For answer she held up a bottle. Joe winced. It wasnt just the contents, winceable though they were, being something called Luger which the ads claimed blows you away. It was the way these young girls drank straight from the bottle that offended something deep down. When hed mentioned this to his friend, Merv Golightly, his distaste had been submitted to a long and deeply unflattering sexual analysis. But so were most things that tugged at Mervs consciousness, from Lutons performance in the FA Cup to the way that John Major walked. As a taxi driver, Merv was used to a captive audience. An American visitor had once hired him to drive her to Leeds and back twice a week for a month. Its cheaper than my analyst, she said. And it does me more good.
Lets sit down, said Galina.
She led him to a table where a bunch of her mates were protecting a couple of empty chairs by smashing their bottles down on any hand foolish enough to grasp them. They greeted Joe with their customary silent incredulity that one of his advanced years could still be moving with no apparent mechanical aid, then went back to their conversation which consisted of an interchange of staccato screams. The only alternative was to lean forward so that your lips were almost touching your interlocutors ear. This was the mode preferred by Joe and Galina, and if Aunt Mirabelle could have seen them in this position, the worst case scenarios hypothesized by her spies would have been positively confirmed.
A tape of the conversation would have been more puzzling.
You got anywhere yet? said Galina.
Give me time, said Joe.
Its been a week.
Six days, said Joe firmly. I said it would need to be slow else you could end up getting what youre trying to avoid.
Yeah? Maybe publicitys what we need, get it out in the open, make them show their hand.
Weve been through all this, said Joe gently. If theyve nothing to show, all youre doing is giving the loonies a feast. Theres no such thing as good publicity. You see a headline saying: BISHOP NOT BONKING CURATES WIFE, it doesnt stop rumours, it starts them. Get a hint of this in the papers, makes no matter how innocent they say your granddad is, there are enough loonies out there to give him and you and the whole family a really lousy time. Is that what you want?
Of course its not, said the girl. Only I hoped
Her voice tailed off, though he could still feel her breath warm on his ear lobe. He knew what she hoped. That in bringing her worries to him, shed be told in no time flat that she had nothing to worry about. Thats what people often wanted, and they had a nasty habit of blaming him when he couldnt give it to them.
She said, Hes been round at the club again, asking questions. I got a proper description this time.
She took a piece of paper from an inner pocket. It was warm from her breast. On it shed scribbled: 58"510" (bigger than me but not too much) reddish hair. Blue eyes. Swollen nose. Big feet. Olive-green jacket.
Joe said, This sound the same as the one who got talking to your mum?
Yeah, except she didnt say anything about his nose. Maybe someones hit him since then. Gets in my range, itll be more than a swollen nose he ends up with!
Joe regarded her gravely and said, Youre not stupid enough to do that, are you, Gal?
In fact, he knew she wasnt stupid at all. And the more he talked to her, the brighter she seemed. Hed known her for a long time without really knowing her. She was a cashier at the Luton and Biggleswade Building Society where Joe stashed what little money he managed to save from his erratic income. She was pleasant and personable and always greeted him by name and passed the time of day as she updated his book.
Hed never seen her outside the building society except for one night hed been invited to the Uke, the local Ukrainian Club, by a client and hed spotted her sitting with a middle-aged couple and an older white-haired man. Shed given him a wave and hed gone over and been introduced to her parents, George and Galina Hacker, and her grandfather, Taras Kovalko. Joes client had filled him in later. Taras was one of the numerous displaced persons who found refuge in the UK after the war. Hed settled in Manchester, married an English girl, had one daughter he called Galina after his own mother. She had married George Hacker, a salesman, and theyd gone to live in Luton. Widowed and retired, Taras had come to live with them a couple of years ago.
Joe, whod hitherto guessed that the girls unusual name was merely one of those Anglo-Saxon flights of fancy which filled the classified Births with Clints and Garths and Meryls and Kylies, was pleased to know it had a real meaning. He believed in families. Blood was thicker than water, though he wasnt so sure about Guinness.
Then about a week ago, when he visited the building society to draw out a little of the little that was left, the girl had asked in a low voice if she could see him professionally.
Sure, he said. When?
Its my half day today, she said.
Fine, said Joe, smiling at her. In her M & S cardie with minimal make up and straight brushed hair, she looked about fourteen. He didnt fancy making her walk down the rather seedy street which housed his rather scruffy office, so he said, How about four oclock in the Sugar n Tongs?
The Sugar n Tongs was the kind of place people took their grannies, very safe, very central.
OK, she said.
Hed got there early so she wouldnt feel uncomfortable arriving by herself. He realized he stuck out like a sore thumb among the mainly formidable female clientele. But hed been united with them in conversation-stopping surprise when a spiky-topped alien in a skirt like a guardrail above a dizzying drop, and a halter straining like a topsl in a Force Ten gale, had come through the door. The unity had been shortlived. From being a spectator he became part of the spectacle as the newcomer headed straight for his table and from that vermilion mouth came the words, Hello, Mr Sixsmith. Good of you to see me.
Though the noise level here was decibels below the Glit, they set the pattern for future conversations by leaning close together to thwart the straining ears.
What was said would probably have disappointed the would-be eavesdroppers, but Joe it deeply dismayed.
I was down at the Uke last week helping with the refreshments. It was a ladies social night, Mums really keen, it was her actually that got Grandda started going, hes never been a one for living in the past, but since he joined hes been really enjoying it. And I got talking to Mrs Vansovich, you may remember seeing her, little old lady, about the size of a garden gnome and she looks a bit like one too. The men make a joke about her, Vansovich always a witch, very funny ha ha, but she is a bit of a gossip, no denying. She started telling me about this man whod been asking questions, said he was trying to contact someone called Taras something beginning with a K. He said his grandmother had got to know this Taras after the war when she was a driver for some colonel in charge of dealing with displaced persons in southern Germany. He said his grandmother was bedridden now and would like to see this Taras again, but she couldnt remember his second name except that it began with a K, and she thought he came from Vinnitsa which is where Grandda was born, and Mrs Vansovich knows this because she was born there too and is always wanting to talk about it.
Tea arrived and she paused for breath. When the waitress had gone, Joe said, Galina
Gal. My friends call me Gal. Or Gallie.
Joe, conscious of the presence of some of the sharpest observers in Luton, didnt think this was a good time to offer her the familiarity of calling him Joe.
He said, Gallie, if you could get to the point
Sorry. Its not easy, not without telling you all this. The upshot was that old Vansovich must have told this man everything she knew about Grandda, and he said it might be the same one but he wasnt sure, and could she please keep quiet about it till he was, as he didnt want to embarrass anyone with talk of an old flame. He went off then, leaving Vansovich convinced theres been some great romance. Shes a bit frightened of mentioning it to Mum, I think, but me being young, she thought Id be interested.
And were you?
Yeah, it sounded a bit of a giggle really, Grandda and the colonels lady driver! I dropped a few hints to him, taking the mickey like I often do. Usually we have a good laugh but he got quite ratty. So I thought, hello, Vansovich has said something and its something he doesnt want to talk about, so I let it drop. I did begin to wonder if maybe this thing had gone all the way and that maybe this jerk-off asking the questions was some sort of cousin of mine. Then Mum brought Grandda back from the club a couple of days later and I could see he was upset. I asked Mum about it and she said shed called in at the supermarket on the way home, and when she came out to the car park, there was this guy talking to Grandda through the car window. Mum said he was holding the glass down with his fingers while Grandda was trying to wind it up inside. Mum heard him say, wheres the harm in a few facts, Mr Kovalko, if youve got nothing to hide? Then Mum asked him what the hell he was playing at? And he said sorry, he was just asking for directions, and took off. Since then, Granddas hardly been out of the house.
She paused, picked up a teacake, examined it, put it back on the plate.
Joe said, So what do you want me to do, Gallie?
I should have thought that was obvious, she said. I want you to find out who this guy is, what hes after.
Joe said gently, But it sounds like your grandfathers got some idea who he is and what he wants. Why not just ask him?
Because because he wont say anything! He doesnt want to tell me.
In that case said Joe.
He was beginning to have a suspicion what this might be all about, but hed learned the hard way about looking before he leapt. If the girl didnt tell him what was on her mind, no way he was going to play guess-guess.
I think hes frightened, and I dont like people going around frightening my grandda, she said fiercely. I want him stopped!
So have a word with the police, he said.
Youre joking! she said with a dismissive scorn. Listen, Mr Sixsmith
She put a hand on his, and looked him straight in the eye. It probably looked like uncontrollable passion to the lynx-eyed tea drinkers, but Joe could see she was bringing herself to the point of telling him the truth. He found himself hoping she wouldnt make it.
But she was there.
In a flat, rapid voice she said, I know it sounds stupid but I was reading in one of the supplements about this debate whether they should prosecute old war criminals. And the article said there were half a dozen they were pretty certain of living in this country, and several more they suspected, and a lot of them were eastern Europeans, Ukrainians and others, whod served in those concentration camps and came here as displaced persons after the war
Her voice dried up as though articulation had made her fully aware for the first time of the enormity of what she was saying.
He said, Hey, look, I dont know much about it, but there must be thousands of people like your grandda came here to settle after the war. They were victims, they needed help. Why should anyone suddenly start thinking I mean, there must be a hundred other explanations
Thats what I want you to do. Find one, she said. But if theres someone out there trying to pin something like this on Grandda, I want the bastard sorted out!
She spoke with a fierce intensity that took him aback. This was mainly why he said hed help. He had the feeling that if he didnt, she might look elsewhere for assistance in taking more direct action against the inquisitive stranger.
Hed got a description. Young, red-haired, nice smile, really charming (the last two were Mrs Vansovichs), medium build, big feet, blue check jacket, black trousers, lime-green windcheater (hed had this on in the car park), some kind of accent (Irish/Scottish?). And now a swollen nose.
Hed changed their meeting place to the Glit after that first encounter. The friends she sat with confirmed Joes suspicions that she mightnt be short of assistance if she decided to have a pop at this guy herself, though every time he saw her in the building society, he couldnt believe what he was believing!
But he had no difficulty in believing after that first all too public encounter in the Sugar n Tongs that, as sure as the fall of a sparrow is known to the living God, not even the protective cover of the Glit could hide their further meetings from Mirabelle.
So how are things going? she now breathed in his ear. Any progress?
He said, Ive got one of my operatives working on a lead in London. Im expecting a report any time. Can you call round my office lunchtime tomorrow and Ill let you know if anything comes up.
Anyone who dared go out dressed like Gallie had nothing to fear from his mean street, and it was as far out of the public eye as he could hope to get.
OK, she said.
She leaned away from him, tipped her head back, stuck the bottle in her mouth and drank. It was the kind of shot TV advertisers sold their souls for.
Wont wean me off Guinness, thought Joe, but I get the subliminal!
On the other hand, by the time he left the pub an hour later, hed completely forgotten the name of the drink.
4
The following morning as Joe pushed open the door of the Bullpat Square Law Centre, he recalled his phrase one of my operatives with a certain unease.
Truth was, Joe had operatives like politicians have principles he latched on to whatever was free, useful, and handy. It wasnt guilt that caused the unease, just fear that somehow the woman he was going to see might discover how shed been categorized.
It was only eight oclock but the Centre didnt keep social hours.
Morning, Joe, said the young man at the reception counter.
Morning, Harry, said Joe cautiously. He had difficulty differentiating the tribe of young helpers.
This one seemed happy with Harry so Joe went on, Butcher in?
Here when I arrived, said Harry proudly. Got her first punter too. The helpers, drawn in roughly equal numbers from idealistic law students and the unemployed, adored Butcher. The Centres motto was: Law helps not hurts which drew the odd wry grimace from those whod had their legs chopped off by Butcher in full flight, but she didnt draw blood except when necessary. A Social Security snoop whod been foolish enough to hack into the Centres accounts in an effort to prove unemployed helpers were getting paid more than out-of-pocket expenses had found himself teetering on the edge of a career-ending court case. The cheers as his head dropped into the basket would have been heard in Hertfordshire. But Butcher had held back, and now the man came in on his day off to give advice on knotty benefit cases.