I hitched my hip onto the edge of the nearest bench. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Daz smiled and shook his head a little. “What’s to tell?” he said, defiant. “We’re just going for a fast weekend in the Emerald Isle – take in the scenery, sample the Guinness, chill out a little. Simple as that.”
“I could still go to the cops,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, you could – but you won’t,” he said with annoying certainty. “If there’s one thing people tell me about you, it’s that you stand by your friends.”
“That depends who you’ve been asking,” I said. “And what makes you think you’re my friends?”
The smile spread into an outright grin. “I’m not talking about us,” he said. “And besides, we’re booked on tomorrow afternoon’s boat out of Heysham. William can sort you out a ticket if you’re up for it. It’s your choice.”
No, I thought, it’s not my choice. It’s not my choice at all.
I looked round at the other faces. It was hard to see anything beyond Daz’s bright hard smile. William was watching me with mild interest, or perhaps disinterest, like it made no difference to him one way or the other. Paxo and Jamie were the easiest faces to read. They didn’t want me along, full stop, and it was a toss-up which of them wanted it less.
Daz correctly read my silence and nodded, looking almost smug now. “Fancy a game of pool before we head back, Pax?” he asked.
Paxo gave me a last lingering look and turned away, his expression lightening as though he’d flicked a switch and I was instantly forgotten. “You putting any money on it?”
“With you?” Daz laughed and flung an arm round his shoulders. “You bloody hustler. I’m not that stupid. The only cash I’m prepared to lay out on a game of pool with you are the coins that go in the slot, mate.”
“What about you, William?” I asked as the other two moved towards the pub doorway. “You going to keep me in the dark, too?”
“Dark can be good,” he said, eyebrows dancing. “Baby, I do some of my best work in the dark.”
“Don’t call me ‘baby’ unless you want me to puke milk down your back.”
He laughed. “Oh Charlie,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t care what the others say. Ireland’s going to be a ball with you along.”
I would have asked him more about that, but Jamie had come sidling up and was hovering nearby, looking like he had a question burning a hole in the roof of his mouth. William glanced at him and caught the urgency.
“I believe I hear the little boys’ room calling to me,” he said to nobody in particular, and strolled away after Daz and Paxo.
Jamie didn’t launch in immediately, just stood looking awkward with his hands in his pockets. I waited in silence for him to find his purpose. It took him a moment or two of staring out at the little boats creaming across Ullswater on a stiffening breeze.
“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re doing this, Charlie,” he said at last, his voice quiet and meaningful.
“Oh yes,” I said mildly. “And why am I doing this?”
He batted the question aside like a wasp. “Look, the last thing I want the others to know is that my fucking parents don’t think I can look after myself, all right?”
“What about Clare?” The question was out before I’d time to think about whether I really wanted to ask it or not.
Jamie’s face flamed, almost as good as an answer.
“Look,” he said again, his voice as tight as the face it came out of. “If you mess this up for me . . .”
He broke off, flicking a little sideways glance at me as though he realised I wasn’t likely to respond well to threats.
“If I mess it up for you – you’ll do what, exactly?” I said softly, deliberately pushing him to see what would happen. I expected him to fold but to my surprise he didn’t. He pushed back.
“I swear – you mess this up for me,” he said, shaking his head as though to clear his ears, “and I’ll bloody kill you!”
***
The Royal Lancaster Infirmary was beginning to look depressingly familiar. The receptionist even recognised me enough to give me a faint smile as I passed her on the way in. I’d taken the time before I’d left the Watermillock to wash the worst of the blood off my hands and leathers and I’d obviously managed to avoid looking too scary. I stopped to ask about Sam, only to be told that he was still in theatre.
I found Clare on her own for once. She was lying reading a magazine inside her wire and steel cage-like frame.
“Hi Charlie!” she said, sounding pleased to see me but there was something else too. Something bleeding through in the background like a slightly off-tune radio. It took me a moment to put my finger on it, then it clicked. She was nervous. My being there made her nervous. I tried not to let that hurt.
I pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down on it, leaning close so we could talk without being easily overheard.
“You look very serious,” Clare said, cautious. “What’s up?”
“I passed the audition for the Devil’s Bridge Club,” I said, without preamble.
“Oh,” she said, suddenly breathless, “so . . . are you still going to Ireland?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Especially after what’s happened to Sam.”
“Sam? Clare said with a flare of alarm. She swallowed. “What? What’s the matter with him?”
“The daft sod decided to come and try out for the Devil’s Bridge brigade,” I said. “Borrowed an old GPZ from a mate, specially, and got himself wiped out, big style.”
“Oh no!” Clare’s distress knifed at me but I hardened my heart along with my resolve to keep going. “Is he OK?”
I shrugged. “They’re working on him now,” I said. “But his leg was pretty badly smashed.”
She paled at the picture presented by the words. After all, she didn’t need much of an imagination to know what it was like to feel your bones breaking inside you.
“Oh God,” she murmured. “What happened, do you know?”
“I was there,” I said. “He was hit – by a white Transit van.”
“Oh no,” Clare whispered, pale as death now, a faint sheen of sweat breaking out across her forehead.
“What the hell is going on, Clare?” I said, aware that something of her anguish had transferred itself into my own voice.
She looked away. “I-I can’t tell you,” she said, her eyes filling.
“What can’t you tell me?” I demanded. “What’s so terrible that it can possibly be worse than what’s been going round inside my head since Sunday?”
“Please Charlie! I promised, I—”
“Promised who?” I cut in. “Jamie?”
Clare’s features went from colourless to flushed red like spilt ink in water.
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Clare?” I said, talking fast and low now, angry, with a wary eye out for the ever-vigilant – and protective – nursing staff. “If you and Jamie have got something going, don’t you think you owe it to Jacob to tell it to him straight?”