We lapsed into contemplative silence. Clare looked as though she was about to burst into tears at any moment.
“So,” I said, tentative, “do you still want me to go to Ireland with him?”
“Yes!” Clare said. “Charlie, I—”
“It’s all right, love,” Jacob interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “Charlie will look after him, don’t you worry.”
A young nurse appeared round the edge of the curtain. She was wearing a polythene pinny and gloves and carrying a bowl of antiseptic wipes and paper towel.
“Sorry to barge in on you,” she said, sounding a lot more cheery than the nurse who’d thrown me out previously, “but we need to get those pins twiddled don’t we, Clare?”
Whatever she was planning to do, it sounded nasty. Jacob and I obediently got to our feet.
“We’ll go and grab a coffee, give you half an hour,” he said, bending to kiss Clare’s cheek. She put her arms round him and gave him a big hug, close to tears.
We moved away. The nurse had whizzed the curtains fully shut around the bed before we’d reached the ward door.
“What on earth is she going to do?” I asked.
“They have to manipulate the skin round where the pins go in, otherwise they heal into your flesh,” Jacob said, matter-of-fact. “First time they ever put me in an ex-fix they weren’t too assiduous about doing it. Hurt like the very devil when they took it out, I can tell you.”
We found a vending machine and took our coffees outside into the sunshine where there was enough of a breeze to make it cooler.
“So, did Clare tell you anything about what happened?”
“There was a van,” he said. “A white Transit with bull bars on the front of it. She said it seemed to swerve twice before it hit them, like it was a determined effort.”
“And never stopped,” I muttered. “Bastard.”
“Oh he stopped all right,” Jacob said, his voice grim. “Clare said she remembers lying in the middle of the road and seeing the brake lights come on, and hearing the transmission wind up as it went into reverse, like he was coming back for another go.”
“Jesus.”
“And then she heard more bikes approaching and the van just took off. For obvious reasons I didn’t tell her about the van that chased you to Gleet’s,” he added, his voice a little bitter now. “She’s got nothing to do but lay there and worry as it is.”
“Why didn’t she tell me the truth?” I asked quietly. “Why did she claim she couldn’t remember, when it sounds like she remembers only too well?”
Jacob frowned. “Jamie,” he said, and that churning feeling crept back into my stomach. “She says when he came in to see her yesterday morning he begged her not to say anything.”
I spent a moment in puzzled silence. When had Jamie had the chance to speak to Clare alone? Then I recalled my shock at Sean’s arrival. We’d only left the two of them together for a few minutes, but long enough.
“Why’s Jamie so desperate to keep Slick’s death low-key?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “maybe it has something to do with the fact that Slick’s not the first.”
For a moment my brain put all sorts of connotations on that last sentence. I took an ill-advised gulp of my coffee, burning my tongue.
“The first what?” I managed.
“Bike death on that road,” Jacob said. “You could put one or two down to stupidity but there have been quite a few more than usual so far this summer.”
“Twelve,” I said slowly, remembering MacMillan’s original visit back at the cottage, when he’d thrown statistics at me to try and get me to join the Devil’s Bridge Club and spy for him. “Slick makes it thirteen.”
“Does he?” Jacob shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you numbers. All I know is I don’t want my lad to become number fourteen.”
“But surely, if someone’s doing this deliberately – picking them off – Jamie would be safer going to Ireland than if he stayed here?” I said, testing the water. “Unless, of course, there’s more to it than that . . .”
Jacob frowned and I could see the conflict on his face. Would he come clean? Would he trust me enough to tell me?
“Look, Charlie, it’s complicated,” he said. “What with Clare and everything, I—” He broke off, sighed heavily. “I’d just be a lot happier if I knew Jamie had someone to watch his back for him while they’re over there. Will you go? Please?”
“All right,” I said, giving in.
“Thank you,” he said and he smiled, much closer to the old Jacob.
“You are overlooking one small point, of course,” I said, cutting across the relief on his face. “There’s no guarantee I’ll pass the audition.”
