‘I didn’t know... That he cleaned the basement. Not that I knew you roast children, I’m not saying you do! I just— I didn’t know Fred cleaned the pub’s basement.’
Patty rubs her chin again, and through some witchcraft of her own, she wipes all the chalk marks off her skin. ‘I believe that.’
Charles takes off his beanie to wring it. What is he going to do with that information? It doesn’t feel like too big a deal, but it’s bound to carry weight in Charland.
‘Take a seat, Charles.’
She catches the attention of the barmaid, who nods and grabs a pint glass.
‘If that’s for me, I can’t stay, I’m expected—’
‘Take a seat.’
Charles pulls up a chair. Patty is not to be miffed, and he’s in no emotional rush to be home.
He places his gloves next to the board. Loris’ ones truly look like sevens. There’s no way a bottle of house red wine costs seventy-nine pounds in this place.
‘I’m guesstimating you have no idea your brother came back to see me, four years later, wearing the same… Right. You don’t know.’
Charles massages his forehead where the weight grows heavier. Four years later, Fred was twenty and killed himself in a car accident.
‘Why?’
‘He needed cash. Asked if I could hire him to clean the basement weekly. My basement wasn’t that filthy, but I needed a bartender. He declined, said your parents were gonna find out. Thanks, love.’
The barmaid puts two glasses onto the table and stomps away, muttering under her breath.
‘My niece, Billie. Always chuffed to lend a hand. Try this. Comes from a local brewery, good stuff.’
Charles slides his glass closer only to clench it. ‘Why did Fred need cash?’
‘Not sure. A project his family couldn’t know about. He swore it was legal, just had to be kept secret.’ Patty drinks and basks in the taste for a few seconds, unaware that Charles is writhing internally. ‘I’m not gonna lie, Fred was the last kid I should have helped. But, for starters, no kid ever asks for my help. And I was intrigued. He was willing to scrub my floor for a few quid when he could have bought my entire stock by selling that gaudy thing on his wrist.’
Charles stretches his left hand. He’s not wearing his watch, but its mark is suddenly cutting off his blood flow.
‘I had just bought a house in Archway. Total dump, every room needed to be refurbished. I asked Fred if he had any skills. “Not many,” he said. But he promised he was gonna watch tutorials, work as often as possible and come up with fake unrelated incidents if hegot injured under my roof. And he did. When he hammered his pinkie nail black, he told everybody that—’
‘He said it got stuck in his car door! It looked so gross, I thought it was going to fall off.’
‘Didn’t stop him from hammering again the next day. He was committed. Showed up still wearing a tux once, I had to lend him a… You okay?’
Charles chugs a third of his glass, his conspiracy theories rioting inside the box he locked them in. ‘Yes… Did Fred do a good job?’
‘Good would be too kind, but he was hard-working. Except when the girl came along and I paid him to snog. I liked her, though. Full of beans, wearing the trousers, my kind of—’
‘Which girl?’
‘Fred’s girlfriend. And partner in all crimes. Olivia. He called her Liv.’
‘No, Liv was his friend. They were just friends.’
‘Just friends don’t smooch the way those two smooched. Plus, he pestered her to marry him someday. She always argued that marriage is a moronic institution. I eavesdropped a lot, they were touching, bless them, and— You’re not okay.’
Stifling, Charles pulls his windproof jacket open. He flattens his palm onto Loris’ handwriting and faces the painting on the wall. The horseman. His twisted moustache and golden monocle. The orange.Respire.
‘Should I fetch you some water? Charles?’
‘No…’
