He grins. “Nice likeness. What is this?”
“You must have known Ellis,” I say. “Your runners sold your shit to his aunt. Exploited her for years before El showed up and put a stop to it. Not good business for you, him sticking his nose in.”
Bradley twirls his finger. “Right. I know the name now. The lad who drowned in the lake a couple of weeks back? Yes, my girlfriend read about it in theChronicle.” He cocks his head to one side. “Wait a minute, were you the boyfriend? Oh, kid. Well, you have my condolences, of course. But let’s see, you think because this Ellis got his aunt sober, I what? Tampered with the brakes of his car or something?”
I shake my head. “The brakes were fine. But I think it’s possible that you held a grudge against El for losing you a customer. Maybe a good enough grudge that, if you happened to be near the lake that night, you’d happily watch him drown.”
Bradley rocks back in his chair, laughing his arse off. “Oh, but you are pure entertainment, kid. Better even than Netflix…” He clicks his fingers at me. “What’s the name?”
“Dylan. McKee.”
“Oh yeah. Your dad’s that probate solicitor in town. I’ve chatted to him once or twice, felt like I was drifting in and out of a coma. Okay, Dylan, so I’m going to tell you two things, but first I am going to make a prediction. Are you ready for this?”
I nod, though my insides are churning, like one of those razor-teethed leeches is going to work in my stomach.
“Prediction: when you hear my two little facts I will offer you a free night in my club, all the booze you can drink, and you will take my offer and say, ‘Thank you, Mr Hinchcliffe, you’re a gentleman. I’d like that drink now.’”
Mike laughs and I almost join in.
Bradley allows us our moment, then begins: “Little fact number 1:ifI was this big bad drug lord you seem to imagine, then I probably couldn’t care less whether Ellis’s aunt continued to buy my shit or not. She would be an infinitesimally tiny speck in a very large operation. Certainly not significant enough for me to hold a grudge. Moving on, little fact number 2… Now are you watching very carefully, Dylan?”
He retrieves a remote control from the desk drawer and, rising from his chair, moves towards us. Honestly, Mike and I could take him easily, and I’m hardly the Immortal Iron Fist, but there’s something about this guy. He reminds me of one of those wicked imps in old fairy tales, the ones you can sell your soul to without even realizing it.
Bradley thumbs the remote and the TV on the wall blinks into life.
“I remembered this while you were talking. Had to check the CCTV after we had a fight in here on New Year’s Eve.” He glances at us over his shoulder. “Idorecall your boyfriend. Yes indeed, he made quite the impression. Just after midnight, main bar. And here – we – go!”
He clicks and a black-and-white image stutters into life. It’s you, El, bright and alive, on one of those nights over the Christmas holidays when you mysteriously disappeared on me. I stand and watch and the bottom drops out of my world.
“Woo-eeee!” Bradley chuckles. “I gotta admit, this is some steamy action. So, Dylan, I’m not sure you can hear me right now, but I want you to know that I’m doing this as a favour. You see, you can stop grieving now, because that boyfriend of yours? Well, he obviously didn’t give a crap about you, did he? So why not just let it all go and take me up on my generous offer?”
I stand and gaze through tears at the TV, watching you in the arms of a stranger, kissing, grinding, lost in him. What had I been doing on New Year’s Eve? Staring at my phone, praying that you would answer one of my texts, wondering what I’d done wrong.
I turn to Bradley. “Thank you, Mr Hinchcliffe,” I say, “you’re a gentleman. I’d like that drink now.”
I find El sitting on a plastic chair in A&E, twisting his pearls between his fingers.
“How is she?” I ask, dropping into the seat beside him.
He looks up at me, and at first I’m not sure he knows where he is.
“Oh, I don’t know. No one’s come out to tell me anything yet.”
I nod and slide my hands between my knees, clamping them there, because that’s my go-to when I don’t know what to do. After a minute or two, El rocks against me and I feel his head droop against my shoulder. His hair tickles my cheek, and I’m about to rest my head against his when I see this couple sitting opposite us.
They’re dressed in those gigantic coats that old people seem to wear in all weathers, and they’re giving us this sullen-eyed stare. It’s difficult to describe exactly, but it’s a bit like they’ve seen a gang of kids scraping dog shit off the pavement and are suspicious that said shit might be posted through their letter box. The old man curls his lip and his wife mouths something. I think it might be the F word.
“Tea,” I say, getting to my feet. “There’s a machine in the corridor.”
“Wow.” El nods. “These places are really cutting edge.”
He follows me to the vending machine and watches me feed coins into the slot.
“I was supposed to be makingyoutea, remember?”
“I do. White? Sugar?”
I punch in our order and the cabinet grumbles, then chucks out two plastic cups before vomiting liquid and powder into them. I pinch the scalding rims and hand El his cup. He sips and grimaces.
