Beside him, Kasia reached for her knife and fork, showing no regard for etiquette. Tomek stopped her. He raised his glass, then waited for the girls to do the same.
‘To Abigail,’ he said, lifting it slightly higher, ‘the new editor of the Southend Echo. To Abigail.’
‘To Abigail…’ Kasia said half-heartedly.
‘To me,’ added Abigail with the smugness of someone whose ego was currently as high as the moon.
Normally that type of behaviour would have grated on Tomek. But not tonight. It was her special night, and she deserved it. She had put in so much hard work over the past few months that it was nice to finally see it pay off. Several weeks ago, the founding editor of the Southend Echo, one of Essex’s largest and most popular newspapers, had been arrested for sex trafficking. He, along with a handful of other members of Southend’s political elite, had found themselves on the wrong end of a criminal investigation that had seen dozens of lives affected. As a result, the position of editor had become available. At first, it was a position that nobody had wanted, as if it were tainted by the former editor’s behaviour, his scent enmeshed in the fabric of his seat, his prints all over the furniture, an indelible stain. But then Abigail had had the brilliant idea, and the courage to go with it, of applying for the role. She had sat Tomek down one evening and explained to him why she was fit for the job. A mini interview. By the end of it, he’d advised her she should go for it, that she had nothing to lose. In his mind, she was the right fit for the job, even though he wasn’t the one she needed to convince. That burden fell on the newspaper’s board of directors, and so ensued a lengthy process of coming up with a three-month, six-month, nine-month and twelve-month plan on how she was going to incentivise revenue and increase the reputation of the business. If local businesses didn’t want to advertise with them, then there would be no money coming in. If there was no money, there were no jobs, no colleagues. In the end, the board of directors had liked her plan and offered her the role.
‘What’s the first thing on your to-do list as the new editor-in-chief?’ Tomek asked as he began to dig into his food.
‘I need to let Sami and Khalid go.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Yeah. Really putting me in at the deep end.’
Not as deep as they’re gonna be when they find out they can’t pay their rent next month.
‘Rather you than me,’ he said.
‘But look on the bright side, you and I are going to be working a lot closer. A lot more back-scratching going on…’
‘Eww!’ Kasia dropped her knife and fork onto the table. ‘Not this again! I’ve had enough of you two talking like you’re in some porno!’
‘How do you know what porn is?’ Tomek asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
‘We’ve been over this! I know about these things! And I don’t want to talk anymore about it!’ She pulled her napkin from her lap and slammed it on the table, then climbed out of her chair, the sound of wood scraping along ceramic echoing across the restaurant.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To the toilet, if that’s okay with you?’
Tomek let her go without answering. The restaurant they were in was far too nice for them to create a scene. High end, luxury, and with an expensive bill to match. When she was out of earshot, he returned his attention to his food.
‘Maybe let that conversation topic evaporate,’ Abigail said.
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s not worth it. It’s old ground. We’ve been over it before. Let it go.’
Tomek glanced at the bathroom door, making sure that she wasn’t coming back anytime soon.
‘What did you mean about us rubbing against each other?’
‘I never said anything about rubbing against each other,’ Abigail replied. ‘You’ve taken my words out of context, and I don’t appreciate that. I was talking about us, you and I, the newspaper and the police.’
Right. Of course she was. Leverage, that was what it all came down to. She would want to use her power as the editor of the newspaper to get information out of him about the latest case. While he admitted that it had happened in the past, it had been done without the power dynamic changing between them. Before, they had been on a level playing field. They had both done it to further their respective careers. Now with the difference between them, that would undoubtedly change. It was impossible for it not to.
Tomek glanced at the bathroom door again. It had opened, and Kasia was sauntering back towards them, taking her time.
Before she made it to the table, Abigail leant forward and lowered her voice.
‘Though if you did want to rub up against one another tonight, I wouldn’t object to the idea.’
It was her special night, after all.
CHAPTER FOUR
The rain lashes at my face so hard that it gets into my eyes and forces me to blink. I try to swat it away, but it’s no use. My hair is soaked, my trousers stick to my thighs, and my socks are quickly getting wet despite my school shoes supposedly being waterproof. But I ignore it and continue. Adrenaline courses through me like a potent and violent drug.
Adrenaline and fear.
Laced with a hint of anxiety.
I’m late. And Michał is waiting for me. Brother Michał. My older, bigger, stronger brother who always beats me in an arm wrestle or an actual wrestle.
I’ve just crossed the road. Over the other side, a hundred yards away, I can see the kids outside the off-licence. They’re there as usual, loitering, hanging on the handlebars of their bikes, opening their energy drinks and dirty magazines. I think one of them is even unloading a cigarette from the carton, the little fucking idiot. Probably thinks he’s the hardest kid to have ever walked the planet. Little does he know he’s a fucking bellend.
Ignoring them, I turn my attention back to the park. A few hundred metres up the road, on the right-hand side. The same entrance I’ve gone in dozens, hundreds of times before and after school – and thousands of times since. Outside the entrance is a single, lonely street lamp, gunmetal grey and rusty, covered in dogs’ piss, its dim sodium light leaking onto the ground. But none of it is strong enough to spill into the park. It’s enveloped by darkness. A thick, cloying, ominous darkness that reminds me of the nights back in Poland, during the blackouts.
I come to a rapid stop outside the park. On the ground, a small puddle of mud has formed. Over a metre wide and a metre long. In the centre is a metal gateway, covered in rust, its paint falling away. I latch onto it with my hands and, using my toes, propel myself into the air and over the puddle. I narrowly avoid the mess, but my efforts are in vain. The whole place is fucking filthy and covered in mud everywhere. I might as well have rolled in it before I came in; it wouldn’t have made a difference.
I’m looking down at my shoes when I hear it. The sound, coming from my right. The whimpering, the groaning, the giggling. I look, but I can’t see anything, just the outline of the playground. The swings, the slide, the seesaw and merry-go-round. And the figures standing in it.
Then I begin to focus, to narrow in. The sound of tyres rolling along the tarmac gradually begins to dwindle, and the noise of rain slapping into the mud begins to fade, until all I can hear is the sound of my breath. Laboured at the running I’ve just done.
Slowly, sensing what’s in front of me, I lower my gaze a fraction and see the body lying in the debris, crumpled into a heap. My brother. Michał. Then I lift my gaze, and in the darkness I can see his killer, his eyes, yellow and piercing like a cat’s. Nathan Burrows, standing over Michał.
