Angie took a bit of persuading to give her his address, which was one of the larger, posher houses in Greenlea – a bit out of her way but the extra exercise would do both her and Viggo good.
They were all detached properties along here, separated from their neighbours by thick hedges and high walls. Overton’s car – a sky-blue Audi – was in the drive but when she knocked on the front door and called there was no reply. Viggo went for an exploratory sniff in the bushes while she peered through the letter flap.
‘Mr Overton?’ Her voice echoed down an empty hallway. ‘Marcus?’ She could see a glimpse of a darkly polished parquet floor with an ornate Turkish carpet runner and, if she angled her face just so, a drift of mail on the floor inside the front door. Most of it was glossy junk, but there were enough white and brown envelopes in the pile to tell her that wherever he was, he hadn’t been collecting his post.
Now she was genuinely worried. She had visions of him lying dead, maybe having fallen out of the shower on unsteady knees and slippery tiles, cracking his head and starving to death, calling for help from someone who would never come.
Dennie dug out her phone and dialled 999.
* * *
Matt Hewitson was sitting on the swings in the kids’ playground on the old Marketplace smoking a cigarette and necking a can of Red Bull when the guy from the barbecue came up to him.
‘You’re Matthew,’ he said. It wasn’t a question, and it pissed him off straight away because nobody ever called him Matthew except his mum.
‘Fuck off,’ he said. So what if the bloke had treated everyone to a free hog roast? That didn’t give him the right to go around using people’s names.
The bloke grinned, and Matt didn’t like that either. It was a piss-taking grin if ever he’d seen one, the kind he’d like to punch. ‘I’m Everett,’ he said, as if that mattered. ‘I’ve come to offer you a job.’
‘Digging potatoes?’ he sneered. ‘I told you, fuck off.’
‘It starts now,’ Everett continued, as if he hadn’t heard, and then just as Matt was about to get up and in his face, the guy pulled out his wallet and offered him a twenty. Just like that. ‘This is your first pay cheque, and all you’ve got to do is let me buy you a beer and listen while I explain the terms.’
Matt looked at him closer. He didn’t seem like a homo, and this didn’t feel like a come-on. He wasn’t old, wasn’t young, with dark hair and weird eyes. He dressed a bit better than the locals – a dark shirt and jeans over boots rather than a hoodie, sweatpants and trainers – and he must have a bit of money if he could afford that meal. ‘Make it forty,’ he said.
‘You can have forty if you like,’ said Everett, still smiling, ‘but for every pound over that twenty I’ll pull a tooth out of your head and make you swallow it, how about that?’
Matt flinched backwards and the man in the dark shirt laughed. ‘Oh, I’m just fucking with you, don’t worry. But twenty’s it. You can negotiate when you’ve got something to negotiate with. In the meantime, beer?’
They went to the Golden Cross where Everett bought him a Stella and sat down opposite with a pint of ale. It wasn’t especially busy in the pub, but there were a few faces he recognised, so he made sure they took a table that was well hidden because he didn’t want people to think he was gay. He could feel the guy watching him as he drank. ‘What?’
Everett gestured to the bandage on his hand right that had been there since he’d put his fist through that shed window. ‘I was just wondering when you were going to take that off, that’s all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean it’s healed, hasn’t it? It’s been healed for a long time, if I’m right. Maybe a day after you did it? Two? Three? It’s a bit hard to tell – it’s slower the first time but it gets quicker as your body gets used to it.’
Matt felt himself grow shivery and hot all at the same time, and his pulse began to beat heavily in his head. There was no way this guy could have known that. No way. He hadn’t even shown his mum. She taken him to Accident and Emergency straight after and a nurse had put five stitches in his hand, and the next morning they’d been lying there in his bed next to freshly healed skin. He’d been so freaked out that he’d wrapped his hand up again and tried to pretend that nothing had happened, because it was wrong, wasn’t it? It was unnatural and there was something wrong with him.
‘Just who the fuck are you, mate?’ he demanded.
Everett sipped his ale. His smile had gone. ‘I am the man who is going to help you make something of your life, Matthew Hewitson,’ he said. ‘I know what is in your veins, and I can show you how to use it. I will give you strength, and long life, and power over your enemies. Oh look,’ he added without sounding surprised in the least. ‘There’s one now.’
Later, it would occur to Matt to wonder whether Everett had known all along who was in the pub and had deliberately set this up, but by then it was too late. He looked over to where Everett was indicating, and saw Lauren sitting at a table with her new boyfriend (and his ex-mate) Darren, along with two other lads he didn’t know. She was dressed
