A white lie.
Surely I can’t really feel bad for ‘not’ robbing someone.
“Shit, really?” he said, frowning. “Fuck,” he said, under his breath.
“Yeah, well first off I couldn’t get any pictures ‘cause they were around the whole time. But aside from that, they had a good CCTV set up in all the rooms and decent locks on the doors. They also didn’t have all that much that we’d want to take anyway. And, well, they were nice.”
“Bollox, that sucks,” he said and reached to take the joint back. He took a draw and then returned it, “Well I suppose that’s how it goes sometimes. You really sure it’s a no go Vick?”
“Yeah ‘fraid so,” I said moving quickly on, “But the first house – it’s a different story. It should be alright.”
“Oh?” he said hopefully and cracked open a tin of Stella.
“Yeah, I reckon it’s a goer – have a look at these.”
I passed him my phone. I had deleted all the photos from the previous day. I felt another pool of guilt surge though me at lying to him. Who was I to decide that it was fine to rob the first family? Why did I ever even get into it? I don’t know. To be honest I think it was the excitement rather than the money.
“I’m Hank Marvin’,” said Mike, rubbing his stomach.
“I’m Bruce Welch,” I said with a cheesy grin.
“Huh?” said Mike, looking perplexed.
“Bruce Welch – the other guitarist from The Shadows.”
“Oh, alright smart arse.”
“I gotta know these things – playing all that old shit – Cliff Richard and all. Actually – my Dad took me to see them on their final tour – I must have been, like fourteen.”
“Jesus.” He looked disgusted.
“It wasn’t actually the worst.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, stubbing out the smoke.
“They were quite funny – especially Bruce Welch actually. They played a series of their hits they had first done with Cliff and Bruce said, ‘You know, really no one sings them quite like Cliff… he told me so.’ I always liked that.”
5
I wanted to see my Auntie Grace the next day. I got myself up and at them in the morning. It was important to me that I visited her before I went away. I loved her, but felt a responsibility for her too. My cousin obviously loves her and all, but she’s a bit of a pain. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one left with her best interests in mind. I don’t know. Anyway, it was important to me that I see her, so I took a race down to Hillsborough. On the drive, I felt so excited about my holiday. I just sang along to my stereo, picturing everything that I wanted to do. That mostly consisted of sunbathing, swimming and indulging. It was only two days away. I was sure that a week in Lanzarote was exactly what I needed.
***
So this is it.
This is where my life ends.
There is no escape route for me now, no choice, no second path.
I made all my choices and the worst of them led me here.
I’m going to die here, far from home, on this island.
My body is torn, useless.
It doesn’t matter.
I’m empty.
There is ‘one’ choice.
They’ve given me that.
‘How do I want to die?’
6
The following day I actually got up and dressed prior to midday again. I was on a roll. It was only a few days until my holiday, but I had arranged to go and stay a night with my best friend Amy. She had recently got married – to a great guy actually – and he was away for a week on business. We agreed it’d be fun if I stayed one night and kept her company. She lives in Greyabbey – along the west side of The Ards Peninsula. I chose to go the scenic way, along the coast road beside Strangford Lough, and out beyond the beautiful National Trust manor – Mount Stewart. The sun lit up the Lough as I passed by, also picking out the low-lying rocks, making them sparkle where the tide had swept out. Scrabo Tower stood proudly on its hill too, surveying the town beneath, as I whizzed along the coastal path below. Horace Silver belted out heavy chords over some Hard Bop jazz on the car stereo, I had on my thick ‘Beckham’ style sunnies, and the window was down.
Bliss.
I was getting buzzed about my holiday and life felt pretty good again. Maybe I had needed that little emotional ‘blow out’. As I entered Greyabbey village, my phone shook on the dash, with an incoming call. I flicked off the music and checked the caller – it was Mike.
“Hold on Mike, I’m just pulling in,” I said, and did just that. “Alright, I’m sorted, what’s up?”
“Hiya Vick, listen – just to let you know I’m doing that job tonight.”
“What job?” I asked, trying to remember what ones I’d given him over the last while.
“The Dundonald one.”
“From the other night?” I asked hesitantly.
“Aye, look I know it’s quick – but it seems they’re going to a family dinner tonight. The place’ll be empty. I found that out when I was tailing the old guy to a bar last night.
“You were talking to him?” I asked incredulously.
“No, I’m not a dickhead! I overheard him. You know how I always do a bit of snooping around before a job. I didn’t expect to find a window so soon either.”
“It just seems a bit soon.”
“I know, but I’m guaranteed a good window.”
I thought about it. I didn’t like it when he went very soon after gigs, but this one didn’t involve keys or alarm codes. There was nothing specific to connect to me to it. But I didn’t like it.
“Well I suppose if you’re sure, but please be careful Mike.”
I felt very nervous, but unsure why.
“Of course – you know me. Look –
