Chapter Ten Soundcheck #2
He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing it.
And thankfully that hadn’t been the question.
But maybe it was habit. Maybe it was the same stupid instinct making him fix roofs that weren’t his problem and answer calls from half the town at six in the morning.
Putting blankets on sleeping detectives.
Or maybe it was that old, deep-rooted connection to the man standing there in his vest and stained joggers.
The one he’d never quite managed to cut loose.
Jake should’ve left him to rot years ago.
But somehow, he never had.
And probably never would.
“You got a bin bag?” Jake scooped up a stack of greasy polystyrene containers. “And how the hell do you afford all this?”
Gavin disappeared into the kitchen, stomping like a man who resented every step, shouting back, “Benefits.”
Jake didn’t follow. He had no interest in seeing what the cooker looked like.
Judging by the living room, it would be something between burnt plastic and biological hazard.
But a minute later, Gavin returned with the thinnest bin liner imaginable from a shop that sold everything for ninety-nine pence.
Jake shoved the mess inside along with the cans. The plastic split.
The sofa groaned as Gavin dropped into it, dust puffing up around him. “How’s Teddy?”
Jake scoffed. “You remember his name then?” He twisted the bin liner closed. “Your own fucking son.”
Gavin rubbed his face with both hands. “Did you come round to have a go? ’Cause if so, there’s the door.”
Jake tossed the bag at it.
Years ago, Gavin Gold had lived up to his name. Golden boy. The one every girl fancied, and every teacher thought would go somewhere. Robyn included. Big shoulders, easy grin, a lad who looked good leaning against a moped outside the chippy. Voted most likely to achieve.
Except he hadn’t.
He left school with nothing, got Robyn pregnant, and ended up working for Jake’s dad instead. Apprentice roofer, hauling tiles and mixing mortar while Robyn stayed home with the baby. That was when things fell apart. First, he stopped turning up for jobs. Then he stopped showing up for Robyn.
And eventually he just stopped.
All of it.
That was even before Robyn disappeared.
After she went missing, Gavin had tried.
For a while. He still lived here then, with his parents.
Same house, though it hadn’t looked quite this beaten down back then.
Teddy moved between here and Jake’s folks’ place for a bit, the way people said things should be done when a kid lost his mum. Shared custody.
Except it wasn’t really that.
It didn’t take long to see who was doing the actual parenting.
Jake still remembered the night it finally snapped.
He’d been over in the next town playing his first pub gig since being released from prison, when someone pointed Gavin out at the bar.
Three pints deep already and working on the fourth while Teddy, five then, had supposed to be at home with him.
After that, the back-and-forth stopped. Teddy stayed with Jake’s parents.
And somewhere along the line, with no one officially saying it out loud, Jake became the one doing the dad part.
Then when Donnie got injured, Jake took over his dad’s roofing business and tried again with Gavin.
Offered him work. Thought maybe routine might sort him out.
For a few weeks it had looked promising.
Gavin turned up. Hauled tiles. Took instructions.
Then the old pattern crept back in. Late mornings.
Missed jobs. Excuses. Drink first. Then weed.
Lots of it. And the more he smoked, the stranger he got.
The paranoia hit. He jumped at shadows. Said people were watching him.
Eventually, Jake stopped calling.
Now Gavin lived alone after his parents died in quick succession, in this sagging house, and barely saw Teddy at all.
Last year he hadn’t even sent a birthday card.
Jake rubbed a hand over his face and dropped onto the cluttered coffee table opposite the sofa. “You heard about the missing girl?”
Gavin’s eyes were glassy, trying to focus. “Robyn?”
Jake frowned.
See—this was what the weed did to him. Time slipped around in Gavin’s head as if it didn’t know where to land.
“No.” Jake shook his head. “Another girl. Right now. Same path. Similar age. It’s… brought it all back. For Mum. Dad. Teddy.” He tapped Gavin’s knee. “Thought I’d check in on you.”
For a moment, Gavin stared. Then he shot upright so suddenly that the sofa springs squealed. “I had nowt to do with it.”
Jake blinked.
“I din’t!” Gavin backed away as if the walls had moved closer. “I din’t touch her. I swear to God, Jake.”
Jake stood, instinctively raising his hands. “Hey, I know, mate.”
But Gavin wasn’t hearing him. He raked both hands through his hair, pacing the length of the room. Eyes darting towards the windows Jake had opened to the street beyond.
“They’ll say it was me.” Gavin clutched his head. “They always do. They always bloody do.”
Jake stepped forward, trying to slow him. “Oi. Calm down.”
Gavin jerked away from the touch as if it burned. Then he spotted the ashtray. An old blunt stubbed out hours earlier sat among the ash. He snatched it up, flicked a lighter beneath it with shaking fingers, and drew in a lungful that filled the room with the thick, sweet stink.
Jake watched him pace, paranoia visibly buzzing under Gavin’s skin. The way he kept looking at the door. And for a brief, unwelcome second, that niggling thought crept in.
What if…?
No.
Jake shut the thought down hard. He wasn’t going down that road again.
Not where the police had gone. Not where the media had dragged the whole town years ago.
And definitely not where the armchair detectives online had happily pushed it, turning Robyn into a headline and Gavin into their favourite villain.
Gavin could barely organise a takeaway without forgetting the address.
There was no way he could pull off something like that.
So Jake grabbed the bin bag from beside the door. “Get some sleep, mate.”
Gavin barely heard him. He paced again, muttering under his breath, disappearing back into the fog of his own head. So Jake stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him to fill his lungs with clean air, shoving the rubbish into the outside wheelie bin.
Inside the house, there was a crash. Then Gavin’s voice tore through the walls. “Not again… I didn’t… fuck!”
Jake stared at the door. He considered going back in. But there was no point trying to reason with a man that far gone. So he turned away. Still, as he climbed into his van, that uneasy feeling sat low and heavy in his chest again. Reason number four hit him square on.
Whatever had taken Robyn thirteen years ago…Wherever she might be…Harrison was right: someone knew something.