60
Outside the garage at the rear of the house, Tom took a long swig of beer and decided it was time to sort his life out. Since Christmas, since his trip to Cornwall with Stella, he’d tried hard to keep clean. OK, so there’d been a couple of lines of coke at a New Year’s party and the odd joint here and there, but he was doing well and it was definitely giving him a clearer head. Much harder, however, was deciding what to do with his life. The Ibiza episode had put him completely off club-land; if his mother hadn’t paid off the debt he owed to Miguel Cruz he might very well be dead. But music was still his passion just as fashion was his sister’s great love. Tom loved trawling bars listening to unsigned bands; in fact he still had the Red Comets’ CD in his coat pocket. He had to get it to Ste Donahue or Rob Holland to see if they thought the young upstart band were as good as he believed they were. He put his empty glass down on the gravel and took a deep breath of the night air. Just then he suddenly caugh the trace of a familiar smell: the sweet aroma of crack cocaine. Tom looked around and saw a dark figure lift out of the shadows.
‘All right, mate. Want a bang on this?’ said Ste Donahue, holding up a glass pipe.
Tom winced and shook his head. He’d heard that Ste was clean after a long stint in rehab, but the rumour was clearly out of date.
‘Where’s Clover?’
‘Fuck knows. She’s in a crappy mood. I’ve left her to it.’
Tom pointed to the pipe.
‘I thought you weren’t doing that shit any more,’ he said boldly. He loved music and he liked Ste. He didn’t want him to throw his life and his talent away. He’d heard from Stella how hard Rob Holland and his team had tried to keep Ste clean. Ste shrugged. ‘I want to. It makes me feel good.’
‘There are other ways,’ said Tom softly, remembering the way he felt when he was with Stella, or the time he’d driven the gull-wing Mercedes around the Winterfold estate, feeling invincible as the speedometer touching 100 mph.
Ste snorted. ‘Like what?’ he said cynically, slurring his words. ‘Love?’
The way Ste spat out the word, it was clear that his bust-up with Clover had been a major incident.
‘Look, come and see my cars,’ said Tom, pointing into the garage where the collection was stored. ‘They make me feel like James fucking Bond.’
As they walked across the courtyard Tom pulled the Red Comets’ CD out of his pocket and gave it to Ste.
‘You should listen to these. They’re great.’
Ste took it and pushed it into his pocket.
The garage was a huge space, the size of a tennis court, split partly in two by a barn wall that stretched up to the roof where there was a hay loft. The cars were lined up, each one lovingly polished and gleaming. Only Rob’s mud-splattered Range Rover and trail motorbikes looked out of place among the classic sports cars.
‘Come around the other side and see the E-Type,’ said Tom, excitedly. ‘Just looking at it makes me weak at the knees.’
As they approached the other side of the garage, he was suddenly aware of the unmistakable sound of someone having sex. In the dim light, he could see a woman lying splayed out on the bonnet of a silver car; her dress was hitched up around her waist and a man was thrusting into her. His trousers had crumpled down around his knees and his white shirt was hanging loose.
‘Shit – that’s my fucking Ferrari!’ shouted Tom.
The couple stopped and turned like startled rabbits. The woman curled up and slipped off the car, her long blonde hair falling behind her. Ste stepped from behind Tom and said in a confused voice, ‘Clover?’
Tom saw he was right: the girl was Clover Connor and the man, Blake Brinton, who was desperately trying to pull up his trousers.
‘You fucking whore,’ screamed Ste, charging towards them.
Tom tried to grab Ste but he shook him off, running up to Blake and grabbing his shirt.
‘You dirty old bastard!’ he cried, trying to throw a punch. Ste’s fury was not enough however: Blake had a body toned from years of yoga and gym-work and swatted him away like a fly. Ste fell onto the floor into a cloud of dust as Clover bent to her knees to pick him up.
‘Get away from me, you slut!’ cried Ste, tears streaming down his face.
‘Ste, honey, please. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I still love you,’ squealed Clover.
Ste ignored her, stood up and threw his entire body weight against Blake like an angry, floppy doll. Blake simply moved out of the way and let Ste land with a noisy thump on the bonnet of the Ferrari. Tom flinched again, praying there would be no dents.
‘Calm down, mate. It’s not worth it,’ he said, pulling Ste to his feet and steering him towards the door. Clover, now sobbing, ran after them. ‘I didn’t want you to find out like this.’
‘Watch your mouth, Clover!’ said Blake sternly. ‘My wife is at the party.’
‘Oh yeah, it suits you to still keep it a secret, doesn’t it?’ she screamed, her perfect white teeth bared. Tom caught the expression on Ste’s face as he realized this was not one-off party sex. He turned away and started running out of the barn.