Chapter Eleven
Bad News
On Tuesday night, two weeks later, Roman remained at work for an hour of unpaid overtime. It had become a regular event, three or four times a week, as the workers in the help centre fought to avoid the redundancy axe. Roman questioned whether his loyalty was valued by his employer beyond the voluntary labour. The managers had even come to expect it and looked disapprovingly on anyone who packed up and left at the legitimate end of their shift.
It was wrong, but he couldn’t do anything to sabotage his work record, not unless he wanted to give up on city life and move in with his parents. He’d applied for fifteen jobs in the last month alone and hadn’t obtained a single interview. The employment market was dead.
The cold spell continued. There had been a light layer of snow the previous evening, which had failed to thaw in the sub-zero temperature of the day. Roman fastened his coat to the neck and pulled on his hat and gloves before stepping out through the front door of the office. The air caught the back of his nose and throat. Damn , he thought, it’s getting even colder .
Not cold enough for him to pay for a taxi or even a bus fare home. That was an extravagance he could not afford. He’d prepared that morning by wearing his walking boots and thick socks and set off on the north side of the river for the long walk, with his earbuds in and a podcast for company.
On the other bank, about half a mile down the river, he could see the tall outline of Mallon’s building. Too far to determine whether the lights were on in his apartment, but Roman doubted it. From what Mallon had told him, he worked long hours and was rarely home before eight most nights, often later. He might have a highly paid, high-flying job, but he certainly put in a lot of hours. They’d gotten together a few times in the last week, but Mallon had been no more forthcoming with details of his life.
Roman increased his pace. It was not the kind of night to dawdle on the way home. He was starving and looking forward to the leftover pasta he’d stored in the fridge. Food, a couple of hours in front of some trash TV and an early night was just what he needed—a perfect Tuesday evening at home.
He was passing through the town centre when a man walking the other way changed course and approached.
“Hi,” the man said, stepping in front of him.
Roman removed the earbuds. There was something familiar about him, though he couldn’t quite place him in his winter coat and scarf. He sported a nasty-looking black eye, and there were marks across his nose and cheek.
“I saw you at the meeting the other Friday,” the man said. “But you left before I had a chance to talk to you.”
Roman looked closer. Blond hair, good-looking. A slight Birmingham accent. Of course . One of his many hook-ups from last year. He scrambled through his memory to find a name.
“Will,” the man said, spotting his confusion.
Roman blushed. “Sorry. It took me a minute to recognise you.” Only half a lie . “I don’t think I actually saw you at the meeting.”
“It was busy, right? I think everyone was surprised by the turn-out.”
“Absolutely.” Up close, he could see that Will had taken a hell of a beating. “Can I ask you what happened?” He pointed at his battered face. “That looks worrying.”
Will raised a hand to his injured eye and gave a shy laugh. “I’m sure you can guess. I ran into the wrong people on my way home on Sunday night. Pretty standard for Blyham these days, don’t you think?”
“Oh my God. No. Shit. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“It looks worse than it is. Bruising. I think my pride is more hurt than my face.”
“Even still. How did it happen? Where were the police? They were crawling about every street when I was out on Friday.”
Will shoved both hands in his pockets and hopped from side to side, as though trying to keep warm. “They jumped me on my way home. I was outside the patrol zone when it happened. Three guys in a car pulled alongside me then got out and started harassing me. After they’d had enough of that, the punches started to fly.”
“Shit. That’s exactly what happened to me in October.” Roman gave him a potted version of his own experience. It was only as he told it that he remembered, he’d actually been in pursuit of Will on the night the thugs had struck. After missing out on Mallon in The Viaduct, he’d spotted Will in Julie’s and had tried to follow him for a hook-up. He couldn’t decide if he had a terrible memory, or Mallon had come along and made all other men irrelevant. “It sounds like it was probably the same gang. What did they look like?”
Will took a deep breath that hissed through his teeth. “I can’t really say, to be honest. My head was all over, trying to find a way to escape, so I didn’t take much notice. One of them was big…huge. You know, all jacked up on steroids. Built like a tank. I’m pretty solid, but this guy was huge in comparison. The other two were unremarkable, not as muscled.”
“Ginger? Did one of them have ginger hair?”
“It was dark, but one of them was fair, all right. He could have been ginger.”
“It sounds like the same bastards. I’m sure of it. Damn. So, they are still out there getting away with this shit. Did you report it to the police?”
Will pulled a face. “What would be the point? The pigs aren’t even interested in these random assaults. They only care about catching the Strangler. What would they do? File a report and give me an incident number, at best. It’s not worth the aggravation. It would only piss me off having to talk to them.”
Roman wanted to tell Will he was wrong, that reporting each crime was in everyone’s interest, but he couldn’t argue with his way of thinking. He’d thought the same way himself not so long ago. “Next time you are passing Julie’s, call in and ask for some anti-attack spray and a personal alarm. They are giving them out for free while all this is going on.”
“Isn’t it illegal to carry pepper spray?”
“It’s not pepper spray. It’s a legal self-defence spray. I don’t think it does much other than cause a horrible smell, but the chances are the dicks who attacked you won’t know that. It stays on their skin and clothes for days afterwards, so it makes them easier to identify.”
Will did not look convinced. “I think I’ll just play it safe and avoid the village until all this is sorted.”
Roman nodded understandingly. “Fair enough. Though there might not be much of a village left soon. The bars have been crippled by the lack of business. Some are talking about closing at the start of the week. It’s not worth their while to open until Thursday.”
“That’s a real shame. But I’m not sure I have the drive to go back right now.”
The cold really started to bite as they stood talking. It seeped through the thick soles of Roman’s boots and gnawed at his toes. He stomped his feet. “I need to get moving. It’s the wrong night to be out. I’m sorry to hear what happened to you, and I hope I do see you out sometime.” He smiled and stepped aside, ready to move on.
“Why don’t we go somewhere to warm up?” Will said, giving him a hopeful grin. “There’s a coffee shop right over there, and they’re still serving.”
“Oh. I really need to get home,” Roman said, remembering their hook-up from last year. Will seemed like a nice guy but there was no chemistry between them, just a random shag who was best left at that. “I’m late already,” he lied. “I stayed behind at work tonight.” At least that part was true.
Will’s smiled wavered. “Okay, no problem. Cool.” He shuffled uncomfortably. “Would you…er, like to meet up another time? I thought we had a nice connection, Roman. I’d like to get to know you a bit more.”
Roman withered. How could he have such a different memory of their encounter? “I’m kind of seeing someone now,” he said.
“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t know. You’ve only been with your friends whenever I’ve seen you around.”
Shit. Our random shag really did mean a lot more to him . Roman struggled to remember seeing much of Will at all since they had their fleeting moment. “It’s early days,” he said. “He’s not into going out on the scene much. But I want to take is seriously, and I’m not looking to do anything that will screw it up.”
Will raised both hands. “Sorry. I totally respect that. I’m happy for you. And whoever he is, he’s a lucky man.”
Roman took another sidestep. This had taken an uncomfortable turn. “Well, I hope I see you around. There’s no reason we can’t talk to each other, right?”
Will nodded, no longer smiling. “Better get going. It was nice seeing you.” He hurried away before Roman could say anything more.
Awkward . Roman watched him walk, before suddenly realising just how cold he was. He stomped his feet to get the circulation going again and headed for home.
* * * *
When Roman reached the flat, he felt like the chill had entered his bones. Ashley was watching The One Show in the living room. Roman pulled off his hat, scarf and gloves and rushed to the fireside to warm his hands on the gas flames. He shivered, barely able to feel the tips of his fingers.
“Working late again,” Ashley remarked.
“I know. It’s not great, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“They are taking the piss out of all of you. Any decent employer would either pay you for the overtime or insist you left at the end of your shift.”
Roman didn’t want to argue. Ashley failed to grasp the threat that loomed over him. Ashley had a secure civil service job in the waste department of the local council. He enjoyed thirty-three days of paid leave a year, flexitime, working from home two days a week and had every weekend off. He had no idea of the demands placed on workers in the private sector.
As the heat returned to his hands and his fingers began to throb, Roman turned around, hitched up the waist of his jacket and warmed his arse against the fire. “I think I’ll get the bus home tomorrow if the weather doesn’t improve.” He rubbed his backside to get the blood flowing.
“It’s not forecast to,” Ashley said, turning down the volume on the TV and swinging his feet to the floor. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Sounds ominous,” Roman said, finally unfastening his jacket.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Ah, shit. Can’t it wait until I’ve had something to eat? It’s been a long day.”
Ashley glanced at his watch. “Not really. That’s why I hoped you’d get home earlier than this.” He took a long, dramatic pause and exhaled before saying, “Patrick is coming by at eight.”
Roman groaned and walked away. He took off his jacket and hung it on the stand in the hall. Ashley followed him to the kitchen, but Roman didn’t want to look at him.
“What do you want me to say?” He pulled the pot of leftover pasta from the fridge and loosened the lid before putting it in the microwave. “The man’s a violent, bad-tempered prick, unless you’ve forgotten. He took his fists to both of us. I certainly remember that. You told me you were done with him.”
“I saw him last weekend,” Ashley said, leaning against the counter with his arms folded. “I didn’t say anything because I knew you wouldn’t like it, but he asked if I would hear him out.”
“He. Punched. Me.” Roman said, accentuating every word.
“He’s sorry for that. He couldn’t have been more apologetic. He’s destroyed by what he did.”
“Don’t tell me. He’s changed .”
“Actually, he has. He knows his drug-taking had gotten out of hand, and he’s addressed it. He’s stopped it all—the steroids, the coke, the Es. He hasn’t even had a drink since before Christmas. Patrick is a different person when he’s sober.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Roman said, getting a bowl from the cupboard and fork. “I’ve only ever seen him high.”
“That’s what I’m getting at. You don’t know him, not really. You’ve only seen him at his worst. He’s trying to be a better person.”
Roman sighed. “Why are you telling me this? It’s clear you’ve made up your mind to take him back.”
“I think he deserves a second chance.”
“Good for you,” he bit.
“Don’t be like that.”
Roman struggled to keep a lid on his temper. “Oh, I’m sorry. Forgive me if I’m not ready to forgive the hulk who punched me in the stomach.”
“He’s really sorry.” Ashley’s voice pitched into an irritating whine. “He almost cried when we spoke about it. He wants to make it up to you, if you’ll give him a chance to say sorry.”
“No.”
The microwave pinged. Roman grabbed the plastic bowl, stirred the steaming pasta and tipped it into his dish.
“C’mon. Don’t be like that. At least give him the chance to apologise.”
Roman was close to losing it. He didn’t want to fall out with his flatmate, but this sudden U-turn on his toxic ex was pushing him. “No. Not a chance. Not now or ever. The man is a complete twat, and I don’t want to waste another minute of my life on him. And I’m really surprised at you falling for his bullshit again. Isn’t it bad enough that we can’t walk around town without the fear that something bad will happen? There are people out there who want to seriously hurt us. No, not hurt, kill us. This is our home, Ashley. This is the one place we should feel safe. And you’re going to open the door to a man who has harmed us both and ruin that.”
Ashley’s mouth dropped.
Before he could say another word, Roman picked up his dinner and took it to his room. He was afraid if he hung around, he would say something he would seriously regret.
* * * *
Half an hour later he could hear them in Ashley’s room. At least Ashley had the sense to take him in there and not let the bastard longue around the flat like he owned the place. That would come soon enough if Ashley didn’t grow a brain cell. Roman tried to watch TV but couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was the monster in the next room.
When his phone pinged a text alert, he snatched it, grateful for any distraction.
It was Mallon.
Hey, just got in. You busy? Want to come over?
He perked up. He hadn’t expected to hear from him so soon. When they’d seen each other at the weekend, Mallon had warned him he had a heavy week coming up and wouldn’t have much free time.
Before he could reply, the phone sounded another alert. It was a multimedia attachment. When the image of Mallon’s beautiful hard cock filled his screen, Roman stiffened in instant arousal.
He keyed in a hasty response.
On my way.
Fuck Ashley and Patrick. Though he was furious to be driven from his own home, there was no one better than Mallon for him to run to.