Closer Than Blood. Paul Grzegorzek

been in until recently, the food here was excellent and right up to the point he’d lost his appetite he was constantly remarking that he hadn’t eaten so will since Mum was with us.

      I waved at one of the nurses as I climbed the stairs to his room. Dad had only been here for a week but already I was a familiar face, coming as I did both before and after work every day. I paused outside his door and knocked loudly, hearing the muffled sounds of the TV through the wood.

      “Come.”

      I opened it and stepped inside, forcing a smile as he saw me and beamed.

      “Dad,” I crossed to the bed and gave him a careful hug. “How are you feeling?”

      “Not too bad, all things considered. Managed a bit of beef today.”

      “That’s good.” I pulled up an armchair and sunk into it. He looked, for want of a better phrase, like death. Never a small man, despite his short stature, he had ballooned in the last few years. The only exercise he’d had since Mum passed away had been walking the dog, Lily. But when she too passed on Dad had done little more than potter around the garden. Now, his skin hung in yellow folds, drooping towards his jaw. Dark circles rimmed his feverish eyes, and he looked more frail than I had ever thought to see him. I turned away and stared at the TV.

      “What you watching?” I blinked to bring the blurry figures into focus.

      “Gardening programmes, mostly. Speaking of which, Sylvia from number 72 popped in to see me earlier, I’ve agreed to do her garden when I’m back on my feet.”

      I looked at him, unsure what to say. Pancreatic cancer wasn’t the sort of thing you ‘got back on your feet’ from, and my father was not a stupid man, but there were times when he acted as though he had nothing more than a touch of the flu.

      “I’m not stupid,” he said, echoing my thoughts, “but I’m hoping I’ll rally enough to get outside one more time at least.”

      “I hope so, Dad, I really do.”

      “Well, I guess we’ll see. Have you eaten? I’m sure they’ll feed you if you’re hungry, they always offer.”

      The tears came then, and I couldn’t stop them. Here he was on his deathbed, still trying to look after me instead of the other way around.

      “Don’t,” he warned, his voice thick, “or you’ll start me off.”

      “Sorry Dad, I just …” I reached out and took his hand, surprised at how strong his grip was even now.

      “I know.”

      I sniffed a few times and shook my head, then suddenly I reached a decision.

      “Dad, Jake’s alive.” I blurted the words out before I could change my mind.

      The grip, strong before, became iron.

      “Say that again.”

      “Jake’s alive, or at least he was this afternoon.”

      Behind his glasses, Dad’s eyes grew wide. “What? How?”

      “It’s a bit complicated.”

      “Just tell me!” My fingers grew white from the strength of his grip. I sighed in relief as he finally released my hand and pushed himself up on his pillows.

      And so I told him, relaying the whole thing from start to finish and leaving nothing out. By the time I finished, he too was crying, silent tears running down his cheeks to lose themselves in the folds of skin around his jaw.

      “Gareth,” he said after a long moment. “You have to find him. I don’t care what he’s done, I need to know that he’s safe. Please, Gareth.”

      “Dad,” I warned, “If I see him I’m going to have to arrest him. Anything less and I might lose my job or worse. Besides, he might not even be alive, there’s no guarantee he survived that fall.”

      “He did, he must have done. Everything happens for a reason, my boy, and Jake reappearing now can’t be coincidence. And at least if you arrest him I know he’ll be safe.”

      “I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”

      “Really? I can already think of one place you might try.”

      “Where?”

      “You told him I was here, right?”

      “Not where exactly, but I told him you were in a hospice.”

      “Then he knows my place is empty. Where better to hide than somewhere you already know?”

      The moment he said it I knew he was right. Jake might not want to bring trouble to Dad, but if Dad wasn’t there then the bungalow would be a perfect spot for him to lay low.

      “Are you sure you want me to do this?” I asked, standing reluctantly. Some tiny part of me was, I realised, jealous of the fact that Dad was so desperate to see Jake, despite everything he’d done. I pushed it away as he spoke, back into the darkness that spawned it.

      “Gareth, I’ve never asked you for anything, have I? Well, I’m asking now and if it makes a difference you can consider it a dying wish. Find out where Jake is, find out what kind of trouble he’s in and for the love of God, if you can do it, keep him safe.”

       Chapter 5

      Dad’s bungalow was up a steep hill called, unimaginatively, Hillside, at the top of Woodingdean, a few miles to the east of Brighton. At the end of the road, the chalk hills of the downs curved away east and west, while from the garden you could see the sea to the south.

      The road itself was quiet, the homes little more than slashes of light escaping from around drawn curtains to disappear in the dark evening. The evening wind had died down now, and as the darkness deepened it brought with it an oppressive mugginess that made even the short walk from the car to the house sticky and unpleasant.

      I could see lights on in Dad’s place as I approached, although that could be the timer I’d installed to make it look as though someone was always in. I moved as quietly as I could along the side of the building, feet still crunching on gravel as I passed forlorn-looking plants that were usually so well-tended. As if the house was a reflection of Dad’s health, once hale and hearty but rapidly slipping into decay.

      Taking out my keys, I searched for the right one by feel and slid it softly into the lock on the side door, hearing it bump gently against the tumblers. With a careful twist it opened silently. Even after all these years, I still expected Lily to bark as she ran at the door, but the kitchen was empty.

      I closed the door in silence and crept across the faded lino towards the small hallway. Although technically a bungalow, the loft had been turned into bedrooms when we were kids, and so I headed up the stairs, avoiding the ones that squeaked with an ease born from years of midnight raids on the fridge.

      The light was on in Jake’s old room, fingers of it creeping out from under the door. I placed my ear against it and heard movement within. Taking a breath, I put a hand on the handle and turned it sharply, bursting into the room to see Jake, now dressed in some of my old clothes, sitting on the edge of the bed with his phone in his hands.

      He was off the bed in a flash, fist flying towards my face. I ducked it easily, slamming an open hand into his chest and hurling him back onto the bed.

      “Jake, it’s me!”

      He paused in the act of scrambling back to his feet and I saw realisation dawn. He stood slowly, favouring his right leg and keeping the bed between us.

      “Didn’t think you’d come here.” His eyes never left mine, as if I was a snake that might bite him if he turned away.

      “Dad thought you’d be here.”

      “You told him? Why the hell did you do that?”

      “Because