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Ken’s letter: Don’t let on about it, just use it to enjoy yourself.But how much doI need Martin if I’m to have the bike? Do I have a choice?
‘Please, just hear me out. I’ll tell you, right.’
Martin takes another big sigh. Stands clutching his gear. His face a tight frown.
‘OK, you can get another pint in, seeing as you’re loaded. But nowt you say will get me to buy that bike.’
It’s like hearing myself from a distance telling Martin the bare bones of the story. Ken and the gold, deadpan as if it happened to someone else. Martin’s face says it all. A likely tale!
I finish the story, all the way to the bank. Silence while we sip our beer. How good was the bike ride this afternoon? Power and speed wiping out all thought in the focus of the moment. Even as a pillion.
I hand Martin the new pack of Marlboro I thought to buy with the drinks. He nods, takes a couple out.
‘So, poor fucker’s not in his grave and already you’ve cashed in the gold. What’s the bleeding rush?’ He lights the fags, hands me one.
‘His next of kin have arrived. I’m not hanging round for no family funeral.’
‘And they don’t know about the gold?’
‘No, he said not to tell no-one.’
Martin nods. He knows he owes me trust. My strongest card. Or my only one?
‘They might smell a rat if he’s left them with nowt,’ he muses.
‘Yeah, and that’s like why I need to get away sharpish.’ True, doing a runner from the proper kids has got me moving. But it’s not the main thing really.
‘So, take a holiday. You could do a world cruise on that money.’
‘It has to be a motorbike. Surely you understand that?’
‘Why do you think I went nicking them?’ he says quietly. Takes a few slow drags of his cigarette.
I almost have him. I just need one more thing. Something I have over him.
‘I helped you when you had to hide that bike. I got you the keys for Dad’s lock-up, remember?’
Martin scowls. ‘I didn’t nick that bike, I owed someone a favour.’
‘And if I’d grassed you up, you’d have been out of Kick Start.’ I take a puff on my fag. Exhale as I eyeball him.
‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’ He stares open mouthed at me.
‘So maybe you owe mea favour?’
Martin reaches for his drink and necks most of it. Stands up, gathering his clobber again.
‘You can fuck right off with your cheap tricks! Blackmail don’t suit you and it won’t work.’ He leans towards me, his face red and sweat-shiny. ‘That bike willkill you. End of. Get on a plane and come back when heat’s off. Go for Direct Access, get your full licence.’
He rolls the jackets tighter under his arm, picks up the helmets.
I stand up. Tears welling. ‘Please Martin. I would never dob you in, right? Can we just like talk about it?’ I put my hand on his arm, feel the heat of it.
‘Like I said, nice ride, Jez.’ He pulls his arm away. ‘And I’m sorry about your dad.’ Then he turns and walks quickly through the yard. Swings wide to avoid a bunch of teenagers. Pushes the door into the pub and he’s gone.
Shit. How was threatening him going to help? I take a swig of my drink. Panic rising. You’ve lost this one, admit it, girl. But I can’t give up. Maybe there’s a halfway point?
I run out of the pub, down the road to the bike shop. Martin’s busy tying the spare jacket to the rack of his Suzuki.
