‘That sounds pleasant,’ says Bob.
‘It was very pleasant,’ says Ibrahim. ‘That’s the word. I don’t know that I had done anything together in my life before then. When Marius went to use the facilities, the bathroom, I tipped away the rest of my pint, and, by the time he returned, I had bought two more pints for us, and he said thank you and asked if I had eaten at the Italian restaurant next to Earls Court tube. I hadn’t, but I said that I had, because I wasn’t sure of the right answer to give, and he suggested we have dinner once the quartet had finished, and I said I had other plans, and he said cancel them.’
‘Did you have other plans?’
‘I never had other plans back then,’ says Ibrahim. ‘So I had spaghetti vongole, and Marius said he would have the same.’
‘And what happened next?’ asks Bob.
‘That’s a very good question,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Every story must have a “What happens next”. He walked me back home, we said goodnight, and he said that if it were of interest, he would be in the same pub at the same time the next week.’
‘And was it of interest?’
‘It was,’ says Ibrahim. ‘So I went back, still with a newspaper, you know, just in case?’
Bob nods. ‘Mmm.’
‘And this time I asked for a glass of wine,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Because I felt I could be honest. And it was the same quartet, and we went to the same restaurant, and we talked about Germany, and we talked about Egypt, and we talked about why we found ourselves so far from home, and I spoke a little about my father, which I hadn’t done before, and I haven’t done since, and, underneath the table, his hand found my hand. You had to be careful, of course.’
‘Of course,’ says Bob.
‘We moved in together, after a month or so, into a two-bedroom flat,’ says Ibrahim. ‘In Hammersmith. Do you know it?’
‘I know of it,’ says Bob.
‘And Marius got some work as a cycle courier for one of the newspapers, and I got some work in a shop selling umbrellas, just so we could afford it. And I continued my studies, and he continued his. He had a job waiting for him. Bayer – they were a chemical company, perhaps they still are. He was so strong and so vulnerable, and I became myself, which I hadn’t thought possible. And I talk a lot of nonsense about love sometimes, Bob, but we were in love. I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before.’
‘No,’ says Bob. ‘No.’
‘His course was about to come to an end,’ says Ibrahim, staring at the boat on the wall, ‘and his job would take him to Manchester. So a decision was going to have to be made. Make or break. I couldn’t quite see what the future might hold for us. It wasn’t like today. That’s not complaining – you are born when you are born. I looked into changing my course, to a university in the North, and I was told it wouldn’t be a problem. I had good grades. So I thought, you know?’
‘Give it a go,’ says Bob. ‘Hang the consequences.’
‘Hang the consequences,’ agrees Ibrahim. ‘I had always acted from fear before. But I took the leap, and decided to act from love. First time for everything.’
‘Yes,’ says Bob.
‘And then came a knock at the door,’ says Ibrahim. ‘This would have been around nine thirty. May, getting dark. I had beefsteak cooking in red wine. And it was a police officer and he informed me that my flatmate had been knocked from his bicycle and killed, just off the Strand, and did I have details of his parents?’
‘I’m with you,’ says Bob.
‘And I didn’t have their details, they never spoke to Marius, but I said that I would contact them, and you could see the police officer was glad to have the burden taken from him. And so I was able to make the arrangements, under the cover of acting for them, and we had a cremation in St Pancras, and I offered to take the ashes.’
‘Where are they?’ asks Bob.
‘There is a safe,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Behind the picture of a boat.’
Bob looks up at the picture. ‘You don’t choose to have Marius on display?’
‘Old habits die hard, I suppose,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I keep my love locked away. And no one has ever reached for my hand under the table since.’
Bob nods.
‘I think that is perhaps our time up?’ says Ibrahim. ‘You have been very kind to listen.’
Bob looks at his watch. ‘Yes, we should make a move.’
The two men stand together.
‘Thank you, Bob,’ says Ibrahim.
‘Not at all,’ says Bob. ‘I look forward to hearing the rest of your story.’
‘You’ve already heard it all,’ says Ibrahim.
‘Well, yes,’ says Bob. ‘Except, what happens next?’
73
Garth drives like he lives. With an absolute, calm certainty that the rules don’t apply to him.
That is not to say he is reckless, far from it. Yes, he drives through red lights, but he checks both ways before he does. Yes, he will drive on the verge or the pavement to avoid a line of traffic, but if there is anyone walking on the pavement, Garth will wind down a window and apologize for disturbing them. He even gave a woman waiting at a bus stop, whom he had narrowly avoided hitting, a lift to a local village.
It is pitch black, but he only uses his lights when absolutely necessary. ‘Too much light pollution in this country, Mitch,’ he says. ‘In Canada you can still see the stars.’
Mitch would describe his own feelings in this moment as conflicted. He has just watched one of his oldest friends being thrown off the fifth storey of a car park. But he is on his way to pick up his heroin, and save his own life. The swings and roundabouts of a businessman’s life.
‘You think it’s definitely there?’ he asks Garth again.
‘The heroin? Sure,’ says Garth. ‘Don’t sweat it.’
‘Don’t sweat it?’ says Mitch. ‘You know I die this week if I don’t get it back?’
‘You reckon?’ says Garth.
‘Reckon? I know,’ says Mitch.
‘You don’t think it’s weird?’ says Garth, now driving on the wrong side of the road for no reason Mitch can discern.
‘I think it’s all weird,’ says Mitch. ‘Why are you driving on the wrong side of the road?’
‘When nothing’s coming, I drive where I like,’ says Garth. ‘But you don’t think it’s weird, all this excitement over a hundred grand?’
‘I’ve seen everything in this business,’ says Mitch.
‘Are you a clever man, Mitch?’ asks Garth. ‘Do you think?’
That was a fair question. Mitch used to think he was clever. Before all of this. Before the shipments started getting stopped, and people started getting killed. What if he’d just been lucky though? Ruthless and lucky would take you a long way. Mitch realizes he has lost a bit of confidence. His father-in-law had told him once that the first three things to go are the knees, the eyesight and the confidence. Mitch looks over at Garth once again – this man mountain who seems to care and not care in equal and enormous measure.
‘I really am sorry about your wife,’ says Mitch.
‘Thank you, buddy,’ says Garth. ‘I don’t get cut up about much, but I’m pretty cut up about it.’
‘You want to talk about it?’
‘Nope,’ says Garth. ‘Least not to you.’
‘You really think Luca killed her?’ asks Mitch. ‘It feels like maybe –’
‘I said not to you,’ says Garth, shutting down the conversation.
Mitch is aware, as they drive towards Coopers Chase, that Garth is in charge. It might be Mitch’s heroin, but Garth’s wife has just been murdered, he’s just thrown Luca Buttaci off the top storey of a car park, and he probably has a much bigger gun. So Mitch will gladly play the junior partner for now. But he supposes they both know that once they have the heroin, all bets are off.