15

As Razor sprang to his feet, he was struck first by a chunk of wood flying from the door frame and then by the size of the figure in the doorway.

‘What are you doing to Micky?’ demanded the newcomer, barging his way in. Kane, his nose bent and swollen, and with blood staining the front of his hoodie, followed.

Razor rubbed his shin and gaped. Simba backed into a corner, snarling and cringing.

‘You’d better answer, if you know what’s good for you,’ said Kane, his voice nasal, murder in his eyes. ‘And when you’ve told him, you can tell me why you’re still alive—didn’t I chuck you in the river?’

‘I… er,’ said Razor, breathing hard. An acrid smoky taint blew in on the breeze and made his nose wrinkle.

The kitchen door opened and Rocky marched in carrying a pair of blue and white flannelette pyjamas, a grey dressing gown and a pair of tatty slippers. ‘Why ’ave you busted my front door?’ he demanded, stone-faced. ‘You never ’eard of doorbells?’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Rock, I di’n’t know this was your place,’ said the big man. ‘’ow is Micky? Is ’e ’urt bad?’

‘’e’ll be fine, Winston. I’ve done some doctoring and patched ’im up,’ said Rocky.

‘You know this geezer?’ said Kane. ‘That is… unfortunate.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Winston.

‘Because I was intending to make sure there were no witnesses.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Razor, trying to look tough which wasn’t easy in a poncho designed by mice.

‘’e means dead men tell no tales,’ said Rocky.

‘Got it in one,’ said Kane. ‘Perhaps you’re not as stupid as you look.’

‘But you definitely are,’ said Kev, peering around Rocky.

‘You little…’

‘Dead men?’ said Winston. ‘’oo’s dead?’

‘No one… yet,’ said Kane with a bloody sneer.

‘No one at all,’ said Razor, hyperventilating. With his heart going like the clappers, he surprised himself by springing forward and swinging wildly. He yelped as his fist crashed into Kane’s chin. Kane swayed, staggered and stretched his length on the rug.

‘Nice one, mate,’ Kev murmured, as Simba emerged from the corner, wagging his tail and nuzzling up to Winston.

‘There was no need for that, young man,’ said Rocky. ‘We could ’ave sorted this all out amicably—we are supposed to be civilised. You could start to look the part by putting these on—they’re a little on the large side, but you can roll up the arms and legs and tighten the draw string.’ He handed the pyjamas to Razor.

‘Although we might be civilised, Kane isn’t,’ said Kev. ‘He’d have done something nasty.’

‘What with?’ asked Rocky. ‘I’d already broke ’is popgun and ’is stick. I reckon ’e was mostly ’armless.’

‘He’s very handy with his fists,’ said Kev.

‘’oo is, Kane or your pal?’ Rocky smiled.

‘Not me,’ said Razor, and pulled up the pyjama bottoms, wincing as a raw knuckle brushed the cloth. ‘I don’t normally go around hitting people. I got lucky, but from what I’ve seen Kev’s right—Kane is dangerous.’

‘Not now ’e ain’t.’

‘True,’ said Kev, ‘but he is, when conscious, a murderous nutter who hates me.’

‘Why?’ asked Rocky.

‘Maybe because he’s a mate of my cousin, Gary, and Gary thinks I took something that should have been his. I didn’t though—Uncle Bob bequeathed it to me because of all the bad stuff Gary had done.’ Kev paused and looked guilty. ‘Though, thinking about it, I suppose I never actually got round to paying the Cullums for my car.’

‘What do you make of ’im?’ Rocky asked Winston, nodding at Kane who lay as still as a toppled statue.

‘Mr Cullum is violent, and ’e’s getting violenter.’

‘Why are you ’anging around with ’im then?’

‘’cause ’e pays, and a job’s a job. Guys like me can’t be too choosy.’

‘You’ll get yourself into trouble,’ said Rocky.

‘I ’ope not. I don’t mostly do much except knock doors over and stand next to Mr Kane when ’e needs a bit o’ muscle to back ’im up.’

‘So you don’t hurt people?’ asked Razor.

‘Not unless they ’it me first or try to ’it ’im.’

‘You’re like his bodyguard?’

Winston nodded, looking at Micky who’d started twitching and moaning. ‘Kind of… only it’s not easy when you’re trying to protect a nutter.’

Micky opened his eyes, attempted to sit up, clutched his belly and whimpered. ‘What have you done to me?’

‘He’s removed a bullet from your belly and stitched you up,’ said Kev.

‘A bullet? Tell me, ’oo shot you and why?’ asked Winston.

‘I think he shot himself,’ said Razor. ‘Or rather, the gun went off and the bullet bounced off Rocky and hit him. I don’t understand how.’

‘I expect Mr Rock ’as a thick skin, like what I’ve got.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Razor.

‘Sometimes it’s just the way things are,’ said Kev. ‘People get lucky.’

‘But…’

‘Best to leave the subject,’ said Kev, ‘and be grateful no one was hurt.’

‘I’m hurt,’ Micky pointed out.

‘And so is ’e.’ Winston nodded at Kane, ‘but it serves ’im right—’e’s been going too far recently, and I don’t think I want to work for ’im no more.’

‘Good for you, Mr Flint’, said Rocky, leaning over Kane, with a repeat of the medley of pops and creaks. ‘I reckon our unconscious friend here will be fine, more’s the pity.’ Rocky glanced back at Razor and grinned. ‘You clobbered ’im right and good.’

‘I know,’ said Razor, grimacing at his grazed and swollen knuckles, and flexing his fingers.

‘You knocked out two of ’is gnashers.’ Rocky picked the gory trophies from the rug and unbent. ‘I’ll keep ’em for a friend.’

Razor, though shocked to have caused such damage, couldn’t deny a glow of pride.

‘That’s a risk you run when you’re a thug,’ said Kev with a glance at Razor. ‘The same sort of thing happened to him before—or so I heard. Apparently, some hero smacked him in the mouth on Bindover Bridge when the bastard attacked a former girlfriend.’

Razor said nothing, but put on a modest smile as he tried on the dressing gown. It was thick, warm and comforting.

‘Where am I?’ asked Kane, choosing that moment to come round.

‘You’re in my ’ouse, on my rug and in disgrace after breaking my nice front door, what I’d only just painted.’

Kane sat up, holding his jaw. He put a finger into the bloody gap in his mouth and glared at Razor. ‘He hit me!’

‘’e did that,’ Winston confirmed.

‘So, why is he still in one piece? Why haven’t you messed him up like you should have?’

‘Why should I ’ave?’ asked Winston.

‘Because I pay you to look after me.’

‘But you was already out, boss, and ’e wasn’t threatening you anymore.’

‘Fine. But now I’m ordering you to take him out.’

‘Are you asking me to kill ’im? I don’t do that.’

‘You obey me—it’s what I pay you for. Do it. Now!’

‘No, boss.’

‘Damn you! Why not?’

‘I don’t do that sort of thing.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since always. I’ve ’it blokes for you, but only ’cause I ’ad to. I ain’t never killed no one, and I ain’t starting now.’

Kane’s fury came to the boil. Spitting blood, he sprang to his feet, his face plum red, his eyes fierce. He charged at Razor but Winston stepped in his way. Kane, though bulky and strong, might just as well have run headlong into a brick wall. He went down again, eyes glazed.

‘I apologise for the unpleasantness,’ said Winston, ‘and especially for busting your door, Mr Rock.’ He reached into Kane’s jacket pocket, pulled out a leather wallet and removed a wad of banknotes. ‘’e should pay for it. I ’ope this’ll cover the cost.’

Rocky waved it away. ‘No need for that, Mr Flint. I’ll fix my door in the morning.’

‘Very good,’ said Winston, pocketing the cash and hoisting the limp figure of Kane over his shoulder. ‘I think I should take my friends away now. Can you walk, Micky?’

Micky, though pale and wobbly, stood up, one hand pressed to his wound. ‘Thank you for doctoring me, sir.’

‘You’re welcome, young fellow,’ said Rocky. ‘Take it easy for a few days and you’ll be just fine. I would also advise you to give up on the crime and be good—and if you can’t be good, be careful.’

Winston raised a hand in farewell, called Simba to heel and helped Micky stagger away.

As Rocky waved them off, Kev exhaled and slumped into a chair by the fire.

Razor joined him. ‘Your cousin does indeed keep bad company.’

Kev nodded. ‘Kane is the worst.’

‘What about Winston? He’s scary, but he seemed almost reasonable.’

‘That’s ’cause ’e’s a mercenary,’ said Rocky, examining the door frame. ‘’e ’as no personal gripe with you two, but, you’re correct, ’e could be dangerous.’

‘How do you know him?’ said Razor.

Rocky sighed. ‘It’s more like I know of ’im. ’is old dad, Ebenezer, was in my regiment. ’e was a good sort, if a bit dim, until a mortar shell ’it ’im.’

‘Was he killed?’ asked Razor.

‘That’s usually what ’appens when a bloke sticks his ’ead in a trench mortar to see why it ain’t gone off and it goes off.’

‘Nasty… when was that?’

‘In the war.’

‘The Gulf War?’

Rocky shook his head and smiled. ‘Years before that. I was unaware any of the Flints still lived around these parts.’

‘I’ve bumped into Winston a few times,’ said Kev, ‘though not like Kane did. He doesn’t normally talk so much.’

‘I believe I’ve seen him too,’ said Razor. ‘I thought there was something familiar about him—I saw him leaving my local pub a couple of days ago… and I’m almost sure Kane was with him. What would they be doing there?’

Kev shrugged. ‘I dunno. Kane normally only leaves town to engage in rural mischief.’

‘I suppose that’s likely.’

‘What are we going to do now?’ asked Kev.

‘I don’t know,’ said Razor. ‘I suppose we should go back to the caravan.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Rocky who was examining his front door. He pointed towards a flickering orange glow behind trees.

The stench of smoke was strong.

‘It’s the caravan!’ Kev clutched his head and sprang from his chair.

‘Now what?’ asked Razor.

‘Put it out,’ said Kev.

‘I doubt we ’ave the means,’ said Rocky, ‘but we should look.’

Kev pushed past Razor and ran towards the glow. Razor followed, though the painful cuts on his feet made him slow and his baggy pyjama bottoms kept coming down and dragging in the mud. By the time he reached the caravan, billows of oily grey smoke were gushing from the door and the shattered windows. He caught up with Kev as the entire structure collapsed in on itself. A fireball rolled out.

It set Kev’s car alight.

The fuel tank ruptured and flames speared the sky. Kev shrugged. ‘Oh well, it wasn’t much of a car.’

‘We’d better call the fire brigade,’ said Razor.

‘I still don’t ’ave a telephone,’ said Rocky who had just joined them. ‘’ow you gonna do that?’

‘Well, somebody round here must have one,’ said Razor.

‘I don’t know. I’ve never ’ad cause to ask. Besides, no one lives nearby at the moment.’

Razor clutched his head. ‘Well what are we going to do?’

‘Return to my ’ouse and get some kip,’ said Rocky. ‘I ’ave a spare room with two beds. There’s no point fussing, ’cause the caravan and the car ’ave ’ad it, and there’s nothing else around ’ere that’ll burn—not after all that rain.’

‘But…’ Razor began and stopped. What else was there to do? The fire would burn itself out, they knew who’d done it, and they could inform the police just as well in the morning if they wanted to.

Kev nodded, though his expression was glum. ‘What am I going to tell Miranda? We shouldn’t really have been using it, though she wouldn’t have minded if we’d left it as we found it. Damn Kane! A burning devil take him.’

Following a hot drink and a quick, though substantial, snack of fresh bread and nutty Sorenchester cheese, Rocky guided Razor and Kev to a plain but clean attic room. Razor collapsed into an old wooden bed in the corner and made himself comfortable and cosy between lavender-scented sheets. Despite Kev’s snores from the other corner, he slept well and awoke in daylight, delighted not to have been disturbed by the usual nightmare. After a long stretch and a longer yawn, he got up and headed downstairs. Kev was already at the table, dressed, wide awake and spooning porridge down his throat.

‘Morning,’ said Razor.

‘It still is,’ said Kev. ‘You slept well.’

‘Where’s our host?’

‘He’s out standing in his field again.’

‘Why?’

‘I suppose he likes it. Hungry?’

Razor nodded.

‘There’s porridge in the cauldron. Rocky said to help ourselves. There’s a bowl out in the kitchen—it’s the one Simba used, but I’ve washed it.’

Despite Kev’s assurance, Razor scrubbed the bowl again before ladling a mass of steaming oats into it and carrying it to the table. He ate in silence, his brain marking time until his belly was full of the thick, gloopy mess. Kev appeared deep in thought.

‘I need clothes,’ said Razor and pushed his well-scraped bowl aside. ‘I can’t go out like this and, anyway, Rocky will want his pyjamas back.’

‘No problem,’ said Kev, ‘though it will take time. I’ll have to go into town and buy something—none of my stuff will fit you and your place is too far away.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ said Razor, shaking his head. ‘I’ve got no cash to pay you back and you’ve already lost your car. Anyway, it’s a long walk.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Kev. ‘A friend in need is…’

‘… a bloody nuisance,’ Razor interrupted. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.’

‘Sure you will. What are you thinking of doing? Staying here forever? Or would you rather catch your death by walking into town like that?’

‘I don’t know, but I still think we ought to leave here soon. It was kind of Rocky to put us up for the night, and I’m grateful, but I’m sure he’ll be glad to see the back of us. And there’s another thing—I like him, but he worries me. There’s something not right about him.’

Kev nodded. ‘You mean the way bullets bounce off him, and how he can wash his hands in boiling water?’

‘That’s not normal, is it?’ said Razor.

‘Normal enough for these parts.’

‘I can’t make him out at all.’

‘You need to switch off your preconceptions and trust your own senses,’ said Kev, smiling. ‘You saw what happened when Micky shot him.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Bullets don’t bounce off people, do they?’

‘Of course not, so there must be another simple explanation. Perhaps it hit his cigarette case?’

‘Does he look the sort to have a cigarette case?’

Razor said nothing. He’d not been thinking right for days, maybe not for months, and whatever Kev was saying made as much sense as anything else at this point in his life.

‘However, what might or might not have happened is irrelevant,’ said Kev, ‘because it does not solve your sartorial dilemma.’

‘My what?’

‘Your lack of suitable clothing.’

‘Why didn’t you just say so?’

‘I did but you couldn’t hear it.’

The front door creaked and juddered open and Rocky entered. ‘Good noontide,’ he said. ‘I trust you ’ave eaten?’

‘We have, sir,’ said Kev.

‘Excellent. Is there anything else I can ’elp you with? If not I intend to fix this door.’

‘My friend could do with some clothes,’ said Kev. ‘I don’t suppose you have anything suitable?’

Rocky stared at Razor, who found the intensity of the gaze worrying and embarrassing. ‘Let me see.’ Rocky closed his eyes.

A minute or two later, wondering if Rocky had fallen asleep on his feet, Razor coughed.

Rocky jerked. ‘I believe I might ’ave something that may be of use, though it won’t be what a young gentleman would consider fashionable.’

‘Fashion is the least of my worries,’ said Razor. ‘Anything would be better than nothing.’

‘Stay ’ere. I’ll be right back when I get back.’ Rocky headed for the stairs.

Whoever… whatever their host was, he was a decent sort and Razor decided to accept his oddness until there was time to think—assuming death didn’t find him before then. For some reason, the idea of dying, no matter how heroically, held less appeal. He recognised that he now wanted to live—at least until he’d worked out what Alex was up to. Kev’s insinuations had brought back old, barely acknowledged suspicions and he needed answers. He was also itching to find out more about Miranda, not to mention Kev and Rocky. Were they really so weird? Or could it be that he was the odd one?

Rocky returned with a huge wooden trunk and placed it on the rug. ‘Is any of this of use?’

It contained folded clothes in all shades of sombre. Razor picked out a grey tweed jacket from the top and shook it out, recoiling at the stink of mothballs, a scent that took him back to his grandparents’ cottage, where he’d stayed after his parents’ death and before university. The jacket looked like one his grandfather might have worn. He held it against himself. It was a little too broad in the chest, and a tad short in the sleeves, but not bad in the circumstances.

‘You’re welcome to anything you want,’ said Rocky. ‘I ’ave no need for it.’

‘That’s most kind of you,’ said Razor.

‘It belonged to my old friend, Nenea. When ’e died, ’is lady wife chucked ’em all out. I suppose I only keep ’em as keepsakes.’

Razor selected the essentials and dressed, trying not to think about the days when he’d made a point of keeping smart and fashionable for Flit rather than for work.

There was another thing—the last person to put on these clothes was dead! Razor forced himself to be rational. After all, Riverside Cottage must have witnessed many a deathbed over the three centuries of its existence, but it had never felt spooky. Nor had it seemed to belong to the dead until after Flit’s accident—she had done so much more than him to make it a home. Had she already become a stranger to him even before then? Had she and Alex been having an affair after all? It was a terrible possibility. Instead of dwelling on it, he pulled on a soft cotton checked shirt and forced himself to become practical and logical, which had always been his way.

He tried on a pair of baggy trousers and pulled out the front. ‘I could stick a watermelon down here.’

‘You could, but why would you?’ asked Kev.

‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Rocky.

‘I meant a figurative watermelon.’

‘Don’t reckon I ever ate a figurative watermelon,’ said Rocky. ‘I ’ave ’ad fig rolls, though.’

‘No… I mean these trousers are so big I could stick a watermelon down there if I wished. Clearly, I never would.’

Rocky was reluctant to give up the thread. ‘I’d like to taste a figurative watermelon. Where can I get ’em from?’

Razor shook his head. ‘Forget it—I’m sorry I even mentioned watermelons. The problem is that these trousers are too big. Do you have a belt?’

‘No,’ said Rocky.

‘Oh well, I’ll just have to hold them up, unless you’ve got any string.’

‘I do ’ave string.’

‘Great.’

‘’owever, you may find these braces suit you better. Nenea used to swear by ’em. ’e said belts cut off the circulation to ’is privates, and ’e didn’t want that, ’cause ’e ’ad a young wife to attend to. I’ve ’ad no such problem with belts myself.’

Razor stared as Rocky pulled the braces from the chest. ‘How do they work?’

‘Like this,’ said Kev. He slung them over Razor’s shoulders and made a few adjustments around his middle. ‘How’s that?’

‘Comfortable.’ Razor bent and stretched.

‘Good. What’s your foot size?’

‘Ten, I think.’

Kev searched through the shoes. ‘These are elevens, but they’ll be okay with a thick pair of socks.’

Razor tried on some woollen socks and a neat pair of black leather lace-ups. He took a few steps and broke into a jig. ‘Not a bad fit at all. Yeah, these’ll do well. Thank you.’

‘You’re wearing dancing shoes with nimble soles,’ said Kev with a grin.

‘Aye, lad, ’e is,’ said Rocky, ‘and I ’ave a soul of lead—I ain’t ’eard those words for an age.’

‘What?’ said Razor, annoyed that Kev’s inane jabbering seemed to mean something to Rocky.

‘You know Romeo and Juliet?’ asked Rocky.

‘The night club?’ said Razor.

‘The play by the immortal Shakespeare.’ Rocky shook his head as if appalled by such ignorance.

Razor scowled, feeling left out and stupid. How dare they talk of things that were beyond all understanding, particularly his understanding? Noticing his annoyance bubbling towards rage, and remembering how much the weird old guy had done for him, he forced an expression of calm interest onto his face. ‘Oh yes? Is it any good?’

Rocky nodded. ‘With the right players it is. Now I need to fix my door before the badgers get in again. Is there anything further you require?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Thank you so much for your hospitality and for your help last night,’ said Kev. ‘We must be away.’

‘Pleased to ’elp. Farewell, friends.’

‘We wish you well and so we take our leave,’ said Kev with a bow.

Taking Razor by a tweedy sleeve, he led him out beneath a bright autumn sky.