Chapter 21

It was dark by the time the bus pulled up and Marilyn felt a moment of doubt, remembering the previous Saturday when she’d waited and he wasn’t there. But the sight of a familiar figure stepping down from the bus lifted her spirits. Jay looked round hesitantly and broke into a broad smile as he saw her and hurried over. Any intentions she’d been nurturing of keeping a sensible distance vanished as he hugged her. Even the faint dusty smell of his jacket was familiar and comforting. The warmth of his embrace and kiss suggested he felt the same way.

‘I’m so glad to see you, Polly,’ he said quietly as he stood back. ‘I kept having daft moments of worrying you wouldn’t be here.’

She laughed, trying not to smile inanely.

‘Come on, let’s get home. I’m parked over there.’ She glanced round. ‘You’re on your own?’

‘Of course.’

‘That friend of yours?’

‘I’d like you to meet before long, sure I would, but he could only manage a few days off work.’

She thought that sounded promising. It was going to be all right.

‘In any case, I wouldn’t just turn up on your doorstep with a stranger – I’d have asked you before bringing him.’ He laughed. ‘I’m learning, see?’

As they drove home, and she gave him an account of what she’d been doing, she sensed they were both holding any serious conversation back until later. She managed to keep her reproach about the lack of building progress lighthearted, but he was full of apology and regret all the same.

‘I’ll explain,’ he said, echoing the previous day’s phone call. ‘It’s a bit complicated, you know?’

‘Sure. Let’s eat first, then you can tell me all about… What did you say he was called?’

‘Sorry, thought you knew. Vinko. He’s Croatian.’

Alarm bells rang and Marilyn fell silent, concentrating on the road ahead. She’d spent the afternoon trawling the local news sites online for anything she could find. The murdered couple were described as ‘from former Yugoslavia’. Other than that, there was little more than she already knew. In a clip, Nicola Radcliffe appeared to be enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame, and her exaggerated performance together with a glimpse of her uncouth husband had been almost enough in itself to convince Marilyn of the young foreigner Vinko’s lily-white innocence. She reminded herself again that none of it meant he necessarily had anything to do with any crime. And of course it could be a common name where Jay’s friend came from. For all she knew, even in Holdwick there might be one or two other Vinkos going about perfectly ordinary lives.

Back at the house, Jay walked in as if he’d never been away, hung his coat and hat on the row of pegs by the door and paused to savour the homely smell that filled the kitchen.

‘I made us a winter stew. Even managed to salvage one or two bits from the veggie garden.’

‘Well done.’ He grinned and busied himself setting the table, then went through to the living room to light the fire. She followed him a few moments later and saw him kneeling in front of the hearth, looking up at the photos as he waited for the flames to catch.

‘You framed them.’

He smiled as he looked round at her, but she paused before returning the favour.

‘There were one or two moments when I nearly unframed them again. Especially before you rang, when I hadn’t a clue where the hell you’d got to. Whether you were coming back.’

Her voice had more of an edge than she’d intended. He stood, frowning, the early flames of the fire ticking behind him as it caught.

‘You didn’t really think I’d just upped and disappeared, did you?’

‘I didn’t know what to think.’

He glanced towards the stairs, his expression brightening. ‘You had my bag as hostage.’

‘How did I know you’d consider the ransom worth paying?’

‘Surely you know me better than to believe I’d—’

‘Jay, there are times I feel like I don’t know you at all.’

She looked at him, studying the familiar lines round his eyes, the dark, hint-of-silver curls framing a face that held the same mix as ever of mischief and past cares. She tried to see if the cares were showing through more than the last time she’d seen him, but in truth he didn’t seem any different.

‘I admit you don’t know everything about me—’

‘I hardly know anything!’

‘But you know who I am.’ He tapped his breast, suddenly serious. ‘In here. Whatever I tell you, please try and think of the me you allowed into your life the last couple of weeks.’

His hands were on her shoulders and there was a plea in his eyes that suggested any hopes of trivial explanations and everything being all right were futile.

‘That’s who I want to believe in,’ she said.

‘But you don’t.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Polly, what’s changed?’

‘Oh, come on, Jay. Let’s start with you disappearing without warning. With a mysterious “friend’s son” I’ve been hearing things about.’

‘What things? What do you mean?’

‘“I’ll explain,” to quote a man I know. Come on, let’s eat.’

They went through to the kitchen and busied themselves serving the dinner, even chinking wine glasses before they ate. She felt as if they were both trying to preserve a fragile sense of normality, this scene of sharing a meal together, as they had when things had been new, slightly strange, but straightforward. As always between them, the silence seemed companionable. She made herself break it.

‘I think we’ve both got some explaining to do.’

He nodded. ‘What is it you’ve heard? About Vinko?’

‘I had a visit from the police this morning.’

‘The police?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Jay, have you heard of a couple called Boris and Anja, um, Pranitch, I think it was?’

‘Pranjić?’ He stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth. ‘Yes. Yes, I know them. You remember I told you once about my old friend Ivan? That’s his mum and dad. Vinko, who I’ve been with these last few days – that’s his son. Their grandson.’

She stared at the candle flame as if trying to draw strength from it. ‘How well did you know them?’

‘Not very. I hadn’t seen them for over twenty years till last year. Hang on, what do you mean, “did”?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, Jay. They…they’re dead. There was a break-in. Murdered…bodged burglary, probably. The police aren’t sure yet. I’m sorry.’

She wished she’d found a better way of saying it. Obviously moved, he swore quietly, stared at the table in front of him, then ate a forkful of stew as if he needed something to do. After a long, heavy pause he looked across at her. ‘Sorry. It’s just so difficult to believe. What else did they say? What brought them to you?’

She told him about the visit. After a brief, incredulous laugh when she mentioned Vinko saying he lived in Holdwick, his expression got gradually colder and harder. As she came to an end, he turned on her.

‘You ratted on him? For nicking a few pence? You didn’t even know it was him! What did you go accusing him to the police for?’

She returned his angry stare.

‘I wasn’t accusing,’ she said, indignant. ‘I reported the theft; that’s natural isn’t it? I… I didn’t think it would come to anything.’

‘Didn’t think! You even accused me, didn’t you?’

‘Calm down. No, of course I didn’t. The opposite. I told them—’

‘I mean when we first met.’

‘I didn’t know you then.’

‘You said earlier you don’t know me now!’

‘I’m sorry.’

His head was down and he was eating as if it were the last meal he was ever going to get. His behaviour hurt her and she could only hope it was fuelled by shock at the news.

‘But,’ she continued, ‘but you’re implying that it was him. And you know him. So I wasn’t far wrong, was I?’ He looked up at her, his face unreadable. ‘He stole from me, Jay. What was I supposed to do? Find him, take him aside and listen to his bloody life story?’

He almost smiled, then sighed, relaxing slightly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘If I’d known, I—’

‘No, I’m the one should apologise.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry I took it out on you, Pol. Forgive me. It’s a lot to take in. Anja. Boris. Dead. But I’m an idiot – I’ve been dying to see you. Whatever’s happened – particularly given what’s happened – the last thing I want is to argue.’ She nodded, fighting back sudden tears. ‘Listen, I only met him last Saturday. We’ve never “worked” together. I wouldn’t do anything like that; you must know—’

‘You seem to think I know a lot,’ she said, and their eyes met, discharging the tension.

‘So… I guess it’s about time I told you who he is and where he fits into my life.’ She nodded again.

‘It’s a long story.’ He put his knife and fork down neatly on his empty plate and reached over to clear hers away.

‘Leave the plates. No procrastinating.’

She gestured through to the living room. As they rose from the table he hugged her; she sensed a strange mix of reassurance and fear. He went to sit in his fireside chair and started to fill his pipe.

‘I’m worried about him,’ he announced. ‘Even more so now.’

‘Stop rambling. Tell me straight. So he’s your mate Ivan’s son. Why can’t he be doing all this worrying?’

‘Ivan? He died, must be eighteen years ago. Before Vinko was even born. That’s just it, see. He’s on his own, Vinko. Completely on his own given what I’ve just heard. Except— Sorry, right…’ He looked at her apologetically. ‘This is difficult.’

‘Go on.’

Jay nodded and cleared his throat as if about to make a speech. She wondered if she should offer to get them a drink.

‘Vinko came up and introduced himself to me last Saturday,’ he said, delaying the decision for her. ‘Said he’d seen me busking and recognised me from a photo his mother had. I believe him. I think. He needs my help to get back some money he’s owed. And I’ve got to help him – for one thing because it’s my fault he’s owed it. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not why he came to me. I don’t think he even knew till I told him.’

He glanced across as if checking she was still with him.

‘He… I just felt for him. I want to make things right. You’d understand if you met him. He’s got his problems but I’m sure he’s a good lad deep down. I went off with him and then…then I missed the last bus home. I hoped you’d understand that I couldn’t phone you, although I… Listen, the reason we went off goes a lot further back. It’s hard to know where to begin…’

He studied the worn fabric of his trousers, put his filled pipe down and placed the leather tobacco pouch on the arm of the chair, resting his hand on it and fiddling with the fastener. ‘So. Begin at the beginning.’

Much of what he told her, about his friend’s Yugoslav family and the two of them going to Croatia, she’d heard in fragments of stories before. This time the fragments came together. And this time, she realised she was actually starting to believe him.

‘Listen, you remember the wealthy heiress I mentioned?’ Marilyn nodded, though she certainly hadn’t believed that one. ‘There was a bit of poetic licence and exaggeration, but that was Ivan’s aunt Zora.’

Jay paused and Marilyn studied him in the soft firelight.

‘Really. The house in the country – that was hers. Dalmatia. It had been her family home. Her parents were killed in the second world war by the Ustaše – the fascists. You ever heard of Jasenovac?’ Marilyn shook her head. ‘It was a concentration camp. Political prisoners like Zora and Anja’s parents were supposed to fare better than the Serbs, Gypsies and Jews who were sent there to be killed but…they died anyway. Zora was a baby and Anja only a small child, and they’d been sent away to live with relatives for safety; they only learned what really happened as they grew up. Anja reacted like most people would, by staying out of trouble and eventually moving abroad, but Zora…it fired her up. Shortly before we went, she reclaimed her family’s house and land, which had been confiscated but because of where it was had stood deserted for years. She had money, too. She kept it abroad, and added to it over the years. For when she needed it. When she could do something useful with it. Remember? Do you believe me now?’

He flashed her a smile, then looked away.

‘The other part was true, too. About her nasty-piece-of-work lover. Well, it wasn’t as black-and-white as that, of course. Not at first. He was a big noise in the local territorial defence force; he’d got to a position of authority quite young and she respected him for that. Fair enough. But as the situation got worse it went to his head, like power does. His activities got increasingly irregular. But at first… There’s no doubt he was charismatic and Zora was persuasive about being ready to defend her country’s independence. All the more so after the Serbs declared their autonomous region and the violence started. And the refugees started coming, Croats from the Serb-held areas. She eventually had her house full of refugees from up country.

‘And before long Lek had us trained up and ready to fight. I still can’t believe how we got swept into it. No, I shouldn’t keep saying “we”. When I was telling Vinko he accused me of blaming his father. I don’t – I’ve got no one to blame but myself. I mean, I believed in their cause, but war…?’

He fell silent, staring into the fire. She noticed he was biting his lower lip with a slight shake of his head, like he always did when she asked him something he wouldn’t – or couldn’t – talk about. Like the couple of times she’d ventured to ask him about his nightmares, or when he’d dismissed the scar on his belly as a routine operation that had gone wrong.

‘You fought with them?’

He nodded. ‘I fought,’ he said slowly, ‘and killed. The Homeland War, they call it. I’d gone with Ivan, chosen to live there, even if only for a while.’ The fire reflected tiny pinpricks of flame in his eyes. ‘The fight for their homeland, their independence, was mine, too.’

She wanted to ask more. But there was part of her didn’t want to know. She couldn’t help feeling that the Jay she felt close to had been snatched away from her. By whom, by what? His own past? Hadn’t that always been there? Think of the me you allowed into your life…

She said his name as if to anchor herself. He looked round at her.

‘I know, I know. It’s hard. I’ve spent all these years trying to put it behind me. But…I started telling Vinko – it’s about his dad, after all – though I only got so far.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s also about me and you. I realised I wasn’t being fair. I…I feel a lot for you and… Well, it’s wrong to let us get too close to one another if I’m not being honest with you. Though you don’t know how difficult it is to make myself talk about it.’

‘I can imagine.’

He stood, moved to stand in front of the fire, looking at her. She felt the cold as he blocked out the heat.

‘Thanks for trying,’ he said. He ran his hand through his hair again and left it there half-covering his face. She wanted to stand, too, to reach out and touch him, but something in his manner stopped her.

‘I’m getting round to Vinko, honestly, Polly.’

He broke the mood suddenly with a rueful smile, rubbing his arms through the sleeves of his jumper. ‘But…can we get a hot drink first?’

She nodded and he went through to the kitchen. As she listened to the homely sound of him filling the kettle and rattling crockery, she imagined the courage it must be taking him to tell her the truth – assuming this was the truth. She’d known he was haunted by something, reassured herself that whatever it was didn’t matter because he’d put it behind him. But now it wasn’t behind him; it was here, between them. He’d killed people and destroyed their homes in a war. She told herself lots of people did, and got on with their lives and loves afterwards.

She followed him into the kitchen. As they waited for the kettle to boil he came over to her and put a hand hesitantly on her arm. She touched his cheek, thinking how awkward they’d become with one another, and as if she’d given him some tacit consent he took her in his arms and held her in silence. She returned his embrace, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion she sensed in him but still knew so little about. There was still a vague possibility that all this was in his imagination, a story woven from the reminiscences of people he’d met on the streets. She no longer knew whether she wanted stories or the truth.

Back in the living room, with two mugs of coffee, wisps of smoke from Jay’s newly lit pipe escaped to explore the room as the main stream was drawn to the chimney.

‘So are you going to tell me what that’s got to do with now? Vinko?’ she prompted, to stop him from closing off.

He looked round and his expression lit up as if pleasantly surprised she was in the room with him.

‘I wanted you to know why he matters to me. Ivan saved my life. Seriously. Though at the time I hated him for it. Also seriously. And he was killed before I could make it up to him. So…Vinko’s his son and my chance.’

He told her about his meeting with Vinko, their visit to the Pranjićs. She bit her lip but hoped she was keeping her expression impassive as Jay talked, confirming the extent of their involvement with people she’d only heard of as murder victims.

‘So this money you’re talking about – that was Zora’s?’

‘You got it. Remember I told you she’d got someone to bring it away? That was me.’

‘You said it was someone else.’

‘I’m sorry. I had to make it sound unreal, had to distance myself. Though it feels like it was someone else. But it happened, more or less like I said. I couldn’t believe she’d trust me with something like that, but she did. I’d got so’s I couldn’t handle it. Everything I’d got myself involved in. It all felt so wrong. Things we did. I did. I couldn’t go on.’ He ran a hand though his hair. ‘But deserting them would have been even worse. Zora knew how I was feeling – she always knew – and gave me a job to do, an excuse to leave. At great risk to herself, as I’ve learned recently. And so I did leave. I don’t know much about finance, I was scared of the contacts she gave me and I daresay someone else could’ve done it better, but in the end I had a tidy amount in an account over here. It’s also true that she told me if anything happened to her, and if…if Ivan died too, I was to keep it. And they were killed, and here I was, out of the way, safe… On my own. Feeling like I couldn’t do anything for the blood on my hands.’

He held a hand up and stared at it as if expecting to see real dried-on blood clogging the lines in his skin. He drew on his pipe like an anaesthetic.

‘So…I had this money and no one to give it back to. As I’ve told you before, I eventually borrowed it, put it down on the house I’d been renting since I got back to England. Zora had given me a letter. A kind of will. But I always intended to pay it off – the money and everything else – and I did. A bit at a time. Literally, and, when I’d failed once too many times to hold down a decent job, with this penance of a lifestyle.’

Her face must have betrayed her surprise; he laughed.

‘You think it’s romantic, don’t you? Happy-go-lucky, raggle-taggle gypsies and all that. I won’t deny it has its good points. But…’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway. A few years ago I finally satisfied myself I’d got it all paid back from the rents and whatever else, with what any impartial observer might call reasonable interest. And it sat there burning a hole in the bank account. The only person who could possibly be entitled to it, apart from me and I couldn’t accept that, was Anja, Ivan’s mum. Zora had said she wasn’t to see a penny of it – there was enough hatred in that family to fuel a war, all right – but I spent ages trying and failing to think of alternatives and in the end, after a ton of soul-searching, rightly or wrongly, off I went to see Anja and Boris. Wrongly, as it turned out. A few months later – last weekend, in fact – I discovered that Ivan had a son.’

‘You didn’t know?’

‘When I came back to this country I was in a right state. My best friend despised me. I hated myself, too. I drank him, all of them, out of mind. I don’t remember much about that time so I guess it worked. I met some surprisingly kind people who one way or another stopped me from going too far down the road to self-destruction. I should have gone back, to find Ivan, or to make my peace with my father and sister, but I couldn’t. I was scared of facing them, and I hated myself for that, too. I’m not proud of any of it. It was a couple of years at least before I got my act together enough to do anything sensible. I did go back to Croatia, after the war had ended. Didn’t stay. Hardly anyone I knew was still around. There’d been an attack on Zora’s place; she died soon after and Ivan was killed in action towards the end of the war. That was all I needed or wanted to know. I couldn’t believe my friend was dead. Dead without me having a chance to make my peace with him.’

He turned from the fire to look at her, his face half lit by the warm glow of the flames.

‘But I was supposed to be talking about Vinko, wasn’t I? I didn’t know about him until last week. And I gave his inheritance away.’ He shook his head. ‘And then, like an idiot, I went and told him I’d done so.’

‘He must be pretty upset about it.’

Marilyn felt strangely detached, piecing it together as if it had nothing to do with her, or even Jay.

‘I’m sure he is, though he doesn’t show it. I think he trusts me. I suppose I should take comfort from that. God knows why he does, though – I can’t pretend I know how to help him. I’m trying, but in truth I haven’t a clue what to do next. Especially not now. I was going to meet him this coming weekend, go back to see his family, apologise and beg them to take him in. But now… They’re dead. Murdered? Tell me I was dreaming when you told me that; hallucinating, anything?’

‘I wish I could.’

‘Oh, to hell with it all!’ He stood abruptly, walked through to the kitchen, came back with a whisky bottle and two glasses.

‘Jay…’

‘OK, so I just told you about boozing myself to destruction. Don’t fret – that was years of it; this is a couple of drinks.’

He poured two glasses and handed her one. He downed half of his in one gulp.

‘I knew he was in trouble – he told me – but this makes it ten times worse! And I haven’t a fucking clue what to do about it!’ He downed the rest of his whisky. She watched him in silence, fingers tightening around her own glass. ‘I’m sorry, Polly,’ he said more calmly. ‘None of this is your fault. I shouldn’t be shouting. I’m not shouting at you, love.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said. She found his sudden apology reassuring despite herself. Dreading the reply, she asked, ‘What trouble?’

He poured himself another whisky, took a more measured sip.

‘Where to start? At first I just wanted to help him get his money, help him get his life together. That’s where we went, to Winchester, to pick up Zora’s papers, some kind of proof. But then I found out he’s got no legal identity. His mother was a refugee at Zora’s, that’s how she met Ivan; after the war she left the country for Germany with nothing. She never even registered his birth because she was afraid they’d take him away, terrified of losing him. Can you imagine? That poor girl. I can’t imagine the life she must have led, not only what she went through herself, but having to bring a little kid up like that, the only chance of medical care some backstreet quack, getting dragged down into a mire of prostitution and drugs… Anyway. Vinko seems…accepting. But what else can he do? What can I, what can anyone do? She’s dead now. Gone. It’s one more tragedy. So…’ he sighed. ‘So there I am, thinking we can go and find an immigration lawyer or whatever, but he won’t. He’s terrified. I eventually managed to coax out why.

‘There’s this guy, Novak; Vinko calls him his uncle. He’s never explained how he’s related, but there was a limit to the number of questions I could ask and there were more important ones. Novak found them, too late for his mother, as Vinko puts it. Offered to bring them away, but she was seriously ill – terminally ill, as it turned out – and Vinko had a job. So they stayed put. It turns out this “job” was with some kind of forger, and shortly after his mother died, the place got busted. Vinko was lucky he wasn’t in work at the time, but it left him high and dry – and scared. He got back in touch with Novak who smuggled him over here. Not an ideal situation to be taking to the immigration authorities.

‘So he’s got a crappy bedsit and a no-questions-asked sweatshop job. Oh, and a paper round to add to the fun. No surprise, then, that he wants to put the past behind him and make something of himself. He’s artistic, too – got talent as far as I can see. You’ll relate to that. Well, it seems this Novak disappeared for a while, but he’s back on the scene now. Vinko was getting messages while I was there. He’s being dragged into something he doesn’t want to do. Some deal, he says. He wouldn’t tell me what but he swears he’s told Novak to get stuffed. I just hope… Polly, why did you say the police had linked him with Anja and Boris?’

‘The fingerprints – presumably from your visit. And he turned up at their old house looking for them.’

‘Nothing more?’

She shook her head. ‘Not at this stage.’

‘Thank goodness. He says he’d decided to go and find them on impulse – I swear I believe him – after hearing me play. Makes sense – I learned some of those tunes from Zora and I daresay his mother would have done the same. You know, the day you…saw him.’

He looked at her warily. All he’d said made her deeply uneasy, but she remembered Vinko’s brief smile and found she could empathise.

‘I can see now why you were defensive earlier,’ she said. ‘There I was joking about getting his life story. I didn’t know I was about to. I hope we can find a way to help him.’

‘We?’

‘Why not?’

He smiled, for what felt like the first time that evening.

‘So what are you going to tell them?’ she asked.

‘Who?’

‘The police wanted you to get in touch, remember.’

‘Oh no. No chance. All I’d have to tell them is that I didn’t even notice the guy you described in the crowd. And that I’ve never heard of Anja or Boris Pranjić.’

‘Won’t they trace you to them anyway?’ She tried to keep the exasperation from her voice. ‘If you gave them the money?’

He looked at her steadily. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m confident they won’t.’

‘But you can’t lie! It’s a serious case.’

‘If I don’t speak to them I won’t lie.’

‘And what am I supposed to say?’

‘All right, I’ll leave for a while. Disappear. Till it’s over. You haven’t seen me. They can solve the sodding case without me or Vinko because I swear neither of us has anything to do with it.’

‘But you’ve only just got back. You can’t leave!’

He got up and shoved the poker into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks, before adding another log.

‘What I can’t do,’ he told the flames, ‘is go to the police. There’s no way I could just rake up all that I’ve told you to…to strangers. And I’d lose Vinko. He’d never trust me again.’

He remained crouched before the hearth, head hanging. His back was like a wall. She moved to kneel beside him and put an arm round his shoulder. He collapsed into her embrace, burying his head on her shoulder. ‘Can you understand that?’

‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘So what are you going to do?’

There was a long silence. He heaved a sigh. When it came there was a catch in his voice.

‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

There is victory in the air as they hurry towards the rendezvous point by the barn. Shots fired into the air. Whooping and shouting. He feels on the outside. Lek’s vengeful violence has left him cold. Ivan, walking ahead of him, turns and beckons through the slowly clearing smoke. He nods; increases his pace only slightly. A shot whines dangerously close to his head. Then another. Driven by terror, he is crouched tense and alert by a pile of rubble before he even realises. It shouldn’t be happening. This village is won, isn’t it? Through unnaturally clear air he sees an injured man across the street, lying almost motionless in a darkening pool of blood. Lost in his agony; there is no way…and he has no gun. Šojka looks up. Backing into the shadows behind the slumped figure, trainers stained by the man’s blood, is a boy he recognises. The one he spared, sent running to safety, only a few moments ago. Nothing is fair.

The weapon looks too big for the boy and he seems scared of it. Probably not; they grow up with hunting rifles round here. His own gun ready but not raised, he holds the boy’s gaze, unsure if he recognises him.

‘Sjećaš li se me?’

The words come out wrong, but it’s the contact that matters. The gun in the boy’s grasp wavers. Or is it an echo of his own previous gesture? Escape while you can.

He stands slowly and takes a hesitant step forward.

‘Give me that. I take you to find your family.’ Understand me. Please understand me.

‘You killed my father.’

The boy gestures with his head towards the small square.

‘Not me.’ It wasn’t me. ‘We can find your mother. Someone. Safety. Put that down and come to me.’

The boy continues to stare at him over the gun.

‘Please.’

Recklessly, he relaxes his grip on his own weapon to hold out a hand. The boy’s eyes are wary. He moves the muzzle of his gun imperceptibly – lowering it? A sign of trust?

A thunderous shot fills the air and the boy jerks sideways. He falls against the wall, blood running from the hole in his head, still clutching the stolen rifle.

Šojka stares, the aftershock holding him rigid.

Ivan runs up, grabs him in a manic embrace.

‘Thank God you’re all right!’

He continues to look, sickened, at the raw mess that was the boy he’d tried to save.

‘I’m sorry, mate.’ Ivan’s voice is calmer now, deferential. ‘Gets to me every time, too. But you can’t dwell on it or you’d be a dead man yourself.’