Cross - Ken Bruen [64]
That bothered me a lot.
He sensed my unease.
'You do want to sell, Mr Taylor?'
I said, 'Yeah, sure.'
And got rid of him.
I was imbued with a sadness, a melancholy as heavy as the stones I'd laden Sean with.
My passport was renewed and the photo in it made me look like a furtive ghost. I'd nothing to get rid of. Gail had burned my books and I'd long ago burned most of my boats. My goodbyes . . . yeah, they'd take all of two minutes. I was restless, got out of the flat, walked down the town, asking myself, 'Will you miss it?'
I didn't know.
I went into a coffee shop. Knew if I went into a pub, I'd definitely drink and that would solve all my travel problems. I ordered a latte and blocked all thoughts of recent events from my mind. As my coffee arrived, so did Stewart. He asked if he could join me, and I got the waitress to bring him a herbal tea. He was wearing a business suit, expensive shirt and tie. When you've bought cheap all your life, you know what's quality. He seemed completely at ease.
He said, 'So, Jack, you find Sean?'
A small smile was playing around his lips.
I said, 'No, no luck there.'
He thanked the waitress for his tea, then said, 'Must have gone back to London, you think?'
'I've no idea.'
To get him off this track, I told him about the sale of the flat and my emigration plans. He asked who was buying my place.
When I told him, he frowned.
'What?' I asked.
'I'm just a little surprised at you, Jack, you being an advocate of old Galway, the keeper of the Celtic flame, all that good stuff. This guy, this Flanagan, he's a speculator. He'll turn your place into bedsits, shove three non-national families in there.'
I felt raw, he'd touched a nerve. I knew it was not what Mrs Bailey would have wanted. She hated greed and ruthlessness, and here I was, part of the new deal.
I tried, 'Three bedsits? You couldn't swing a cat in my home.'
He smiled. 'I doubt pets will be allowed.'
Then he said, 'I've been keeping an eye on you. I notice you've stopped your nightly walk.'
I felt my heart accelerate.
'Following me? Why?'
'I owe you, Jack, have to ensure you're safe.'
I kept my voice low, said, 'Don't follow me, OK?'
I stood, put a few notes on the table.
He asked, 'Was the water cold?'
I froze. A moment of that utter stillness again, then Ridge passed through my mind and, yeah, my heart.
I walked out.
Muttered, Don't think, just walk.
There was a busker outside The Body Shop, doing a real fine version of 'Crazy'. I waited till he finished, took what coins I had and put them in the cap he'd before him.
He looked at it, counted it, went, 'The fuck is that?'
I said, 'It's all I've got.'
He was angry. 'You get a live version of my act and that's what you think it's worth?'
I had to rein myself in. Arguing with a busker, it was a no-win situation. I said, 'Have a good one.'
He shouted, 'Yeah, with that fortune, maybe I'll buy a new car.'
It wasn't helped by the fact he had a Brit accent.
It answered my earlier query about missing Galway.
The next few days, I put the finishing touches to my travel arrangements. I had to see my solicitor, sign the deeds of sale, I'd arranged for the money to be transferred to America when it came through. I packed one suitcase. Looking at it, sitting in the hall, ready to roll, it seemed forlorn, the remnants of a life of waste.
I went to the cemetery to say goodbye to my dead. It was too late to say sorry. The rain had stopped and a furtive sun was teasing the sky. I walked among the headstones, and after I'd said my pathetic words to the ones I loved, I decided to visit the graves of Maria and her brother, asking myself, 'Did I get justice for them?'
A young man was standing near the freshly turned clay and his resemblance to Maria was uncanny.
I approached, said, 'Rory?'
He wasn't startled. I suppose after what had happened to his family, he was beyond shock. He looked at me, his