Chapter 22
1437 Words
22
Straight after he received the text message, Benjamin sent one of his own to both Lisa and Cameron.
Gone for a walk. Need to clear my head.
Once he was out of view of the wedding venue, he called the number that had sent him the text message. This was a conversation he didn’t want to be having, but one he had always known was inevitable.
‘Long time no speak,’ came the familiar voice at the other end of the phone once the call had connected.
‘How did you get this number?’ Benjamin half-whispered half-barked.
‘Alright, chill bruv. We got mutual friends, ain’t we? Connections.’
Benjamin bit his lip hard, trying to hold his temper. ‘We all agreed we were going our separate ways. Putting it behind us. And anyway, I’ve changed. I’m a new man now. I don’t want anything to do with it.’
‘You might not have much choice,’ the voice at the other end said. ‘You ain’t heard, have you?’
Benjamin swallowed, fearing this was going to be something he didn’t particularly want to hear. ‘Heard what?’
‘I can’t tell you on the phone. Listen, meet me in the car park at the bottom of Mildenheath Common. How soon can you be there?’
‘Uh, well I can call a cab. Depends when it turns up, but I’m probably ten, fifteen minutes away.’
‘Right. Let’s say half an hour. See you there.’
‘Wait. What’s this all ab—’ Benjamin heard the call disconnect before he had a chance to ask his question. Tired, frustrated and stressed, he realised he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this. He dialled the number of a local taxi company, the operator telling him someone would be with him in a few minutes.
Meanwhile, he perched on a low stone wall and considered how the hell his entire life had turned upside down in the space of half an hour. Earlier that night he’d been celebrating his wedding day with his nearest and dearest, over the moon that the woman he loved had vowed to stick with him in sickness and in health despite his chequered past, and now he was lamenting his broken marriage, sitting on a damp wall and waiting for a taxi to take him to a meeting he knew was going to be anything but fun.
Tyrone Golds got in his red Renault and drove the two miles to the car park at the foot of Mildenheath Common. It wasn’t somewhere he usually went all that often, but he knew it was secluded and free of CCTV cameras. It wouldn’t do for them to be seen meeting. Not now.
He’d called Benjamin Newell, who he remembered as Peter, from a burner phone — an unregistered pay-as-you-go mobile he’d got from one of the lads at the boxing club. The police wouldn’t connect him with this number and there was no way they’d be tracing Peter’s calls, either. Tyrone knew the guy had been clean for years.
Knowledge of their meeting getting out wouldn’t necessarily cause either of them any issues, but it still wasn’t a risk he wanted to take.
Because, after all, it wasn’t the police he was afraid of.
‘Just drop me off at the end of the road here, mate,’ Benjamin said, as he pulled his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket.
The taxi driver had been far too chatty for his liking, asking all sorts of questions. Whose wedding was it? A friend’s, he told him. He’d been an usher. Why was he going home already? His kid was ill, he said. Had to get home to see him. How old’s the kid? What’s his name? In the end, Benjamin had made an excuse about feeling unwell and said he’d walk the rest of the way, told the driver he needed the fresh air.
He wasn’t technically lying.
Having paid his ten quid and half-walked half-jogged towards the car park, he could feel the butterflies in his stomach as his legs started to feel like jelly beneath him. He knew from Tyrone’s voice that this wasn’t going to be good news. He knew it would be something that would turn his whole life upside down and drag him right back to where he was all those years ago, long before he met Lisa.
When he got to the car park, he could see there was only one car in there. There was a man sat in the driver’s seat. He couldn’t see who it was at first, but as he got closer he recognised Tyrone Golds, the man who he’d known as Bruno. He’d barely changed in all that time. He’d kept in shape, presumably by keeping up the boxing, and looked a good ten years younger than he was.
Benjamin got in the passenger seat and closed the door behind him.
‘Years have been mean to you, bruv,’ Tyrone said, looking at him.
Well f**k you too, Benjamin thought, regretting noticing how young Tyrone looked. ‘Sign of a life well lived,’ he said. ‘No-one’s gonna admire anyone’s perfect skin from six feet under.’
‘Yeah, well you ain’t so far from the truth,’ Tyrone said, shuffling in his seat. ‘With the six feet under bit, I mean. Freddie Galloway’s dead. Someone set fire to his f*****g house.’
Benjamin’s heart started thudding in his chest. This was bringing back memories he’d tried hard to suppress. He’d spent the last eleven years trying to forget about Footloose Freddie and the bungled job, and now meeting Tyrone and just hearing the mention of Freddie Galloway’s name had ruined it all in a heartbeat. ‘What? Who?’ he asked.
‘No-one knows. But they’re sure as hell sniffing around.’
‘Wait. Your text. It said “He’s out”. What did you mean?’
Tyrone shook his head. ‘What do you think I meant? I meant Headache, bruv. He’s out. Been released. And get this: he was let out yesterday morning. Few hours later, Footloose is lying on his back patio like a f*****g burnt kebab. You telling me that ain’t linked? That ain’t no coincidence, I’m telling you.’
Benjamin tried to calm his thoughts and process this information. ‘So what are you saying? That he’s going to come after us?’
Tyrone shrugged and c****d his head slightly. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is if that guy’s on the f*****g warpath we ain’t gonna be far from his sights.’
‘But why? We didn’t do anything wrong. I was there with him, I tried to stop him pulling that trigger. I went with him while you and Footloose ran over the f*****g hills for freedom.’
‘You f****d off the second he fired that gun, bruv. Left him to it just the same as we did. He’s been behind bars for nearly eleven years. You know what that does to a man? Sends them insane, that’s what. Every second of every day, thinking about it. Just thinking about it. Ain’t no amount of exercise time or creative writing classes gonna stop your mind from messing with you in that place.’
Benjamin swallowed. ‘And if it wasn’t him?’
‘Well if it wasn’t him, we’re really in the s**t. ‘Cos then the filth are gonna come sniffing around us, you get me? We all got shafted by Freddie Galloway, bruv. All of us.’
Benjamin shook his head. ‘But we’ve had eleven years to do something about that. Why would we wait until the day Headache’s released and do it then?’
Tyrone’s voice took on an edge of anger. ‘Because the moment he pulled that f*****g trigger, that changed everything. You know, ever since that day I’ve been shitting myself. Headache could’ve coughed at any minute and told the cops who else was involved. Could’ve cut a deal and got his sentence reduced. But he didn’t. Now, that’s either because he’s a f*****g God’s honest geezer or because he knew he was better off biding his time. And even if it’s because he’s Mother f*****g Teresa reincarnated, it’s not just him we had to worry about. I know we were careful, but you know damn well our DNA’ll still be all over that place. Do you know what it’s like to be a black guy driving around a town like this, knowing you’re God knows how many times more likely to be pulled over by the cops than a white guy like you? And that if they do a cheek swab, or whatever damn DNA test they want, I’ll be going down for armed robbery just because I forgot to indicate at a f*****g roundabout?’
Benjamin knew the feeling all too well, but he didn’t feel that was something he could tell Tyrone right now.
‘So if one of us is meant to have burnt Freddie Galloway’s place down, why would either of us risk leaving our DNA there too? If we were that worried about being caught for armed robbery, why would we throw arson and murder in the mix?’
‘That’s what I’ve been thinking too. And it came to me that that might be just the sort of thing someone would do if they wanted to frame Headache. If they wanted to make it look like it was him, getting revenge the same day he got out of prison. If they wanted to make sure he’d keep his mouth shut.’
‘But I don’t get it,’ Benjamin said. ‘I don’t get why either of us would do that.’
Tyrone held Benjamin’s gaze for a little longer than Benjamin would’ve liked.
‘Nor do I, bruv. Nor do I.’
- Writer
