Someone Else's Conflict (22 page)

‘Of course,' she said, her own certainty suddenly repaired and shored up by her friend's doubt.

‘Listen, why don't you come over? Steve's off on a climbing weekend, but bring Gypsy Jay anyway.'

Marilyn laughed. ‘Much as I'd love to introduce you, I'm afraid he's had to go off for the weekend too.'

‘Girly afternoon it is, then.'

As she drove over to the Mason's Arms, Marilyn wished Jay was in the car with her, but was determined not to brood. She'd give him another day before she got either worried or annoyed. There could be any number of places he'd had to go; letting her know would be awkward to say the least. A day away would do her good, get things in perspective.

She'd timed it well; the Sunday lunch rush was slowing as she arrived. Marilyn pitched in to help until it was quiet enough to leave to the staff, and she and Sue went out for a walk. She enjoyed catching up on the gossip – it was amazing how much could happen in a couple of weeks. In turn she told her friend about the recent storm disaster and the progress they'd made since. She tried to ignore today's absence and concentrate on the optimism she'd been feeling, more positive than she'd felt since a long time before Jay appeared on the scene. Sue seemed impressed by the help he'd given her, and eventually even stopped teasing her about his unconventional lifestyle. Simply telling her friend about him made it all seem more real, more reliable, and as Marilyn drove home, enjoying a moment of satisfaction as Jay's atmospheric music matched the rhythm of the wipers, she was sure he'd be waiting for her when she got back to Stoneleigh.

He wasn't.

Chapter 18

The English countryside flashed by. Rolling fields, clumped trees, roads and canals with their cars and boats, houses isolated or huddled in villages, the spire of a church standing guard. Occasionally Jay even caught a glimpse of people. Perhaps it was the speed, but it was rare he saw people, as if they were hiding from this speeding monster. Buildings, objects, fields – snippets of lives that he knew nothing about and never would. The detachment made him feel good to be back on the move after all. Wasn't this where he belonged? Not here, this train, this table, but the freedom of transience. He thought of his bag, his life, left behind at Stoneleigh. He shook his head at the ghost of his reflection in the window. Come on, this never really felt right. Simply less wrong, when there was always the promise of something else round the corner. He suddenly felt glad his bag was at Polly's; it meant he was sure to go back, whatever else happened. He couldn't run away this time, and he was ashamed he'd even thought about it. However briefly.

He glanced at Vinko across the table, gazing out as if entranced by the landscape, the far horizon rolling gently by and the nearer view streaking to a blur or separating into blinking snapshots. He wondered what it was the lad had got himself involved in. After a flash of anger he'd actually seemed relieved when Jay confessed about eavesdropping on his messages. As if he'd have done the same, or as if he now had something on his new friend that he could use if Jay tried to criticise him. Perhaps that was mere projecting; it was Jay himself who needed that kind of defence.

Whoever this Novak was, he was asking Vinko to do something he didn't want to do; he'd been evasive, saying only that he'd failed to meet someone the previous night. Vinko had again seemed eager for Jay to make this journey to Winchester as soon as he could, and had jumped at the chance to come along to get away for a day or two. He said he'd never been on a train before, but Jay suspected that wasn't all; hopefully he'd tell him what it was about when he was ready. Or not. Perhaps the man would get the message and lose interest.

Jay didn't think too hard about why he was doing all this. He rarely questioned why he did anything these days. He didn't always like the answer. The only reason for doing so now was to have some idea of what to tell Polly. When he got in touch with her. He was about to get his phone out, think of how to track down a number for her, when Vinko looked round. With his fleeting half-smile, Jay was as struck as he had been when they first met at the resemblance to Ivan.

‘I can see why you enjoy travelling,' Vinko said.

‘Enjoy?' Jay shrugged. ‘It's just what I do.'

Vinko turned from the window and leaned on the table between them.

‘How do I know I can trust you?' His voice was matter-of-fact; he could have been suggesting they went for a coffee. Jay was taken aback. Trust as in did he mean him harm? That was easy – no. Or, more likely, could he rely on him? Not so easy.

‘What do you mean?'

‘What do you want from me?'

‘Nothing.' The first. Easy.

Vinko shook his head. ‘Everybody wants something.'

‘I just want to help. I told you this wasn't a good time for me. I didn't have to come now – I hope that tells you something.'

He got no response; Vinko was looking past him, tensing visibly, and he heard the connecting doors of the carriage opening. Jay looked round and saw the ticket inspector, recalling the lad's earlier nervousness at the station. He had turned back to stare out of the window, hunched into the seat as if trying to make himself invisible.

‘There's no need to worry,' Jay said, digging into his pocket, ‘I've got the tickets.'

‘I've got no ID,' Vinko muttered. ‘I should have told you.'

‘You don't need anything like that.'

‘He won't ask for ID?'

Jay shook his head and held the tickets up for the inspector as he passed. Vinko forced a smile as the man nodded to him.

‘See?'

The man moved quickly on down the half-empty carriage. Vinko started to roll a cigarette. Jay reminded him he couldn't smoke on the train and he put it away reluctantly. He looked briefly like a small boy.

‘It reminded me of a bad experience I had.'

‘What happened?'

‘I tried to go on a journey.' He glanced round, taking in the few scattered passengers towards the other end of the carriage, who wouldn't understand the language they were speaking even if they could hear. ‘I have been on a train before. Once. Ran away. I was ten, eleven. Had the crazy idea of going to Croatia, where I could
be
someone. But I didn't get far.' He paused, looked down at his restless hands, turned again to stare out of the window. ‘I had no ID, hardly any money, nothing. I managed to dodge the ticket guy, but got as far as the first border and realised I knew nothing. Thought I knew but I didn't. Nothing about where I was or how to get anywhere if I was nobody. I was nobody because my mother had done it like that, told no one about me, couldn't even send me to school, because I was all she had and she was terrified they'd take me away. So I left the train at the last place before the border and went straight back to her. Never explained where I'd been, never tried again. I realised she was all I had, too. She and her friends in the…house where we lived. Where she worked.'

He was still turned towards the window, fingers tapping restlessly on his knee.

‘Didn't any of them tell anyone about you? Try and help you both?'

‘Of course not. They were in the same position as she was. Don't get me wrong, they did their best. My mother and my “aunties” took it in turns to look after me. Gave me what I needed, taught me stuff, reading and the like. I was allowed out sometimes, had one or two mates. I was happy most of the time.' He turned. ‘What kid wouldn't be happy, not having to go to school?'

Jay echoed his sudden smile uncomfortably.

‘
I
wasn't! The other kids were jealous I didn't have to go and I was jealous of them because they did. Always wondering what I was missing. You said you know what it's like to be an outsider.' He turned back to the window. ‘There was a special section in the library, in our language, collected for refugees – my mates never knew I went there or my life wouldn't have been worth living. But I always wanted to know things. Mum liked it when I told her things I'd read.' He paused. ‘I was often the only one she'd listen to. When things were black. Sometimes even I couldn't reach her.'

‘Weren't you—?'

‘That was just how it was.'

‘Why didn't she go back?'

‘She couldn't, could she? As I got older, I knew she was controlled. The people who ran the house, they kept her there. She had no money of her own. They'd taken her passport. And she was totally dependent on stuff. Smack. That was another thing I realised – she said it was her comfort, the only time she felt happy. But I know they got her dependent. Another form of control, wasn't it?' He seemed to shrink into himself. ‘I hated it when she died, but her life wasn't much better.'

He turned and looked at Jay intensely, challenging him to judge.

‘I don't understand… I thought there were all sorts of facilities for refugees. Why did she end up there?'

‘I don't know, do I? I think she spent some time at a centre towards the end of the war and it was pretty grim. Till someone she knew offered her this
opportunity
.' He spat the word. ‘When you've got nothing people offer you all sorts of things. You're going to end up somewhere decent, get away, get a job. They'll make sure you and your kid when it's born will be OK. And when you've
really
got nothing you believe them. Mum said if Zora's place hadn't burned down it would've been different. After my dad was killed, it would've been somewhere she could have stayed at least long enough to get herself together… She loved that place. And the woman who took her in. Where she met my father. But it did burn down.' He shrugged. ‘And she had nothing.'

Not for the first time Jay wondered what would have happened if he'd stayed. He shook his head. What made him think he could have done anything?

‘Do you know what happened? The front line was miles away. How come the house was destroyed?'

Vinko looked at him wryly. ‘You're the man with the questions this morning, aren't you?'

‘I—'

‘I don't mind. Not that I know much. But I know what Mum thought, though she hardly ever talked about it. I think Zora and her husband had some violent rows. Literally violent. I suppose you knew?'

Jay barely managed to nod. Vinko continued.

‘He assaulted people, my mother included – I'm not sure she ever told me that, but I knew. One time he came back from the fighting and something had happened. It was particularly bad. He ended up setting fire to the house. People probably thought it was war damage, later. Zora got away, I think they all did, but there was no house and my mother never saw her again.'

Jay felt hollow. When he eventually found his voice, it sounded surprisingly normal. ‘You're saying it was Lek destroyed the place?'

Vinko was silent for a moment. ‘Lek?'

‘Zora's lover. I don't think they were married.'

Vinko stared at him. ‘Yeah, right. My Mum just called him “that bastard” or the like – the few times she mentioned it and I could get what she was on about. It was mainly a case of looking at the few photos she had – that was how I recognised you. And talking about Dad – Zora – the house, like a safe place despite everything. She used to smile. It scared me – as if the only time she'd been happy was in the middle of a war. But then she'd close up. Most of the time she'd get mad at me for even asking. I didn't ask much anyway. I'm probably guessing most of what I've told you. Sorry.'

‘Don't apologise. I should be doing that. I don't know what I can say.'

‘What is there to say?' He shook his head. ‘I told you yesterday: I don't mind, it's done and gone. And you said yourself, it's all in the past.'

‘So how come you ended up here?'

Vinko turned back to the window, got his tobacco out of his jacket pocket, remembered he couldn't smoke, put it back. Jay waited. ‘There were things you wouldn't talk about last night. I've had enough talking.' He smiled. ‘I'll tell you when I'm ready.
If
I'm ready.'

It stung all the more for being an echo of his own words.

‘You still haven't told me why I should trust you.' Any trace of humour had gone from Vinko's expression. He seemed to have closed himself off as he glanced around the half-empty carriage. ‘Or this guy you said you'd take me to see.'

‘You don't have to see anyone. I said my agent might know someone who specialises in immigration. You asked. I might be able to get you an appointment, though I'm not promising anything.'

‘I've told you now. How it was. I don't have to go and see anyone. You do the talking for me.'

Jay shook his head. ‘It'll have to come from you. Facts, Vinko.' The lad shrugged. ‘Or did you really only come for the ride?'

‘I don't know.'

They travelled on in silence. Jay wished he knew what to say. He wanted to talk. About anything, not prying, not a desperate attempt to make up for years of absence in just a few hours. Talk about anything, the scenery, ask him what music he liked, whatever. And talk to stop himself thinking about what he'd heard. He told himself the fire couldn't have been his fault. They'd argued about all kinds of things. And it might not even have been as Vinko said; the lad had suggested as much himself. Even if it had been because of him, that didn't necessarily make it his fault, did it? ‘There's always blame.' The train slowed, came to a standstill. Typical Sunday service. He saw a movement in a nearby copse of trees. The boy, watching him. He breathed deeply.