“Why did you bid on it?”
“Because…” I picture the one restoration workshop I sat in on at the V&A. “Because it looked like a genuine piece that I saw an expert work on. An early Chippendale.”
He huffs, “Wasn’t gonna tell you this, but that would be me keeping you in the dark, like that other dick did.”
I’d deny that and tell him that Flynn couldn’t have been any clearer, that it was me who didn’t read the literal writing on the wall, only Kev keeps going.
“Can’t stand the idea of another fucker taking advantage, so hear this. I saw your desk in an auction listing.”
My heart rate picks up. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. It had that mahogany top you stripped back. All those gold?—”
“Inlays?” I close my eyes and see the satinwood I polished until it seemed to ripple under my fingers, an illusion like the future Flynn as good as promised.
“Yeah, them,” Kev confirms. “Recognised it right away. Did some digging and found out what it sold for.”
“It sold already?” I’m sitting in an almost empty flat. My gaze fixes on the spot where that desk once sat, and where Flynn posed for a photoshoot that put him on the radar of wealthy backers. “How much for?”
Kev sounds sorry. “Three bags.”
My jaw drops. He means bags of sand. That rhymes with grand. Three thousand fucking quid for something I spotted, saved from being scrapped, and that Kev tells me a real expert must have valued.
“It came from a school.” He doesn’t mean the kind of school I hated. “An apprentice to some famous carpenter made it. There were papers to prove it.” He’s surly. And proud. “Mum always said you had good eyes. I knew it as well.” Kev rasps some more. “Like I know you’re big and ugly enough to look after yourself. Tell that to my brain, Vince. It can’t forget how small you looked in that hospital bed. And how big that fucking bandage was wrapped around your noggin.”
Another soft rasp suggests he’s doing what I’ve seen so often, scrubbing a hand over his own forehead. No one shattered Kev’s orbital bone to crush his communication centre. He sounds about as mangled. “Mum told the social workers she’d keep you safe.” His knuckles can’t brush my forehead while we’re in different parts of London. I almost feel him do it over the phone. “Then the minute she was gone, I went ahead and let someone hurt you, didn’t I? And not just once. Because all the other work you did for free was listed in the same auction. You made that wanker close to ten bags in total. Five of it should be yours. Did he even thank you for that?”
No.
Yes.
I don’t know.
My gaze gravitates towards the kitchen while Kev ends our call gruffly. “All I’m saying is, think twice about doing it again, yeah?” That isn’t an order. Neither is this. “And think twice about what’s best for you.” He huffs again. “Because I can’t help thinking that me being your boss ain’t it.” He suddenly sounds as fragile as I felt in a museum full of teacups. “You still need the van Monday morning?”
“Yeah.” I need it. “And I need you.” Always have, now more than ever. Always will, if I can figure out a way to do it long term that works for us both. “Please.”
“Then be ready by seven. We’ll get it done before our real work. Unless you have second thoughts. Let me know if you do.”
I do think twice once he rings off.
I don’t stop that thinking shit until noon, when I find myself outside Dair’s front door, and I don’t arrive there alone.
I bring my army with me.
Two minutes after midday,Dair opens the door in his pyjamas.
He blinks, rubs sleep from his eyes and blinks again, like he can’t believe that a cavalry has arrived to save the day for him. And not only because I’ve brought Blake with me.
I’ve also arrived with city bankers and contract lawyers. With scientists, medics, hotel managers, and with an ex-teacher who misses nothing. “We woke you?”
Dair rubs his eyes again, and guilt aims a swift kick at my nuts. “Shit. We’re too early?”
“No, no. I was up.” He raises a toothbrush as proof. “Was just about to shower.” He yawns, and I get a gust of minty freshness. “Haven’t caffeinated yet, that’s all.”
Adey says, “On it.” He slides past us, followed by a long train of Exes. Blake is the last to enter, his arms loaded with bubble wrap and tissue paper, then Dair and I are as alone as anyone gets on a central London doorstep.
“Look at you leading again,” he says softly. “You better be careful; that’s two days running.”
