That Summer He Died (9 page)

‘There are laws against littering, you know,’ she said, moving forward and bending down to pick up the debris.

James walked over and crouched down next to her, collected the remaining pieces and placed them in the palm of her hand. ‘So you’re Suzie, right?’

‘So you must have asked?’ Said with a twinkle in her eyes.

He felt himself blushing and tried to hide it by rubbing at his no longer sleepy eyes. He turned to see her pushing her fringe away from her face. A brief silence blossomed between them. He fought the urge to walk away.

‘And you really own this place?’ he said.

‘Well, strictly speaking, the bank owns most of it.’

‘Still. . . it’s impressive,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’

They stared into one another’s eyes for a second more than was comfortable. James felt his gut lurch, like he’d just driven over a speed bump at sixty miles an hour. She was beautiful. Just looking at her, he could see the years multiplying before him, carrying him from first kiss to full-blown love. He slammed on the brakes. What was he playing at? This wasn’t a rom com. This was real life.

Be cool, he told himself, looking across the plateau of rock on which the Surfers’ Turf was situated, desperately trying to think of something to say.

‘What is this place anyway?’ he settled on. ‘It doesn’t look natural.’

‘It’s not. It used to be a much higher rock. They used explosives to flatten it out during the war. Stuck a couple of guns here. Invasion fears, you know.’ More steps had been cut into the cliff leading up from here, no doubt by the military too. ‘Then, after the war,’ she said, ‘the bunker was abandoned and slowly started to fall apart. I used to come here when I was a kid, just to sit and stare out to sea.’

‘It’s beautiful.’

So much for being cool. . .

‘Yeah, in its own bleak way.’

‘And so when you grew up, you bought it and turned it into this,’ he said, filling the gaps in now, completing the story, something his brain had always been compelled to do. ‘To let other people share the view. . .’

‘Nicely poetic,’ she said, her own cheeks reddening a little. ‘But I did it to make money too. This place only been up and running a few months.’

‘And how’s it going?’

Now that he’d started, James didn’t want to stop talking. It was like a game. He could mess it up so easily by saying the wrong thing. Or this could just carry on. It could carry on being a buzz.

‘It’s fun, if that’s what you mean,’ said Suzie, looking him over curiously now, maybe even thinking the very same thing. ‘I don’t think it’s ever going to make me a millionaire.’

‘Well,’ he said with a shrug, ‘if you’re having fun, you don’t need to be a millionaire.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You try telling the bank that.’

He checked her face, saw that the concern there was genuine. ‘Tough, is it?’

Her expression shifted, hardened, then relaxed again. ‘No, it’s OK. Summer’s here. Plenty of tourists. Things are fine at the moment.’

‘Just dreading the winter?’

‘Yes. Probably have to shut it down for a while. Go back to working at Dad’s pub.’

‘In Grancombe?’

‘He runs the Moonraker. Down on the high street.’ She looked over James’s shoulder. ‘You’d better get going, you know.’

He looked back at the beach. The crowd had been culled to a small group in his absence.

‘Always was the last to get picked,’ he said.

She looked down at the polystyrene petals in her hand, then grinned at him. ‘With a throw like that, it’s not surprising.’

‘Well,’ he said, taking a couple of paces back, ‘I’ll see you around. . .’ It was meant to be a question, but it came out as a statement.

‘Could be,’ she said.

Could be was good. Could be wasn’t no.

James waved and performed a kind of weird little half-bow that he instantly regretted, even though it made her smile.

He hurried over to the beach, trying not to look back at all as he did, and only failing twice; the first time she was watching him too, the second time she was gone.

He reached the top of the steps and his heart, still racing after speaking to her, ran into a brick wall. The dregs of the crowd stood there on the beach. Only two of them remained, standing in front of Murphy and the other policemen. Only two out of that whole company of strangers.

He recognised both faces from the car park the night before. The black-haired guy with the tattoo, the one who’d scattered James’s belongings like seed across the barren concrete, and his sidekick.

He considered turning his back, playing the tourist and walking carelessly to the edge of the plateau, then lowering himself on to the beach and leaving this whole scene behind.

But it was too late. One of them, the stocky guy, glanced up and saw him. He slowly shook his head.

Murphy turned and spotted James too.

‘You Al l’Anson’s nephew?’

‘Yeah.’

James watched the blonde guy incline his head towards the stocky guy and mouth something.

‘He said you were round here somewhere,’ Murphy said. ‘You’ve missed going with him. He’s taken a group in his car and won’t be back now until we all meet up at noon.’

‘Right.’

‘What’s your name?’ Murphy said. ‘Jim, isn’t it?’

‘James.’

‘Well, get over here. I’m Cal Murphy and these two –’ his mouth pinched in distaste ‘– boys are Alex Howley and Daniel Thompson.’

James didn’t look their way, but he could feel their eyes burning into him.

‘You can go with them and check out the woods at the top of the cliffs,’ Murphy said, ‘between your uncle’s place and Jack’s. We had a pretty decent look round there when we first found out Dawes was missing, but it’s probably best to check it out again. D’you know your way round up there?’

James made sure his voice didn’t quaver. No Fear. Just like the logo on Daniel’s T-shirt.

‘No,’ he said, ‘never been there in my life.’

He hoped it would be enough for Murphy to change his mind.

‘What use is a bleedin’ tourist gonna be?’ Daniel said. ‘Me and Alex will get on much better and faster without him.’

Murphy spun round to face him. ‘Button it, all right? You keep your bleating to yourself.’ His stance shifted and his chest reared out over his gut. ‘Either that or I’ll take the pair of you off the search party and it’ll be last night all over again.’ He took a step forward, glared right into their faces. ‘That what you want, you little shits?’

Alex’s shades sparked in the sun as, apparently unfazed, he turned and gazed across the beach. Daniel stared back at the policeman for a few seconds then finally grunted, ‘No.’

‘Good.’ Murphy looked James over, assessing him like a collector might a bug, his nicotine-stained teeth protruding in a crooked smile. ‘Don’t mind him, his bark’s worse than his bite. Anyhow,’ he added, slipping Daniel a sideways glance, ‘if these two give you any trouble, you tell me and I’ll sort them out. In spades.’ He clamped his hands together and his knuckles cracked. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s had to knock some sense into them.’

James looked into Murphy’s eyes – something malevolent danced inside them – then turned to face Alex and Daniel.

Daniel was – what? – a stone, maybe two stone, heavier than him. Fit in a genetic sort of way. But not honed, not worked out. Muscle through nature, not nurture. Visual muscle, nothing more. He didn’t look the colossus he’d done the night before. The t-shirt and shorts were the same but the aura had drained away, presumably along with the alcohol in his bloodstream, left him exposed without his shell. If it came down to it, James reckoned it would probably be a pretty even fight.

And then there was Alex. Lighter. But of the two, he was still the more dangerous. Even without seeing his eyes – those shades might as well have been surgically attached – James could imagine the violence glinting in their depths. Confidence. It was there in his lazy stance. It shouted through his silence. This one reckoned he could handle himself just fine.

And the only way to undermine someone else’s confidence was to let them see your own.

‘Don’t worry,’ James said, addressing his reply not to Murphy but to Alex and Daniel instead, staring resolutely into the heart of his reflection which bounced back at him off Alex’s shades. He was feeling it again, that desire, that need, to fight. ‘I can look after myself.’

Daniel spat on the sand between him and James.

Alex slowly smiled. ‘Looks like we’d best get moving then,’ he said.

His voice was clear and concise as if he liked the sound of it himself. He lit a smoke, slowly, deliberately. He turned and walked across the sand. Daniel followed, leaving James isolated in Murphy’s gaze.

‘I find you two slacking,’ the policeman called after them, ‘you know what you’ll get.’ He frowned at James. ‘Little shits,’ he said, before warning him: ‘Like I said, you get pissed off with them, you let me know. . .’

James forced a smile and set off after the other two, keeping his distance from them as they crossed the beach, more sand lodging in the grips of his boots with every step he took, inducing fatigue, sapping the kick of the caffeine from his system, making his adrenaline wear off, his hunger for conflict fading with it. He imagined himself as Suzie might see him now, if she were to look out of the kitchen window.

He pictured himself as being ignored, as left behind, as alone.

‘Who’s that?’ Justin asked, staring through the London crowd towards the entrance to Faust.

David looked up and laughed. ‘Put the shark back in the tank,’ he told him. ‘She’s with James.’

He twisted round in his seat and followed Justin’s stare, caught a glimpse of Lucy, standing in the doorway, pushing her short blonde hair back from her rain-splashed face.

‘That’s Lucy?’ Justin said

‘Lucy!’ David bellowed across the room, confirming Justin’s deduction. ‘Over here.’

She didn’t react, the buzz of voices around the bar swallowing up David’s words before they reached her. She peered around and, still not seeing them, despite the fact that David was now standing and waving his arms like he was guiding a plane in to land on an aircraft carrier, slipped off her coat and hung it on a peg by the door. A scrum of bodies shifted between them. Lucy slid from view.

‘Glasses,’ James explained. ‘She’s blind without them.’

‘Take it she wasn’t wearing any when she met you, then,’ Justin said, winking at David.

‘Piss off.’ James got to his feet. ‘At least she’s not like the women you hang out with. They have to use a magnifying glass to get a good look.’

‘Yeah, maggot-meat,’ David joined in. ‘Shut up and behave. You’re talking about the woman James loves.’

Justin’s eyebrows darted up so high in reaction to this that they threatened to disappear into his cropped black hair.

‘Love? Get real. I doubt he even knows how to spell it.’

James flicked him the finger and got to his feet, threading his way through the crowd towards where he’d last seen Lucy. He found her at the bar, ordering a glass of wine. She hadn’t noticed his approach and so he slid in behind her and, affecting a gruff Cockney accent, slipped his arms around her waist and said, ‘All right, darlin’? Fancy a bit?’

‘Get your bloody hands—’ She spun round to face him then shook her head, a wide smile wiping the consternation from her face. ‘You bastard,’ she said, leaning forward and kissing him. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t knee you in the bollocks.’ She squinted through the crowd. ‘Where are David and the others?’

‘At the back. We’ve got a couple of tables.’

‘Who’s there?’

‘Well, there’s David, obviously, and Becky and Justin and Spence – they were there at Crossroads, yeah? And a bunch more people from uni and David’s work. You’ll like them. There are a couple of tossers, but I’ll make sure you don’t end up sitting with them.’

‘I’m nervous.’

‘Don’t be. They’ll love you. Justin’s already fallen in lust with you and he hasn’t even met you.’

‘I don’t mean about meeting them.’

He noticed a blob of mascara where the rain had splashed in the corner of her eye, and wiped it clear with his fingertip.

‘What, then?’

‘You. It’s been a long time.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Too long.’

‘I’ve missed you, too. . . if that’s what you mean?’

She smiled, kissed him again. ‘Good. That’s all I needed to hear.’

‘So, you ready to make an entrance?’

‘Yes.’

The barman pushed a glass of wine across the counter and James reached over Lucy’s shoulder and took it.

‘Tab it, will you? Thanks. Table six,’ he said, walking away from the bar, feeling Lucy’s fingers interlocking with his own.

‘Oh, Christ,’ she exclaimed, suddenly tugging him to a standstill.

‘What?’

‘I forgot to tell you.’

‘What?’

‘Your editor. Norm, right?’

‘Yes. What about him?’

‘He called me.’

James remembered their conversation after he’d agreed to the Grancombe job. ‘Oh, right. He said he might. Has he fixed you up with some work? What?’ he said, her smile infecting him, so that he couldn’t help but smile back. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘You’ll never guess,’ she teased.

‘No, you’re right. I won’t. Tell me.’

‘Just call me partner.’

‘What?’

She stretched up and whispered in his ear, ‘Grancombe.’

He pushed her back, said, ‘What?’

‘Grancombe. The story you’re doing in Grancombe on the psycho. Your boss has asked me to join you down there for a couple of days, photograph the murder sites, sort out a couple of establishing shots of the town. You know, snaps of the graveyard where the victims are buried. Relatives – if I can get to them. That sort of thing.’ Her smile wouldn’t fade, her voice kept coming fast, her tongue tripping over itself in excitement. ‘Isn’t that incredible? Just me and you down there on our own. . .’ She waved one hand around. ‘Out of London. Away from all this smoke and noise. Just you and me and the sea.’

James’s mind whirled. That bastard. . .That stupid, interfering bastard. . .

If Norm were here right now, James would wring his neck. Dumb son-of-a-bitch. James closed his eyes for a second, still couldn’t believe it. Anger was racing through him like a current, charging him up, threatening to explode.