‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’
The boy on the left sniggered, dug his fingers deeper into his anorak pockets.
‘What about?’ I judged the boy who spoke to be older, eighteen or so. He had a savage crew-cut and baby-blue eyes. ‘You making a documentary or summat?’
His friend erupted into childish giggles.
‘No, I’m looking for a friend of mine. He’s missing. I wondered if you’d seen him?’ I pulled out the photo of Martin with the carp. I’d cropped off most of the fish. Blue Eyes barely glanced at it and shook his head. He passed it to Giggler who seemed to find it hilarious.
‘You got any change?’ Blue Eyes nodded at the carton. With a rush of embarrassment, I realised I hadn’t any money on me. I knew a cheque wouldn’t be any good to them.
‘I’m sorry. I came out without any money.’
‘Great,’ he sneered. The younger boy was beginning to roll the photo into a tube. I held out my hand and took it back.
‘He went missing about a month ago. His name’s Martin, Martin Hobbs. I heard he was in Manchester.’
‘Big place,’ said Blue Eyes aggressively.
An old woman stopped beside us and fumbled in her purse for change. She dropped some silver into the box then hurried away.
‘Is there anywhere else you know I could look? Any squats you know about?’ Blank stares. ‘Look, there’d be a reward for useful information.’
‘How much?’ Blue Eyes was interested, if sceptical.
‘Well, it’d depend on what it was…’ I faltered.
‘Fuck this. C’mon.’ He scooped up the tray and leapt to his feet. Giggler followed suit.
‘Twenty quid for a definite lead, if I could talk to someone who’d seen him.’ Blue Eyes nodded. ‘Here’s my card, just ring…’
‘Yeah, right…“just ring”,’ he mimicked my voice.
They began to walk briskly away.
‘And the photo,’ I screeched. People turned to look. I ran after them and thrust it towards them.
‘You might need it…’ I tailed off. I felt embarrassed. I hadn’t a clue whether they’d met Martin Hobbs or not, whether twenty quid was too little or too much to offer, whether they thought I was a plain-clothes police officer or a social worker. But I recognised the look of contempt on the face of the older one. He took the photo and slid it into his back pocket.
With burning cheeks, I scurried back to the car. I gathered my thoughts and reined in my emotions for a few minutes before setting off. When it came down to it, I didn’t like hostility. I wanted everyone to be nice and friendly, especially to me. The people I’d just met had plenty to feel hostile about; they were hardly going to warm to a middle-class nosy-parker who hadn’t even the common decency to contribute to the day’s takings. My ears burned afresh. I cursed a bit. Eased my shoulders down from my ears and started the engine.
