Someone Else's Conflict by Alison Layland Page A

to call but you weren’t answering.’
    â€˜My phone died. I got a new one.’
    â€˜You didn’t think to give me your number?’
    â€˜I texted it. Didn’t you get it?’
    He knew Novak would recognise the lie for what it was.
    â€˜You’d better give it to me now.’
    Vinko rattled off a set of random digits – he’d felt abandoned; this time he’d be in control of any communication. A petty victory, but any victory at all was a rare treat.
    â€˜Where’ve you been?’ he asked as his uncle entered the number.
    â€˜It’s not important. I’m here now, aren’t I?’
    â€˜I assumed you’d gone. Done your bit for me and left me to it.’
    â€˜That’s why you changed your number – sulking, hey?’
    â€˜I’m not some little kid,’ Vinko muttered.
    â€˜Look, there’s absolutely no reason why I should justify myself to you, but an old friend called. Important job, needed my help. OK?’
    â€˜You’re obviously a very unselfish man. Always off helping people.’
    Novak gave no indication he’d noticed the irony in Vinko’s voice. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Go and smarten yourself up. We’ll have a meal, then we can go back to mine for some beers and a film.’
    Vinko didn’t argue. A free meal was enticing and his uncle’s DVD collection was at least as good as what was usually on offer at the cinema. The house itself was nothing special, but better than anywhere he’d ever lived. On the few occasions he’d been he’d found it a decent enough place to spend an evening.
    â€˜I’ll be right back.’
    The restaurant was half-empty, a few lunch-time parties lingering, not yet time for the early evening sitting, and Vinko made a conscious effort not to feel out of place. He tucked into his steak greedily, glancing occasionally at the man he’d once thought of as his saviour. Mihal Novak had found them in Dresden and offered to help. He’d been too late for Vinko’s mother, but had eventually arranged for him to come to England, even getting him a job and a place to live. It wasn’t much of a job, not much of a place to live, but last year he’d welcomed both as a new start.
    â€˜Have you seen them yet?’
    Vinko knew without asking who he meant.
    â€˜It was the wrong address.’
    â€˜Can’t you get anything right?’ A flash of anger Vinko had seen before briefly crossed Novak’s face. ‘What do you mean, the wrong address?’
    â€˜They moved. The woman who lives there now—’
    â€˜What woman?’
    â€˜I don’t know; the woman who lives there. She said they moved a few months ago. How come you didn’t tell me?’
    â€˜I didn’t know, did I?’ His tone added, do you think I’m stupid? ‘Why would I? I’m not in touch with them anymore; their precious daughter divorced me, remember? So, did this woman give you the new address?’ Vinko nodded. ‘Where are they living now?’
    â€˜Some place I’d never heard of. I can’t remember and it’s in my other pocket, sorry.’ He patted the jeans he’d changed into, to emphasise the point. In fact it was next to his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he chose not to pass it on just yet.
    â€˜I take it you didn’t go?’
    â€˜Not yet.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜It was only this morning. I’ll go when I’m ready.’ Something inside him had always kept him away, as if preserving the dream until reality crept in to spoil it. The new address prolonged the respite. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. Whether or not they accept me you don’t need to feel responsible. I can look after myself.’
    â€˜That’s perfectly obvious, my boy.’ His smile seemed forced. ‘Did she say why they’d moved?’ Vinko sensed a reason behind the question,