Trestle

Chapter 8 - Silence is Golden

Chapter 8
Saturday 19th July, 2024
The Ditch, Crockenhill, London

At exactly seven 'o'clock, Angel opens the door to the taller Martucci. The light marl North Face hoodie that Angel gifted him is now a sopping-wet dark grey, so Angel beckons him in with a single finger and tells him to sit down. Kit does as he is told and removes his hood, sitting anxiously in silence as Angel paces the room. Angel is angry with himself, with his father, with his God - but doesn't know where else to deflect it.
Hunched over a barstool, he takes out a cigarette and glares at Kit, with the echoes of his father's voice telling him that he needs to teach him a lesson for spilling to Maura.
Bill O'Hare: Snitches get stitches and wind up in ditches, son. Remember that.

Angel: I know you didn't exactly sign a fucking NDA kid. But it goes without saying that what happens on the job, stays on the job. Are we clear?
Kit isn't sure what prompted the class lecture on classification, but he nods his head anyway. Droplets of rain fall from his fringe and onto his lashes, and he wipes his eyes dry.
Angel lights the cigarette and inhales a gob full of spicy nicotine – the first drag is always the sweetest and he feels his shoulders drop slightly.
Angel: Why are you so fucking wet?
Kit doesn't know if Angel is referring to his stickability or his jumper. He takes a gamble on the latter.
Angel: Maura took the car somewhere this morning. She wasn't back in time to give me a lift, so I walked the entire way here.
Angel pauses, realising that Kit clearly doesn't know that his sister in shining armour was here, fighting his battle at the crack of dawn.
Angel: That's because she came waltzing up here at half past six this morning, trying to sock me one. I've got no more room for another unhinged woman on these streets Kit. She's lucky the one's sleeping upstairs didn't hear her – they snore like fucking pugs.
Kit: If my sister is unhinged, its because she found your murder weapon shoved in a box of failed MOT receipts last night, you gaslighting narcissist. 
Kit couldn't bear the thought of having the pipe in the house. He tried to forget about it at first, but he found himself holding it in his nightmares, later that night. As if it would attract more monsters, he shoved it somewhere dark and out of sight, praying he wouldn't come across it accidentally one day. Unfortunately, Maura did come across it accidentally. Being the protective big sister, she said she would take care of it, but Kit thought she meant the pipe, not the homicidal boss.

Kit: She found the pipe.
Angel: Of course she found the pipe; it was stashed by a twenty-two-year-old amateur, who doesn't have the first idea about concealing evidence.
Angel bows his head and closes his eyes, reliving the disappointment - more fool himself for giving Kit the responsibility before he was ready. But he needs him to be ready soon. Because Angel doesn't know what threats are lingering.
Angel folds his arms, still fighting against the voice of his father in his head.
Angel: No, Dad, we do not need to break his tibia.

Faye opens the doors from the living quarter and pokes her head around the door. She is dressed in a baggy grey Umbro t-shirt and is wearing a sleepy jetlagged smile across her freshly freckled face. She flits her eyes between Angel and Kit, both rigid in discussion, and giggles at the tense atmosphere.
Faye: Trouble in paradise? Just checking you hadn't killed him whilst I was in Mexico.
Angel: No. Not yet anyway.
Faye: Actually, I wasn't talking to you.

Faye winks at Kit as Angel rolls his eyes. She closes the door behind her, dragging her suitcase up the stairs.
Angel: Can I trust you to keep your mouth shut about paying this in at the bank?
He slaps a brown envelope onto the table, filled with crisp cash notes. Kit nods without saying a word and gets up from the table. Lesson learned, he has a strange urge to bow or even curtsy in apology, but instead he scurries towards the door.

The rain outside is still lashing down and thunder growls like Zeus skipped breakfast. Angel rolls his eyes as Kit throws his hood back up, preparing to brave the elements for the second time in that same hour.
Angel: Wait. I'll just fucking drive you there. There's someone I need to go and see out of town, anyway.
Angel stands up and takes his TT keys out of another coat pocket. Kit winces.
Kit: Is it another job? Like...like the one yesterday?
Angel pop's a piece of chewing gum between his teeth.
Angel: Job, yes. But no, not one like yesterday.

Kit follows him into the living quarters, through the kitchen and out into the hall. He passes the dogs sleeping peacefully, dreaming of an intruder to snack on. Angel is unlocking the back door and see's Kit looking at them. He points to the one closest with the most grey hairs around his mouth and a blueish hue across his eyes.
Angel: That's Anubis.
Kit: The jackal-headed God who guides the dead into their afterlife.
Angel nodded his head.
Angel: Correct.
Kit: Figures.
So Kit did absorb something at school after all. He looks at the other dog, also greying.
Angel: That's Wedgie, from his first litter.
Kit: Fair; undie-ripping wedgies are brutal.
Angel: Harriet named him. She was only eleven.
Kit nods understandingly, appreciating that they would both still eat him alive, regardless of their names or age - Harriet too.

Once at the car, Angel fires up the ignition which sets off the air con. He turns it down to avoid giving Kit a cold – he doesn't need a sick errand boy – and drives towards the bank. They sit in silence until curiosity kills the catalyst.
Angel: Why didn't your dad bring you to work this morning instead? Doesn't he drive?
Kit, a little bit more relaxed in this car than he was the last, shrugs his shoulders.
Kit: He has a license. But Dad is always drunk. Mum dying really fucked him up.

There is a short pause and Kit prays Angel hasn't listened properly. He instantly regrets disclosing that information and shifts in his seat. He swore he didn't want Angel knowing any personal details, and within the space of two sentences he has just divulged that his dad is a raging alcoholic and his mother is deceased.
Kit: Why don't I just get into bed with him too?

Angel doesn't say a word until he pulls up outside the NatWest Bank. It doesn't open until 9:30am according to the sign outside and Kit doesn't like the idea of loitering around with a pocket full of dirty cash in the meantime. Reading his mind, Angel nods.
Angel: It's open for you - they're expecting you early. Leave the receipt in the till before the end of your shift tonight. And remember what I said. You keep your ears open, and your mouth shut.
Kit jumps out and watches as Angel drives off.
Kit: Thanks for the lift. You're still a wanker.

Angel turns the air-con back up. He has been driving with a hot flush since Kit accidentally revealed his mother's death, and needs a cool breeze before he is driven to spontaneous combustion. Angel's father was the head of his family, but his mother was the head of his father. She is the only human who's capability scares him more – she is intelligent, she is resilient, she is her own force of nature. She taught Angel how to be compassionate towards his sisters and how to love his animals. She taught him how to cook and how to ride a bike. She taught him how to swim, how to whistle, how to walk, talk, read and write. His father taught him how to survive but his mother taught him how to live through it all, and Angel admires her for having the courage to do that in the world they live in.
He has the sudden urge to call his mother and tell her that he loves her, just in case the chance passes him by.
Angel: Mum?
Stassi: Angel darling, I'm trying to have a lie in. Are ye' dying?
Angel: We're all dying. I love you mum. Go back to bed.
Stassi: I love ye' more sweetheart. Now piss off.
With a foggy head, he puts his foot down and drives over to the familiar house in Rainham.

Angel: It's bedtime for me too.