‘Why?’
‘Because he wanted a battered sausage.’
‘What the fuck?’
‘You reckoned he was taking the piss out of you.’
Josh shook his phone again and wiped it on the duvet cover. ‘Why did I think he was taking the piss?’
‘Search me. You know how you get sometimes.’
‘I know I get a fucking headache every time.’ Josh walked to the tiny kitchen and opened the fridge. He took out a can of lager and popped the tab. ‘I might go to Peggy’s Café for a bacon butty.’
‘You got money?’
Josh returned to the bedroom. Two single beds took up most of the room, leaving only enough space for a battered wardrobe and a chair that looked as old as the Victorian block of flats. Northern Park Development wasn’t famed for its beautiful buildings and magnificent landscapes, but it was home. For now. And a step up from sleeping rough.
Josh sat on the bed and pawed at his hair as if trying to untangle the tight curls. There were already strands of grey showing in the dark matting, but Josh didn’t care about that any more than he cared about the weather. He’d long since stopped worrying about anything other than getting through each day and trying to survive in a world that wasn’t built for the likes of him.
He grabbed his jeans off the floor and checked the pockets. Two pounds and eighty-five pence. He checked and rechecked the back pockets for notes. Nothing. ‘Fuck me, I had forty quid when we went out.’
‘You lost half of it playing pool.’
Josh remembered shooting a few frames with a big bloke with a beard. He couldn’t remember the stakes, but he’d let the booze cloud his judgement. Again.
‘Why didn’t you stop me?’
Sid laughed. ‘Are you serious? Last time I tried you went for me.’
‘When?’
‘The night you were gonna go home with Maggie Rowlett.’
‘Who?’
‘You know who Maggie Rowlett is. And everyone knows she’s got the clap.’
Josh shrugged. He put on his jeans, checked the front of his t-shirt for stains and wandered back to the kitchen to make a cup of black coffee. ‘Nothing for it – I’ll have to go busking before I go to Peggy’s.’
‘Do the world a favour,’ Sid called. ‘Put some sun glasses on. Your eyes look bad enough to scare kids.’
Josh smiled and put the kettle on. He was about to check his phone when someone knocked on the door. Three loud raps. It was funny how different knocks conjured up different images in Josh’s head. The postman had a certain knock. Friends another. This one sounded official. Open up or else!
‘Don’t answer it,’ Sid called. ‘It might be the landlord.’
Josh had no argument with that. Although he thought it more likely to be a bailiff than the man himself.
The knocks came again. Louder. More insistent. Josh crept into the hallway. He was about to take a peek through the peephole when the letterbox opened.
‘If you’re in there, Mr McBain, please open the door. I’ve got something important for you.’
Josh pressed himself against the wall. The voice didn’t sound quite as official as the knock. More friendly and concerned than authoritative. But that might just be a ploy. A trick to get him to lower his guard and open the door.
‘Mr McBain?’
‘Who is it?’
‘My name’s Stephen Chambers. I’m a private investigator. I’ve got a message for you.’
‘Who from?’
‘A friend.’
‘I ain’t got no friends.’
‘Can you please open the door so I can give it to you?’
‘Why can’t you just tell me what it is?’
‘Because I’ve been paid to hand it to you.’
Sid joined him in the hallway. Just over five foot in his bare feet and skinny enough to make his ribcage his most prominent feature, Sid placed his index finger over his lips and shook his head.
‘Two seconds of your time, then I’m away.’
‘What’s this so-called friend of mine called?’
‘Daniel Sheppard.’
Josh’s legs lost all their strength. He could still see the pot plant on the hall table that rarely got watered. The filthy lino that had somehow managed to add a smear of blood to its hideous pattern. But Josh would have been hard-pressed to tell you where he was, who he was and why he was there at that moment.
‘Josh?’ The voice called through the letterbox again.
‘Who the fuck’s Daniel Sheppard?’ Sid asked, like a jealous lover learning of a rival.
Josh ignored him and staggered to the door. He opened it to reveal a large man with a white envelope in his hand. The man had a beard. For one daft moment he wondered if it was the guy from the pub come to give him back the money he’d lost playing pool.
‘You Josh McBain?’
Josh nodded.
He held out the envelope. ‘This is for you.’
Josh took the envelope. The man wished him good luck, as if he knew Josh would need all the four-leafed clovers he could find. He then walked away, leaving Josh standing in the open doorway as if sleepwalking.
Sid closed the door. ‘Who’s Daniel Sheppard?’
Josh didn’t answer him. He walked back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed. He opened the envelope, took out a single sheet of notepaper and read:
It’s happened again. We need to meet. My place, Saturday 4 July. Danny.
Memories came flooding back to him. Terrible memories of that fateful day just over nine years ago.
Sid walked into the bedroom. ‘What is it, mate?’
Josh bowed his head and sobbed. Tears splashed onto the letter as if trying to drown the words and destroy the memories that went with them.
Chapter Four
Rob Wallace was not having a good day. He’d slipped over getting out of the shower and cut himself shaving a few minutes later. The sleeping pills always left him with a thick head. He sat at the kitchen table and washed two Prozac tablets down with his morning coffee.
Three failed suicide attempts had resulted in the doctor prescribing him the antidepressants and referring him for counselling, but Rob could never tell anyone what was really troubling him. That was something he would have to take to his grave.
Without his girlfriend, Michelle, Rob knew he would just be another headstone in the graveyard right now. She was his rock. His unpaid social worker. His everything. He’d met her in the park seven years ago while he was out walking his boxer dog, Caesar. She’d been sitting on a bench sketching in a large pad. Caesar, as only Caesar could do, had gone to investigate and give his professional opinion of the drawing. He’d sealed his approval by slobbering all over the work.
Rob had offered to buy her a new pad. Take Caesar for behavioural therapy. At least give him a bib to wear when he got overexcited. Michelle had laughed and told Caesar it was fine. He’d actually improved her picture. After several apologies from Rob, and a short awkward silence, Michelle had told him he could buy her a coffee if he really wanted to make amends.
Rob had obliged. He’d just moved into a new flat in Oxford and he didn’t know a soul. He’d also landed a job at the BMW plant. A clean break. A fresh start away from Feelham and its relentless reminder of the past.