Chapter Thirteen
‘All right, git-features. What have you done now?’
Phinn looked up. Link was lurking over him, rolling himself a cigarette and pretending not to be staring into the bag. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Packing.’ A hand, trailing wisps of tobacco, waved at the holdall. ‘You cutting and running on me again, man? Because I am a guy of limited patience these days.’ His lighter flared into life and he lit the tube, sucking smoke into his lungs with every evidence of enjoyment.
‘Oh, this? No, this is just a few bits and pieces, camera, video, gear like that. Molly and I . . . well, we thought we might try to intercept the lights.’ Phinn saw Link’s eyebrows raise and his heart jumped with a quick moment of guilty pleasure. ‘We’re going to watch tonight, and if they come, well, we’re heading up onto the moors to try to get a fix on them.’
The eyebrows stayed up. ‘You are one slick mover, my friend.’ A hand clapped Phinn on the shoulder and a small heap of hot ash sprinkled the back of his neck. ‘She is a cutey. Fantastic arse on her too. Ask her if she’s got any sisters, would you? Hot ones, obviously, I don’t want to know if she’s got some humpster in the family tree.’
‘Link, you aren’t just a prat, you’re a sexist prat.’ Phinn slid the battery unit under a rolled up blanket for security and tucked it into a corner of the bag. ‘Molly and I are trying to find out what the hell the deal is with these mysterious lights, the ones that you say you can’t see. That’s all. No romance, no sweaty nights of passion, no condom-related panics, okay? Whatever your fevered little brain might be coming up with, it’s wrong. Some of us can see a woman without being seized by the urge to drag her into a dark corner — it’s called “evolution”.’
‘Woah.’ Link puffed a bubble of smoke and watched it scribble away into the air. ‘That’s a whole load of words just to say she doesn’t fancy you.’
‘She . . .’ Phinn saw the slow smile arrive on his friend’s face and dropped his head so that his face was hidden behind his hair. ‘How did you enjoy your horse-adventure?’
‘Cool. Nice to be aboard again.’ Link sat lengthways on the window seat, his feet braced against the opposite wall. ‘And that Caro is hotter than a mince pie on Christmas morning, know what I mean?’
Phinn leaned back on his heels and looked at his friend. He and Link had known each other — how long now? Since their parents had dumped them together in that not-quite top echelon pre-prep school aged . . . God, four? That meant — he did a quick calculation in his head — that they’d been friends for twenty-eight years. A whole generation. Moving to prep school, then on to that ghastly private place where Link had managed to get the whole fourth form expelled and it had only been the fact that the school had been so keen to have Phinn on their roll that got them all readmitted.
Link glanced across. ‘What the hell are you smirking at?’
‘Just remembering. Us as kids. That thing with the headmaster’s Range Rover and the donkey.’
‘Gods, you on some kind of nostalgia kick?’ Link swung his legs around so that he was sitting upright. ‘What made you think of that?’
Phinn shook his head. Link had been in his life so long that he couldn’t remember a time before they’d been friends. Or rather, he could, but it was part of that whole barren wasteland of memories that attached to anything concerning his parents; he’d shut that all out a long time ago. ‘Just, you know. Wondering why the hell you left everything to come looking for me up here?’ And what I’d do without you . . .
The question had haunted his mind for days now, ever since Link had turned up in this kitchen to hand him the kettle and scare him into a new set of underpants. He really, really hoped that there wasn’t going to turn out to be some underlying homoerotic thing that he hadn’t picked up on, the fear that Link would declare undying love for him was the only thing that had stopped him asking so far.
‘Oh, really?’ Link leaned forward, elbows on knees and smoke trailing from the inadequate roll-up. ‘You didn’t think that, oh, I don’t know, maybe I might be worried or something?’
Phinn blinked. ‘Worried? Why? What about?’
‘You stupid bastard.’ It was said mildly, but the emotion was on Link’s face, not in his words. Phinn saw it, registered it like a punch to the lungs. ‘I see it as my mission in life to get you sorted before I can rest.’ Link sprawled back against the wall, feet and legs forming a triangle. ‘Anyhow, without me you’d still be wrapping yourself in newspaper and lighting matches to read by.’ He waved at the Arctic-quality sleeping bag Phinn was sitting on. ‘You’re not the most practical guy on the planet, admit it.’
‘I can’t help who I am, Link.’ I tried, for Suze I tried, but . . . I couldn’t even do that, couldn’t even pretend.
‘Yeah, yeah, gotcha on that, but . . .’ Link secured the cigarette between his lips and dug a hand into a pocket. ‘Look, man. I want to see you out there again. Like you used to be, okay, no, you’re not exactly the one-night-stand king, but, hey.’ He shook his head. ‘You used to be fun, or, maybe not fun but you used to talk to people.’ Out of the pocket came a tiny foil packet, like a very small condom.
‘What the hell is that?’ Phinn had his suspicions but, knowing Link, it could be anything from heavy-duty mood changers to the flavouring from a Pot Noodle. Why am I even listening to this?
Link shook his head, dismissive. ‘A touch of mood enhancer, kick of self-confidence, squeeze of front-it-out. Oh and a pinch of Viagra. Just a little helper.’
Phinn stared at the tiny package. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said, and even to himself his voice lacked conviction. ‘I’m not going to start doing drugs just to be able to do what you seem to manage to pull off so effortlessly, which is being a dickhead, by the way.’
‘Hey, man, no harm in keeping it in your pocket, though, eh?’ Link pushed the metallic square into Phinn’s jacket and patted it into place. ‘You never need it, all well and good. But if you find yourself needing a little bit extra . . . well, this’ll give you a touch of the Tarzan’s when you want it most. Suze was right about a lot of things, y’know. You exist in your own little bubble, your thoughts, your feelings, and no one else’s even crawl into your consideration, do they? By the way, heading back to the main topic of today’s conversation . . . I was scared for you, man. The anti-D’s, the booze, the whole not-sleeping-walking-the-streets thing? And then when I came over to the flat and there’s just a bunch of students living there, who said that you’d let them have the place rent-free, just packed up and gone? What did you think I’d do, shrug and wait for a postcard?’ He shook his head.
There was a creeping cold in his soul. Phinn felt it settling at the edges, freezing off, shutting everything down. ‘I didn’t realise,’ he said stiffly. Knew the words were inadequate but what could he say? What could he do? He tried for a smile. ‘Sorry, Link. I’m glad you’re here, really. But you don’t have to worry about me, I’m okay now. Better, anyway. You could go back.’
‘What, and miss the next instalment?’ Now the smoke followed the grin and formed a Cheshire Cat smile in the air. ‘You are better than the telly, man.’
Phinn shook his head and concentrated on the holdall, checking the contents. ‘But what about your love life? Aren’t you after a bit of action? I haven’t seen you without a woman attached to some part of your anatomy since you were about sixteen. Or are you still in hiding?’
Keep it steady, Phinn. Don’t let him know what he’s said . . . Don’t let him know that he’s finally confirmed your greatest fear.
Link shrugged. ‘I’m giving the old man a bit of a rest before I start my onslaught on the female masses again. Don’t want him worn out before his time.’ He patted his groin affectionately. ‘Moll’s friend Caro in action on a horse, phwoar, I’m hoping that translates to humans. And round here they’re not exactly spoiled for choice in the male market, I’ve seen the local blokes. Like shooting fish in a barrel, mate.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do.’ Link carelessly stubbed out what was left of his cigarette on the wall. ‘You want coffee? I’m going to put the kettle on and dream about central heating. You know they’re forecasting snow up here soon?’
‘Snow?’ Phinn forgot the racket of emotion in his chest. ‘But it’s March. That’s ridiculous.’
‘That’s Yorkshire, God’s Own Country. Apparently God is some kind of masochist Eskimo. Yeah, falls of up to six inches on the high ground, which is us, ’cos you can’t get much higher than Riverdale Moor without being in, like, orbit or something.’ He strolled across to the primus and began the business of trying to light it. ‘I’ll head out to town again later, lay in supplies.’
‘I’ll . . . I’m going to get some writing done.’ Phinn collected his notepad and pen. ‘I’ll sit in the old office, it’s a bit warmer in there.’
Need to think. Need to work on this. Need to be alone.
Link shrugged. ‘’Kay. I’ll catch you later then.’
Phinn took the sleeping bag, went into the small room and closed the door. He huddled himself inside the down-filled quilting, curled around his pain. It’s just Link. He didn’t realise what he was saying, didn’t realise what he was doing. Come on, you’ve known him forever, he’s more family than your actual family. Remember, remember those Christmases, the pair of you blind drunk in the flat watching TV with a takeaway, jeering at all the old films and the kids under the tree-ness of it all? Remember each and every time he’s been there for you. Hold on to that.
But still. Link. What did you do?