Page 79 of Indie
Ste turned and shuffled back to his tent, slinging the little tank back on his back as he went.
“Reckon they’re responsible for the burning cut?” Fury asked, taking my dad’s place at my side.
“Yep, reckon the odds are good on that. Makes sense now, new bike club and all. The question is, did they think this thing up themselves or has someone put them up to it?”
“Gotta be put up to it. Even a common fucking street gang wouldn’t pull this shit unless they thought they had someone behind them. Is Emmie’s ex here with them?”
“Dunno. Can’t see fuck all with those helmets on. Hope not. I wanted her to have a good weekend, let her hair down for a bit.”
“She will. Seems to get on with Magnet’s ol’ lady.”
“Dunno whether she’d have had a choice. Suzy saw those kids and swept right in on her, like some crazy old cat desperate for her own litter.”
“Sure that’s not what you see an all? A ready-made family. Looks good from where I’m standing.”
“Shut the fuck up, Fury. Emmie is the woman I’ve fallen in love with. She has kids, they come with her, the whole package. If she didn’t have any, then we’d stay that way. This is not the life for kids.”
“You know you’re blind sometimes. This is one big family. We fight, but we take care of each other. And if one of us dies, there’s always someone else to step up and help. Couldn’t be a better place to be in my eyes.”
“Then they need fucking checking.”
*****
The rain didn’t stop, the wet field quickly soaking my boots every time I made a run from the marquees to a scran van or to take a piss. But it had dampened no one’s spirits, not least my father’s who’d sank beer after beer like he might actually die tomorrow.
“You know he really shouldn’t be drinking,” Emmie shouted above the heavy beat of the music on the main stage.
“Yeah, I know. But I guess he doesn’t have long left. Don’t know whether he’ll make it to the Frostbite rally. Might as well enjoy it like it’s his last.”
Emmie quieted, turning her face back to the stage, her body shivering against me slightly and then stilling. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close, feeling that little shiver again.
“Indie?” Emmie asked, quieter now, so that I’d barely heard her, the sound almost an afterthought. “I really don’t think he has much time left. He hasn’t been eating much, like barely anything, and the disease has really progressed in the last few weeks.”
I’d seen changes too, but I was trying my best to ignore them. He was so thin now, even the pot belly caused by nightly alcohol had receded and his breathing had become so noisy that he’d never be able to pull off any covert operation. But I’d seen something else in his eyes. Resignation maybe? And I thought this weekend he was happy to dance with death, to push his body to the last, because now he was ready to go.
“Do you think he’ll be in much pain?” I asked suddenly.
“When he goes, you mean?”
“No. Now. Do you think he is feeling pain now?” Emmie was silent, thinking, her hesitation a fraction too long. “The truth please, Emmie. I don’t want comforting. I just want to know.”
“Yes,” she said. “From what I understand, these last stages can be excruciating. Not just from the cancer that fills his body, multiplying daily, but also from the organs inside him, which are still struggling to work and are slowly shutting down, failing.”
We sat quietly then, listening to the sounds of the band. The rhythm changed, the tempo slowing. A guitar being plucked for the first few notes, and then a wind instrument joining in, slowly building, quietly creeping up, gently coaxing us into a different rhythm, slower. ‘There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold.’I’d always found these lyrics haunting. But tonight, each chord struck against my ribs with a blunt, heavy force. My chest filling with emotions. Anger, anxiety, desperation, sadness. The crowd in front of us rocked slowly, holding a partner or wrapping an arm around the man next to him, pints held in the air.‘And she’s buying a stairway to heaven.’When the last lyric sang, and theLed Zeppelincopy ofStairway to Heavenended in all its haunting glory, he turned to look at me from a little bench just off to my right.
Chapter Thirty Five
I watched Ste get weaker and weaker as the weekend went on. He’d put on a good show, chatting and joking, doing his best to appear like the man he once was, and either people played along with the façade or hadn’t really noticed. The weather hadn’t been kind, with only a few dry hours a day. Most of the time, we traipsed through soggy grass, trudging through ever-increasing mud to go anywhere or huddled in marquees to stay out of the worst of it.
When we packed up on Sunday morning, I wasn’t disappointed. I was desperate for a warm shower and my pyjamas. I watched Tori lead Ste to the car, packing him in the driver’s seat, as members of the club took their tent down for them.
“I’m going to get Ste home,” Tori said as she approached Indie, swiping a hand slowly down his arm. His eyes tracked her before shrugging her off. “He’s feeling exhausted now.”
“It’s called a hangover, Tori. We get it. You want us to pack all your shit up and then you can scarper without having to lift a finger,” Demon grumbled, forcing the expanded tent fabric into a bag that seemed much too small now for it to fit, the knees of his jeans soaked from wrestling with it in the wet.
The rain had started again, heavy smatters on the remaining tents, and now our cover was minimised. There was no choice but to get wet while we packed up.
“I fucking hate these wet rallies,” the man they called Reap grumbled loudly from the side of us.