So we hand them over, his companion continued, amiably, we give him his autonomy. We let him work out a route, prepare clues
And its all terribly secretive.
Terribly.
But then two short weeks after you release the third clue Yes.
Suddenly his companions bold voice wavered, just a fraction, Yes. The drowning. Silence. Fantastic!
Arthur clapped his hands. They flew together so rapidly, so violently, that they knocked his cap clean off his knee. But he didnt seem to have noticed. His eyes were moist. His cheeks were taut. For the first time during their lengthy meeting he seemed deeply and unreservedly happy.
If you dont mind my saying so, his companion muttered thickly, thats a somewhat insensitive choice of word, under the circumstances.
I know, Arthur looked momentarily abashed, forgive me.
Forgive you? His companion smiled, cheerlessly, Why? You hate him. And its a perfectly natural reaction.
Arthur started, looked slightly surprised, and then, seconds later, almost guileful, Me? Why should I hate him? Ive never even met Wesley.
His companion snorted. Theres a history, he said, why the hell else would I be standing here today?
Arthur said nothing. He was unhappy again. Deflated. Some things were unmentionable. Histories, especially. So he hurt somebody I knew once, he offered, finally, thats all. It was only carelessness. And it was a long time ago.
Of course. A very long time. And you probably might prefer to try and forget all about it Arthurs eyes flared. To forget? How could he? But Im afraid, his companions rich voice dropped, effortlessly, to almost a murmur, thats not quite what Im anticipating.
Why not? Arthur spoke normally, but the question reverberated on the quiet, tree-lined path with an almost unnatural clarity, sending up a blackbird from a low branch behind him. The bird chattered its fury.
Why not? His companions eyes followed the angry bird. Because lately Ive become the unwilling recipient of a certain amount of he paused, pressure. From colleagues who arent at all happy about how things have been panning out with Wesley with the Loiter. Perhaps they feel, in retrospect, that Wesley was a rather poor bet. These are people as Im sure you can imagine who dont at all value adverse publicity.
Arthur grimaced. He did not need to imagine. He knew these people. Their complacency. Their serenity. Their ease. He loathed them.
So Ive come under a certain amount of pressure as his companion spoke he left the shelter of his tree, drew slightly closer to Arthur, then closer still, and naturally, after a while, it seemed expedient to diffuse this pressure by contacting a man who had a history with the company, a man who might reasonably be said to have had a history with Wesley, a man with a grudge, an unfit man. I resolved to contact this man in order to quietly suggest that he might conveniently decide to renew his interest.
And if he doesnt? Arthurs voice sounded flimsy. This was not a good question. Even he could sense it.
If he doesnt? Well, then I suppose I might be tempted to make certain discrepancies, certain inconsistencies in his very private life a matter of more public concern.
Arthur was scowling. But he said nothing.
Okay his companion suddenly crouched down before him, his knees groaning and creaking like a brand new, high-polished leather saddle, you dont need to know everything, but what you do need to know is that Wesley was entrusted with something very valuable. For obvious reasons I cannot tell you what that thing was. And yes, while he did relate certain strategic points on the Loiter to a small group of us, and provided us with some basic outlines of his general intentions, he by no means told us everything.
Okay his companion suddenly crouched down before him, his knees groaning and creaking like a brand new, high-polished leather saddle, you dont need to know everything, but what you do need to know is that Wesley was entrusted with something very valuable. For obvious reasons I cannot tell you what that thing was. And yes, while he did relate certain strategic points on the Loiter to a small group of us, and provided us with some basic outlines of his general intentions, he by no means told us everything.
The final clue, as you probably already know, was announced only three weeks ago, after a certain amount of procrastination. At first wed considered cancelling the whole thing as a tribute to the dead man, as an apology but then the father became involved. The old boy. The scaffolder. Youll have seen him in the papers.
Arthur nodded. Yes. Hed seen the old man.
So press attention at that point was obviously intense. It still is. But we were handling it. Unfortunately, Wesley then decided to raise the stakes. He broke off all communications with the company. He grew uncooperative. Three days ago he travelled to Canvey
Arthur clucked, shrewdly, Ah. Candy Island. Daniel Defoe. The first clue.
His companion shrugged this off boredly. Of course. Its a very famous linguistic corruption. But thats not what concerns you. What concerns you is that I have recently developed some misgivings about Wesleys intentions. His motivations. His reliability. In short, I have stopped trusting him.
Arthur sniffed, dismissively, then touched the cuff of his coat to the tip of his nose. A small droplet darkened its khaki. If you suspect fraud you could have him arrested.
Oh yes, before some poor, deluded fool went and killed himself, very possibly. But now its much too fucked up. Its too complicated.
Arthur still seemed befuddled.
I need you to help me, his companion continued, I need you to to involve yourself in some way. Im surrounding him. Ill need information. Youll have to be circumspect. My ultimate ambition is to defuse the situation. I need to understand it. I need to distract Wesley. To to debilitate him.
He paused for a moment, then continued on again, silkily, Naturally, youre not the only person Im involving. There will be others. They will know different things, but they wont know everything. Overall, my intention, my need, is to distance the company from the drowned man, from the old boy, and, ultimately, from Wesley. To keep things clean.
Arthur was silent. But his mind was working.
His companion watched him, benignly. Heres some advice for you, he whispered, I know about the history. I also know that youre screwing countless different sources for money. I know why. I understand. And if you help me I will ensure that nobody finds out. And I mean nobody. I will do things for you, he paused, but if you go to the papers, if you act indiscreetly, theres sufficient ill-feeling between you and Wesley for me to manipulate that and to use it against you. At this particular point we have no way of knowing what it is exactly that Wesleys planning
Arthurs eyebrows rose. Perhaps hes not planning anything. Perhaps hes just just he struggled, just plain mooching. Have you even considered that possibility?
His companion nodded, unmoved by Arthurs cynicism. Of course we have. But its unlikely. This is Wesley, after all.
Out of the blue, he swung himself forward and moved his two lips right up close to Arthurs ear. The air around you, he whispered gently, it smells of death. Hospitals. Disinfectant. Why? Who is responsible? Will you tell? Will you enlighten me?
Arthur stiffened. He struggled to stop his hands from trembling. It was just a misunderstanding, that was all. Eventually his companion pulled away again and the warmth of his breath on Arthurs cheek, his ear transformed, gradually, into something quite different; a thing no less intimate, but cool now, and lingering.
Arthur sat and watched quietly as he stood up, slowly, pushing his hands onto his knees for leverage. Those strangely vocal knees, Arthur thought, and listened to them protesting. Perhaps he had room to protest himself? But he did not.
Instead, he remained mute, sucking his tongue and staring dumbly ahead of him, down the path, into the distance. He could not bring himself to speak again. It was simply not necessary. His mouth was so thick and full now with the taste of Wesley.
Three
What you did back then was unforgivable. It was mean, it was selfish, it was thoughtless, it was just it was just plain wrong.
The man who spoke these stem words his name was Ted, and he was a fresh-faced but avuncular small town estate agent did so without the slightest hint, the slightest note, the slightest tremble of disapproval in his voice. His absolute lack of ire was not merely striking; it teetered, it lurched, it practically tumbled head first into the realm of remarkable.
Wesley, to whom this speech had been principally directed (but who didnt appear to have digested a word of it), acknowledged as much internally as he swung himself from left to right on an ancient and creaking swivel chair in Teds Canvey High Street office. He was inspecting property details. He was considering renting.
Which bad thing in particular? he asked idly. There were so many bad things.
Which thing? The Canvey thing. In the book. The Katherine Turpin thing.
Wesley stopped swivelling and glanced up. What? In the walks book? All the stuff about perimeters? That was years ago.
He liked this man. Ted. He liked his wide mouth, his charming effervescence, his loopy sincerity, his almost-silliness. Wesley appraised Teds thick lips as they vibrated, like two fat, pink molluscs performing a shifty rhumba.
Two years ago. Twenty-seven months, if you want to be precise about it, Ted calculated amicably.
Two years? Fuck. Is that all?
Wesley frowned as if this was a vexatious detail that had not previously occurred to him while Ted waved to a passerby through the agencys large, exquisitely high-polished picture window. It was the third time hed done so in as many minutes.
You seem to know everybody around here, Wesley observed drily, turning his head to peer outside, it must be very trying.
Trying? Why? Ted didnt understand. I find people their homes. Its an essential its a quint-essential service.
I get your point, Wesley puckered his lips slightly, to try and stop an inadvertent grin from sneaking out and plastering itself with unapologetic candour all over his mouth. Then, in a bid to distract Teds attention, he suddenly pointed, Theres a woman. Do you see her? Over in the Wimpy. Sitting in the window, directly opposite the Old Man.