Walking away, he tried again to phone Jay. Even though he knew there was no one at the other end laughing at him, no one had physically turned their back, the answer message sent a wave of anger through him. He glanced back at the playground. The stationary roundabout had no more release to offer. He paused, opened a blank text message, wondered where to begin and saved the blank to Drafts. Pointless, but wasn’t everything? What did any of it matter? Why did it bother him? He never wanted that job anyway. It wasn’t the job itself – it was that after phoning in sick for just three days they could simply turn round and tell him to piss off. That was how much he mattered. There were always plenty of others ready to do crap work for next to no money. He’d been reliable, done his best. It wasn’t worth his best but he had his pride. He’d phoned in sick once before – genuinely sick, beginning to wonder what he’d do if it came to needing a doctor – and there hadn’t been a problem. A whim. He simply didn’t matter. Even Choudhury had found a boy to take his place.
He walked along streets he’d never seen before, totally lost and enjoying the feeling. He had nowhere he needed to go. No decent job to look for that wouldn’t sooner or later involve a national insurance number, forms, references, whatever. He was weary of the black market, exploitation, risks, hiding. Jay hadn’t got anywhere, for all his questions, all his show of concern. So he’d soon be out on the street. He should be looking for a squat instead of wandering aimlessly, getting angry with ghosts. He tried Jay’s number again. Probably switched off so he could enjoy sweaty hours of fucking his woman undisturbed. He should have known, should have turned him in to Novak after all and at least got something out of it. What the hell had got into him? He thought of that train journey with embarrassment. Must still have been pissed from the night before. But it didn’t bother him too much. After all, the past didn’t matter; he hadn’t spilled anything important. He had nothing important to spill.
Eventually he came to a main road and wormed his way onto a crowded bus, dodging the fare. He spent the journey to Keighley with half a mind alert for an inspector, the other half planning what he’d say when he arrived. He didn’t need Jay this time. He wondered why he’d ever thought he did.
The long walk from the centre of the town was becoming familiar. Perhaps that meant something, though the little estate seemed no more welcoming than it had the first time. He made himself walk on. As he reached the cul-de-sac he was heading for, he stopped abruptly, heart thumping. He saw a white van, and a police car was parked near his grandparents’ house. He was about to move on, annoyed at having to leave and wait till it was safe to come back, when he noticed the striped tape flapping in the breeze, guarding the neat garden. Two strangers talking on the pavement outside. An air of desolation from windows with curtains tightly drawn in broad daylight. Filled with panic and wild questions, he managed to rein himself in and walk on with an air of unsuspicious calm until he was out of sight. Then he was running again.
Back at the town centre the sight of the bus station and thoughts of Holdwick made him give Jay one more try. The mocking sound of the voicemail announcer hurt his ears. He went to a steamy café to get a coffee and gather his thoughts. The smell of cooking made his mouth water but he told himself he couldn’t afford it. Someone had left a newspaper on the seat next to him; he felt as if everyone in the place was staring at him as he picked it up. It was no longer headline news, but in a corner of the front page was a small picture of the scene he’d just left behind. He fought with the flapping paper to get to the main report inside. Reading as quickly as he could through the paragraph beneath a grainy photo of a smiling Boris and Anja, he registered murder and his own name. They were looking for him. He stared at the page. Who else but Jay would have connected his name with theirs? How many times had he told Vinko, It would be for your own good? What the hell good did he think this would do? Even if he’d dropped his name accidentally, whoever to, there was no excuse. Fumbling through a raw mix of sorrow, hatred and anger, he folded the paper roughly and made for the door, narrowly avoiding the waitress who was bringing his drink.
‘Sorry. I must go. No more time for coffee.’
What good was a coffee without a smoke anyway?
On the way back to Bradford he came up with a plan of sorts. This place meant nothing to him. No one meant anything to him. He’d go and gather his things together, get some sleep and the next day head for London. More people there, a bigger chance of finding work, contacts to make, perhaps even a way of getting abroad. Going home. Real home. Whatever that meant. It wasn’t much of a plan, but he didn’t have a better one.
As he neared his street he looked resentfully at the shop, the bell over the door seeing off a woman with a bulging carrier in either hand. People coming and going on either side of the road, people with ordinary jobs to go to, ordinary lives. He walked on. A car slowed and came to a halt just behind him. He ignored it. A door banged, footsteps, a voice calling his name. He quickened his pace. So did the footsteps. A hand on his shoulder.
‘Vinko, lad, wait on. Where’ve you been hiding?’
Despite the pleasure of hearing his own language he wasn’t fooled by his uncle’s false matiness. There was no genuine concern in that voice. He turned slowly to face him.
‘None of your business. I told you I’ve had it with you. Fuck off and leave me alone.’
He turned away. Novak grabbed his arm.
‘Not so fast. I want to talk to you – how about you come back with me?’ He gestured to the car. ‘Get in.’
Vinko refused to move.
‘What’s up? Been down the job centre, got yourself a better offer?’
It must have been Novak got him the sack.
‘What is it to you?’
‘You were supposed to be doing something for me, that’s what. What was all that bollocks at the weekend anyway?’
He shrugged. ‘Thought it was him but I was wrong.’
‘You’re lying.’
No denying it. Instead Vinko looked at him levelly. ‘Lost patience, did you? Decided to pay them a visit yourself?’
Novak returned his stare. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Whatever. Leave me out of this. I know about the man you’re working for.’
‘I work for myself.’
‘You know who I mean. Lek.’
‘Then you’ll know he’s a man you want on your side.’ He paused, grip slackening slightly. Vinko pulled free, about to walk away, but Novak’s next words held him. ‘Your father would have told you the same. You know what a good friend he was to your father?’
Vinko shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it.
‘That’s right. They were close. If it hadn’t been for the war, if your dad was still alive now, he’d back me up. I don’t know what you’ve been hearing but you’re man enough to judge for yourself, aren’t you? Ever since Lek heard I knew Ivan’s boy he’s been eager to meet you. When he knows the situation you’re in he’ll want to see you right.’
Yeah, right. ‘Why? What price?’
Novak shook his head sadly.
‘You’re bound to think like that. I’m partly to blame, I admit. Friendship, Vinko, that’s why.’ He stepped aside to let a man pulled by a German Shepherd walk past. ‘Look, this isn’t the place. I wanted to see you anyway – called at the factory yesterday to find you and couldn’t believe they’d dumped you like that. I can sort you out with something else. Come back to my place and we can talk.’
Vinko glanced away towards his street. Perhaps his uncle hadn’t ratted on him after all. Or perhaps he was lying. What did he care? He didn’t want another dead-end job in this craphole city. He didn’t want to get involved again with Novak, especially if he had anything to do with what had happened to his grandparents. And he didn’t need another so-called friend of his father’s. The last one had let him down. And yet… What was there to lose? He had nothing. If he didn’t like what he heard, he could come back here, pack his stuff and sti
ll be away to London. Possibly even with money in his pocket.
‘I can run you back later,’ Novak said. ‘No problem.’
Vinko got in the car.
Chapter 23
‘You should have woken me.’ Jay smiled as if the previous evening hadn’t happened.
She watched him walk over to join her at the kitchen table, savouring an uncomplicated moment of simply being together.
‘You were sleeping so peacefully. Eventually.’ They exchanged a look. ‘I thought you deserved a lie-in.’
‘I’m surprised you think I deserve anything good. In the cold light of day.’
It was impossible to tell how serious he was. She got up to get him a coffee, kissing him warmly as she sat close beside him. ‘Good enough to be going on with?’
He grinned. ‘So what’s the plan today?’
‘I was going to ask you.’
‘I thought we could sort the windows out. Plan what we’re going to do with the rough bits of the walls; do a bit of pointing. Once we’re sure it’s weathertight we can start properly on the inside.’
‘But what about—’
‘Vinko and I agreed to meet at the weekend; he probably wouldn’t thank me for turning up sooner. Not with the news I’ve got. Give him another couple of days’ blissful ignorance.’ He paused, sadness breaking through the façade. She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘By which time I might actually have thought about what to suggest.’ He reached for his coffee mug. ‘In the meantime there’s nothing like a bit of work to concentrate the mind. Let’s just do our own stuff. Me and you. For a little while. That is… That is if it’s all right with you?’
Pretending normality was tempting. The kind of strange normality Jay had come to mean to her. She couldn’t deny that what he’d told her was deeply unsettling, but during a couple of long hours awake the previous night, as he slept apparently peacefully beside her, she’d found it actually made her feel closer to him. The fact that he’d put away his pretence. His veneer of larger-than-life unreality was fun, and attractive, but often frustrating. Now she thought she understood. Things were hardly going to be easy and she wondered what she was getting herself into, but nothing in life was straightforward, after all. She even realised she felt protective.
It was almost midday by the time they set off to choose the windows and pick up some other supplies. It felt good to be working on the barn again, to think her workshop was getting another stage nearer to completion. She enjoyed having Jay to discuss ideas with and when he suggested fitting a skylight in place of his temporary repair to the storm-damaged roof, mentally she added another on the other side. Imagining the space that much more bright and airy, on top of the prospect of having somewhere of her own to work in, almost dispelled the clouds they were both deliberately keeping at bay.
They were about halfway to Holdwick when Jay’s phone buzzed. She glanced over.
‘Missed calls. Vinko’s been trying to get me. I forgot we were out of signal.’
‘You get used to it.’
‘Looks like he tried several times. I hope there isn’t a problem.’
‘Give him a call.’
It was strange to hear him leave a message in a language she didn’t understand.
‘Weird. He’s always got his phone on him.’
‘Didn’t you say he’d be at work?’
That seemed to reassure him, and as they continued on to the builders’ merchant his talk was all windows and helping her decide on the colour of paint for her newly-cleared spare room. Once there, he appeared to enjoy choosing with her, but she sensed he was becoming increasingly distracted.
‘This isn’t working, is it?’ she said as they wheeled a trolley with cement and a large can of sunshine yellow out to the car, having arranged for the windows and skylights to be delivered the next day.
‘What isn’t?’
He lugged the supplies into the back of the car.
‘Pretending nothing’s happening.’
He stopped on his way round to the passenger seat and looked at her. ‘I don’t see what else we can do right now.’
‘You could tell the police what you know.’
‘I don’t know anything that would make any difference.’
He got in and closed the door. She took her place behind the wheel. ‘Wouldn’t it be best in the long run? For Vinko? I mean, it might be difficult at first, but surely they’ll help sort him out. Get him a social worker—’
‘Get him a sentence in the company of worse types than the ones he’s already mixed up with. He only just trusts me now. I want to talk to him first.’
She felt annoyed with him, and scared, but he was unmoveable and it seemed the only way would be to tell them herself. Which would mean betraying him. She set off wordlessly. He tried the number again, shook his head. As they passed a newsagent he suggested they stop to buy a paper. He waited in the car; when she got back in he seemed as worried as she felt.
‘This just came from Vinko. I haven’t a clue what to make of it.’
He waved his phone in front of her with a two-word text message on the screen.
Ne vjer
‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s incomplete, hard to tell. I think it must be “don’t believe”. Could be telling me not to, or “I don’t believe”, anyone doesn’t believe. What’s he playing at?’
‘He could have pressed the wrong button. Or got interrupted. You’ll probably get something else in a minute.’
‘I hope so.’ He shook his head. ‘In the meantime, let’s catch up on developments.’
He spread out the paper and they leaned together with the pages propped against the dashboard to read the piece about the murder. There was little beyond what she already knew. A neighbour had heard gunshots in the small hours. Two men seen running away. The police looking for the youth they’d just been talking about, to help them with their enquiries. Jay swore to himself and she looked across at him.
‘Vesna Novak.’
She’d just seen the name herself. ‘Their daughter, poor woman. You must know her.’
‘Used to, ’course I did, but not by her married name. Novak. Same name as the guy Vinko was on about.’
He fell to staring at the photo of the couple heading the page. She followed his gaze. It felt strange to be confronted by an article like this one about someone with whom she had a connection, however vague. It made her sad she’d never have chance to meet them. The silence was broken only by the slight rustling of the newspaper. Jay remained distant. She felt she had to say something.
‘Could you talk to her? Do you think she’d know anything?’
‘Know anything about what?’ he snapped. ‘I’m sure she knows her parents have been murdered. It’s clear she doesn’t know who by.’
‘About your precious Vinko and her bloody husband!’
He stared at her. She’d gone too far. Shouldn’t have shouted. But he wasn’t the only one to be stressed by all this! He folded the newspaper roughly without taking his eyes off her. She was about to mutter something appeasing when he broke into a smile.
‘I deserved that, didn’t I?’ He leaned over and kissed her hard. ‘I’m sorry, Polly. You were right. I’ve got to stop running away.’
The knocking echoed loudly through the workshop and she felt a cold fear. She was still hesitating when the door opened and her hand reached out for a nearby cutting tool from the bench. The figure was momentarily silhouetted in the light of the doorway, but as soon as he strode in she recognised him. Only Matt. She released her grip, feeling slightly foolish.
‘You OK? You look a bit tense.’
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said. ‘Come in, sit down.’
He pulled over a chair and sat across the workbench from her. ‘I’ve only just realised you’re here – saw the light on. Your car isn’t outside.’
‘No.’ She deliberately ignored his fishing and paused to enjoy the effect. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I had the police round earlier.’
‘Oh?’ She laughed. ‘What have you been up to?’
He scowled. ‘I think you know what it’s about. If not, you should.’
‘Go on.’
He told her about the door-to-door enquiries among town-centre businesses and anyone who might have been on the marketplace two weeks ago, the day her purse was stolen. Looking for information about Vinko.
‘They came to see me yesterday,’ she said and told him about her purse. It felt like a confession as she explained it was probably her description that had made the link.
‘That was you? You never told me you’d had anything nicked.’
She bristled. ‘Sorry. I’ll remember to give you a full report next time.’
‘Only saying. By the way, did you catch up with your friend? Jay?’
‘Yes, I got him. Thanks for passing his message on. Eventually.’
‘Does he know anything?’
‘Why should he?’ But she remembered Matt saying he’d seen Jay meeting someone – Vinko, she knew now – last Saturday.
‘So it wasn’t this lad they’re looking for that I saw him with?’ She said nothing. ‘I was worried you’d mind me mentioning you in connection with him, but if you’ve spoken to them yourself… So is there anything in it? Murderous intrigue or merely a casual fan-to-busker encounter?’
Someone Else's Conflict Page 20
