Minutes later and we were shooting down the motorway towards Belfast. We had embraced, he held me and then we had walked out together. His arm remained around me the whole way and he carried my bags with his other hand. We had then got into the car and sped off. We didn’t speak too much on the way through the airport. We didn’t seem to need to. Then we were haring along the dark country roads, cats’ eyes marking our way. There was some kind of circus or carnival on as we passed through Templepatrick. Behind the trees I could make out a merry go round with bobbing horses. It was all garish fairy lights, but in a kind of kitsch and appealing way. It reminded me of Strangers on a Train. At the climax of the movie, the bad guy is trying to pummel our hero by kicking him off where he’s hanging around the bottom of a dancing wooden horse. The two of them had made a deal, to carry out each other’s crimes, but our hero hadn’t really understood what he had agreed to. Was that like me? No, I didn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.
“So, stupid question Vick, but, how are you doing?”
“Better for seeing your ugly mug,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze. He didn’t look ugly, he always looked good. However, his face did feature an uncharacteristic seriousness.
“Good,” he said smiling over to me. “Glad to be of service.”
Then his face dropped as he turned to look at the road.
“What?” I asked.
“No, nothing.”
“C’mon Mike, now’s not the time for secrets, I’m past all that.”
“It’s just… you’ve done a good job with the makeup and all but I can see… you were hurt bad.”
He looked upset.
“I’ll be alright Mike,” I said softly.
“Yeah, but still. Fuckers,” he said in a low voice.
“Yep.”
“Maybe we would should get you to a doctor,” he added.
“I’m alright. I don’t really want to have to explain anything. I think it’ll be okay. I’ll be sensible though – if anything’s not clearing up, I’ll get myself checked over.”
He nodded, only a thin smile as he looked ahead of him. I eased my head against the car window, curling my body within the chair. Wrapped up in a car when it’s night and cold outside and you haven’t been so good, can feel nice. This felt much better than that.
“No secrets then,” he said, still concentrating on the road, “Well, in the interests of openness, there’s something I’d better tell you.”
43
Mike
The phone call from Vicky had been something else. Mike had struggled to take in all that she was telling him. He didn’t shock easily. But that’s what he certainly had: shock. He just about managed to overcome it and to say some of the right things. But all he felt was the shock. That and one other thing – fury.
He had been sitting in his living room, having a late breakfast. Half eaten toast was cooling on a plate beside him, aside a cooling fresh cup of coffee. An old repeat of a nineties sitcom, played muted on the T.V. He pressed ‘end’ on his phone and threw it down onto the sofa.
Immediately he began to pace the room, hands behind his head, massaging his neck. He cursed under his breath. Reaching down for his cup of coffee, he knocked a full glass ashtray, sending it across the room with a clunk. As he fumbled to catch it, old spliff butts rained down on his wrists and he knocked the coffee mug then too. It fell to the floor, hot coffee splashing all around.
“Fuck!” he shouted, control temporarily leaving him. He picked up the treacherous mug and launched it at the wall. Ironically it had been a ‘Pink Floyd: The Wall’ mug. The wall now obliterated it. Furious with himself, he raced out of the room, returning with a roll of kitchen paper, a bleach spray and a dustpan. He worked away – mopping, scrubbing, brushing – burning off the edge of his rage. Once done to a decent standard, he sat back down and made himself a roll up. Only then he begins to process any of what he had heard. ‘How could this have happened?’ ‘How could it have happened to Vicky?’
Mike had never been much of a fighter; he didn’t have much brawn. That had not been his thing. He never went looking for trouble and only rarely was he unlucky enough to come across it. But right now – what wouldn’t he do? He wanted to hurt them all – protect Vicky, pummel them into dust.
But they were all dead now, except one.
That alone was an insane thing to take in.
Vicky was messed up in all of this. And Vicky… hurt like that. Really hurt. Angry tears pricked at the inside of his eyelids.
All dead except one.
Twenty minutes later, Mike was speeding towards the International Airport. Actually speeding, he sat between eighty and ninety for most of the journey.
