She dumbly nodded her acquiescence, a large tear forming in her eye and then sliding, plumply, down her cheek. Youve lost so much weight, Beede struggled, valiantly, to redirect his anger, youre so thin. I mean you look like you might justjust blow away.
Elen shrugged (what did she care about that?). Dorys still exercising, she murmured, trying and almost succeeding to maintain her fragile equilibrium. Hes really, really trying. And its soso unbearably sad, somehow. Hes doing the breathing the yoga breathing which is all very positive and empowering and everything she paused again, but there are just so many repercussions which he doesnt know about which he cant know about and I dont honestly feel like I can tell him kill off that little bit ofof hope. But the more control he believes he has, the worse it becomes for everybody else. The less he goes underI dont knowwhen he does go she bit her lip, its just so much more terrible. I mean the consequences.And if the police get involved again
She shrugged, helplessly.
Dissolve a tablet into his tea, Beede instructed her, or whatever he drinks before bed. Thats the most difficult time, isnt it? The REM? When everythings in transition? Hell get to sleep much quicker. Itll be deeper. And thats bound to take the pressure off.
Oh God, Elen clenched her hands together. If only it were that simple
Try, at least, Beede cajoled her. Think about Fleet. Your main priority has to be the boy. And yourself, obviously he paused, frowning, Ive let you down recently. I can see that now
He scowled. Weve been short-staffed here for a while. Ive been taking too much on. And then theres this whole Monkeith situation. I seem to have become he shrugged horribly enmeshed in the whole thing
A look of fleeting interest crossed Elens face. Well its certainly a good cause, she gently chivvied him, and so tragic. He was only eleven. Dory knows the godparents. Hes been doing some leafleting for them.
I know, Beedes voice sounded just a fraction sharper than before, it was actually Dory who recommended me to them.
Oh.
Elen struggled to let the implications of this news sink in.
But I can play around with my rota here at work Beede leaned over and grabbed a photocopied time-table from his desk, juggle things around a bit. Ive certainly got some holiday owing. I can try my best over the next few weeks to keep up with him during the day again. And then you can have a rest. A proper rest. Believe me, thingsll look ten times brighter after a couple of good nights sleep.
But if he finds out Elen covered her mouth with her hand and stared at him, over her fingers, almost in panic. Hes grown so suspicious. So paranoid. If he has any kind of inkling
I know. I know.
And if he realises that we met up earlier
Beede stiffened. The trick is not to deny anything. If the worst comes to the worst, say you took Fleet out to do some shopping, that you stopped at the restaurant, that I was there with my son
Thats true, she nodded, you were.
She nodded again.
The critical thing, Beede continued doggedly, is that you need to get some rest you both do; you and Dory otherwise neither of you will be able to function properly.
Elen patted her eyes with the tissue, then unfastened her hair to try and disguise their blotchiness.
And as I said before, Beede persisted, theres Fleet to consider
It was such a surprise, she said softly, changing the subject (exchanging one son for another), to see Kane there this morning. I know, Beede grimaced, apparently he goes there all the time. I had no idea.
I hadnt seen him in so long she smiled, vaguely. Not sinceWell, since Heather
Beede tipped his head, momentarily at a loss, then his brows lifted. But of courseyou wouldve met him as a boy
He
Elen began to say something, then suddenly checked herself. He had a she gesticulated, vaguely, on his arm. He had a burn. He showed me.
Beede frowned. On his arm?
Yes. He said he got it in the desert. In America.
I dont actually Beede slowly shook his head, then something struck him; a memory Yes. He does have a burn there. He got sunstroke as I recollect. It was very severe
He still wasnt quite following her.
Elen touched her own arm, ruminatively, in exactly the same place. Beede frowned, perplexed. Did he mention it for some reason?
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could answer, they were interrupted by a quick knock. A member of staff thrust an impatient hand into the office, proffering an invoice. Beede scrambled up and followed them outside. A terse conference took place, and then they headed off, Beede cursing, towards the storeroom.
When he returned to his cubby (five minutes later) Elen had gone. On his blotter shed scribbled, Danny Thanks. And SORRY. See you later. Godbless.
E.
He ripped the page out, turned it over, sat down, picked up a pen in one hand and the phone receiver in his other. He pressed it between his cheek and his shoulder and he dialled the line for Casualty, then waited. As it rang he quickly wrote: Eva Barlow. He stared at it for a moment then scratched it out. Eliza Barlow (his next attempt). He crossed this out, too.
He frowned, gazing out into the middle distance, racking his brains to remember the proper name of the client Elen had mentioned with the malfunctioning pace-maker.
Liz? Lizzie Brownlow?
He grimaced.
Damn.
He slammed down the receiver.
Damn.
He leaned back in his chair, ruminatively.
Cunning, he eventually murmured, two names I wouldve remembered. But the nickname on top
He threw down the pen.
That was clever.
He picked up his mug of tea and took a quick sip of it
Cold
He leaned over and took a hold of Elens mug
Virtually untouched
His eye casually alighted upon the tea-stained tissue where hed rested the spoon, previously
What?!
He peered around him, thoroughly puzzled
But where?
EIGHT
It never rang; not ever. The last time Kane could actually remember (and the fact that he could still clearly recall this occasion and in florid detail said it all, really) was when his Great-Aunt Glenda (a true family gem) had died, aged ninety-six, in 1994.
To mark her passing, Beedes cousin, Trevor (who was horribly burned to death a mere eight months later in a tragic house blaze), had rung him up on that distinctive, brick-orange phone with a complex assortment of funeral arrangements:
1. All mourners to wear pink (shed considered it a sacred colour).
2. Lengthy, heartfelt readings to be performed (and then distributed in the guise of a commemorative pamphlet within a one-mile radius of her home in Esher, Surrey) from Kahlil Gibrans The Prophet, Joyces Dubliners and Problems of Reconstruction by Annie Besant.
3. A proper, old-fashioned High Tea to be served, accompanied by home-made egg-custards, cinnamon buns (from Fitzbillies traditional bakers in Cambridge), tumblers of apricot wine and her own very smoky blend of Lapsang Suchong.
4. Marigolds to form the centre of all her flower arrangements (shed been a devoted gardener, but had suffered from chronic hayfever, and this cheerful, brightly coloured genus had been one of its main perpetrators. In consequence of this fact, shed thought it might be a bit of a hoot to make her final journey in a coffin absolutely swathed in the damn things: Bring along a jemmy, shed said, and if you hear a sneeze, then be sure and prise me out).
Shed died inevitably in the depths of winter. Not a single humble British marigold to be had. The import costs had been astronomical and Beede had been furious (although his objections hed insisted werent so much monetary as environmentalYeah, right)
Shed died inevitably in the depths of winter. Not a single humble British marigold to be had. The import costs had been astronomical and Beede had been furious (although his objections hed insisted werent so much monetary as environmentalYeah, right)
Kane had just loved her for that.
And then
But of course
there was his fathers magnificently choleric expression as he stood, in church, determinedly booming forth one of Gibrans more flowery flights of fancy dressed in a crazily lurid, salmon-coloured shirt
Absolute fucking class!
Even now, all these years later, Kane could distinctly recall overhearing that landmark conversation through the cracks in his linoleum. Hed been upstairs stewing in the bath at the time eightnine Christmases ago. Ten, even.
And the phone had barely rung since (so far as he was aware I mean he didnt stand guard over it or anything). It lived a very quiet existence (what could it comprehend, poor soul, of the advent of touch-tone, of texting and the internet?). It was almost superfluous (like Sleeping Beauty, in the midst of that great, big doze); to all intents and purposes, it was pretty much dysphonic.
Beede was resolutely ex-directory and nobody but distant (and now mainly dead) family had ever been privy to that particular number (even Beedes brother only ever contacted him via the hospital laundry).
But it had a fantastic bell. When it rang it produced an astonishingly pure, clear, old-fashioned sound; an elevated, almost ecstatic peal, a rousing, piercing, energising clamour.
Kane loathed phones. He really did. It was one of the few chinks in his easy-going armour. Yet it wasnt the technology itself that he objected to (Come on he prostrated himself, hourly, at the altar of the disk and the drive and the chip), so much as the inbuilt element of surprise; the sense of a demand being made, then registered, then automatically responded to (What am I? hed sometimes mutter. A dog to be whistled at?).
He used his own phone continuously (had to, for work), but he chiefly relied on its texting facility, and if by chance he was awaiting an urgent call, hed set it on to vibrate (a vibration he could just about tolerate it didnt shriek or keen or insist) and then shove it, carelessly, into the front pocket of his denim jacket.
The brick-orange phone continued to sing.
Kane re-entered the flat, strolled over to Beedes desk, placed his hands on to his knees (bending from his hips, keeping his legs tensed like a linesman at a tennis match) and gazed down at the phone, scowling.
Stillstillit rang. He expostulated, sharply, then crouched down and curled his arm around the pile of magazines (accidentally snagging the top few with the turned-up cuff of his jacket and pulling them down on to the carpet