‘Nope, that’s your lot.’ She slid the drink towards him so there was no chance they’d touch. I could see the pulse moving in her neck. He gave her his painful, flesh-wound smile, dropped more notes on the bar and ran his hands back and forth across it.
‘Could watch all day,’ he said, his fingers leaving slug trails of grime on the wood. He picked up the drink, threw it back and slammed it down. ‘More glasses. You and friend can help with bottle.’ He nodded in my direction when he spoke, but he still hadn’t looked directly at me. Sian hesitated then put two more glasses on the bar, watching as he poured large measures into each. ‘Cheers,’ he said, raising his in toast to her.
‘Cheers,’ she said, lifting hers and pouring it down the sink.
Bateman scowled. ‘Paying a compliment …’
‘You pay me money for drinks,’ she said. ‘That’s it.’
He screwed up his face, literally, folding it in on itself. My skin itched standing so close to him, and I wondered how we must look to Sian.
Inseparable, I thought. Like the fucking cause of each other.
He broke eye contact with her suddenly. ‘Bet this guy drinks.’ He was so tall that he had to look down at me and I saw saliva bubbling out of his damaged mouth. He sucked it noisily back in. ‘Have we met …?’
‘Come on,’ I said, taking my glass and sitting at a free table. My back was against the wall and he followed me, sitting opposite.
I leaned into him. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Like the barmaid …’
‘Well enjoy your drink, because it’s your last.’
‘Says who?’
I looked at him. Waited.
‘Told you, Wally,’ he said, hunching up over the table.
‘Aidan,’ I replied.
‘Told you to hide the bag. Tell no fucker where. Told you we were going back for it.’
‘You’re not serious …’
‘Said—’
‘It was twenty years ago.’
‘Yeah?’ He drooled the word out of his mouth. ‘I wasn’t counting …’ His inability or unwillingness to articulate certain sounds ignited a natural sympathy in me. But whenever I looked at his one living eye I knew the person behind it hadn’t changed.
‘They say that by fifty a man gets the face he deserves. How old are you now?’
‘This,’ he spat, pointing at the dead eye. ‘This was for you. I stepped between that gun and you.’
‘Bullshit. You stepped between that gun and the money.’ It was so plainly true that he paused and took a drink while considering his next line of attack. He dribbled bourbon into the side of his mouth. ‘How’s your sister?’ These words were difficult for him to get his mouth around, and it looked like he was chewing them.
‘I don’t have a sister,’ I said.
‘Funny—’
‘No, Bateman,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘Get this into that fucking squash you’ve got for a head. I don’t have a sister. We haven’t seen each other since then, either. She’s nothing to do with me, and I’m nothing to do with her.’
He did his best impersonation of a smile. ‘Maybe I’ll pay a visit. You lived together afterwards.’ He caught my look. Smirked and went on. ‘You might not have kept track of me … but I kept track of you … Maybe you told your sister where that bag went in The Oaks.’ The Oaks was the home we’d been sent to, and not something he should know about. I tried not to react. ‘Your mother told me, by the way.’ He smiled again. ‘Sends her love.’
I didn’t know if he was telling the truth.
I didn’t even know if she was alive, but the revulsion working its way through my body felt so strong I thought it must be visible. A light haze of sunspots washed in front of my eyes and I held on to the table to stay in control. Bateman was still talking but I couldn’t hear him. I looked about the room. It seemed to be in motion. Sian was serving someone, distractedly, watching us through the corner of her eye.
I looked at Bateman, interrupting him as my senses snapped back.
‘Do you remember what you used to call her?’
‘Your mother? A few things …’
‘My sister,’ I said, my voice thickening. ‘Do you remember what you used to call my sister?’ He looked away. Shrugged. ‘A nickname,’ I said. ‘You had a nickname for her.’ All traces of smirk fell slowly from his face and a look of overwhelming exhaustion replaced it.
‘Twenty years ago,’ he said. ‘How would I remember that?’
‘I remember it.’
‘This sister you’re nothing to do with?’ The saliva was boiling at the corners of his mouth. ‘I’m counting on that memory. You in those trees …’
‘Count on this. You’ve been inside for two decades. The bag’s gone. The trees probably aren’t even there any more.’
‘They’re there.’ He nodded. ‘I’ve been back. Looked round.’ He smiled again, globs of spit dropping on to the table. ‘No mention of that bag in papers. No mention ever since …’
‘I threw it in the water.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why?’ I said. ‘Why don’t you think so?’
‘You were too scared of me to throw in water. Still scared now.’
‘Most people are probably scared of you, weren’t there any mirrors inside?’
‘I was a celebrity inside,’ he said, drawing himself up. ‘Not many men eat a bullet and live.’
‘Well, if you ever feel like going back for seconds …’ I felt a jolt of self-loathing. I was actually sitting here having this conversation.
Meeting him on his own level.
‘Anyway,’ I said, getting up. ‘Let’s do this again in twenty years.’ I went back to the bar, leaning on it with both hands. I’d take the pictures to Parrs myself rather than interact with him again. When I moved my hands from the bar-top they left perfect prints in sweat. Sian touched my arm and I looked up.
‘Are you OK?’ I nodded. ‘Hang around for a minute, yeah?’ she said, with a smile.
I nodded again. My eyes were wet.
She frowned over my shoulder.
‘Aidan, save me bother,’ said Bateman to my back. He was intentionally hamming up his speech impediment now, into a caricature of a man with learning difficulties. ‘Where’s sister?’ I turned. He was looming over me. Neck, chest and arms swollen with muscle. People at the surrounding tables were starting to stare. ‘She’ll talk to me …’
‘We’ve got nothing to talk about,’ I clarified. ‘And you’ve got even less in common with her.’
‘Wrong,’ he said, slapping a sloppy wet kiss on my forehead. ‘Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.’ I put a hand out to stop him getting any closer. His chest felt like a rock face. He looked at me momentarily and took another step as though my arm wasn’t there. He gripped the back of my head tightly and tore his hand away.
He pressed a sweaty coin into my palm.
Then he reached around me, poured a final shot of Jack Daniel’s and drank it off.
‘Places to go …’ he said, winking his good eye at me. ‘People to see. Annie’s my daughter. So we must have a few things in common …’
He put a cigarette in his mouth and started to leave.
‘Bateman,’ I said. He half-turned. ‘If you go anywhere near my sister, your eyesight will deteriorate in a serious fucking way.’ He looked at me. ‘I swear on my life, you’ll never come back from it.’
He laughed and looked at the cigarette in his hand. ‘I’ve remembered her nickname.’ As he said this I saw that he’d been telling the truth. That he was capable of forgetting something like that. He looked at the cigarette again and did his pitiful impersonation of a smile. ‘Ash,’ he said. ‘Short for ashtray.’ He spoke deliberately, making the effort to enunciate every word. ‘Nothing put a smoke out like those fat little arms.’
He turned to leave.
I looked at Sian. Leaned on the bar to stay upright.