That Summer He Died (12 page)

Neither of them moved.

‘Sit the fuck down,’ Alex repeated, ‘and chill the fuck out.’

Daniel’s head swivelled round to face him. ‘What are you talking about? You hear what this twat just said?’

Alex was still flat on his back. ‘Just can it, will you? Both of you.’ He crane his neck in James’s direction. ‘We were out of line last night, but who gives a shit, right?’ He sat up, dug into his pocket and produced a beaten tobacco tin.

James and Daniel glowered at each other, but neither of them made a move. Alex’s lack of interest in their fury drained the impetus from it. James didn’t know what to do or say.

Slowly, Alex peeled a couple of cigarette papers off the packet inside his tin and set about constructing the beginnings of a spliff. ‘We were legless so it doesn’t mean anything,’ he continued, sprinkling the contents of a cigarette and a thick pinch of grass on to the papers. He looked down, lifted the packed papers to his mouth and ran his tongue along their glue-stained borders. He rolled. ‘So, Dan,’ he said, looking round for his lighter, ‘you say sorry about chucking his bag at him. And taking his cab. And you,’ he concluded, threading the spliff between his lips, and looking at James, ‘give Dan the water and come and have a smoke.’

‘I don’t believe this,’ Dan began. ‘You can’t—’

‘I can and I have. Now apologise to him and then can it.’

Dan shook his head, his eyes darting in confusion from Alex to James and then back to Alex again. ‘But—’

‘But nothing,’ Alex said, lighting the spliff. ‘Just do it.’

Dan said nothing, then shot James a foul look and muttered something under his breath.

Alex lowered the spliff from his mouth and exhaled smoke through a wide grin. ‘I think that was your sorry,’ he told James, holding out the spliff towards him. ‘Now give him the water and let’s all relax.’

James bent down and sent the bottle spinning towards Dan, who snatched it from the air, unscrewed the top and took a drink. He nodded at James, but said nothing more. He could have meant anything from ‘thanks’ to ‘the moment you turn your back on me, I’m going to drive an ice-pick through your brain’. Dan took another drink and walked over to Alex, slumped down next to him and eyed the spliff snip-gripped between his fingers, which was still pointed at James.

‘You want or not?’ he asked.

‘Not.’

‘Why?’ Alex handed it to Dan.

He settled back on the ground and commented, ‘Hash virgin. That’s all we need.’

‘That true?’ Alex asked.

‘No. I’m just trying to cut back,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘Just because.’

Because that’s why I bloody came here and look at me already, James thought. I mean, Jeez, what time is it? Not even eight? And look at this guy, Alex, dazed by the daylight, a vampire with his shades protecting him from bursting into flames and crumbling into ash, sitting here cross-legged, like the Sultan of Smoke, the Maharaja of Marijuana.

Alex accepted the spliff back off Daniel like a Communion wafer and lifted it to his mouth. He turned back to James and smiled that thin smile. ‘Too much of a good thing is never too much,’ he said.

James knew he didn’t have to explain himself to these two. At the same time, though, there was something compelling in Alex’s voice.

‘Since I left school,’ he said, ‘you know, I’ve just been doing, well, nothing. Just pills, smoking, dicking around.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Daniel said, a beatific smile spreading across his face as the grass kicked in.

‘I know, but, you know, I just need to get my shit together a bit. . . do something proper before I head off to uni. . . I want my life to stop feeling like a. . .’ He didn’t know why he was telling them this, why he somehow felt that he could. But the words kept coming. ‘Like a kind of proper messed-up dream.’

‘What you going to do at uni?’

‘Yeah? Where you going?’ It was the first time Daniel had spoken without any edge to his voice.

‘I don’t know. Depends on my results. What about you? You going somewhere?’

Alex nodded. ‘I got some offers. Dunno, though. The thought of another institution doesn’t appeal too much right now.’

‘What about you?’ James asked, addressing Dan for the first time since they’d faced each other off.

‘He’s too thick for university, aren’t you, Dan?’ Alex teased, slapping his hand down on his friend’s shoulder.

Dan rubbed at his eyes, gave the spliff back to Alex. ‘Piss off. Who wants to go to uni anyway? Load of shit. More teachers. More of their bullshit. They can stick it.’ He turned his attention to James. ‘We’re going travelling. Me and Alex. Off to Thailand and that for a few months. End of the summer. Getting the hell out of this stupid town. Ain’t that right, Alex?’

‘Yeah, Dan. We’re getting out.’ Alex smiled and held the spliff towards James.

This time James took it. He hesitated before inhaling, then thought, Sod it, and sucked in and listened to the soft crackle of grass as the smoke burned down his throat.

Tomorrow. He could start being good again tomorrow, right? But not now, because he hadn’t just come here to get away from his lifestyle, he’d come here for a new life, right? And that meant new people too. People like these two maybe, right?

He exhaled, watched the smoke funnel from his mouth into the air, savoured the dryness in his throat, and then took another hit.

‘Not bad, is it?’ Alex said, grinning.

‘Not bad at all,’ James agreed, aware that his lips were already twitching of their own accord into a smile.

Alex started skinning up another. ‘So you’re Al l’Anson’s nephew, huh?’

‘That’s right.’ James took another pull on the spliff and leant unsteadily forward, giving it to Dan. ‘The one and only.’

Dan sniggered, rolled on to his front, and adopted a BBC news announcer’s clipped tones: ‘“Grancombe’s natural beauty has provided inspiration for many artists over the years. Current residents include the writer Alan L’Anson and the painter Jack Dawes.” Tourist brochure,’ he explained. ‘Your uncle always gets a mention.’

‘So how long you staying here?’ Alex asked James.

‘Don’t know. It was going to be for the summer, but I’m not sure now.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Alan, I suppose. He seems pretty messed up at the moment. I get the feeling he’d be happier on his own.’

Alex lit the second spliff as Dan finished the first. The smile had faded from his lips. ‘Hardly surprising, considering what happened to his wife.’

‘You knew her?’ James asked.

‘Sure. Everyone knows everyone round here. Ain’t that right, Dan?’

He accepted the spliff. ‘Yeah. She was nice. Got on well with my old dear. Mum reckoned it would screw your uncle up, her going like that. Screw anyone up, I reckon.’

Alex nodded his head. ‘Yeah. Shit way to lose someone. Poor bastard. What about you? You close to her?’

‘No, I only met her a couple of times.’ A wave of sensation tingled through James’s body and he stifled a laugh. ‘Jesus,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘This isn’t funny. I shouldn’t be laughing.’

‘Great thing about drugs,’ Alex said, his grin grown wide again. ‘Kill manners cold.’

‘I need a piss,’ Dan announced, standing quickly and handing the spliff to Alex like a relay baton before running over to the edge of the cliff. He stood there, fumbling with his flies and swaying in the breeze. ‘Hey, Murphy,’ he called out across South Beach, releasing a high arc of urine. ‘Drink this.’

Alex sat up, passed the spliff to James. ‘Be careful, you dozy bastard,’ he shouted at Dan. ‘Get back here before you get blown off.’

‘Nah,’ Dan shouted back, ‘he’s too far away.’

‘What?’ Alex asked.

‘Murphy,’ Dan cackled, turning round with his penis exposed, still urinating. ‘He’s way too far away to blow me off.’ He cackled again and asked, ‘Get it?’

Alex shook his head slowly. ‘Yeah, Dan. Crap joke. But get this. . .’

‘What?’

‘You ever heard of the expression pissing into the wind?’

‘Of course I—’ Dan suddenly realised what Alex was talking about and looked down. ‘Shit,’ he shrieked, spotting the dark, urine-drenched patches on his jeans and spinning round to face the beach again. ‘That’s your fault an’ all, Murphy,’ he yelled. ‘You wait, you wanker. I’ll get you. Just you wait.’

‘Some people never learn,’ Alex told James.

‘Tell me about Murphy,’ James said. ‘What’s the problem between you guys?’

‘He’s a prick,’ Dan answered, squatting down next to them again.

Alex pushed him away playfully. ‘Look at you,’ he said, holding his nose. ‘Worse than a hobo, you piss-ridden scum-bag. You carry on like that, and we’ll have to get you a colostomy bag.’

‘Suck my dick,’ Dan muttered, lying down and spreading his legs. ‘Sun’ll soon dry it out.’

‘Murphy,’ James repeated. ‘What was he on about when he mentioned last night?’

Alex pointed at the joint in James’s hand. ‘Nothing. Just caught us having a jay on the beach. That’s where we’d been when we bumped into you in the car park.’

‘We were so wrecked, man,’ Dan said, ‘we didn’t even see the fat porky bastard till he was standing over us.’

‘He didn’t bust you, then?’

‘Nah, not worth it. Not for just a joint. He searched us, though. Would have done us too, if he’d nicked us with pills or coke. But we’d left all that with the girls in the pub. Didn’t stop Murphy threatening to bang us up for the night and telling us to sod off home, though. Giving us a hard time for the sake of it, you know?’

Dan nodded in agreement, then said with relish, ‘Hates us, he does.’

‘How come?’

‘He hates everyone, miserable piece of shit. But there’s the parties we’ve doing up at Eagle’s Point,’ Alex explained. ‘In the car park. Gets right on Murphy’s tits. Seeing us making money and having a good time. And there’s pretty much piss all he can do about it, on account of the car park up there’s owned by Arnie Oldfield. Meaning it’s private land. Meaning it’s a right headache for Murphy to close us down.’

‘If you’re not in the town, what’s his problem? Why doesn’t he just let you be?’

‘He says drugs. That’s what he tells everyone, anyhow. That and the usual small-town copper shit. Bangs on about the people who’ve started coming here. People down from London for weekend kicks. Corrupting the local kids. All that shit. And people listen to him. Lot of people round here who’d rather things went back to how they were. Family holidays. Buckets and spades and ice-creams. Pretty postcards.’ Alex smirked. ‘That’s what he tells them, but it’s not what he thinks.’ He shook his head. ‘Murphy’s so full of shit he should have a toilet sign on his head. His brother runs a club down on the front. Dixie’s. Biggest in the town. All the business him and his brother have been losing to our little weekend festivals is what really cranks Murphy up.’

‘What about Oldfield? How come he doesn’t mind you using his land?’

Dan laughed. ‘’ Cos he’s as mad as a fish.’

‘Yeah,’ Alex agreed. ‘Murphy’s tried having words with him about it, but Arnie doesn’t give a shit. We slip him some cash, let him hang around and watch. Besides,’ he added, ‘Arnie hates Murphy. Maybe even as much as Dan here.’

‘How come?’ James asked

‘Murphy tried to bust him for some assault on a tourist a couple of years ago. This bloke got his face smacked in up on Eagle’s Point one night when he was getting into his car. Smacked in bad. Whoever did it had a balaclava on. Robbed him. Left him totally messed him up. Murphy reckons it was Arnie who did it.’

‘And did he?’

‘Who knows? Maybe. Maybe not. Comes from a right screwed-up family. Short of cash, too. His old man ended up in the nut house for rape. Used to run the farm next to the car park. Went bankrupt round about the same time he got put away. Left Arnie skint, so he lives off what he gets from the car park and casual work. Mowing people’s lawns, that sort of thing. But he’s not the only nutter round here up for doing something like that.’ He spat into the air, readjusted his head and caught the blob of spittle in his mouth. ‘Anyhow, they couldn’t stick it on him, so he walked. Wouldn’t put it past Murphy to have done the guy over himself, either. Violent son-of-a-bitch. Kicked the shit out of Dan here a few months ago ’cos he reckoned he’d been joyriding.’

‘Christ,’ James said. ‘Did you report him?’

Alex snorted derisively. ‘Who to? Round here, he’s Judge Dredd. The law. Nearest town with a cop more senior than him is forty miles away. He can do what he bloody well likes, as long as there’re no witnesses. Besides, who’s gonna take our word against his?’

‘So that’s why you’re here today?’ James asked. ‘Because of Murphy catching you with the spliff?’

Alex rolled on to his front, spread his legs like a frog. ‘Guess so. No way you’d find us up at this time otherwise. Murphy said he’d bust us if we didn’t show. Don’t reckon he would have, though. Not worth it. But still, it makes for a quiet life, us being here. Shows willing. Community spirit and all that. We toe the line today, and then maybe he’ll get off our cases for a while.’

‘What about Jack Dawes?’ James asked. ‘Don’t you want to know what’s happened to him?’

‘Dunno.’ Alex’s voice sounded sleepy. ‘The way I see it, he’s old enough to look after himself. He’ll turn up.’

‘But something must be wrong. Why else would the police bother with all this?’

Dan picked up a stone and threw it over the cliff. James felt his muscles tightening, picturing the stone plummet, imagining some hapless person walking by below. But Alex just hawked and spat.

‘Because they’ve got piss all else to do,’ Dan said. ‘Makes Murphy and his buddies feel like they’ve got a life.’

‘Exactly,’ said Alex. ‘If you’re looking for drama, James, forget it. This is Grancombe, not London or New York. The only thrills you get round here are the ones you sort out yourself. Dawes has probably just done a bunk. Artists, you know. Weirdos, the lot of them. Jack Dawes. Jackdaws.’ He slowly flapped his arms to emphasise the point. ‘Maybe he’s made like a bird and flown.’

James rubbed at his eyes. The sunlight was starting to sting. He lay down and stared up at the tree above his head, tried to count the leaves on a branch, then stared at one leaf in particular and navigated the junctions of its veins.