The Circle Now Is Made (King's Way Book 1) (4 page)

The barman went on to reveal that the
entrepreneur
hadn’t chosen to raise standards since his early days so much as, incredibly, move slowly down-market. Most of the vehicles he bought had to be delivered on scrap lorries. "It's not rare for 'em to arrive in more than one piece – or on more
than one lorry! His body repair shop looks like a motorway pile-up,” he continued in hushed tones. “He could get a government grant for his efforts at the extreme end of the recycling market. Be easy to imagine him disentangling bales of scrap to be revamped as
nice clean cars
."

The trio watched as Hud sipped his gin and tonic. A copious supply of Gilbey’s had been poured into the car dealer’s purple head over the years, though his body had remained flaccid and white.

“Like a pile of pikelets with a sheep’s heart on top,” suggested Eddy.

Fascinated as he’d been by Hud, Greg was forced to turn his attention to his companion, Terry ‘Ten’ Tennant. Almost as unremarkable as his partner, the one-time chauffeur to Penmaric provided the perfect foil for the double act. Unlike Hud, he was tall and stringy, with large, ill-fitting dentures.

“When he smiles he looks like he's got a mouth-organ stuck in his trap,” said Eddy without a hint of amusement. “Which fortunately isn't often - I reckon Hud got 'em for him. And have you seen the ex-War Department hearing aid? Like something out of
Cash in the Attic.
”

Greg pretended he was laughing at something else as the group in question fell silent: Ten had obviously twigged that he was the subject of the conversation, so Nigel decided to break the uneasy silence.

“Ten, d'you reckon the Ulster will make it to across Northern Spain and back?”

Ten puffed amateurishly at a cigar Hud had forced on him: there was little respect for tobacco laws and less still for their enforcement in the Holly Tree.
“That old motor would go right round the world. But why do you want to risk it in that when there are two roadworthy motors in the garage? It would be a cryin' shame to use the Ulster.”

Nigel started to explain that he was taking it to a rally when Hud cut in.

"Genuine enthusiasts don’t drive ‘em that sort of distance. They
transport
'em, so as to keep 'em in perfect nick.”

“Mmm, discerning types eh? Is that why you have your vehicles delivered by lorry?” interjected Eddy, though the square man ignored him and continued:

“If you want something to make the journey for sure, I can fix you up...”

“Yes but the whole point is that he’s going to show the
car
!” intervened Eddy. "He needs an old car to go with the goggles and helmet for Christ's sake!"

“We can rig something up,” continued Hud undeterred, “those dagos know fuck-all…”

 “Thanks for your advice,” cut in Nigel, “But I’m taking the Ulster whatever the outcome. The old banger’s in perfect nick, and hasn't done a great mileage, despite her age.”

“No, I’ll give you that,” agreed Ten, "Never drove it much: been a showpiece most of its life.”

The ex-chauffeur went on to explain that the only times the car had been used were on its monthly excursions to the Worcester-Hereford area, where the old man had friends. Penmaric used to disappear on his own for indeterminate periods, insistent on driving himself."

"Did he have a woman up there?" joked Greg.

"Don't think so," replied Ten, almost indignantly. "Liked a flutter, and he'd a few upper-class connections up there." Ten tapped the side of his nose with a bony finger. "But he never made the journey without seeing that the Ulster was checked thoroughly: carried all sorts of spares and tools in case of trouble. Not as he'd have done repairs himself, mind - the on'y thing 'e ever had a go at was the trip meter, and
that
ain’t worked since.” He banged his empty glass on the counter for Hud’s benefit. “Do you know,” he added, “he even carried a tin of original touch-up enamel in case a stone chipped it. No flies on that old beauty.” 

Nigel confirmed what Ten had said. “Worshipped it till the day he died. Anyway Greg, I'll leave details with Eddy here so that, hopefully, we can organise something.”

"Are you really serious about that lot?" queried Eddy as Nigel left. "Thought you had a dog?"

Greg was quickly deflated by the remark. "Mmm - was nice to dream for a while."

At that stage, Jan left to collect Jamie, and the company, after discussing other peripherals, eventually disbanded. Only Greg and Eddy remained in the bar, so Greg chose the opportunity to acquaint himself better with the barman. He had a good feeling about Eddy, and felt comfortable confiding details of recent events with him.

"So that's what brought you to Trevelly in a hurry?" summed up Eddy eventually.

 "Yes, but it's not a bad place to be." Greg decided it a good time to learn more of the intriguing local situation and, more particularly, if and where Hud and Ten fitted in.

“Rum couple, the car dealer and his mate.” Greg deliberately chose an indirect approach, having gauged that Eddy would button up if he sensed interrogation.

“You can say that again.” Eddy grinned as he put the last of the newly washed glasses away and took out his tobacco tin. “Beats me why they teamed up together. Not a lot in common,”

“Except they’re both rogues,” said Greg. “They've not always been friends then?”

“Only over the last month or two; since Ten was made redundant following Penmaric’s death. He's earned a reputation as a fair weather friend over the years I’m afraid, though how he hopes to benefit from Hud – other than the odd pint perhaps – is a mystery to me."

“Mmm... Take your point.” Greg looked thoughtful as he finished his beer. “Well… I’ll be off - that dog of mine will be plaiting his legs, else. See you then, Eddy.”

He zipped up his casual jacket, fast becoming a personal uniform, and lumbered back to the caravan to sleep away the grey afternoon.

***

"So Tammy, have you heard from your boyfriend since we last met?" asked Goldie as he placed two lattes on the table. "Any ideas where he is?"

"You're too nosy for your own good," responded Tammy briskly, though not without humour. "What if I have?"

"I'm just interested. Makes no difference to me in my situation, but it seems a shame for such a lovely chick to be letting her life slip away – especially at your age."

"I know what you're saying." Tammy considered the situation carefully before making further comment. This was only her second private meeting with Goldie, but she'd taken to him. Openly camp, yet despite his flamboyance a good listener, he came across as sincere and compassionate. The pair sat in silence as, deep in thought, Tammy sipped her latte. She knew from what he'd told her that Goldie was no angel. That he'd committed far worse offences than her boyfriend in order to support his habit, and that even if he wanted to, he'd be in no situation to capitalise on the limited information she longed to share. "If I tell you something, can you guarantee it will go no further?"

"Look, if you're in doubt, leave it until you're ready, or share it with a female friend."

"None of my friends outside the group are druggies," she said. "So they'd hardly be able to understand, let alone sympathise…"

"We're not here for sympathy Tammy; I've learnt that already. Someone explained to me,
very
crudely I'm afraid, that I'd find
sympathy
in the dictionary between shit and syphilis, and about as much use as either. Empathy is all we need."

"You put it so beautifully - but you're right." She paused again and decided to grasp the nettle. "The bottom line is, although I miss my boyfriend, I'm more concerned about his situation. What he did was wrong, but I'm sure he's not a lost cause – certainly not beyond redemption."

"He's in jail?"

"No, sometimes I wish he was, for everyone's sake." Tammy paused again, obviously still having second thoughts about opening up. "He's an addict like us, and had been selling drugs for a long time…purely to support his own habit."

"Doesn't make it any better, but loads of us have done it, Tammy. I know I did."

"I'm sure, but the point is he was caught and charged. The big problem is, although it was a forgone conclusion he'd receive a custodial sentence, he got unconditional bail…" She paused again.

"Go on."

"We'd booked a coach holiday in Malgrat in Spain, and we went between the preliminary trial and the full hearing…"

"And he jumped bail?"

"Yes, we’d had a fantastic holiday, and I never dreamed he'd do a runner, but when I woke up on the last morning he’d gone. I was gutted – especially as we’d discussed getting cleaned up after his sentence and all."

"So now he's missing in Spain? Do you have contact with him?"

"No. He bought an unregistered mobile over there, though I've no idea if he kept it, and I was scared to ring him anyway for obvious reasons… I'm just so worried." Tammy became emotional.

"Look Tam," interrupted Goldie. "You've said enough for now. But if and when you’re ready to get in touch with him let me know. Let's say I know a lot of people."

"Thanks Goldie. I'll think on it." Tammy collected her things." See you at the next meeting if you're there."

Chapter Three

For the next few days Greg did just as planned. He rose at ten thirty; took Red for a walk; went to the pub; slept all afternoon; drank all night; took Red for a walk; went to bed…Rose at ten thirty.

Lunchtimes were invariably quiet in the Holly Tree: except for Wheeler - who Greg avoided where possible - there was rarely anyone other than Eddy about. Greg enjoyed the barman’s company however. Because for the most part he was a man of few words, his observations were to be savoured by virtue of their rarity. Sleek and gypsy-like, the sinewy barman delivered his comments without flexing one unnecessary face muscle. Greg imagined him likely to be a handful if necessary, and was prompted one morning to ask why such a capable man should be working behind a bar.

“Is this your own pub, or are you a tenant, Eddy?"

“Neither.” Eddy pulled vigorously at one of the pumps to clear it of cloudy fluid. “I just manage the pub for Vi.”

“Vi?"

“Violet Ball,” explained Eddy, “old lady who owns the Holly Tree. Forgot, you've not met her have you?”

“No - I had the impression the pub was in your family, actually.”

“Wish it was,” Eddy smiled, "only came into the trade a short while ago. Came out of the marine
s and worked on a building site for a while. This place is just a stop-gap till I can start making a living again.”

“I know just what you mean: I thought you looked like an outdoor type. I worked on a building site many years ago - forced to leave uni and make a living after my parents died.”

"I can imagine; you'd be in fair nick yourself if you got rid of the bad habits."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure - were you on the building long?”

“No, not really. I took a second job selling domestic security systems to ease finances in the early days. The firm took a liking to me and set me on full time – and I eventually went on to start up on my own.”

“Oddly enough I'm trying to get into security – commercial or domestic,” said Eddy with surprise. “I was an engineer in the Royals, but I'd no idea how difficult it would be to find work when I came out.”

“I’ve heard it can be a nightmare.”

“Not easy for anyone at the moment, mind.” Eddy nodded slowly as the misty fluid in the glass he was filling turned slowly amber.

“No,” agreed Greg. “But it’s a wonder you can stick something as hum-drum as this?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad. I’m lucky to have this I reckon." Eddy handed Greg a crystal clear pint of bitter and winked. "First out of the barrel that one - compliments of Violet Ball.

“No problem. Good health!’ replied a bemused Greg as he took the drink and sat at a table. "We'll have a chat about security when you've more time. You never know, I might be able to point you in the right direction." Greg paused for a second. "Erm…"

"Go on."

"Different subject altogether, but do you have access to the internet? I'd like to look something up."

"Not me personally: I'm a bit of a Luddite in that respect, but if I ask Vi she might lend you hers - as long as you leave the porn sites alone."

"Not into 'em," said Greg with a grin.

"Vi's porn sites, I meant."