‘Irene Bell.’
Irene, hair still dyed the distinctive henna-red she’d adopted in her last year at school, cardboard box under her arm and clad in a blue smock, studied Alix, her brow furrowed at first but then the penny dropped and she said, ‘Bell no more, Irene Dunne now... Alix...?’
‘Oh, still plain old Alix Cross.’
Irene laughed. ‘Alix – you were never plain old anything!’
‘Well, not so sure about that!’ Irene had stopped half- way down the hall – so Alix took advantage of that to thrust her hand out and step into the house. ‘So how’re you doing anyway?’
‘Ah, just the same old.’ She thumbed back into the house behind her, ‘Haven’t won the Lottery yet. What about you? Kids or anything?’
‘Nope, not yet – still in the paper...’
‘The—?’
‘The Express? That’s why I’m here...’
‘Oh! Right! Maybe I did know that. You’re the journalist. I thought maybe you were a relative...’
They stood awkwardly for a moment, until Alix remembered to introduce Sean. ‘Sean, this is Irene – we went to school together about a hundred years ago. Irene – Sean’s our staff photographer.’
Sean held out his camera. ‘In case you thought this was just very complicated jewellery.’
Irene’s brow furrowed.
‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Alix. She nodded into the house beyond. ‘So you’re...?’
‘Oh – I was Bertha’s health worker.’
‘Oh – I see. Bertha. That was her name. Bertha...?’
‘Bertha Malloy. I was only with her this last year or so.’
‘All the same, I’m sure it was quite a shock.’
‘Tell me about it. She was old as the hills but fit as a fiddle.’
‘She was... dead... for some time before...’
‘She was.’ She nodded. Alix nodded. Irene cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry – what is it you say to journalists when you don’t want them to report what you’re—?’
‘You mean, like off the record?’
‘Off the record, that’s it. Well, off the record... Bertha was bloody hard work, and that’s why nobody found her, they were all too scared to go near her, God knows I tried...’ Irene sighed. ‘Not that anyone deserves... well, you know what I mean.’
Alix nodded vaguely. ‘But if you’re her health worker... then she had been unwell at some point...?’
‘Oh, last year she had a bit of a heart thing, but she was fine...’
‘Does she have family or...?’
‘Not that I’m...’ Irene trailed off. ‘Tell you the truth, I’m not really supposed to be speaking to you at all. Not you you, but the press – do you know what I mean. It’s drummed into us. You’re supposed to go through the press office. It’s nothing personal.’
Alix smiled. ‘That’s all right, absolutely – I’ll give them a bell. But you know how it is, you get through to a bloody computer and it’s all, if you want to speak to so-and-so press number three and then you press the wrong one and you’re back in the queue again... do you think you could just give me a few more details about her, it’ll give me somewhere to start...?’
Irene made a face. ‘I’m sorry, it’s more than my job’s worth.’ Jobsworth was indeed the word that echoed through Alix’s mind. She just about managed not to say it out loud. It wasn’t like Irene was being tempted to divulge state secrets. She tilted the cardboard box towards them. ‘I’m really just here to pick up any paperwork, would surprise you the number of people who pass away and they don’t have anyone close enough to tidy up their affairs.’
‘So sad,’ said Alix. She nodded down at an ornate telephone stand. There were a couple of unopened letters sitting there. The top one was clearly stamped with the logo of the Churchill Nursing Home, which was about half a mile away.
Irene, noting her interest, immediately picked them up and dropped them into the cardboard box. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘I’m going to have to lock up here.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Alix. She and Sean began to retreat along a hall that was lined with shelves heavy with china ornaments and decorative plates. ‘What’ll happen to all this stuff?’
‘I imagine if no one claims it, it’ll be sold or dumped. Not sure who does that. Council, I expect.’
‘And what about the funeral?’
‘Pretty much the same.’
‘That’s terrible,’ said Alix.
‘It is, but again – you’d be surprised.’
Irene ushered them fully outside and locked the door behind her. She swung the keys round into her hand and told them she had to get going. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ she said.
As she drove off, Alix shook her head after her, then turned to study the empty house.
Sean fired off a couple of photos. Then he said, ‘Yer woman – were you good mates at school?’
‘I was head girl and she was captain of the hockey team. We hated each other.’
‘But now?’
‘Pretty much the same, I imagine.’
‘She seemed friendly enough.’
‘Two-faced cow.’
Sean nodded. ‘You or her?’
★
Rob was just finishing a call to Rebecca when he realized that Gerry was standing in the doorway, arms folded, apparently listening in. When he cut the line, Gerry shook his head and said, ‘You know, I don’t pay you to make personal calls.’
‘Gerry, you hardly pay me at all.’
Gerry considered that. After a few moments he nodded and said, ‘Fair point. Anyhow – can I have a word?’
‘Have several.’
‘Not here. Walls have ears. How about I buy you lunch?’
‘Christ, Gerry, have you taken leave of your senses?’
‘Very funny.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘Yeah, right. Grab your coat before I change my mind.’
Rob grabbed his coat. They went to the Hong Kong Palace. Rob hadn’t been there since the furore over the netball story and was somewhat nervous about how Mr Smith would greet him, but he seemed genuinely pleased to welcome him back. He asked after Anna and was told she had reapplied for her student visa and was hopeful of being allowed back into the country. He asked if there’d been any more trouble with the authorities over his staff and he just rolled his eyes. When they were ordering their drinks Gerry asked for tap water. Rob asked for a Ballygowan. ‘That’s it,’ said Gerry, ‘go mad for it.’ Gerry spent the next twenty minutes beating around the bush. He talked about everything except what was really on his mind. Wind-surfing, volcanoes, suede shoes, the Middle East – basically what’d you’d get studying the average newsfeed on Facebook.
Eventually Rob put down his chopsticks and just said, ‘Out with it, Gerry.’
Gerry put down his knife and fork – he was old-school. ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘I’ve had an offer to buy the paper. It’s not brilliant, but it’ll allow me to get out with my trousers on.’
‘Do you mean the shirt on your back?’
‘You clearly haven’t seen my bank statements. No, it’s Navar.’
‘What’s Navar?’
‘Who wants to buy me out.’
‘Car-wash Navar?’
‘Car-wash Navar seems to be rolling in it, not that you could tell that from what he’s offering. But at least he’s offering. What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing – just the gossip had it that you were getting into car washes, not the other way round.’
‘You think I have the money to get into anything? Apart from jail, that is?’
‘Popular opinion would be that you have plenty squirrelled away.’
‘Popular opinion is a load of shite. He has plans.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Make it a free sheet, boost digital, might have to lose a body or two. But he’d definitely want you to stay. Janine too.’
‘Pete? Alix? Michael? Sean?’
‘Not my ca
ll. I can make all kinds of promises, but they’re pretty much worthless once he’s the owner.’ Gerry took a sip of his water. ‘So what do you think?’
‘What do I think?’
‘What do you think?’
‘As if it’s not a fait accompli.’
‘It really isn’t. I may yet win the Lottery and save us all.’
‘I think...’ Rob took a sip of his own water. He set the glass down, deliberately taking his time. ‘I think that I have news of my own.’
★
As Alix had expected, the neighbours were useful only for a few bland and predictable quotes – Bertha had kept herself to herself and didn’t like to be fussed over, it wasn’t unusual not to see her for weeks at a time, how shocked they were. They didn’t know anything about her history or her family. She supposed if they had been terraced houses there would have been more interaction, but Bertha’s was a large Georgian house surrounded by unkempt hedges, while the neighbours on either side and across the road were young married couples with kids; they’d enough to be getting on with without worrying about the auld dragon across the way. On a whim, on the way back to the office, with Sean complaining because he still had a stack of photos to process, Alix stopped off at the Churchill Nursing Home and spoke to Sarah Compton, the manager. She knew her from previous stories – three of the home’s guests/inmates had made it to a hundred in recent years and received telegrams from the Queen. It had been Alix’s job under Billy Maxwell to attempt to interview the poor dears – and it was always the women who seemed to make it to a century not out. It was nearly always a disaster – they might have reached a hundred, but they rarely retained many of their faculties, or, indeed, marbles; their heads would flop down onto their chests and they’d be covered in drool and food and smell of pee and air freshener and mothballs and they would hardly be aware that there was a party going on in their honour or that the Queen had been in touch. But Sarah Compton was always friendly and bubbly and anxious to help whatever way she could. Alix liked her, though the more experienced she became as a journalist the more she understood that you never knew what people were really like, that they presented you with their public face, and it was only later, when they were arrested with a decapitated head in their fridge, that their true selves were revealed. Although, of course, there hadn’t been a lot of decapitated heads during her time on the Express. That was wishful thinking.
Alix was greeted with a wide smile and the offer of tea and shortbread, which she accepted even though she knew Sean was sulking in the car.
‘Oh yes, I remember Bertha all right...’ Sarah gave a roll of her eyes.
‘Yes, that seems to be the general opinion...’
‘Well, to be fair... she was just... well, she knew what she wanted. She took no prisoners, but most of the time she was lovely. You know she used to be a union rep at Gallaher’s?’
‘Galla...?’
‘The old cigarette factory in Belfast? In its heyday thousands and thousands worked there.’
‘Sorry, I—’
‘Well, anyway, Bertha was used to – well, agitating to get what she wanted. She was pretty ill when she first arrived here, so it took a while for her to find her feet, but once she was up and about – well, I think my job became pretty redundant. She thought she was running the ship, and to be frank we did butt heads a few times, but ultimately I think she was just trying to help. She could see things – flaws – from her side of the fence that we, as, like, management, could never really be aware of. So she was brilliant that way and actually we got on like a house on fire – which is quite apt really because the one thing she would not accept was that she couldn’t smoke in her room. Oh, the battles we had over that. In the end she signed herself out and went home, and actually she was quite right, there was no reason for her to stay, she’d recovered from her illness and was fighting fit. Sometimes literally. And do you know something? I’ll miss the auld bat. I was very sad to hear she’d gone. Do you know when the funeral is? I would like to pop along.’
‘Not yet, no – sounds like it might be a council job, don’t think anyone’s come forward. You wouldn’t recall if she had any relatives visit or friends or...?’
‘I’m not sure about relatives, but there was someone who...’ She was up from her chair then and out of the door and asking one of her staff. She came back with a name and the idea that the visitor sometimes wore a Marks and Spencer uniform. She was all apologies for being so vague, but Alix was more than happy. It was a clue, a lead; she was a dynamic reporter destined for the top.
As she left, Alix started thinking about Rob again, about his instincts for a story and how good they were, and then about why he’d been so distracted over the past few days and what his phone call had been about. She was still thinking about him when she got back in the car, and hardly noticed Sean’s glare or the way he tapped his watch face. As she started the engine she said, ‘What do you think of Rob?’
‘Wah?’
‘Rob. What do you think of him?’
‘I think he’s going to be pissed off because I’m behind in my work.’
‘Do you think he’s got some dark secret we don’t know about?’
She still had it in her head about Sarah having a decapitated head in the fridge.
‘No idea. Why, have you heard something?’
‘No. Not at all. I was just thinking about how he seemed to turn up out of nowhere. Was just wondering.’
Sean was nodding now. ‘Well, Pete always said—’
‘Be wary of what Pete—’
‘...Pete always says that something will come out. Child porn.’
‘Child porn! Where the fuck did—?’
‘He just said it. And once it’s in your head it’s hard to—’
‘Jesus Christ, Pete has no business—’
‘I didn’t say it, Pete said it...’
‘Well Pete’s a fucking wanker.’
‘You said it...’
‘And if anyone’s going to have child porn on their—’
‘And now that’s in my head as well!’
Alix nosed the car back out onto the main road. ‘Let’s forget we ever had this conversation,’ she said.
‘Agreed,’ said Sean.
A hundred yards further along, Alix said, ‘Impossible.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Sean.
Another two minutes passed in silence, and then there was a low growl from Sean. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is not the way back to the office.’
‘I know. I just have to pop into Marks and Spencer for something.’
‘Christ,’ said Sean.
‘I know. Tell Rob it’s my fault.’
‘I’m not talking to that pedo.’
And then they were both laughing.
*
Rob wasn’t laughing, he was genuinely conflicted. Gerry had a dour look on his face, and had switched from tap water to wine. He was saying, ‘Jesus Christ, Rob, I wasn’t expec- ting that.’
‘Well, it’s not like I was hiding it, I only found out this morning.’
‘I’d like to say I’m pleased for you. And I kind of am. I never thought phone hacking was your style.’
‘Well, it wasn’t. As an exhaustive and expensive internal inquiry has found.’
‘And now they want you back.’
‘They do.’
‘The same people who seized your computer and escorted you from the building.’
‘They were protecting themselves. Standard practice.’
‘Appalling. And you’d go back to that?’
‘I have to consider it.’
‘Why? Don’t you like it here?’
‘Yes, of course I do, you know that. But... Gerry, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but my kids are in England... Not being there for them, it’s killing me.’
‘I understand that. Yes.’
‘And the money.’
‘We can’t compete with that, obviously. Rob – Navar has made it a condit
ion of buying the paper that you stay on for at least a year.’
‘Gerry – there are plenty of editors out there...’
‘No, Rob, there aren’t.’
Rob sighed. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said.
*
‘Sian, is it?’
She was stacking punnets of strawberries in a busy Marks’s aisle. Sian, slight of frame and with her fingers sheathed in blue transparent gloves, had indeed been a regular visitor to the Churchill Nursing Home. She said Bertha was ‘quite a character’ and ‘was always up for a fight’.
Alix smiled and said, ‘Yeah – I heard she was a trade union rep at Gallahers.’
Sian’s brow furrowed. ‘Was she? Didn’t know that.’ She put her blue hand to her chest and said, ‘I feel really bad now. I kept meaning to get round to see her but...’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I heard she was... for a while.’
‘Well, we’re not really sure how long. How did you know her?’
‘I didn’t really – what I mean is, I got to know her over this past few years but it was really my mum that knew her. They were great mates. When my mum got sick she made me promise that I’d look in on Bertha to make sure she was okay. My mum always said that someone should have given that woman a medal.’
‘Bertha...? Because...?’
‘Because of all the good work she did. Civil rights.’
‘Civil... you mean, like in America or...?’
Sian smiled. ‘I know, I said the same – I don’t know how old you are or where you went to school, but I tell you, when I hear civil rights I’m thinking about Martin Luther King and all that, but no, I’m talking about what went on here, all the stuff they hardly teach you about any more. When all those marches were taking place up in Derry and the like, voting rights and jobs for Catholics, Bloody Sunday and all that...’
‘Bloody Sunday, yes, I know about Bloody—’
‘And so did I – or I thought I did. You think Bloody Sunday and you think Derry and marchers getting shot and the IRA really taking off because of it, so we kind of think that everyone involved would have been Nationalist or Republican, right? But actually, it wasn’t just in Derry, it was all over, and it wasn’t just Catholics, there were stacks of Prods involved as well. And Bertha was one of them. In Belfast. And the way my mum told it, she made a lot of enemies, and she received a lot of threats but she never took a step back. She said Bertha was never one for the limelight, but absolutely she was a driving force. Fearless and passionate, she said.’ Sian blew air out of her cheeks. ‘Fearless and passionate, yet she was lying there for maybe weeks and nobody cared enough to...’
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