Raymond
guessed that Allie and Vallance were maintaining a delicate silence around the
topic of his investing with them, and so didnt want to pressure or confuse
him. After a while they left him to think, saying they were going to make
arrangements with their charter-captain friend, Quincy.
Raymond ordered another coffee and
stretched his legs. Gulls wheeled above the cafe tables. Sail rigging pinged on
the drydocked yachts. He blinked, taking in the man who was staring moodily at
the chalked menu.
Uncle Wyatt? he said, his old name
for his fathers brother.
* * * *
Nine
A
while since Wyatt had been called that. He knew of only one person in the world
whod called him that, but Wyatt distrusted coincidence and didnt turn around,
not until hed sought out the voice in the mirror behind the cash register.
Still Wyatt didnt respond. He ran a checklist of his senses. They were a
barometer of the town, the marina, the cafe itself. The place seemed all
right: scratchy muzak, idle yachting types, tourists, the clank of cafe
cutlery. Finally he said, Ray? and turned to his nephew.
Raymond unfolded from a plastic
chair and grinned awkwardly. Been a long time.
Wyatt was shocked. It was as if his
brother stood there, languid, graceful, knockabout, wearing a likeable grin.
But in the case of Wyatts brother there had always been sour grievances under
the grin. A lot of people, like Rays mother, hadnt seen that until it was too
late.
Wyatt stepped forward and shook the
boys hand. Ray.
Boyhardly a boy. If this were a
normal occasion and Wyatt a normal man he might have said something like, Youve
certainly shot up, or The last time I saw you you were knee high to a
grasshopper, but Wyatt had nothing mindless to say.
Instead, he looked at his grown-up
nephew and asked, aware of the suspicion in his voice: What brings you here?
Raymond sensed it. Dont worry, Im
not tailing you if thats what you think. Im here with some friends. He
searched for the term he wanted. Fishing trip. You? On holiday?
It occurred to Wyatt that he hadnt
had a holiday in his life, just long stretches of idle, recuperative time
between heists, periods spent resting his body but not his head. There was
always the next job to plan, for when the money ran out. He clapped a hand
shyly on his nephews shoulder. Good to see you, he said.
Raymond seemed to fill with
pleasure. Sit, he said, signalling to the waitress. Beer? Something
stronger?
Wyatt shook his head. Not for me.
At once Raymond went still. Youre
not working on something? He looked around the marina, as though banks and
payroll vans had materialised there.
Wyatt allowed himself to smile. He
watched carefully as Raymond turned to signal the waitress again. The last time
Wyatt had seen the boy was fifteen years ago, when theyd put his father in the
groundWyatts brother, a man weak and vicious enough to blacken the eyes and
crack the ribs of his wife and kid whenever the world let him down. In the end
the world had disappointed him all the way to the morgue. Raymond had been ten
at the time, fine-boned and quick like his mother, laughter always close to the
surface. Hed had a black eye at the funeral, Wyatt recalled, and it was clear
how hed got it. Hed shown no emotion when the family tossed dirt into the
yawning grave, only satisfaction. The official story was that Wyatts brother
had pitched head-first from a flight of steps, onto a concrete floor. Hed been
drinking heavily. Wyatt had gone with the accident storyuntil he saw Raymond
at the graveside. Then hed known it wasnt an accident, or mostly not.
More coffee here, Raymond told the
waitress.
Wyatt had known that his brother was
no good. Hed tried to help, giving the family money, giving his own brother
hard warnings to play it straight with his wife and son. It hadnt been enough,
and later, after the funeral, they lost touch with one another. It seemed to be
the best thing to do. Raymond had been getting too interested in the
guessed that Allie and Vallance were maintaining a delicate silence around the
topic of his investing with them, and so didnt want to pressure or confuse
him. After a while they left him to think, saying they were going to make
arrangements with their charter-captain friend, Quincy.
Raymond ordered another coffee and
stretched his legs. Gulls wheeled above the cafe tables. Sail rigging pinged on
the drydocked yachts. He blinked, taking in the man who was staring moodily at
the chalked menu.
Uncle Wyatt? he said, his old name
for his fathers brother.
* * * *
Nine
A
while since Wyatt had been called that. He knew of only one person in the world
whod called him that, but Wyatt distrusted coincidence and didnt turn around,
not until hed sought out the voice in the mirror behind the cash register.
Still Wyatt didnt respond. He ran a checklist of his senses. They were a
barometer of the town, the marina, the cafe itself. The place seemed all
right: scratchy muzak, idle yachting types, tourists, the clank of cafe
cutlery. Finally he said, Ray? and turned to his nephew.
Raymond unfolded from a plastic
chair and grinned awkwardly. Been a long time.
Wyatt was shocked. It was as if his
brother stood there, languid, graceful, knockabout, wearing a likeable grin.
But in the case of Wyatts brother there had always been sour grievances under
the grin. A lot of people, like Rays mother, hadnt seen that until it was too
late.
Wyatt stepped forward and shook the
boys hand. Ray.
Boyhardly a boy. If this were a
normal occasion and Wyatt a normal man he might have said something like, Youve
certainly shot up, or The last time I saw you you were knee high to a
grasshopper, but Wyatt had nothing mindless to say.
Instead, he looked at his grown-up
nephew and asked, aware of the suspicion in his voice: What brings you here?
Raymond sensed it. Dont worry, Im
not tailing you if thats what you think. Im here with some friends. He
searched for the term he wanted. Fishing trip. You? On holiday?
It occurred to Wyatt that he hadnt
had a holiday in his life, just long stretches of idle, recuperative time
between heists, periods spent resting his body but not his head. There was
always the next job to plan, for when the money ran out. He clapped a hand
shyly on his nephews shoulder. Good to see you, he said.
Raymond seemed to fill with
pleasure. Sit, he said, signalling to the waitress. Beer? Something
stronger?
Wyatt shook his head. Not for me.
At once Raymond went still. Youre
not working on something? He looked around the marina, as though banks and
payroll vans had materialised there.
Wyatt allowed himself to smile. He
watched carefully as Raymond turned to signal the waitress again. The last time
Wyatt had seen the boy was fifteen years ago, when theyd put his father in the
groundWyatts brother, a man weak and vicious enough to blacken the eyes and
crack the ribs of his wife and kid whenever the world let him down. In the end
the world had disappointed him all the way to the morgue. Raymond had been ten
at the time, fine-boned and quick like his mother, laughter always close to the
surface. Hed had a black eye at the funeral, Wyatt recalled, and it was clear
how hed got it. Hed shown no emotion when the family tossed dirt into the
yawning grave, only satisfaction. The official story was that Wyatts brother
had pitched head-first from a flight of steps, onto a concrete floor. Hed been
drinking heavily. Wyatt had gone with the accident storyuntil he saw Raymond
at the graveside. Then hed known it wasnt an accident, or mostly not.
More coffee here, Raymond told the
waitress.
Wyatt had known that his brother was
no good. Hed tried to help, giving the family money, giving his own brother
hard warnings to play it straight with his wife and son. It hadnt been enough,
and later, after the funeral, they lost touch with one another. It seemed to be
the best thing to do. Raymond had been getting too interested in the
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