Page 42 of Tell No One
“You could have helped yourself to that money and run.”
“I wouldn’t have got far, would I? I’d have opened the door and there you’d have stood, glowering.”
“But you didn’t know that. You took neither money nor phone.”
“I didn’t want to get shot.”
Delaney chuckled. “Or castrated.”
Tag winced. “Don’t even say that word. Did I handle him okay?”
“Yes. At least we know now who was looking for you.”
“I should have asked him to transfer the money to my bank account. Do you think he would have?”
“No. I didn’t want you on the phone any longer. Want another beer or a glass of wine?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Open that bottle of red then.” He nodded to a bottle by the sink.
A few moments later, Tag knew he’d messed up. Half of the cork was still in the bottle.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ve never opened a bottle of wine before.”
“And you won’t be opening one again.” But Delaney’s lips curved up.
Delaney sorted it out, managed to remove the rest of the cork without it breaking up and poured them both a glass. Tag put them on the table. Delaney brought over the plates, which also held salad and jacket potatoes.
“There’s mustard and butter in the fridge,” Delaney said.
Tag leapt to his feet to get them.
When he sat down, he swallowed hard. “Is this a condemned man’s last meal?”
“It will be if you spit it out.”
Tag gave a quiet smile and started to eat. It was all really good. The wine was fruity and smooth, not bitter tasting like the odd glass he’d been given in the house. The steak was tender, the potato fluffy. He’d taken more butter than he should have because he rarely had butter, then added salt and forked it into his mouth.
“You like a bit of potato with your salt and butter?” Delaney asked.
“Takes away the taste of the potato.”
Delaney laughed. Maybe that was the key. Make him laugh, keep him laughing, keep him wanting more, be someone he didn’t want to get rid of. Tag was half-entranced, half-scared shitless of him.
“Thank you for the meal,” Tag said. “It’s delicious.”
Now shut up!
“Do you fancy me a bit?” Tag blurted.
Delaney paused with a forkful of steak halfway to his mouth. “Fancy? How old are you? Thirteen?”
Tag felt something inside him shrivel. There was his answer. He was convenient. That was all. Sort of the story of his life. Partly why he’d chosen the name Tag, because he’d always tagged along, was never invited, never really wanted. The other half of the reason was that a TAG Heuer was an expensive watch and one day, he’d told himself he’d buy one.
“Will you lend me some money?” he asked. “I’d pay you back eventually. I’ve got less than twenty quid in my wallet and I can’t use my debit card, can I? If you don’t want to lend me any money, then I’ll go anyway. It’s the summer. I’ll make my way to Euston, get my bag, help myself to someone’s wallet and catch a train to Brighton. Find a job in a pub. Disappear. Not say a word. Ever. I promise.” He hoped that sounded convincing.
“For the time being, we’ll stick together.”
