Chapter Twelve Si
Six years ago
Si waited to drop the bombshell until the next time he saw Zig.
It wasn’t the sort of thing you could put in a text, was it?
Btw, ur mates a wrongun. :-). They’d arranged to go down the pub on Saturday night.
Si had told Zig he wouldn’t be around to go clubbing, with Adam home, and Zig had seemed happy enough to join them in Peckham, rather than go anywhere more exciting.
Si’s stomach fizzed with nerves as he and Adam strolled down the street to the Dog and Duck. He’d have to get Zig on his own somehow, and tell him his suspicions about Trent. The first bit shouldn’t be hard, at least. Adam was a good mate about giving them couple time.
Guilt churned. Should Si have said something about it to Adam? To his dad? ’Fessed up, that his were the loose lips that’d sunk all them ships? The police hadn’t come up with any leads on the theft from the site.
No. He didn’t know anything, did he? Just had a hazy memory of running his mouth off in the pub, that was all. But Zig deserved to know about it, so he could be on his guard, in case Trent tried to drag him into anything dodgy.
They made their way into the bar and grabbed a couple of pints and a table.
It wasn’t long after that Zig came through the door, looking fucking gorgeous in his leather jacket, the red tips of his dark hair falling softly on the collar. Si’s heart jolted and then plummeted. Trent was right behind him, a smirk on his lips and his hair gelled to rigid perfection.
Si reckoned Adam would be well pissed off, but he wore an odd smile as he greeted them. “All right, Zig? Trent? What are you drinking?”
There was a flicker of some emotion Si couldn’t identify on Zig’s face—just for a moment—and then he smiled. “Nah, I’ll get ’em. Usual?” He glanced down at Adam and Si’s half-empty pint glasses.
“We’re good, ta,” Adam said curtly, his eyes still on Trent.
Trent pulled out a chair and sat down. “All right, Si?” he asked, pointedly ignoring Adam.
“Yeah, I’m good.” Si paused awkwardly. “Uh, you?”
“Peachy.”
“Been busy lately?” Adam put in.
Trent looked at him sharply. “I’m always busy. Some of us have a living to earn.”
“My dad had a break-in at the site. Maybe you heard about it?”
“No.” Trent’s tone was bland, conversational. “Lose much?”
Adam snorted. “Like you don’t know.”
The look got sharper. “Meaning?”
“I think you know what I mean.”
Si put down his pint. “Lads . . .” Accusing Trent directly hadn’t been part of the plan.
Trent leaned forward. “I think you’d better explain yourself, Adam Merchant. So’s I don’t get the wrong idea. Wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Si didn’t want any of this. “Adam, mate, you can’t—”
Adam cut him off and spat at Trent, “Funny how Dad never had any trouble until you showed up on the scene.”
“Scene? What fucking scene? Not like I’m one of your dad’s bloody grunts, is it? What, am I not allowed to come out for a pint with my mate and his bloke?” He leaned back as Zig plonked a shot glass on the table in front of him.
“Got you a double, Trent. Cos I’m generous like that,” Zig said, sliding into the seat next to Si.
“Cheers.” Trent raised the glass and took a hefty swallow. “Hope you said hi to Ems for me.”
Zig grinned. “Course I—”
“We hadn’t finished talking,” Adam cut in.
Si’s heart sank. “Don’t you think—”
“Hadn’t we?” Trent’s face hardened. “I ain’t got nothing more to say about it.”
“No? I reckon you could tell us plenty more.”
At Si’s side, Zig had stiffened. “Hey, Adam—”
It was like neither Si nor Zig was there, as Trent put his glass down. “You might want to rethink that. A bloke could get into trouble throwing around wild accusations.”
Zig laughed nervously. “Oi, nobody’s accusing nobody of nothing.” Which was rich, seeing as he hadn’t been there for most of the conversation, and Adam very definitely was accusing Trent of stuff, not that he actually had any evidence. So, what the hell was he hoping to achieve? Si felt sick.
Zig’s hand crept into his, and he clutched it like a lifeline.
Adam’s face had gone a harsh, blotchy red. “Are you threatening me?”
Trent sneered. “Just saying it how it is.”
Adam picked up his pint glass, paused, then slammed it back down onto the table. A small puddle of beer sloshed out. He stood. “I’m not staying here. Si, you coming?”
Zig’s grip on Si’s hand tightened.
“I . . .” Torn between his best mate and the bloke he loved, Si gestured helplessly.
“Fine. I’ll see you back home.” Adam turned and strode away.
“Go on, run home to daddy,” Trent shot derisively at Adam’s retreating back. “Fuck it. I’m off too.”
Zig’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm. “Oi. He’s Si’s mate.”
“Did I say I was going after him? Jesus. Just gonna have a word with Ems at the bar, then I’m heading up west.”
Si tried to fight down the feeling of nausea that mingled uneasily with the relief he felt on seeing Trent head to the bar and not the door. Had Zig really thought Trent might, what, go after Adam and beat him up? Si opened his mouth, but Zig beat him to it.
“What the hell was that all about? What’s Adam got against Trent?” Zig’s tone was abrupt.
Si darted a wary glance to where Trent was leaning on the bar, trying yet again to chat up Emma the barmaid, judging by the smirks he was giving her and the pissed-off looks he was getting back. “He’s got this idea Trent might have had something to do with the site thefts.”
Mismatched eyes narrowed. “Oh? Why’s he think that?”
Was that guilt? Si’s gut twisted. “I dunno. Thinks he’s dodgy.”
Zig laughed. “He’s that, all right.”
Si couldn’t tell if that was disapproval or admiration. The pain in his gut got worse. “And, well, he did get me talking about the site and that the other night. When you was off getting the drinks in.”
“He did, did he?” Zig wasn’t laughing now.
“Why do you hang around with him?” Si blurted out. “If he was my mate, I’d tell him to piss off.”
“He’s not a bloke you want to get on the wrong side of. You might wanna tell Adam that. And I’ve gotta work with him, haven’t I?”
Si frowned. “Thought you were working in that shop?”
“Yeah. I am. But sometimes I have to do stuff for my dad. And Trent works for him. So I’ve gotta keep him sweet.” He flashed a smile.
“Not too sweet, I hope,” Si muttered, the jealousy he’d tried to drown resurfacing briefly.
“Course not.” Zig slung his arm around Si’s waist. “Come on, let’s leave this shithole and I’ll keep you sweet as you want.”
As they left the pub, Si couldn’t help asking, “So what is it you and Trent do for your dad? You’ve never said.”
Zig kissed him on the neck. “This and that. Come on, I’m horny.”
It wasn’t easy, but Si disengaged himself. “You always say this and that. What does that mean?”
Zig stood there, looking at him, his arms folded. “You want to do this now? Fine. He buys and sells stuff. Well, sells it, anyhow.” He grinned cheekily.
Si’s blood ran cold. “Stuff that don’t belong to him? Like they copper pipes and all from the site? What was stole from Adam’s dad?”
“Jesus, your accent sometimes. Oi, don’t look at me like that. I never said it was Adam’s dad’s stuff. Dad and Trent, they don’t tell me everything they get up to. Anyway, so what if it was? He’ll claim it on the insurance, get his money back, and then everyone’s happy.”
Si didn’t reckon Mr. Merchant was ever gonna be happy about having his stuff nicked. And anyway— “What about the insurance company?”
“Who gives a fuck about them? They’re minted. Stick it to the man, love.”
Si was pretty sure that wasn’t how insurance companies worked. If people made claims, they put up premiums, didn’t they? So stealing stuff was sticking it to everyone. His heart plummeting, he tried to explain that to Zig.
Zig got hacked off with him. “You telling me that boss of yours ain’t loaded anyway? He can stand to lose a few grand.”
“But it’s theft.”
“Jesus, Si, grow up. Everyone’s on the make. You telling me your boss don’t fiddle his VAT? What goes around comes around.”
Si couldn’t believe it. Did Zig really think stealing was okay? No. No, he couldn’t mean that, and he hadn’t had nothing to do with whoever had ripped Adam’s dad off.
He couldn’t have.
But if he can’t see there’s anything wrong in stealing . . . What else did he think was okay? Gods, what else had Si been blind to, dazzled by good looks and a flirty smile?
Zig had his hands in his pockets, and his voice was strange—strained, almost—when he spoke again. “So, we good?”
They weren’t, were they? They weren’t good, and Adam wasn’t living here no more, and Si had gone and ballsed everything up for Adam’s dad by running his mouth off.
He could feel his heart tearing itself apart as he forced himself to say, like it didn’t matter, “Uh, yeah. Fine. Know what though, I reckon I’ll be heading back to Glastonbury soon.
This being a brickie lark, it ain’t me. Gonna go to college, get a trade.
Might as well go home and save on rent, like. ”
Zig’s face froze for a mo, then he gave his usual blinding smile. “Yeah, no worries. See you around if you’re ever back this way again. It’s been fun.”
Then he strolled off into the night, leaving Si alone in the cold with his heart in pieces.