Beardy stood up—and Jesus, fuckingup.“I don’t remember you ever being that matey with Adam.WhatIremember is him getting pissed off about you sniffing around that mate of his all the time.”
Well, this was a fucking bust.No point asking any more questions here.Zig gave a big, face-splitting smile.“Lovely to see you too.Looking well, mate.That nasty rash clear up okay?”
Then he legged it, because stupid, he was not.
Sitting on the bus home, his head aching from a bunch of rowdy teens crammed into the back seat who shrieked every time they rounded a corner—Christ, was he getting old?—Zig tried not to let his spirits sink.So plan A hadn’t worked out.He just needed to work on plan B.
Think, you useless wanker.
The bus lurched to a halt, and with a chorus of profanity, one of the teens fell off the seat.Zig smirked.
Adam had gone to Glasto—did they call it Glasto?—to be a tattooist.That meant a studio, and how many of those could there be in a town out in the West Country sticks?He had to be findable.Risky to rely on Adam, though, cos his mates were right: he’d always had that face on him like he was sniffing a dog turd every time Zig turned up with Si.Trying to get Si’s address out of him had to be a last resort.
Shame you haven’t got a fucking first resort, though, innit?
No, wait.Si’s parents must be old, right?So chances were they had a landline.Maybe their number was even listed, and how many Grecziks could there be in Glastonbury?Zig could call them up, spin them a yarn about wanting to reconnect with an old mate—for fuck’s sake, it was actuallytrue—and get Si’s address out of them.
And his number, but hanging up a call was easy.Si might not answer an unknown number.Too risky, and Zig needed to get out of town anyhow.
No, go see him face-to-face, and with that big, soft heart of his he wouldn’t turn Zig away.
Probably.
Well, if he did, Zig could always keep going.He wouldn’t need a passport for Wales, would he?Zig wasn’t sure about Ireland, but anyway, there’d be time to worry about that later.He pulled out his phone and searchedthe phone book.He remembered his gran, back when he was little, telling him the phone book used to be, like, an actual book, and they’d sent one round to every house each year.Jesus, how many trees had died for that?And how fucking big were those books?
There was only one result forGreczik, Glastonbury.Zig clicked on it, his heart beating hard.Robert Greczik.That could be Si’s dad.And Jesus fuck, it gave the numberanda street address.Even a handy distance in miles from the centre of town.Who the hell ever thought that was a good idea?What about security?Data protection?
Right.So Zig could turn up on their doorstep.Yeah, that was a plan.If Si had moved away, chances were he’d be able to blag a bed for the night.
Plan B was ready to go.
A strong whiff of alcohol reached him.The teens must be passing around a bottle—cheap rum, maybe?Whatever it was, Zig didn’t need to be here when the bus driver caught on and chucked the lot of them off.Or when one of them threw up, whichever happened first.He glanced out of the window.Yep, they’d reached Lewisham.Close enough to where he lived that he could walk the rest of the way, easy.He pressed the button for the next stop.
When he got to his street, he checked all around, but he couldn’t see anyone waiting in the shadows.He got out his keys, jogged to the front door of his shared house, and opened up.
Then he ran up the stairs to his tiny, mildew-pocked room, and got packing.
The train glided to a halt at the final station.Bristol Temple Meads.Zig heaved his rucksack onto his shoulder and stepped off the train, not looking back.He strolled confidently down the platform into the main part of the station, then ducked behind a convenient brick pillar.He’d made sure to leave the train by the front carriage, so everyone who got off here had to file past him.
He bounced on the toes of his Converse as he watched them, but there was no one he recognised.No one who sent alarm bells ringing in his mind.Good.He probably needed to work on this paranoia he’d developed.Then again, better he jumped at shadows than got jumped himself.
Zig let out a long breath that steamed in the chill air, then headed towards the main station entrance.It was gone five, and dark had fallen while he’d been on the train.He’d meant to get away earlier, but he’d slept badly and got up late.Most of his housemates had been out at work, but Lena, who worked evenings like him, had slouched into the kitchen while he’d been raiding the cupboards for breakfast and portable snacks.
On the plus side, it’d saved him sticking a note on the fridge to say he’d moved out and wouldn’t be back.On the minus side, he’d had to endure an earful of abuse for leaving the rest of them in the lurch with the rent.The fact he’d already paid up for the month, and wouldn’t be getting his deposit back either, hadn’t seemed to register with her.
Well.He was here now.And he hadn’t told Lena where he was going, so she couldn’t grass him up to anyone who might come calling.
There was a line of black cabs outside the station—funny, he’d thought they only had those in London—but he walked past them.Too expensive, and cab drivers remembered people.Google, don’t fail me now, he prayed, as he searched for a bus going to Glastonbury.
Bloody hell.Sixty-three stops?At that rate, he might as well have got the National Express from London, instead of forking out for the train.For a moment, Zig seriously considered staying in Bristol.
Right.Where there’s no one with any reason to help you.
At least there was a bus leaving within a quarter of an hour.Zig shifted his rucksack on his shoulder, and made his way to the stop.
The bus ride was boring as hell.There was probably all kinds of scenery going on out there, but with it being black as pitch, all Zig could see was the reflection of his own face.He was getting sick of the sight of it.
For a bit of variety, he glanced around the bus.Big mistake.An old bloke across the aisle with a long, grey ponytail met his gaze and immediately leaned over towards him.“Cold night, tonight,” he said, his accent a lot like Zig remembered Si’s being.
