Next of Kin (17 page)

‘So who called you. Sarah?’

‘No. No. It was Ryan.’

‘You’re certain that it was Ryan, Josh?’

‘Absolutely. I recognised his voice.’

‘And what did he have to say for himself?’

‘It sounded like he was in a pub. He was drunk. It was really noisy. I had to keep asking him to repeat what he said.’

Ryan

‘Josh? Is that you, Josh?’

‘Yes, who is this?’

‘It’s me. Ryan. Sarah’s brother. You remember.’

‘Of course I remember. Are you okay? What’s up? Is Sarah okay?’

‘Sorry, the signal’s not very good here. I’ve just come outside for a cigarette and I need to be quick.’ With the phone clamped to his ear Ryan looked left and right, keeping a weather eye out for Woody. ‘Have you got a pen handy?’

It had been a long evening. Despite his reservations, Ryan had finally agreed to go and look at the flat, from the outside, just to humour Woody, and get him off his back. Woody, despite Ryan pressing him about his trips to the old flat and the signatures, behaved as if nothing had happened, which had wrong-footed Ryan totally. He had expected Woody to come clean, or be annoyed or do something, but in fact he had carried on as if nothing had happened.

Ryan had assumed that they would go straight to the flat but Woody had other ideas. So now the plan was one more drink in the Raven, which fronted the river, and then they’d take a stroll down the river bank, along the tow path to the property – nothing too obvious as Woody had warned him that there were a couple of other developers sniffing around. So the plan was to just cast an eye over the place from the outside.

The flat sounded too good to be true, but even if it was rougher than he was saying, if Woody was going to shell out for a day rate, cash in hand, he’d be a fool not to at least take a look. He’d had a bit of a dry spell workwise since the thing with Farouk. There had been the odd couple of weeks here and there, and this week he would have a couple of days, but nothing solid or regular. In reality he couldn’t afford to turn down a few weeks regular money, not at the moment, and as Woody didn’t know the first thing about building, then maybe – finally – Ryan could get a bit of pay back, a bit of cream on the cake after all the crap that life had been handing him out for the last few months.

‘Are you pissed?’ Josh snapped at the other end of the phone.

‘No,’ said Ryan. ‘I mean yeah, okay I’ve had a bit. A couple of pints or so, you know.’

‘Yeah, I know. Look, whatever this is about—’ Josh began, everything about his tone suggesting he was planning to cut their conversation short.

‘No, wait,’ said Ryan, hastily. ‘Please. Don’t hang up. It’s about Sarah.’

Whatever Josh was going to say Ryan heard the words jam up in his throat. ‘How did you get this number?’ he said grimly.

‘Sarah had it on a pad in the kitchen. And it’s not how you think, Josh. You know, with Sarah.’

‘What the hell is that supposed you mean?’ Josh asked. ‘She dumped me, Ryan. And I’m not in a great place just now so if you just want to tell me what this is about and then get the fuck off my phone. End of story. Game over.’

‘Have you got a pen?’

‘You just asked me that…’

‘She loves you.’

At the far end of the line Josh made a choking sound that might have been a laugh or maybe it was just disgust. ‘Really? Well she’s got a funny way of showing it,’ he said. ‘Not wanting to see me. Not taking my calls. Changing her phone number.’

‘He changed it so no one could ring her.’

‘He?’

‘Look just take this fucking number down, will you?’ Ryan hissed, glancing left and right, certain now that he was being watched. ‘He’ll be coming back in a minute or two and he’ll kill her if he knows I’ve given you her new number.’

‘Who wi—’

‘You got a pen?’

‘Yes.’

A second or two later Woody appeared in the doorway of the smoking area. Quick as a flash, Ryan made a point of lolling nonchalantly against the wall and saying, ‘I’ll ring you later, yeah. I reckon two days should cover it. There’s not a lot of work in it, is there? I’ll nip round later in the week and give you a price.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about now?’ said Josh at the far end of the line.

‘You got that number?’ said Ryan pointedly.

‘Yes, but…’

‘Ah, there you are,’ said Woody, making his way through the press of people, as Ryan killed the phone and slid it into his jacket pocket. ‘I wondered where you’d got to; I thought you might have headed off without me.’

‘No, I just got a call from someone about a job. Starting in a couple of weeks.’

Woody nodded. ‘You might not need it if the flat job comes off. Here we are; I thought you might like a little night cap.’ He handed Ryan a shot glass.

‘You’ve got to be joking. What the fuck is this?’ Ryan said, trying to give it back to him. ‘Trying to get me drunk are you?’

Woody laughed and slapped him on the back. ‘No, they were giving them out in the bar. Some kind of promotional thing, probably tastes like shit. Anyway I’m not that kind of a guy, and you’re not my type.’

This time they both laughed. Woody lifted the glass in salute.

Ryan lifted the glass to his lips to take a sip.

‘Come on,’ said Woody, ‘get it down you, then we can take a look at that flat, it’s not far from here.’

Ryan narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you sure you want to go now? I mean I’m happy to go and have a look round with you, but what are we going to be able to see in the dark? How about we go round after I come in from work tomorrow when it’s light? To be honest, Woody, all I was thinking about doing was getting myself home and into my pit. I’ve got a day’s work tomorrow, and I really need the money. It’s going to be hard enough getting up as it is.’

At least that’s what he meant to say; the words that came out weren’t quite as clear as he intended.

Ryan had been meaning to, trying to, cut back on the booze since the thing with Farouk and the money. Okay, so Sarah’s wedding had been an exception and there had been a few nights out when Woody had insisted on him coming along to keep him company, but Ryan was trying to sort himself out. At least that was what he kept telling himself. The trouble was once he started drinking he found it hard to stop. Sarah was right about him when she said he hadn’t got an off switch. And yes, Ryan knew that tonight he was drinking more than he had planned to, more than was good for him, although in his defence, he told himself – and planned to tell Sarah if she asked him – he wasn’t paying, and he was trying to find out what Woody was up to. And it helped him sleep if he had one or two. It stopped the dream about the man with his thumbs in his eye sockets. And Woody
was
paying, even when he gave Ryan the cash to go up to the bar for him.

Over the course of the evening, when he gave it some thought, Ryan had concluded that Woody taking him out in the evenings and paying for the drinks was most probably because Woody felt bad about the loan, and Farouk’s mates reneging on their deal, and the good hiding he’d had, and that Woody was trying to make it up to him, prove that he was a good guy and that even though he looked as if he was up to something, truth was that he wasn’t. That, and the thing with Sarah.

Ryan couldn’t bring himself to say the word
married
or think too long about the fact that his sister was now Woody’s wife. Thanks to him.
Thanks to him…
And he was still no closer to knowing what the signatures were about or why – after saying he was afraid of Farouk – Woody was going back to his old flat. His thoughts were jumbled, he swung between thinking Woody was as sound as he had always been and the growing sensation that all was not well. The booze didn’t help clear his head but instead just added another layer of confusion.

Out in the street and outside the confines of the pub and the shelter of the little smoking area, the night air held the first promise of autumn. Ryan shivered and pulled his jacket tighter round him. He could have sworn it had been a lot warmer earlier, late summer warm, sitting outside warm, but now he was chilled right through to the marrow. His instinct was to turn and head for home but Woody was in the lead and was already making his way down towards the river and the towpath alongside it.

The bars and restaurants along their side of the Cam were mid-week busy. It was getting late. A few people were sitting out at tables but the chill on the edge of the wind was shepherding most of them back inside. Music trickled out into the growing darkness along with the sounds of laughter and voices.

There was a row of punts moored along the river’s edge, they moved to and fro in the breeze, tapping and touching, lulled by the current. The reflections from lights on the pathway were chopped and fractured by the little waves so that they looked like shards of broken black glass. Here and there the first fallen leaves skittered across the pathway. No doubt about it – autumn was on its way.

Ryan pulled his tobacco and papers out of his pocket, planning to stop and roll himself a cigarette, but Woody had stuck his hands in his pockets, tucked his head down, and was forging ahead.

‘Hang on, wait up,’ said Ryan, tucking his baccy away and hurrying after him. It was a job to keep up with him. The alcohol wasn’t helping. Ryan’s legs felt like a distant rumour. After a few hundred yards the two of them left the last of the midweek drinkers and a straggle of tourists behind them. Ryan was finding it hard to keep up and catch his breath, and was relieved when Woody finally slowed the pace. They had already gone a lot further along the path than Ryan expected.

‘Fancy a little puff?’ said Woody, pulling a joint out of his inside pocket as they headed further down the towpath.

Ryan stared at him and laughed. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’ he said. ‘All this time I’ve known you and I never had you pegged as a smoker.’

Woody shrugged. ‘There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me, man. So, you want some or not?’ he said, as he held it out towards him.

‘Yeah, why not,’ said Ryan. ‘So, what else is it you’re keeping to yourself then?’ He wondered if this was maybe the moment to press Woody a little harder about the signatures.

Woody grinned. ‘That would be telling now, wouldn’t it? You’ve got a light, right?’

Two things struck Ryan as he took the joint, the first was that it wasn’t lit and second was that Woody was wearing leather gloves. He couldn’t remember seeing them when they were in the pub, or come to that ever seeing Woody wearing gloves before. It was cold but not that cold.

‘Is it much further?’ Ryan asked, glancing ahead. The path was lit by lamps that created great pools of yellow light between parentheses of shadow.

Woody shook his head. ‘No, it’s not too much further now.’

Ryan sparked up and took a long toke on the joint. He grinned as the smoke filled his lungs and he felt the sensation curl out from a warm soft centre of his chest. ‘Wow. That’s some good stuff. Been keeping this to yourself.’ He took another pull. ‘Nice.’

‘I only like the best,’ Woody said, as they finally fell into step. Ryan offered him the joint back. Wood shook his head. ‘No, you’re all right. I’ll have some in a minute,’ he said, all the while tapping his pockets as if he was looking for something.

Besides the gloves he was also wearing a backpack that Ryan hadn’t noticed earlier either. ‘Where did you get that?’ he asked.

‘Wake up, mate,’ Woody laughed. ‘It was under the stool. Come on, get with the programme. The weed’s not that strong.’ His hands were still working over his body.

‘What do you need, man?’ Ryan asked, as Woody’s searching became more animated. ‘Lost something?’

Woody sighed. ‘I reckon I must have left my phone in the pub.’

‘Bummer.’

‘Or maybe I’ve dropped it. I’m going to have to go back and have a look for it.’

‘What, you’re going to go now?’ asked Ryan, glancing over his shoulder, thinking about the long walk back.

‘Yeah too right, top of the range, 4G,’ said Woody, still searching his pockets.

‘Maybe someone will hand it in,’ suggested Ryan.

Woody snorted. ‘Yeah and maybe the tooth fairy will pop round later and drop it off at the house. Can I just borrow your phone? I’ll call mine. Maybe, if I dropped it we’ll be able to hear it ringing.’

Ryan nodded and handed Woody his phone. Woody keyed in a number and waited. Ryan was about to speak when Woody held up a hand to silence him. They both listened, but there was nothing but night sounds and the distant rumble of the traffic. Before the call went to voice mail Woody hung up.

‘Bollocks. Worth a shot,’ he said, as Ryan tucked his phone back into his jacket.

They were a lot further along the towpath than Ryan had been in a long time; in fact he wasn’t all together sure where they were. Last time he’d come anywhere near this far was with a girl he’d been seeing, an exchange student – French, big brown eyes, naughty mouth. He grinned and took another pull on the joint; dirty little thing she was and the two of them way too horny with nowhere to go. That had been before his mum got really ill, before he had the flat, long before any of this with Sarah and Woody and the money. He tried to remember the French girl’s name. Although her name eluded him he remembered that they had walked down the towpath hand in hand, hands all over each other, looking for a quiet place, any place, maybe under the trees, maybe under the willows.