Page 19

EIGHTEEN

He still had the name he’d been born with, and it was bound to be there on a few official documents, though not on anything current that could lead to him if anyone came looking.

He knew how people got traced. He’d picked a different name and had the necessary IDs knocked up so he could get phones and driving licences, benefits and what have you, but there were no bank accounts in his proper name any more, no credit cards, nothing like that.

It wasn’t that he thought of himself as LoveMyBro – even if it was that person’s life he was living most of the time now – it was more that if he heard anyone shouting his real name on the street, he’d presume it was someone he’d been at school with.

There simply wasn’t anyone else left who might use it.

He wasn’t kidding himself that he’d ever had loads of mates, but there had been a few once upon a time.

They’d backed away one by one after it had happened and he’d started to talk about it.

He’d talked about it a lot, he knew that.

He thought it was only natural; that talking about such a terrible thing to as many people as possible whenever he got the chance was what anyone in his position would do.

The way those around him had reacted, though, you’d have thought he was constantly banging on about chemtrails or the earth being flat or whatever.

Like he was one of those conspiracy theory nutbags.

So, friends had gradually melted away, and even though it had been upsetting at the time, now he just thought good riddance.

Now, they’d only get in his way.

His parents had gone too, but he knew exactly who was to blame for that.

He thought about the people he’d lost a fair bit and for obvious reasons, the ones he’d cared about anyway.

Now, staring out of the car window into the rainy dark, watching for the man he was waiting on to arrive, it struck him that despite everything he’d been thinking a couple of nights before when she’d ignored his messages, it would be sad if he never heard from ButterflyGrrrl again.

It would be a waste.

They’d suffered in very different ways, of course, but it had all kind of overlapped and he’d thought there was a bond. Something. Even though it was tricky to know what people were really thinking or feeling when you only talked to them online, he’d definitely sensed a connection.

Maybe she just needed a bit of time, some breathing space, whatever. Obviously, her mission was done with – thanks to him – but maybe once she’d had a chance to think about it for a while, she might decide to step up and give him a hand with things. He reckoned they’d make a good team—

And then, perfectly on cue, the man he was there to have a look at lumbered into view. Yes, he was carrying a little more timber than was good for him, but he looked fit enough for his age.

He was frankly amazed that any copper lasted long enough in the job for retirement to even be a thing.

He certainly wasn’t surprised that most of them got the hell out as soon as they’d done their thirty years and, if they’d been stupid enough to join up when they were relatively young, it meant that they’d still have a fair amount of life left ahead of them to enjoy.

At least, some of them would.

Running pubs, wasn’t that what a lot of them used to do back in the day once they’d turned in their warrant cards?

These days there were websites advertising jobs specifically aimed at ex-coppers.

He’d seen them. Jobs as prison officers, or cybersecurity consultants or even private investigators for the ones who still fancied themselves as super-sleuths.

He reckoned a good few just sank like stones or wasted away, which was no less than most of them deserved.

A broken marriage, then a few unhappy years lying awake every night, eaten up by guilt and despising themselves.

Drinking far too much to blot it all out and occasionally meeting up with former colleagues to talk about the good old days until the inevitable early stroke or heart attack.

He supposed working as a security guard was as good a way as any of killing time while you were waiting for that to happen. Night shifts, especially. Just you and a head full of horrible memories and as many sudokus as you could manage.

The man in the high-vis jacket walked slowly across the street, which was dimly lit and – happily – deserted. He watched him reach for keys as he approached the gates of the builders’ yard and was sure he saw the poor bugger’s shoulders drop as he fumbled with the padlock.

Was he unhappy? Bless him, was he feeling unfulfilled?

Did he think that sitting in a Portakabin all night and keeping a watchful eye on a few piles of bricks and assorted bags of sand and cement was below him?

A comedown for an experienced thief-taker people once looked up to?

For someone who had proudly worn the Queen’s cloth and a cunt’s pointy hat and used to have actual power ?

LoveMyBro watched the man step into the yard then turn to close the metal gates behind him, and even though he’d be back again the following night to ensure this was a regular routine he could have faith in, he wondered if, when the time came, he might actually be doing him a favour.

The poor, powerless old bugger wouldn’t have to dwell on former glories for very much longer.