That Summer He Died (17 page)

A large chest freezer, stacked with ice-creams, stood wedged up against the wall in one corner. Next to it was a wooden stand, displaying box upon box of home-made fudge. At the centre of each of the tables stood a glass jar with zebra-striped sticks of rock protruding from its rim. James knew without taking a closer look that the word ‘Grancombe’ would be printed through them. The ceilings, like the door, were low, and James had to stoop to avoid knocking his head against the beams as he crossed the room.

It was fairly quiet. Still it was early. Not even noon. And recent circumstances were probably just as much to blame. A family of four, who James recognised from the train, sat at one table, slopping fried breakfasts into their mouths. One of the kids looked up at him and opened his mouth, showing off some half-chewed bacon and egg, before collapsing into a fit of giggles and starting to choke.

Two teenage girls at another table watched James idly over the top of their drinks as he walked the last few paces to the bar. Alex was sitting on a stool and James drew another one up beside him and sat down. The acrid odour of spilt beer and stale cigarette smoke weighed heavy in the air. He looked at the varnished flagstones beneath his feet. In the yellow light caused by the sun straining through the drawn curtains they looked wet, like some drunk had relieved himself at the bar.

‘Service in here sucks,’ Alex said, leaning forward over the empty bar and craning his neck in the direction of the door which led to the back of the building. ‘Will,’ he shouted, banging his fist on the bar counter. ‘D’you want us to serve ourselves, or what?’

‘All right,’ a deep voice came back. ‘Hold your bloody horses. I’m coming.’

Alex winked at James. ‘Warning: Will’s one big fucked-up bastard.’

A figure stumbled through the doorway behind the bar. Alex hadn’t been kidding. Will was big, maybe six foot five. Fat with it too. A girth like a pregnant whale. Breasts that a stripper would have killed for. A thick red beard covered his jaw and throat. His lurching momentum carried him halfway over the bar, where he finally slumped to a halt. He fixed Alex with scrunched-up, piggy eyes.

‘Young Mr Howley,’ he said. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while. Didn’t think my pub was your kind of place.’

Alex smiled tolerantly. ‘Fancied a change.’

Will snorted. ‘Did you fuck! Only place that’s open, more like.’

‘Whatever.’

‘D’you go to the funeral, then?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good, was it?’ He grinned broadly. ‘Good entertainment had by all?’

Alex humoured him: ‘Yeah, Will, a laugh a minute.’

‘Yeah? Maybe I should’ve gone after all. Livened things up a bit more. Been laughing since I heard what happened to him. Better off dead, that one. Best news I’ve had in ages.’ He nodded in agreement with himself, then his eyes narrowed and he asked, ‘Many people there?’

‘Most of the town.’

‘Stupid bastards.’ He looked bitterly round the sparsely populated room. ‘Dawes is probably laughing at them all from the grave. Turned the place into a ghost town, hasn’t he? Scared half the tourists off.’

‘Yeah, now how about that drink?’

‘What you having?’

‘Dunno,’ Alex said, scrutinising the beer taps on show. ‘None of the crap you sell the tourists, that’s for sure. . .’

‘You saying my home brew’s bollocks, are you?’

Alex ignored the question. ‘Give me a Stella,’ he said.

Will turned on James. ‘You?’ he asked, his breath almost flammable with alcohol fumes.

‘The same.’

Will pulled a couple of pint glasses down from the shelf above the bar and slid one under the Stella tap, flicked the handle. ‘Any news on who done the good deed?’ he said, tilting the glass as it filled.

Alex shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Shame.’ His grin returning, Will finished pouring and put the two pints before Alex and James. ‘You find out who done it, you send them here. I’d like to buy whoever it was a drink. Congratulate them on a job well done.’

Alex handed over some cash, didn’t wait for the change.

‘Come on,’ he said to James, ‘let’s grab a pew.’

‘Howley!’ Will called after him.

Alex stopped and turned. ‘What?’

Will was holding a full shot glass to his lips. ‘Cut his hands off, didn’t they?’

‘Yeah.’

Will downed the shot, and gasped, ‘Someone should’ve done that years back. Might have stopped him putting them places they didn’t belong.’

Alex tapped his finger against the side of his head. ‘Seek medical help,’ he muttered, turning round and walking to a table in the corner.

James joined him and sat down.

‘Not bitter, then,’ he said.

‘Psycho,’ Alex agreed. ‘Used to be a nice guy, before all that stuff with Dawes and his wife. Kind of tipped him over the edge. Almost understandable, you know.’

‘Suppose so.’

‘Yeah, and he’s doubly pissed off ’cos Murphy had him in for questioning. Had him down as a suspect.’

James sipped at his beer. ‘Not surprising, if he’s been going on like he did just now.’ He watched Will for a few moments. He was refilling his glass, staring down at the bar counter, the animation of the previous few minutes totally absent now. ‘You reckon he might have done it?’

‘Who knows?’ Alex said. ‘It could have been anyone.’

‘Even you,’ James said.

Alex slowly shook his head. ‘Me and Dan are just about the only people who couldn’t have done it.’

‘Yeah? Says who?’

‘We weren’t here, were we?’ Alex pointed out. ‘Only got back from holiday the day you got here. And Dawes was wasted two days before we found him. Reckon that puts us totally in the clear.’

‘Guess that puts me in the clear as well, then.’

Alex smiled. ‘Guess it does.’

‘So, where did you go on holiday?’

‘Majorca.’ Alex surveyed his forearm, rolled his wrist to emphasise its contrast with the milky skin on his underarm.

‘It’s hot here, sure, but you don’t get a golden brown like this in Britain. No matter how much time you spend squatting on the beach.’

‘Did you go with your folks?’

He sneered. ‘Nah, you wouldn’t get my mum out of Grancombe when it’s high season. Not if you used a cattle-prod. Too much money to be made. She runs a B&B in Clarnton Street.’

‘What about your dad?’

‘Dead.’ James was about to speak when Alex continued, ‘Might as well be anyhow. Sorry son-of-a-bitch. The old girl left him when I was eight. Used to beat her. Me too, she says. When he was drunk, which was any day with a Y in it, the way she tells it. Only I don’t remember it too good any more. Don’t remember what he looked like, even.’ Alex fell silent for a few seconds. ‘What about you?’ he asked, then smiled. ‘Let me guess. Nice middle-class mum and dad. A brother or a sister. Nuclear family. Patio and barbecue in the back garden. Volvo estate and a dog called Rover. Getting warm?’

‘No.’

‘Not even close?’

‘Not even on the same continent.’ Alex was waiting for him to speak, so James told him, ‘They died in Cyprus. My parents. Two years ago. Road accident. No brothers and sisters.’

‘Fuck.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘On your own, then?’

‘Yeah, apart from Alan.’

Alex’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.’

‘Look,’ James said, ‘if it’s OK with you, let’s just leave it. Talk about something else, you know. It’s not something I’m good with.’

‘OK, whatever you—’

‘ Excuse me.’

They looked up. One of the teenage girls was standing over them. She was medium height, more scrawny than slim. Her long fawn hair hung unkempt, streaked unevenly with bleach. Up close, her face was pasty, her eyes tired, like she’d only just got out of bed.

‘What?’ Alex said.

The girl shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. ‘I don’t want to go butting in. . .’

‘You already have,’ Alex said.

‘Sorry. It’s just I heard the barman calling after you. You’re Alex Howley, aren’t you?’

‘Maybe.’

The girl looked confused for a second, then collected herself, smiled. ‘You know a friend of mine. Christine.’

Alex shook his head, lit a cigarette, and looked her up and down.

‘She met you at Bar Tab a couple of nights ago,’ the girl went on. ‘Said you sorted her out.’

Alex sipped at his beer. ‘Did she now?’

She glanced over at her friend, then back at Alex. ‘Christine said you might be able to sort us out as well.’

‘That a fact?’ Alex said, craning his neck forward and checking the other girl out.

‘I don’t know. Is it?’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Hazel.’

‘You got money?’

‘Yeah. Some.’

Alex nodded. ‘OK. What d’you need?’

‘Ketamine. A few pills.’

‘Well, well,’ Alex said, looking her over more closely this time. ‘Sounds like you’re planning yourself a little party. Can anyone come?’

The girl giggled. ‘When can you get it for us?’

Alex examined her body again, settled on her face. ‘How old are you?’

She glanced at Will, watching them from behind the bar.

‘Nineteen,’ she hazarded.

Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘Crap.’

She leant in closer. James could smell her perfume now. He tried not to stare too obviously at the dark line of her cleavage.

‘OK,’ she said quietly, ‘seventeen, but so what, eh?’

‘Depends,’ said Alex.

‘On what?’

‘On who you’re down here with. I’m not fixing you up if you’re with your parents. Too much grief. You get too fucked up and they’ll end up squealing to the pigs.’

‘Do I look like I’m into family holidays?’ He didn’t answer, so she did. ‘Well, I’m not, OK? There’s just the two of us.’

‘Tell you what,’ Alex said. ‘Why don’t you tell me where you’re staying and I’ll come round in a bit?’

‘Brock Wood Caravan Site,’ she said. ‘Number sixteen.’ She raised a studded eyebrow. ‘See you there, then. When? About an hour?’

‘Sure. Or maybe sooner. I may even bring you up a few beers as a treat. . .’

The girl looked Alex over again. James, too, taking in his suit. ‘Yeah, OK,’ she said. ‘Why the fuck not? See you in a bit,’ she added, then walked back to her table.

‘You up for it?’ Alex asked once she was out of earshot.

‘What, pills?’ James frowned. ‘A bit bloody early, isn’t it?’

‘Nah, them. . .’

‘The girls?’

‘Yeah. You heard. She as good as said she was up for it.’

‘Your memory’s a little different from mine.’

‘All right,’ Alex said,’ she didn’t actually say it, but she thought it. And not just about me either. You saw the way she was looking at you. In fact, fuck it, they’re looking over now.’

James took a drink, surreptitiously checked out the girls over the top of his glass. Hazel’s friend was staring at him. Enough make-up for a drag queen. Face round and flat, like she’d run into a wall. They looked into one another’s eyes for a second, and then he broke the connection. Lowering his glass, he turned back to Alex.

‘They’re pretty grim,’ he said.

‘Grim, pretty, makes no difference. Passes the time, doesn’t it? They’re all right. Enough to make your dick go north and your balls go boom. What more d’you want?’

‘See you in a bit,’ Hazel said, as she walked past on the way to the door.

‘’Bye,’ her friend said to James.

When they’d gone, Alex laughed. He removed his cigarette from between his lips, revealing the extent of his smile.

‘You’re up for it, all right,’ he said ‘If your eyes were teeth, they would’ve bitten her arse clean off.’

James didn’t reply for a couple of seconds, then admitted, ‘Her body’s all right.’

‘But?’

‘But I don’t know,’ he said. ‘The whole thing. . . going back to theirs without even knowing them, it all seems so businesslike. . . all wrong.’

‘So?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, it’s just the drugs they’re after really, isn’t it? Not us.’

‘I’m not talking about marrying them, James. Just having a bit of fun with them. Who cares what they’re into us for, just so long as they’re in?’

‘I suppose,’ James said, but at the same time he still felt uncomfortable. He thought of Suzie. He wondered what she’d say if she could hear Alex now. She’d be appalled, he reckoned.

‘No different drugs bringing them our way than it would be them chatting us up because we had a fast car or smooth clothes,’ Alex said. ‘Jesus, no different to them liking our aftershave. Remember, it was them that came to us, not the other way round.’

Is it really that easy? James was thinking, staring now into Alex’s eyes. If you forgot all that stuff about dating and relationships and emotion, was this really all that was left? The ability to sell, buy and take whatever and whoever you chose?

Alex flipped his shades onto his brow. ‘You’ve not got a girlfriend back home, have you? You’re not some kind of commitment junkie?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Because there are way too many willing women out there to settle on being with just one.’

James felt his resolve weakening, like a pill dissolving in the flow of Alex’s words. Everything seemed clear when he spoke. Answers to all questions. Explanations for all doubts. He was a born salesman. Drugs. Ideas. It didn’t matter. His approach was the same: if you had a problem, he had the cure. But still something nagged at James.

‘What about the others?’ he asked. Alex frowned, so James went on, ‘The people from the funeral.’

‘Let them find their own girls,’ Alex said, his eyes sparking.

James smiled, despite himself. ‘I don’t mean that. Alan said they were all heading for the Moonraker afterwards for a drink.’

‘So let them. They’re hardly gonna miss us, are they? You saw how many people were there. Don’t reckon half of them will squeeze into the ’Raker.’

‘Suppose not.’

James thought again of Suzie and how she’d said her parents ran the Moonraker. He’d looked for her at St Donal’s, but hadn’t managed to pluck her face from the crowd. He’d thought about her as well the night before, as he’d been lying there in bed, unable to sleep, unable to look out of the window into the woods without thinking that somewhere out there, breathing in the shadows, was the person who’d done that sick stuff to Dawes. And today, at the funeral, even though he’d failed to locate her, the thought that she might have been there, similarly scanning the crowd for him, maybe even watching him, had kept his mind focused, distracted him from imagining the contents of the coffin.