Khan sighed. ‘I can hazard a guess. Don’t take this the wrong way, son, but she’s not over the moon that I seconded you for the investigation. She thinks you’re too inexperienced. Don’t worry. We can use this to our advantage. If anyone asks, you’re off the case while I explore a complaint by another officer.’
‘A complaint?’
Rick had just taken a mouthful of coffee and nearly spat it across the table. ‘With respect, Sam, I don’t think Sean …’
‘Hang on, hang on, the pair of you! It’s a game Simkins is playing. But we can play too, can’t we?’
‘I suppose so,’ Sean said, although he hadn’t got a clue what this was about.
‘So?’ Khan’s eyes were fixed on him, unblinking pools of persuasion.
‘OK. I’ll stay at my dad’s, if that’s what you want me to do.’
‘Excellent.’
Sean felt sick.
Twenty minutes later, he parked his moped by the recreation ground, where he could keep an eye on it, and set off on foot to see who was around on the Chasebridge estate. The whole place felt deserted. The day had turned out muggy and heavy with clouds.
He sat on one of the swings in the little playground and watched a taxi turn the corner, down Darwin Avenue and on to Winston Grove. He recognised the rear seat passenger. Jogging down the pavement to the corner, he was just in time to see a young woman helping someone out of the rear door. As the car pulled away Saleem Asaf shuffled slowly towards the shop, his hands over his abdomen and shoulders hunched against the pain, his sister’s hand on his shoulder. Sean phoned Khan to let him know that Saleem was home, then walked back up to where he’d parked the moped. The blank windows of the Eagle Mount flats stared back at him. What was that phrase his nan used? Between a rock and a hard place.
He got on the moped and drove down the hill, turning below the school. There was a group of four men painting a wall. He pulled up and three of them stopped what they were doing and turned towards him, white paint dripping from their rollers. He could still make out the outline of a purple design on the wall, ghosting through the white. They were going to need a couple more coats to obliterate ‘MOCAT RIP’. Sean flipped up the visor on his helmet.
‘This a council thing? Anti-graffiti?’
‘What’s it to you?’ A stocky, bald man with a thick neck spoke without looking up and carried on painting. Sean thought he recognised him from the CUC meeting.
Sean felt naked without his uniform. ‘Just curious.’
‘We’re putting things right,’ another man said. The bright blue eyes were smiling at him. ‘All right, Sean?’
‘Terry.’
‘We don’t want no Paki kids messing up our estate,’ the thick-necked one was saying. ‘Messing with our girls.’
‘What do you know about them?’ Sean said.
‘Who?’
‘The … Asian kids you think are responsible for that?’ Sean pointed to the outline of ‘MOCAT RIP’.
No one spoke.
‘Not much, bro,’ Terry said, ‘except they’re not wanted round here.’ He spat neatly on the ground. As he tipped his head, Sean could see the tattoo on his neck: Made in England.
‘What d’you care anyway?’ The bald man stepped towards Sean, the roller like a weapon in front of him.
‘Gary!’ Terry growled.
‘I heard there was a lad got hurt,’ Sean ventured. ‘An Asian lad?’
‘You heard right,’ Terry said. ‘It’s got to stop. These gentlemen are here to help this community get itself back in working order.’ He held Sean’s gaze and smiled again. ‘See you later.’
Then he turned away and carried on painting the wall. The other two followed him. The one called Gary lowered his paint roller and watched Sean until he got back on the moped. He revved the engine and took off along Winston Grove. He needed to get his sleeping bag and a few things to take back to his dad’s; he wasn’t looking forward to explaining his plan to Maureen.
At a quarter past eight that evening, Jack opened the door to Sean.
‘What d’you want?’
‘Hi, Dad, I’ve had a bit of a fall out with Nan. Is it all right if I stop over?’
The fall out bit wasn’t even a lie. Maureen said she might as well wash her hands of him if he was going to sleep at his dad’s. He couldn’t explain that it was on Khan’s instructions. He’d put on his old clothes and told her he was going to help Jack decorate.
‘Where’s me hat?’ Jack said.
‘Sorry?’
‘I said where’s me hat?’ Jack jabbed a finger at him. ‘You had it when we went to that meeting. I’ll need it if I’m to go on the march. I’ll catch my death without a hat.’
‘What march?’
‘Reclaim Chasebridge. Torchlit parade. You know. They were on about it at the CUC meeting. It’s tonight. You should come.’
Maybe that’s what Terry Starkey meant when he said ‘see you later’. Jack was still blocking his way into the flat.
‘Can I come in and put my stuff down first?’
He was trying to remember where he’d put Jack’s hat. And then it came to him. He couldn’t get off the estate quickly enough after the Clean Up Chasebridge meeting. Gav had picked him up at the garage on the dual carriageway and driven him back into town for a drink. He had the hat on when he got in the car and then he must have taken it off and left it there.
‘Sorry, Dad. I’ll get it back for you.’
Jack stood aside and Sean took his sleeping bag and holdall into the living room. From the window he could see a group of people gathering on the grass behind the community centre. The light was fading in the dusk. A flicker caught his eye. Then another. Soon there were half a dozen flames dancing at the end of sticks; hardly a parade, more like a small gathering.
‘Looks like they’re starting, but there’s not many there.’
‘What is?’ Jack said, sitting heavily on the settee and digging his hand down the side of the cushions. ‘Ah, there they are. I thought you had them.’
‘Eh?’
‘My fags. Here they are. I was looking for them.’
Sean watched Jack shakily take one out of the packet. He’d done a bit of research about liver disease. The medical websites were hard work, he had to look up a lot of words, but the bit about toxins building up in the blood and causing the brain to deteriorate was clear enough. It made sense of the vacant look that had come over Jack’s face again.
‘Do you not want to go out, Dad?’
‘No, lad. Let’s get the telly on.’
Sean flicked the curtain shut and switched on the TV.
‘Do you want anything to eat?’
‘No,’ Jack dragged on his cigarette. ‘I’m not hungry.’
They sat in silence watching a reality show, in which a bunch of teenage kids got drunk in a holiday resort. Khan had made a mistake sending him back here. He wasn’t going to learn anything except what an arse people made of themselves in front of the cameras. The show ended and another one began, only this time it was set in a supermarket and the cameras were following a team recruited from an old people’s home, posing as mystery shoppers.
He thought Jack was asleep, but he lifted a thin arm and rested his hand on Sean’s shoulder. It felt like he might be about to squeeze him, but then Sean’s phone started to ring and the arm dropped back.
‘Hello?’ Sean said.
‘It’s all kicking off at the shops on Winston Grove. There’s a right crowd, with flaming torches. People are throwing stuff.’
‘Nan?’ He moved away from his dad to the window. ‘Are the police there? Have you rung 999?’
‘I expect they’ve been told, there’s alarms going off. Bloody hell!’
‘Nan? Where are you?’
‘Something’s happening at the newsagent’s. It’s on fire.’
‘Get out of there, Nan. Go home.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
York
The IT class is late starting.
‘I understand you have staffing issues – don’t we all,’ Kath from the council says to Darren, ‘but I’m only paid until nine, so we really need to get going.’