on anything negative about her golden boy was unthinkable. She’d probably slap her halfway across the room. And if she just told her dad … well, then he’d have to tell Irene anyway.
No, on balance, she decided, as she hung up the last beer towel, and made her way back upstairs, she’d have to be brave and tackle Darren himself, when he got home from work. But Darren? A gun? Even the word felt unreal. Perhaps Terry had got it all wrong. She hoped so.
It was the following day, Thursday, before Kathleen managed to get Darren by himself, the weight of what she’d learned pressing down on her in the meantime, always inching into her thoughts. And nothing she heard in the interim had put her mind at rest. The night before, he’d been home late from work, and she’d heard him telling Irene that he’d been made to do some overtime – some nonsense about someone having called in sick. And she’d known it was nonsense because she’d already heard from one of the customers that he’d been down the bookies trying to borrow money to put on the horses.
So she’d chosen to stay silent, for that night at least, because his foul mood had made it obvious that whatever he’d borrowed he’d lost, all adding fuel to the fire that didn’t even need any stoking – was Terry right? Was he already in dangerously deep? Was he trying to gamble his way into amassing cash to pay back a previous gambling loan?
Mary hadn’t turned into work again which meant that Kathleen was back on the bar at lunchtime, and just before closing in he walked, surprising her.
She tried to gauge his mood as he wove his way round the chairs and tables. Was he happy? So-so? He certainly wasn’t scowling. Which was what decided her. Perhaps this would be her moment.
‘Alright, Kath?’ he said, smiling as he walked behind the bar. He picked up a pint glass. ‘Am I in time for a quick drink?’
Kathleen returned his smile. ‘Course you are,’ she said, stepping aside so he could get to the pumps. ‘What are you doing back so early anyway?’ she asked him. ‘I thought you didn’t finish till five.’
Darren poured himself a lager and returned to the other side of the bar, where he pulled up a stool and sat on it. ‘They owed me a day’s holiday,’ he said, once he’d taken an inch off his beer. ‘And after the shitty day I had on the gee gees yesterday, and the sun being out like it is, I thought why not?’ He leaned towards her. ‘Good thing I did, too. I just won twenty quid. But don’t you dare tell my mam, okay? She’ll be in my pockets for it quicker than the frigging artful dodger!’
He laughed, and Kathleen felt the anxiety inside her ease a little as she picked up a cloth to clean the tables in the bar. It was always better when Darren won. It was like a light turned on inside him. He was like a different person when he had a few quid in winnings in his pocket. Generous, too. She knew she’d only have to ask if she needed something and he’d give her it, no question. She went around the bar to start the cleaning. ‘Don’t worry, Daz,’ she told him. ‘You know better than that. I won’t be telling my wicked stepmother anything.’
Darren laughed again, and she wondered if now was her moment. When he was like this he was always happy to take the mickey out of his mam with her, often mimicking her voice to make the punters laugh. There were just two left today, however, over in the far corner, and seeing her come round, they drained the last of their drinks, and headed out into the foyer with a nod.
She followed them out, so she could bolt the front doors behind her. Now was the moment, with them alone, and Darren only halfway through his pint. Now or never. She cleared her throat as she went back in.
‘Daz, you know Terry – Terry Harris?’ she asked him. ‘Uncle Ronnie’s friend?’ He had his back to her and she waited for him to turn around before continuing. ‘Well he was in yesterday,’ she went on, grabbing the punters’ empty glasses. ‘And he said something really strange to me. Something about you.’
Darren grinned at her. ‘Well? Spit it out then, kid. Go on …’ he seemed relaxed about it. ‘What am I supposed to have done now, then?’
‘It’s probably just gossip,’ Kathleen said quickly. ‘But, well, he said …’
‘Yes, he said …’
‘Well, he said there’d been some talk about you asking around for a gun. What’s he on about?’ She put the pint glasses down on the bar.
The change in Darren’s expression was instantaneous. His eyes narrowed and – was she imagining it? She didn’t think so – all the colour seemed to drain out of his face. He’d drained his pint while she’d been speaking and now he slammed the glass down on the bar. Then he raised a finger and jabbed it towards her, the ready smile long gone.
‘You better not repeat that to anyone, Kathleen, do you hear me?’
‘I wasn’t saying I was –’
‘Not a word, you hear? You hear me? God, I am that fucking sick of all the gobby twats in this pub! Not a word, do you hear?’
‘Not a word!’ she parroted back at him, his threatening tone – he’d stood up now – making her take a step back. But she couldn’t just leave it. ‘So it’s true then?’ she carried on, almost in a whisper. ‘Darren, have you been asking to buy a gun? Why?’
Her stepbrother grabbed her by the shoulders, hard, his fingers digging in. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so angry – so properly angry, not the half-pretend ranting he did whenever Irene really got on his nerves. That was for effect. This wasn’t. He meant it.
He looked straight into her eyes, the blue of his own like ice. ‘I’m warning you, Kathleen. You need to mind your own business about this and keep your trap shut. You need to button it. What I do is nothing to do with Terry Harris, you hear me? Or you, or any fucker else. Now I mean it, I don’t want to hear another word about it, and if anyone else cares to mouth off about me, you just send them my way, alright? Terry fucking Harris! Who the hell does he think he is?’
Kathleen nodded vigorously, feeling even more frightened now. She had never seen Darren this angry. He was usually so laid back and unruffled by anything. What on earth had he got himself involved with? Who on earth, more to the point? ‘I promise, Daz, I won’t say anything,’ she tried to reassure him. He let her go. ‘I just thought I should tell you, that’s all. I didn’t mean to make trouble. I was just worried about you. That you’re not in trouble, that was all.’
He exhaled, tugged his jacket straight. Patted her shoulder, almost warmly. ‘Good lass,’ he said finally, as if having satisfied himself about her. ‘Keep this between you and me, our kid, eh? Okay? And stop taking notice of idle gossip from folk who know nowt about nowt. Now, let’s forget about it, eh? How about me and you sneak another quick half before your dad comes down, eh?’
Shaken as much by the turnaround in his mood as his failure to deny it, Kathleen quickly pulled two halves of lager. She’d never normally drink in the daytime – she didn’t drink hardly at all, really. Barely even at the weekend, let alone on a weekday. But she knew her stepbrother was hiding something, and that, whatever it was, it was serious. She needed something to settle the butterflies in her stomach.
John came in just as they finished them, having settled into silence, her clearing up and wiping, Darren staring straight ahead.
