"Yes I was Arthur, I had a good old weep, didn't I?" said Joan, smiling. "And I've had a few tears over the last few days too, as you know."
"So you must be sad," suggested Arthur, confused.
"Crying doesn't mean we're sad," said Joan. "You see, she had an uneventful life but it became a serene one. Things weren't always good with her and Dad. In fact, he was downright abusive at times. However, through all her trials, she learned to forgive herself and everyone she knew."
"Forgive herself?" asked Arthur, confused again as he stepped back to let others to pass on the pavement.
"Yes, forgive herself - that's the only thing we have to do," said Joan, patiently as he caught up to her again. "When we forgive ourselves our defects, our errors, we can forgive everyone else and the world."
"Right," said Arthur, uncertainly.
"She'd learned to accept herself and, with that acceptance, came a serenity that everyone noticed," said Joan. "You heard what everyone said about her at the service, didn't you?"
"Yes I did and I was quite moved," said Arthur as a warm feeling arose in his chest. "I had no idea she had so many friends - that she'd touched so many people. And she didn't go anywhere."
"She didn't have to; they came to her," said Joan.
"So you're sad because she's gone?" asked Arthur, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
"No love, we're never sad for what we've lost; we're sad for what could have been," said Joan quietly as she stopped and turned to Arthur. "I think I was crying for relief - relief that she's come home to herself, to accepting and loving herself. Maybe the relief is that it's possible and I can have that too. I hope so."
"Crying for relief that you could also have her serenity?" asked Arthur, trying to keep himself up with the conversation. "So you're sure you're not sad to have lost her?"
"Yes, I am sure of that, Arthur," said Joan, smiling up at her confused looking husband. "Look, I loved my mother - you know that."
"Yes ..."
"And yes, you and I had our differences but she was a rock when things weren't going well for us," she said quietly. "You know, she never judged or criticised either of us - just listened and smiled. Offered me cups of tea and biscuits and smiled and listened. I guess she knew that I knew my own answers, even when I didn't think I did. Do you understand?"
"I think so," said Arthur, gingerly, "and she never said anything about me?"
"Nope! Not ever!" said Joan firmly. "And nothing bad about me either. She'd just smile and ask, 'So, what can you do about that, dear?"
"And did you know what to do?" asked Arthur, seeing another side of his mother-in-law.
"Not usually!" said Joan, smiling at the memories. "I had no idea and felt really trapped and so would go on about my troubles, over and over, and she'd just smile, offer another cup of tea and say, 'Well dear, you know what to do about that, don't you?' Of course I didn't know what to do. Or, I didn't think I knew."
"So, if you didn't know what to do, what did you do?" asked Arthur, with some of the pieces of his puzzle missing.
"Not sure. Maybe we don't have to fix everything," said Joan, musing. "Maybe knowing that someone believed in me, accepted me, was all the fixing I needed. And now I have you for that."
"Me?" asked Arthur as he dropped the puzzle board in his mind and the pieces scattered.
"Look, Arthur, we all need a human pillow, a friend who will accept who we are, dark and light bits alike," said Joan patiently. "Mum was my pillow. I could fall into her and I was always safe. Now it feels like you've returned and I can fall into you."
"Like a changing of the guard!" said Arthur, trying to laugh away the rising feeling inside.
"I guess so," said Joan, smiling. "And I want to be that for you, your human pillow, a safe place to fall into."
"Oh, sorry!" said Arthur as a pedestrian bumped him.
"Sorry mate," said an Australian voice as a tall, blonde man sauntered past.
"Look dear, I want to hear about your mother," said Arthur, "but don't you think we should move on? Get inside?"
"Yes, you're right."
"And I'll make you a cup of tea and you'll know what to do next!" said Arthur, trying to hide a sneaky smile.
"Arthur Bayly, you do have a sense of humour," said Joan as she took his arm and strode off up the street. "You know, Arthur," she said, stopping suddenly, "maybe we've been hiding our full selves from each other, do you think?"
"Absolutely dear," said Arthur, smiling, "and I never realised, before, that you can't talk and walk at the same time."
"Arthur!" said Joan, cuffing him gently on the arm. "Okay, I won't stop again! It's just ... I don't know, it's just that we've started communicating again and I have so much to say to you. So much time seems to have been lost and I want to make it all up right now!"
"You impatient thing, you," said Arthur, smiling and pulling his wife to him. "But we can make it all up here we can do it in the comfort of our home ..."
"Oh, you practical thing, you!" she said as they moved off again.
As they reached their door, Arthur reached into his pocket for his keys. They weren't there. He tried his left pocket. Not there either. He tried his right pocket again, as if there was somewhere in there they could hide. Still not there. He tried his jacket pockets. No keys.
"What's wrong, Arthur? Can't you find your keys?" asked Joan, used to Arthur's fastidiousness of putting things back 'where they belong,' as he would say.
"Ah, no, I seem to have misplaced them," he said. "Most unusual." He kept rattling round in his pockets as if they'd magically turn up if he kept at it.
"I'll use mine then," said Joan, fishing in her bag.
"Here they are mate," said a tallish man with blonde hair. "Don't say we never look after you!"
"Oh, oh, thanks," said Arthur, perplexed. "But how did you get hold of them?" The voice sounded strangely familiar.
"Now I know where you live!" said the young man in an obviously Australian accent, in an obvious hurry. "I've gotta' go but would love to hook up again. I'll see you soon."
"But ... but ..." said Arthur, feeling the blood draining from his head and his stomach tighten uncomfortably. Arthur had the strangest feeling he'd seen the man before, recently. He just couldn't place him, unfortunately.
"Look mate, they're after us, not you, so I'll bugger off, lead them away!" said the young man who then strode off quickly.
Joan unlocked the door as Arthur stood there, unable to move.
"Come in, love," said Joan. "You can tell me what you've been up to when you're safe inside."
"But ... but ..." said Arthur, struggling to find more useful words.
"Arthur, inside!" commanded Joan, taking his hand firmly.
"But ... but ..." said Arthur, like a cracked record.
Joan led him to his chair in the sitting room and he obediently sat.
"I'll get us a cup of tea, love," said Joan, looking concerned. "I'll be right back."
As she put the cups down on the small table, Arthur shook his head as if waking from a dream ... or a nightmare.
"So, my dear, what do you make of it all?" asked Joan. "You job turns shaky, you become a local hero and my mother dies on Monday. Martin's marriage seems over, we have my mother's funeral and a young man bumps into you, he returns your keys and acts curious ... suspicious."
"Oh yes, it was the same man wasn't it - the Australian!" said Arthur, as if a light suddenly went on in his brain.
"What Australian? The one in the café?" asked Joan. "What have you been up to? There's got to be more than you've told me."
"Oh, I don't know love," said Arthur, wiping his forehead. "I keep thinking there's something I've missed ... something I saw that I've forgotten ... something ..."
"Arthur, Arthur, stop, stop," said Joan, holding his hand. "Stop thinking and you'll remember. And have your tea."
"Oh yes, I'd quite forgotten!" he said, smiling wanly. "Stop thinking to remember ..." He found this mildly amusing, someh
ow.
"And, as far as you know, you don't know that young man, that Australian?" asked Joan, trying to put the jigsaw of Arthur's week together. "You haven't been investigating an insurance case he's in or something?"
"No, but he said us, as if there's a group," said Arthur as the lump in his stomach returned.
"Yes, it did sound a bit threatening," said Joan. "Now, why don't we call that police officer, that Amanda, and talk to her about it?"
"Oh Joan, what a good idea!" said Arthur, feeling less vulnerable, suddenly. "She gave me her mobile number. I hope she doesn't mind."
"If she does, she can say so," said Joan lifting the phone.
Amanda was around at their place in fifteen minutes, in civilian clothes. Arthur and Joan had another cup of tea and Amanda cradled an instant coffee, without enthusiasm. She listened to their story.
"Have your coffee before it gets cold," said Joan.
"Oh, ah, yes, I don't usually drink instant," said Amanda, looking embarrassed. She sipped at her coffee with little obvious relish.
Joan went into the dining room and returned with Monday evening's newspaper and showed Arthur the photo of the scene he had witnessed.
"Who's that behind the woman in the photo, Arthur?" asked Joan.
"No one ... oh, gosh, it's blurry but it could be that young man, the one who gave me my keys," said Arthur, wondering if it was really such fun being 007.
"Who took your keys from you in the first place," said Joan firmly.
"Yes, maybe he did ..." said Arthur.
"Look, it's not a good photo but it's something to go on," said Amanda, standing to leave. "I'll get another paper and start some inquiries."
"But we've got you from your home - why don't you stay for tea?" asked Joan.
"What, and deprive me of my reheated, malnourished, microwaved chicken and spud?" said Amanda, laughing as she ran her hands through her golden curls. "That would be lovely, thanks."
As they sat down to dinner, some time later, Joan insisted on saying grace.
"Okay, help yourself, Amanda," said Joan, pushing bowls of steaming food towards Amanda. "We don't usually say grace but I just wanted to thank my mother for her help. Maybe she can help us more from where she is now."
"Yes, the three days are up now," said Amanda.
"Three days?" asked Joan.
"Well, most indigenous people think that it takes three days after death for spirit to assert itself," said Amanda.
"Assert itself?" asked Arthur, wondering how a perfectly ordinary English supper had so quickly turned into a ... a, um, talk on death and other odd stuff.
"Yes, sort of get itself together," said Amanda. "Most of them believe that when we die, our spirit is given three days to decide whether it wants to stay in spirit or to return to earth. A study in America found that twenty five percent of bodies in morgues came back to life within three days."
"Oh my God, do they really?" asked Arthur, unable to continue spooning out peas from the bowl.
"Yes, it seems there's a sort of waiting period while we're given a choice about coming back or not and we can do so within those three days, even defying medical science," said Amanda.
"What a lovely subject for supper," said Joan, chuckling.
"Oh sorry," said Amanda, blushing.
"Oh, no, go on, this is fascinating," said Joan. "I want to know what happens."
"Well, I don't know. I don't think anybody really does," said Amanda, warming to her subject. "But this three-day wake up thing is why most traditions wait at least three days and why they have the body at home in an open casket - it allows the body to wake up and get up. Hiding a body in a drawer in a mortuary goes against all that."
"Oh, my gosh, I hadn't thought of that!" said Joan, gravy jug poised in mid-air. "Do you think we should have had have my mother at home with us, Arthur?"
"Oomph," said Arthur, surprised at such a question while his mouth was full of mashed potato.
"Look, I wasn't actually suggesting anything like that," said Amanda, smiling at Joan and probably wondering how long the gravy jug would remain suspended above Joan's food. "Did you want some gravy?"
"Oh, yes, sorry!" said Joan, pouring her gravy and passing it to Amanda.
"All I was suggesting, based on the indigenous people I've worked with, is that you may get stronger help from her now that the three days have passed."
"Looks like we're not on our own, dear," said Arthur, smiling crookedly.
"On our own ... I don't think we're ever on our own, Arthur," said Joan, smiling. A worrying little spider began crawling about in Arthur's tummy - the conversation seemed to have turned itself back to the dark and shadowy places he did not want to venture into.
"You're right," said Amanda and Arthur studied his steak rather intently, hoping not to be noticed ... hoping it would all go away if he pretended he couldn't hear. "Even in my darkest of times, there was always help when I asked. I just had to want to listen."
"You mean you've had spirit speak to you, do things for you?" asked Joan with peas and steak on fork, aloft.
"I don't know if I'd call it spirit as I don't know what it was," said Amanda, trying to explain the unexplainable. "But I do know that when I've been in an impossible position, when I've needed help or answers, when I've stopped to listen, the impossible seemed to happen."
"What, like miracles?" asked Joan who realised her fork had not yet reached her mouth, then swallowed said peas and steak.
"Like I said, I can't put labels to these things - like spirit or miracle - but things just seem to happen, people seem to turn up unexpectedly, and I'm set back on the path again," said Amanda. "Hey, this is the best meal I've had for ages, thanks, and these squishy peas are yummy!" She tucked in enthusiastically.
"Squishy peas? Oh you mean the mushy peas!" said Arthur, chuckling and relieved to be on solid ground again. "That's an English delicacy. We're very proud of our mushy peas. Without them we wouldn't have conquered the world, created the Empire or won the war ..."
"Arthur, you're being quite silly. I don't know what's got into you!" said Joan, smiling while shaking more salt over her potatoes and brussell sprouts. "But I want to know about all this help Amanda's talking about. Go on."
Arthur settled back to his dinner a little mollified to think that things like spirits and miracles had not been dispensed with yet. Like a gazelle at the water hole, he remained alert.
"Well, after my really dark time, when I started to come out of it ... did Arthur tell you?" asked Amanda.
"Yes, he told me a little of it," said Joan.
"So, I decided I needed a job but not one that was too taxing - my mind was a bit, you know, fragile," said Amanda. "So I ended up going for an interview at a government department, doing office work."
"And, by a miracle, you ended up here!" said Joan laughing.
"Well, sort of, but it took several interventions, shall we say," said Amanda. "I went to the interview and the office at that address was shut and so I went next door to the police station to ask where they'd moved to, met up with a friend I hadn't seen for ten years, had lunch with her and ended up joining the police!"
"So you ended up working for a government department!" said Arthur, deciding it was safe to join in again.
"Huh! I'd never thought of that!" said Amanda, helping herself to more mashed potato from the bowl. "Then, two years later ... I suppose you want to hear the end of this boring story?"
"It's not boring at all, Amanda," said Joan. "Go on!"
"I usually do - go on that is!" said Amanda. "So, after two years I found out about this exchange programme with Britain. I had always wanted to travel and, because I'd helped in a smuggling case, with links to England and Scotland and it had seemed to have something to do with insurance scams - I'd worked in insurance before ..."
"You worked in insurance?" asked Arthur. "That's where I've always worked!"
"Who do you work for?" asked Amanda, about to scoop up some potato and stopp
ing suddenly.
"I work for AIL," said Arthur, "up in London."
"AIL? Oh my God!" exclaimed Amanda, going quite red.
"Well, as I told you earlier, my work there has changed, as of Monday," said Arthur, hoping to stop that creeping spider in his stomach from starting up again. Amanda's reaction did not help.
"Of course, of course, changes upon changes!" said Amanda in a vain attempt to act flippant.
"Is AIL involved in any of this?" asked Joan, asking the question Arthur wanted to but couldn't.
"Oh hell!" said Amanda, looking down, sighing. She put down her knife and fork and looked directly at Joan, then at Arthur. The silence was palpable. "Look, I'm really sorry. I've overstepped the mark. I shouldn't have said what I'm working on. I just felt so comfortable with you two - the first two really friendly people I've met in the six months I've been here. I'm so sorry, I just should not have said anything ..."
"Amanda dear, Amanda," said Joan, patting her hand, "it's okay, it really is. We're not police informants, we're not secret agents, we're not going to tell anyone. It's okay dear."
"Oh Joan, Arthur, you're such lovely people and you've had a horrible, shocking week and I go and blab my mouth off!" said Amanda, wiping tears from her face.
"Well, perhaps this is another of those miraculous moments you keep having!" said Arthur, trying to lighten the mood, while wondering how such words found their way into his brain and out his mouth - perhaps he was going mad too. Amanda looked into his eyes and smiled and sighed. Arthur felt quite tearful himself.
"By gosh, Arthur, you're probably right!" exclaimed Joan. "Maybe we're meant to know about this for some reason. It might explain that young Australian man or something ..."
"Yes, maybe you're right, Arthur," said Amanda, wiping the last of her tears as she sat up purposefully. "Okay, I can't take back what I've told you and I can't give you any more details. I'd be out of the police force quick smart and no goodbyes! But what you do know is what you saw on Monday, in the middle of Croydon and that, yes AIL is part of our investigation. But please, please, please don't tell anyone I said any of this. NO ONE. PLEASE!"
"Amanda, of course we won't," said Joan patting her arm. "And we'll be fine with my mother's protection now!" They all giggled, in spite of Arthur's spider having taken on a slightly sinister feel in his tummy. Still, he'd always dreamed of being a secret agent, a James Bond. Maybe this was his chance to savour some secret agenting.
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