The Border: The Complete Series (3 page)

Another pause.

“Hang on!” his father shouted, already sounding distinctly annoyed. “Can't you come back tomorrow?”

“It's important.” He waited. “It's
really
important, Dad.”

“Well what is it?”

“I'm not talking to you through the door.”

“It's late!”

“I'll be in the front room!”

“You what?”

“The front room!” Sighing, he headed through. “Deaf old bastard,” he muttered as he reached the sofa and saw that old newspapers had been left all over the cushions. Clearing a space, he sat down and picked up an edition of the local paper, which turned out to be from almost six months ago, and he smiled as he remembered the office meeting where they'd come up with the headline. After a moment, he tossed the paper aside and glanced around the room. There were dirty plates piled up on a table by the armchair, and old, half-crushed beer cans on the floor. Glancing at the window, he saw a crack running through the glass. It was tempting to think that the old man was slipping into the early stages of dementia, but Jack knew his father had always been a messy guy. It had been one of the things that had driven Audrey crazy and caused the divorce.

A few minutes later, still adjusting his trousers, Harry Freeman came shuffling through from the spare room.

“I was bidding on something online!” the old man shouted.

“Sure you were,” Jack replied, rolling his eyes. “Is your hearing aid working okay?”

“It's fine!”

“So you're having no trouble at all?”

“What?”

“Dad, sit down. There's something I need to tell you.”

“It's late,” Harry replied, easing himself into the armchair and wincing in the process as he felt more pain from his hips. Beneath him, the chair creaked and groaned as if it was about to collapse. “You're lucky I wasn't in bed.”

“It's about Ben.”

At this, Harry paused for a moment. “Say what?” he asked finally.

“It's about Ben,” Jack said firmly.

“Huh?”

“Ben!” he shouted. “Come on, I know you heard me!”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Ben, huh?” Another pause. “What did he do? How much trouble is he in?”

“He's not in trouble. Not as far as I know, anyway.”

“Prison?”

“No.”

“Is he hurt, then? Is he dead?”

“No, Dad, he's not hurt or dead.”

“Then what's up?”

“He's...” He paused for a moment, suddenly feeling as if his mouth was a little dry. “He's coming home.”

Harry stared at him for a moment, before frowning. “What did you say?”

“I said he's coming home.”

“Ben?”

He nodded.

“Coming home?”

“Come on, Dad, don't make me say everything twice. Turn your hearing aid up.”

“My hearing aid's fine,” the old man snapped. He paused, as if he was still struggling to process the news. Leaning back in his chair, he gripped the armrests, which was his default position whenever he had some real hard thinking to get done. “Ben, eh? Coming
here
?”

“It's not
that
surprising,” Jack replied. “It's been, what, nine years? Maybe he wants to be with his family for Christmas.”

“Huh.” Turning, Harry stared over at the window for a moment, as if he was lost in thought. The silence seemed to spread, until finally he sniffed. “Did he say what he wanted? He always wants something. I can't give him money, not this time.”

“Mum got an email from him,” Jack explained, “saying he'll be in town next week. He's arriving on Monday.”

“So it's your mother he's coming to see, really.”

“He's coming to see all of us.”

“You don't know that.”

“It's a pretty safe bet. Dad, come on, just accept it.”

“Who's he staying with?” Harry asked. “He can't stay here, I use the spare room for the computer.”

“Well, he'll stay with -” He paused for a moment, before bowing to the inevitable. “He'll stay with me and Jane, I guess. Or Beth and Bob.”

“Huh. And what does Jane think about that possibility?”

“I'm sure she'll be delighted when I tell her.”

“What?”

“Maybe he just misses us,” Jack continued, raising his voice a little. “It's been so long, and maybe...” He paused again, before realizing that the idea was ridiculous. Unless his brother Ben had been the recipient of a full-on brain transplant, there was no way in hell he was coming home for sentimental reasons. The old man was right: Ben wanted something.

“Think he'll come and see me?” Harry asked after a moment.

Jack paused. “No, probably not.”

“He didn't last time.”

“I know.”

“So he might not this time.”

“Maybe.” He paused again. “But he'll be around. Dad, you're gonna bump into him.”

“Don't see why I should.”

“A little thing called Christmas?”

“I'll just stay here on Christmas Day.”

“No, you won't.”

“I don't need to come to some big family thing,” Harry replied. “I can be perfectly happy with my own company.”

“And spend all day bidding on things online?”

“Better than spending all day -” The old man paused. “Can't you get him to stay away?” he asked finally. “Talk to him, tell him there's no room this year. Tell him to put it off and maybe come next year, or the year after.” He sniffed again. “I'll probably be dead by then, God willing.”

“I can't tell him not to come.”

“You can. You and Beth can, together.”

“We can't.”

“You can!”

Sighing, Jack leaned back in the chair, and for a moment he and his father sat in silence, each with their own thoughts. The silence stretched out, filling the room, until they both seemed reluctant to be the first to speak again.

“I can't tell him not to come,” Jack said finally, not bothering this time to raise his voice for his father's benefit. “I can't tell my own brother to keep away at Christmas. He's coming and...” He paused, running through the possibilities before sighing as he admitted defeat. “He's coming and that's just the way it is. We can't do a damn thing about it.”

Harry, who was pretending not to have heard, simply stared at the dark window.

“Hey buddy, you mind if I sit here?”

Glancing to his left, Joe Baldwin saw that a scruffy, smiling guy was hovering next to the bar stool a little further toward the wall, waiting with a faint smile for an answer.

“Free country,” Joe muttered, before looking back down at his almost-empty beer. “Knock yourself out.”

“Sure it is,” the guy continued as he took a seat and signaled to the barmaid for a drink, “but you know, sometimes when a man wants to be alone, he needs a certain margin around him. A no-man's land of the soul, so to speak.” His smile broadened as he waited for a response.

Ignoring him, Joe picked up his glass and sloshed the remaining beer around, wondering how much was actually beer now and how much was spit. Finally, he leaned back and downed the lot, before sliding the glass toward Mel as she brought the stranger's drink.

“You sure about that?” she asked.

“Gimme another,” Joe replied.

“One more, then,” she told him, taking the glass. “Just one.”

“Same glass is fine,” he muttered, staring down at the bar. There was a chip in the wood he'd been working on, using his dirty nails to pull at the edges when Mel wasn't looking. After a moment, however, he realized the stranger was staring at him. He waited for the guy to look away, before finally turning to meet his gaze. “What?”

“Nothing,” the stranger replied with a faint smile, “I just... You look like you're having quite a night there. Party of one, so to speak.”

“Just grabbing a quiet beer,” Joe told him. “Didn't mean to start a conversation about it.”

“Course not, course not.” The stranger paused. “Nice night out, huh? Pretty cold around -”

“I'm not really much for talking,” Joe replied, interrupting him. “Sorry. I just came to...” His voice trailed off as Mel set his beer down. He muttered something else under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear, as he slid some coins toward her.

“Fresh glass,” Mel told him.

“I was fine with the old one.”

“Go home after this, yeah?” she continued, with evident concern in her voice. “It's almost midnight. Don't you have to be up early for work?”

“Don't worry about that,” he replied, barely keeping his eyes open as he took a long, deep swig of beer, some of which spilled out the side and trickled through his rough stubble. “I'll be there bang on time.”

“I was just commenting,” the stranger told Mel, “that it's a cold night out.”

She smiled politely, before heading over to the cash register.

“You new here?” the stranger asked, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

“Not really,” she replied, clearly not too keen on a long conversation.

“But you weren't born in Bowley, were you?”

“I moved here a couple of years ago.”

“You
moved
here?” He smiled as he took a sip of beer. “Wow, I didn't think people
moved
to Bowley anymore. I thought the flow of traffic was strictly one-way, straight outta here. That's the smart move, you know. Go to some town that's got a pulse.” He waited for a reply, but after a moment he realized she was more interested in counting change from the register. Turning, he watched as Joe took another long swig of beer, bringing his fresh glass down to the half-empty line already. “You're moving that stuff pretty fast,” he commented after a few seconds. “Heavy night?”

Slowly, Joe turned to him.

“Sorry,” the stranger added, holding up a hand. “No offense.”

“I just came to do some thinking,” Joe replied. “No offense to
you
, Sir, but...”

“Totally,” the stranger said, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on your quiet time. I know how annoying it can be when you just want to hide away by yourself and then someone comes and interrupts you.” He paused. “I've always thought, actually, that it's a measure of a good man if he can be happy in his own company without -”

“Jesus,” Joe muttered, getting up from his stool and taking a few stumbling steps around the side of the bar, heading toward the bathroom. As he passed the stranger, he patted the guy on the back. “You talk a lot, fella,” he added. “A hell of a lot. Too much, some might say. You smile a lot, too There's no point smiling unless you've got a
reason
for it, otherwise you come out looking a bit weird.”

“Well...” The stranger turned and watched as Joe shuffled over to the door marked 'Gentlemen' and disappeared inside. “Yeah, I guess that's a good point.” Sighing, he looked down at his glass. “Yeah. I definitely talk too much.”

“Can I give you some advice?” Mel asked, glancing at him. “I guess if you're new in town, you don't know, but... Just let Joe be, okay? Leave him alone.”

“I
am
letting him be,” the stranger replied. “Just thought I'd make a little conversation, that's all.” He glanced over his shoulder, taking a look around the empty bar. There were a couple of booths over on the far side, with neon signs above them, and someone sometime had thought to hang some flashing, multi-colored fairy-lights from the ceiling. “I've gotta admit,” he added with a sigh, “I figured this place'd be a little more rockin', you know? I've never seen a place so lit up, but with so few people inside.”

“It's December 11
th
,” she told him. “Bowley tends to be a little quiet on December 11
th
.”

“Is that right?” He paused. “Any reason?”

She finished counting the money and then closed the register, clearly feeling a little uncomfortable. “It's an anniversary,” she said after a moment. “One people round here don't really like to think about.”

He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Glancing at the bathroom door, Mel seemed keen to make sure that Joe didn't come back too soon and overhear the conversation.

“I don't wanna step on any toes,” the stranger continued. “If there's something I oughta keep away from, though, I'd sure like to know what it is so I can do a better job than I've been doing so far. 'Cause right now I feel like I just stepped right in the middle of the salad.”

She paused. “It doesn't matter. Just -”

Before she could finish, her phone rang and she grabbed it so fast, it was clear she was grateful for the interruption.

“Mel at the Monument,” she said, flashing a smile at the stranger before turning away. “Hey, how are you doing?”

The stranger watched the back of her head as she took a couple of steps away.

“Yeah, I spoke to him,” she continued. “No, sorry, he said there's nothing going at the moment.” She paused. “I don't have a clue, to be honest. I don't think there are many jobs going anywhere. Maybe you could try -” Another pause, and this time she sounded a little more stressed when she spoke again. “No, I told you, I asked him and there's nothing. Katie, I think -” She sighed. “Katie, I didn't
promise
anything, except that I'd ask. I asked and he said no. I wish I could do more for you, but -”

She looked down at her phone.

“Well screw you too,” she muttered.

“Something wrong?” the stranger asked.

“Just someone looking for a job,” she replied, turning to him as she set her phone next to the register. “It's not the best time to be out of work.”

“Not many options in a town like this, huh?”

“That's an understatement,” she replied. “Sorry, I shouldn't have... I mean, I'm just a little on edge, 'cause -”

“December 11
th
?” the stranger suggested.

“Exactly.”

“So what happened here on December 11
th
?” he asked, picking up a cardboard bar-mat and starting to tear little pieces away. “If you don't mind me asking, that is.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“So why's everyone still jumpy about it?”

She paused. “Someone died. That's all.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened as he began to make a little pile from the torn pieces of cardboard. “Someone
died
, huh? Doesn't get much worse than that.”

“Yeah,” Mel said, glancing at the bathroom door as if she was worried about Joe overhearing them. “People don't exactly feel like doing much on the anniversary. That's all.”

“Except yer man right here,” the stranger replied, glancing at Joe's glass.

“It's different for him.”

“It is?”

“He...” Another pause.

After setting the last piece of torn cardboard on the pile, the stranger waited for her to continue.

“Joe was with Caitlin when she was killed,” Mel said finally. “He barely got away with his life, and... Well, that's that. There's no point over-complicating the story.”

“Wow,” the stranger muttered, raising both eyebrows at once, “that's gotta get to a guy deep down where it hurts. Nine years ago, so he'd have been, what... I mean, he doesn't look like an old chap.”

“Fifteen,” she replied, glancing at the bathroom door again. “He was fifteen. She was seventeen.”

“God, and I guess he saw the whole thing, huh? No wonder the guy wants to drink the memories away.”

“It's not just tonight with him,” Mel explained. “Tonight's just a different context. He's in here every night, downing pint after pint and -” She stopped suddenly, as if she'd suddenly realized she was saying too much. “At least he's not drinking alone, right?”

“Drinking alone, thinking alone,” the stranger muttered. “Both can be dangerous.”

“I should shut up.”

“It's okay,” the stranger said with a smile, “I have that effect on people.”

“What effect?”

“Makin' 'em talk,” he continued, holding his hands up as if to express his innocence, “It's like, when someone gets yammering away to me, they just keep on going like the brakes on their mouth have failed. I must just have that kind of face.”

“Huh.” She smiled politely, as a bumping sound could be heard from the bathroom. “Just leave Joe be, yeah? He's gonna be okay. Let him sit silently and have his thoughts.”

As the stranger mimed zipping his lips shut, the bathroom door opened and Joe came stumbling out, holding onto the bar for a moment to steady himself. Clearly unsteady on his feet and barely able to focus, he made his way back to his stool and slumped down, before taking another big swig from his beer. For his part, the stranger glanced over at him but kept his mouth shut, before looking back down at his own drink.

“Gotta change the barrel,” Mel muttered a few minutes later, wiping her hands on a towel. “You guys behave while I'm gone.”

“You want a hand with that?” the stranger asked. “I've changed plenty of barrels in my time.”

“I'll be fine, thanks.”

“Honest, I -”

“Really, I'm fine. Thank you for your kind offer.”

Once Mel was down in the cellar, the stranger took another sip of beer before turning to look over at Joe again, and this time his gaze lingered until the other man became aware and turned to him.

“I heard it's a tough day for you,” the stranger said. “Nine years since you saw some girl get murdered. What was her name again? Caitlin?”

Joe opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. After a moment, he simply looked back down at his glass.

“Man, that must be tough,” the stranger continued. “Was she your girlfriend, or just a normal friend? Were you getting a little action?”

Joe muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” the stranger asked.

“Nothing.”

“The death of a loved one is no easy matter,” the stranger continued, “that's for damn sure. It gets us here, in the chest, and leaves a permanent shadow.” As if to prove his point, he patted himself just below his collarbone. “I know people pile on with their platitudes,” he added, “but let me tell you, friend, it never goes away. The pain, the loss, the grief... It's like anything, you notice it less after it's been around for a while, but every so often you suddenly remember and...” Another pause. “And then it gets you again. Kicks you right in the gut, makes you -”

Suddenly Joe rose from his stool again, taking one last swig from his glass before turning and stumbling toward the exit.

“You off somewhere, fella?” the stranger asked. “Got somewhere to be?”

Without replying, Joe pushed the door open and paused for a moment, before making his way out into the cold night air.

“Huh,” the stranger muttered, looking back down at his glass and then holding it up to examine a crack on the side. “Well, I swear that wasn't there a minute ago.”

A moment later, Mel came up from the cellar, a little out of breath.

“Bathroom again?” she asked as soon as she saw the empty stool where Joe had been a few seconds ago.

“He left,” the stranger replied with a shrug. “Just got up and tottered out.”

“Why?”

“Beats me.” He took another swig of beer. “The guy just upped and left. I hope I didn't say anything that upset him, but... I don't think I did. I guess he's just got a lot on his mind tonight, huh?”