“Cool it, you two,” William said. “Not in front of the children, eh?”
It was drawlingly delivered and contrived to insult both Jamie and myself in equal measure. Jamie pretended to be too caught up in unhooking his tank bag from the Honda to have heard the comment. I had no such qualms.
“I agree with Paxo,” I said calmly. “You’re riding like an idiot. There’s a thin line between brave and stupid and you’re way over the other side of it. What are you trying to prove, Daz? If I’d known this trip was going to be about macho bullshit, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
Instead of snapping back at me, Daz’s grin just grew all the wider. “If you can’t stand the heat, Charlie . . .” he said and with that he picked up his gear and sauntered across the road towards the hotel entrance.
“Speakin’ of macho bullshit,” Tess said suddenly when he’d gone, “what happened to this tail we was supposed to have picked up?”
The others turned to look at me, challenge in their faces as they diverted their anger from one of their own to a comparative outsider.
“No one followed us after we left that car park,” I admitted reluctantly.
“So lover boy was imaginin’ things back there?” Tess persisted.
“I didn’t say that.”
“What, then?”
“I don’t know.”
But I did. Her words brought the whole thing into focus. I was completely convinced that, if Sean reckoned the Vectra had been following us, then it had. He was way too experienced and too canny to have mistaken a coincidence for a deliberate action. But either they weren’t with us now, or they’d suddenly got a whole hell of a lot better at not being spotted.
Or, worst of all, Sean had been right and the tail hadn’t been following the rest of us.
It had been following him.
***
The rooms at the hotel were large and mine had two double beds in it as well as a pullout sofa, which made me wonder about who it was really designed for. I’d half-expected that I’d be sharing with Tess, but she either had her own room or had decided on other sleeping arrangements. I didn’t ask which.
As soon as I got into my room I called Jacob. My mobile didn’t seem to be able to pick up a signal, which I wasn’t sure was down to just being in a dodgy cell area, or whether it wouldn’t work in Ireland at all. I made a mental note to ask.
I used the hotel phone instead, aware that they were probably charging me through the nose for the privilege. I caught Jacob at home and gave him a brief run-down of the trip so far. He gave me the latest news on Sam’s condition, which was remarkably good, all things considered. I asked how Clare was. Her temperature was up, he told me. My father was concerned about possible infection.
“I know I’m probably biased, but she’s in very good hands,” I said.
“I know that, too,” he said, still sounding anxious. “But even so . . .”
***
I showered and changed and met the others downstairs afterwards in the bar. By the time I arrived, everyone was there apart from Tess. I assumed she was still primping. They stopped talking when I appeared, which I tried not to let annoy me.
The boys had made an effort, wearing shirts or T-shirts with designer logos on the breast and, appropriately enough, a range of Nike pub shoes. Even Paxo’s hairstyle was looking spruce again.
Instinctively, I’d dressed to blend in, putting on the one pair of jeans I’d brought with me plus a rugby shirt. There was still enough residual heat left in the day to make it a bit too warm for long sleeves and a high collar, but at least they hid the new bruises on my arms and the old scars around my neck.
Eighteen months previously I’d been unlucky enough to get my throat half cut and I now had a long ragged scar round the base of my neck that was my constant reminder of the incident. It was fading all the time but to me it was as obvious as a flashing neon necklace. I didn’t want to have to explain to the Devil’s Bridge Club how it had got there, or what I’d had to do in order to survive the experience.
“So, Charlie,” Daz said as soon as I’d perched on a bar stool and ordered a beer, “tell us all about Sean Meyer.”
I eyed the barman, who worked on without any indication that he was listening in on the conversation, then shrugged cautiously. “What’s to tell?”
“Well, what’s the story with the two of you?”
“I work for him,” I said, deliberately obtuse.
Daz made a gesture of frustration and William took over.
“What Daz means is,” he asked solemnly, “are you shagging him?”
That brought a burst of laughter that sounded raucous to my ears, set my nerves on edge. I smiled because it was the best defence but inside I went cold and solid. I was overwhelmed by the urge to break things. Bones, mainly.
“I think that’s a question you should ask Sean,” I said, sweetly. “Only, I’d do it over the phone if I were you. It might hurt less.”
***
