“That’s not true.” Jonah straightened his grubby clothes. “If I didn’t care, I’d still be on the farm. I wouldn’t have let your grandfather sign it over to you, and life would be very different.”
He was right about that, but I wasn’t in the mood for his philosophical old man act. “I don’t care about life being different. I just want you to own your mistakes and stop fucking me over.”
“It’s not you in the police cell, Joe. It’s your... friend.”
The pause threw petrol on the fire in me. I lunged at Jonah again and grasped his collar, propelling him around the van’s bonnet to the passenger side.
I wrenched the door open. “Get in.”
For reasons only he understood, my father obeyed.
I shut the door and got in the other side, locking us in. The van rumbled to life, and I peeled out of the car park. “I’m taking you down the nick.”
“What for?”
“What do you think? To cough to that bloody gun.”
“What do you think will happen then?”
I hadn’t given that much thought. The child in me imagined that Jonah would be whisked away, Harry set free, and that would be the end of it. But life didn’t work like that, particularly if you were a Carter. Simple things turned complicated in the blink of an eye. People got hurt, let down, and fucked over. And somehow my father always carried on. Always moving forward, but nothing ever changed. “I don’t care what happens to you.”
Jonah was silent, staring listlessly out of the window. My heart burned for a real reaction from him, but I knew it wouldn’t come, and I wanted to throttle him for making me feel this way—angry, guilty, and so fucking alone.
We hit the A30. I found some cigarettes in the van door and lit up, exhaling the sweet smoke I’d barely missed until now. “Where did you even get it?”
“It was in Dicky’s caravan.”
“The one you owed him money for?”
Jonah shot me a sideways look. “You think I haven’t paid for that?”
“You told me you didn’t. And that you smashed it up on this fucking road. Don’t start telling me now that it was all a big misunderstanding—and don’t look at me like that. I can’t figure this shit out if you talk in code.”
“I don’t understand why you always think you have to figure anything out, son. You know how the gun got into the stables, and you knew where to find me, so why are we here taking the long way to the inevitable while your friend takes the heat?”
I was twenty-eight years old and I had no idea why every moment with my father had to be so complicated. So I said the one thing I was sure of. “Harry’s not my friend.”
More silence. Ants crept over my skin. My sexuality was fluid enough that I’d never felt the need to come out to Jonah. The rare hookups that turned into something more had all come before I’d returned to live on the farm, and he’d been gone by the time that had happened.
Jonah lit a pipe and cleared his throat. “I met Harry when you were away. I liked him.”
“Is that supposed to matter?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Why did you take Dicky’s gun?”
A cloud of cherry tobacco smoke drifted across my face, fuelled by Jonah’s heavy sigh. “Because he was going to shoot a horse with it.”
He said it so matter-of-factly that I thought I’d misheard him. “One of our horses?”
“He wouldn’t waste a bullet on our old nags, son. It was one of Buddy Pierce’s thoroughbreds.”
“Why?”
“Same reason he came after your mother, I’d imagine. Business.”
I snorted. “Dicky McGee ain’t no businessman, Dad. He’s a fucking helmet.”
