by Mark Morris
I switched off my phone, cutting off the beep. I’m not funny about answerphones, but on this occasion I really didn’t want to leave a message. I’m not sure why, I just felt it made me … too exposed somehow. It wasn’t that Liz didn’t sound nice, because she did. Chirpy, friendly, full of life. It’s funny how much we can glean just by hearing someone speak a few words. She sounded like someone you could trust, someone you could talk to. I hesitated for a moment and then dialled the number of the school, which was one of the few things I had managed to commit to memory.
Almost immediately a snappish female voice (the antithesis of Liz’s) said, ‘Solomon Wedge High School.’
‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Is Liz Sykes available, please?’
‘She’s probably teaching. Who shall I say is calling?’
‘It’s her sister,’ I said without hesitation, and immediately thought, What! What did you say that for?
There was a pause, during which I expected the woman (I pictured her as waspish, uptight, navy-blue cardigan buttoned up to her neck) to say coldly, Miss Sykes hasn’t got a sister. Who the hell is this?
But instead she said, ‘Is it important?’
‘Quite important,’ I said. I felt intimidated enough to almost add something like, It’s about our mother. However I managed to restrain myself, thinking it wise not to get in any deeper than I already was.
There was another pause and then the waspish woman said, ‘Just a moment. I’ll try to locate her for you.’
My heart thumped and my hand holding the receiver was slick with sweat as I listened to the silence at the other end. A couple of times my courage almost deserted me, my thumb touching the button that would break the connection, but not pressing it. I imagined the woman telling Liz that her sister was on the phone, Liz looking puzzled and saying, ‘But I haven’t got a sister.’ When I heard the clunk of the receiver being picked up after what seemed like an age, all the moisture drained from my mouth. Then the voice from Liz’s answerphone said, ‘Hi, Moira. What’s up?’
For a moment I was thrown. I swallowed and licked my lips, aware of the silence stretching between us. Finally I said quickly, ‘Hi, Liz. I’m afraid it isn’t Moira. I just said that so I could get to talk to you.’
‘Oh?’ said Liz. She didn’t sound annoyed, just intrigued.
‘My name’s Ruth Gemmill,’ I said. ‘I’m Alex Gemmill’s sister.’
‘Oh!’ she said again, but this time it was a happy exclamation. ‘Where is he? I’ve been really worried about him.’
‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me that,’ I said. ‘I’ve come to Greenwell to look for him. Actually, I was wondering whether we could meet up, pool our resources.’
‘Sure,’ she said without hesitation. ‘Where and when?’
‘Well, are you free tonight?’
‘I think I can squeeze you into my busy social calendar,’ she said, her tone making it obvious she was joking. ‘Where do you want to meet?’
‘You suggest somewhere,’ I said. ‘I don’t know Greenwell very well.’
‘Whereabouts are you staying?’
‘The Solomon Wedge. It’s a big pub off Wedge Square.’
‘I know it,’ said Liz. ‘Well, why don’t we meet there?’
‘I’d rather not,’ I said. ‘Too many prying eyes.’
I half-expected her to ask me what I meant, but instead she said, ‘OK then, how about …’ She thought for a few seconds, then said, ‘There’s a decent pub called the Rooster about five minutes’ walk from the Solomon Wedge. It’s on Roslyn Street. How does that sound?’
I walked over to Alex’s desk, found a spare bit of paper and a pen and wrote it down. ‘Great,’ I said. ‘About half-seven?’
‘See you there,’ Liz said. ‘Bye, Ruth.’
It was only as I was putting my phone back in my bag that I realized I had forgotten to ask her about Keith. Oh well, no problem. I could ask her tonight. Taking Alex’s diary and address book, I had a last look round the flat, lingering in each room as though desperate to commit every detail to memory. Then I left, hurrying down the stairs, expecting at any moment to hear the sound of the front door opening below, the heavy tread of feet in the hallway.
As I drove back into the centre of town I felt almost euphoric. I glanced at the car clock and was shocked to see it was almost midday. My watch told the same story. Where had the time gone? Had I really been in Alex’s flat for two hours? I decided to see whether the Red Dragon was open for lunch. It was, and I celebrated by ordering the businessman’s lunch, three courses for £7.50. There was a party of – surprise, surprise – businessmen in there, six of them in all. One or two kept casting lascivious glances in my direction, but I ignored them. When the waiter who had chased me out of the restaurant a couple of days ago (I had started to think of him as my waiter) arrived with my first course of crispy duck pancakes and black bean sauce, I asked him if he had time for a quick chat.
He glanced at the businessmen, said, ‘Two minutes,’ and sat down. Between mouthfuls of pancake I asked him about life in Greenwell.
It was not a particularly productive meeting, to be truthful. Either he was giving very little away or was simply unable to perceive the shadows that I sensed everywhere in the town. He had been here for eleven years, business was good, the people were very nice, his wife was happy, his daughter liked her school. When I asked him if anything odd ever happened in Greenwell, he replied with such a deadpan face that I wasn’t sure whether he was joking, ‘People sometimes run out of my restaurant without paying. But they are usually outsiders and I usually catch them.’
As he got up to leave, I asked him whether he had heard of the grey man. I watched him closely, but there was not even the faintest flicker of recognition in his eyes. He shook his head slowly. ‘No I haven’t. I’m sorry.’ I finished my meal, found a bookshop where I bought a map of the area (so that I wouldn’t have to keep asking for directions and thus tipping off the locals about my intended whereabouts) and a copy of The Orton Diaries edited by John Lahr (which I felt would bring me closer to Alex somehow), and then, unable to think of anything else to do before my meeting with Liz, made my way back to the Solomon Wedge.
I went up to my room, found Roslyn Street on the map, then lay back on my bed and started to read my book. All the food I’d eaten had made me sleepy, however, and after twenty minutes of trying to fight my drooping eyelids I gave up and allowed them to close. Instantly, despite fearing a repeat of the terrible dream I had had last night, I felt myself drifting away. As I did so I thought how odd it was that since I had been here I hadn’t had to take a single pill to help me sleep. I resolved that once I got back to London, I would ceremoniously flush all my pills down the toilet. It would be another symbolic step towards a new and happier life – or perhaps a step back to the life I’d known before Matt, if such a thing was possible.
That was my last thought before I woke up several hours later. I came to slowly, enjoying the stillness around me. I looked at my watch and saw that it was ten past five. I got up, had a long bath, changed my clothes, then made myself a cup of tea and sat on my bed, reading my book. I couldn’t concentrate, however. I felt edgy, eager for the time when I could leave the Solomon Wedge and go to meet Liz. I put the book aside and turned on the TV. The news was on, but it seemed distant, unrelated to me, as though it were being beamed in from another world. Greenwell was outside time and space. It existed purely within its own boundaries. It was like a plague town of old, spurned and isolated, rotting away from within.
I set off earlier than was necessary, having committed my route to memory. It was more a ten-minute walk than a five-minute one, but I didn’t mind; it killed some time. The Rooster looked out of place in Greenwell. It was spick and span, having evidently been recently modernized and refurbished. There was a new, brightly coloured sign hanging outside the front door (a grinning, strutting, cartoon-like rooster, its chest puffed out) and the interior smelled of fresh carpets and po
lished woodwork. A chalk blackboard boasted dishes more exotic than your normal pub fare, and there were panels of gaudily coloured stained glass partitioning the separate areas. There was even a family section where mums and dads could enjoy a quiet drink whilst their kids hurled themselves around the soft sculpture play area. In London I avoided such places like the plague, but here, in this dreary town, I applauded the Rooster’s determined cheerfulness, its contemporary values.
Perhaps not surprisingly the pub was almost deserted. The two staff members I could see – one polishing glasses, the other wiping tables in the dining area – were both young and smartly dressed in crisp white shirts and black trousers. I went to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic and then, as an afterthought, a plate of corn-fed chicken sandwiches. Then I found a table within sight of the entrance doors and sat down to wait.
At one minute to half past the left-hand door was pushed open and a woman entered. I’d been here half an hour by now, during which time I’d eaten my chicken sandwiches and was on my second G and T. As the woman turned her head to look at me, I gasped.
Liz Sykes was exactly as I’d envisaged from her voice on the answerphone. Small and neat and healthy-looking, her strawberry-blonde hair was drawn up in a loose but stylish twist, held in place with a tortoiseshell clip. She was wearing a sleeveless black ribbed crop top and black stretch pants. Her arms were brown, her muscles well-toned, and her stomach, which I saw in glimpses when she moved, was also tanned and enviably flat. Perhaps the only surprising thing about her was the silver ring that she wore in her belly button, though I’m not sure exactly why I was surprised by this. I guess maybe it was because I still subconsciously viewed teachers from the perspective of my schooldays, still thought of them as staid establishment figures, not subject to the whims of fashion and youth culture.
She grinned when she saw me and strode across, hand outstretched. ‘Hi, you must be Ruth. Alex has told me a lot about you. Oh God, I promised myself I wouldn’t say that.’
I laughed and took her hand. Though it was small and slender, her grip was surprisingly strong.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Thanks for agreeing to meet me.’
She waved away my gratitude. ‘Hey, it’s a pleasure. If we can put our heads together and work out where Alex has got to, then you’ll be doing me a favour too. Alex is a lovely guy. I’ve missed him like mad this week.’
‘I miss him too,’ I said. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘My shout,’ said Liz and gestured at my glass. ‘What are you having?’
As Liz ordered drinks at the bar, I wondered how much she knew about my brother. Had he told her he was gay? Presumably so if she had been out with Keith and Alex together. Besides, if she was as good a friend to Alex as it appeared, then he would almost certainly have told her. Alex didn’t wear his sexuality like a badge, but I know he liked to be open and honest with friends and colleagues, claiming that it avoided awkward misunderstandings later on.
Liz came back with the drinks. ‘Thanks,’ I said as she put a glass before me. ‘What’s that you’re drinking?’
‘Rum and Coke,’ Liz said, holding up her glass. ‘But I can’t have too many. I’m driving.’
‘Do you live far away?’
‘Not too far. In a little village called Shelton, about five miles north of here. It’s a lovely place. Not like Greenwell.’
‘What makes you say that?’
Her eyes widened slightly. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.’
I leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘No, what I mean is I agree with you. Greenwell’s a horrible place.’
Liz looked relieved. ‘It is. So dreary and depressing. I keep trying to persuade Alex to move out to Shelton.’
‘How well do you know Alex?’ I asked.
‘Pretty well, I think, considering we only met about a month ago.’
‘And has he told you … much about himself?’
Liz smiled. ‘Oh yeah, we hit it off from the word go. It’s been real info-dump time between us.’ She paused. ‘He’s told me he’s gay, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
For a moment I considered denying that I had meant anything of the sort, then I shrugged ruefully. ‘Actually, that was what I was getting at. I did wonder whether you had a romantic interest in my brother.’
She gave an unladylike snort. ‘Hardly.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ I said. ‘I’m glad we’ve got that one out of the way.’ I leaned forward, elbows on knees, all too aware that our voices were practically the only sound in that vast place. ‘I gather he was seeing someone called Keith?’
‘That’s right. Keith Thornley. Another nice guy. They were well-suited, actually.’
‘And Keith had to go away, did he?’
She looked at me quizzically.
‘I’m sorry. The only information I’ve got about you and Keith is from my brother’s diary. One entry reads “Keith’s farewell meal”.’
‘Oh, right,’ she said, tilting her head coquettishly as realization dawned. I’d noticed that little tilt of the head a couple of times since we’d started talking. The cuteness of the gesture in such a poised, self-assured woman was totally endearing, and I surmised that there were almost certainly dozens of adolescent boys whose initial sweaty sexual fantasies involved the delectable Miss Sykes in a starring role.
‘No, Keith’s gone to Australia to visit his parents,’ Liz said. ‘They emigrated there after his dad retired a few years ago. The meal was just a bit of a joke because Alex and Keith were being so pathetic about not seeing each other for three weeks.’
‘I see. So when was the last time you saw Alex?’
‘It would be … let me see … this time last week. Wednesday. Alex came over to my place for dinner. He seemed OK, we had a good time, but he didn’t show up to school on Thursday. I called him, but there was no answer. I haven’t seen him since.’
‘What did you think when you couldn’t get hold of him?’
‘At first nothing. I was a bit disappointed because we’d planned to go for a walk at the weekend and I’d been looking forward to it. I love Alex’s company, especially when we’re out in the countryside. He’s just so knowledgeable about everything, points things out that you wouldn’t ordinarily notice. Not in an arrogant way, though. In a way that makes you feel good.’
I smiled, feeling suddenly close to Liz. I knew exactly what she meant. Alex didn’t make you feel as though he was preaching or showing off when he told you stuff, but as though he was enriching you, confiding in you. It was a very appealing trait, one that had caused men and women alike to fall in love with him.
‘So where did you think he’d gone?’ I asked.
She shrugged with her face. ‘I assumed Alex was ill or that something had come up. I asked Geoff Rudding, our headmaster, whether he knew where Alex was, but he was his usual snide, unhelpful self.’
I filed that one away. Liz wasn’t keen on Rudding either. I was beginning to like this woman more and more.
‘If Alex had been ill,’ I said, ‘he would have let someone know he wasn’t coming to work. He wouldn’t have just not turned up.’
Liz nodded. ‘That’s what I thought too. I mean, I know I only met him a few weeks ago, but he’d always seemed to be someone you could trust, someone who was one hundred per cent reliable.’
‘He is reliable,’ I said. ‘He’s always been there when I’ve needed him. Always.’
We lapsed into a brief silence, both of us, I suspect, thinking the same thing. Alex had always been there for me (not in person sometimes admittedly, but he’d always been at the end of a phone line or computer terminal) and the fact that he wasn’t now could only mean that he was somehow being prevented from contacting me.
I took a gulp of my drink – my head was beginning to spin a little – and said, ‘I had a strange conversation with three of the children at your school yesterday.’
‘Did you?’ said Liz. ‘Why was that?’
I told her how they had been waiting by my car after my meeting with the headmaster. ‘I don’t know how they knew I was looking for Alex, but they said they knew where he was. When I asked where, they said he’d been taken by the grey man.’
Liz looked at me a moment, and then gave an exaggerated shudder, like someone shaking the cold out of themselves when walking from a winter street into a warm house. It was a reaction that surprised me. I had expected her to laugh or roll her eyes.
‘What does it mean?’ I asked.
She recovered her composure quickly and smiled. ‘It doesn’t mean anything. It was just the way you said it, the tone of your voice. It gave me the shivers.’
‘But there must be some reason why the children said it.’
Liz shrugged. ‘You know what kids are like. I remember when I was nine or ten, my friends and I spent a whole summer convinced we were being stalked by a golden monster. The reason for this was that we’d found a spatter of gold paint on the pavement outside my friend Melanie’s house. After that, we found all sorts of “clues” that proved the existence of this beast. Broken sticks that we told each other he’d been chewing to sharpen his teeth; divots in the field behind my house that we claimed had been gouged out by his claws. We convinced ourselves on the flimsiest of evidence that this thing was after us. We terrified one another.’ She shrugged again. ‘It’s what kids do. The ones you saw had probably become obsessed with the local legend, and as soon as Alex failed to turn up for school on the Thursday, they put two and two together and made five.’
‘You’ve heard of the grey man, then?’ I said.
‘Vaguely. Isn’t he supposed to be some portent of doom or something? I don’t know the origins of the story.’
‘He haunts the lonely places,’ I said.
Liz smiled and looked around. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he put in an appearance in here tonight, then.’
‘He kills whoever he meets,’ I said. I was trying to steer the conversation round to telling Liz about all the odd things that had happened to me since I’d been here without making myself sound like a lunatic. The trouble was, even as I was speaking I knew that this wasn’t the way to go about it. If I told her now about the figure I had seen in the field and about my experience last night, wouldn’t she assume that I was insinuating the grey man was responsible for the body in the station? I was desperate to tell someone everything, in order to get an objective perspective on the events of the past few days, but I felt instinctively that this wasn’t the right moment. Liz was just about the only person I’d really connected with since I’d been here, and the last thing I wanted was to alienate her during our first meeting.