‘Then somehow it got separated, perhaps washed away. But I can assure you – those poor people, our ancestors, were all treated with the dignity they deserved, and if by accident, and through no one’s fault – some... small parts were somehow left behind, then they will be equally well treated if and when they are brought to our attention. I’m sure this happens all the time with building projects that are close to populated areas, and I’m equally sure that respectable newspapers don’t make such a song and dance about it. So let that be the end of it, eh?’ Rev Erskine nodded at them, then glanced at his watch. ‘Now, I’ve to get these chairs out in time for choir practice tonight. We would normally do it in the church, but with the lead gone and the slates falling off it’s cosier in here... I don’t suppose you’d care to give me a hand?’
‘Love to,’ said Pete, ‘but—’
‘I know, stories to write, deadlines to meet! Never mind – I’m glad we had a chat, and I’m happy we’ve sorted everything out, I do so hate a frosty atmosphere. Though next time – maybe someone else for the panto, eh?’
He gave a little giggle, which to Michael sounded forced.
The minister put out his hand and Pete shook it enthusiastically. Michael, less so. His urge was to pretend to shake it and instead raise his thumb to his mouth and wave his fingers like a six-year-old might. But, of course, he didn’t. He gave what he hoped was a good, firm, manly handshake. Rev Erskine nearly crushed his fingers.
As they left the hall, and satisfied that they were well out of earshot, Michael said, ‘What a lot of crap.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘They’ve been caught out, and they’re scrambling to cover their arses with niceness.’
‘Michael, he’s trying to help us, you, by not making us look like idiots by blowing this up into something it isn’t.’
‘You mean you actually fell for that shite?’
‘I didn’t fall for anything. There may be some bone fragments. It happens. We really shouldn’t be making a big deal of it.’
‘It’s absolutely what we should be doing – church sells land to big business for profit without taking due care of the poor souls buried on its land. Great story!’
They were at the car. They glared at each other over the top of it.
‘Well, we won’t be running it.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Pete drummed his fingers on the roof. ‘Look, Michael, even if there is something in it, and I don’t think there is, sometimes you have to remember who you are, and sometimes you have to look at the bigger picture.’
‘You mean because I’m just a cub reporter I should listen to my elders and so-called betters?’
‘No, I mean you should remember we’re a community newspaper – here to serve that community, not to make things worse. If we run a story about bones being turned up, then that shopping centre could be held up for months, maybe even years. The developer might even decide it’s not worth the effort and withdraw altogether. As it is, the project is bringing jobs, it’s helping to regenerate the community, it’s certainly been of huge benefit to the church – you want all that to disappear just so you can get your name on the front page of the paper?’
‘It’s not about that!’
‘Isn’t it?’
Pete opened the door and climbed in.
It was five minutes back to the office. Michael resolved to say nothing more, but he couldn’t help himself.
‘Did Rob really apologize for running my review?’
‘No, of course he didn’t. Does he ever apologize for anything?’
‘Then why on earth did you—’
‘Because it works. You tell them what they want to hear, suddenly they’re co-operative, and they never dream of checking it out. Everyone’s happy.’
‘I’m not bloody happy!’
‘Well, you,’ Pete said with a wink, ‘don’t matter.’
*
Michael was still seething when they got back. He desperately wanted to rat Pete out to Rob, and was on the verge of saying something – he seemed eternally on the verge of saying something, and was very much aware of it – when Rob called them both into the office. Alix was already in there, together with Sean, who was looking pretty pleased with himself. There was a blue plastic crate upended on Rob’s desk that Michael immediately recognized as the one he’d used to cover the skeletal hand before they’d left Galvin’s farm. He immediately smiled – maybe he wouldn’t have to say anything. Pete had gone along with Rev Erskine’s dismissal of the photo of the hand, but actually seeing it in the office, up close and physical, would surely change his mind.
Rob said, ‘So how did it go?’
‘Grand,’ said Pete, ‘though not sure if there’s a story there. Turns out the graves were moved five or six years ago, and we covered it at the time in the paper. Before your time, Rob, and I’d forgotten about it completely. Rev Erskine acknowledged the hand, and doesn’t deny there’s a possibility of other bone fragments and the like turning up...’ Michael let out a sigh. ‘...but would appreciate it if you didn’t make too much of a fuss because of the impact it could have on the shopping centre.’
Rob nodded. Alix hmmmmd.
‘Well, that sounds like a lot of bollocks,’ said Sean.
Rob said, ‘To be fair, Reverend Erskine maybe isn’t aware of the full extent of the problem.’
He gave Sean a nod. The photographer leaned forward and lifted the blue crate; Michael kept his eyes on Pete, waiting to see the face that the word crestfallen was created for.
Pete’s eyes widened. He said, ‘Fuck a duck.’
Michael snorted. He then looked at the crate himself and immediately said, ‘Fuck a duck.’
Skulls.
Three of them.
Hollow-eyed – yet somehow staring.
‘Fuck a fucking duck,’ Michael added, for clarification.
The photo of the three skulls was mesmeric and frightening. Gerry peered at it for a long time and then said, ‘I see the hunger strike was successful.’ He glanced up at Rob and said, ‘Bad taste?’
Rob ignored him. Janine was in the office with them. She ignored him as well.
‘It’s a moral conundrum,’ said Rob, ‘and it’s only right that we talk it through.’
‘I face moral conundrums every day,’ said Gerry.
‘I’m not sure I’m aware of the concept,’ said Janine.
‘Well,’ Rob began, ‘it’s when—’
‘She knows fine well,’ said Gerry. ‘She’s asking how someone like herself, without morals, can possibly have a moral conundrum.’
‘Business is cut-throat,’ said Janine, ‘we can’t afford morals.’
‘See?’
Rob shook his head. ‘It boils down to this. We’re a community paper. We’ve discovered an illegal act which, if we expose it, might also damage that community.’
‘There will be at least fifteen stores in the shopping centre,’ said Janine, ‘all potential advertisers.’
‘Exactly,’ said Gerry, ‘we have to be pragmatic.’
‘On the other hand,’ said Janine, ‘it would be a big story, we’d sell more copies, we could possibly hike up the advertising rates on the back of it – a known quantity, a short-term gain, as opposed to an unknown quantity. The shopping centre is at least a year away, and there’s no guaranteeing we’ll be around to see it.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Janine,’ said Gerry.
‘You wanted pragmatic, you got pragmatic.’
Gerry rubbed his hands together. ‘Oh, fuck it,’ he said, ‘run the bloody thing. We’re a newspaper, and stories like this don’t come along very often. I can’t spend money I haven’t got and from where we’re standing the shopping centre might as well be a million years away. So go for it.’
Rob nodded.
Janine smiled at Gerry. ‘Not like you,’ she said. ‘Usually you’re sitting on the fence.’
‘Aye, well,’ said Gerry, �
��my bum was getting numb. Rob, when I hired you, I promised you complete editorial freedom and I’ve not stopped you from printing anything yet. That’s not going to change.’
‘Appreciate it,’ said Rob.
Gerry turned for the door. Janine went with him. But Gerry stopped then and turned back, a quizzical look on his face. ‘You were going to run it anyway, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. I just thought it would be polite to run it past you.’
Gerry shook his head. ‘I still own this paper. That desk of yours, it’s mine. Your chair – it belongs to me.’
‘You might own my desk and chair,’ said Rob, with a smile, ‘but you’ll never own my soul.’
‘I don’t want your fucking soul. Just sell me some papers. You still coming for drinks tonight?’
‘Are you buying?’
Gerry laughed. ‘Good one,’ he said and walked out.
Janine nodded back at Rob. ‘He’s serious,’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Rob.
*
Alix, Janine, Gerry and Pete were all going home first and meeting up in the bar later. Rob, behind on the subbing, worked on. He didn’t mind – he could get more done without the reporters constantly knocking on his door, or the phone ringing incessantly with requests for photo bookings, though truth be told he wasn’t much looking forward to Gerry’s night out; it was both prescriptive and conscriptive, a social drinking experiment which was bound to backfire. It was after eight when he finally decided enough was enough. When he left his office he was surprised to find Michael was still at his desk. The rest of editorial was in darkness, but Michael had his desk-lamp on and was leaning back in his chair, shirt open, sleeves rolled up, slowly tapping the phone receiver against the tip of his chin and muttering to himself. He nearly toppled over backwards when Rob suddenly appeared beside him. He said ‘Fuck!’ and made a grab for the desk; he just managed to hold on and then right himself. He gave Rob an embarrassed grin and said, ‘Sorry, didn’t realize you were still here. And these guys are spooking me.’He reached up to the lamp and angled it so that it shone on the shelf beside his desk – the three skulls.
‘Right enough,’ said Rob. ‘You should put them in a drawer or something.’
Michael shook his head. ‘They’re scary but also... I don’t know, they’re also kind of... inspiring? They’re keeping an eye on me, anyway. Making sure I do this properly.’
‘And are you?’
‘I don’t know. Obviously we have these guys, and the hand... but it’s not enough, is it? We need people to react but they’re just saying nothing. If there was some way to date the skulls, find descendants or... someone to get angry. But everywhere I turn it’s a PR girl saying there’s no story here, local councillors are the same, don’t want to risk the shopping centre not happening or annoy Reverend Erskine, it’s like a bloody conspiracy.’
‘It’s not a conspiracy,’ said Rob, ‘it’s Chinatown.’
‘It’s wah...?’
Rob sighed. ‘It’s a movie. Like Poltergeist. But nothing like Poltergeist. Just go and see it, then you’ll understand.’
‘I haven’t time for—’
‘C’mon – enough for tonight. Did you forget about Gerry’s party?’
‘I think I’d be better—’
‘No – and that’s an order.’ Rob slipped Michael’s jacket off the back of his chair and held it out for him. Michael rose reluctantly. He nodded at the skulls. ‘I should put them in the drawer, otherwise the cleaners will have a fit.’
The mop women came in in the early hours. Michael had never actually set eyes on them, or seen any evidence of their work. There were cobwebs everywhere.
Rob, who had, said, ‘They’ll more likely use them for ashtrays. C’mon.’
Rob locked up, and together they headed to Fury’s in King Street. Gerry, Janine, Pete, Alix and Sean were standing rather awkwardly at the bar, drinks in hand. As they approached Gerry said, ‘At last, now the party can get started.’ Everyone nodded pessimistically. ‘What’ll you be having?’
Seven pints later, with some whiskey chasers, Rob could barely stand and Michael was off being sick in the toilets. The barman had called last orders and was shepherding them out. It was gone midnight. They staggered back to the office. Gerry let them in. He produced an ancient looking CD player and began to blast out Rory Gallagher and then Van Morrison. Janine found a bottle of vodka in her desk and a duty-free carton of Regal Kingsize. Gerry went to his desk and found a bottle of whiskey and a duty-free carton of Regal as well. Pete compared the price tags and language on the cigarettes and saw they’d been bought in the same airport shop in Tenerife, which he deduced meant Gerry and Janine had been on holiday together. Gerry said it wasn’t a holiday, they were at a conference. It was purely business. ‘Apart from the times we were screwing,’ said Janine and cackled. ‘Right enough,’ said Gerry, ‘there was a lot of screwing.’ Rob opened up Michael’s drawer and removed one of the skulls. He held it up and said, ‘Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well.’ Sean said, ‘Who the fuck is Yorick?’ Rob said, ‘Used to play inside right for Linfield.’ Pete said, ‘You got it wrong. The quote. You got it completely wrong.’
‘I think not,’ said Rob.
‘I think so. It’s not I knew him well. It’s I knew him, Horatio.’
‘Bollocks it is,’ said Rob.
‘It fucking is.’
‘I don’t know either of them,’ said Michael. ‘Yorick or Horatio.’
‘Who’s Horatio?’ Sean asked.
‘He played outside right,’ said Rob.
Pete stumbled away, saying he had a book of quotations somewhere. Rob went to the toilet. When he came out, Janine was waiting for him. She pounced, locking her lips onto his with hooverish aggression. Rob managed to disentangle himself by pretending he was going to be sick. Alix saw the whole thing and was doubled over laughing. Janine reeled away. Rob told Alix it wasn’t funny. Alix said it was hysterical. They got very close. Nose to nose.
‘Are you planning something?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. Do I have planning permission?’
She said, ‘The jury’s out.’
He suggested they move round the corner into the morgue – the repository of all their old newspapers and notebooks and photographs – to discuss it further but she said, ‘We are not having sex in the morgue!’ and they started laughing again and moved even closer but then Pete came bounding round the corner with the skull in his hand, raising it high and crying out, ‘Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio!’ and waving a piece of ragged paper he’d torn out of whatever book he’d found, and the moment was gone.
Gradually, gradually it wound down. The alcohol ran out and their drunken energy dissipated. Pete could hardly stand, so a taxi was called for him. Alix of all people helped him out to it. Then she looked back at the office, at Rob standing talking animatedly to Gerry. She sighed, and then climbed into the back of the cab beside Pete.
Rob didn’t realize she was gone until about twenty minutes later when Gerry staggered off to the toilet, flushed with the drink but happy that his team-bonding exercise seemed to have gone so well. Rob saw that Michael was sitting at his computer. When he came up behind him, he saw that he had his story about the skulls up on his screen. Michael looked up at him and said, ‘I don’t know what to do. Pete’s right, this is a community paper, we should be protecting jobs, but still, bloody hell – I’ve three human skulls in my drawer.’ To prove it, he opened the drawer. ‘I call them the Good, the Bad and the Ugly.’
Rob laughed. ‘At last, a movie you’ve heard of!’
‘How do you mean? What movie?’
Rob sighed. He nodded at the screen. ‘It is a conundrum,’ he said, ‘but not one that you have to worry about. You just write the best story you can, and let me worry about whether we use it or not.’
Michael nodded gratefully. ‘And when do you think you’ll decide what—?’
Rob had raised his hand to qu
iet him. He also had his phone clamped to his ear. He said, ‘Police, please.’
A moment later he said, ‘Hello, yes – I want to report a murder.’
Michael’s mouth dropped open.
‘Yes,’ said Rob, ‘there’s a body hidden on a building site next to St Pat’s church in Bangor.’
And then he hung up.
‘That,’ he said, ‘will put a cat amongst the pigeons, and guarantee that we’ve absolutely no excuse not to publish the story.’
Michael said, ‘I can’t believe you did that.’
‘An anonymous phone call to set things in motion. That’s why I get paid the big bucks,’ said Rob.
‘I heard that,’ said Gerry, finally returning from the toilet, ‘and it’s a damned lie.’
‘Ahm...?’ said Michael. Rob looked at him. ‘It wasn’t exactly anonymous, if you called from your own phone, was it?’
Rob suddenly looked troubled.
‘And that,’ said Gerry, ‘is exactly why I don’t pay him the big bucks. Now, where the bloody hell am I going to get another drink from at this time of night?’
CHAPTER 6
THE EAGLE HAS CRASH LANDED
Rob was a hero. Absolutely no doubt about it. He saved a young woman’s life. He gave her the kiss of life. ‘Even if she didn’t need it,’ said Pete, and they all laughed as they scoffed the buns Alix bought to celebrate his selfless act.
The thing about journalism – about reporting – is that mostly you’re reporting after the fact, you’re not usually there when major news events occur, or even minor ones. But sometimes, sometimes, right place, right time. And occasionally you become part of the story. Rob was only there because he was doing something that he really should have delegated to one of his team. Someone, possibly angered at featuring in one of their stories, or maybe it was just a passing vandal, but anyway, someone had spray-painted the word ‘tit’ across the delivery van. It was in silver paint, and in large letters, and it was very noticeable. It had happened exactly a week ago, and Gerry kept promising to have it removed, but nothing seemed to happen. Rob wasn’t exactly filled with confidence when Gerry said, ‘Sure, there’s no such thing as bad advertising,’ while Janine rolled her eyes and said, ‘That’s bollocks.’
Papercuts Page 21