“Nothing, mate. Something went on long time ago, but that’s all finished. My work here is done.”
Jago passed Selevan and stepped up to the door of the caravan. He hadn’t locked it, Selevan saw, so there’d been no need for him to wait on the steps in the first place. Jago went inside and Selevan followed. He stood uncertainly just at the door, however, because he wasn’t sure what was going on.
He said, “You made redundant, Jago?”
Jago had gone into the bedroom at the end of the caravan. Selevan couldn’t see him, but he could hear the noise of a cupboard opening and of something being dragged from the shelf above the clothing rail. In a moment Jago appeared in the doorway, a large duffel bag drooping from his hand. “What?” he asked.
“I asked were you made redundant. You said your work was finished. You been sacked or something?”
Jago looked as if he was thinking about this, which was strange as far as Selevan was concerned. One was made redundant or not. One was sacked or not. Surely the question didn’t need consideration. Finally Jago smiled quite a slow smile that wasn’t much like him. He said, “That’s exactly it, mate. Redundant. I was made redundant…long time ago.” He paused and looked thoughtful and next spoke to himself, “More than a quarter of a century,” he said. “A long time in coming.”
“What?” Selevan felt a restless urgency to get to the root of the matter because this Jago was different to the Jago he’d been sitting in the inglenook with for the last six or seven months, and he vastly preferred that other Jago, who spoke directly and not in…well, in parables or the like.
He said, “Mate, has something happened with them cops? Did they do something to…? You don’t sound like yourself.” Selevan could imagine what the cops might do. True, they’d been women, but fact was that Jago was an old codger round the same age as Selevan, and he was in poor condition for his years. Besides that, had they taken him to the station, there’d be blokes there?other cops?who could rough him up. And cops could rough one up in places where no evidence was left. Selevan knew that. He watched telly, especially American films on Sky. He’d seen how it was done. Bit of pressure on the thumbnails. Couple of sewing needles screwed into the skin. It wouldn’t take much on a bloke like Jago. Only…he wasn’t acting like a man who’d suffered some sort of humiliation at the hands of the cops, was he.
Jago put the duffel on his bed?Selevan could see this much from where he still stood, unsure whether to sit or stand, to go or remain?and he began opening the drawers of the built-in chest. And what came to Selevan then was what should have come the moment he saw the duffel in Jago’s hands: His friend was leaving.
He said, “Where you off to, Jago?”
“What I said.” Jago came to the door again, this time a small stack of neatly folded shorts and vests in his hands. “Things’re finished here. It’s time for me to shove off. Never stay in one place long, anyway. Follow the sun, the surf, the seasons…”
“But the season’s here. It’s just coming on. It’s round the corner. Where you going to find a better season than what you’d get here?”
Jago hesitated, half turned towards the bed. It seemed that this was something he’d not considered: the where of his journey. Selevan saw his shoulders alter. There was something less definite about his posture. Selevan pressed the point.
“And anyways, you got friends here. That counts for something. Let’s face it, you see a doctor yet for those shakes of yours? I reckon they’re going to get worse, and then where’ll you be if you set off on your own?”
Jago seemed to think about this. “Doesn’t much matter, like I said. My work is finished. All’s left is the waiting.”
“For what?”
“For…you know. Neither one of us is a hatchling, mate.”
“For dying, you mean? Tha’s rubbish. You got years. What the bloody hell did those coppers do to you?”
“Not a sodding thing.”