The Writer

by RB Banfield

  “He has a name and I’m not changing it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Craigfield’s a nice guy. He happens to be my friend and he’s helping me with my fitness program. But if you’re trying to cause a riot over him then you’re by yourself. Well? Are you going to do it?”

  “Am I going to do what?”

  “Take his name out of there?”

  “Why is it such a problem? Does his name being there bother you that much that you’re all in my face over it?”

  “Suit yourself, then. The way it’s going, no one’s going to read it anyway.”

  The typewriter sat untouched. When she arrived in Gendry she thought she almost had the entire story already written in her mind. She could see every chapter and paragraph, and all she had to do was put it on paper. Distractions were making it impossible. Part of the point of coming out to Gendry was for the relaxing air of laziness that the town was famous for, and in the peaceful atmosphere she could write. Not only had she wasted time by talking to a man she didn’t even like and who wasn’t even a local, but she had let herself become caught up in a bit of drama that had never happened in the town before but was common in the city. At first the news of the violent murder had made her feel sad, in the realisation that the Gendry she had known as a child had disappeared, replaced by more of the real world she was familiar with. The more she thought about that the more she realised that it was impossible to keep such things away from the town forever, and they were very lucky that this was only the first such incident in their history.

  Another point of the town that was of interest to her, and was equally difficult to accept, was that when she saw the people gathered in Sal’s she realised that the great old characters were still around. People like Elbow and Two-Tooth, and Sal too. The younger generation had little to offer in replacing them. Young people, like Sophie herself, had been leaving Gendry for a while now, and they were replaced by older people from the city looking for a peaceful town to retire in. Dull people, who drove slow not because they liked to but because they thought they had to. Elbow and Two-Tooth went out of their way to push whatever opinion popped into their head, just more for the fun of making a scene than for anything else. But the new people never thought to challenge the status quo, and did not know that there really wasn’t any. They were people who did not want to cause dispute, to present an opinion that might be a bit different, to maybe upset someone by talking out of turn. Gendry was quickly becoming little more than a large retirement village. Soon there would need to be a good hospital and nursing care, if the trend was to continue. And they would all be driving slow.

  The twins noticed that she was looking sad, and for once they didn’t think of asking for their own fun but rather wanted to know what was wrong. She was sitting on the large chair in the shadowy back porch, doing nothing but staring into the distance. Kerry had a thought and he grabbed his brother’s arm, telling him that she must be upset over Craigfield.

  “Why are you acting that way, Sophie?” Jerry asked her.

  “It’s not like Craigfield’s gone back home,” added Kerry.

  “He might as well,” she said, quietly amused at their concern but not letting them know. “He’s married.”

  “There’s no one else with him,” said Kerry. “He’s by himself.”

  “Ask mother,” said Jerry, “he checked in alone and no one else has been in his room.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s not married,” she said. “She’s back in the city. Probably glad he’s here, too.”

  “What’s the problem, then?” asked Kerry.

  “She’s not here,” said Jerry, knowing perfectly well what he was suggesting.

  “It’s like he’s not married at all, being here by himself,” said Kerry, agreeing with his brother.

  “I’ll pretend you never said that,” said Sophie. “You boys don’t understand, you’re too young,” she added as she hoped that was true.

  “We don’t understand that he may be wanting to replace his wife?” asked Kerry.

  “Maybe that’s why he told you he wasn’t married?” suggested Jerry.

  “There’s more to it than that,” she said, wondering if she should admit to them that she was upset that he didn’t tell her about his wife, and if there was a reason for that other than he just happened to forget.

  Rebecca joined them, looking at her brothers accusingly. “Quite a find,” she said, referring to the dead body. “How did you manage that? Probably because you both had something to do with it?”

  “Rebecca, you’re just in time,” said Sophie. “I was just telling your brothers about Craigfield, and how some men cannot be trusted. And to think I told him I was writing a book about marriage and he said nothing to me when he had the chance, but pretended he wasn’t married.”

  “He already knew you were a writer,” said Rebecca.

  “How do you know that?” asked Sophie.

  “I heard mother telling him,” she said. “She never stopped talking about you. I was so embarrassed!”

  “She told Craigfield about my book?”

  “Yes, all about your novel.”

  “Keep away from him, please, Rebecca. There’s something not right about him.”

  “Are you saying what we think you’re saying?” asked Kerry.

  “I have no idea what you two think I’m saying,” said Sophie. “I don’t think anyone possibly can know what goes on in your heads. What I’m saying is Craigfield can’t be trusted. As far as I can tell, no one knows what he’s doing in Gendry. You should all keep your distance.”

  “I thought I heard him saying he was looking for someone,” said Rebecca. “Someone in town.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Sophie.

  “That’s all I heard,” she said.

  “He was looking for Bill Bearer!” Kerry announced with excitement.

  “And he found him!” added Jerry.

  “Killed him and left him in the woods!”

  “For the birds and bugs!”

  Sophie knew that she should calm them down before they became unstoppable with their new idea, but the more she thought about it the more she realised that they may be right. As far as Sophie could tell, this man had come from the city and had told lies to everyone, including her, for no good reason. Not long after, a local man is brutally run down and left for dead in the undergrowth away from the road, perhaps to be left unfound for years to come.

  Sophie felt scared that she had spent time walking alone with him. He was little more than a perfect stranger, but there she was, eating lunch with him, talking about herself, walking with him, without knowing anything about who he was, and accepting that his stories are true. It was something she would never have done had they met in the city. The peacefulness of the town had seen her drop her defences. She wondered how she could convince Susan to ask him to leave her house.

  His faded black cap was pulled down tight, just allowing him enough room to peer out from under the shaggy brim. Light drizzle started to fill the air as the nearby rush-hour traffic began to thin. It was getting darker now and Max expected that he would need to stay where he was standing for another hour. It was a good spot, over the street from the popular McNabb gym, known as Mac’s. He knew Jill was not there but Craigfield was. In the top floor he could see people jumping up and down, raising their arms and moving side to side, all with more energy than Max could ever summon. Another figure, that he guessed was Craigfield but was too far away to be sure, was walking around in front of them like a drill sergeant.

  For the life of him, Max could not understand why people would want to waste their time in such a place. Working there was another matter, as you got to order people about, people who paid you, and you got to look over the ladies under the guise of helping them better themselves. That kind of a job Max would have killed to have in his younger days when his body was more athletic and he could
get away with pretending to be fit. The pain from his foot was a timely reminder that he would never be able to do anything like that. He preferred to think of himself as fit in mind and soul, since he read widely and wrote as much as he could, but his body was beyond help.

  When Craigfield came out of the gym Max felt like someone had kicked him. With increasing jealousy he watched the tall and handsome young man jump into the striking sporty red Audi convertible that was parked in front of the door. The same car that Max had found hard to take his eyes off as he waited for nearly two damp hours. He had imagined driving it along some winding mountain pass, and wondered if it belonged to an attractive young woman who had a thing for older washed-up journalists with bad ankles. Was there nothing this man could not take away from him, even his dreams?

  He hurried to his own car, a second-hand blue Suzuki hatchback he had suffered for ten years and still did not know what some of the buttons did. It was difficult to stop his crutch from slipping on the wet tarmac as he got to his car. He hastily drove to catch up. The engine strained since it liked the cold about as much as he did.

  The drive to Craigfield’s house was not far, just three or four streets, but the Audi moved aggressively and it was hard to see in the light rain. The house was fashionable but small in a street where they all looked the same. Each one had a steep shingled roof and a small garage to the side. Craigfield quickly drove into his own garage, barely waiting for the auto door to open. Max took note of the house number as he drove past. The closest place to park was in the next street and when he hobbled back to the house there was a bright light in the front room. Max tried to lean under a thin tree that was not strong enough to support him. There was nothing he could do except stand on his own. He hoped that the drizzle wasn’t starting to turn into rain.

  “Find yourself another woman,” he said to Craigfield, imagining himself in that front room and keeping him spellbound by his lecturing. “This is my wife. She’s my wife, not yours. Think you can take my wife? Funny, I don’t recall seeing you at the wedding. That was me, not you, marrying her. That was me, not you, suffering through all the dirty jokes and sniggering from her father and creepy-as-all-heck brothers. Why would you want her anyway? She’s only going to go looking for another man when she gets sick of you and starts to criticise and ruin your dreams. And they’ll be other gym instructors, just to make you suffer.”

  “Sorry, but are you talking to me?” asked a slight man. He was standing behind an iron fence and looking at him over misty glasses. Craigfield’s neighbour, he was around sixty and had thick wire-rimmed glasses. He did not appear to be concerned that he was wearing only a light shirt and baggy shorts in the damp evening. Max was stunned to also notice that he had bare feet and was standing on wet grass.

  “No, just to myself,” said Max. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

  “Well, it was very interesting listening, all the same.”

  “Again, not meant for you.”

  “I understand that, sir. Thing is, reason why I find what you said interesting was it was about Craigfield. Am I right?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “By reputation, sure. He has a different woman visit each night. Can’t help but notice, since our houses are so close. We don’t want to be nosy, but this one’s too good to miss.”

  “You think there’s one in there now? Another woman, I mean?”

  “Don’t think it. I know it. She arrived before he did, and was busy yelling for him to let her in, and started kicking the door. I had to come out and tell her she can go in the back door, since he always leaves it unlocked.”

  “Have you seen her here before?”

  “Wednesdays. Like clockwork. We call her Miss Wednesday. Although I guess now that should be Mrs Wednesday. Your wife, am I right? Here to catch her, are you?”

  Max started back to his car, feeling too upset to tell him that he was sure that Jill wasn’t there. But then, he couldn’t be entirely sure. Perhaps he could ask the man for a description, or see it that back door was still open, or even just knock on the door.

  “If it matters any, I’m sorry for you,” the man said and Max appreciated that. Then he added, “And just so you know, there’s nothing wrong with talking to yourself.”

  “Okay, then,” Max said with a wave.

  “It’s when you argue, that can be a problem.”

  Max stopped and looked back and saw the man returning to his home, amused at himself.

  It was ten in the evening at Sal’s and the night’s patrons had gone, leaving only the regulars to do what they always did. Elbow, Two-Tooth and former mayor Gene Best sat together at one end of the bar, oblivious to the time and watching the door in case any of the town’s visitors came back in and gave them something else to talk about.

  “I was saying to Elbow,” Two-Tooth explained to Gene, “the girl can’t expect city here. City ways not Gendry and we like it that way.”

  Elbow was tired and prone to lapse into off-topic memory trips. The night’s crowd had been bigger than normal, and whenever that happened it gave him a feeling of being trapped and he hated being trapped. Now the room was quieter his problem was that it was too quiet, like he had been suddenly deserted. Elbow had many little phobias, including both being trapped in crowds and being left alone. “Gendry knows nothing of city ways,” he said in agreement with Two-Tooth. “Nor want to.”

  “Nor want to,” Two-Tooth agreed.

  Gene felt a bit lost in the conversation. Usually it was him who needed to explain things to the two of them, and the change made him feel uncomfortable. At least ten years older, he naturally wanted to take charge, as he wished he could do with the entire town. He may have given the impression that his hope of reclaiming the mayoral office was a joke, but he was serious. He took note of everyone who tried to tell him to forget it, like they were an enemy needing to be subdued. Such a military outlook suited his personality, but he had never fought in any war, more out of chance than protest. It was no secret that he liked to think of himself as a general, and at one point in his life he asked people to call him that. His car was a giant pickup truck and it gave him the feeling that it was a tank. Too big enough to fit in his garage, he parked it on the grass in front of his house and it gave him the feeling that it was protecting him.

  “Girl you meaning is Susan’s girl?” Gene asked them. “Sophie, was it?”

  “From her first marriage, I’m guessing,” said Two-Tooth.

  “Granddaughter,” said Elbow.

  “Sophie’s her granddaughter?” asked Two-Tooth. “Must have been young when she popped her out.”

  “Something like ten, is the rumour,” said Elbow, trying to remember if that story was about Susan or some other woman.

  “Now, she wasn’t ten,” said Gene. “I remember Susan was married and everything when she had her first, and that would have been Sophie. Not long out of school she was, but still old enough for it to be legal. What’s Sophie been saying, Two?”

  “Sophie who?” asked Two-Tooth.

  “Girl you’ve been talking about, isn’t it?” asked Gene. “Susan’s granddaughter. What’s she been saying around town? She’s been creating a stir? She was impolite to the city detective, which reflected on us all. No need for that.”

  “Saying Andy Hand wasn’t doing his work,” said Two-Tooth.

  “That’s just not right,” Gene responded indignantly, as a knee-jerk reaction to defend his town and the people in it, regardless of the accusation.

  “Saying Andy Hand wasn’t doing his work?” agreed Two-Tooth. “Got no one to put the crime on not his fault.”

  “Not his fault, no sir,” said Elbow.

  “How can he go arrest when he got no one to arrest?” asked Two-Tooth.

  “Can’t be his fault,” said Elbow. “No can do put that on him.”

  “Gets that city copper in,” said Two-Tooth. “Don’t know what for. We all know what happened. Van nearly hit Kenny Coffins. Just find the van.”
>
  “Not hard to figure,” said Elbow. “Not for the city girl, though.”

  “Tell me, Two,” said Gene, “for argument’s sake, if not the speeding city van that nearly got Kenny Coffins, who do you put up as the killer?”

  “I knew Al Longbottom,” said Two-Tooth. “Knew his family since way back. His uncle was Bob, and a fine man. He died slow of a long illness but never complained. Didn’t care for Bob’s two sons. They were no good from the womb, those pair. Plain evil.”

  “Both dead, I hear,” said Elbow, and then questioned himself if it was some other people he was thinking of. Over the years there had been a few families around with two bad sons. It was something of a Gendry trait. Not many of the older generation held much hope for Susan’s twins turning out normal and respectable, although no one would ever say anything like that to her face. That they were twins and already showing signs of trouble only fuelled such thoughts.

  “If you mean Bob Bartner, both the son’s are dead now, that’s right,” said Two-Tooth. “Some luck for that family. But then, some families are like that; cursed from the start and lucky to get as far as they do.”

  “Know who I should think the finger should be pointed at?” asked Gene. “They call him Craig Field, I believe. Staying at Susan’s, apparently. One of her boarders, I’d say.”

  “Susan has boarders?” asked Two-Tooth.

  “She gets some in the springtime,” said Elbow. “And when the trout come up.”

  “Did Andy Hand,” asked Gene, “or that other city copper talk to him, this city fellow?”

  “I wouldn’t think he’d miss him, being another one from the city,” said Two-Tooth. “Hardly looks anything like Gendry folk.”

  “Got to say,” said Gene, “I don’t think much of him, that Craig Field fellow, from what I’ve seen. Even if Andy Hand gave him the third degree, I’d not be surprised to hear he’d worm his way out of it and come up smelling of roses.”