Not Safe After Dark

by Peter Robinson

  “Oops, mustn’t forget,” Roy said, putting his glass down and getting suddenly to his feet. Corinne almost fell over sideways. “Sorry, love.” He patted her shoulder. “Just got to nip down to the Porsche. Forgot something. Wouldn’t want to leave it out there too long. You never know on an estate like this. Give us a hand, will you, Geoff?”

  Geoff, returned from the kitchen, beer in hand, stated that he was only too willing to do anything for Roy, and set his glass down on the table. Corinne smiled shyly as the two of them went out. Banks hadn’t heard her speak yet and wondered what her voice was like, her accent. “Where are you from?” he asked, just to find out.

  “Canterbury,” she said. “Well, I grew up there. After that I went to Manchester University.”

  She didn’t have much of a regional accent, Banks learned. She was well-spoken, clearly educated, and her voice was pleasant, soft and musical, a little reedy.

  “How long have you known Roy?”

  “About three months.”

  “They’re getting engaged,” Ida Banks said. “So now we’ve really got something to celebrate.”

  Corinne blushed.

  “That true?” Banks asked.

  She smiled and nodded. He felt like warning her off. Roy had been married three times and two of his wives had ended up confiding in Banks about what an unfaithful, cruel bastard Roy was. He had never actually hit either of them—so they both swore—but he curtailed their freedom and terrorized them psychologically. The second, a particularly bright neurosurgeon called Maria, ended up seeing a psychiatrist for years after they split up, trying to splice together the frayed strands of her self-esteem. Banks had seen her change—albeit at infrequent intervals—from a secure, confident young doctor into an apologetic, tongue-tied wreck whose hands shook so much she couldn’t thread a needle. The third wife, thank God, had seen the signs before it got too late and left Roy in time.

  Roy and Geoff came back carrying large cardboard boxes, which they set down on the living room floor. “Happy anniversary,” Roy said. “Go on. Open them.”

  Banks’s parents looked at one another, then his mother got some scissors from the kitchen drawer and came back and knelt by the largest box. Roy and Geoff helped, and soon between them had managed to drag out the computer monitor, processor unit, and keyboard.

  “It’s a computer,” said Ida Banks, clearly at a loss.

  “Now you’ll be able to go on the Internet,” said Roy. “We’ll be able to send each other e-mail.”

  “Will we?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it’s so . . . so expensive.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Everyone should have a computer these days. They’re the future.”

  Ida Banks reached out and touched it gingerly, as if it might bite. “The future—”

  “We’d better get it out of the way for the time being,” said Arthur Banks. “Our guests will be arriving soon.”

  “Right.”

  Between them, Geoff, Roy, and Banks took the computer upstairs and set it up on the desk in the spare room.

  “That’ll be nice for them,” said Geoff.

  Banks thought it was the stupidest present he could think of. His parents were in their seventies; they weren’t going to learn how to use a computer. His own present, a particularly moody Yorkshire landscape painting he had found in an antiques shop in Richmond, had met with polite praise, but he felt it was probably destined for the back of the wardrobe. The computer, he suspected, would sit at this desk, not even plugged in, just gathering dust. Unless Geoff Salisbury decided to use it.

  Just as the three of them started downstairs, the front doorbell rang.

  “Here come the first guests,” said Geoff. “It’s started.”

  19

  First to arrive were Uncle Frank and Aunt Harriet, and after that Banks began to lose track. Here came relatives he hadn’t seen for years, cousins he never even knew existed. It was only to be expected with both his mother and father coming from large families—six and four respectively—but it was a shock nonetheless.

  Geoff took to bartending duties like a fish to water, and Roy worked the room like a politician, all hail-fellow-well-met, as if these people he had probably never seen before meant more to him than his own life. If the truth were known, he had been home even less often than Banks and hardly ever in touch with the more distant relatives.

  Arthur Banks seemed bewildered by it all, tired, sticking to his armchair, glass of beer at hand, though Ida got into the party spirit and Banks fancied she even became a little tipsy. Music played quietly in the background, mostly crooners and big bands, though pop entered the mix when someone found an old compilation album. It was pretty much the same stuff as Banks had found in his room, or at least softer stuff from the same period—Cliff Richard, Eden Kane, Frank Ifield, Billy Fury, the Bachelors, and the ubiquitous Val Doonican—but it was only for background, wallpaper music.

  In a lull after the first few guests had arrived, Banks managed to get Roy alone for a few minutes while a couple of young cousins, similarly bedecked, admired Corinne’s body piercing.

  “I’ve been wanting a word in your ear,” Banks said. “It’s about that Geoff Salisbury.”

  “What about him? Seems like a decent chap. Takes good care of Mum and Dad.”

  “That’s just it. I think he steals from them.”

  “Oh, come on, Alan. It’s that suspicious copper’s mind of yours working overtime again.”

  “No. It’s more than that.” Banks told him about the short change.

  “Could have been any reason for that,” Roy said. “A genuine mistake. You don’t always have to think the worst of people, you know.”

  “He’s got their PIN number. They give him their Abbeylink card.”

  “He takes care of their finances. For crying out loud, somebody’s got to do it. I mean it’s not as if you’re around much, is it?”

  Banks realized he was fighting a losing battle. Roy didn’t want to believe that Geoff was anything other than a godsend, and he would resist any evidence to the contrary. “He’s got a criminal record,” Banks went on nevertheless, pissing against the wind. “Swindling old folk out of their life savings.”

  Roy just laughed. “Mum and Dad haven’t got anything worth swindling. You know that. And besides, don’t you believe in rehabilitation? I assume he’s paid his debt to society?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Well, then.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Roy. I caught him red-handed.”

  “Listen, big brother. So what if he’s pocketing a bob or two here and there? He practically does all their shopping for them, housecleaning, too. Isn’t it worth it?”

  “That’s not the point. If he wants paying for what he does, that’s different.”

  “Maybe it’s just his way.”

  “It’s a funny bloody way.”

  Roy shrugged and laid his arm across Banks’s shoulders. “Like I said, it’s not as if you’re around to do it, is it, eh? I say count your blessings and let sleeping dogs lie. Look, there’s Uncle Ken. See you later.”

  Banks muttered to himself under his breath. He should have known approaching Roy was a waste of time. Anybody suspected of swindling a penny out of him and he’d probably put a contract out on them, but his own parents . . . On the other hand, was Roy right? Was Banks making too much out of all this? Being a party pooper? He looked at his parents. They seemed happy enough—his mother did, anyway—what right had he got to challenge that? What gave him the moral justification to come down here once in a blue moon and spoil what little good fortune they had going for them? His mother clearly adored Geoff—he could tell by the way she looked at him and talked about him—and having him around made life a hell of a lot easier for his father, too. Roy was right. Banks had been interfering too much, and it was about time he backed off and left people to get on with their lives.

  “Penny for them?”

  Banks turned. It was Kay. “I d
idn’t hear you come in,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

  She smiled and touched his arm. “Nice to see you, too. I was just talking to your mother. She offered her condolences.”

  She was wearing a lemon summer dress, which fell to just below her knees, and she had her hair tied up and held in place with a patterned leather barrette.

  “You look wonderful,” Banks said.

  Kay blushed. “Thank you. How about a drink for the lady?”

  “Of course. Vodka and tonic?”

  “That’ll do nicely.” She took hold of his arm. “And don’t go too far away. I don’t know anyone else here.”

  “Of course you do,” said Banks. “You know my parents.”

  “I haven’t seen them for years.”

  “And my brother, Roy.”

  “He was just a little kid when we were together. Around too often, if I remember correctly.”

  Banks nodded. He remembered being blackmailed into giving Roy money to get lost on more than one occasion. “You know Geoff Salisbury,” he said, nodding to where Geoff stood by the fireplace talking to some cousin whose name Banks couldn’t remember.

  Kay gave a little shudder. “Yuck. I don’t know about you, but he gives me the creeps.”

  They got their drinks.

  “Come on,” Banks said to Kay. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

  They went out to the back step. Banks could hear music next door, but only softly. The rain had stopped earlier that afternoon and it had turned into a pleasant evening. The sky was already darkening and the stars coming out. There was even a pale quarter moon low in the sky. Banks leaned against the wall. Kay stood quietly beside him.

  “Last night—” he began.

  But Kay hushed him, putting a finger to his lips. “No. Don’t say anything. That was marvelous. Special. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

  “If you like,” Banks said. He’d been thinking the same thing. What had happened had been about the past, unfinished business, passing magic. It had been time out of time. Tomorrow they would both go back to their real lives and probably never see one another again. Banks thought about how their relationship had ended all those years ago, and how he had believed he would never see her again after he went to London. This was enough. This was more than enough. It had to be.

  They went back inside. The party went on, as these things do. Banks and Kay talked to Mrs. Green for a while, and Banks promised not to be such a stranger. Aunt Florence regaled him with her cataracts, and Aunt Lynn went on about her gallbladder operation. He also heard about Cousin Patrick’s prostate problems, Uncle Gerald’s hemorrhoids, and Cousin Louise’s manic depression. It was enough to make him want to kill himself before he got old. Then there was Cousin Beth’s divorce, Nick and Janet’s third baby, a girl they had named Shania, Sharon’s promotion, Gail’s miscarriage, and Ayesha’s boob job. All the while Kay stood politely by, asking questions and making sympathetic comments or noises. Roy continued to work the room, seemingly indefatigable.

  Inevitably, Uncle Ted fell asleep. Cousin Angie had too much to drink and was sick in the kitchen sink, dislodging a nose stud in the process, which she nearly inhaled. Uncle Gerald and Uncle Frank almost came to blows. Aunt Ruth wet herself, and young, lovely, anorexic Cousin Sue, with all the self-esteem of a blade of grass, became tearful and made a pathetic attempt to seduce Banks.

  All in all, it was just another typical family do.

  Roy and Corinne left early. They sought out Banks and Kay to say their good-byes, and as usual Roy invited Banks to the South Kensington house, said they really must see more of one another and that he hoped Banks could make it to the wedding next year. Banks promised he would try, gave the blushing bride-to-be a chaste kiss on her pale, cool cheek, and they were gone.

  When Banks looked around, he noticed that Geoff Salisbury had left, too. Only one or two relatives remained, and they were either very close or very drunk. Banks found his mother having a heart-to-heart with her sister, Flo, and said he’d see Kay home and be right back.

  The street was quiet, the evening air cool. They saw only a few people as they walked the short distance to Kay’s house.

  “I’d better not come in,” he said at the doorstep.

  “No.”

  He wondered what would happen if he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. Would their resolve melt? Somehow, he didn’t think it was very strong.

  “Anyway,” he said, “if you’re ever up Eastvale way—”

  “Of course I will.” She gave him the sort of smile that said she never would be, then after a quick kiss on the cheek, the door opened and closed and Banks was left standing there alone.

  He didn’t want to go back to the dregs of the party immediately, didn’t want to face the drunken relatives desperately sobering up for the drive home, didn’t want to face the mess of spilled drinks and food smeared on the carpets. He knew he would have to—he owed it to his parents to help clean up at least—but he could put it off for a little while longer.

  The moon was higher now and Banks could see stars, planets, constellations even, beyond the amber glow of the streetlights. He wandered the quiet Sunday-night streets of the estate feeling oddly melancholy, past the maisonettes where he used to deliver newspapers, past the house where his old, late friend Steve Hill used to live. Steve had kept toads in a bell jar at the bottom of the garden, Banks remembered, but he was forgetful, and one summer he neglected them for so long that they shriveled up and died. They looked like dried mushrooms. That was what happened to living things you were supposed to love and care for but neglected.

  His melancholy was probably something to do with Kay, he realized, though he hadn’t really wanted to repeat last night either. Last night had had a magic about it that any attempt at repetition would fall well short of. He remembered how their relationship had fallen apart all those years ago. His fault.

  It had all started to change when Kay left school at sixteen and got a job at Lloyds Bank in the town center. She made new friends, had money to spare, started going for drinks with the office crowd regularly after work on a Friday. Banks was still at school, having stayed on for his A levels, and somehow a schoolboy had less appeal than these slightly older, better-dressed, more sophisticated men of the world at the office. They had more money to flash around and, even more important, some of them had cars. One pillock called Nigel, with a plummy accent and a Triumph MG, particularly got up Banks’s nose. Kay insisted there was no hanky-panky going on, but Banks became tortured with jealousy, racked by imagined infidelities, and in the end Kay walked away. She couldn’t stand his constant harping on about who she was seeing and what she was doing, she said, and the way he got stroppy if she even so much as looked at another man.

  The irony was, given that his A-level results weren’t good enough for university—the first bone of contention between him and his parents—he might as well not have bothered staying on. He’d spent far too much time with Kay, away from his studies, listening to Hendrix, Dylan, and Pink Floyd, reading books that weren’t on the syllabus.

  Shortly after the breakup, Banks moved to London and went to pursue business studies at the poly. A year or two after that and several brief, unsatisfactory, casual relationships later, he met Sandra.

  A dog barked as he reached the edge of the estate by the railway lines. A local train rattled by, one or two silhouettes visible through the windows. Banks started toward home. He had only got a few yards when the mobile in his pocket rang. He had forgotten to turn it off.

  “Alan? I hope I’m not disturbing your party.”

  It was Annie Cabbot. Banks wondered how he would have felt if he had gone in with Kay and the phone had rung just as they were . . . It didn’t bear thinking about.

  “No,” he said quietly. He happened to be passing the telephone boxes at the end of the street, so he decided to stand inside one and take the call. That way he didn’t seem like one of those silly buggers walking around talking to his
girlfriend on his mobile phone.

  “I’m sorry to call so late,” Annie said.

  “That’s all right. Aren’t you off duty?”

  “Yes, but I was waiting to hear from DS Ryan in Loughborough. He was out at the pictures.”

  “DS Ryan? So this is about Geoff Salisbury?”

  “Yes. What’s wrong, Alan? You sound funny. Distant.”

  “So would you if you were standing in the middle of a council estate talking on your mobile.”

  Annie laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not quite as conservative as you are.”

  “OK. Point taken. What did this DS Ryan come up with?”

  “It’s interesting, actually,” said Annie. “At least, I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Fill me in.”

  “As Winsome told you, Salisbury was actually convicted of fraud. It was a neighbor, an elderly woman, and he started by helping out around the place, that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds familiar,” said Banks. “Go on.”

  “Seems he managed to come between her and her children and get himself written into her will. She didn’t have much. Only a few hundred quid and an insurance policy, but he copped for most of it.”

  “What happened?”

  “The family contested it. Undue influence, that sort of thing. Hard to prove. Anyway, in the end Mr. Salisbury won out.”

  “Where does the conviction come in?”

  “Just getting to that. During proceedings, it came out that Geoff Salisbury had persuaded the woman to invest in a nonexistent business venture of his. A garage.”

  “Aha.”

  “Again, it wasn’t much. Only two hundred quid.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Banks. “Is a man who preys on the poor any less guilty than one who preys on the rich?”

  “I’m afraid that’s a bit too philosophical for me at this time on a Sunday evening, but at a guess I’d say even more so, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would. Thanks a lot, Annie. Above and beyond, and all that.”

  “Oh, that’s not all.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. While all this was going on, Mr. Salisbury’s mother died. Well, she was old and—”