the last stop was Victoria Street. It should have been the junior school, but the old building that had been built at the turn of the last century had been demolished to make way for more houses. That made him sadder than anything. He couldn’t quite understand why, as he’d hated school. But he guessed it was chiefly because when something like that disappears it takes something of you away too. A bit of your past, who you were, the things that made you.
He didn’t mope long. He wandered back home and shrugged away the memories.
For sale. The sign that had been hammered into the ground outside the front door was again an amalgam of sadness tinged with happiness. It wouldn’t be long and he’d be leaving Overthorpe – leaving England – for good. Now that he’d recently retired from the police service he was free to do as he pleased. And he was sick and tired of living on his own. Sick and tired of living with the secret, having to be careful what he said in case he inadvertently revealed even the tiniest detail.
And with Mickey Craddick now dead, that made things even easier for him. God, it had been such a relief to hear he’d snuffed it. Even though Duncan heard on the grapevine about Mickey Craddick’s late turn of mind, who, realising death was inevitable and being a staunch though lapsed Catholic, confessed readily to all his sins and said all the holds he’d ever had over people were finally severed, he never quite believed him. Like a good many people in Overthorpe, tied to Mickey Craddick for one thing or another, Duncan Winslade couldn’t wait to hear that the bastard had finally died, taking his goddamn blackmailing ways with him.
He tested the sign, making sure it was planted into the ground firmly enough. He’d be seeing the other members of the Domino Boys tonight, he thought. There wouldn’t be many more occasions when they’d meet up, like their fathers before them, to play dominoes every Friday night.
That, too, brought a tinge of sadness, but not for long. Duncan Winslade’s capacity for friendship was as shallow as his capacity for nostalgia. Since coming back to Overthorpe after being in London he’d never adapted to living in the dead-end, filthy little town of his youth. Once you leave an old place you can never fully return.
* * * *
4
The Domino Boys
‘Here they are, punctual as clockwork,’ said the landlord. Usual, is it?’
The three men went to the bar, exchanged fleeting greetings with the landlord. ‘Need you ask, Pete? I’ll get these,’ said Duncan Winslade to his friends, fishing in his pocket for his wallet.
Alfie Parker and Barry Stocker peeled off and went to a small back room that they’d booked for the night. It was a tradition carried on from the days of their fathers, who had also used this same room, sitting at the same table and playing with the same set of dominoes. For one reason or another – ill-health and getting old basically – their fathers were all dead. It had been Duncan, when he came up North seven years ago to bury his father – the old man being the last of the original Domino Boys – and set up house in Overthorpe again, as he was staring at his father’s old set of dominoes after the funeral, that he suggested on a whim they extend the tradition in memory of the three lifelong friends. After all, Alfie, Barry and he had been friends for a long time, in spite of Duncan’s long absence in the Met, and of course their gang had been called the Domino Boys. Sure, Alfie and Barry agreed, sounds like a good idea, they said. Fitting, somehow.
It was only ever intended as a one-off, but Friday night became domino night. Maybe it was because each of them needed the others, in some small way. Or perhaps habits are just too hard to kick. It had been going on for so long that no one questioned it anymore.
Alfie and Barry sat down at the table.
‘How’re things?’ said Barry absently.
Alfie shrugged.
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley