Faces by Martina Cole Page B

had taken the brunt of the boiling water and she was sure it was only his hate that was keeping him on his feet. Walter, she knew, was willing to swallow his knob and let it go. It was Wilfred who seemed unable to let the matter drop. Like a lot of short men, his father included, he was forever trying to prove himself, and her warnings about the public sympathy the Cadogans were receiving seemed to be falling on deaf ears.
    It was the Irish in him, she could only use that as an explanation for her younger son’s absolute denial of any wrongdoing where the Cadogans were concerned. Walter had always been the peacemaker, even as a boy, whereas Wilfred had been the one to bear a grudge. Even as kids she had seen that trait in him; if they argued about something Wilfred would bide his time and, when he was ready and no one was expecting it, he would pay his brother back, more often than not with interest. Now though, his natural gift for holding a grudge could easily become the whole family’s downfall, and she was not about to let that happen. She loved her boys but, like most people in their orbit, she didn’t actually like them.
     
    Michael Miles waited outside the scrapyard until it was dark. He was smoking the last of his Dunhills and he wished he had brought another pack out from their hiding place. As he stamped out the glowing butt, he heard his friend calling out his goodbyes and, fixing a smile on his face, he prepared himself for what he had decided to do.
    Danny saw him immediately and stopped in his tracks. Michael could see the anger in his friend’s face and tried to diffuse it by saying gaily, ‘What? Have we fell out and I don’t know about it?’
    Danny sighed heavily. ‘Do me a favour, Mike. Get on your fucking bike and leave me be.’
    It was an expression that they had used all their lives, get on your bike, or drive home will you. It should have been amusing, not a serious criticism. The nearest they had ever got to any kind of conveyance was if they nicked one for the afternoon. Even then they put it back rather than sell it on or dismantle it. Both were agreed that thieving someone’s wheels was not a kosher nick. In fact they had agreed that if they had been lucky enough to have been furnished with bikes they would have both understood someone borrowing it for a few hours. But actually to be in possession of the said vehicle, and then to lose it, would have been too much for them to bear.
    The two boys looked at each other, neither of them willing to back down and neither of them able to make this situation right. Since the Murrays had turned up at Danny’s home he had studiously ignored Michael, believing it to be for the best. It had hurt.
    ‘You’re me best mate, Danny. Your problems are my problems.’ Michael saw his best friend close his eyes tightly in anger but carried on talking anyway, ‘I just want you to know you ain’t on your own, you’d do the same for me, surely?’
    It was a question that they both knew needed an answer.
    ‘I wouldn’t need to do this for you. This just wouldn’t happen to you, Mike. When this all comes on top, and it will, you’ll be sorrier than shit if you are dragged into it. Use your fucking loaf.’ He looked at his best friend. Like him, Michael Miles was dark-haired; he had an easy way about him and a knack for ferreting out anything he wanted to know. Unlike Danny, he wasn’t a natural fighter, he wasn’t a natural antagonist. Together, they were a team.
    Then Michael smiled, and it changed his whole face. His smile was his best asset, though he wouldn’t be aware of that fact for a good few years.
    ‘That’s as may be, Dan, but we’ve been mates since Infants. If you blank me again I’m going to get a complex.’
    Danny laughed despite himself. ‘Look, Mike, you know the score.’
    Danny held his arms out in a gesture of supplication.
    Michael grinned again, knowing he was halfway home. ‘Fucking Murrays. They’re only half-Irish