Charlie Perry, who was quietly drinking his gin and tonic in the shade of the hanging baskets, tried to say it could be a good thing.
“Maybe people will spend money.” And he lifted his glass to toast the idea.
“You’re living in dreamland,” Dave shouted over him. “The town is dying on its arse. We need some cash coming in, not every pothead on the south coast. They’ll bring their own booze and food. Weekenders and commuters like Diamond are already killing this place, buying the houses on the front and then sodding off. There’s nowhere for our kids to live. My boy’s going to be living with us forever.”
“Well, you may be right,” Charlie said.
And Dave’s gang nodded along in dumb solidarity. Talk had turned to Charlie’s charity raffle when the town villain appeared, sauntering down the High Street like he owned the place—the big fish in the puddle of Ebbing. The theme song to Peaky Blinders was playing in Elise’s head as she watched.
“Hi!” Pete Diamond was saying to some shoppers, with a slow sharky smile—all teeth, no eyes. “Good to see you. How are you doing?”
It was classic instant intimacy, according to the behavioral science book Elise had read for a course. But what do I know? Perhaps he does actually care about their state of health. People are responding to it, anyway. They were shaking his hand; children were high-fiving him and taking bundles of leaflets from his bag to hand out.
“Hi, Dave,” Diamond shouted across. “How’re you doing? Can I have a word?”
Dave looked confused. “About what?”
“Bars for the festival. There are going to be a lot of thirsty customers and money to be made. I’d like to spread the love.”
A silence floated through her open window and Elise leaned forward. She didn’t need to.
“You can stuff your bars where the sun don’t shine!” Dave snarled, looking round to make sure he still had an audience. “No one wants this blasted festival. Why don’t you get that?”
Diamond didn’t even blink. “Well, that’s not true, mate,” he said as if explaining the situation to a child, and Dave’s face went an even deeper shade of red. “I sold two hundred tickets on the first day, so someone does. Look, I know you have your doubts but it’ll be an event for everyone—rock bands, Grime, some country and western. Could really bring the community together and make people notice the town. So let me know by end of play today if you change your mind. It could be a nice earner, but if you don’t fancy it, I’ll sort it out myself.”
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, mate,” Dave shouted as his nemesis turned back to his fan club. “The fat lady hasn’t sung yet. . . .”
Fifteen
FRIDAY, AUGUST 16, 2019
Eight days earlier
Dee
Liam’s gone for a run and I’m listening to Cal doing his spellings when Claire rings me again.
When I see her number, I realize I still haven’t opened the padded envelope Claire sent.
“It’s from London,” Postie Val commented as she handed it to me this morning. “Is it your birthday?”
“No, Val. It’s nothing important.”
I shoved it in my cleaning bag to look at later. But I hadn’t had the heart.
“I just wanted to let you know his friends held a vigil in the park last night,” Claire says. She means well—I can see that—but it’s not what I need right now.
“Okay. Did you go? Were there many people there?” I ask for something to say.
“Yes, I went, and there were a couple of blokes from the hostel where he was staying. His stepfather, Tony, came. And a friend from the old days. Oh, and Phil’s sponsor from AA was there of course. He identified Phil for the police—he was in bits, actually. Said how Phil had been doing so well. He’d been sober for six months and been for an interview for a job—”
“Who was the old friend?” I interrupt. It’s the only thing I want to know.
“Umm, I didn’t hear a name. He was very quiet. Pale and upset. Anyway, Phil’s sponsor said Phil had started step nine.”
“What? What’s that?” But I’m trying to remember quiet pale men from the old days.
“It’s about making amends to the people you’ve hurt in the past.”
And I wonder where Phil started. Where I’d start if it was me.
“Okay. So did anyone know why Phil started drinking again?”
“No. No one seemed to know what triggered it—he’d been upbeat at an AA meeting the morning before he drank—but his body was just too frail to cope with a binge. It’s so tragic.”