Chapter Twenty-Two Salt and Vinegar
Chapter twenty-two
Salt and Vinegar
One week later…
Saturday arrived with what could almost pass for a heatwave.
At least Worthbridge’s version of one.
The thick clouds had finally cleared, leaving behind a clean blue sky and a sun that actually felt like something.
So by the time Alfie surfaced from his room around midday, bleary-eyed and dragging his hoodie sleeves over his hands, Nathan was already at the door, pulling on his jacket a little slower than usual.
“Fancy a walk down the seafront?” He opened the door to prove the weather was worth the stroll. “Take your board. We’ll swing by the skatepark.”
Alfie raised an eyebrow. “You sure that’s wise?”
“I’ll be there.” Nathan gave him a pointed look.
“Yeah but you’re still in stitches. ”
“I’ve been in worse conditions and still walked into hell fire. This is nothing.” He didn’t mention the tugging ache in his side when he moved too fast, or the way the stitches still pulled beneath the bandage if he twisted too far. No need to give the kid another excuse to stay in.
Alfie hesitated, then gave a small nod. Not quite a smile, but close enough.
“Alright. Let me grab my stuff.”
Nathan watched him go, pressing a palm to his side for a moment under the pretext of checking his phone. Just a dull throb today. Manageable. He sent a quick text, then tucked his mobile away when Alfie returned with his board.
They walked the long way, cutting through the park first. Past pensioners hunched on benches and toddlers tottering after pigeons, then along the promenade clinging to the edge of the bay.
Alfie stayed a few paces ahead, his skateboard tucked under one arm, hood still up despite the sun.
Nathan didn’t press for conversation. Not yet.
The sea was high and calm, and the briny tang on the air made everything feel a little cleaner somehow.
Less complicated. It wasn’t quite summer, not the kind Nathan remembered, heavy with heat and thick with crowds.
But Worthbridge was doing its best impression.
Couples huddled in deckchairs with flasks and windbreakers.
A dog zigzagged across the shingle, scattering gulls.
Laughter spilled from the arcade like a familiar song.
For once, the town didn’t feel as if it was bracing for something.
It felt the way Nathan remembered.
Like home .
And Nathan breathed it in. Let the sun warm his back. And when the next wave of tightness curled through his side, he adjusted his stride, slow and even. Careful. The wound was healing, but it hadn’t forgotten how it got there.
So he kept walking.
Because sitting still had never done him any favours.
They passed the skatepark and Alfie glanced towards it but didn’t veer that way. Nathan let it slide. He didn’t push. There’d be other days.
Eventually, Alfie slowed. “I’m starving.”
Nathan glanced ahead and nodded towards the chippy, where the battered awning flapped lazily in the breeze and the sign above read Oh My Cod in faded comic sans.
Alfie snorted. “Seriously?”
“Local institution,” Nathan said. “Rite of passage.”
“That’s tragic.”
Nathan grinned. “Welcome to Worthbridge.”
They drifted towards the shop, the scent of hot oil and vinegar thick in the air. Inside, it was all steam and noise. The clatter of fryers, the squeak of trainers on tile, someone yelling an order over the hum of lunchtime queues.
Behind the counter, Mandy caught sight of them and lit up.
“Can’t keep away from me, Nathan Carter.
” She threw him a wink. “And now you’re bringing in reinforcements to make the girls swoon?
” She gave Alfie an appraising once-over.
“You’ve got your dad’s looks, that’s for sure.
Bet you’ll be breaking Worthbridge hearts before you’ve even finished your chips. ”
Alfie flushed and muttered something into his hoodie sleeve.
“Leave it out, Mand.” Nathan tapped his hand on the counter. “We’ll get the usual. But open this time. We’ll eat on the beach.”
“Right you are, love.”
Mandy wrapped the food, then handed it over. Nathan smiled, then took their paper-wrapped haul and headed down towards the benches by the seawall, seagulls already circling overhead like clockwork. There, he sat, unwrapped his meal, and passed Alfie his share.
Nathan picked up a battered sausage. “Share it?”
Alfie nodded. So Nathan ripped it in half and gave Alfie the bigger one.
For a while, they ate. Quiet. Comfortable. The scrape of wooden forks on polystyrene, the crash of waves over the stones.
Then, as casually as he could manage, Nathan said, “You did good yesterday.”
Alfie didn’t respond at first. Just took another bite.
Then, quietly, “Didn’t feel good.”
Nathan nodded. “I know. But it was.”
The official admissible interview had taken place on Friday. Arranged time. Recorded. Carrick and Bowen had kept it formal but not hostile and Nathan had sat next to Alfie, hands folded, saying nothing unless asked. Letting Alfie speak for himself.
And he had.
Carefully. Awkwardly. But with more courage than Nathan had ever expected from him.
He named two older boys. Both local and already known to the police.
He explained how it started. A few casual conversations at the skatepark during one of the rare weekends Nathan had brought him down to Worthbridge.
They’d seemed cool. Looked older. Treated him as though he mattered.
He didn’t even know their real names at first. He used nicknames. Burner numbers.
If Nathan had known this had started way before his decision to move back here, things could have been so different.
They’d swapped contacts. Kept chatting after Alfie went back to Romford.
The messages started simple. Memes, dares, talk of weed.
Then moved into favours. Promises. Money.
Freedom. They didn’t need to push hard. Just needed to keep showing up.
They’d targeted Alfie because he was exactly what they wanted.
A kid who floated between places. A fractured home life.
Unstable routines. Someone who could move without drawing attention.
He already had a reason to travel across county lines, so they gave him a job to do while he was at it.
Alfie had hesitated when they asked about the fight at the skatepark.
But eventually, it came out. One of the lads had promised him a new skateboard in exchange for holding something for them.
Alfie said he never even saw what was inside the plastic Tupperware box they’d given him.
Was told not to ask. To just hide it. But when he came back, the tone had changed.
They started blanking his messages. They were cold. Dismissive. Treated him like a joke.
And Alfie had gone from feeling wanted to feeling used .
He told Carrick that they hadn’t paid him. And when he asked about it, they’d laughed. Said he should be “grateful” for the chance. Called him a “tourist” and said if he kept pushing, he’d find out what happened to kids who asked for money.
By the time Sunday came round, Alfie was already simmering.
He’d seen them at the skatepark. Bold, loud, acting as if they owned the place.
He wanted to warn them off. Say he was done.
Then Kye called him a name. Said something about his mum.
And Alfie snapped. He hadn’t been trying to prove anything, he said.
He was angry. Humiliated. Scared. And he didn’t know how else to get that out of his system.
Nathan broke for him.
Why he’d gone to the house on Henley Way the day of the raid? To collect his money. That was it. He wanted nothing more to do with it. Them . Whether he was telling the truth, Nathan didn’t know, but what he did know was that he wasn’t ever going back there.
Then came the questions that would help the case.
How they recruit. How the exchange worked.
Burner phones. Lookouts. The alley behind the Costcutter where they passed the plastic eggs.
Where he was told to stash cash and when.
He didn’t know everything. Not the top names or who was supplying from higher up.
But it was enough . Enough for Carrick to green-light further warrants.
Enough to cross-reference locations with existing intel. Enough to tighten the net.
They weren’t calling him a “witness” yet. Not formally. And certainly not a “grass.” He was still a child. A safeguarded source of information . Nathan didn’t know the technical term, but he understood the message.
Alfie had stepped forward. And now the police were stepping in around him.
Carrick had said there’d be a multi-agency meeting next week.
Police, social services, youth offending, school liaison.
They’d put a plan in place. For now, Alfie would stay with Nathan at his father’s address.
Home support. Secure supervision. Ongoing welfare checks.
No official statement in court. Not yet.
But the intel was enough to build surveillance.
The CPS would make a call once the case had legs.
And they were already moving on it.
Nathan knew at least one of the lads Alfie had named had been picked up on possession. Another address raided after midnight. No fanfare. Quiet. Strategic. His insider had told him all that.
Freddie .
Alfie didn’t ask about it. Nathan didn’t volunteer the updates .
One thing at a time.
“You alright?” Nathan asked, finally breaking the silence.
Alfie nodded. “Yeah. It’s… weird, having people know.”
“Know what?”
“What I did. Who I was with. What I nearly got pulled into.”
Nathan paused, then, “But you didn’t get pulled under , Alf. You stepped back. That’s what matters.”
Alfie tossed a chip to a circling seagull and watched it disappear mid-air. “What if they come looking for me?”
Nathan’s jaw tensed, but he kept his voice steady. “You don’t need to carry that. That’s not your job. It’s mine. And the police.”
Alfie didn’t argue. That alone said everything.