Barry Corby Part 6

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For part 1 click here part 2 click here and part 3 click here and part 4 here and part 5 here

ArtyMac leant back in Barry’s leather chair and shook his head.  He looked up at Barry Corby who was staring out of the window across the football pitch and the new stadium beyond. As ever Barry was dressed in a garish Hawaiian shirt and smartly ironed trousers.

“I’m sorry mate.” Arty said, looking back at the screen in front of him.

“Scroll down.” Barry said without turning around.

Arty clicked on the mouse and rolled the wheel. He sucked in air between his teeth. “Jesus Christ.”

“And again.”   

“No way! Ross Kettering? Is there anyone she isn’t fucking?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Arty wished he could pull them back in. He watched Barry lean his head against the pane of glass. Barry’s phone vibrated on the table, but both men ignored it.

“Does Lulu know you know?”

“Not yet.”

“What you gonna do?”

“I should kill her, I should kill them,” Barry said. “I should kill them all.”

You can’t kill half of Castleton. This time ArtyMac kept the thoughts to himself.

He rolled the mouse up and down enjoying the photos. And then stopped when he remembered the woman on the screen wasn’t some Pornhub whore, but was his best mate’s wife.

“Who sent these?”

“I don’t know,” Barry said. “But whoever it is, he wants to be paid by Sunday, or he will take the pictures to the papers.”

“You’re not going to pay him are you?” ArtyMac banged the table.

“What choice to I have?” Barry turned around. “He’s already ruined me, and now he wants to make my suffering public. All of this,” Barry gestured to the world outside his window. “Everything I’ve built - destroyed. How will anyone be able to take Barry Corby seriously once everyone knows that half the people in this fucking two-bit town are shagging my wife? I’ll be a laughing stock.” Barry turned back to the window. “This fucking town would be nothing without me. Nothing! I’ve poured money in, created jobs, created wealth, saved this fucking football club. And this is the thanks I get.”

 “When did you say this little toe rag wants the money by?” ArtyMac scratched his face.

“Sunday.”

“That gives us three days. We can come up with something.” Arty went over and patted his mate on the shoulder. “You can trust ArtyMac. When have I ever let you down.” The two men stared out over the football ground in silence. Arty’s words were big words but deepdown he knew his oldest friend was screwed.

For part seven click here

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