Page 82 of Second Story

Joe whispers a different description. “Mate, he’s just like Noah. Not the best at communicating but so fucking softhearted.”

I picture Noah with his dogs, and with Len, as Joe continues.

“Not sure I could have said that until seeing how Josh is about Meera and the baby. Reminded me of how he was with Mum. And you gotta believe there’s no way he’d take pleasure in anyone else losing a mother after we lost ours. I swear he wasn’t at your mum’s place. He wouldn’t have been, not without a?—”

I clench the steering wheel, expecting Joe to complete that sentence with the wordsgood reason.

There’s no reason good enough to justify Len having to miss her for so long.

Joe doesn’t try to.

“I’m just saying that he hasn’t willingly set foot in Wintergreen since…”

I can picture Joe doing what I’ve seen so often, running a hand through his hair before shoving it deep into a pocket.

“I dunno,” he sighs. “It has to be someone who looks like Josh. Like both of us.” He runs out of options, and the voice note ends on a second sigh.

Another message instantly picks up from where he left off. “That has to be it. She must have been mistaken. It was a high-stress event. A lot of noise and movement. I can’t explain why she thinks she saw one of us, but we can figure it out.”

He sounds so certain.

“Wecanfigure it out,” Joe promises, as if I need persuading. “We can and we will. I already called Luke to let him know about the emergency visit.” This is almost sheepish. “I wasn’t thinkingforyou. Just wanted you to have a soft place to land if she has decided to go all in on pleading guilty, and you don’t want me around as a reminder.”

This is even quieter.

“Luke said he’d give the school’s legal counsel a heads-up about the change in visit in case he hasn’t heard already. And he asked me to tell you to take all the time you need. He’ll make sure Len enjoys seal spotting, and he won’t let him worry if this takes longer than the weekend to resolve. He’s in safe hands. The safest.”

No.

Those were Joe’s.

The recording goes quiet. I think that’s it until I hear his breathing, and I can almost feel his chest rise and fall like it did under my palm this morning. I’d felt his heart thud then. Now mine does the same at Joe’s next offer.

“I’ll postpone my court visit tomorrow and pull every string I can so that she gets to see me for herself. Gets to hear my voice. Even show her my scars, let her touch them if she needs to believe I wasn’t there. I can vouch for Josh to her in person.” Just as quickly he says what I already guessed now the sky is darkening. “Shit. Office hours are over. It’s too late to get added to your visit.”

I picture him sliding a hand through his hair again, then tugging like I do myself when caught between a rock and a hard place, and I wish to fuck this was a real phone call. I’d tell him not to cancel. Remind him that his court client needs him. I lift my phone to make that happen, only he isn’t done yet.

“Just give me until after your visit to prove this is a mistake and that Josh had nothing to do with it. He isn’t answering his phone. Never does when he’s locked in on a project, so I’ve left messages for him to call me. I’ll make him come to the prison. Be there outside with him so you can hear it’s all a case of mistaken identity directly from the horse’s mouth, yeah?”

He repeats his promise.

“I’ll be there.” This snort is almost too soft, drowned out by another train hurtling past his. “Of course I will be. You’re it for me, mate.”

Apparently, someone else already guessed that.

Joe snorts again. “Luke was sorting through that toolbox with Noah when I called to ask him to look out for you. Noah told him why like it was obvious.” Joe does a pretty good teen impression. “‘Duh, sir. They’re a thing. Bet they end up getting married on my farm.’” His next breath is shaky. “Listen, the train keeps passing gridlocked traffic. Lots of accidents on the motorway. So many blue lights. Turn around and try again at early o’clock when there won’t be any traffic, yeah? Call me when you get in?”

The voice note finishes, but not before I hear how he ends it.

Love you.

I don’t turnthe van around to head back to Glynn Harber. Instead, those two little words lead me almost all the way to London.

It’s late when I reach knife crime central, where I park under a streetlight long after midnight, then scroll back through photos Joe once sent to me for Lenny.

They aren’t as good as a map. I still follow a breadcrumb trail made up of happy moments even though my eyes are bleary with tiredness. I have to blink to be sure I’ve found the Tube station where Joe photographed a cat for Len once.

Finding the coffee shop in the background of another photo gets me closer to a conversation I have no idea how to start now that I’m almost at my destination. Locating the same tall, thin trees framing a view of distant Wintergreen tower blocks meansI’m going to have to find words soon. For now, I face the building that has the same view as that final photo and text Joe the three little words that are all I can manage.

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