Page 127 of In Too Deep

Jake looked away, uncomfortable with praise at the best of times, but he couldn’t quite stop the warmth spreading low in his chest either.

Deacon nodded. “Nah, seriously, Jake. That’s the best thing you’ve written since before…”

He cut himself off but everyone in the room knew what he meant.

Before prison.

And the silence that followed was heavy. They all knew what Jake had been through. The gigs before Neon Arcade took off without him. The recording sessions. The feeling that Jake had once been halfway out of Hartswick.

Raff cleared his throat, suddenly pretending to be very interested in re-tuning his bass. “Crowd’ll go fucking mental for that chorus.”

Ivy appeared in the doorway then, carrying a tray of beers, wearing some soft all-in-one jumpsuit thing, long blonde hair woven into a thick French plait over one shoulder. Deacon’s on-slash-off girlfriend was pretty in that effortless way that didn’t ask for attention. Homely. Safe. The sort of woman people looked at and immediately pictured mortgages and Sunday mornings and children, eventually. She’d grown up a lot since the days she used to follow the band around at nineteen with smudged eyeliner and cheap cider hidden in her handbag. No wonder she’d started pushing Deacon to settle down lately, she looked practically Mum-ready. Deacon just had to stop chasing validation from crowds and girls barely out of their teens.

“You lot sounded slightly less tragic than usual,” she said as she wandered in.

Deacon crossed the room to take the beers from her and Ivy kissed him as she handed them over. Jake looked away before the casual intimacy of it could hit a part of him he’d think was envy. He hadn’t realised how lonely he’d become until Harrison had briefly made him feel otherwise.

Ivy grabbed the remote beside the amps to switch on the mounted TV screen. “Estate agent superstar’s advert is on the local channel.”

Deacon groaned as if he wasn’t buzzing over the fact that he’d starred in his own TV ad. The TV flared into life, revealing Deacon standing outside a semi-detached house in an ill-fitting suit with the most painfully forced smile Jake had ever seen. “Find your forever home with Froggatt Estates—”

Raff burst into hysterics. “You look held hostage.”

“It took six fucking takes that,” Deacon snapped.

Teddy glanced up from his maths homework. “You blink weird.”

“Traitor,” Deacon muttered.

Even Jake laughed.

Then the advert ended, and they all went back to discussing songs and set lists and whether they needed to upgrade the mixer. Until the TV switched to a news bulletin appeal and Jake’s ears pricked up.

“…continue to appeal for information regarding a missing silver Ford Fiesta connected to Lauren Pike, the woman recovered from the River Hart…”

On screen appeared Lauren’s photograph beside the registration number while footage rolled of divers working along the muddy riverbank beneath police floodlights. Harrison appeared briefly too, half turned from the camera beside the taped perimeter, coat collar pulled against the wind as reporters shouted questions at him.

“…Police believe the vehicle may have been moved shortly after Miss Pike disappeared—”

“Police came asking about that today,” Raff muttered.

Jake looked over. “What?”

Raff took a pull from his beer, then pointed the bottle at the TV. “That car. Police came by yard earlier. Davo reckons he’s never seen it. Which probably means he knows exactly where it is.”

Jake’s stomach twisted. “The police were there?”

“Aye, couple of uniforms came sniffing.” Raff shrugged. “Asked if we’d seen it. Davo told them no. End of.”

“And you believe him?”

Raff barked a laugh. “Me? Course not.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “You think he knows where it is?”

“I know that if someone wanted a motor disappearing round here, they’d take it to Davo. He does night take ins. When I’m not there. Not on the books.”

Jake frowned. “He does stuff off the books?”