David Belbin - Bone & Cane

‘This probably isn’t the time.’

‘What? I want to know.’

Nick looked around as if to see who could hear them. A couple of white, social worker types had just been served but showed no sign of bringing their trays to Nick and Sarah’s table.

‘Don’t tease me, Nick.’

‘It’s probably a case of somebody teasing me. One of the other taxi drivers, he claims that – I mean, it’s none of my business, only I guess I want to know . . .’

‘What?’

‘He claims that, since he got out of prison, about the same time that I did, he’s been having a thing with you.’

Sarah closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Ed Clark.’

Nick leant forward. ‘Yes. You didn’t want to talk about him when I was round yours the other night. Were you and him . . .?’

‘No!’ Sarah said. ‘Something happened – I can’t talk about it here.’

Ed fucking Clark. She got more disheartened when she was thinking about him than she did when fretting about losing the election. Nick still looked suspicious. As Sarah tried to find a form of words to reassure him, Ranjit, the centre manager, came over.

‘It’s so good to see you again, Miss Bone. You still like our food?’

‘Very much,’ Sarah said. ‘Best value in Nottingham.’

Ranjit began a long, involved monologue about how the proposals to install a tram network across the city were likely to impact on Forest Fields. Sarah didn’t have anything to say. She doubted that the tram project would go ahead: too expensive. By the time Ranjit took his leave, Nick had finished eating.

‘Sorry about that,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve had enough to eat. Want to get out before we’re interrupted again?’

‘Okay.’

‘Are you in a car?’ she asked, when they were outside.

‘I walked.’

‘I’ve still got twenty minutes,’ Sarah told Nick. ‘Can I give you a lift?’

Her car was parked by a small, deserted playground up a hill.

‘I’m okay.’

She didn’t push it. Possibly he didn’t want her to see where he was living.

‘Let’s talk in here.’

He followed her into the playground. By unspoken agreement, she sat on the bright red merry-go-round. Nick started it going, then jumped on. Sarah figured that her in MP mode had been putting him off, so began to reminisce about the one time she’d taken acid, with him. The pair of them had sat on a Lenton merry-go-round for hours, talking, occasionally remembering to spin the carousel again. Then they would watch the world whirl and distort before it froze back into dull dusk.

‘I remember,’ Nick said. He didn’t add to her reminiscence, or fill the silence that followed it. The merry-go-round began to slow down.

‘Nothing happened between me and Ed Clark,’ Sarah said. ‘I had no interest in him, except . . .’ she watched his frown and chose her words carefully. ‘The night of his release, there was a party and he tried it on. I turned him down nicely but firmly. Later – I was a bit pissed or I wouldn’t have got myself into this situation: he pulled me into his room and tried to . . . force himself on me.’

Nick put his foot down. The sole of his shoe squeaked on warm tarmac. He brought the merry-go-round to a halt. ‘He tried to rape you?’

‘He didn’t get that far. He was off his face on coke, speed, crystal meth . . . something. He knocked me over. I fought him off, sort of – I kneed him in the balls. But he could have raped me if he’d wanted to. Instead, he humiliated me.’

Nick got out a tissue. Only when he handed it to her did Sarah realize that she was crying. ‘It sounds like he did more than humiliate you. Did you report it to anyone? What did you do?’

‘You don’t understand,’ Sarah said. ‘He humiliated me by telling me that I’d made a fool of myself: that he really did kill Terry Shanks, then raped and murdered his wife.’

27

It was ten past nine the next morning before Nick made up his mind how to play it. This was a quiet time of day. Ed Clark would have just finished his school runs. A few drivers often had a late breakfast at the greasy spoon on Rawson Street, near the Indian social centre. Nick sometimes used the place himself. He could walk there in fifteen minutes. Nick did a lot of his best thinking while walking. Maybe by the time he got to the caff, he’d have worked out what to do and say.

Thin drizzle spattered the shabby cobbles. Apart from the café, Rawson Street was all light industry – a garage, a warehouse, a fizzy-pop company. There was no reason for Ed to be in the caff. He was more likely to go to Polly’s for his breakfast and the rest once the kids had gone to school. All yesterday evening, Nick had been tempted to go round to Polly’s, have it out with Ed. But he didn’t know if Ed was living with Polly. Nor did he know if, in a fair fight, Ed could have him. Nick might have muscled up inside, but he hadn’t got into fights. He didn’t really know how to fight, and it felt too late to learn. He was tempted to pick up some broken brick, shove it into the wide, inside pocket of the denim jacket he was wearing. Suppose he were stopped? Would a brick count as carrying a concealed weapon, revoke his probation? If Nick was going to risk that, he might as well carry a knife. No, make that a dagger, or a rope, or a piece of lead piping . . .

It was nearly ten by the time he got to the caff. Ed wasn’t there, but Bob was, tucking into a full English with chips.

‘Missing me already?’ he asked Nick.

‘Just hungry.’ Nick ordered a sausage sandwich and a pint mug of tea, then sat down. ‘Seen Ed today?’

Bob shook his head. ‘But I’ve only been here five minutes. Get on with him, do you? S’pose you knew each other inside.’

Nick didn’t answer. Bob was reading the Sun which, to Nick’s amazement, seemed to be supporting Labour. The sandwich arrived and he smothered the contents with brown sauce before disposing of it in half a dozen rapid mouthfuls. Nick was only halfway down his mug of tea when Bob declared that he was leaving.

‘Mind if I come out with you?’ Nick asked. ‘Use your radio.’

‘Be my guest,’ Bob said, handing him the keys. ‘Need a slash first.’

Bob’s car was parked opposite the caff. Nick got in and turned the radio on. He was about to call Nas, see if he could find out where Ed was, when Clark’s car pulled up alongside him. Ed wound down the window and Nick did the same.

‘I heard you’d stopped driving.’

‘That’s why I’m in the passenger seat,’ Nick said. ‘I need a word with you.’

Ed grinned. ‘I’m on the way to Polly’s. Meet me there. Never know your luck, she might be in the mood for a threesome. And if she isn’t in the mood, you might get lucky wi’ me instead.’ His laugh was obnoxious yet ingratiating, as though he and Nick were mates.

Ed drove off. Bob came out a minute later and Nick asked to be dropped down the road in Basford.

‘You found him then?’

‘Yeah, I found him. But I dunno what I’m going to do with him.’

‘You talk like you’re up for a fight, youth.’

‘It may come to that.’

‘Ed’s a hard lad. He’ll have you, unless you’re kitted up, like. Want this?’

Bob pulled out the flick knife that he kept beneath his seat.

‘I might be tempted to do something stupid,’ Nick said.

‘And Ed might be tempted to kill you,’ Bob said, then showed him how the catch worked. The knife was small enough for Ed not to know Nick was carrying. It was insurance, that was all. Nick was good at keeping his temper, always had been, but if Ed came at him with a blade, Nick needed to be able to strike first. Prison had taught him that.

‘Okay, mate. I’ll take it. Appreciated.’