After all, he has to remember he’s back in Northern Ireland. The police are spat on here, called ‘peelers’ and oinked at. And that’s when people are being nice. Better than being shot, or pelted with petrol bombs. Deciding to call Ferguson and ask him for an update, he groans when he sees he has no signal. He looks up again and jumps. The figure had managed to sneak right up to the front of his vehicle. After several seconds, they bring both of their hands up to either side of their hood and slowly lower it to reveal a middle-aged man sporting a buzz cut. His eyes expand and he jerks his head in the direction he’d come from before mouthing ‘come on, McNally.’
Guessing this must be this mysterious Smyth, McNally steps out and locks the door, before following Smyth’s footsteps, quickly being erased as the grass springs back up. As if no one ever trod on it.
Chapter Twenty-Five:
Chris wakes feeling groggy. Wanting to shift the blanket so it covers his head from the light protruding out from his curtains, but no energy to do so. Unsticking his lips from his teeth, he rolls over and takes one look at the clock on his bedside table and sighs. Gone 2pm. He hasn’t slept until this time since he was a teenager. He just couldn’t drop off last night. The five beers didn’t help. But mostly, thinking about poor Danielle.
He’d gone back around to Steph’s last night and she swore him to secrecy. This was not the time for Danielle to find out about the two of them. Not when they’d just found her dad’s dead body. He knew she was right, but he was disgusted that he even had to be told.
“You aren’t exactly the master of subtlety and compassion,” Steph had said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’re best friends, Chris. We talk. I know things you probably think she never shared. I probably know the most, if not everything. I’m like the third person in your relationship.”
“Well ye definitely fuckin’ are now, so get off your high horse.”
He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but she’d triggered him. He lies now and regrets the fight they had. Her kicking him out. He needs a way in. A way to speak to Danielle. But she’s blocked him on all social media and he deleted her number out of anger. He doesn’t even know where she lives now. Or where her family home is, he should say. He knows that she shipped off to Newcastle after they broke up without a care or even a thought about how he would feel. He can’t ask any of his mates, they’ll be suspicious. He’s in no form for a slagging this afternoon. And he definitely can’t ask any other of her friends. That would be even worse. He’d sound like a stalker ex-boyfriend. But he needs to get in touch somehow.
Figuring Steph is his best bet, he scrolls to her name and inhales as he clicks ‘call.’ It rings twice before cutting out. Exhaling frustratedly, he tries a few more times, just to be met with the same problem. Texting her he’s sorry, he sees it’s read within seconds. The three dots indicate she’s replying, before they disappear. Waiting a few more minutes, he scrunches up his face and tries again. It just goes straight to voicemail. What the fuck?
Slamming his phone back down on the bedside table, he lifts the duvet and buries his head in the bed. How’s he going to get around this one? He supposes the funeral will be in a few days, after the body is officially released, of course. But what evidence could you get from a body that has been left to rot for three years? He doubts it will be held for long. And if there’s a funeral, there will be a wake. Everyone will be attending; he can join his friends and hopefully get a moment alone with her. Talk things out. He wonders if the family will let him back over the threshold. He wonders if Ritchie will. If Danielle will.
After a while of lying and planning, his ringtone blares and he scrambles around the bed to fight his way out of the duvet, but when he lifts the phone, he’s disappointed to see that it isn’t Steph.
“What, Dave?”
He doesn’t mean to sound so curt, but he isn’t in the form for Dave’s boyish banter.
“Man, meet me at the uni now.”
“’The uni?’”
“Aye, lad. It’s important. I promise. You’ll want to hear this.”
Chapter Twenty-Six:
He follows Smyth’s retreating figure through the trees at a safe distance for about five minutes. Finally, Smyth stops and allows McNally to join him.
“Smyth?” McNally’s surprised to hear a gasp of exhaustion escape his lips.
He needs to get back to a gym, after not attending one since the big move over, and not having time to in the few months before with selling the house and getting everything ready. Smyth winces and shakes one hand at him, before pointing at him to stay and trotting off in the direction they came, leaving McNally with nothing but the cries of a bird high above him.
Moments later, after Smyth has circled the perimeter several times, he regroups with McNally, but not standing in front of him like you would with a normal conversation. He stands by his side. McNally fights the urge to ask why they’re standing like two men at a urinal.
“You
