

‘What?’

‘All right… send for the doctor if you must… but I want to come down for a bit. I want to sit with you all, in the bar. I don’t want to be up here all night, on my
own.’

Jake would have said no, that Tom had to get his rest, but he could see that this meant something.

‘All right. For an hour or so… but that’s all.’

Tom smiled. ‘Thanks. Now you can go.’

‘Well, thank you.’

In the doorway, Jake turned, looking back into the room. Tom had closed his eyes. He looked peaceful now, in the last light of the day, but his injury had clearly exhausted him. He had always
been such a strong man, a great oak of a man, but now he seemed drawn, almost frail.

We’re too fucking old for this, Jake thought, stepping out into the hallway. Worn out too bloody soon.

They and the world they lived in.

He stepped outside, then went back beneath the awnings, walking among the stalls, knowing that he had one last task to perform. He had promised Josh he’d find him something. One last gem
to add to his collection. Only as he made his way through the press of bodies, Jake found himself thinking not about that, but about Tom and what had happened last time they’d been here. Had
he
really
had unprotected sex with a girl? It was hard to believe, knowing Tom, because Tom was always so cautious, so…
reliable
. Not only that, but he couldn’t think
when Tom might have found the time, for they’d been together almost constantly.

And yet he must have.

Rory’s Record Shack was where it always was, tucked away in the darkest corner of the market, between a stall that sold buttons and another that sold picture frames and scented
candles.

Rory himself was a big, black-bearded man who wore black leather from another age. He grinned as he saw who it was, then addressed him in his broad South London dialect.

‘Jake, me old mucker… it’s good to see you.’

They shook hands warmly.

‘You got anything for me?’

Rory’s smile broadened. ‘I was hoping you’d show. You want something for Josh, I take it?’

Years ago Rory had called in to the Bankes Arms when he’d been passing and had sworn he’d never seen a better collection than Josh’s. He knew what the old man liked.

‘I said I’d try and find him something special.’

‘Then you’ve come to the right place, my friend. Here…’ And he reached beneath the counter and handed across an old vinyl record, in its polythene-protected cover.
‘I guess he might have it, but…’

‘No!’ Jake said quietly, looking at the cover of the album with pure delight. ‘Jesus, Rory, where the fuck did you get hold of this? It’s priceless!’

‘I know. Some kid brought it to me. Didn’t know its worth. Said he found it, but I reckon he half-inched it, meself.’

But Jake was only half listening. He was looking at the grainy black and white image that filled the twelve by twelve cover. Five young men were coming down a set of stairs, next to an old
street telephone box, while to the right of the cover a big sign on the window of a cheap motel read ‘$6 a night’. He flipped it over. There, on the back, was the band’s drummer,
Ed Cassidy, his hand raised in peace, his distinctive bald head made yet more anonymous by a pair of dark glasses. Behind him was what appeared to be a wasteland.

Josh had been looking for this for years. And here it was. West Coast rock at its very finest.

He looked to Rory. ‘What are you asking?’

‘I’m not asking anything. It’s a present. For Josh. You two have been good customers over the years. Fuckin’ fine gentlemen the pair of you. But now it’s time to
move on. I’m off to Cornwall once I’ve packed up here, so if there’s anything else you fancy, you can have it half price. Closing down sale. One day only.’

And he laughed again, a warm, kindly laugh that was so unlike anything Jake had heard all day, that he found himself joining in.

‘Shit, Rory,’ he said, holding the album against him carefully. ‘Josh is going to wet himself when he sees this. Are you sure?’

Rory grinned. ‘Sure as sure and a bit more sure after that. He can put it in with Quicksilver, the Dead, Airplane and the rest. I’d play it for you now, only I don’t want to
risk scratching it.’

‘No… You got any punk?’

‘Late seventies punk or late twenties?’

‘The real stuff.’

‘’Fraid not. Had a Vapors single, but it went. Got ten crowns for it.’

‘Then you’re lucky.’

‘Yeah…’ Rory’s smile faded. ‘Looks like the shit’s hit the fan at last.’

‘Yeah…’ Only that was too morbid. Jake looked at the cover again. Josh had some of the other Spirit albums,
Clear
and
Twelve Dreams
, but this was the band at
their best.

‘
The Family That Plays Together
… it’s a great title, don’t you think?’

Rory grinned again. ‘Not bad. My favourite is
Bless Its Pointed Little Head
, by the Airplane. Not that I’ve ever seen a copy…’

‘Hey… you want to come and join us for a drink tonight?’

Rory shrugged apologetically. ‘I’d love to, only I’ve got to get packed up and on my way. I’m meeting my daughter down Helston way.’

‘You’ve got a daughter?’ All these years and he’d never known that.

‘Yeah… Roxanne. Fuckin’ awful choice of name, I know, but blame her mother. She’s twenty in a month or so. Lovely girl. Wants me to go and live with her… now that
her mother’s dead.’

‘Oh…’ Jake stared at the man, surprised. How long had they known each other? Fifteen years? And they’d never had a proper conversation. It had always been about music.
Nothing but the music.

Jake came away with two more items: a CD of JakPak’s first album,
Suture
, from ’27, and an old vinyl single of ‘Glad It’s All Over’ by Captain Sensible,
which he’d bought partly as a joke – to give to Josh.

On his way back to the inn he ran into Frank Goodman.

‘Jake…’

‘Frank… everything okay?’

Goodman nodded. ‘The main load’s stowed on the wagons and locked into the stall for the night. I just came out to see if I could find any last minute bargains.’

‘What’re you looking for?’

‘Something for the missus. A bracelet, maybe.’

‘Then go see Becky… or rather, let Becky sort you out. I reckon as she’ll give you a good deal if you say you’re with me.’

‘Yeah?’ Goodman almost smiled. ‘Point me in her direction, Jake, and I’ll see what she can do…’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve only got seven crowns
left… d’you think that’ll be enough?’

‘It’ll be plenty. Now get going. I’ll see you back at Harry’s…’

After checking on Tom, Jake got washed and changed, then went downstairs. The bar was already packed out, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the heavy buzz of
conversation.

Jake hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was feeling famished. They had paid Harry up front for bed and board, so if he wanted anything, it was just a question of him ordering from the menu.
But they’d not paid for their beer, and with things having soared in price, he knew that finding beer money would be difficult. Taking Harry aside, he asked if they could have a slate this
once.

Harry’s momentary hesitation spoke volumes. Jake clearly wasn’t the first to ask.

‘All right,’ he said, nodding. ‘You’re good customers o’ mine. But I want payment within a week, right?’

‘A week?’ Jake considered that, then, ‘Done!’

The two men spat on their hands and shook.

Just like in the film
, Jake thought, watching as one of Harry’s girls, Jessie, poured him a foaming pint of Best.

Ted Gifford and a few of the others had taken one of the big tables on the far side of the bar. Jake made his way over.

‘Room for a little ’un?’

Tankards and glasses were raised to welcome him. Someone shifted a little and Jake squeezed in, between Dick and Ted’s old pal, Brian Leggat, from Abbotsbury.

Talk was of how expensive things were, and of the latest rumours coming down the road. Everyone was in the same boat when it came to the price of things. There’d been no warning, and a lot
of them had been left short.

‘God knows ’ow we’ll manage next time roun’,’ Dick Cooke, who came from Cerne Abbas, said. ‘As it is I’ve only ’arf o’ what I meant to get.
An’ if this winter’s a bad un’…’

It was a fear they all had. That they’d be without essentials over the winter months.

‘The price o’ vaccines…’

‘Couldn’t buy one for love or money…’

‘Gonna have to chop a fucking heap o’ wood to get us through…’

‘The cost of fuckin’ salt…
unbelievable
!’

And so it went. But Jake kept his silence. He’d seen what was going on. What he wanted to know was why, and none of his friends, concerned as they were by the situation, could answer
him.

‘So…’ Eddie said, turning to face him. ‘Where’s old Jack’s bride, then? I thought she was comin’ back with us.’

‘And so she is. But she’s got to get packed and ready.’

‘A local girl, then?’

‘She is.’

Ted Gifford groaned at that. ‘Fer fuck’s sake, Jake… tell us… I can’t stand the suspense no more.’