Ted closed his eyes for a moment. ‘That was a set-up. I wasn’t doing anything.’
Charlie shrugged. He had stopped being a judge of human behaviour a long time ago. He helped to clean up the mess, not wonder how it happened.
Ted didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Charlie thought he was going to leave, but he didn’t. Charlie gave it a few more seconds before he said, ‘You haven’t come here to watch me drink. So what can I do for you?’
‘I want you to tell me about Billy Privett.’
‘I can’t do that. It’s confidential.’
‘But Billy is dead now.’
Charlie sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but the Law Society won’t see it like that.’
Ted looked down at that, and suddenly Charlie felt shitty. He leant forward.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but what did you expect me to say?’
‘You know things about how my daughter died,’ Ted said quietly, still looking at the floor. ‘When Billy was alive, I didn’t have to think about you, but now he is, well, you are all I have left.’ He looked up. ‘I know things that I’ve been told, but not the full story, and that’s what I need to know. I won’t tell anyone.’ Then he shook his head, answering his own query. ‘This was a stupid idea. I’ll go,’ and he stood as if to leave.
Charlie shook his head. ‘Sit down. Finish your drink.’
Ted looked at him unsure, and so Charlie said, ‘I don’t know anything about Alice’s death. Amelia looked after Billy Privett in relation to Alice’s case. She knew it would get media attention and we decided that she would be better for the interviews.’
Ted looked dejected, and for a moment, despite the boozy fog, Charlie saw his turmoil, that he just wanted answers.
‘I can tell you one thing, if it makes you feel any better,’ Charlie said.
Ted looked at him, expectant.
‘I have never heard anything from Amelia that suggested that Billy killed your daughter. I don’t know what part he did play, but if he murdered your daughter, he didn’t blurt it out to Amelia.’
Ted considered that for a moment, and then said, ‘Do people ever lie to their lawyers?’
Charlie smiled ruefully and took a drink. When he put his glass down, he replied, ‘All the time, Mr Kenyon. All the fucking time.’
Ted sighed and got to his feet. Charlie could tell that he wasn’t going to hang around anymore.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Barker.’
‘It’s Charlie,’ he said.
Ted nodded at that but didn’t answer, and then turned to go.
Once Charlie was alone again, he looked at the full glass Ted had left behind and then wondered about what thoughts he was taking home with him. He could only guess at the injustice he must feel every time he woke up. Then Charlie thought of how he must have looked to Ted, drunk on a Monday night. Charlie felt the creep of self-pity, knowing that he was just avoiding an empty house.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He thought again about calling Julie, but stopped himself. He put his phone away and tried not to think about her. Instead, he picked up his glass.
He would have just one more and then go home.
Chapter Eighteen
The night crept into early morning as John did what Henry had asked him: be a lookout. He had spent the evening sitting in a plastic chair with one of the old man’s shotguns in his lap. He had watched the night turn dark, the spread of stars take over the valley sky and the hill opposite turn into silhouette, just the occasional bleat of a sheep or the sweeping beam of a car interrupting the solitude.
Henry had left the house again, along with Arni, Gemma and the new woman, Lucy, all out for some fun. The ones who were left behind had been drinking home brew, some mixture Arni made from potato peelings that burned John’s throat, along with whatever the group had managed to steal on outings. People were sprawled on the floor, on cushions, glasses next to them, smoke drifting from ashtrays.
There was the sound of an engine. John got to his feet, his hand gripped around the shotgun. Was this what Henry had talked about, people coming for them? Then he relaxed as the engine noise got closer and he recognised the rattle of the Transit van. As he watched it approach, the headlights were off, and there was laughter coming from an open window.
Dawn appeared behind him and handed John a spliff. He took a long pull, grinned as that leaden feeling crept through his body. As the van rumbled to a halt, everyone jumped out, Henry from the passenger seat, Gemma and Lucy from the back. Lucy was carrying the face masks. Five of them, one for each of them and a spare.
Henry walked quickly, and he looked restless, excitable, wide eyed.
‘How was it?’ John said.
Henry didn’t speak at first. He just walked quickly to the living room, accompanied by the crackle of logs and the smoke that drifted in the light from candles flickering in each corner. John followed, and everyone sat upright when they saw Henry, who paced up and down and rubbed his hands, his gaze filled with concentration.
‘Henry?’ John said, smiling now at Henry’s excitement.
‘It was exhilarating,’ Henry said, grinning. ‘But we need to be careful. We have just brought everything closer. There’s not much left of tonight, and so we need to party.’
Whispers went round the room.
‘So where did you go?’ John asked. ‘Why have you brought everything closer?’
Henry shook his head. ‘When the truth needs to be told, it will be told. Have faith in me, that’s all you need right now.’ He hopped onto a stool at one end of the room and snapped his fingers. John went over to pass him the spliff. As he got close, Henry moved quickly. His hands clasped the back of John’s neck and pulled him in, so John could smell the staleness of his breath. ‘No more questions, John. There are too many.’
John nodded, wincing at the grip. ‘I just want to know things, that’s all. For me, it’s all new. I’m not questioning you, Henry. I feel something here, like a bond, a brotherhood, but I don’t know everything about us. I want to know everything.’
Henry sucked hard on the spliff in his hand, so that John’s eyes stung from the smoke and the tip glowed hot close to his skin. Gemma appeared alongside him, and so Henry passed the spliff to her.
‘What do you think we are about?’ Henry said. Smoke seeped through his grin and his hand relaxed on John’s neck.
John stepped back. Henry’s words seemed slow to him, as if he couldn’t process them quickly enough, and the people in front of him seemed to sway. He looked down for a moment. His head felt heavy. ‘We are what you said – that we are a freedom movement, where there
