Bryant & May - The Burning Man
Page 35
‘Not when you put it like that.’ Colin winced as he emptied more pieces of china into the bin. ‘I’m really sorry, Meera.’
‘So I guess you’re stuck with me.’ She gave a tentative smile.
‘I never wanted anything else.’ He smiled back. ‘I’m dead boring like that. I’m never going to change. I’ll always be here.’ He spotted another piece under the table and stooped to pick it up. As he rose, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her touch was such a surprise that he gripped the fragment, cutting his thumb.
She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped away a single scarlet drop of blood. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
His smile became a grin. ‘You could never hurt me. I’m like a tree, rooted and solid. I’ll keep the rain off you, Meera.’
She put her arms around him. Her head only came up to his chest. They stayed like that for some minutes. Outside the fog thickened, so that the sound of the traffic was completely lost, and all she could hear was the beating of his heart.
Down at the river it was hardly possible to see at all. Waterloo Bridge looked as if it was only half built. The far side had simply vanished. A barge drifted silently underneath, barely causing a ripple. It was loaded with building materials, but it might have been carrying Queen Elizabeth I and her retinue. One expected to hear only oars dipping into mirrored water, but all sound was now so muffled that it seemed as if someone was holding a pillow over the city.
John May walked slowly towards the centre of the bridge. As he did so, a lone motionless figure slowly came into focus, leaning on the east-facing balustrade. May quickened his pace, gladdened to find his partner waiting. Of course he had been drawn back there, to the Thames, where his wife and brother had both tragically perished.
As he approached, Bryant seemed to sense that someone was coming and turned around to face him. He had a look of utter desolation on his features.
‘I don’t know why I came here or what I’m doing,’ he warned, raising a hand. ‘I think I caught the tube but I don’t remember anything. I don’t know what day it is, or where I am. How could I have caught the tube? I can’t even find my pass.’
‘You were all right earlier,’ said May. ‘You were in your office at the unit. I went to a meeting and when I came to look for you, you’d gone.’
‘Then why am I here?’ Bryant gestured at the river in puzzlement.
‘We’ve always come here to think.’
‘But where am I? Who am I?’
‘You are Arthur Bryant,’ replied May. ‘And this is Waterloo Bridge.’
‘I’m in London.’ Bryant’s cornflower-blue eyes widened in amazement. He leaned over the balustrade and looked down. A piece of driftwood passed beneath them with a seagull sitting placidly on one end. It flicked itself into the air and lolloped away across the gelid surface of the river.
‘How does it feel?’ May asked.
‘It’s hard to describe,’ Bryant answered as he watched the bird evaporate into the gloom. ‘I’ve used up the last of my strength. Everything is just falling away. It’s like being a lost child. I can’t recognize anything. But I’m not frightened any more. It all feels very peaceful.’
‘That’s because you know a secret now,’ said May gently. ‘You know that you’re unassailable, and you don’t have to worry about anything.’
‘I wish someone had told me about this earlier.’ Bryant smiled. ‘The sense of fearlessness. It’s very liberating. And once you can see that those closest to you aren’t scared either, you can do anything you want. You’re not scared, are you?’
‘For you? I was earlier, but now I’m not.’
‘That’s good. You’ve no reason to be, John. It’s like this.’ He leaned his walking stick against the balustrade and held out his hands. ‘Like gently walking into the fog.’ He looked May in the eye. ‘I’m not going to come out of the other side this time.’
‘You can’t know that.’ May felt a terrible loss opening inside him.
‘This time it feels different.’
‘Arthur—’
‘You know I’ll still be with you. Here, on the bridge,’ Bryant said. ‘Whenever you come here, you’ll be able to find me.’
‘Arthur, don’t go,’ said May. ‘We haven’t completed our work.’
Even the fog could not hide Bryant’s white smile now. ‘Nobody ever completes their work,’ he said. He felt for his walking stick and picked it up. ‘Have I been very annoying? I mean, over the years.’
‘Quite annoying, yes,’ said May.
‘Sorry about that.’ He rooted about in his overcoat pocket and produced a creased fold of paper. ‘Do you remember when we first met, I got you to translate a code made from butterflies?’ He handed May the page. ‘See if you’re still up to it.’
May took the offering, puzzled.
‘Well, I’d like to stay but my bones are getting cold.’ Bryant rubbed his bare red hands together and looked out across the water. ‘There’s someone I have to go and say goodbye to.’
‘Who?’ asked May.
Bryant pointed to the smudged grey buildings that hemmed the river. ‘Why, London, of course.’
He stood there for a moment, looking out at something May could not see. Then he turned and walked slowly away. After just half a dozen paces, he was already hard to make out.
A moment later, there was nothing ahead but the silent fog.
May unfolded the page Bryant had given him. Set across it was a row of red admirals, but the colours were all wrong. It looked like naval code. Admirals, that was the tip-off. Of course. He translated the letters.
W-E-R-E-O-U-T-O-F-T-E-A
It was the page that Bryant had handed him on the day they met, all those years ago. But now there were some more butterflies, rather more shakily drawn, in a separate line below.
G-O-O-D-B-Y-E-O-L-D-F-R-I-E-N-D
‘Arthur, what will I do without you?’ May called, seized with sudden anguish. ‘How will I manage?’
In his heart he knew the answer to his question. Bryant had been right, as usual. They would always have Waterloo Bridge, on the span of the Thames, in the city which had created them.
About the Author
Christopher Fowler is a Londoner born (in Greenwich) and bred. For many years he jointly owned and ran one of the UK’s top film marketing companies. He is the multi-award-winning author of many novels and short-story collections, from the urban unease of cult fictions such as Roofworld and Spanky, the horror-pastiche of Hell Train and the haunted-house thriller Nyctophobia, to the acclaimed Bryant & May series of detective novels – and his two critically lauded autobiographies, Paperboy and Film Freak. He lives in London’s King’s Cross.
To find out more, visit www.christopherfowler.co.uk
Also by Christopher Fowler, featuring Bryant & May
FULL DARK HOUSE
THE WATER ROOM
SEVENTY-SEVEN CLOCKS
TEN-SECOND STAIRCASE
WHITE CORRIDOR
THE VICTORIA VANISHES
BRYANT & MAY ON THE LOOSE
BRYANT & MAY OFF THE RAILS
BRYANT & MAY AND THE MEMORY OF BLOOD
BRYANT & MAY AND THE INVISIBLE CODE
BRYANT & MAY: THE BLEEDING HEART
PAPERBOY: A MEMOIR
FILM FREAK
For more information on Christopher Fowler and his books, see his website at www.christopherfowler.co.uk
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First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Doubleday
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Copyright © Christopher Fowler 2015
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Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781448170210
ISBN 9780857522047
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