Local Gone Missing(21)

“Hi, Dave,” Diamond shouted across. “How’re you doing? Can I have a word?”

Dave looked confused. “About what?”

“Bars for the festival. There are going to be a lot of thirsty customers and money to be made. I’d like to spread the love.”

A silence floated through her open window and Elise leaned forward. She didn’t need to.

“You can stuff your bars where the sun don’t shine!” Dave snarled, looking round to make sure he still had an audience. “No one wants this blasted festival. Why don’t you get that?”

Diamond didn’t even blink. “Well, that’s not true, mate,” he said as if explaining the situation to a child, and Dave’s face went an even deeper shade of red. “I sold two hundred tickets on the first day, so someone does. Look, I know you have your doubts but it’ll be an event for everyone—rock bands, Grime, some country and western. Could really bring the community together and make people notice the town. So let me know by end of play today if you change your mind. It could be a nice earner, but if you don’t fancy it, I’ll sort it out myself.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, mate,” Dave shouted as his nemesis turned back to his fan club. “The fat lady hasn’t sung yet. . . .”





Fifteen


FRIDAY, AUGUST 16, 2019



Eight days earlier





Dee


Liam’s gone for a run and I’m listening to Cal doing his spellings when Claire rings me again.

When I see her number, I realize I still haven’t opened the padded envelope Claire sent.

“It’s from London,” Postie Val commented as she handed it to me this morning. “Is it your birthday?”

“No, Val. It’s nothing important.”

I shoved it in my cleaning bag to look at later. But I hadn’t had the heart.

“I just wanted to let you know his friends held a vigil in the park last night,” Claire says. She means well—I can see that—but it’s not what I need right now.

“Okay. Did you go? Were there many people there?” I ask for something to say.

“Yes, I went, and there were a couple of blokes from the hostel where he was staying. His stepfather, Tony, came. And a friend from the old days. Oh, and Phil’s sponsor from AA was there of course. He identified Phil for the police—he was in bits, actually. Said how Phil had been doing so well. He’d been sober for six months and been for an interview for a job—”

“Who was the old friend?” I interrupt. It’s the only thing I want to know.

“Umm, I didn’t hear a name. He was very quiet. Pale and upset. Anyway, Phil’s sponsor said Phil had started step nine.”

“What? What’s that?” But I’m trying to remember quiet pale men from the old days.

“It’s about making amends to the people you’ve hurt in the past.”

And I wonder where Phil started. Where I’d start if it was me.

“Okay. So did anyone know why Phil started drinking again?”

“No. No one seemed to know what triggered it—he’d been upbeat at an AA meeting the morning before he drank—but his body was just too frail to cope with a binge. It’s so tragic.”

“Yes. So tragic. Thanks for letting me know—I really appreciate it but I’ve got to go.”

I send Cal upstairs to play and I get Phil’s envelope out of my workbag. A cheap watch slithers out and I hold the strap to my nose in case I can still smell my brother. But there’s nothing of him. I pull everything else out—official stuff about his benefits, a handwritten letter to him, and a Forever Friends notebook. I open it and see “I’m Sorry” written in Phil’s childish hand on the first page. Underneath are ten names. I spot mine straightaway. I’m halfway down and he’s drawn a heart by it. I wonder what Phil wanted to apologize to me about. I scan through the rest of the names and recognize two others. One of them has a line through it.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table—in another house, in my head—when Liam comes back from his run.

The front door banging makes me shout with fright and my heart is thumping so hard I think I can taste blood in my mouth, but he doesn’t seem to notice anything.

“I’m all sweaty,” he yells as he jogs past and up the stairs.

I don’t say anything—I can’t speak. I stuff the notebook back into the padded envelope and try to control my breathing.

“I feel better for that,” he says when he comes down. “It cleared my head. How are you doing?”

Cleared it of what? I want to ask but don’t say anything. Never ask questions you don’t know the answers to.

Anyway, I’ve got my own questions to deal with. When Cal gets Liam to play goalie in the garden, I read the letter to Phil. It’s dated December 11, 2018.


I’m glad you came to see me last month. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to write but I’ve been thinking about what you said—I haven’t been able to think about anything else if I’m honest. I know it must have been as tough for you as it was for me. Digging stuff up like that is hard and I think both of us found out painful things. Anyway, I want to thank you for helping me understand the things that happened. I’d like to meet again one day, mate. I’d buy you a pint but I know you’re off the booze—maybe a coffee? I’ll be in touch.