A Long Way Back (Unfinished Business #2) - Barbara Elsborg Page 0,14

He wrapped up his guitar, put it away and picked up his money.

When he heard the guy call “Hey!” Ink kept moving, slipped to the back of the shops and took shelter with Dog behind one of the skips. He stayed there for thirty minutes before he risked emerging. Didn’t matter who’d shouted, he wasn’t answering.

Heaving his heavy backpack higher on his shoulder, he headed toward Rimmington Road. About halfway up, a group of people were gathered on the pavement and as he drew nearer, he realised they were standing outside the number he was aiming for.

“Again, I’m sorry for the mix up,” said a man on the steps who looked to be in his mid-fifties.

Ink sidled up to the back of the group and listened.

“Seven of you. Oh eight.” The guy glanced at Ink, then at Dog, his eyes widening for a moment.

Ink opened his mouth to say he wasn’t with the others, then closed it again.

“Ten to fifteen minutes each,” the grey-haired guy said. “He’ll see you in the order in which you arrived. Maybe time for a few of you to go and get a coffee?”

The guy who’d spoken opened the door and a man of about the same age left the group, went up the steps and followed him in. What was going on?

Someone tapped Ink’s shoulder. “Fancy a drink?”

Ink turned to see a guy who looked about the same age as him. Except this guy was wearing clean, smart clothes.

Ink shrugged. “Okay.”

They set off back toward the high street. Hopefully, whoever had called to him earlier would have given up.

“At least as numbers seven and eight we get the chance to have a coffee. I was in a rush this morning and didn’t manage to grab one. It’s a wonder I can function at all. I’m Julian.”

“My name’s Ink.”

“Cool name. Because you have tattoos?”

Ink nodded. When he’d chosen the name, he didn’t have a tattoo. I…N…K stood for something.

“How long have you been working for Helper?” Julian asked.

Thank you, God. Ink swallowed his laugh. “This would be my first job with them. What about you?”

“If I get this, it’ll be my second. The eighty-six-year-old guy I was looking after went to live in a nursing home.”

Ink’s brain was jumping all over the place. This didn’t sound as if it had anything to do with Sad Guy. More than one person lived at number seventeen. There were three flats. He’d checked. This sounded like a home-help service for elderly people.

“I thought they said no dogs.” Julian looked down at Dog.

“I’m just minding him. Can we sit outside? If I tie him up, he’ll whine.”

“Okay. I’ll get the coffees. What would you like?”

“Just a straight black coffee. Thanks.”

Ink sat at a table and put his stuff on the ground. No one was looking at him. No one was watching. If it had been Carter earlier, he wouldn’t have given up. If it had been Carter, he’d have called out his name. If it had been Carter, Ink would be on a train right now.

By the time Julian brought out the drinks, Ink was still trying to figure this out. A job offering help, but doing what? He put a handful of coins for the coffee on the table and Julian pocketed them. Pity.

“You’ve got a lot of gear with you.” He nodded at Ink’s stuff.

“I had to leave my flat unexpectedly.”

Julian gave a short laugh. “So you really need this job.”

“I’ve somewhere to go. I’m not that desperate. I might not like the guy.” Oh God, I already do. Sort of. Assuming it was Sad Guy, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t. “What sort of things will need doing, do you know?” Please don’t say the usual.

“The usual, I guess. Shopping, cooking, cleaning, providing company. I can’t understand why more people don’t do this. Free room and board and you get paid!”

Ink’s ears pricked up and Dog lifted his head and looked at him.

“Sometimes, depending on how much help the client needs, you can even manage full or part time work as well. My first client was so easy. He slept a lot and I had loads of time to study. I’m at the University of Greenwich.”

Ink didn’t even need to ask leading questions. Julian barely paused to draw breath. Now Ink knew exactly what this morning’s group of people had come for. Someone at 17 Rimmington Road needed live-in help. Although this hadn’t been what Ink had anticipated, maybe this was a job he could