“But—” Mark broke off, plaintive, a pink flush across his cheeks. “But I won, right?”
It was William who took pity on him. “Who said it was a race?” he said gently.
“You—” Mark began, then it sank in that he wasn’t going to win this one. “Oh, fuck you then, right?” he muttered. “Fuck the lot of you!” and stalked away across the car park towards his bike.
“
William grinned at me. “Not necessarily,” he said. “Wanting to get ahead is one thing. Leaving a man behind is another. That’s not what we’re all about.”
“Very chivalrous,” I said dryly. “If you’re Porthos can I be D’Artagnan?”
William laughed out loud. Mark looked round sharply at the sound, face flushing darker at the imagined insult. He rammed his helmet on, jerked the bike off its stand and ragged it away across the car park.
William watched him go with a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, as though he’d been proved right about something. He gave me a playful slap on the shoulder that I tried not to reel from.
“Welcome to the Club, Charlie,” he said. “I hope you don’t regret it.”
I hitched my hip onto the edge of the nearest bench. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Daz smiled and shook his head a little. “What’s to tell?” he said, defiant. “We’re just going for a fast weekend in the Emerald Isle – take in the scenery, sample the Guinness, chill out a little. Simple as that.”
“I could still go to the cops,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, you could – but you won’t,” he said with annoying certainty. “If there’s one thing people tell me about you, it’s that you stand by your friends.”
“That depends who you’ve been asking,” I said. “And what makes you think you’re my friends?”
The smile spread into an outright grin. “I’m not talking about us,” he said. “And besides, we’re booked on tomorrow afternoon’s boat out of Heysham. William can sort you out a ticket if you’re up for it. It’s your choice.”
I looked round at the other faces. It was hard to see anything beyond Daz’s bright hard smile. William was watching me with mild interest, or perhaps disinterest, like it made no difference to him one way or the other. Paxo and Jamie were the easiest faces to read. They didn’t want me along, full stop, and it was a toss-up which of them wanted it less.
Daz correctly read my silence and nodded, looking almost smug now. “Fancy a game of pool before we head back, Pax?” he asked.
Paxo gave me a last lingering look and turned away, his expression lightening as though he’d flicked a switch and I was instantly forgotten. “You putting any money on it?”
“With you?” Daz laughed and flung an arm round his shoulders. “You bloody hustler. I’m not that stupid. The only cash I’m prepared to lay out on a game of pool with you are the coins that go in the slot, mate.”
“What about you, William?” I asked as the other two moved towards the pub doorway. “You going to keep me in the dark, too?”
“Dark can be good,” he said, eyebrows dancing. “Baby, I do some of my best work in the dark.”
“Don’t call me ‘baby’ unless you want me to puke milk down your back.”
He laughed. “Oh Charlie,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t care what the others say. Ireland’s going to be a ball with you along.”
I would have asked him more about that, but Jamie had come sidling up and was hovering nearby, looking like he had a question burning a hole in the roof of his mouth. William glanced at him and caught the urgency.
“I believe I hear the little boys’ room calling to me,” he said to nobody in particular, and strolled away after Daz and Paxo.
Jamie didn’t launch in immediately, just stood looking awkward with his hands in his pockets. I waited in silence for him to find his purpose. It took him a moment or two of staring out at the little boats creaming across Ullswater on a stiffening breeze.
“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re doing this, Charlie,” he said at last, his voice quiet and meaningful.
“Oh yes,” I said mildly. “And why
He batted the question aside like a wasp. “Look, the last thing I want the others to know is that my fucking parents don’t think I can look after myself, all right?”
“What about Clare?” The question was out before I’d time to think about whether I really wanted to ask it or not.
Jamie’s face flamed, almost as good as an answer.
“Look,” he said again, his voice as tight as the face it came out of. “If you mess this up for me . . .”
He broke off, flicking a little sideways glance at me as though he realised I wasn’t likely to respond well to threats.
“If I mess it up for you – you’ll do what, exactly?” I said softly, deliberately pushing him to see what would happen. I expected him to fold but to my surprise he didn’t. He pushed back.
“I swear – you mess this up for me,” he said, shaking his head as though to clear his ears, “and I’ll bloody kill you!”
***
