Dev grabbed his rucksack and chucked in his toiletries bag. Then he frowned and pulled it all out again. He had plenty of all this crap back in the flat. He picked up his phone charger and his jacket and headed out, glancing at his watch. Past one o’clock. And they still hadn’t eaten. Shame they hadn’t checked out those food stalls down by the seafront. He hoped Kyle would think to make himself a sandwich while he was waiting for Dev to get there. Dev wasn’t sure he could stomach anything right now.
God, were the cops feeding Tasha regular? Were they checking on her to make sure she hadn’t gone into a hypo? They wouldn’t let her die in custody, would they?
No. No, shit, he was worrying about nothing. She’d said she’d told them all about her medical issues. They had to know how to treat people with diabetes. It wasn’t that uncommon.
It wasn’t just Tasha’s situation that was doing his head in, though. Kyle had been so different once he’d got on the phone to that solicitor mate of his. Before, even. He’d looked more . . . Shit. More awake than Dev had ever seen him. It was like he’d flicked a switch and gone into legal-eagle mode.
Dev had thought . . . Well, he’d thought he knew the bloke, that was all. And now he wasn’t sure.
Christ. Was this what he’d meant about them not being long-term?
Fuck it. Tasha was all that mattered right now. Dev got on the Hornet and headed off to Kyle’s.
Against all odds, the Fiesta made it to the airport in Newquay. Dev wouldn’t have trusted her, but Kyle had promised if she broke down they’d leave her by the side of the road and get a taxi the rest of the way.
Getting on a plane to go somewhere in the same country felt well weird, like cheating or something, but Kyle seemed to take it in stride. “You do this a lot?” Dev asked.
“Hmm?” Kyle was staring out of the window at the runway as the plane started to taxi. Dev wondered what he’d been thinking about.
“Fly across country. For work and that.”
“Oh, no. Trains, usually. They’re better for working on.”
“Yeah? Mal hates travelling by train.” Christ, why had he even said that?
“Travel sickness?”
“Nah, it’s . . . he’s a Tube driver. Don’t like riding on a train if he ain’t driving it.”
Kyle put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay with flying? I should have asked earlier.”
“What? No. I mean, yeah, I’m fine.” Shit, he had been acting weird, hadn’t he? “Just worried about Tasha, you know? Sorry. I’ll shut up. You probably wanna get some rest.”
“I don’t have to—”
“Nah, but you oughtta, right? Gonna be a while before you get another chance.” And it’d stop Dev making such an arse of himself and all.
Kyle squeezed his arm and was asleep almost before the plane’s wheels left the tarmac.
Dev leafed through the in-flight magazine, briefly amused himself wondering what the pale, flaky stain on page seventeen was—baby milk, if he had to guess—then spent the rest of the short flight worrying.
Mostly about Tasha. But every now and then he managed to convince himself she’d be okay, and then, like rust creeping through a chassis, doubts about him and Kyle would seep in and corrode his confidence. Dev tried to tell himself it was stupid—for fuck’s sake, the bloke was flying across the country to help him out. That had to mean something, right?
But then he’d remember Kyle’s words. “That’s not what this is about.”
So what the fuck was it about for Kyle? Just a bit of rough for a couple of weeks?
No. He couldn’t think like that.
Kyle tried ringing Tasha’s solicitor almost as soon as they’d got off the plane, but it went to voice mail. They managed to get on a train down to Clapham with barely a moment to spare, and he tried again with the same result.
Which was good, probably, because it meant the bloke was busy sorting Tasha out, didn’t it? Whatever that involved. Just being there while they questioned her? Or telling her what to say when she made a statement? Shit. Dev ought to know this stuff, didn’t he? Bloody fantastic big brother he was turning out to be. He ought to know about solicitors and stuff, not just trust legal aid to sort it all out, because it wasn’t like the care system had done either of them any favours, was it? Why should the legal system be any better?
The next time Kyle tried, his mate answered, and he was off, asking all kinds of questions Dev wouldn’t even have thought of. Dev sat there on the train feeling more and more useless by the minute.
And of course it was great that Kyle had taken charge, and everything just might turn out all right. But Christ . . . What the fucking hell had Dev been thinking, getting involved with someone like that? Kyle—this Kyle—wasn’t the sort of bloke who ended up with a sodding motor mechanic from a shit area of London. This Kyle was the sort of bloke who, yeah, had a nice house in fucking Surrey with a partner as professional as he was. They probably spent their weekends playing tennis and golf and buying antiques and walking the Queen’s corgis, for all Dev knew. Not vegging out in front of the telly or going down the pub with a bunch of working-class lads like Dev and his mates.
How the fuck had Dev ever managed to convince himself they had a chance together?
When he hung up, Kyle looked tired but, maybe, pleased? “She’s being released.”
If he hadn’t been sitting down, Dev might have had his own little cataplexy episode right then. “Oh thank fuck.”
A woman in a business suit sitting opposite gave him a dirty look. Dev didn’t care.
“Don’t get too excited,” Kyle warned. “It’s on police bail, which means the investigation is ongoing. She might yet get charged with an offence.”
“Shit.” Yep, dirty look number two, right on time.
“Don’t worry. With luck, it won’t happen. It seems this flatmate—boyfriend, did you say?—of hers is quite well-known to the police in relation to drugs offences. And if, in the worst-case scenario, it goes to trial, I’m confident we’ll be able to get the court on our side.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Dev scrubbed his face with his hands. “Don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
Kyle was smiling at him. “Just glad I could help. It’s a bit of a novel feeling these days.”
“Bollocks. What about all them meals you cooked me?”
“They were hardly cordon bleu.”
“Ate ’em, didn’t I? Didn’t even complain.”
“No? I suppose I must have dreamed that comment about poorly cooked pasta, then.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the narcolepsy, innit? Bad dreams go with the territory. It ain’t your fault.” They were both grinning like idiots, and Dev’s heart clenched. They had to have a chance, right? Him and Kyle. So what if they came from different backgrounds? All that mattered was having a good time together, wasn’t it?
Fuck, he hoped so.
They got a taxi from Clapham Junction down to Lavender Hill Police Station. The cabbie seemed to want to be nosy, but Kyle shut him up quick, just saying it was a business matter. And then they were there, anyway. Dev hadn’t realised it was so close to the railway station.
Tasha and the solicitor were waiting for them outside the nick. She ran up and hugged Dev so tight he could hardly breathe, then backed off and gave Kyle a wary look. “This is Kyle, yeah?”
“Good to meet you.” Kyle held out his hand. Dev was well proud when she shook it and didn’t even laugh. “I’m sure Tom’s told you this already, but we’ll be doing all we can to get you out of this unfortunate situation.”
Tasha beamed. “He’s been brilliant, Tom has. Told them coppers where to stick it.”
“In so many words?” Kyle asked. Dev was glad he was watching Kyle’s face right then, because his expression was a classic.
“Hardly,” the solicitor said. He was smiling pretty broad and all. He was a white bloke around Kyle’s age, not so good-looking but sharp-edged, somehow. Dev wasn’t sure he liked him. Maybe it was the suit, which looked well expensive and fitted him like the sort of glove they sold in Harrods.
Or maybe it wasn’t. The very next thing the bloke said to Kyle was, “How’s the . . .” and then he mimed sleeping, his head pillowed on folded hands, and let out a fake snore. If he hadn’t just got Tasha out of jail, Dev would have had a right go at him.
“Much as it was,” was all Kyle said, as Tasha gave them both baffled looks. “Tom, I can’t thank you enough. This is Dev, by the way. Tasha’s brother. Dev, this is Tom Saltash.”
Dev and the solicitor exchanged nods. He was glad the bloke didn’t hold out his hand, because Dev didn’t want to shake it.
Ah, fuck it. He was being a dick. “Cheers, mate. We owe you, me and Tasha. I mean it. Don’t know what we’d have done without you.”
“Think nothing of it. I could hardly stand by and leave such a lovely young lady in distress, now could I?”
Dev forced himself not to make a barf face, but seriously, what the fuck was this dude on?
Kyle brought it all back to business. “What are the bail conditions?”
“Pretty lenient. Tasha just has to present herself at the police station in three weeks’ time. No restrictions on place of abode.” Tom smiled, like that meant something.
Maybe it did. Kyle was smiling too. “Excellent. Does she have to surrender her passport?”
“She would, if she had one. That’s a routine requirement,” Tom added, turning to Tasha. “No reflection on your character or their perception thereof.”
Who even talked like that? “Right, well, cheers, mate. Guess we’ll take it from here.”
“Hang about,” Tasha threw in. “Tom’s gonna come out with us and celebrate, yeah?” She grabbed his arm. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?”
“Ah . . . That’s very kind, but I’m afraid I’ll need to get back to the office.” Tom gently got out of her hold. “And after that, my wife’s expecting me.”
Tasha pouted, but she didn’t push it.
Tom said his good-byes, getting Kyle to promise they’d catch up sometime over lunch, as if the bloke had forgotten Kyle had moved to Cornwall. Course, maybe Kyle had decided to move back? Dev had thought he’d feel happy about that. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“So what are we doing to celebrate?” Tasha asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Dev gave her a look. “You ain’t out of the woods yet, you know. Police bail ain’t the same as case dropped.”
She folded her arms. “Fine. Bloody killjoy. S’pose I’ll go home, then.”
“You ain’t going back to that house. Not to stay. What if they let that bastard out and all? You can pack your stuff, and you’re coming to mine.” She’d be a lot safer where he could keep an eye on her. And keep her away from the druggie boyfriend. “You can have Mal’s room till he’s back from holiday.”
“Are you gonna be there? I don’t wanna stay there on my own. And what about him?” She jerked her head at Kyle. He’d waved Tom off and was standing politely a few yards away, giving them some privacy.
“Course I— Ah, shit . . . wasn’t thinking. We were planning to go back to Cornwall.” Except what did Dev really have to go back for? That business with his mum was finished now. File closed. Game over. If Kyle didn’t want him . . . Dev’s gut twisted. “Hey, why don’t you come down to Cornwall with me? There’s another bed in my room at the B&B. It’ll be great. We can have a holiday together.”
“What about my job?”
“It’s a shit job. You know it’s a shit job. Ring ’em tomorrow and ask for time off, and if they don’t give it, tell ’em to sod off. There’s always more shit jobs. And, well, you need a break, don’t you? After today and all. Change of scene. It’ll do you good.” He knew he was laying it on way too thick, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“Fair enough. They’ve probably sacked me already for not turning up today. You sure it’s all right, though?”
“Course it’s all right. Ain’t like you’re leaving the country, is it? You’ll be back here before your three-weeks thing.”
“I didn’t mean the police.” She lowered her voice. “I meant with your bloke.”
“What, Kyle? He’s got his own house down there.”
“Yeah, but he ain’t gonna want me tagging along all the time, is he?”
“You’re family. He’ll understand.” At least, Dev hoped he would. If he didn’t . . . Well, maybe he’d been right about them not being a long-term thing, then.
Tasha leaned close and whispered, “You sure? You said he was a wanker.”
“What? No, I didn’t.” Had he? Shit, maybe he had, at that. Like, several million years ago. Dev’s gaze snapped guiltily to Kyle. He was tapping at his phone and didn’t seem to have heard, thank fuck. “Well, he ain’t, okay?”
Tasha gave him a look, then shrugged. “So are we all going back to mine, now? If we’re not going for a drink, I want a shower and some clothes that don’t smell like prison.” She shuddered.
Dev put his arm around her. “Ah, babe. Was it really bad?”
She looked at her feet. “I’m okay.” Her face was hidden by the great cloud of loose, curly hair falling around it, but she didn’t sound okay. Not really.
“Sure?”
“Yeah.” Tasha squared her shoulders and pasted on a smile. “So, we’re going back to my house to get my stuff now, yeah? Where’s your bike? Or did your bloke bring a car?”
“Nah, we flew.”
“What, from Cornwall? Get you. Daddy’s got his own private jet, has he?”
“No. And it was quicker, wasn’t it? If we’d come by car we’d probably still be sitting on the M5 in a traffic jam right now.” Dev looked at his watch. Only just past five o’clock. Crazy to think he’d still been in Cornwall a couple of hours ago. He raised his voice. “Kyle, you ready to go? We’re going to Tasha’s to pick up her stuff, then back to mine. We’ll have to get a taxi.”
Kyle nodded and shoved his phone back in his pocket. “We’d better walk up towards the station. There’s a rank there.”
He looked tired, Dev realised. “Maybe we should get something to eat first.”
Tasha groaned. “De-ev. Stop fussing. I can wait another hour or so.”
Dev was about to tell her it wasn’t about her, but he wasn’t sure Kyle would want him spreading it around about the narcolepsy. After the way he’d let everyone just think he was an alcy . . . No. Dev wasn’t gonna do that to him. Tom had mentioned it, sort of—but he hadn’t actually come out and said it. “Uh, Kyle? What do you think?”
“Fine.”
“You sure you don’t—”
“I’m fine.”
“Right, okay.” They set off along the street. Kyle flagged down a taxi before they’d got far—did they have lessons on doing that in posh schools? Dev never managed to get one anything like that quick—and Tasha gave the driver her address. Her old address, if Dev had anything to do with it.
Dev kept an eye on Kyle, and sure enough he started nodding off within minutes. Dev gave him a gentle nudge with his elbow, then couldn’t help glancing at Tasha, who was on the fold-down seat opposite, to see if she’d noticed.
She grinned. “More sleep, less bed, that’s what you need.”
Kyle let out what was hopefully an amused huff but didn’t fall off the seat, thank God. “If only you knew. This place we’re going to—I take it you’re on a month’s notice there?”
“Yeah. And that’s my deposit, so.” She shrugged. “Feel bad about walking out on Jase and Ana, but after what Matt done to me . . .”
Dev frowned. “Think they knew he was dealing?”
“They better not of. They knew me and him was . . . what we was.” She looked sad.
“Ah, babe. You really liked him?” She was too far away for a hug, so Dev leaned forward and put a hand on her knee.
“No, but . . . I slept with him, didn’t I? And he was a laugh. When he wasn’t halfway up his own arse. And I thought . . .”
“You’re better off without him,” Kyle interrupted firmly. “Anyone who could put you at risk like that isn’t worth wasting regret over.”
“Yeah, you got that right.”
Was it Dev’s imagination, or was Tasha giving Kyle a funny look?
They’d reached Tasha’s house, though, so Dev shoved it to the back of his mind. Which was easy enough, ’cos now he had new worries.
He’d known Tasha’s place was pretty shitty, but somehow he hadn’t realised just how bad it was. Not until he had to show it to Kyle. The tiny front garden was a junkyard of rusting appliances and kebab wrappers chucked in by people on their way home from the pub. One of the downstairs windows had been broken and boarded up with chipboard. It wouldn’t last five minutes against anyone who wanted to get in, but one look at the place told you no one who lived here was likely to have anything worth nicking.
Shame no one had broken in and nicked Matt’s stash before the police caught up with him and Tasha.
Christ, what must Kyle think of him, letting his sister live here? Dev just hoped Kyle would realise there was no “letting” about it. Tasha did what she wanted and always had. Dev had never worked out how to do anything more than stand by and wait for the car crash.
“You wanna stay in the cab and wait for us to grab Tasha’s stuff?” Dev couldn’t face Kyle seeing the inside of the place as well. And he looked like he needed a rest.
“Ain’t that gonna cost a fortune?” Tasha demanded before Kyle could reply.
“No, ’cos we’re gonna be quick. That all right?”
Kyle nodded. “Fine.” He cast a glance at the driver, but seemed okay with it, so Dev got out after Tasha and shut the door behind him.
There was no one in the house—Matt presumably still in a cell somewhere, the skank, and the other two probably at work. Or out dealing, whatever. Tasha was never coming back here again, that was for certain. “Pack as much as you can,” he told her. “Make sure you bring everything that’s worth anything.”
Once her clothes and bedding had been swept into bin-bags, and her makeup and stuff shoved in her backpack, there wasn’t a right lot left. Tasha was like him—she’d never been that into stuff. It only meant more hassle when you had to move on. They hit the kitchen to grab the few decent pans she had and her favourite mug, all stuff he’d given her, and then they were out the door and heading back to the taxi.
Dev made sure he got in first so he could nudge Kyle awake. The cabbie was busy with his phone, so either he hadn’t noticed he’d had a sleeping passenger or he didn’t care. “All right?” Dev asked.
Kyle blinked. “Fine. Is that everything?”
Dev looked at the collection of bags on the taxi floor. It looked like the sort of stuff people chucked in the Oxfam shop doorway ’cos they couldn’t be arsed to wait until the place opened and donate it properly. Or were too embarrassed about the state of it, maybe. “Yeah. All the stuff she wants to keep.”
“You gonna have room for all this at your place?” Tasha asked, climbing over bags and into the fold-down seat again.
“We’ll manage.”
Shit.
Kyle probably had no clue how crappy Dev’s place was compared to his sunny cottage in Cornwall. And they hadn’t actually talked about it, but Kyle must be expecting to stay in Dev’s flat tonight, mustn’t he? Unless he was planning on flying back this evening? There was a flight at just gone nine that was doable, if they could get seats on it. He’d have to let Tasha dump her stuff at the flat first, though, and give her time to pack a bag properly for going away. Which might take a while, seeing as all her stuff was now bundled up in bin bags.
Why the hell hadn’t they thought of that back at her place?
If Kyle had to see the flat, Dev did not want him to see it in the state they’d left it in before going away, what with him and Mal a bit on the outs over Mal going to Portugal. Neither of them had felt much like tidying up after the other. Or themselves, if he was honest.
Was there any way he could stop Kyle going there? Short of just breaking up with the poor bastard and telling him to piss off?
Sod it. Even by the time they’d got to his flat, which meant Kyle had already seen what a shitty street he lived on, Dev was all out of ideas. Looked like he’d have to go with the truth. “Hey, I just remembered I left the flat in a bit of a state. I’ll, uh, take the bags in and tidy up a bit, and you and Kyle can go and grab something to eat, yeah? There’s plenty of places in walking distance.”
“What about you?” Kyle asked, frowning.
“Not hungry,” Dev lied. He gave Tasha a significant look.
She just looked baffled, but she took Kyle’s arm anyway with a smile. “What kind of food we going for, then?”