Good People by Ewart Hutton Page A

looked at me his face had collapsed.
    ‘Trevor,’ I said his name quietly, searching for the right words, ‘were you trying to escape?’
    He nodded.
    ‘Trevor, are you gay?’
    He tensed. ‘No.’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘No … I don’t know,’ he wailed with real anguish.
    ‘It’s no big deal,’ I said soothingly. ‘Not any more. Not in this day and age.’
    Anger flashed under his film of tears. ‘It is round here.’
    I gave him time to get over the enormity of almost pouring his heart out to another man. Not quite voicing something that he had managed to keep between his id and his naked reflection in his bedroom mirror. Something still deniable, the safety catch still half switched on.
    ‘Do the others know?’ I asked.
    ‘What is there to know?’ His voice had a rasp to it. ‘I told you, I don’t even know myself,’ he insisted, retreating back under protective cover. The guy dreamt of cock, but was waiting in despair for a visitation from Saint Vagina to sprinkle desire dust. Who was I to tell him that she was never going to arrive?
    ‘I heard a rumour that you were in the habit of visiting prostitutes.’
    He managed a half-smile. ‘I heard that one myself.’
    ‘And it seemed like a good idea not to protest too much?’
    He shrugged that off. ‘They meant well,’ he said.
    ‘Who did?’
    ‘My friends. Trying to set us up with the prostitute.’
    Did they?
I wondered. Or was there something infinitely crueller behind it? But we had got there. We were back with Magda without me having to force the issue.
    ‘Tell me about her. I call her Magda. What was her real name?’
    ‘I don’t really know.’
    ‘She wasn’t Miss Danielle, was she? She wasn’t a prostitute from Cardiff.’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Trevor, you were supposed to fuck this woman, and you’re trying to tell me that you don’t know anything about her?’
    He shot me a hurt look. He still wanted me to be his friend. ‘I was asleep. I was really tired. I had had too much to drink and it had been a long day. I woke up at the petrol station and she was already in the back of the minibus. I heard Gordon tell the driver that we were giving her a lift as far as Dinas. That seemed reasonable; I didn’t think any more about it.’
    ‘That was the first time you’d seen her, or heard anything about this being organized?’
    ‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean that Gordon or Les hadn’t arranged it,’ he said protectively.
    ‘There was no pimp, was there?’
    He thought about that. He shook his head, but looked at me defiantly.
    ‘I don’t give a fuck who was driving, Trevor,’ I said, guessing the reason for his stance. ‘I’m not even going to ask. I just want you to keep answering me as truthfully as possible.’
    He nodded.
    ‘You dropped Boon Paterson off?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Where?’
    He frowned. He had a dilemma. He shouldn’t have. He was supposed to be telling me the truth now. There should only have been one possible answer. He came to a decision. ‘We dropped him off at his house. He was drunk, and it was cold – we couldn’t leave him to walk all that way home.’
    Those were the reasons that I had given Ken McGuire, I noted, but let it pass. I didn’t want to interrupt this flow. ‘So you get up to the hut …’ I prompted.
    ‘Yes, and everyone was cheerful. It was like a party. We still had beer and stuff, and music. And everyone was happy. She was enjoying herself.’
    ‘And lights?’
    ‘Yes.’ He thought about it. ‘Gas lanterns. They were already there.’
    ‘And then suddenly you weren’t so happy?’
    He shook his head. ‘Not when it was suggested that Paul or I should team up with the girl.’
    ‘What did she think of that idea?’
    ‘I don’t know, it wasn’t said in front of her.’
    ‘What about Paul?’
    ‘You saw what he looked like in the morning? He was even worse then. He was completely out of it, totally wrecked.’
    ‘And you went and hid in the other