‘So what do I need to show?’ I say. ‘A dick, or a minimum level of competency?’
Richie looks blank. Lachlan snorts with laughter. Byron comes over from the bar and gives Richie a clap on the back. ‘Come on, mate,’ he says. ‘It will be like old times.’
Richie punches him in the arm and goes to speak to another man. While they’re debating, I pot some more balls. I’ve only played on a real snooker table a few times in my life, and it’s a lot bigger than a pool table. I’m definitely out of practice, but it’s a welcome distraction, and the basic shots come back to me like riding a bike.
Richie relents, saying that I can play a qualifying match. I put down the cue and wait for my turn to play. Lachlan comes up again holding pints of beer. He hands me one of them.
‘Thanks for backing me.’ I take a swig of the beer for some Dutch courage.
‘No problem.’ He shrugs. ‘Obviously, I’d rather watch you play than these louts.’
‘Obviously.’ Awkward bugger.
He stares into my eyes for a second too long. I remember what Byron said about him having a crush on me—
‘Byron said you two are going to dinner,’ Lachlan says. ‘Does that mean you’re back together?’
‘What?’ I look at him, startled.
‘You and Byron.’ He makes it sound like it’s obvious. ‘It’s been a long time, but now you’re both here. Both single. Right?’
I take a step back. ‘He asked if I wanted to meet his son. That’s it.’ I don’t know why I’m feeling so defensive.
‘Sounds serious then.’ He raises a wry eyebrow.
I turn on him. ‘Do you really think I’d get back with the man who got everyone to lie to the police about my sister’s death? I know the “rogue wave” was complete bollocks. That’s what you were trying to tell me the night I arrived, wasn’t it?’
Lachlan doesn’t answer right away. He swirls the beer around in his glass. ‘He told us at the time that we were doing it for you.’
‘So you’re admitting that it was all a complete lie? That Jimmy and Mackie saw nothing, just like everyone else?’
Lachlan pulls me to the side. ‘Keep your voice down,’ he says. ‘You’re right that most people saw fuck-all. Everyone was shit-faced.’
‘Yeah, what else is new?’ I take a step closer, getting in his face. ‘But what about you, Lachlan? Were you shit-faced too? Or did you see something? Something that you didn’t tell the police?’
‘The police…’ He gives a grim laugh. ‘Inspector McVee. He wanted to keep things simple as much as anyone else. Better for the deceased’s family, better for the community. Open and shut. It certainly was convenient, you losing your memory like that.’
I clench my fists by my sides. It won’t do any good to get angry now. ‘It wasn’t convenient,’ I say. ‘I suffered head trauma. You can choose to believe what you like, but it’s the truth.’
He leans in and whispers in my ear. ‘So you don’t remember being there on the jetty with her?’
‘No,’ I say, standing my ground like this doesn’t faze me. ‘I was told at the time that I never left the campfire. But Katie said that I went to look for Ginny.’
He snorts. ‘Katie certainly used the situation to her advantage.’
‘I have to agree,’ I say. ‘But then again, James was a free agent. Ginny had broken up with him. She and James had a row that night.’ I shake my head. ‘And I knew nothing.’
‘The twa sisters, twa bonny swans,’ he intones. ‘One fair and one dark, one good and one bad.’
I stare at him.
‘But which one was which? That’s the question? Did you know you were sharing everything?’
‘Stop being a dick,’ I hiss, as I picture Ginny… her lovely golden hair spread around her as she lies back on Byron’s tartan rug. Teasing him, laughing as she pulls him down over her…
No. She wouldn’t do that to me. And neither would—
‘You OK?’
I’ve clearly summoned the devil. Byron comes up. He puts his hand protectively on the curve of my back, then moves it lower in a gesture of possession.
‘I don’t blame you Skye, for turning your back on her,’ Lachlan says. ‘I don’t blame you at all.’
He turns away and goes down the stairs.
‘What the hell is up with him?’ Byron says.
I move away from Byron’s hand, swivelling to face him. My heart is hammering, my head feels like it might burst. But I force myself to act normal. ‘I think Lachlan’s a little jealous,’ I say breezily. ‘Seems as though you get all the girls, Byron.’
He gives me a pained look. ‘What are you on about?’
‘I think he’s implying that there was a wee something going on between you and my sister.’ My throat tightens uncomfortably. ‘Now, why would he say a thing like that?’
Byron shrugs. ‘Because he’s trying to drive a wee wedge between us.’
Now that I’ve allowed the suspicions to take root, I can’t stop them growing to a monstrous size. ‘He said I had a right to be angry. What do you think that means? That I found out that my sister was sleeping with you? I left her there and she went into the sea? And then, conveniently, got in a car accident and lost my memory?’
Byron’s face closes down. ‘That’s bullshit.’
‘Which part?’ I glare at him.
‘All of it,’ he growls. His voice is loud and people are starting to look. The crowd has expanded. Byron’s tattooed mate moves in closer, as if sensing that his ringleader is under threat. I glare at him. I see Aunt Annie arrive, spreading her ample backside onto a tall stool.
‘Well, that’s good to know,’ I say. ‘Because it looks like Ginny might have been pregnant when she died.’ I study his face while that sinks in.
‘Who the fuck is feeding you this shit?’ Byron lowers his voice. ‘She was leaving. Going to that audition. Even she wouldn’t have been that stupid.’
‘Not so “stupid” as to keep the baby, maybe. Did you know that she’d broken up with James? And then tried to get back with him that night?’
Byron laughs. His face is starting to look sick and ugly. I’m struggling to see how I ever could have felt anything for him. Loved him even…
‘James,’ he repeats. ‘God, what she ever saw in that dickhead. His Preciousness was all too happy to lie to the police. If it wasn’t for me he would have been bending over in a jail cell somewhere for dealing drugs. And I don’t think your mum would have liked that, would she?’
‘You’ve been a real patron saint to my family, Byron.’
‘You’re fucking right about that—’
‘Skye Turner. You’re up. You play Finlay.’ Fat Richie makes a tick on his clipboard.
The previous match has finished. I’m angry and upset, and the last thing I want to do is play snooker. But everyone is watching. If I back down now, then there’ll be no coming back from it.
My hands feel clammy and weak as I pick up the cue. My opponent, Finlay, is an elderly man with a wicked blue-eyed smile. He’s probably been playing snooker since I was in nappies. As I watch him break off, reds splaying everywhere, I almost miss Aunt Annie, talking to a man on the stool next to her.
‘She thinks she’s so much better than the rest of us. Always has, the daft cow. Her sister was worth ten of her. That poor lass. Topped herself out on the cliffs.’
A tremor of rage travels through my body. I have no idea what she has against me, and I want to find out… and I will.
‘Your go, lass,’ Finlay says. I’ve got no choice but to continue. I pot two reds and a blue, but miss the next colour. Finlay takes his turn, but he misses an easy red, and I get the idea that the poor chap needs glasses. He cocks his head like he can’t quite believe he’s missed. ‘Thar ya go, lass,’ he says graciously. ‘Left you in amongst ’em’.
I take my turn, potting balls one after the other until someone puts their hand on my arse and I miss. ‘Foul!’ I yell.
There’s a line
of four men, any one of which could be the culprit, but no one owns up. Richie tells us to play on. I stand on the sidelines, fuming. We play on until, eventually, Finlay’s bad eyesight gets the better of him. I sink the last red and then start on the colours, which I pot in the required sequence: yellow, green, brown, blue, pink, black. More people have come to watch the tournament. One person in particular.
Nick Hamilton.
I miss the blue but it doesn’t matter. Finlay shakes my hand and I offer to buy him a pint. ‘Aye, lass,’ he says. ‘If you insist.’
I go to the bar taking care not to glance in Nick’s direction. I feel a little irritated to see him here. Maybe it’s because I’d heard that he kept to himself and didn’t come here. I liked the fact that he wasn’t trying to fight the uphill battle of acceptance. Unlike me.
Byron is behind the bar along with a blonde curly-haired woman that I don’t recognise. I order Finlay’s drink from the woman.
‘Can I get a drink for her too?’ I point to Aunt Annie. ‘Whatever she’s having.’
Byron gives me a hard look. For a second, I think he wants to continue our earlier argument. ‘Whiskey and Coke,’ he says. ‘That’s her drink too.’ He turns away from me.
I pay for both drinks and hand Finlay his pint. I take the whiskey over to Annie. As a peace offering, or a gauntlet thrown down before battle – I’m not sure which. I can feel people watching as I approach. Annie is talking to the man next to her. He seems entirely focused on her wrinkled cleavage rather than her scintillating conversation.
‘Here, Annie.’ I hold out the drink. ‘I may be a daft cow and nowhere near as good as my sister, who topped herself. But my money’s as good as anyone’s.’
She looks at me in surprise, and then realises that I overheard her nasty little comment.
‘Sorry,’ she says, ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Yes you did,’ I say.
I sense, rather than see, Nick coming up on my right.
‘The point is, Annie,’ I say, ‘I’m back now. If you have a problem with me, then say it to my face. Stop whispering behind my back.’
‘I’ve got no problem with you,’ she says.
‘Good,’ I say. ‘Enjoy the drink.’
There’s whispering as I walk away, and one of the ‘hand on arse’ candidates sniggers: ‘Can I slag you off too, lass, if you’re buying?’
I pretend to laugh and then perch on an empty bar stool. Lachlan plays next and wins his match easily. Nick goes over and has a word with Richie, then goes to the bar. I begin to feel annoyed – which is stupid given that I’m the one avoiding him.
Nick leaves the bar carrying two half-pints of beer. For a horrible moment, I think he’s headed in the direction of a red-haired woman in a tight T-shirt. At the last second, he diverts and comes over to where I’m sitting.
‘Good one back there.’ He indicates with his head towards Annie. ‘But if you want to leave, just say. Otherwise…’ He hands me one of the half-pints.
‘Who says I want to leave with you?’ I’m not sure why I’m being so awkward.
‘Your brother. Your mum’s worried about you. I went over to return her plate. They thought you might have come here.’
‘Is she worried about me – or the car?’ I take a long swig of the beer.
‘Come on Skye, you’re better than that.’
‘Am I?’ I snap. It’s like a dam has broken inside me and I can’t stop these words from coming out of my mouth.
‘Nick Hamilton?’ Richie calls out.
I cock my head. ‘Did you sign up?’
‘Yes, I did.’ He gives me a bemused smile. ‘So if we’re not leaving, then it’s my go.’
He sets down his glass and walks over to the table. Richie glowers and hands him a cue.
Nick’s opponent is the man who’s been sitting next to Aunt Annie; Mum mentioned a husband, Greg, so maybe it’s him. She gives me a toothy smile and raises the empty glass of whiskey like we’re two old friends having a toast. Aunt Annie’s man is good, but Nick is better. He gets in amongst the balls, moving around the table with rhythm and focus. Aunt Annie’s smile quickly turns umbrella-shaped. I feel a rush of nervous adrenalin with each ball that Nick pots. He misses a blue off the spot and swears under his breath. When he stands back to let his opponent take his turn, his eyes fix only on me. I stare back with a slow smile. Nick’s opponent misses and Nick clears up easily. There’s a long silence as the last ball drops.
The other man admits defeat with an over-egged bow and there are whistles and cheers. When Richie proclaims Nick the winner, there’s nothing. That angers me, so I stand up and cheer and whistle. A few people join in clapping, but there’s an undercurrent of animosity in the room that seems to be rippling from the direction of Aunt Annie and the friends surrounding her.
‘That was… impressive,’ I say to Nick as he returns to my side and takes a sip of his beer.
He shrugs like it’s nothing. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re clearly a man of many talents.’
He gives me a smouldering look like we’re the only two people in the room. I wish we were. He hands me his drink and I take a sip.
‘I don’t feel welcome here,’ he says. ‘Do you really want to stay for the next round?’
‘I’m happy to leave.’ I set down the glass. ‘Maybe we could come back another time and play our own tournament.’
That sounds like a bad pick-up line if I’ve ever heard one. I blush and look away. My eyes fall on Aunt Annie. She’s whispering something to her companion, and pointing at me.
I tense up.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ Nick says.
‘You sure you don’t want to play your match? Be the conquering hero?’
‘No. I’m here to collect you. Getting to watch you play…’ his face softens just for a second ‘… was a bonus.’
‘Oh,’ I quip, ‘were you thinking about painting me? At the snooker table.’
‘No, Skye.’ He lowers his voice. ‘Watching you play, I wasn’t thinking about painting you.’
He leaves that hanging between us and walks off towards the stairs. I go to follow him, aware of people watching us. The gossips will have a field day with this. Skye Turner, the girl who’s too good for everyone. Going off with the city bloke who’s too good to hang with the locals. Petty, small-town bullshit. I am better than this.
‘Skye.’ Byron waylays me at the top of the stairs. ‘About earlier…’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I say. ‘My ride is leaving.’
‘I can bring you home.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘You’re working. And then, there’s Kyle… If he even exists.’
Anger twists his face. ‘He bloody exists,’ he says. ‘He’s with Annie’s daughter and her kids. I don’t have to justify him to you, or anyone.’
‘No, Byron, you’re right. You don’t have to justify your son to me. It was over between us long before Ginny died. I just didn’t want to admit it. So whether you had a thing with her or not, well, it’s been fifteen years. It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘Then stop acting like it does. Stop raking all this up. There’s no point.’
I peer at him closely. ‘I think you forgot to deny it,’ I say.
‘What?’ He looks confused as well as angry.
I laugh in his face and move around him to the stairs. For a tense second, I think he’s going to try and stop me. Then, he hangs his head, looking as broken as I’ve ever seen him. ‘Go to hell, Skye,’ he says.
I go down the stairs and when I get to the bottom, I turn back. ‘Where do you think I’ve been all these years?’
33
Nick is chatting to the female bartender when I re-enter the downstairs bar. I feel stupidly jealous until I realise that he’s only ordering food: takeaway fish and chips.
‘I thought you probably hadn’t eaten,’ he says. Before I can protest, he takes out his card and zaps it on the reader. ‘If you have, then I guess I’m in
for a second supper.’
‘I haven’t,’ I admit.
He leans one elbow against the bar and appraises me openly, without saying anything. It’s damned disconcerting, which I’m sure he intends.
‘So where did you learn to play snooker?’ I say.
He shrugs. ‘There was a hall near the police station. I spent about an equal amount of time potting balls and busting people there.’
I laugh. ‘I bet you were popular.’
‘Something like that.’
I want to keep him talking, glad to have something to focus on other than my sister – her life, and her death. Besides, I’m genuinely curious about him. ‘And what about your family?’ I say.
He stares at the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, his face hardening again. ‘What about them?’
‘Do you have family? Parents? You never talk about them.’
He sighs like I’ve disappointed him. ‘I have family,’ he says. ‘We’re not in contact.’
‘Why not?’ I have no right to pry, but on the other hand, he knows all my secrets.
He stays silent until I’m almost certain that he’s not going to answer. ‘My dad was a policeman,’ he says. ‘So was his dad and so is my older brother. You can imagine, I’m sure, how it went down when I told them that I was going to art school.’
‘Yes, I suppose I can.’
‘I did two years at the Slade in London.’
I raise an eyebrow, impressed. Even I know that that’s a top school.
‘In my second year,’ he continues, ‘I had a disastrous relationship with another student. When she and I split up, I decided that art school wasn’t for me.’ He shrugs. ‘So I tried the police. If I couldn’t please myself, at least my dad would be happy. But that didn’t work out either.’
The bartender returns with my food. Unlike my childhood memories of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper, they’re now in a Styrofoam container. I add salt and vinegar.
My Mother's Silence (ARC) Page 20
