Rider (6 page)

‘That’s a lot of maybes,’ David said, stubbing his cigarette out on the pillar that supported one corner of the pool’s ceiling, ‘But it does sound plausible.’

‘Does it?’ Kane asked. He wasn’t so sure.

‘Coffee?’ Margaret asked. She moved across the kitchen in a tired shuffle, her head bowed, shoulders drooping. The beige dressing gown she wore looked new, much like all her other clothing, but she carried premature old age as she moved.

Kane smiled sombrely and sat at the breakfast bar with a sigh. ‘Black, please.’

She worked on her upper lip with her teeth as she handed him a cup and sat down opposite him, picking at an invisible spot on the countertop. She sniffled, sipped at her coffee, and looked away. Kane could see her eyes blinking frantically as she tried to hold back her tears.

‘I think they said it might rain later today,’ she offered, steering the conversation in a mangled and pointless direction.

He didn’t respond, didn’t know what to say.

Margaret returned her attention to the counter, scratching with a fingernail, rubbing with a thumb. She wet her lips with her tongue and sniffled again. ‘How are you?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘I’m good,’ he lied. ‘Thanks for—you know—letting me stay the night.’

Her smile was momentary, obligatory.

‘I’m letting David sleep late,’ she said. ‘He needs it.’ She sighed and sat back, her arms useless and everywhere—folded, unfolded, at her sides, in her pockets. And then her face dipped into her hands and she wept silently.

Kane bit his lip. How could he comfort her when the only thing he wanted was comfort for himself?

* * *

Ryan had once introduced him to a friend. They’d bumped into him at a nightclub and Ryan immediately conspired with the guy in a corner before bringing him anywhere near Kane. ‘Kane, this is Randy.’

He
looked
randy. Kane thought he was off his head, juiced up on alcohol or drugs or both. Randy shook his hand and grinned yellow teeth.

‘He’s going to buy us a drink. Aren’t you, Randy?’ Ryan placed his hand on Randy’s shoulder. The music drove through the club like waves of invigorating energy.

Randy looked at Ryan. Ryan looked at Randy. Kane looked at the floor.

‘Sure,’ Randy said. He bought margaritas and sat at their table, rubbing his nicotine-stained fingers together like he had an itch.

Ryan leaned his head on Kane’s shoulder, always one for open displays of affection. He kissed his neck, his teeth touching his skin, his tongue flicking out to taste him. Randy cleared his throat between songs and Ryan smiled.

‘Got myself some dancing shoes,’ Randy slurred.

‘Dancing shoes?’ Kane asked.

He nodded. ‘You know.
Shoes
. Like to dance in.’

Ryan squeezed Kane’s thigh. ‘Randy wants to dance,’ he whispered. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

Kane shrugged. Ryan put his tongue in Kane’s mouth and he could taste the margarita. They disappeared onto the dance floor and Kane didn’t see them for nearly half an hour. His head began to spin and his heart accelerated, thumpthumpthumping inside his chest like it wanted out. And he didn’t know it then, but now he supposed Randy could have slipped something into his drink. Ecstasy or whatever. Something. Or it could have been Ryan.

He gulped at his margarita, the paper umbrella whizzing to the ground as it spilled from the glass. Somebody trampled on it and he cursed. He leaned over to pick it up and nearly fell from his seat. He steadied himself against the table and opened his eyes wide then clenched them, then opened them again. He wondered how many drinks he had had.

He felt sick. He felt dizzy. But he felt like he wanted to dance. And his heart was still pounding and he was sweating. And when Ryan came back with his dancing queen Kane stood and smiled and fell.

‘Whoa,’ Ryan laughed and sat him back in the chair. ‘Steady on. Are you drunk?’ Kane shook his head and the world went out of focus. Ryan’s face blurred into Randy’s.

When his heart had slowed to a regular pattern and his sweat had dried on his face, Randy was gone and the music was shooting pains through his brain and Ryan was grinning at him like he owned the world.

* * *

David put the phone down as Kane and Margaret came into the kitchen from the garden. They were discussing some sort of permanent memorial for Ryan, a tree or a statue.

‘Who was that?’ Margaret asked, kissing David on the cheek.

‘Just work,’ he said. He juiced an orange. ‘I have to go into the office. Not for long. Are you going to be okay?’

‘The office?’ she asked, sitting a tall glass flute on the counter for him.

‘It’s this
London
deal,’ David told them.

‘I thought that was cut and dried,’ Margaret said.

‘You have a deal in
London
?’ Kane asked.

‘It’s big,’ he said. ‘A very important client.’ He drained the orange juice into the glass. To Margaret he said, ‘Something’s upset our contact and we need to get it sorted or it might fall through. You’ll be all right? I’ll only be out for an hour. Two at the most.’

Margaret nodded and smiled distractedly. Her attention was on a framed photograph of Ryan and Kane that hung next to the clock. David knocked back the orange juice, kissed his wife, patted Kane on the back, and left.

‘He spends too much time in the office,’ Margaret said, still looking at the picture. She took the snap two years ago with a black and white film. It was natural; Margaret hated posed photographs. Ryan was opening a Christmas present and Kane was only half in the frame, half out of focus, watching him. The huge Christmas tree sparkled in star-like kisses in the background.

‘It was a great Christmas,’ Kane said. ‘Ryan never laughed so much.’

‘Yes,’ Margaret said, her hand held to her breastbone. She turned away, obviously in pain.

‘What’s this deal David’s doing?’ Kane asked.

‘Sorry? Oh. I’m not sure. I never really understand these things. Some financial thing, I expect. Clematis,’ she said. ‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Opposite the apple tree. We could put a little plaque there. You know, with his name on it.’

Kane followed her gaze out into the garden. The apples were ripe. Full of life.

‘What do you think?’ she asked.

‘That would be nice,’ he said.

And she cried against his shoulder.

* * *

Dinner at Margaret’s. She said she wanted to be close to Kane, closer than before. She no longer had a son; for nearly four years Kane didn’t have a mother. Ryan got him through her last cancerous days, through the funeral, and through the desolate days and months that followed. Now Margaret and Kane were leaning on each other, offering support and receiving it in kind.

David was distant during the meal. He and Margaret were having a whispered conversation when Kane arrived and as they ate they barely spoke to each other. Kane could only think it had something to do with the outcome of his
London
deal.

Ryan was the topic of conversation for the most part. ‘Remember,’ Margaret began, ‘the time you saved his life?’ She looked at David, smiled wistfully.

Kane had never heard this story. ‘When was that?’ he asked.

David shook his head. ‘Years ago.’

‘He could have drowned if it wasn’t for David,’ Margaret told him. She drank from a glass of water. ‘Where were we?
Algarve
?’

David nodded, chewed some food.

Margaret continued. ‘It wasn’t long after we’d eaten, I think. We were sitting on the beach and it was so hot. I remember I made Ryan put on twice as much sun block as normal. He went for a swim. I told him not to go too far but you know what boys are like.’

She paused. Kane waited, listening. It turned out he didn’t know Ryan at all.

She sat her cutlery down, laced her fingers under her chin. ‘He got caught in the tide or something. If it hadn’t been for David’s keen eye…Well. He rescued him, anyway. Ran into the water, swam out to him, and dragged him back in, coughing and spluttering like he’d swallowed half the sea. It was months before he went swimming again.’

Margaret took another drink and sat the glass down, daubing at the corners of her mouth with a peach-coloured napkin. She gave a tiny burst of laughter, but her eyes remained sad. Everything was just a memory now.

David chewed on his food and stared at his plate.

Kane could see the tension between them was hurting Margaret. He had to ask. ‘How are things with your
London
deal, David? Everything okay?’

David snorted and Margaret took another drink.

‘Not good,’ he said. ‘The bas—’ He glanced at Margaret and stopped himself. ‘This guy in
London
has got it in his head that the deal won’t work. Says it’s just a feeling, but someone must’ve said something.’

‘Any idea who?’ Kane asked.

‘No, and that’s the thing. No one would want to jeopardise this for us. It’s a big deal. Our biggest.’

So that was it, Kane thought. David was losing a deal and he and Margaret had argued about it.

But David continued, ‘I’m going to have to go over there. Try to rescue the whole situation. I leave tonight.’ He shook his head in disgust. That revelation would have hurt Margaret even more than a lost deal. Not long after her son’s death and already her husband was talking about going out of the country.

‘Isn’t there anyone else that could go?’ Kane asked.

‘Apparently not,’ Margaret said.

‘Honey, I told you this already. There’s no one else we can trust. I thought you understood.’

‘What I
understand
is that you think your work is more important than everything else.’

‘That’s not fair. You know that’s not true. But this deal, it’s the biggest thing we’ve got. If we clinch it, we’re set.’

Kane cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure if he should try to help them resolve this, or step back out of the way.

‘I buried my son yesterday,’ Margaret spat. She stood and stared at David. ‘You think that was easy for me? What I need right now is some support. I didn’t expect you to come home and tell me you’re jetting off to
London
on some businesslike holiday.’

David simply stared back at her, his eyes narrow, one hand making a fist around his napkin. Calmly, he said, ‘It isn’t like that. I love you, Margaret, and I loved Ryan like he was my own, but you have to understand. This business is all we have. If I can’t make it work we’ll go under.’

Margaret blinked, picked up her plate, and left the dining room for the kitchen.

Kane put his hands on the seat of his chair to stand. ‘Should I…?’

‘Leave her,’ David said. Then he sighed. ‘I’ll go.’

Kane watched him go through into the kitchen and stared at the door as it swung closed. Their voices were muffled, angry, and then gradually their tone softened and he thought he heard Margaret tell David she loved him. ‘Of course I’ll come with you,’ she said.

When they came back into the dining room he was standing by the CD rack at the far wall holding a copy of an Ella Fitzgerald album. Ryan was a fan. Kane turned as they entered. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, holding the CD up.