That Summer He Died (26 page)

James smiled. It was going to be good. The party of the summer, Alex reckoned. Like putting on at the same time all the other parties they’d run this year. Full-scale. For real. The climax of the season. Two bands were booked to play. No one major, but a couple of possible next-big-things. And then there were the DJs, the real reason people were coming. The stage was already constructed, the amps in place.

They were expecting over a thousand punters to show. A couple of hundred from Grancombe and the surrounding area, the rest from beyond: from London, from Bristol, from Manchester, from anywhere word had reached, flying round so easily. And at twenty quid gate charge, money matters were shaping up nicely. Even taking into account the money Alex would declare to the taxman (‘Doing it by the book’s gonna bust Murphy’s balls . . .’), he and Dan would still be set up for their end-of-summer Thailand binge with cash to spare.

Grancombe wasn’t going to know what had hit it.

The light reflected on the table changed subtly and James looked up to see the pub door opening. Someone came in, shadowed against the bright day for a moment. Then the door swung shut and he saw that it was Suzie.

She walked to the bar and sat on a stool with her back to him. Johnno, who’d been serving some well-wired guy with a heavy Mancunian accent, wandered over to talk to her and fixed her a pint of Coke.

James hadn’t seen much of her since she’d acted as nurse to him that day they’d found Jack Dawes’s corpse. This hadn’t really been down to his avoiding her, more because of circumstances.

When Alex had said that Dan and his sister weren’t exactly close, he hadn’t been kidding. Most of the time, Dan avoided her. He said they didn’t gel. They’d been to a party down at Surfers’ Turf a few days before and Dan hadn’t even spoken to Suzie. ‘Too straight,’ had been his only comment as he’d looked around the room. ‘Bunch of boring bastards. Drug-free, fun-free fuckwits.’

The one time James had spoken to her had been when he’d gone round with Alex to visit Dan in his room in the flat above the Moonraker. The visit had been wired with bad vibes as it was, what with Dan still being wiped out after his way-too-close encounter with Dawes up in the woods.

It had been Suzie who’d answered the door to them then. ‘Oh,’ she’d said the moment she’d seen Alex, ‘it’s you.’

‘Good to see you, too,’ he had replied.

‘What do you want?’

‘Came to see Dan. . . to check he’s all right.’

She’d noticed someone else, lurking on the stairs below Alex. ‘Is that you, James?’ she’d said.

‘Yeah, hi,’ he’d said back. Then, noticing the look of disappointment on her face, ‘How you doing?’

‘You gonna let us in now?’ Alex had interrupted. ‘Or we gonna stand here talking all night?’

‘Dan’s resting. Doctor said he shouldn’t be disturbed.’

‘Your mum said it was OK.’

‘Since when was my mother a doctor?’

Alex had pushed forward. ‘Just let us in, will you?’

She’d stepped back. ‘He’s in his room.’

‘Thanks.’ James had followed Alex past her into the flat.

‘Hanging out with him and my brother now, are you?’ she’d said as soon as Alex was out of earshot.

‘Yeah, they’re all right.’

Suzie had shaken her head at him and muttered, ‘Thought you’d have had more sense,’ before disappearing off into the living room without giving James a chance to reply.

Hardly what you’d call a dream date then, he thought as he watched her sitting at the bar. But that evening hadn’t been a total waste either, he remembered. At least they’d left Dan in better spirits. They’d stayed there with him for a couple of hours, wired into PlayStation, zapping the bad guys and saving the day, smoking a couple of spliffs. Dan had even smiled from time to time.

‘Here,’ Alex said to him as they’d made to go.

He’d placed a pill next to the glass of water on Dan’s bedside table. Valium, it had looked like, but the wrong colour. James hadn’t asked what it was. Hadn’t wanted to look like he didn’t already know.

‘This’ll sort you out for tonight,’ Alex had said. ‘We’ll be round to pick you up tomorrow. And then it’ll be back to business as usual, all right?’

Dan had picked up the pill and slipped it on to his tongue to swill it down with a gulp of water. ‘Yeah,’ he’d said, lying back and closing his eyes, ‘sweet dreams.’

He’d been there waiting for them the next morning. Subdued to begin with, he’d perked up pretty fast. He told them he’d tripped his tits off all night and had asked what the pill had been.

‘Just something special,’ was all that Alex would say. ‘Something I knew would fix you up all right.’

And he’d been right. By the end of the week Dan had been properly back, resurrected, as loud and as lairy as the first time James had encountered him.

Here in the Moonraker, he glanced over at Suzie again. Even now, with her back to him, unaware of his presence, she still had the ability to flip him out; to make his heart go boom-boom like a drum machine.

He let his mind wander and played a psychological drama out in it, just like his grief counsellor had taught him.

Imagine the alternatives. Pitch yourself into the ideal and discover what it is you really want.

He closed his eyes and saw palm trees, their trunks rearing up towards a sun-fired sky. Then down from the horizon, close up now, he pictured him and Suzie. Miles from anyone else. No Alex. No Dan. No past. Just him and her. Air-crash survivors, stuck together on an uninhabited tropical island.

He’d chuck all this – the money in his pocket, his new friends, his whole life – to be on that island with her, to pull her out of the wrecked plane, to carry her through the waves to the shore, to lay her on the sand, knowing that his face would be the first thing she’d see when she awoke.

James opened his own eyes to dispel the dream. She wasn’t looking at him at all. She still had her back to him, just the same as before. He exhaled heavily, drank from his pint. Sentimental crap. Not kidding anyone. Love at first sight was for suckers. Crap you drilled into your head after watching too many happy-ever-after endings in movies. Not backed up by what happened in reality. Not backed up by what he saw before him now. He turned away and willed her from his mind.

Dan was the first to arrive, crash helmet under one arm, his face wet with sweat. He spotted James immediately and made a pint-tipping motion with his hand on his way to the bar.

‘What you having?’ he shouted.

‘Stella.’

‘Reassuringly brain-scrambling,’ Dan said, lifting the hatch and going behind the bar. ‘All right, Dad. Suzie. . .’ he said, pouring out a couple of pints.

She swivelled on her bar stool to see who her brother had been talking to. Nodding recognition when she discovered it was James, she turned back to the bar and continued her conversation with her father.

‘Good day’s work?’ James said as Dan joined him in the alcove.

‘Fifteen villages. Donbury and Rothton, too. I tell you, man, I see another bloody poster and I’m gonna spew.’ Dan drank deeply from his pint and gasped. ‘Thirsty work,’ he said appreciatively. ‘Talk about earning your drink . . . Alex showed yet?’

‘No, probably still up at Eagle’s Point.’

‘Nah, I called there on the way back. He left an hour ago. Must be down the Council. Pen-pushing pains in the arses.’

‘How’s it looking up the Point?’

‘Massive. Marquee’s up. Bar’s stacked. Danny Peel sorted out the JCB – dug a trench at the back.’

‘What for?’

‘Toilets. Gotta piss somewhere, haven’t you? Good drainage there. It’ll run straight down the cliff on to the beach. Right on some tourist’s ice cream with a bit of luck. And the stage looks sorted. Generator’s up and running. Mechanic even got that wartime searchlight sussed. It’s gonna work a storm. Fire it up at the sky tonight. Be able to see it for miles. Wouldn’t surprise me if Batman put in an appearance.’

‘Just so long as Gotham City’s finest don’t make it their business to gatecrash, too,’ Alex added, appearing behind Dan and sitting down.

James examined his face. The bruises donated by Murphy had faded into his tan completely now.

‘Where’ve you been?’ Dan said.

‘Supplies,’ Alex told him.

‘Everything sorted?’

‘Yeah, enough chemical treats on board to open a laboratory. Pills. ketamine, speed and coke.’

‘Usual source?’

Alex shook his head. ‘Didn’t have enough. Had to go to somewhere––’

‘Dodgy?’

‘Chance you take.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, they’re just for punters. I got them off Trader. I’ve got some left from the old batch for us.’

Dan’s face relaxed. ‘Push the shit on, hold the gold back. Good. So long as it’s not me who ends up dead in Casualty, like that kid in the papers.’ He smiled at James and said, ‘Just joking. How about the Council?’ he asked Alex. ‘All sussed?’

‘Yeah. Got them eating out of my hand.’

Dan stood up: ‘What you drinking?’

Alex told him and Dan went and fetched him a pint.

‘You still on for helping out tonight?’ Alex asked James.

‘Sure.’

‘Good lad. It’s gonna be a right blast.’

‘Here you go.’ Dan put down three more pints.

‘Right,’ Alex said after he’d taken a swig. He placed his mobile phone on the table. ‘We gonna do this shit, or what?’

‘Sure,’ said James.

‘I suppose,’ agreed Dan.

‘So, who’s first?’ Alex challenged.

James stared at the phone. ‘Not me. No way.’

‘Dan?’ Alex asked.

‘What’s the point? Already know I’ve failed.’

Alex clicked his tongue. ‘Well, someone’s got to do it. Tell you what, we’ll spin for it.’

‘Spin what?’ James asked.

‘This,’ Alex said, resting his hand on the phone and setting it spinning.

James watched it slow, past Dan, past Alex. It came to a rest, the aerial pointing directly at his chest.

‘Typical,’ he said, and picked it up.

*

Two hours later, James sat slumped numbly in his chair, staring at the carnage on the table before him. A sculpture of empty pint glasses obscured his view of Alex and Dan. He lunged for a pint and missed, sending it crashing to the floor.

‘Mind the Chippendale,’ Dan cried out, reaching out too late to catch it and knocking a shot glass over as well. He turned round and saw his father slowly shaking his head as he polished a glass. ‘Sorry, Dad.’

‘Oxford,’ James said to Alex for what must have been the fiftieth time. ‘I still can’t believe you never said you had an offer. Jesus.’ He slumped across the table and slapped Alex on the back. ‘Who’d have guessed? And now you’re in. You’re going.’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said, ‘whatever.’

James looked at him in amazement. ‘Well, you’ve got to be pleased? Christ, I’m going to Edinburgh and I’m over the moon. So you. . . I can’t even begin to imagine how wired you must be.’

‘Yeah, you miserable bastard,’ Dan agreed. ‘Here’s me with just enough to scrape into Tech, and I’m smiling. What’s your problem? Enjoy it.’

Alex took off his shades and polished their lenses on his t-shirt. ‘Anyhow, I never said I was gonna go.’

James leant forward. ‘What? You can’t not. Opportunity of a lifetime, isn’t it? You can’t just trash it. I mean, you two are still having a break for a year, going to Thailand. It’s not like you’re having to sacrifice anything.’

‘Matter of priorities,’ Alex said, getting to his feet. ‘That’s all that matters at the end of the day: what’s going to get you where you want the quickest.’

‘Where you going, man?’ Dan demanded.

‘Home. I gotta crash.’ Alex wagged a finger at them both. ‘You guys should, too. Get some zeds. We’ve got a big night ahead of us. James,’ he added, ‘I’ll pick you up round five at your uncle’s. You all right for getting home?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, picking up a half-finished pint, ‘I’ll walk, get going in a minute.’

Alex laughed. ‘You walk, it’ll be five by the time you get there, the state you’re in. Get a cab.’ He pulled his wallet from his pocket. ‘Here,’ he said, handing over a twenty. He held up his left hand and fanned his fingers. ‘Five, all right? And don’t be late.’

James woke up on the Friday morning to the sound of a storm. The white blind which covered the window of his hotel room momentarily lit up like a projection screen. He listened to the screech of the gale and counted: one, two, three. . .

Then, crash; thunder rocked the town.

He twisted his neck and looked at the clock on the headboard of the bed: six-thirty. Habit told him to close his eyes, ignore the day for another hour, but his body wasn’t having any of it. He’d gone to bed before ten the night before, blacking out seconds after the bulb of the bedside lamp. Too much sleep. And too deep. No chorus of car horns, lullabying him through the night. Nothing but the soothing sound of the sea.

Lightning flashed against the blind again. One. Two. And crash. No doubt about it: the storm was closing in.

He lay there for while, trying not to think. Meditate, he told himself. Breath in. Breath out. Count the breaths. But this morning, his technique failed him. His mind kept plunging down black tunnels.

Alex was back in his head. As bad as Headley on the way from the airport to the office. The crates in the barn nagged at James’s mind. Alex’s attitude, too – the fuck-you confidence he’d exuded. James replayed the confrontation in his mind, wondered if he could have handled it better. Smacked Alex one, once his minders had left the barn? Decked the bastard, laid him out? Would that have solved anything? Probably not. He’d probably just have laughed. Alex had him in his pocket. He knew James’s weaknesses, just like he knew his own strength. The murder on the beach had bound them together like Siamese twins. They breathed the same air, shared the same lungs. Until one of them died, that was how it would stay. While Alex still lived, James would never have full control of his life.

He should not have come back here.

His train of thought switched track, burrowing down another dark tunnel. Lucy. Arriving today. And David. And Becky. People he cared about. They’d be leaving London in a few hours, packed bags in the boot of David’s car, jumpers and jackets and boots, happy holiday music pumping out, mentally flipping London off and homing in on the countryside, equating it with peace, relaxation and rest.