Ben ignored the offer. Glad to escape the noise, he left the barn and cut across towards the farmhouse. Little chimes suspended above the front door tinkled in the cold breeze. He was about to knock, then instead tried the door and found it was open.
Ben stepped inside the hallway and smelled the sickly smell of damp mixed with incense; patchouli or sandalwood. A yin-yang symbol the size of a cartwheel was painted on one wall, opposite a peeling Led Zeppelin poster. From the slightly better-tended state of the place, Ben figured that Robbie’s parents probably got around to visiting their holiday home every year or two.
From up the staircase came the sound of a toilet flushing, and moments later a spiky-haired young guy of about Jude Arundel’s age appeared. He stopped midway down the stairs, and gaped at Ben with wide eyes.
‘Who’re you?’
‘Are you Robbie?’ Ben said.
‘I’m Mark,’ the young guy said, adding, ‘I’m in the band.’
‘Where’s Jude Arundel?’
‘Who’s asking?’ Mark said, puffing out his chest.
Ben just stared at him. After a couple of seconds Mark lowered his eyes, bravado melting away quickly, and pointed towards a room down the hall from the front door. ‘In there. Playing cards with Robbie.’
The reek of booze was strong as Ben slipped into the dimly candle-lit room, apparently unnoticed by the half-dozen young guys who were sitting in varying stages of drunkenness around a worn table. At some point in its progress, the card game they were playing had mutated into a drinking competition whose purpose seemed to be a challenge to whoever could stomach the unholy mixture of Guinness, cheap red wine and vodka one of them was pouring into a grubby pint glass. The contest had already claimed its first victim, who was slumped semi-conscious across the table.
Ben instantly knew which of them was Robbie from the name emblazoned across the front of his red sweatshirt. He was maybe twenty-one, twenty-two, overweight and trying five years too early to grow a beard.
Sitting next to Robbie at the table, leaning his athletic frame back in his chair and laughing at something his friend had just said, was the young man whose picture Ben had seen at the vicarage. Jude looked just as he had in the photo, except that his unruly mop of hair was bleached blonder by the New Zealand sunshine and the wetsuit had been exchanged for a fleece jacket. Still laughing, he went to pick up the pint glass containing the lethal concoction his friend had just poured.
Ben didn’t want to have to break news like this to someone half blotto. Stepping brusquely into the candlelight, he reached out and stopped Jude’s hand before it could get to the glass.
‘Oy!’ Jude said, looking up at Ben in surprise and anger. His eyes were only a little glazed over from the drink, which made him by far the soberest person at the table. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he demanded.
Robbie swayed up out of his seat. ‘What’re you doing in my place, man?’
‘Sit down, Robbie,’ Ben said.
Robbie sat down.
‘Jude, my name’s Ben Hope. I’ve been leaving messages for you all day. Didn’t you get them?’
‘I don’t know you. How did you find me?’ Jude blustered. Even the drunkest of his friends were beginning to take notice of what was going on.
‘Never mind how I found you. We need to talk.’ Ben glanced around at the others and shot a warning look at Robbie. ‘In private. Can we step outside?’
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Ben.’
‘These are my friends, Ben. Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can say it to all of us.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Ben said.
‘Really.’
‘Listen to me. I’m a friend of your family and this is much more important than you realise.’
‘Oh, I get it,’ Jude interrupted him. ‘You’ve come to take me home? Did he send you?’
Robbie let out a belch, then leered wolfishly at Jude. ‘The reverend wants his baby boy home for Christmas.’
‘Fuck you, Robbie,’ Jude said. ‘Who was too chicken to get in the water with the great whites?’ He made another grab for the drink, amid a chorus of laughter from the others at the table.
Ben stopped his hand again, a little more firmly this time. The laughter died away abruptly.
Jude flushed. ‘You do that to me once more,’ he warned Ben.
‘You can come outside with me the easy way, right now,’ Ben said softly, ‘or I can drag you out by the hair. Either way, I’m going to tell you what I came here to tell you.’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ Jude said. ‘I’m not interested. And you can tell my father to stick his Christmas tree up his…’
Before he could finish the sentence, Jude was out of his seat and travelling through the air over the top of the table. His feet barely touched the floor as Ben manhandled him through the door and out into the hallway.
‘Let go of him!’ Robbie yelled, making a feeble grab for Ben’s arm.
‘You stand down, boy,’ Ben commanded him, with the full force of a British Army major’s authority. Robbie instantly backed off, deflating like a punctured ball.
Jude put up a spirited resistance as Ben dragged him outside, struggling wildly and trying to lash out with his fists. Ben blocked three pretty good punches before he lost patience with the kid and trapped his wrist in an Aikido lock that very quickly subdued his fighting spirit.
‘Aaagghh! That hurts! Please!’
‘Have I got your attention now?’ Ben asked, keeping the pressure on the wrist.
‘Yes!’
‘Promise to behave?’
‘Yes!’
Ben let go. Jude tore away from him, nursing his hand and about to make some furious retort when the sight of the Mazda parked across the yard stopped him dead. ‘What’re you doing with my mum’s car?’ he asked in a hollow voice.
Ben guided him towards the car. The music in the barn had stopped, and a silence thicker than the mist hung over the farm. ‘Listen, Jude. There’s something you need to know.’
Inside the car, the dog barked at the sight of Jude and started scrabbling at the window.
‘Why is Scruffy here?’ Jude said.
Ben opened the passenger door. ‘Get in.’
‘Not before you tell me what this is about.’
‘Get in the car, Jude.’
Jude looked at Ben, realisation dawning on his face that this was serious. Without another word, he climbed into the passenger seat. The dog clambered all over him and licked his face. Jude cuddled him affectionately, as if he knew something bad was coming and he had to cling to someone for support.
Ben quietly shut the passenger door, walked around to the driver’s side and got in beside Jude.
‘I came here to tell you some news,’ he said.
And told him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
As Ben talked about the crash, the colour left Jude’s face and his jaw hardened. He closed his eyes. Finally he whispered, ‘May I get out of the car, please?’
Ben nodded, waiting to see how the young guy was going to respond. He’d had to break bad news before. It was never nice, but it was always different. Sometimes the reaction was complete shock, physical illness, collapse. Other times it was denial — sometimes furious and aggressive denial. Shooting the messenger brought some kind of relief. Ben could understand that. He’d been through it himself, more than once in his life.
