Chapter Thirty-Seven Zig
Walking over to the Prince of Wales, Zig wasn’t sure what to think about their encounter with Adam at the Yuletide Fayre.
The bloke hadn’t been outright hostile, at least, which was better than he might have hoped for.
Maybe meeting up this afternoon would prompt Adam to get back in touch with Si. That would be good, right?
Yeah, good for Si. Probably not for you, though. Zig winced as his mind helpfully suggested what Adam might be whispering in Si’s ear right now.
No, that wasn’t fair. Adam wouldn’t whisper. He’d come straight out with it if he reckoned Si should tell Zig to piss off back to London. Which he probably did reckon.
Si wouldn’t let himself be persuaded, though.
Would he?
It had been so good, the last few days, him and Si.
Like back when they’d been kids. Better, in fact, cos face it, you didn’t have a clue back then.
Strutted around thinking you were God’s gift to all men gay, straight, or otherwise, and all the time you were looking over your shoulder at Dad.
Trying to make him proud of you, like that wasn’t the most pathetic aspiration in the entire history of the world.
But Si cared about him, despite everything. Had done then, and still did, God knew why.
Zig would just have to trust in that.
Work helped, keeping him too busy to brood on things.
It wasn’t until he was on his way back home after his shift that Zig checked his phone and saw he’d missed a call a couple of hours ago.
It’d been from Ani back in London. There was a text from her too: Call me.
That was potentially worrying. Telling himself he shouldn’t be paranoid, Zig hit Dial.
She answered straight away. “Zig, thank God.”
Okay, now it was definitely worrying. “Hey, babe, what’s up?”
“Are you still in Peckham?” Ani’s voice was high and breathy.
Unease prickled at Zig’s neck, and his pace slowed. “No, why?”
“Oh, thank God. That’s all right, then.”
The prickling intensified. Zig stopped under a streetlamp. “Ani, what’s happened? Did Da— Did that bloke who was asking after me before come round again? Did you tell him that’s where I was going?”
“No! I’d never, but there was this other bloke came in last night. Younger. And he seemed really nice, you know? Worried about you, cos he knew there were people looking for you. He said he wanted to make sure you were safe, so I thought you and him must be friends or, you know, more.”
Zig’s throat went tight. “What did he look like?”
“Good. I mean, I could see you and him together, he was that fit. Nice skin. Um, he was white, with light brown hair. Cut short and combed back, old-fashioned, like. Broad shoulders. Had one of those sailors’ coats on—peacoat, I think they call it?
Looked smart. Does he sound like anyone you know? ” Ani’s tone was pleading now.
Christ. Trent, it had to be. God knew he could put on the charm when he wanted to. But that was only one of his ways of getting people to do what he wanted. “He didn’t threaten you, did he?”
“No! Nothing like. I told you, he was nice. It was only after he’d gone that I started thinking it was a bit funny. Zig, I’m sorry. Did I fuck up?”
“What did you tell him?” Zig’s voice sounded rough in his own ears.
“Only what you said about going down to Peckham for a family emergency.”
Zig’s stomach lurched. If they knew he’d gone to Peckham . . .
“Zig, is everything okay? Did I screw up?”
“No,” he forced out, and tried to inject a bit more cheer into his voice as he stepped out of the way of a young couple who were loved-up and clearly boozed-up, weaving across the pavement. “Don’t worry about it. But if he comes round again, don’t tell him anything else.”
“I don’t know anything else, do I? Zig, who is he?”
“No one you want to know. Don’t tell him we’ve been in touch, or that you’ve got my number, okay? If you’ve gotta tell him something, tell him you were glad to see the back of me.”
“I’m a bit crap at lying.”
“Then tell him them pints won’t pull themselves and you’ve gotta get on with work, okay?”
“Okay. Zig, I’m really sorry.” She sounded it too.
He couldn’t be mad at her. “Nah, it’s okay. Not your fault. You take care, okay?”
“Yeah. You too.”
Zig jammed his phone back into his pocket so hard he felt a stitch go. Fuck. He forced himself to calm down. Keep on walking. As he turned into the street where they lived, Zig thought he heard footsteps behind him. Heart pounding, he whirled, but there was no one there.
Jesus. Get a grip. You’re getting paranoid.
Then again, it wasn’t paranoia if they were really out to get you, was it? But Dad and Trent couldn’t have traced his steps from Peckham, could they? No, he was being daft. Nevertheless, Zig quickened his steps.
He looked around once more as he reached their flat but didn’t see anyone that time either. His pulse still racing, Zig put his key in the door and prayed his life with Si wasn’t about to come crashing down.