Chapter Fifty-One Zig
Adam’s house, it turned out, wasn’t far from the tor, so that was where they all ended up afterwards.
Well, Zig, Si, Adam, Corin, and Sasha. The lads from the locksmith’s had stayed on the tor to provide moral support to Rob the Copper and Constable Walton as they waited for some backup to escort Dad and Trent to the police station.
“Whisky? Or tea?” Adam asked as he showed them into an old-fashioned living room in shades of brown. There was a painting on the wall of a Scottish scene, with a stag, and rich purple heather. “Or tea with whisky?”
“That one,” Si said fervently, and Zig nodded, not feeling much like talking.
Corin went into the kitchen with Adam to give him a hand or a snog, whatever, which left Zig and Si perched awkwardly on the brown sofa and Sasha directly opposite them on an equally drab armchair.
There was a silence.
“I’ll see if Adam’s got any snacks,” Sasha volunteered, springing out of the chair.
The throw cushions matched the purple of the heather in the painting. They looked a lot newer than the furniture.
“Adam grew up in this house,” Si said. “I came here after school once or twice. Mostly he came to mine.”
It sounded like there was a story in that, and Zig made a mental note to ask about it. Sometime when he was feeling up to taking in an answer. “Nice cushions,” he said vaguely.
Si laughed. “You gotta tell Adam that. Never seen a bloke so bloody excited over a shade of purple.”
“Oi, are you dissing my interior decorating?” Adam had returned, mugs in both hands.
“Nah, Zig was saying he likes it.”
Adam looked suspicious, but he still handed over a steaming mug each.
Zig sniffed his and felt better already at the strong scent of alcohol.
He took a cautious sip. Yep, plenty of whisky in that.
“Cheers, mate,” he said automatically, then darted a glance at Adam, cos calling him mate might’ve been a step too far.
If Adam was pissed off about it, he was a master at hiding the fact. Zig relaxed as Corin came in with another couple of mugs.
“Sash done a runner?” Si asked.
“Nope, I was just bunging stuff in the oven,” the woman herself replied, appearing in the doorway. “Dunno about you lot, but I’m starving. It’s the violence. Always gives me an appetite.”
Si grinned. “Sasha my love, you’re an angel. Gotta say, I got no clue how come you’re still single.”
“It’s because I’ve got standards,” she said with a fake-sweet smile.
Zig flinched and then wanted to sink into the browny-beige swirl carpet.
Si squeezed him tight. Sasha rolled her eyes. “It’s not all about you, skinny-boy,” she teased. “I liked you from the start.”
“No, you didn’t.” Zig was touched, though.
“Okay, I didn’t, cos you hurt my mate here, but I could see why Scra— why Si liked you.” She smiled and took a sip of her whisky tea. “Oh, and happy birthday, by the way.”
“Cheers.” Zig took a hefty gulp from his mug. Yep, definitely feeling better now. “What’s gonna happen to Dad and Trent? Do I have to, like press charges?” He caught himself. “Uh, is that actually a thing?”
Si chuckled. “Call yourself a bloody criminal?”
Zig winced. “Not if I have a choice in it, no. Ex-criminal, maybe.”
“Sorry.” Si squeezed him. “And it weren’t your fault, that stuff you did when you were younger. You weren’t brought up to know any better.”
“You did the right thing when it really counted,” Adam put in, which felt all kinds of weird, him saying nice stuff about Zig.
Must be the whisky tea.
“Rob looked ’em both up,” Si said, his arm still a comforting warmth around Zig’s waist. “Your Dad and that Trent. They’re out on licence, he said, so after what happened tonight, they’re gonna get recalled to prison. Twenty-eight days, then they get a review by the Parole Board.”
Zig could feel his face scrunching up. “Fuck. Why the fuck do I feel guilty? They threatened you. But—”
“But it’s your dad, and someone you were mates with once,” Si insisted. “I get it. But you ain’t gotta feel bad about it. They brought it on themselves.”
“Me and Trent weren’t mates,” Zig mumbled into Si’s neck. “Used to wanna be him, mind. Dad always liked him better than me.”
Adam stood abruptly, startling Zig. “Christ. I’m gonna see how the food’s doing.”
Zig stared after him.
“It ain’t my story to tell,” Si murmured. “But Adam’s parents weren’t perfect, either.”
Corin got up more slowly and went to join his lover in the kitchen.
Sasha shrugged. “What? My mum and dad did okay. Course, I was adopted, so.”
“Wish I’d been,” Zig muttered. Did he, though? If he’d been adopted, he’d never have known Gran and her bloke. God knew what his life would’ve been like.
Fuck it. It didn’t happen; move on. “Thanks,” he said, looking Sasha in the eye.
“What, for stealing your shoes?”
“Yeah,” he said, with a smile that was dredged up but for all that, genuine. “That.”