Page 84 of Indie
Eventually, he tugged his hand free and touched his face. He might have been wiping tears, or scratching at his cheek, but I gave him the privacy he needed, keeping my eyes fixed on the doors in front of us. Outside, the rain pelted the windows, the wind now roaring round the property ominously, as the universe wept down upon us. And whatever those words meant that I’d heard Indie whisper, it was like they taken a life of their own, filling the air with that same roar.
“I need to ring Demon,” he broke the silence, the rain outside not retreating from its attack on the pub.
Turning away, he sat at a table, pulling out his phone, pressing a button and holding it to his ear. I couldn’t hear Demon on the other side, but Indie drew in a deep breath, and I could only guess the call had connected.
“Demon… look…yes he has.”
Indie fell silent again, and there was no sound of another voice, no one in the background. I sensed they were both there, connected by their mobiles, pensive.
“Yes, please, Demon,” he said eventually. “Make the call. Follow the protocols.”
He slipped the mobile back into his pocket and sat staring at the table.
“We need to notify someone, Indie,” I said, sliding in beside him.
“Why?”
“It’s also protocol when someone dies at home. There’ll unlikely be an inquest as his medical records show he was dying, but someone official needs to attend. Do you want me to ring them, the ambulance?”
He nodded, lifting the short, stubby glass to his lips and taking a sip.
“An ambulance. He’s fucking dead. What’s that supposed to do?” It was Tori’s voice breaking through the quiet.
I opened my mouth to answer, but a growl erupted from beside me, a darker noise than any I’d ever heard from him.
“Speak to her like that again and I’ll throw you the fuck out. I don’t give a flying fuck if you were his ol’ lady, you’ll be out of here on your arse.”
“Indie,” I cautioned, knowing his anger was something else.
The woman stood in front of us turned around, disappearing back through the door that led to the upstairs rooms.
“I’m sorry,” Indie muttered, raising his glass to his lips again. “I didn’t mean to get so angry.”
“I understand, I really do.” I’d seen it all before. Anger, tears, shrieks and wails, and nothing. Everyone grieved differently. “There’s no right or wrong way to deal with this, Indie.”
But what I hadn’t seen was biker grief, because soon men poured through the double doors dressed head to toe in leathers, their waistcoats with the embroidered emblem on the back. Every one of them walked to Indie, clasping arms and hugging him tightly. Some stayed longer. Saying something to him, words that he didn’t seem to reciprocate, only listened to, offering nothing back of his own.
Eventually, there were faces I recognised. Magnet, Fury, Reap, the identical twins. And much longer after everyone else,Demon. The men clasped hands, standing close much longer than anyone else, words exchanged that I didn’t try to make out, letting the brothers, or half-brothers, or cousins, or whatever they were, have some time.
I hadn’t seen Suzy come in, or Ciara, but suddenly they were there too, behind the bar, handing out glasses. Glasses that no one drank from. Fury handed one to me, a short, stubby tumbler with bronze liquid.
“It’s whisky,” he said when I stood staring into the liquid. “Ste’s favourite. Just swallow it in one, like a good girl.” He winked mischievously.
Indie and Demon approached the bar, each taking a glass, and the chatter that had filled the room dissipated until there was total, utter silence.
“Ste Carter,” Indie stated loudly, raising his glass in front of him. “President of the Northern Kings. Let the road be winding and the pace fast.”
“May the heart of the Harley beat eternal. May the roar of the Kings never die.”
The chant filled the building, eerie and haunting, stinging my eyes and filling the back of my throat. Those words I’d now heard for the second time, words I was appreciating, making emotion swell inside of me. No one in that room dropped a tear, and for a few moments, the glasses remained raised. Then, when Indie brought his glass to his lips, chucking back the thick liquid, the rest of the room, man and woman, did the same. Quickly I copied, the liquid burning as if it had been alight, and I did my best not to bring it all back up.
The ambulance crew appeared just as the last biker was leaving, me, Indie and Tori the only ones left. The coroner’soffice arrived shortly afterwards, tending to the body, and Tori leaving after that.
Indie said little, locking the doors of the pub behind them and then guiding me up the stairs to the rooms above. He said nothing as he got undressed, sinking into bed beside me, his body warm, but his mind distant. I scooted closer to him, moving up against the side of him, and he held out an arm, pulling me closer. And that night we fell asleep in silence, the house that would usually moan and settle long into the night as quiet as we were.
*****
“I need to go see my mam,” Indie said, his voice flat. “I’ll probably be gone a few days. You can stay here if you want.”