‘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.
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?’
<
br /> ‘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.’
Son of Heaven Page 9
