Miranda grinned and looked at her friend, noticed the necklace around her neck. A simple string of turquoise beads. ‘That’s rather pretty,’ she said, pointing.
‘Oh, it’s just a token I got from someone.’ Mary-Ann blushed and seemed embarrassed.
An admirer, I’ll bet, Miranda decided, meaning to ask her mother later. Her ma was always good for the gossip, being so thick with Carol Islip.
‘It’s time I was off,’ she said to her friend, seeing the queue was growing apace. ‘I’ll be back next week to collect the pot.’
‘We’re all very grateful, love,’ said Margie, handing a portion of broth to a man. He spilt it all, with his unsteady hands, then spilt some more when he burped loudly. Miranda sighed and turned away. Thank God my mother can’t see the waste.
When she emerged at the top of the stairs, it was still raining, and almost like evening; despite it being day, the rain had blocked the light from the sky. Even the abbey seemed overshadowed. And to think I thought the Low was bad, Miranda considered, hurrying down the dank alley as fast as she could. She couldn’t wait to get back to the pub.
As she left, she recalled the people she’d seen coming up with their strange, fancy clothes and their alien looks. She looked around, but of course they had gone. They must have been a mirage, she thought. Time to go home and have some soup.
Chapter 35
Then – Miranda
Miranda was working alone in the parlour. A woman came in, in a deep blue coat and Miranda’s heart sank, for she knew the coat and the woman inside it, it was Curtis, the tart. Miranda had just finished settling one fight, between two older women who ought to know better. And then there were the men who’d blocked the door to the pub.
‘We’re only singing gospel, love.’
‘And we’re not a church, we’re a public house. Come back when you’re done, for a pint, why don’t you? Then you’ll be welcome.’ One of them laughed but the others looked blank. The older man scowled.
And, I’m trying a make a living!
So the last thing she needed, now things had calmed down, was Tanya Curtis turning up, no doubt to make trouble, if she could. Miranda swallowed and took a deep breath.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Ale, please love, like I always have.’ She ignored Miranda who reached for her jug, and put the container down on the counter. ‘I’ve come for a little chat, Miranda. About your mother.’
‘I’ll get her now,’ Miranda said, turning her back on the woman at once. Though she doubted her ma was in the pub.
‘I don’t need to see her. It’s you I want to talk to, love.’
Miranda stopped and turned around. ‘Well, make it quick, I’ve a pub to run.’
‘You could have fooled me.’ said the woman, laughing. She glanced around the empty room. The fight and the singers had put people off.
‘Say what you’ve come to say to me then, then leave us alone.’ Miranda’s voice was tinged with steel.
‘You’ll have heard, no doubt, about Matt McCarthy. How he dropped down dead and was buried last week.’
‘Of course I’ve heard.’ This didn’t look good.
‘So you’ll also know your ma knew him, although how she knew him, I wouldn’t like to say.’
‘And how is this your business, exactly? I think you’d better be leaving now. I don’t want to have to throw you out.’
Curtis laughed and shook her head. ‘I doubt you could, I’ll leave this place when ready, sweetheart, and that’s not yet. I know you’ll want to hear this.’
‘I very much doubt it,’ Miranda muttered, under her breath.
‘Before your ma turned up at Matt McCarthy’s, doing his washing and more, probably, I was his friend, and a very good friend, for a very long time. And he said, to me, that when he died, he’d see I was right, and leave me something, so I wouldn’t want for food or coal. But Matt McCarthy broke his word, he didn’t leave me a single penny, I reckon, because he was sweet on your ma.’
Miranda felt hot but she brushed it away and stared at Curtis. ‘If that’s your cue to ask for money, you’re wasting your time. He didn’t leave us a penny either, and as far as I know, there wasn’t a will. It’s none of your business, as it happens, but I’m sure you can see we’re not well off.’ She waved her hand around the room, at the threadbare chairs and the worn carpet, even the net at the window had holes.
‘He might not have left you money as such, but you and I know your ma got a legacy. And we also know she took possession, of that gift before the man died. Which means it wasn’t rightly received, seeing as she took it without permission. Or, should I say, took them, not it. You know what I mean.’
‘Oh no I don’t,’ Miranda lied. She’d followed the woman’s eyes to the fireplace, had seen them rest on the empty shelf. She meant the shoes, she knew she did. But how did she know? Miranda was scared.
‘I think you do, and I do hear what you say about poverty.’ Casting her eyes around the room.
‘I never mentioned the word poverty,’ Miranda bit back.
‘You didn’t need to mention it sweetheart, I can see it. But there’s poor and poor, if you get my drift, and you and your ma have a thriving business. When your ma’s willing to put in the effort.’
‘How dare you say my ma is lazy,’ Miranda said hotly, making her way around the counter.
‘I never said that, you were the one who mentioned the word. All I said was your business had prospects. And you’re not the kind who puts a foot wrong. So I’ll be back in about a week, by which time you’ll have thought it through and found a solution, so we can come to a little arrangement.’
‘Oh no we won’t,’ Miranda muttered, but the words were soft and barely heard. She watched as Curtis strolled to the door, staggering slightly, a lopsided smile on her lovely young face. Right by the door she turned around. ‘If I was you, I wouldn’t trouble your ma with this. I think she’s got enough on her plate.’
As she closed the door with a mighty clang, Miranda collapsed. It never rains but it pours, she thought.
What on earth was she going to do now?
Chapter 36
Now – Aleph
I was still thinking about the ghost town, otherwise known as Curdizan Low. I wondered vaguely if Cressida and Alice were having me on. Perhaps this Tom was a make-believe boy, and Cressida and Alice were in on the joke. I didn’t believe it.
I hadn’t seen Tom but I had heard crying, and I had been at home when the trapdoor flew open, and all by itself. It hadn’t happened only the once.
The third time it happened I moved the fridge-freezer back to the middle, over the spot, to make it stay closed. Maybe that’s why it had been where it was. I felt lousy.
This was my third bad night in a row, and the crying and screaming went on and on. I had a distinctly uneasy feeling. I stared at the boot which was sitting on the shelf, looking benign. What do you know? I said, angry. The boot said nothing. But the voice in my head was telling me to leave. If only I could.
That wretched woman, Marianne Parks, had forced me to pay all the rent up front. A whole six months and no way out unless I wanted to lose the money. It was too damn long, but I knew I’d have to stick it out. And find a couple of well-paying clients. Then the doorbell rang.
I wasn’t expecting a client now but Guinevere James was standing there. I smiled warmly. ‘Hello, Mrs James, I’m glad you’ve come back. Did you want to discuss the recording?’
She didn’t respond to my question right then but followed me in, divesting herself of her coat as she went. She was also wearing a tartan scarf. The scarf stayed on as Guinevere James sat down at my table, and watched intently as I made some tea. Most of my guests so far had drunk coffee. Guinevere James was obviously different. ‘Thanks Mr Jones, that’s just how I like it.’ She paused, waiting. ‘I have to admit, I’m rather nervous.’
‘There’s really no need,’ I said, smiling. Clients, I found, often had insights, that came along
later. An insight might throw up something important, something they needed to discuss with me. I sat there, waiting, patient and focused.
‘I came to see you under false pretences.’
‘Right,’ I said, and waited some more. Whatever now? I said to myself.
‘There is no internet business,’ she said. ‘Or any investors who might want to own it.’ She looked me in the eye and swallowed. ‘I made it all up.’
‘You what?’ I said. I took a deep breath. ‘And all the people on the recording?’
‘They’re colleagues at work.’
‘And this work is as a…?’
‘Journalist.’
Damn, I thought. I should have known it, given my history.
‘So this is about my private life?’
‘Your private life? I don’t know anything about your life, outside of your work, and not a great deal more about that.’
Oh shit, I thought, and cursed myself. If that was the truth and she really knew nothing about my past, I knew she soon would, being a journalist, now that I’d gone and flagged it up. I swore, silently.
Guinevere James was still talking.
‘I came to you to test out a theory, to see what would happen if I put it into practice. And I have to admit, I was surprised.’
I nodded, understanding. ‘You thought reversals didn’t work,’ I said, ‘and then when yours did, it shocked you to hell.’ I remembered the things her colleagues had said, played backwards.
Not good news; when it hits, he’d said. It certainly wasn’t, my client was a fraud, not the person she’d pretended to be.
Then there was something about not letting feelings get in the way. Then, finally, came the clincher.
Do what you have to.
I looked at James. ‘These people of yours, they were talking about me and not about you. I thought these men were your business partners, talking about their underhand schemes to steal your business. But in fact they were your journalist colleagues, talking about me and about what you were doing. That’s right, isn’t it?’ Guinevere nodded. She had the grace to look embarrassed.
‘When I heard them say those words, I was shocked to the core, I felt as if we’d revealed ourselves. I didn’t dare hear any more that day. I hoped you wouldn’t have guessed what we’d done, but I had to get out, and pretty damn quick.’
‘You needn’t have worried,’ I said, curtly. ‘I believed what you said, I took it on trust. I assumed the words were about your company.’
‘I know that now,’ said Guinevere James. ‘I’m so sorry. I feel terrible.’
‘So why come back?’ I said, coldly. ‘I’m sure it’s not to apologise to me. I presume your paper’s printed the story?’
‘We scrapped the story, Mr Jones. I’m here because I need your help.’
‘You said that the last time,’ I told her, sourly. I wasn’t going to give this woman any help.
‘But this time it’s completely different.’ Guinevere James unravelled her scarf and hooked it round the back of the chair. ‘I want you to help me solve a murder.’
Chapter 37
Then – Thomas
I’d washed the glasses, cleared the tables, swept out the yard and still she looked grim. What was the matter with Miranda tonight?
Once the punters had left the pub, she dragged me aside and into the parlour. ‘Thank God there’s no singing or dancing tonight.’
‘Well, I see your ma’s out, so why would there be? I gather she’s gone across to the church, the one near Ben on Blackberry Close.’
‘I expect it’s about the soup kitchen, it’s her latest project.’ Miranda scowled. ‘It’s not as if she’s not needed here.’
‘She probably feels guilty,’ I said mildly. ‘Other folk not having quite as much.’
‘And so she should,’ Miranda said, walking around the room in circles. ‘Guilty as hell for what she’s done.’
‘Shh,’ I told her, feeling anxious. ‘Cath is still in the back kitchen.’
‘You’ve no idea what she’s done, Thomas. No, let me rephrase that, what she and Carol, your mother have done.’ My stomach began to feel mighty strange.
‘It’s about the shoes?’
‘Damn right it is. You know you saw there were two more trunks?’
‘There aren’t any more?’ I said, incredulous.
‘No,’ said Miranda, ‘but I almost wish that was all it was. It’s much worse than that. The tart knows.’
‘You mean Tanya,’ I said, mildly. ‘The woman with the coat and the curly brown hair. That’s always escaping from under her hat.’
‘Since when did you start noticing Curtis?’
‘My ma was the one who pointed her out. She said she sometimes comes into the laundry, brings in the washing, but Ma said she’s really stealing stuff, picking up things other people have dropped.’
‘That wouldn’t surprise me,’ Miranda said, sourly. ‘But no, it’s worse, she knows about the shoes.’
‘But how?’ I said. ‘I can’t believe she’s been in the attic.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Miranda. ‘My guess is that Reg or Cath must have told her.’
‘Bastards,’ I said.
‘Right,’ said Miranda, ‘that’s exactly how I felt.’ Any other time she’d have given me a clip for swearing at my age, but not this evening.
‘And if I can prove it,’ Miranda went on, ‘whoever it was, they’ll get the sack, and on the spot, although we’d never find a replacement. But the thing is, Tom, those shoes have to go, as long as we’ve got them here we’re at risk. She said she’s coming back in a week, and wanting money to keep her mouth shut. I don’t want to pay her and we don’t have the money to pay her anyway, and without the shoes, she can’t prove a thing.’
‘What does your mother think we should do?’
‘I haven’t told her, and I’m not going to, she’s barely with it, these days as it is. Moping around over Matt McCarthy.’ Miranda gave another scowl. I thought, fast.
‘I told you before, we can use Ben’s cart and take them to Percy, Percy won’t talk. He loves secrets, his life is so boring, he’s desperate for secrets and thrills and intrigue. You’ve nothing to fear from Percy or Ben.’ But Miranda was shaking her head firmly.
‘I’m not going to use that cart,’ she told me. ‘There are three trunks now, and even if we managed to get them in there, someone would notice us driving them away, or getting them out at the other end. Narrowboat Lane is a very busy street. That cow is always lurking around. I wouldn’t want to risk it, really, Tom.’
‘We could do it at night,’ I said, hopefully.
‘And what sort of noise do you think that would make, cobbles and hooves? Even at night, someone would hear us. I don’t want to get Ben Tencell involved.’
‘I thought you liked him,’ I said, grinning.
‘I do,’ she said, ‘as a mate,’ she added and her face coloured up, which made me smile. ‘But I still don’t want his help with this.’
‘We have to ask Ben,’ I said firmly, ‘you know we can’t move those trunks on our own. Please let me ask him, for advice at least. He’ll want to help, I know he will.’
‘But will he keep it to himself?’ she said. ‘It’s not just my ma, there’s yours as well.’
As if needed telling, I thought. I looked Miranda straight in the eye. This was the way to do things properly. ‘He will as it’s you,’ I said, insistent. ‘I know he won’t tell a single soul.’
Chapter 38
Now – Aleph
Killing the boy was a dreadful thing, and not being able to recall what happened, made it worse. The old man had been my faithful witness, he’d said I was innocent, driving correctly, not going fast, and I knew I wasn’t drunk or drugged. But something, shock or fear or guilt, had blanked my mind and I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing. Which made it much worse.
The child had been killed and I was alive, and yet I was dead, although I still breathed. Because of the dea
th of an innocent child, because I felt guilty. And also because I couldn’t remember: not knowing how made me wonder. What if the man had been wrong all the time?
The witness had said that the boy had ran out, but how could I be sure that was true? When people aged their sight deteriorated, his vision might not have been all that it could be.
And I believed the toast I’d been eating had been on the seat. Or if it hadn’t, maybe I’d eaten it seconds before. But what if I’d taken my hand off the wheel to chew on the toast at the crucial time? No-one had found any toast in the car, or if they had, they hadn’t told me. But I couldn’t be sure exactly what happened.
All that I knew was that I’d stormed off after rowing with Gerry and that thoughts of the row had been playing on my mind. How both of our lives had revolved around her and how much I hated the way things were. How we moved when she wanted, had sex when she wanted and now we were going to have a baby to please her. I had wanted an equal partnership, but instead ended up with a tragedy that destroyed two lives. And no little girl with long blonde hair.
‘I don’t think I’m the man for the job,’ I said to Guinevere, several days later. ‘You don’t know very much about me.’
‘I know all about you, now, Mr Jones, and believe me, you’re the man for the job.’
‘So you did know about my private life.’ She coloured up then, but kept my gaze.
‘I checked you out, but I hadn’t before. I chose you because of your skills with recordings. Reverse recordings.’ She smiled lightly.
‘So what exactly do you want doing now?’ I sighed bleakly, this woman was a journalist, ergo, trouble. I didn’t want to read about my life in the paper, my life was hard enough as it was, without the addition of fresh publicity. This felt like blackmail and I said so. Guinevere James looked genuinely startled.
‘Oh no, Mr Jones, you’ve got it all wrong. I won’t be sharing your story with anyone. But I like to know who I’m working with. It gives me some sort of reassurance.’
She smiled, suddenly, and I thought at once, she’s a person I can trust. Like hell you can, said my other voice. I couldn’t trust anyone, not anymore.
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