Then I was under the front wheels and waiting for the pain.
When it didnt come, or at least not so much as you get shaving with a ladys razor, I slowly got up.
No sudden agony, no broken bones. Id lost a slipper and my stick, but I were alive and didnt feel much worse than Id felt thirty seconds earlier.
If we look closely we can see Gods purpose in everything, my old mate Father Joe Kerrigan once told me.
I looked closely.
Here was a road leading down to Sandytown which had to have a pub, and I was leaning up against a car.
Joe were right. Suddenly I saw Gods purpose!
They were nice folk in the car. Real friendly. I sat in the back with this lass. Could have been thirteen, could have been thirty, hard to tell these days. Turned out I knew her dad. Played rugger against him way back when I were turning out for MY Police. He were a farmer and used to play like he were ploughing a clarty field. Couldnt see much point to having players behind the scrum. Reckoned all they were good for was wearing tutus and running up and down the touchline, screaming, Dont touch me, you brute! We had a lot in common, me and Stompy.
They dropped me at this pub. The Hope and Anchor. I didnt have any money with me. Likely I could have talked the landlord into giving me tick, but this guy Tom in the car volunteered to sub me twenty quid, so no need to turn on the charm. I went into the pub. The main bar were full of trippers eating sarnies and chicken tikka and such. On the other side of the entrance passage were a snug, half a dozen tables, only one of em occupied by a couple of old boys supping pints. I went in there, put the twenty on the bar, and said, Pint of tha best, landlord.
Dont expect he gets many customers in their sleeping kit, but to give him his due, he never hesitated. Not for a second. Drew me a pint, set it down.
I took the glass, put it to my lips, and drank. Didnt mean to be a hog but somehow when I set it down, it were empty.
Youll need another then, he said with a friendly smile.
I was really warming to this man.
Aye, and Ill have a scotch to keep it company, I said. And a packet of pork scratchings.
I nodded at the old boys who nodded back as I took my drinks over to a table in a shady corner. When a landlord treats me right, I try not to offend his customers.
I nibbled my scratchings, sipped my scotch, gulped my beer, and took in my surroundings. Nice room, lots of oak panelling, no telly or muzak, bright poster above the bar advertising some Festival of Health over the Bank Holiday. With medicine like this, I thought, it couldnt fail! And for perhaps the first time since that bloody house in Mill Street blew up, I felt perfectly happy.
It didnt last long. Rarely does. According to Father Joe, thats cos God likes to keep us on the jump.
Certainly kept me on the jump here.
Hardly had time to savour the moment when the bar-room door opened and a man in a wheelchair came rolling through.
He halted just inside the door in the one shaft of sunlight coming through the window. His head were shaven so smooth the light bounced off it, giving him a kind of halo. His gaze ran round the room till it landed on me.
Perhaps there was summat in the Sandytown air that stopped people showing surprise. The landlord had kept a perfectly straight face when a slightly bleeding man wearing jim-jams and one slipper came into his pub.
Now the wheelchair man went one better. His face actually lit up with pleasure at the sight of me, as though I owed him money and wed arranged to meet and settle up.
Mr Dalziel! he exclaimed, driving the wheelchair towards me. Of all the gin joints in all the world, you had to walk into mine! How very nice to see you again.
I did a double take. Couldnt believe my eyes. Or mebbe I didnt want to believe them.
Bloody hell, I said. Its Franny Roote. I thought you must be dead!
6
Had a little sleep there. Bloody pills!
Where was I?
Oh aye. Franny Roote.
First time we met were at this college Ellie Pascoe used to work at not far up the coast from here. Theyd found the old principals body buried under a memorial statue. Roote were President of the Students Union. Bags of personality. Made a big impression on everybody. Made a specially big one on me by cracking a bottle of scotch over my head. Insult to injury, it were my own bottle.
He got banged up not for attacking me but for being involved in the principals death. When he came out a few years back, he showed up again in Mid-Yorkshire, doing postgrad research at the University. Then his supervisor got murdered. So did a few other people.
Folk were always dropping dead round Roote.
Pete Pascoe were convinced he was involved, in fact he got a bit obsessed about it. But he never got close to pinning owt on him. Then Roote started writing him letters from all over the place. Funny bloody things they were, dead friendly on the surface, saying how he really admired Pete. But they really began to freak the poor lad out.
But finally, big twist, what happens is Pascoes lass Rosie gets taken as a hostage by a bunch of scrotes Roote had known in the nick. Roote manages to get her out, but only at the expense of getting a load of buckshot in his back. Looked a goner. But he hung on. Got transferred to some specialist spinal injury unit down south. Pascoe kept in close touch. Practically took control of his insurance and compensation claims. Felt he owed him, specially after all the nasty thoughts hed had about him.
Me, I were real grateful too. Rosies a grand kid, got the best of both her mum and dad in her. But just cos I were grateful didnt make me elect him St Franny!
Pete gave us bulletins. Quadriplegia seemed likely to start with, so when it finally came down to paraplegia, Pascoe acted like hed won the lottery. Bothered me a bit. I told him, be grateful, OK, but that dont mean feeling responsible for the sod for the rest of your life. Pascoe slammed off out after I said that and I heard no more about Roote for six months or more. Thats a long sulk in my book so finally I mentioned him myself.
Turned out the reason Pascoe said nowt was cos hed nowt to say. Hed lost touch. Seems that when the medics decided theyd done all that could be done for Roote, he just vanished. Pascoe had traced him as far as Heathrow where hed got on a plane to Switzerland. We knew hed been there before. Thats where some of the funny letters had come from. This time no letters, not even a postcard. Best guess was, being Roote, he werent settling for a life viewed from belly level, he were going to spend some of that compensation dosh looking for a cure.
Would have been easy enough for us to get a fix on him. Even in our borderless Europe, a foreigner in wheelchair tends to leave a trail. But I reckon Ellie said to Pete that if Roote didnt want to keep in touch, that was his choice.
Now here he was, large as life, back on my patch all right, on the very fringe of it and I didnt know a thing about it.
I didnt like that. OK, Id spent a bit of time in a coma recently, but thats no reason not to know whats going off.
He manoeuvred his chair alongside me and said, I read about your bit of trouble and Im so pleased to see reports of your recovery havent been exaggerated. Though tell me, is the bare foot part of a new therapy? Or have you finally joined the Masons?
He manoeuvred his chair alongside me and said, I read about your bit of trouble and Im so pleased to see reports of your recovery havent been exaggerated. Though tell me, is the bare foot part of a new therapy? Or have you finally joined the Masons?
That was Roote. Misses nowt and likes to think hes a comic.
I said, Youre looking well yourself, lad.
In fact he was. If anything he looked a lot younger than last time Id seen him not counting straight after getting shot, of course. The landlord came over to our table and set a glass of something purple with bubbles in front of him. Mebbe it were the elixir of life. If any bugger found it, it would be Roote.
He said, Thanks, Alan. And thank you too, Mr Dalziel. Yes, I feel extremely well. So what brings you to sunny Sandytown? No, dont tell me. Let me guess. Id say youre down here to convalesce at the Avalon. You must have arrived fairly recently, they are still completing their preliminary assessment, which you, growing impatient, have opted to pre-empt by making your own way to this excellent establishment.
Told you he were a clever bastard.
I said, If wed caught you younger we might have made a detective out of you, Roote. But Im not complaining we caught you later and made a convict out of you instead.
Still as direct as ever, I see, he said, smiling. Any minute now youll be asking what I myself am doing here.
No need to waste my breath, I said.
Meaning of course youre just as capable as me at working things out, he said.
Like a lot of folk who love playing games, Roote always reckoned other folk were playing them too. Dont mind a game myself, long as Im making the rules.
I said, No. Meaning Id not believe a bloody word you said! But I can work out youve been here long enough for our landlord to know you drink parrot piss.
Cranberry juice actually, he said. Full of vitamins, you really ought to try it.
Mebbe after morris dancing and incest, I said. As for your reasons for being here, Im not interested. Unless theyre criminal, which wouldnt surprise me.
Oh dear. Still the old mistrust.
Nay, just the old realism, I said.
Then I went on cos Id never said it direct and it needed saying, Listen, lad, Ill be forever grateful for what you did for little Rosie Pascoe. Thought you should know that. Wont make me turn a blind eye to serious crime, mind, but any time you feel like parking your chair on a double yellow line in Mid-Yorks, be my guest.
His eyes filled. Dont know how he does that trick, but the buggers got it off pat.
I think thats the nicest thing youve ever said to me, Mr Dalziel. And how is the girl? Must be growing up now. And dear Mr Pascoe and his lovely wife, how are they?
All well. He were a bit upset losing contact with you. What happened there?
He sipped his drink. I had to look away. If the buggers can ban smoking, I reckon at least they should put up screens for folk wanting to drink stuff that colour.
Then he said, I was deeply touched by Mr Pascoes concern for me. Hes a man I admire greatly. I would love to be able to think of him as my friend. Perhaps it was because of this that, as I gradually improved, I began to worry in case the gratitude he felt should become a burden. Its all too easy for gratitude to turn into resentment, isnt it? Mr Pascoe is a man of intense feeling. Sometimes perhaps over intense. It was a hard decision, but I felt it might be best if I cooled things between us, so when I concluded that medical wisdom as it stood in the UK had done everything possible for me and decided to head abroad in search of other treatments, it seemed a good opportunity. Im sorry if that sounds too altruistic for your view of me, Mr Dalziel, but its the truth.
I found I believed him.
I said, I reckon you got things right for once.
The bar door opened and a young woman came in, laden with carrier bags. She were tall and skinny as a bow string. Slim they likely call it in the womens mags, or slender or willowy, some such bollocks, but its all skinny to me. I like a lass with a bit of something to get a hold of. Mind you, beggars cant always be choosers and Ive known a lot of bow strings that had plenty of twang in them, but on the whole Ive always steered clear of the lean and hungry ones. Not that this lass werent bad looking in a hollow cheek modelly sort of way, with wavy brown hair, a good full mouth, a determined little chin, and soft blue eyes that fastened on Roote.
She said, Franny, hi.
Clara, said Roote. Hi! Come and meet my old friend, Andrew Dalziel. Mr Dalziel, this is Clara Brereton.
She came towards us. She were a lovely mover even with the bags. Fair dos, probably being skinny helps here, though my Cap doesnt get many complaints on the dance floor.
She said, Nice to meet you, Mr Dalziel, like she knew how to spell it. And she was another who didnt blink when she spotted how I were dressed.
I said, Likewise, lass.
Why dont you join us? said Roote giving her the full smarmy charmy treatment.
She sat down, saying, Just till Auntie comes. Teddys taking us to lunch at Mobys. Hes supposed to be meeting us here.
She looked relieved to set the bags down.
I said, They dont deliver round here then? just to make conversation.
Roote chipped in, Indeed they do, but theres a small charge, and why pay that when youve got your own personal service?
They smiled at each other. Something going on here? I wondered. With Roote, owts possible. A gent would likely have made an excuse and left them to get on with it, but gents dont find themselves sitting in public bars in their dressing gowns. Any road, I wanted to see how Roote would play it. But there werent time to make his play.
The door opened again and another woman entered, this one a bit more to my taste. The way her gaze fixed on Clara and Roote, I guessed straight off this were the aunt. She were knocking on, sixties bumping seventy, but well preserved, and built like a buffalo, with an eye to match. If there werent enough meat on young Clara to make a Christmas starter, there were plenty here for a main course with something left over for Boxing Day. Not bad looking for an old un, but in a very different way from her niece. No smooth pallor here but weathered oak. Only thing in common were the determined chin which age had carved on her face into a bit of an ice-breaker. This was a woman used to getting her own way.
She said, There you are, Clara. Youve got the shopping? Good. No sign of Teddy? No matter, so long as he turns up in time to pay the bill. Time for a quick one here I think. Alan!
The landlord was ahead of the game again. There was already a G and T on the bar and an orange juice. No prizes for working out whose was which.
Good day, Lady D, said Roote. I hope you are keeping well.
I am always well, Franny. I firmly believe most ailments are the invention of the medical profession to extort money from fools.
She brayed a laugh like it never struck her some poor sod in a wheelchair might not find this all that funny. Roote just grinned and said, If Tom Parker wants a living testimony to the health-giving properties of Sandytown, he need look no further than you.
She preened herself and said, Kind of you to say so, Franny. Its true I have been blessed with a strong and lasting constitution. In fact I do believe I never saw the face of a doctor in all my life on my own account, but only on the two unhappy occasions when I was told of the death of a husband.