“To Slick!” he shouted. “Wherever he is now, I hope he’s giving ‘em hell!”
And amid the murmuring of assent he turned and threw the empty bottle into the fire hard enough to smash the glass against the burning timber.
While he’d been speaking, I noticed Jamie had moved up to talk to Tess. I hadn’t spotted his bike when we arrived, but one little Irish-registered four hundred would have been easily swallowed up in the crowd.
He and Tess were too far away for me to hear anything that passed between them but I could follow the body language without needing much of a phrase book.
At first she shook him off but he persisted, speaking urgently. Gradually I saw Tess’s hostility turn to disbelief, then a saddened anger. By the time Gleet had finished his eulogy, she looked close to tears. What the hell had Jamie said to her?
I saw her throw him a brief smile, then she stepped forward and raised her own bottle. The silver and glass rings on her fingers flashed in the light.
“I know Slick could be a bit of an arsehole when he was pissed. And I know he wasn’t always faithful to me,” she said, her voice thin and reedy, “but he was always trying to get the best for me and Ashley, and he always came back in the end. He would have done this time, too,” she added. “And I’d’ve kicked him down the bloody stairs before I’d have let him explain, but I’d have taken him back . . .”
Her voice tailed off and she gave the little girl she was holding a fierce hug. She, too, threw her empty bottle at the feet of the flames and turned away.
Interesting choice of words. I went over them in my head while I took another minute sip of the beer I’d been nursing all evening. Had whatever Jamie had told her only moments before made any difference to what she’d just said?
Other people came forwards and over the next half an hour or so I discovered that Slick was both generous and mean, short-tempered and immensely humorous. He also seemed to owe money all over the place. Enough that someone might have gone after his bike to cover his debts?
Then Jamie stepped up to the fire to have his say. “Slick gave me a chance to prove myself when others wouldn’t,” he said, that handsome face sober. “He trusted me. I won’t forget that.”
As he spoke he glanced across to where I could just see William standing near the front of the crowd, with Paxo to the left of him.
I realised, too, that there was a third figure involved. He was too close to be just a bystander, his head tilted with too much obvious interest in the proceedings. As I watched, he leaned a casual arm on William’s broad shoulder, swinging a beer bottle by the neck between his forefinger and thumb. A tall, almost slender guy, not far into his twenties if I was any judge, with short-cropped dark hair and wearing race-replica leathers that made him look like a walking cigarette packet.
I knew there was something familiar about that colour scheme and then it clicked. I remembered the bikers who’d buzzed past me on the way to the hospital. Two of them had clearly been William on his Kawasaki and Paxo on his Ducati. It was too much of a coincidence that those same matching leathers of the Aprilia rider who’d been with him didn’t belong to the man now regarding Jamie with a mixture of irritation and amusement on his face.
Jamie started to move towards the group and I was keen to see what happened but at that moment I felt a tug on my own sleeve. I turned to find Sam beckoning me over to one side.
“Did you know Slick was supposed to be organising a trip to Ireland at the end of this week?” he said when we’d moved far enough away not to be overheard ourselves.
“Yes,” I said, frowning, even a little annoyed that Sam had dragged me away from witnessing a much more interesting exchange. “It’s a Devil’s Bridge Club thing, isn’t it? Why?”
Sam looked slightly crestfallen at my reaction. “Oh,” he said. “Well, there were rumours that it would all be off, what with Slick kicking the bucket an’ all.”
“You’re all heart, Sam,” I said, glancing round to check none of the dead man’s mates were standing close enough to take offence.
“Yeah, but that’s not all,” Sam went on, grinning at me through his beard. “When someone said the trip was probably going to be cancelled, someone else said they thought there was too much at stake for the rest of them not to go.”
“‘Too much at stake’?” I queried. “What the hell does that mean?”
He shrugged, looking pleased with himself. “Hey, I’m just the oily rag, not the engine driver,” he said. “I just thought you ought to know.”
“Yeah,” I said, distracted. “Thanks, Sam. Keep your ears open.”
Why did I get the feeling this Irish trip was more than just a bikers’ outing? Jamie was from Ireland. So was Isobel – and Eamonn. Jacob was there now. Coincidence, or design? I couldn’t help wondering what Jamie had just told Tess that seemed to have put her mind at rest. And what was this chance that Slick had given him? Was it as simple as proving he could ride fast, or was there more to it than that?
I turned away, so caught up in my tumbling thoughts that when someone moved deliberately in front of me I came to an abrupt halt and only just avoided bumping into them. I looked up and found William’s stony face staring down at me. Such was the intensity in his expression that I took a half-step back away from him.
My focus expanded rapidly and I realised that Paxo was just behind William’s left shoulder, Gleet behind his right. None of them looked what you might call friendly, except with each other, which – after their run-in outside the hospital – did surprise me. I glanced casually over my own shoulder in case the Aprilia rider was closing in on me from behind but he was nowhere to be seen. Sam had melted away into the background.
“This is a private party for Slick’s mates,” Paxo said meaningfully. “What the fuck made you think you were invited?”
“I didn’t hear anybody tell me I wasn’t,” I said, keeping my voice calm and level. I mentally traced my escape route. Too far to get to the Suzuki in a hurry. Better hope I didn’t need to.
