‘What are you up to these days, Owen?’
‘UCLA. Studying computer science.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘College sucks. The course is OK.’
‘I know what Californian colleges are like,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen the films. Beaches, babes, parties.’
Owen peered at me suspiciously. It was true I was mocking him, but in what was supposed to be a good-humoured, English kind of way. He didn’t get it.
‘I’m not into that kind of stuff.’
‘Er, no. I suppose not.’ I drank my beer. ‘How long are you here for?’ I asked, hoping the answer was not long.
‘Four days. I’ve just been to see my father in France.’
‘How is he?’ I asked politely.
But Owen had had enough of my small talk. He ignored my question and spoke directly to his brother. ‘Abdulatif’s dead.’
That got Guy’s attention. And mine. He glanced rapidly at me and then spoke. ‘Abdulatif?’
‘Yeah. Abdulatif. The gardener. He’s dead.’
‘Oh. They found him, then?’
‘They found him all right. In, like, a trash can in Marseilles. It took them a week to figure out who he was. Matched his fingerprints.’
‘Do they know who killed him?’ Guy asked.
‘No. He was some kind of rent-boy. The local cops say they get killed all the time.’
Guy drank his beer carefully. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m sad to hear that.’
‘No.’ Owen turned to me and gave me a mocking smile. ‘Did Guy tell you, I saw him humping Dominique?’
‘No,’ I said, my blood suddenly running cold.
‘Yeah. It was the day before you and Guy arrived. Dad was out somewhere. I think she thought I was on the computer. But I wasn’t. I was walking around. Looking.’ He caught my eye and grinned.
‘Oh,’ I said. What else had he seen, I wondered.
‘Of course that would have been a couple of days before you had it off with her. I bet you didn’t realize you were having the gardener’s leftovers?’
I felt the anger boil inside me. Of course I hadn’t realized! Damn Owen.
‘I told the cops of course. That was why they were so sure he’d killed her.’ Owen saw my discomfort and laughed. ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you that for years.’
Guy noticed my unease and tried to change the subject slightly. ‘What did Dad say when he heard about the body being found?’
‘He was pretty damn happy.’
‘I bet he was.’
‘He’s coming over next week,’ he said. ‘He’d like to see you.’
‘Great,’ said Guy. ‘But you’ll be back in the States by then, won’t you?’
‘Yeah. He won’t care, though. He wasn’t real pleased to see me in France.’
‘I’m glad you went.’
Owen snorted into his beer.
For the rest of the evening Guy steered the conversation away from France and his father. Eventually we left the pub and headed back to his place to play some music and drink some more. We had just crossed a road when a scrawny red-haired man with a ravaged face and ragged clothes lurched in front of us.
‘Have you got change for a cuppa tea?’ he said to me. He was obviously drunk. But then so was I. I ignored him.
‘Wharrabout you?’ he said to Guy, standing in his way.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Guy politely.
‘Come on. Gi’ us ten p. You can spare ten p, can’t yer?’ He pushed his face close to Guy with an unsteady leer.
Guy tried to step around him.
The man wasn’t having it. ‘Yuppy bastard!’ he shouted.
Owen moved fast. He grabbed the man by the collar, whipped him off his feet and pinned him against a wall. ‘You leave him alone,’ he hissed.
The man’s intoxicated eyes looked confused. Then they seemed to focus. He spat, spraying Owen full in the face.
Owen dropped one hand and hit the man in the stomach. Hard. Very hard. The man slumped to the ground retching.
Guy grabbed hold of Owen and pulled him back. Owen stared at the man on the pavement, his black eyes gleaming.
‘Get him away!’ I shouted to Guy.
I bent down next to the man, who was gasping for breath. I sat him up against the wall. As the breathing came back the swearing started.
‘How are your ribs?’ I tried to feel the man’s chest but he pushed my hand away. ‘Shall I get an ambulance?’
A stream of abuse. I sat there with him swearing at me for a couple of minutes. He seemed to be recovering. I pulled out a ten-pound note, stuffed it in his pocket and left him. He didn’t thank me. I didn’t expect him to.
I waited until I was quite sure Owen was in California before I saw Guy again. We went to see a friendly international at Wembley. England were playing Brazil and amazingly managed to hold them to a one — one draw. After the game he gave me a lift in his electric-blue Porsche. As we sat in the car park with U2 loud on the stereo, waiting for several thousand vehicles in front of us to move, I mentioned Owen’s visit.
‘It was interesting what your brother said about the gardener being found murdered.’
‘Yes,’ said Guy, sounding uninterested.
‘Were they sure it was him who killed Dominique?’
‘Absolutely sure.’
‘I see.’
I listened to Bono for a minute, summoning up the courage for my next question.
‘Guy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember the police found one of your footprints outside Dominique’s window?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did it get there?’
Guy paused to let in the clutch as the car in front moved forward six feet.
‘I went for a pee on the way to bed.’
‘No you didn’t.’
‘Of course I did,’ said Guy, avoiding my eye, focusing on the car in front.
‘I was there, remember? You came straight back to the guest cottage with me.’
‘No. You’ve got that wrong. You’re thinking about some other night. That night I stopped off for a slash in the bushes. The police checked it all out. It’s five years ago. You must be confused.’
I opened my mouth to protest and then closed it again. History had been rewritten as far as Guy was concerned, and the rewriting had received the official police stamp of approval. It was his version of what happened and he would use the force of his personality to make sure it was the only version. The trouble was, I knew it was a lie.
‘I’m seeing Dad tomorrow night. Do you want to come?’ Guy asked.
‘No thanks.’
‘Why not? It’ll be fun. We’ll go out to dinner and then maybe on to a club later. Don’t worry, he’ll pay.’
‘No, really. I’d rather not see him. I suspect he’d rather not see me.’
‘After France?’
‘After France.’
The line of cars in front of us began to move. Guy kept the Porsche within a foot of the Vauxhall in front to make sure no one else barged in.
‘I try, but it’s hard to forget France,’ he said. ‘I still blame my father for what he did to Mel.’
‘I’m not surprised. But you still see him?’
‘Oh, yes. He’s a player, you know what I mean?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘He knows how to live. How to have a good time. He doesn’t take himself too seriously, or other people. Sure, sometimes other people get hurt, like I did and Mel did. But they forget.’
‘You can’t go through life thinking about yourself all the time.’
‘Why not?’ Guy said. ‘It’s not as if anyone else is going to look out for you, is it? I don’t mean you should actively harm other people. But you have to go out and grab what you want.’