blame her. That coat smells like something died in it.’ I sighed. I was a soft touch, and he wasn’t a bad source for gossip. ‘Go round to the courtyard. I’ll be out in a minute with your coffee. But I’m not going to feed you.’
‘Good decision, cutes,’ Locks said, inhaling the last of his cigarette down to ash and flicking it into the gutter. ‘Do that, and you’d never get rid of me.’
8
I t had never occurred to me that Stewart had anything in common with Bishop, but there was a look on his face when I brought out Locks’ coffee … mildly fierce and protective, and very familiar. Fair enough. I didn’t trust the dealer too far either—though it is difficult to think of someone as all bad when you’ve heard them ranting about the inherent sexism of 1960s Brit cinema.
‘Good coffee,’ Locks said, as he drank it hot from the cup.
‘Five sugars,’ I sighed. ‘You may as well put marshmallows in and be done with it.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’
‘I was wondering if you knew anything about a busker called Morris?’ I took a deep breath. We hadn’t told any of the buskers about why we were looking for the guy. ‘He was found dead upstairs, yesterday. Probably an overdose.’
Locks gave me a wary look. ‘You asking if I sold him anything?’
‘As if I’d ask that.’ If he had, I didn’t want to know. ‘I wondered if you knew anything about him? All we have is that one name, and that he fancied redheads.’
‘Come off it,’ said Locks around another mouthful of coffee. ‘You know him better than me.’
That startled me. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t know any buskers.’ I thought about the limp form hanging in the net, all that hair everywhere. Bishop had asked if I knew him, and I’d said no without hesitating. ‘He didn’t look familiar.’
‘Nuh,’ said Locks.
‘What do you mean, nuh?’
‘I mean nuh. He was at college with us, Tabs. You knew him, all right. Remember when Katie Feldham’s dad came in and stalked the corridors because she thought she was pregnant?’
I laughed at that, remembering. ‘Eight guys in the Com Sci Department fled the state.’
‘Yeah, well she was mates with that girl Kelly, and Jen, you know, Jen with the freckles?’
‘Kelly, my ex-housemate Kelly?’
Locks nodded. ‘Yeah, didn’t know she was ex.’
‘She moved out the other week—swanned off with her boyfriend and stuck us with an extra third of the rent, selfish cow.’ I could see Locks filing the damn information for future reference—however deeply he might sample his own stash, it’s never affected his memory.
‘Morris was going out with Kelly for about five minutes. He couldn’t get her to dye her hair anything but green, so he got it together with Jen instead.’
I was lost. It all had a vague ring of authenticity, and I definitely remembered Kelly’s green hair phase, but I still couldn’t see where the long-haired dead busker fit into the picture.
Locks rolled his eyes at my obvious stupidity. ‘He’s Ange Morris’s little brother.’
The sandstone walls of the courtyard swam around me, and I had to sit down.
‘Tabitha,’ Stewart said, sounding a long way away. ‘Are ye all right there?’
I had lost count of how many times he had had to ask me that. ‘Morris is Julian Morris? I went out with him,’ I said in a dim kind of horror, remembering a wet, not overly satisfying kiss up against a wall. ‘His hair wasn’t long, then.’ How could I not have remembered him? How could I not have recognised him, dead in a fucking net?
He was my age, and he kissed me once, and now he’s dead.
‘I thought he only went out with redheads?’ said Stewart.
I gave him a dirty look. ‘My hair was pink that year. I guess it was close enough.’
Locks pushed himself to his feet, and I could almost hear his bones creaking with the effort. ‘You going to the glam party Sunday night?’
‘Are you invited?’
He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t invite me if
‘Good decision, cutes,’ Locks said, inhaling the last of his cigarette down to ash and flicking it into the gutter. ‘Do that, and you’d never get rid of me.’
8
I t had never occurred to me that Stewart had anything in common with Bishop, but there was a look on his face when I brought out Locks’ coffee … mildly fierce and protective, and very familiar. Fair enough. I didn’t trust the dealer too far either—though it is difficult to think of someone as all bad when you’ve heard them ranting about the inherent sexism of 1960s Brit cinema.
‘Good coffee,’ Locks said, as he drank it hot from the cup.
‘Five sugars,’ I sighed. ‘You may as well put marshmallows in and be done with it.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’
‘I was wondering if you knew anything about a busker called Morris?’ I took a deep breath. We hadn’t told any of the buskers about why we were looking for the guy. ‘He was found dead upstairs, yesterday. Probably an overdose.’
Locks gave me a wary look. ‘You asking if I sold him anything?’
‘As if I’d ask that.’ If he had, I didn’t want to know. ‘I wondered if you knew anything about him? All we have is that one name, and that he fancied redheads.’
‘Come off it,’ said Locks around another mouthful of coffee. ‘You know him better than me.’
That startled me. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t know any buskers.’ I thought about the limp form hanging in the net, all that hair everywhere. Bishop had asked if I knew him, and I’d said no without hesitating. ‘He didn’t look familiar.’
‘Nuh,’ said Locks.
‘What do you mean, nuh?’
‘I mean nuh. He was at college with us, Tabs. You knew him, all right. Remember when Katie Feldham’s dad came in and stalked the corridors because she thought she was pregnant?’
I laughed at that, remembering. ‘Eight guys in the Com Sci Department fled the state.’
‘Yeah, well she was mates with that girl Kelly, and Jen, you know, Jen with the freckles?’
‘Kelly, my ex-housemate Kelly?’
Locks nodded. ‘Yeah, didn’t know she was ex.’
‘She moved out the other week—swanned off with her boyfriend and stuck us with an extra third of the rent, selfish cow.’ I could see Locks filing the damn information for future reference—however deeply he might sample his own stash, it’s never affected his memory.
‘Morris was going out with Kelly for about five minutes. He couldn’t get her to dye her hair anything but green, so he got it together with Jen instead.’
I was lost. It all had a vague ring of authenticity, and I definitely remembered Kelly’s green hair phase, but I still couldn’t see where the long-haired dead busker fit into the picture.
Locks rolled his eyes at my obvious stupidity. ‘He’s Ange Morris’s little brother.’
The sandstone walls of the courtyard swam around me, and I had to sit down.
‘Tabitha,’ Stewart said, sounding a long way away. ‘Are ye all right there?’
I had lost count of how many times he had had to ask me that. ‘Morris is Julian Morris? I went out with him,’ I said in a dim kind of horror, remembering a wet, not overly satisfying kiss up against a wall. ‘His hair wasn’t long, then.’ How could I not have remembered him? How could I not have recognised him, dead in a fucking net?
He was my age, and he kissed me once, and now he’s dead.
‘I thought he only went out with redheads?’ said Stewart.
I gave him a dirty look. ‘My hair was pink that year. I guess it was close enough.’
Locks pushed himself to his feet, and I could almost hear his bones creaking with the effort. ‘You going to the glam party Sunday night?’
‘Are you invited?’
He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t invite me if
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