Chapter 22

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Vinko walked past the bus stop. Saving the fare wouldn’t make much difference; he simply needed to keep moving. As soon as the hated building was out of sight he broke into a run. He sprinted blindly, simply to relieve the tension and feel the wind on his face, some instinct keeping him safe at road junctions and preventing him from mowing down passers-by.

He reached a small park and let himself go fully, charging across the grass. At a deserted children’s play area he slowed and stopped, chest heaving. His head playing images of neat, well cared-for little kids filing into classrooms, their toddler brothers and sisters waiting impatiently for mothers to bring them here, he threw himself onto the flaking roundabout, kicked the ground violently hard and lay back watching the sky spin. His hands gripped the rails on either side, fighting the force that wanted to fling him outwards, dash him to the ground. The roundabout slowed and he struggled to kick the ground again, keep himself moving. Seeing as there was no one else to do it for him. One day he’d have his own, big enough to lie comfortably across, with a motor to keep it spinning. Yes, if ever he had a garden to put it in, he’d do that. As it was, the awkward shuffling and shoving soon outweighed the buzz. He heaved himself up and lit a cigarette, getting no pleasure or comfort beyond the satisfaction of a need.

Walking away, he tried again to phone Jay. Even though he knew there was no one at the other end laughing at him, no one had physically turned their back, the answer message sent a wave of anger through him. He glanced back at the playground. The stationary roundabout had no more release to offer. He paused, opened a blank text message, wondered where to begin and saved the blank to Drafts. Pointless, but wasn’t everything? What did any of it matter? Why did it bother him? He never wanted that job anyway. It wasn’t the job itself – it was that after phoning in sick for just three days they could simply turn round and tell him to piss off. That was how much he mattered. There were always plenty of others ready to do crap work for next to no money. He’d been reliable, done his best. It wasn’t worth his best but he had his pride. He’d phoned in sick once before – genuinely sick, beginning to wonder what he’d do if it came to needing a doctor – and there hadn’t been a problem. A whim. He simply didn’t matter. Even Choudhury had found a boy to take his place.

He walked along streets he’d never seen before, totally lost and enjoying the feeling. He had nowhere he needed to go. No decent job to look for that wouldn’t sooner or later involve a national insurance number, forms, references, whatever. He was weary of the black market, exploitation, risks, hiding. Jay hadn’t got anywhere, for all his questions, all his show of concern. So he’d soon be out on the street. He should be looking for a squat instead of wandering aimlessly, getting angry with ghosts. He tried Jay’s number again. Probably switched off so he could enjoy sweaty hours of fucking his woman undisturbed. He should have known, should have turned him in to Novak after all and at least got something out of it. What the hell had got into him? He thought of that train journey with embarrassment. Must still have been pissed from the night before. But it didn’t bother him too much. After all, the past didn’t matter; he hadn’t spilled anything important. He had nothing important to spill.

Eventually he came to a main road and wormed his way onto a crowded bus, dodging the fare. He spent the journey to Keighley with half a mind alert for an inspector, the other half planning what he’d say when he arrived. He didn’t need Jay this time. He wondered why he’d ever thought he did.

The long walk from the centre of the town was becoming familiar. Perhaps that meant something, though the little estate seemed no more welcoming than it had the first time. He made himself walk on. As he reached the cul-de-sac he was heading for, he stopped abruptly, heart thumping. He saw a white van, and a police car was parked near his grandparents’ house. He was about to move on, annoyed at having to leave and wait till it was safe to come back, when he noticed the striped tape flapping in the breeze, guarding the neat garden. Two strangers talking on the pavement outside. An air of desolation from windows with curtains tightly drawn in broad daylight. Filled with panic and wild questions, he managed to rein himself in and walk on with an air of unsuspicious calm until he was out of sight. Then he was running again.

Back at the town centre the sight of the bus station and thoughts of Holdwick made him give Jay one more try. The mocking sound of the voicemail announcer hurt his ears. He went to a steamy café to get a coffee and gather his thoughts. The smell of cooking made his mouth water but he told himself he couldn’t afford it. Someone had left a newspaper on the seat next to him; he felt as if everyone in the place was staring at him as he picked it up. It was no longer headline news, but in a corner of the front page was a small picture of the scene he’d just left behind. He fought with the flapping paper to get to the main report inside. Reading as quickly as he could through the paragraph beneath a grainy photo of a smiling Boris and Anja, he registered murder and his own name. They were looking for him. He stared at the page. Who else but Jay would have connected his name with theirs? How many times had he told Vinko, It would be for your own good? What the hell good did he think this would do? Even if he’d dropped his name accidentally, whoever to, there was no excuse. Fumbling through a raw mix of sorrow, hatred and anger, he folded the paper roughly and made for the door, narrowly avoiding the waitress who was bringing his drink.

‘Sorry. I must go. No more time for coffee.’

What good was a coffee without a smoke anyway?

On the way back to Bradford he came up with a plan of sorts. This place meant nothing to him. No one meant anything to him. He’d go and gather his things together, get some sleep and the next day head for London. More people there, a bigger chance of finding work, contacts to make, perhaps even a way of getting abroad. Going home. Real home. Whatever that meant. It wasn’t much of a plan, but he didn’t have a better one.

As he neared his street he looked resentfully at the shop, the bell over the door seeing off a woman with a bulging carrier in either hand. People coming and going on either side of the road, people with ordinary jobs to go to, ordinary lives. He walked on. A car slowed and came to a halt just behind him. He ignored it. A door banged, footsteps, a voice calling his name. He quickened his pace. So did the footsteps. A hand on his shoulder.

‘Vinko, lad, wait on. Where’ve you been hiding?’

Despite the pleasure of hearing his own language he wasn’t fooled by his uncle’s false matiness. There was no genuine concern in that voice. He turned slowly to face him.

‘None of your business. I told you I’ve had it with you. Fuck off and leave me alone.’

He turned away. Novak grabbed his arm.

‘Not so fast. I want to talk to you – how about you come back with me?’ He gestured to the car. ‘Get in.’

Vinko refused to move.

‘What’s up? Been down the job centre, got yourself a better offer?’

It must have been Novak got him the sack.

‘What is it to you?’

‘You were supposed to be doing something for me, that’s what. What was all that bollocks at the weekend anyway?’

He shrugged. ‘Thought it was him but I was wrong.’

‘You’re lying.’

No denying it. Instead Vinko looked at him levelly. ‘Lost patience, did you? Decided to pay them a visit yourself?’

Novak returned his stare. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Whatever. Leave me out of this. I know about the man you’re working for.’

‘I work for myself.’

‘You know who I mean. Lek.’

‘Then you’ll know he’s a man you want on your side.’ He paused, grip slackening slightly. Vinko pulled free, about to walk away, but Novak’s next words held him. ‘Your father would have told you the same. You know what a good friend he was to your father?’

Vinko shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it.

‘That’s right. They were close. If it hadn’t been for the war, if your dad was still alive now, he’d back me up. I don’t know what you’ve been hearing but you’re man enough to judge for yourself, aren’t you? Ever since Lek heard I knew Ivan’s boy he’s been eager to meet you. When he knows the situation you’re in he’ll want to see you right.’

Yeah, right. ‘Why? What price?’

Novak shook his head sadly.

‘You’re bound to think like that. I’m partly to blame, I admit. Friendship, Vinko, that’s why.’ He stepped aside to let a man pulled by a German Shepherd walk past. ‘Look, this isn’t the place. I wanted to see you anyway – called at the factory yesterday to find you and couldn’t believe they’d dumped you like that. I can sort you out with something else. Come back to my place and we can talk.’

Vinko glanced away towards his street. Perhaps his uncle hadn’t ratted on him after all. Or perhaps he was lying. What did he care? He didn’t want another dead-end job in this craphole city. He didn’t want to get involved again with Novak, especially if he had anything to do with what had happened to his grandparents. And he didn’t need another so-called friend of his father’s. The last one had let him down. And yet… What was there to lose? He had nothing. If he didn’t like what he heard, he could come back here, pack his stuff and still be away to London. Possibly even with money in his pocket.

‘I can run you back later,’ Novak said. ‘No problem.’

Vinko got in the car.