Eight Ball Boogie - Declan Burke [39]
“How’ve you been, Harry?”
“Fine. Up times, down times. You know the drill.”
“Yeah.”
He drank deep from his pint, downing half of it in two gulps. Wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, which left some of the creamy head stuck to his upper lip. That irritated me. I let it.
“I was out at the house,” he said then. He smiled, slow and lazy. “I looked in on Ben. He’s a cute kid.”
I wanted to punch him there and then, get it over with.
“Yeah. He got his mother’s nose.”
“She’s looking well, too.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I didn’t see a wedding ring, though.”
“That’s because we’re not married, Gonz.”
“How come?”
“I was afraid you’d turn up.” I’d had enough of the small talk. “How long are you staying, Gonz?”
He shrugged, taken aback.
“I don’t know. Couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks. I told Denise I’d do B&B but she said I was being daft. She made up a bed in Ben’s room.”
“For who, me?”
“Harry!” Michelle’s tone was stern, letting me know I’d overstepped the mark. I waved her away. I hadn’t even started my run up.
“If it’s a problem –”
“Of course it’s a problem, Gonz. All I want to know is how long it’s going to be a problem.”
“I’m not sure,” he said, picking his words with care. “I’ll be taking a look around, see if there’s anything happening. If there isn’t, I’ll be off again.”
“Anything like what?”
“Anything like anything. Bar work, maybe. I did some sign painting on the islands, when I was out in Greece. I’ve a few quid put away, enough for a second-hand van. Maybe there’s some courier work going. Know of anything?”
“No. Dutchie’s the man to ask.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll ask Dutch.”
He looked hurt, wounded. I put him out of his misery.
“The way it is, Gonz, you can stay as long as you don’t get in the way, and I’m only saying that because I’m expecting you to take off first chance you get. But don’t look for something that’s not there anymore. Alright?”
“Jesus, Harry…”
Maybe it was his reasonable tone. Maybe I thought I’d never get the chance to say it again. Maybe it was the beer, the bile. But it was coming and coming hard. I let it go.
“Fuck you and your ‘Jesus Harry’. Everyone thought I was a soft prick and fuck me if you didn’t prove them right.”
“Come on, Harry.” Now it was Dutchie’s turn, laying a hand on my shoulder.
“Back off, Dutch.” I looked at Gonzo. “You fucked the woman I was going to marry. I should have kicked you into the middle of next week, and don’t think I didn’t consider it. But what I did was ask you to be my child’s godfather.”
“Follow Brando and De Niro? You’re kidding.”
“What’s that, funny?”
“C’mon, Harry –”
“Denise used to say it was like something out of The Omen. That was funny. For the first two months, it was funny. After that, it wasn’t funny anymore. After that I was wondering if something had happened, something serious. Wondering if maybe you were dead. Four years, not knowing. All it needed was a phone-call or a postcard, a fucking message on the fucking answering machine.”
Dutchie touched me on the shoulder.
“Harry,” he urged, wary. “It’s Christmas.”
“It was Christmas last year too, Dutch, and the year before that. It was Christmas for the last four fucking years, Dutch.” I looked back at Gonzo. “Just for the record, how come you left so quick?”
“Just had to get away, Harry. When you have to go, you go.”
“You couldn’t wait one more fucking night?”
“I didn’t realise it meant that much.”
“Ben being christened? Didn’t mean that much?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Tell you what, Gonz. Just forget it, all of it. Let’s pretend we don’t even know each other.”
“People change, Harry.”
“You’re changed?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not. Now rev up and fuck off.”
He thought that over. Then he hauled off and drove a punch at my head like he was grabbing for fresh air the far side. I went down like I’d been torpedoed. Dutchie was between us by the time I got up, stunned, shaking my head.