Darren Parker had to get out of the house, if only for an hour or two. The constant nervous waiting and anguish was too much. Would it look insensitive to go out for a drink or two? He told himself not. It would help him to cope.
He couldn't drink at his local, The Spitfire. One thing he didn't want was to get dragged into conversation with people who would only ask about Danielle and whether there had been any news. He could do without that for one night. He was going out to get away from the same thoughts that kept going through his mind.
The evening was warm, so he decided he'd head for the other side of Mildenheath. The George and Dragon. He'd not been there in a while. A few pints of bitter would slip down nicely, numb the pain. Plus he didn’t know anyone in there so wouldn’t have to worry about people going on and on about Danielle. In his heart of hearts, he knew that the inevitable phone call or visit from the police would come sooner or later. The thought of what he had to lose was unbearable. In his heart, Danielle was his.
He felt a drop of sweat running down his spinal recess, collecting in the waistband at the top of his shorts. Summer nights in Mildeneath were sometimes unbearably humid. The joys of living in a built-up area. An area where everyone knew everyone. An area where no secret was ever safe.
The welcoming noise of friendly chatter, barstools groaning on wooden floorboards and the smell of freshly-poured beer transformed the George and Dragon into a heavenly escape from the outside world. Pulling a barstool towards him, Darren ordered a pint of Sunshine Bitter and allowed himself to soak up the atmosphere and surroundings. He could forget the outside world for an hour or two. God would grant him that.
A man adjacent to Darren was excitedly telling his friend about his news of the day. ‘I’m tellin' you, Pete. Absolutely mutilated. Ol' Mr Radley came in this mornin' and found 'im sat there in the middle of the ware'ouse. 'Arf 'is face missin', 'e reckons.’
‘Shit. Sounds like a contract killing to me. Probably one of them gangs or something. Or he hadn’t been paying his bills again.’
‘Nah, you've been watchin' too many of them American films, aintcha? Not too far from the troof, though. See, a few boys down the ware'ouse reckon ol' Gary McCann might 'ave 'ad summink to do wiv it.’ The man's eyes widened and his voice lowered as he spoke his name.
‘Gary McCann? You're having a laugh. I thought he'd packed that game in long ago. He’s too old for that bollocks.’
‘Nah, not a chance. Only a couple of years ago 'e bumped off 'is wife, innit? Similar story, 'n all – baseball bat and an acid shower. Startin' to look a bit familiar, ain't it? Gotta admit.’
‘Too right there, Tel. Nasty piece of work, that McCann. Coppers nicked him yet? Gotta be on their radar as a suspect, surely.’
‘No chance! 'E's got more lives than a bleedin' cat! Bung a brief a few grand and he’d be off the hook in no time. Nah, I reckon they’ll ‘ave to ‘ave somethin’ pretty concrete on ‘im before they can nick ‘im.’
The man known as Pete nodded and drained his glass.