Looking out over the North Wales countryside, and the dark ridges of Snowdonia on the horizon, Nick finished his pint. Checking his watch, he saw that he still had fifteen minutes before he had arranged to meet Laura. There was definitely time for another pint and chaser. That would leave him nicely oiled. He also knew he was far more likely to tell Laura how he really felt if he’d had a few drinks. The thought of doing that sober seemed ridiculous.
Nick went to the bar, downed another large Jack Daniel’s and returned to the table with a fresh cold pint of lager.
Jesus, days don’t get any better than this, do they?
It wasn’t long before he saw Laura approaching. She was wearing 70s style Boho glasses and her hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail.
Bloody hell, she looks amazing! Nick thought, feeling his heart rate quicken.
Having got her a drink and zipped down another Jack Daniel’s at the bar just to steady the nerves, he and Laura chinked their drinks together.
‘Cheers,’ Laura said.
‘Iechyd da,’ Nick said with a grin. ‘We’re in Wales now. The land of our fathers.’
Laura looked at him and smiled. ‘How many have you had?’
Nick shrugged, ‘A couple of pints. I’m not wasting my day off.’
Laura’s phone buzzed. Nick watched as she looked to see who was calling. She cancelled the call and put the phone down sharply.
‘Not going to answer that?’ Nick said. He could see that the call had made her uncomfortable and agitated.
‘No. It’s not important,’ Laura said, but her face revealed that she was deep in thought.
‘Blast from the past?’ Nick asked, wondering if he was prying too much. He hated the thought of her old life in Liverpool and what it had done to her.
‘Something like that. Not important,’ Laura said as she took a long swig of white wine from her glass.
‘The guy with the black Cherokee Jeep?’ Nick asked. The image of Laura walking away, smiling and waving at the driver of that Jeep in Llancastell, and then driving away was etched in his memory. Jealousy was a dangerous emotion.
‘Just leave it, Nick,’ Laura snapped.
‘Sorry,’ Nick said and then looked at her. ‘You look amazing, Laura. You look so well.’
‘Thanks. I feel really good at the moment. Mums’ got me a job in the farm shop. It’s all starting to work out,’ Laura said.
Nick was feeling soft, warm and merry as the alcohol took hold. ‘I never stopped thinking about you, Laura. You know that?’
Laura looked awkward and nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry if I hurt you.’
Getting up from the garden table, Nick moved to the other side and sat next to her. He took her hand very gently in his and looked up at her. Her nose had a smattering of light freckles where she had caught the sun.
‘I’m only glad you’re okay. And I’m glad you’re back,’ Nick said.
Laura leant forward, lifted her sunglasses back onto her hair and looked directly at him. ‘I did miss you. I was just ... lost.’
In that moment, Nick leant forward and they kissed. Her lips were warm, soft and tasted of white wine. They kissed again and this time Laura put her hand on the side of his face. Their tongues touched and Nick felt his heart pounding.
As they moved apart, Nick smiled. ‘Why don’t you come and live with me?’
Laura raised her eyebrow. ‘What?’
Nick shrugged. ‘Seriously. I’ve got my own house now. Think about it.’
‘I have to hand it to you. You’re a fast mover, Nick Evans,’ Laura said with a broad smile.
‘Is that a yes?’ Nick asked.
‘I don’t know. I need some time,’ Laura said.
They kissed again, pulling each other closer and closer.
That night they made love at Nick’s house.
AUGUST 2003
Curtis turned up the air conditioning in the Range Rover and felt the cool breeze blow into his face. It had hit thirty degrees in Liverpool and the air was heavy with the heat. Fat Tony pulled the car up onto the pavement of a small side road in the heart of Toxteth, just around the corner from the Fit L8 gym.
Curtis was starting to feel tense. They had got a tip-off. He put his arm out of the window and rested it on the passenger door. He could feel the sun on his tanned forearm that bore a tattoo of a four leafed clover and a harp. His mum always said their black hair, blue eyes and dark skin came from their Irish gypsy ancestors. The TAG Heuer watch that Shaun had given him a couple of years ago glinted in the sunlight. Tipping his Ray Ban sunglasses, he looked out at the street. The white brickwork opposite carried a series of black graffiti tags – Zone Man, CHRIS4 and Legit53. It was Curtis’ old patch. He had grown up in Toxteth. Ten years earlier, he and Shaun had wandered these streets while wagging school and nicked cars. It seemed like a different life.
Just up on the corner was Keane & Sons Memorials, which as far as Curtis knew, had been there forever. Outside, the shop still had its range of headstones in various shades of black, white and grey. A gaudy red neon light advertised that ‘Cremation Stones’ were also available. Keane & Sons used to freak Curtis out with its array of goods for the dead. It was spooky.
As Curtis gazed up the road, he could see the familiar sight of Toxteth Park Municipal Cemetery where the Blake family had been buried for the past century. Curtis thought it was a dump and refused to allow Shaun to be buried there. He had several reasons why he didn’t want Shaun to be buried in Toxteth. There were too many ghosts. Too much bad blood. The Blake family had moved on and now Croxteth L12 was their home.
Fat Tony’s mobile buzzed and he read a text message. Curtis took off his sunglasses and
