Chapter Three

“Peter, how have you been love?” Joanne gave me a big hug, wrapping me in her arms so effusively that I almost dropped the wine. It was the evening after the interview. I smelt the familiar Lilac Blossom perfume and the childhood memories flooded back of the smart little house high up above the town. Number seventy-one The Mount had witnessed my progression from a ten-year-old child to the young student who’d left to live in the university’s flats and thence to the home Mike had found for me. I’d thought at the time they might object to my living on my own after graduation but they’d been happy enough for me to have my independence. They’d even given me the Vespa to get around on. It was one of the reasons we continued to get on; they’ve always been there for me whenever I needed a shoulder to lean and sometimes cry on. Let’s face it, I’d been incredibly lucky they’d adopted me after the accident. Whatever else had happened since that terrible day I couldn’t fault the Keans’ steadfast belief. That seemed to culminate in tonight’s celebration of my new post with Trans-Port after a confirmatory letter had arrived from Carver.

So James had been right after all and I really should have bought him another pint.

But, and it was a small yet significant ‘but’, the whole affair still felt dodgy. Also, the thing with Amelia last night... I didn’t really get it. Was something going on beneath the surface of my mundane life, a hidden manipulation of events? Was I just being paranoid? No doubt it would all become crystal clear on Monday morning when I began whatever I was meant to be doing with Trans-Port. Too many questions for now, and anyway this was meant to be a celebration not an inquest.

Joanne led me into the familiar living room with its comfortable armchair and sofa and the dark walnut-stained furniture. I automatically walked over and pulled aside the bay window’s net curtains. The tangled hedge hugging the other side of the road was still there and presumably the Victorian graveyard that rand down the steep hill behind. In fact my old bedroom in the thirties-style semi-detached house overlooked it. I remember the one solitary streetlight elongating the crumbling tombstones’ shadows as I dared myself to look during the dark evenings.

“The old place hasn’t changed much.” I’d said the same on my last visit and would doubtless do so on the next one. There was a brief stab of guilt at the infrequency of my contact with my foster parents. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately, been pretty busy at the library.”

We both knew that was an exaggeration but Joanne accepted it with a smile. “Well it’s nice to have you now, even if just for dinner. Have you padlocked your scooter? You know how dodgy some people can be these days.” She’d settled back into mothering mode straightaway. I’d been asked exactly the same question every time.

“I padlocked it to the lamppost as usual. Here, you’d better put this in the fridge.” I handed her the wine. “What’s for dinner, I’m starving? Where’s Mike by the way?”

“He’s just got to finish up some things at work.”

I’d been expecting them to greet me together considering the occasion. Somehow I felt a little cheated by Mike’s absence. Joanne went to make tea then brought it back with a plate of what she always thought were my favourite biscuits despite the fact I’d never liked them. We sat together on the sofa as she reached to turn the TV news down then turned to face me.

“How have you been getting on then?”

“Okay, you know…” We talked generalities until the sound of Mike’s key turning in the lock then I got up to awkwardly shake hands and he clapped me on the back and made a joke I didn’t really get. The three of us went into the dining room and Joan pulled out the leaves of the table and put a flowery tablecloth on it, a special effort for the occasion.

“It’s just shepherd’s pie I’m afraid,” Joanne apologised unnecessarily as she brought in the main course. The starters had been prawn cocktail. Joanne wasn’t the most adventurous of cooks but I’d always liked her food. It was honest and uncomplicated, just like the two of them.

“Mike, get Peter another beer would you?”

“Coming right up mate. Joanne’s a wonder at the old shepherd’s don’t you think?”

“Always...” I replied between mouthfuls. “Thanks for helping me celebrate guys.”

“No problem!” They chorused together then looked at each other and laughed. Mike and Joanne were just about the perfect couple. I knew little about their prospective backgrounds other than she was from somewhere in Berkshire and he was a South Londoner, Peckham or somewhere like that. There was a burr to some of her words whereas Mike spoke in a rough sing song sub-cockney accent. Maybe he’d been born closer to the West End. They made a strange pair together but then I’d never paid them that much attention growing up. I’d been far too distracted by my own intense little teenage world.

“It’s so lovely having you back with us again Peter, if only for just this evening,” Joanne repeated. “It’s lovely to have known you altogether. We’ve done a good job on you all told. Anyway, we tried our best given the circumstances...”

It was an uncharacteristically maudlin thing for her to say. I realised she was ever so slightly tipsy. Mike gave her an odd glance that she didn’t seem to notice. “I remember when he brought you home as if it were only yesterday. Twenty years ago. Sometimes it feels more like twenty minutes...”

“We don’t need to go over all that stuff now, do we love?” Mike virtually cut his wife off in mid sentence. “Painful memories for Pete and all that.”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry Peter. Please forgive my silliness.”

But it was too late to un-hear her words. “How’d you mean ‘when Mike brought me home’, surely Social Services would have taken care of me after the crash.” What was she talking about?

“That’s what she means, after I went to collect you from the Social what’s-it.” Mike made a grin and exaggerated shake of the head but it rang false. I felt a sudden tension in the room. “Never mind all that bollocks; we’re here to celebrate your new position, as the actress said to bishop.”

“That’s another thing I don’t understand.”

“Cor blimey, what’s that then Pete? What else don’t you get?” He’d started to sound edgy.

“Well, I usually cock this sort of thing up and you’re never particularly surprised when I do. But on the phone Friday night…”

“What about Friday night?”

“You sounded like you knew I’d already got this job.”

“We didn’t...” Joanne was shaking her head rapidly. “How could we know?”

“Pete’s joking love, aren’t you mate?”

“Yes. Anyway, what’s for dessert?” Joanne’s response triggered a link to something I couldn’t form clearly in my mind.

“Just ice cream and jelly.” She said the words quickly. “I’ll go and get it out of the fridge.”

“If you wouldn’t mind love.” Mike started to sound a little calmer but then out of nowhere said something even more odd. “You know, that’s going to be a terrific job Pete. You’re lucky they chose you. When do they want you to start?”

“First thing Monday, I told them the library needs at least two weeks’ notice but they said they’d had a word with the Council and it wouldn’t be a problem. I don’t understand how they managed that.”

“I expect Carver knows someone who knows someone in the relevant department.” Mike replied.  “That’s usually how these things work.”

“What ‘things’?” I’d become aware of Joanne standing poised in the kitchen doorway holding a plastic tray with three glasses of ice cream and jelly. The jelly had begun to wobble slightly.

“How do you mean?” There was a new note of tension in Mike’s voice.

“Well...” I wasn’t sure what I meant. It was just the word ‘things’ sounded odd in that context. “I mean, how can a private research company influence a local government department? Do you mean some kind of bribe?”

“Bribe!” Mike exploded in forced comical disbelief. “You’re not that important mate!” He rolled his eyes and Joanne joined in with the laughter but again it sounded brittle. For the first time in my life I began to doubt them. Something was definitely askew; there was a falseness to them both tonight. Actually when I thought about it the same tone had been in Mike’s voice on the phone, a kind of tense forced jollity. And then there was the other thing he’d just said without apparently being aware of it. Should I mention it or just shut-up and make my excuses?”

“Mike... how do you know Carver’s name?”

The jelly quivered more violently in the doorway. The heavy glasses slid a little further down the tray.

“How do I know? What is this, twenty bloody questions? The guy’s famous, isn’t he? He was in that quiz programme on the telly last week, what was it called Jo?”

“Science quiz programme,” Joanne amended hurriedly, “it was on last week, what was it called?”

“That’s what I’m asking you dear.”

“Well I can’t remember right now but it was very good, quite funny...” She tailed off and walked quickly over to put the tray down on the table.

‘But how do you know about Trans-Port’ I thought. ‘And you’re not in the slightest bit interested in science, either of you. And you certainly don’t watch science quiz programmes.’

What I actually said was, “Jesus I’m a bit knackered, think I’ll skip the jelly tonight.”

“Oh really, are you sure?” They both sounded relieved.

“Yes, actually I’m exhausted, tough day at the library re-cataloguing the Crime section.’”

“Sure you won’t stay for another beer?” Mike tried to force some lightness back into his voice but the underlying tone was still confrontational. It was just the way he was but tonight seemed extreme.

“No I’m off, thanks for a lovely meal Joanne.”

“Anytime love, come again soon.” She saw me to the door, Mike trailing after her as if forcing himself. When I looked back at end of the crazy-paving path they were still waving. Mike slipped an arm around Joanne’s waist as if for my benefit. I didn’t wave back. They suddenly seemed like total strangers.

“Good luck Monday!” Mike’s words carried on the still night air.

Again, I gave no reply. It wasn’t until I un-padlocked the scooter that I remembered my crash helmet on the hallstand. Awkward as it was, I’d have to go back.

The hallway light was still on but as I sheepishly reached for the doorbell I heard Mike’s muffled voice through the door’s frosted pane. His blurred figure was bent over the phone. I tried to listen. Some of the words were indistinct but I caught enough to realise he was talking to someone about me. He sounded panicky. Then the name ‘Carver’ popped up.

I backed away and walked swiftly back to the scooter. As I sped helmet-less down The Mount the random connection I’d made earlier finally clicked into place. When Joanne had said the words ‘how could we know?’ there had been a vein of fear running through them. Just like Amelia had sounded on the roof garden of the Druid.

Monday felt an exceptionally long time away and Sunday seemed to last forever. Despite the strangeness of my dinner at the Keans’ and a steadily growing paranoia of what it meant I still managed to oversleep late into Sunday morning. Maybe it was a release of tension? I finally managed to stumble into the shower but couldn’t get rid of the woolly-ness in my head.

I considered various time-filling options to get through the day. I could go for a bike ride on top of the los Cerdos de Vuelta, the ‘Hog’s Back’ in English, along the narrow ribbon of gravel road leading to the old Victorian land fort. I’d read of a display of its military history but had forgotten the opening times. And I’d have to pass the old house again which I had no wish to do right at that moment. I could take a walk along the River-way and maybe have a picnic up at the ruined thirteenth century chapel of St Katherine the Martyr perched on top of its sandstone cliff. I’d taken Amelia up there on one of our few dates though and had no wish to revive that painful memory.

In the end I did nothing with the main part of the day. Feeling frustrated and cross with my indecision I decided on a swift pint in the Druid that evening. I lingered for a while in the forlorn hope Amelia might make a return visit but as the bar began to fill with happy couples I left feeling even more depressed.

Returning to the flat subdued I felt a sense of being watched as I turned my key in the front door. I glanced back towards the Druid. Someone nearby moved in the shadows under the Keep’s wall. The subdued streetlighting picked out a hunched figure on a bench. It looked like it could be the old man in the long coat I’d seen sitting by the rose bushes inside the grounds. Had they slung him out at closing time, hours ago now? Was he still waiting to be collected?

I saw him beckon to me. I really didn’t need this right now but he might be in some kind of trouble. I approached cautiously. “Hello, can I help you?”

He made no reply. Voices drifted up from the pub on the night air. I heard a girl’s giggle and a man’s drunken shout, glasses clinked. Finally, a shaky voice finally replied.

“Would you be so kind young man?”

“Yes of course, what can I do for you?”

He raised a feeble arm. “I’m in need of some assistance.”

“Er…right.” I bent down and felt a feeble hand grab my elbow. He pulled himself up leaning heavily on me.

“That’s better, I got a bit stuck.” His frame was thin and bent over. As we moved into the light I caught his features properly for the first time. He had a fine-boned almost feminine face and thin wavy grey hair. I saw intelligence in the rheumy eyes but it didn’t seem like a face that had done a lot of smiling.

“You were sitting in the Grounds earlier.” I reminded him, placing an arm around his waist to steady him. “They should have called someone to come and get you.”

“I wasn’t in this condition then, just a little stiff. Unfortunately my migraine made a most unwelcome re-appearance.”

“You have a migraine?”

“Not now!” He spoke as if I was being stupid.

“Okay, well that’s good.” I sounded like I was humouring him, which I was.

He actually scowled. “You can’t understand; it weakens me, makes the world look different. Small things grow big, big things shrink, colours change and mutate.” He gave a humourless smile. “It’s most discombobulating I can tell you, always has been.”

“Right. But why were you sitting here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do.”

Maybe he was on some kind of medication? I began to feel trapped. What was I meant to do with him? I needed to get to bed. Yawning my head off on my first day at Trans-Port was an obvious no-no.

“Do you have anyone I can phone, family or relatives? If you wait here I can go make a call.”

“I don’t want you to worry my poor sisters. You…” he grasped my arm tighter, “couldn’t possibly take me home could you? Their house is not far from here.”

“Take you home?” Bugger it. “All right then, which way?”

“Up.” He pointed at the steep slope.”

“Can you walk okay now?”

The old man nodded then made a sudden grab for the walking cane lying on the bench that nearly toppled us both over.

“Hold on a sec!” I bent to grab and pass it to him. “Better?” He nodded briskly as if embarrassed. “Okay, lean on me then. Ready?”

I didn’t wait for an answer and began half-pulling him up the hill. At the top he indicated the road opposite the one down to Arco de las Conquistadoras  and we lurched on into the night. He maintained a wheezy silence until we reached a steeply winding road downhill. I recognized it vaguely. There were still nondescript parts of this town where I’d never been; I’m not particularly inquisitive and Capistrano’s an exceptionally hilly place.

He stopped and turned, brushing my hand away. “I’m all right now, thank-you. The climb seems to have cleared my head.”

“Are we near your sisters’ house?”

“There.” He pointed down the road at a large square building with two tall chimneys. Silhouetted against the moon it looked decidedly gothic.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

He gave me an odd look. “I must be going; the girls will be wondering what’s happened to me. Good night and thank-you for your assistance.” He began to walk quite steadily down the hill.

“Who are you, what’s your name?” It was a daft question to call out but the short episode had jarred me. It had been a strange, almost surreal thing to happen in a modern town; someone eccentric and rude dressed in clothes from a museum asking for my assistance right outside my flat. He gave a dismissive wave over his shoulder but I kept watching until he turned the corner.