Chapter 5

Vinko walked quickly along litter-strewn streets towards the house he currently called home, hands shoved in his pockets. After a couple of hours in his room catching up on some sleep, he intended to take himself off to the multiplex where he’d slide in for free under cover of a rowdy group, beneath notice of the ticket collectors. He’d often lose himself in the cathartic bombardment of sight and sound offered by an action film. It was especially appealing today. He felt on edge. Angry with himself. Whatever his grandparents’ new address meant, he should have gone to see them. He wasn’t scared of the meeting, of course he wasn’t, merely angry with himself for being over-cautious.

He rounded a corner and came within view of the house. A silver car he hadn’t seen for months was parked alongside the kerb. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see it now. Fairly certain he wouldn’t have been noticed, he paused, then made himself continue walking. Didn’t he want answers? He’d done enough putting-off this weekend. The windows were tinted and he peered in vain as he approached, checking involuntarily for the knife in his pocket. His uncle, Mihal Novak, had always been as good to him as he could have expected, but nothing was certain; it paid to be alert. The driver’s window swished down as he approached and an arm beckoned him over to the passenger door. Vinko walked resolutely up to the driver’s side. He wanted answers, but he’d do this on his own terms. Novak greeted him in Croatian and Vinko replied courteously enough in the same language, standing close to the car with his hands still shoved into his pockets.

‘Haven’t seen you for a while,’ Vinko said.

‘Sorry about that. I’ve been busy. I tried to call but you weren’t answering.’

‘My phone died. I got a new one.’

‘You didn’t think to give me your number?’

‘I texted it. Didn’t you get it?’

He knew Novak would recognise the lie for what it was.

‘You’d better give it to me now.’

Vinko rattled off a set of random digits – he’d felt abandoned; this time he’d be in control of any communication. A petty victory, but any victory at all was a rare treat.

‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked as his uncle entered the number.

‘It’s not important. I’m here now, aren’t I?’

‘I assumed you’d gone. Done your bit for me and left me to it.’

‘That’s why you changed your number – sulking, hey?’

‘I’m not some little kid,’ Vinko muttered.

‘Look, there’s absolutely no reason why I should justify myself to you, but an old friend called. Important job, needed my help. OK?’

‘You’re obviously a very unselfish man. Always off helping people.’

Novak gave no indication he’d noticed the irony in Vinko’s voice. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Go and smarten yourself up. We’ll have a meal, then we can go back to mine for some beers and a film.’

Vinko didn’t argue. A free meal was enticing and his uncle’s DVD collection was at least as good as what was usually on offer at the cinema. The house itself was nothing special, but better than anywhere he’d ever lived. On the few occasions he’d been he’d found it a decent enough place to spend an evening.

‘I’ll be right back.’

The restaurant was half-empty, a few lunch-time parties lingering, not yet time for the early evening sitting, and Vinko made a conscious effort not to feel out of place. He tucked into his steak greedily, glancing occasionally at the man he’d once thought of as his saviour. Mihal Novak had found them in Dresden and offered to help. He’d been too late for Vinko’s mother, but had eventually arranged for him to come to England, even getting him a job and a place to live. It wasn’t much of a job, not much of a place to live, but last year he’d welcomed both as a new start.

‘Have you seen them yet?’

Vinko knew without asking who he meant.

‘It was the wrong address.’

‘Can’t you get anything right?’ A flash of anger Vinko had seen before briefly crossed Novak’s face. ‘What do you mean, the wrong address?’

‘They moved. The woman who lives there now—’

‘What woman?’

‘I don’t know; the woman who lives there. She said they moved a few months ago. How come you didn’t tell me?’

‘I didn’t know, did I?’ His tone added, do you think I’m stupid? ‘Why would I? I’m not in touch with them anymore; their precious daughter divorced me, remember? So, did this woman give you the new address?’ Vinko nodded. ‘Where are they living now?’

‘Some place I’d never heard of. I can’t remember and it’s in my other pocket, sorry.’ He patted the jeans he’d changed into, to emphasise the point. In fact it was next to his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he chose not to pass it on just yet.

‘I take it you didn’t go?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘It was only this morning. I’ll go when I’m ready.’ Something inside him had always kept him away, as if preserving the dream until reality crept in to spoil it. The new address prolonged the respite. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. Whether or not they accept me you don’t need to feel responsible. I can look after myself.’

‘That’s perfectly obvious, my boy.’ His smile seemed forced. ‘Did she say why they’d moved?’ Vinko sensed a reason behind the question, and chewed a mouthful of steak instead of replying. Novak stared at him for a moment. ‘Well? Did she mention any…change in their circumstances?’

‘Why should she? Why would she even know?’

His uncle nodded slowly. ‘I hope it’s not too late.’

‘Too late?’

‘Vinko, lad, there’s something I haven’t been telling you. My mistake. I thought it best not to affect the way you were with them. But you’re taking so long. What’s the problem? Don’t you want to see your family? Anyway, this changes it.’

‘What does?’

‘Someone I know, someone who knew your family, tells me there’s some money of his that may have come their way. Money they shouldn’t have. I’d like you to help me find out, and if it’s true, help me get it back for my friend. You’d be rewarded.’

Vinko concentrated on his last few chips, then speared the final piece of meat. As he chewed he tried to settle his thoughts, knowing Novak was watching his every move. The dream was shattering, here, now, before he’d even met them.

‘How?’ he said eventually. ‘What could I do? I haven’t been near them yet.’

He took an inelegant gulp of red wine and listened as Novak suggested he find a way – how was entirely up to him – to lay his hands on the relevant bank account details, and he and his contacts would do the rest. Vinko would get a generous share. He remained noncommital. Apart from his uncle, whom he didn’t particularly like despite his wining, dining and home entertainment system, they were the only family Vinko had. If he was to meet them, he wanted to get to know them properly, not start by stealing from them.

‘They’re not the dream family you want them to be.’ It was as if Novak could read his mind. ‘And anyway, they need never know your part in it.’

Vinko stared at his empty plate, fingers drumming on his thigh.

‘Don’t you want a chance to earn some real money? Think of all the stuff you’ve done before. This is easy in comparison. You’re not even stealing – this money isn’t theirs.’

‘Why can’t you do it?’

‘How thick are you?’ His tone was low, in keeping with the surroundings, but menacing enough to make Vinko tense. ‘How many times do I have to say? They won’t let me near.’

‘Sorry. But what if I don’t want to get involved?’

Novak leaned back, composure restored. ‘Then you take your chance.’

The nature of the man’s smile told Vinko that ‘chance’ meant more than whether or not he got to know his grandparents, whether or not he eventually saw any share of the money. He wanted to leave.

Outside, he thanked his uncle for the meal but claimed tiredness after a sleepless night as an excuse for going straight home. They drove back in silence and it seemed an age before they came to Vinko’s street.

‘Go and see your grandparents,’ his uncle said as he pulled over to the kerb, ‘and let me know how you get on.’

Vinko had his hand on the door catch but Novak stopped him. ‘Check your phone for me, will you?’

Vinko got it out reluctantly.

‘Any messages?’ His uncle gripped his arm, looked at the empty inbox. ‘I think you’ve made a mistake with your number, my boy.’

Vinko muttered an excuse as he gave him the correct one. He waited impatiently, fingers tapping restlessly, for the test call to come through.

‘No need to apologise,’ said Novak cheerfully. ‘I like your thinking. You know, Vinko, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. Now I’m looking forward to working with you.’